The toe struck the side of the bullet head just as the square black panel of glass that hid the fearsome foe's face finished turning in Chiun's direction.
The black top of Chiun's sandal connected just as the red rod emitted a burst of pristine white light so pure it shocked Chiun's eyes, even though they were tightly sealed by his papery eyelids.
Chiun felt the impact, recoiled from it and recovered as the body of his foe went whump on the floor of the air pocket at the heart of the BioBubble.
Only when the rattle of death reached his ears did the Master of Sinanju open his eyes and face the defeated one.
Carefully Chiun padded up to the bulky shape on the floor.
The body lay like a bloated starfish, limbs splayed to the four quarters. Where the head should be was an empty space.
That sight satisfied Chiun, who then flew down the tunnel, seeking his pupil.
He found Remo leaning against a glassy wall with one hand. The other was groping at his face. His eyes were open, but they were sightless, the pupils contracted to shocked pinpoints, the whites shot with angry scarlet threads.
For a moment, the Master of Sinanju paused, stricken by the paralyzed expression on his pupil's formerly proud countenance.
Then, steeling himself, he stepped forward. "Remo! What is it?"
Remo's reply came in a squeezed voice. "Chiun, II can't see."
Chiun's wrinkled visage flinched like a web touched by a stick. "What do you see in this condition?"
"Everything is white."
"Not black?"
"No. White."
"This is strange. If you are blind, you should see blackness."
"That guy was in here. Be careful."
"I encountered him. He is no more, Remo. You have been avenged."
Remo hesitated before replying in a thick voice. "Thanks, Little Father."
"I would do the same for any other adopted son, if I had one."
Remo waved a helpless hand in Chiun's direction. "Give me a hand."
Chiun took three quick steps, then halted. No, this was not the time or place to coddle Remo.
"No," he said.
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"If you are blind, you must learn to use your other senses."
"Look, just give me a hand out of here," Remo said angrily.
"No. You know the path that you took to the place of your downfall. You have only to retrace your foolhardy steps."
Remo made a stiff face. He looked to be on the verge of losing his temper. Then, straightening his spine and composing his face, he oriented himself using only his senses of hearing and touch.
At first he employed the tips of his fingers to guide him along the glassy walls. As confidence returned, his hand dropped free and he used his supersharp ears. No doubt the beating of the Master of Sinanju's heart guided him.
Chiun willed his heart to be momentarily still. It did not stop. It merely beat with exceeding slowness, a technique that, if prolonged, would result in a catalepsy that simulated death.
"No fair," Remo complained. "I can't hear your heartbeat."
Chuin said nothing. He was holding his breath. He stepped backward with exceeding caution, his sandaled feet making no sound on the glassy floor. He moved aside to allow Remo to pass him unsuspecting.
Without tripping or stumbling, Remo made it down the glass tube and into the central air pocket, where he immediately fell over the body of the defeated one.
"Is this him?" Remo asked, feeling the padded body.
"Yes," said Chiun, allowing his heart and lungs to function normally once more.
"I don't feel any head."
"Proof of its undeniable Martianness. For it has none."
"I saw him. For just a second. It had a head."
"A helmet. I removed it. But no head lay beneath it.
Remo felt the shoulders, then brought his hands together.
"Feels like there's a stump."
Frowning, Chiun went to the bullet helmet and lifted it up.
Shaking it vigorously, he got a head to fall out with an audible bonk.
"Was that what I think it was?" asked Remo, getting to his feet.
"Yes," returned Chiun thinly. "The head."
"What's it look like?"
"Ugly."
"How ugly?" asked Remo, drawing near, his face curious.
"Exceedingly ugly."
"What color skin?"
"Yellow."
"The Martian is yellow skinned?"
"Yes. With hideous eyes and a flat nose."
"Better save it for Smith, then."
"Of course," said Chiun, dropping the head into its helmet and carrying it like a baseball in a catcher's mitt. "Now it is time that we leave this place of shame."
Remo fell in behind the Master of Sinanju, his face and voice dazed and dull. "I only caught a glimpse of him-it," he said thickly. "I was moving on him, and everything went white."
"You see whiteness still?"
"Yeah. What does that mean? Anything?"
Chiun frowned. "I do not know. Perhaps because you are white, this is normal."
Remo shook his head and felt for the stepladder top rung with his feet. "Blind people see darkness. Everybody knows that."
Chiun said nothing in response. His eyes were clouded and troubled.
Remo descended with careful movements. Chiun followed. They worked their way back through the underground kitchen to the camouflage trapdoor and emerged into the hot Arizona air once more.
"Follow me," said Chiun.
Remo did. He said nothing. His face was loose with a kind of dull shock. Several times he licked his lips as if he wanted to say something, but instead compressed them. The color of his face was very, very pale. His breathing was out of rhythm.
Chiun let these things pass. There was no danger here, so it was not important. No danger. No future, either. Not for Remo. Not for the House.
They came upon Amos Bulla and Tom Pulse near the collapsed BioBubble.
"Something happened inside the BioBubble," Pulse said when he saw them.
"It is not important," Chiun said thinly.
"The whole thing shone white for a moment. It was like a big light bulb. Or a flying saucer about to take off."
"Yeah," said Amos Bulla. "I saw it with my own eyes."
Chiun's voice climbed to the sky. "What! You saw?"
"Yeah."
"You were blind."
"My eyes cleared up."
Turning, Chiun cried, "Remo, did you hear that?"
"Of course. I'm not deaf. Just blind."
"And you are only blind for now. For the affliction is not permanent."
"Whew!" said Remo in relief.
"He got you, too?" Bulla asked.
"Yeah, but we got him," said Remo, sitting down to wait for his sight to clear.
Bulla and Pulse gathered around the Master of Sinanju.
"Is that what I think it is?" Bulla asked, indicating the silver helmet in Chiun's long-nailed grasp.
"Yes. It is his head."
"How'd it come off?"
"It was loose. A mere tap unbalanced it."
"Martians must be made of flimsy stuff," Bulla said, avoiding the sight of the head in the helmet.
"I don't believe in men from Mars," said Remo, not wanting to be left out of the conversation even if he couldn't see what was under discussion.
"It has a yellow visage and horrible, catlike eyes," said Chiun.
"Yeah?"
"Truly."
"Hey!" said Remo suddenly, "I think I'm starting to see again." He stood up. Blinking his eyelids, he waved his fingers before his face. After a while, his features brightened and the pinpoint pupils slowly relaxed to normal size.
"I can see again. I can see again!"
"Clearly?" asked Chiun, concealing his joy with a stern tone.
"No, just my fingers. They're a blur. But it's coming back."
"Try closing your eyes. That'll help some," said Bulla.
Remo did.
"When the whiteness becomes red, you'll know you're okay," Bulla offered.