believe in vengeance.
“I guess this is it,” said Remo.
“What is it? We are going to be priests now? What are we doing here?”
“I just explained to you,” said Remo. “If you don't like it, go back to the condo. I don't need you. You know I don't need you.”
“You do need me. But not for these silly things Emperor Smith sends you to do. Will you do his shopping next?”
“We may be saving the life of the President of the United States,” said Remo.
“Why? We don't work for him. We work for Smith. We should be removing the President of the United States. We should be making Smith president.”
“He wouldn't be president if we killed the President. The Vice-President would become president.”
“Then him too. I remember the histories of the Lesser Wang. A shaman, a priest and distant relative to the king, called upon Sinanju with a great problem. Between him and the throne were fourteen heirs, from princes to princesses to royal lords. The Lesser Wang promised that within one year the shaman would be king. And he was. A vice-president has no more eternal life than a president.”
“But after that comes the Secretary of State, I believe.”
“When does Smith become emperor?”
“He never becomes emperor. Don't you understand?”
“If he never becomes emperor, what is he doing with the finest assassins in the history of the world? Why is he wasting Sinanju?”
“We're not wasting Sinanju. We're helping to save a country I love. Don't you understand? You don't want to understand.”
“No. I do not wish to understand that you love thousands of square miles of waste and pollution and two hundred and twenty million people you have never met. Not when you give nothing to the one who gives you your powers. That's all right. I am used to this, Remo. I am used to your ingratitude. At least I should be by this time.”
“It doesn't mean I don't love you.”
“If you loved me, really loved me, we would be working for an emperor. You would not waste your talents and skills on this... this whatever-we're-doing.”
“We're doing it,” said Remo, and they were at the gate, where a young man in glasses and a white shirt handed them a piece of paper offering a free character test.
“That's what we're here for. We want to join.”
“You're supposed to get the free character test and then you join.”
“We want to join,” said Remo.
“Could you take the test first?”
“We have characters. Why do we need character tests?” asked Chiun.
“I don't know,” said Remo. “He wants us to take a test. We'll take a test.”
“I don't want to take a test,” said Chiun.
“Then don't.”
“Are you going to take the test?”
“Yes.”
“Then I'll take the test,” said Chiun. “We will see whose character is superior or...”
“Or what?” said Remo.
“We will see if it is a bad test.”
“You can't stand to lose, Little Father,” said Remo.
“When I can lose, we're dead.”
The test was given in a large room divided by small movable walls. Chiun tore down the wall between Remo and himself so he could see Remo's answers.
“You can't do that!” said a young woman with a loose-leaf folder.
“I just did,” said Chiun. “I could do that all day.”
“They mean you shouldn't, Little Father.”
“Then they should express themselves more clearly.”
The young woman looked to the other men in the room. They confirmed that these two were indeed hers.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Daphne Bloom. I am a counselor here at Poweressence. We are not trying to sell you anything, but rather to see if you might need what we have to offer.”
Daphne was attractive, with a pert smile and a bouncy body to match. But every time the smile disappeared, she appeared desperately intense. The smile was only an external interruption.
“We don't normally test two people at once, but since you have removed the screen, I guess that's the way we'll do it. Who will go first?”
“Me,” said Remo.
“I will go first,” said Chiun.
“Go ahead,” said Remo.
“No, you go. I want to hear your answers, so that I can show the correct answers.”
“This is a character test, Little Father. No one wins.”
“Someone wins in every test.”
“You both can win,” said Daphne, “if you find out what you need in life.”
Remo glanced around the room. There were no curtains, no pictures, just the little cubicles placed in the center of what probably had been a vast dance floor. It seemed like a desecration, turning elegance into office space.
The room smelled of old cigarette smoke and floor cleaner. The chairs were hard metal folding devices, the table of the cubicle some synthetic composite designed by an accountant somewhere who thought low cost was the object.
“The first question is: Are you happy mostly, somewhat, or not at all?” asked Daphne.
“I can be happy knowing Remo is doing the right thing,” said Chiun.
“Which means?”
“I am never happy,” said Chiun.
“You're always happy, Little Father. You're happy when you're bitching.”
“Put down 'never happy, ever,'” said Chiun. “Would you be happy, beautiful young lady, if you had a son who talked to you like that?”
“I don't think I would,” said Daphne. “He's your son? You don't look white.”
“I am Korean.”
“Oh, he's Korean?”
“See?” said Chiun.
“Get on with the questioning. I'm white,” said Remo.
“Even this beautiful intelligent young woman knows,” said Chiun. “Thank you, miss.”
“All right, Remo, are you happy mostly, sometimes, rarely?”
“All the time,” snapped Remo.
“You don't look happy.”
“I'm happy. Get on with it.”
“I am the one who is unhappy,” said Chiun.
“You look happy,” said Daphne.
“One must bestow joy on his surroundings. Through joy, we have joy,” said Chiun.
“That's beautiful,” said Daphne.
“Wait until he tells you about heads on the wall,” said Remo.
“Are you some Oriental religion? I love Oriental religions.”
“I am Sinanju,” said Chiun.
“That's beautiful,” said Daphne. “I love the sound.”
“Then you'd better like dead bodies,” said Remo.
