"I am the future of Sinanju. Haven't you always said that?"
"You are the future of my house, Remo. But not of the pure line. The pure line ends with me."
"That's news?"
"Tell them to be gone," Chiun said, gesturing in the direction of the open door.
Remo turned. "Could you two give us a minute? This is family stuff." And Chiun smiled wanly.
"We'll be in my office," said Smith. Anna went reluctantly, her features a patchwork of confusion. Remo was ignoring her.
When they had gone, Chiun laid his aged head against the double pillows.
"Lean closer, my son, that I may speak of my misfortune. It is too unbearable to say aloud. I will whisper it. "
Puzzled, Remo leaned his ear next to Chiun's thin mouth.
"I can no longer have children," the Master of Sinanju intoned in a doleful hush.
Remo looked blank. "Children?"
Chiun nodded. "The seed within me has died. It is the fault of the Russian woman-her and that place of death."
"Seed?"
"Yes, seed. You know, Remo. The male seed. The seed that makes the female fat with child."
"Are you trying to tell me you're impotent?"
"Shhh! Do you want the whole of Folcroft to know of my shame?" Remo saw the color come back into Chiun's cheeks, but it was buried beneath the skin, like roses under wax.
"Little Father," Remo said gently, "these things happen. You get older, you slow down, things change. I don't think it is so terrible."
"So terrible!" Chiun hissed. "Is there wax in your white ears? There can be no offspring of my bloodline. It is over. When I awoke from my fevered sleep, I knew it instantly. The seed no longer burned within my loins. Alas, no woman will ever bear it now."
"Remo stood up."
"Little Father, I think I understand your disappointment. But as long as I've known you, you've never expressed any interest in having children. I always thought I was sort of ... well, you know."
A gentle light sprang into the eyes of the Master of Sinanju. "You are, Remo. But you are not the blood of my blood. Oh, there is some Korean in you. We both know this. But you are not the product of the pure seed of Sinanju."
Remo shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry if that disappoints you, Chiun. But I thought I was good enough."
The Master of Sinanju reached out to touch Remo's arm. "Do not be hurt, Remo. There is being a son and being a son. I think no less of you than I would if my dead wife had birthed you in the shadow of the Horns of Welcome itself."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is that my seed has died."
"So, it died. You weren't planning on remarrying, were you?"
"Phaggh!" Chiun spat. "No. One disappointment of a barren wife was enough. But the seed of Sinanju was there, should I have had need of it."
"For what? A sperm bank?"
"You're being insulting, Remo."
"Okay, okay. I just don't understand the fuss. You seem to be fine. I'm thrilled. That's all I care about."
"Typical," clucked Chiun. "You think only of the moment, not of the future. Very well, I will explain it so that even your dense brain will absorb the true import of this calamity."
Remo folded his arms. "I'm listening."
"I am the last of the pure line of Sinanju. You are the next Master, not of the pure line, but you will do."
"Thanks," Remo said dryly.
"I mean no insult. You have done well. For a white. But Sinanju is not merely the skills, not only the sun source. It is a blood tradition that has been passed down the line of my ancestors for centuries."
"It fell apart when you could find no relative worthy of training," Remo said. "That's how I came into the picture."
"An oversimplification-but what can I expect from one of your mentality? Try to follow along now. You are the next Master of Sinanju. When I am dust, you will take my place. But suppose something were to happen to you?"
"You'd have to start all over and train another, I guess."
"I am too old for another uphill struggle with a grown pupil. If you were to perish, I would have to start with a babe, which is the traditional way to train a future Master. Preferably a Korean. More preferably of my village, and even more preferably of my seed."
"I get it," said Remo suddenly. "If I were out of the picture, you'd try for another son."
"Yes," said Chiun. "Exactly." Then his voice trailed off. He looked at Remo suspiciously.
"What do you mean-another son?" Chiun asked. Flustered, Remo tried to cover up. "I meant another son, like me. I'm your son, sort of."
"That is not what you meant, Remo. Speak to me."
"I know about the son who died," Remo admitted.
"How?" said Chiun, sitting up. "I have never told you that story."
"True," Remo admitted.
"Have you been looking through my personal scrolls?"
"Never," said Remo, crossing two fingers over his heart and giving the Boy Scout salute.
"What, then?"
"The Great Wang told me. It was one of the things we talked about when his spirit appeared before me and I passed into full Masterhood."
"That gossip!" hissed Chiun. "He was always a gossip."
"Hey, that's no way to speak of the dead. Not to mention the greatest Master in the history of Sinanju."
"I do not wish to discuss it."
"I understand, Little Father. Maybe someday you will. Maybe someday you will see me as the son fate denied you."
"I would rather see you as the avenger of the seed of Sinanju."
"You want revenge, huh?"
"It is your duty. Our duty."
"I'm game."
"We must be careful," said Chiun, raising an admonishing finger. "I do not want you to lose your seed too."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Remo said airily. "I think I have a few good years left in me."
"You have not listened to a word I have said. This is not a calamity of aging, for I am still young in Sinanju years, but of deliberate evil. Someone did this to me. He is doing it to others. We must stop him."
"Okay," Remo said, still not following Chiun. "We'll stop him."
The Master of Sinanju sank back into the bed and closed his eyes wearily. "He has ears, but he does not understand," he muttered.
Anna Chutesov was hitting a high C when Remo walked into Smith's office.
"I am telling you that someone has perpetrated a heinous crime against my country," she railed.
"Calm down, Ms. Chutesov. I understand your frustration, but your theory is not ... plausible."
"I know what I know."
"And I know nothing," Remo interjected. "Somebody fill me in."
Anna Chutesov presented Remo with her shapely back. Remo ignored the slight.
"Ms. Chutesov thinks she has found the Soviets' missing space shuttle."
"Thinks!" Anna blazed. "I know."
"Stenciled letters on an inside wall are not exactly conclusive proof," said Smith dryly. He was seated behind his big oak desk. The computer terminal was up from its concealed port and running. Smith had sent his secretary off on an errand. He was uncomfortable conducting CURE meetings in his office, but he had no choice.
"It was the Gagarin," Anna Chutesov insisted. "Why else would it have the same name?"
"What's the Gagarin?" Remo asked.
"Ms. Chutesov is here on authority of her government to recover their missing shuttle, which may have crashed in this area."
"I got that much," Remo said.
"The shuttle is named Yuri Gagarin. She thinks she's found it."
"I have found it," Anna Chutesov bristled. "It is now called the Yuri Gagarin Free Car Wash."
Remo looked at Smith and silently made circles over his temple with a finger. He mouthed one word behind Anna's cool back: crazy?
Smith shook his head in the negative. "That doesn't sound right," Remo said.
Anna whirled on him. "What would you know, you ... you suktin synP"
"Hey," Remo said in a hurt voice. "What happened to detente? And the good times we once had?"