"What-"
Remo stepped in at that moment, saying, "Chiun! Let him go."
"He was sent here by the insidious Mars Incorporated-therefore, he knows what transpired here. Speak, alien one."
The technician squealed like a speeded-up voice recording. "My name is Otis Mine. I'm from Boca Raton. And I don't know what you're talking about."
Remo flashed his NTSB ID and said, "I think there's a little misunderstanding here."
Chiun squeezed harder, and the man's eyes began to bug out. His face became purple and rubbery, his nostrils flaring.
"Behold, his true countenance is revealing itself. See how the eyes protrude unhumanly?" Chiun said triumphantly.
"You're doing that to him," Remo countered.
"I am merely encouraging him to resume his normal appearance," Chiun returned.
"He's going to need plastic surgery if you keep that up."
Stooping, Remo picked up the dropped candy bar. He held it to the moonlight so the bold red letters were visible.
"Is this your clue?" he asked Chiun.
"Yes. This spy is on a world that is to him alien, and he must consume food from his home planet to survive."
"Chiun, this is a Mars bar."
"Yes. From Mars."
"No, it's not."
"Read the small print," Chiun sniffed.
Remo did. "Says 'Copyright Mars Inc.'"
"Proof!" said Chiun, giving his captured Martian another squeeze. He got even purpler.
"Hackettstown, New Jersey," Remo finished. "I'm from New Jersey. And I'm not even remotely Martian."
"Obviously, that refers to the Martian New Jersey."
"There is no Martian New Jersey."
"There is a Jupiter, Florida, is there not?" Chiun demanded.
"But there's no Hackettstown, New Jersey, Planet Mars. Trust me, I used to eat these things when I was a kid."
"That exact same?"
"Well, the wrapper's different from what I remember."
"Hah! Therefore, this is a shoddy counterfeit."
"They're selling these over at the commissary. Okay?"
Chiun narrowed his hazel eyes until they were unreadable slits.
Gently Remo extracted the hapless technician from the Master of Sinanju's fierce clutch.
"Misunderstanding. You can go now."
"But we will be watching you," Chiun called after him in a cold voice.
The NASA technician stumbled away.
His hands retreating into the belled sleeves of his coat, Chiun regarded Remo with thin disapproval. His eyes flicked to Kinga. "Who is this?"
"Kinga. She's a reporter."
"Why is she following you?"
"It's okay. She's the first woman in a zillion years who doesn't want to jump my bones."
"I do not know this phrase," Kinga said. "What does it mean, please?"
"Ya tebya lyublu, " said Chiun.
"Prastee'te?" Kinga replied.
Chiun leveled accusing eyes at Kinga. "She is Russian, not Hungarian."
"I am Hungarian, but I speak fluent Russian."
"Bocsanat," said Chiun.
"Koszonom," replied Kinga. Then in English, "You speak Magyar?"
"Obviously," said Chiun.
"What's Magyar?" asked Remo.
"The Hungarian national language," said Kinga.
"I thought the Hungarian national language was Hungarian."
"Only an American could be so ignorant not to know of Magyar," Kinga scoffed.
"Well, Polish people speak Polish," Remo said.
"That is a different matter entirely. Poles are Slavs."
"How many fingers do I hold up?" asked Chiun, displaying four fingers.
"Negy," said Kinga.
"Not chety're?"
"That is the Russian word. I will reply to your question in Russian if you wish."
"You smell Russian. You smell of borscht and black bread."
"I have eaten these foods, but not recently. I much prefer American foods exclusively since I come to this country. Especially Beeg Meks and chizburgers."
"You will die young and in pain, then," spat Chiun.
"Who is this fulminating little man?" Kinga asked Remo.
"That's Chiun. My partner."
"He is very unusual. Such frankness of speech to a stranger."
Chiun made a nasal sound like a polite snort. He had the Mars bar and was examining it critically.
"This is unfit for human consumption."
"It's chocolate, caramel and nougat," Remo said.
"Fit only for Martian stomachs."
Remo sighed. "Look, we're getting nowhere at this rate. Let's get serious or get out of here. We've seen that whatever did this was the same thing that zapped the BioBubble."
"What do you know of the BioBubble disaster?" asked Kinga suddenly.
"That it was a mercy killing," said Chiun, bustling up. "What do you know of this, Russian?"
"I am Hungarian," Kinga insisted.
"Perhaps. Answer the question."
"I am reporter. I am interested in your theory as to what force or agency is responsible for what has transpired here."
"Martians," said Chiun, turning on his heel.
Remo started after him, calling over his shoulder, "You coming or not?"
"I am coming. I find you both very interesting."
"That's a start," said Remo.
"I do not understand you very well," Kinga said, a plaintive note coming into her cultured voice.
"The feeling's mutual," returned Remo.
"Men are from Mars, women are from Venus," sniffed Chiun. "And if you both are wise, you will remain in your own spheres."
"I hear Mars needs women," countered Remo, grinning.
Kinga fixed them with a look that could only be called askance.
Chapter 18
In a darkened Orlando hotel room, a roll of film was coming out of the portable developer. Once exposed, the film would have far-reaching geopolitical consequences, though no one would recognize this until it was too late to turn back the doomsday clock on humanity.
Travis "Red" Rust took a jeweler's magnifying eyepiece to the contact sheet and was going through each shot looking for the best one.
He got to shot thirteen, moved on, then jumped back so fast and hard he bruised his eye.
When the tearing stopped, he looked at the image with his right eye, then the left, then the right again to make triply sure what he was looking at wasn't an emulsion glitch.
Rust started to reach for the telephone, then thought better of it.
"This is worth more to the networks than to that rag," he muttered. "It's red-hot."
He got to work developing print thirteen.
At the local CBS affiliate, the news director was having none of it. "It's a still picture. We're TV. We need tape. Still pictures make viewers reach for their clickers."
"It shows the exact instant before the ray hit the Reliant," Red said urgently.
"You got the moment of the explosion?"
"No. But I got some great after shots. Shows the thing actually hissing and spitting like a volcano."
"We might be able to use them. Leave them, and we'll get back to you."
"It's the before shot that's important. Everyone knows the Reliant was torched. But no one know what did it. This picture may be the only clue."
The news director got interested. Grabbing the picture, he looked at it and made assorted faces. "What am I looking for?"
"Letters in the sky."
He looked closer and saw the white configurations against the background star constellations just behind the Reliant.
"Those?"
"Yeah. See? They spell out a word, probably in an alien language."
"Looks like plain English to me."
"Look closer. The N is backward."
"Okay, it's backward. And it's a little p not a big P. So what?"
"But the M and the P face frontward," Rust said excitedly.
"I repeat my so?"
"That means it's not an M and a P. Not our M or P."
"What are you saying, Rust?"
"I think this is a signal from Mars."
"Oh, get off it."