Dream Thing

“Master Chiun, I beg to differ. I must point out that the seas are not being dried up. The water is being returned to the world in ways that might be beneficial in the long term.”

“No, Dr. Smith,” Mark Howard said. “The danger lies in Antarctica. Nobody’s had time to think it through yet, but they will.”

“Antarctica?” Smith said.

Chiun nodded in understanding. “That is the key to all this. The water that Sa Mangsang releases elsewhere is incidental.”

“Incidental?” Remo exclaimed.

“Sa Mangsang’s true purpose was to remove the water to Antarctica—the other fountains are side effects or mistakes.”

“What are you talking about?” Remo asked. “Junior, give me a clue.”

Smith was searching the news feeds from all the world’s media organizations, and he found footage from Antarctica. The first to arrive was an Australian documentary team that had been at the Mawson outpost. They were hundreds of miles away, but still the closest media team to the twin South Pole vents. They were feeding back their first video images, and CNN was picking them up for global distribution.

White mountains of ice were building up in the South Pole as the twin fountains sprayed boiling liquid. The steam and rain reached dizzying heights, and cooled as it fell. Eventually it precipitated and froze, and the pinnacles grew.

“Just three hours ago the first of the steam vents erupted here in Antarctica …” the Australian news report began, but Smith switched the sound off.

“That’s a lot of ice,” Remo noted.

“The great heat propels it above ground and the great cold locks it into ice,” Chiun said. “One wonders how much of the oceans is displaced there already?”

There was a knock on the door and Sarah Slate entered. She placed an affectionate arm on the shoulder of Master Chiun, and put the somber macaw on the cracked leather arm of his chair before leaving without a word.

“Bird,” said the Master by way of greeting, and by way of asking for a progress report.

It nodded at him and said nothing. Chiun appeared pained by this lack of response.

“Master Chiun,” Smith said, “I wish you to tell me more about the legends of Sa Mangsang.”

Chiun stroked the fine yellow threads of his beard. “It is not usual for a Master to reveal the knowledge of Sinanju. Especially to an Emperor.” Chiun had much more he might say, but he knew how to hold his tongue in the presence of his Emperor. Mad Harold was wise about many things, but in other ways he was a fool who would not suffer himself to be named one. Chiun had attempted to educate him about Sa Mangsang and had been thanked with insulting disregard.

Smith stood and looked out the window, his hands clasped behind his back, examining the shoreline and the thin, dirty watermark.

“I have come to believe in the truth of your prophecy, Chiun. Forgive me for doubting you.”

Chiun inclined his head.

“I am a man of science, but I failed to see the scientific truth in the Moovian legends,” Smith explained. “Now it is incontrovertible.”

Chiun pursed his lips.

“It is not the first time I have made such a mistake,” Smith added. “Regardless, I believe, and I will believe what you tell me you know, if you will tell me. I may translate it into terms I may understand better, but I will believe.”

Chiun was silent and still as an ancient edifice, then he said, “Too much does this world rely on its science. Science is destructive. The collection of knowledge is destructive. What if, some day, man learns too much?”

“Knowledge is beneficial. Man cannot learn too much,” Mark Howard commented.

“Wrongo,” Remo said. “You hear about the mechanical buggies we found in the Land of Golf and Haggis?”

“Developing new weapons is harmful—specifically, advancing the foundation of human knowledge?” Mark asked. “That’s what you’re talking about, right, Master Chiun?”

“Yes. Too much association of science.”

“That is progress,” Smith insisted. “But it’s not our purpose now. We’re here to discuss Sa Mangsang.”

“It may make humanity mad, to find out its place in the universe,” Chiun declared. “Nevertheless, I shall tell you of Sa Mangsang.”

Smith nodded and sat back in his chair, and he was about to ask how Sa Mangsang and the place of humanity in the universe were linked. But he thought better of it.

Chiun said, “Sa Mangsang is Korean for ‘Dream Thing,’ for he exerts his will in dreams. He reaches out to the minds that are amenable to his influence. These are the mad and the perceptive and the devout. Also, and especially, the Seers.”

Chiun nodded to Mark Howard.

“He is Tako-Ika, the Octopus Squid, to the Japanese, and Khadhulu, Forsaker of Life, to the Arabs. To the Norsemen he was Kraken, but the Vikings never knew Sa Mangsang—only his minions.”