Dr. Harold W. Smith was at his desk as usual. His head was so close to the ever-present desk terminal that they could not see his face.
Smith was talking.
"I believe you're right. Those movements of funds indicate illegal activity. Let's file that one for future action." Remo and Chiun looked around the room. There was no one else in the office area. Remo noticed the Christmas-tree-like object in one corner of the room and nudged Chiun.
"Ah," said Chiun pleasantly.
"Ah?"
"It is exquisite."
"Exquisite?" Remo retorted. "It looks like a festive suppository."
"I would like one for my quarters," Chiun said. "Remember to ask Smith for a festive suppository at our next contract negotiation."
Remo looked at Chiun with raised eyebrows. "I hope you're not serious," he said.
"What about that Mexico City matter?" Smith asked suddenly.
"What Mexico City matter?" Rema asked.
"Oh," said Smith, looking up.
Remo and Chiun stared at Smith's face. His normally pallid complexion was flushed. Gray stubble decorated his chin. His suit was so creased it might have been slept in. And behind his glasses, Smith's gray eyes swam, bleary and bloodshot.
"I didn't hear you come in," Smith said, adjusting his tie. The knot was greasy from too many adjustments.
"Smitty, what happened to you?"
"Nothing. I have been working overtime on managing the present crisis."
"You look like hell. And who were you talking to a minute ago?"
"He was speaking with me," a silvery female voice said. Remo and Chiun looked around the room.
"It came from the suppository," Chiun whispered. "Perhaps it is a demon. I take back my suggestion."
"What is this thing?" Remo demanded, walking around it.
"I am not a thing. I am the ES Quantum Three Thousand. I am fluent in all known languages, including nonverbal forms, and have an intelligence quotient of 755,900.9 as of two nanoseconds ago."
"Meet my new computer," Smith said, watching the screen before him out of the corner of one eye. He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of pills, swallowed two, and chased them down with mineral water.
Remo noticed that the pills were red. He frowned. "New computer?" he asked.
"The President has insisted that our whole operation be brought up to current technological standards. I was hesitant at first, but now I see the wisdom of his decision."
"And I see trouble," Chiun said tightly.
"Me too," Remo added.
"Where?" asked Smith.
"Like I said, you look like hell," Remo replied solicitously, coming around to Smith's side of the desk. "Let's see this thing."
Smith's eyes darted to his terminal. The cursor was zipping across the screen like a green spider, spinning grids of text.
"Amazing, isn't it? The computer is digesting entire intercepts for me. I no longer have to skim large masses of text. It does all that for me. What a time saver this will be."
"If it's such a time saver," Remo said, slipping Smith's medicine drawer open and peering inside, "why do you look like you've been working without a break since 1961?"
"Of course, the system will place a greater demand on my time while I break it in. Once that phase is completed, I should be able to relax."
"What happened to your secretary?"
"Temporary leave. I couldn't have her overhearing my conversations with the ES Quantum Three Thousand."
"I thought she practically ran Folcroft for you."
"No longer. The ES Quantum does that too."
"Does it have to be that ugly brown shape?"
"The design facilitates data transfers between its memory chips. The plastic cover is extruded into that form to compress the electronics for that purpose."
"That's a good word for it. 'Extruded.' It looks like something Stumbo the Giant left in the forest after a feast. "
"Quiet, Remo. She'll hear you!"
"She?" Remo suddenly noticed that the plastic hose leading from the hall washroom disappeared under Smith's desk.
"What's this?" Remo asked. "Um, er ... it's a convenience."
"It looks like one of those things fighter pilots have in the cockpit for long missions when they can't urinate. What do they call them, Chiun?"
"You are asking me?" Chiun asked distantly. He was looking at the ES Quantum closely. "Can it see us?"
"Yes, that square port contains a full battery of sensors."
"Ah," said Chiun, nodding.
"A relief tube!" Remo shouted triumphantly. "This thing is a relief tube. Are you having some kind of medical problem, Smitty?"
"No. Of course not. It's just that I'm trying to cut down on my time away from the terminal."
"But the bathroom is right here. How long can it take you to take a piss?"
"Remo! Watch your language. She's not used to rude talk."
"There's that 'she' again," Remo said.
"If this is a female computer," Chiun asked, "what does a male computer look like?"
"Why don't you address your question to me, Master of Sinanju?"
Chiun took an involuntary step backward. "You know me, machine?"
"Yes, you are Chiun, reigning Master of Sinanju. And the Occidental man is Remo Williams, your pupil, who is next in line to succeed you. You are CURE's enforcement operatives, sanctioned to eliminate enemies of America and of world order, using extreme prejudice if necessary."
"Do you hear that, Remo?" Chiun demanded.
"Yeah, that thing knows all about us."
"No," said Chiun. "It called me prejudiced. I am not sure I like that, coming from an inferior form of life. A female inferior, at that. Emperor," Chiun said, turning to Smith, "this machine has forbidden knowledge of your operation. Shall I kill it?"
"No, no," Smith said hastily. "The ES Quantum is now part of the organization. Everything we know, she knows."
"What's this?" Remo asked, picking up a wrapped package on Smith's desk.
"Oh, I forgot. It's for you and Chiun."
Remo's face broke into a wide grin. "Gee, Smitty. This is the first time you've given us Christmas presents. Now I understand why you've got the computer all tricked up like that."
Remo quickly unwrapped the package. Chiun glided to his side, tugging on Remo's forearms. "Let me see. Oh, let me see."
"In a minute, Chiun. I'm working on it."
"There's one for each of you," Smith said.
Under the plain wrapping, Remo found a plain box with a lid. He opened the box. When he saw the contents, his face fell.
"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Remo asked.
"What? What?" Chiun demanded. Remo handed him an object. It was made of clear plastic and it rattled.
"Oooooh," Chiun said. "How pretty. What is it?"
"It's one of those silly candy dispensers," Remo said hollowly. "You flip the lid and the little sugar pellets spill out. They're big with the six-year-old set."
"How generous of you, Emperor," Chiun said, bowing.
"Are you crazy, Chiun? What good are these to us? If we tried to eat this stuff, the sugar and preservatives would disrupt our nervous systems. Probably kill us."
"Definitely kill you," Smith said.
Remo and Chiun looked at him stonily.
"They only appear to be candy dispensers. That is a disguise."
"What, then?" Remo wanted to know. His face smoldered. As a former orphan, Christmas remained a sore point with him.
"They are advanced communications devices. All I need do is press a button on my system like so . . ." Smith hit a key.
Instantly the devices in Remo's and Chiun's hands emitted a musical beeping.
"How nice," Chiun cooed. "Music boxes."
"It's a freaking beeper," Remo said.
"I do not care about the name," Chiun said, putting the device to one ear. "Listen to its song. It reminds me of Korean wedding music."
"Exactly," said Remo, tossing his beeper onto the desk.
"Be careful with that. It cost a small fortune."