“You are looking well, my son,” the image said. The voice was strong and reverberant.
“And you, grandfather,” Hosato replied.
He was genuinely relieved to see his grandfather in such good health. The elder Hosato was in his nineties but he sat ramrod straight. His tight unlined face rested on a sinewy pillar of a throat that loomed up from muscular shoulders. It had been five years since Hosato had last spoken to him directly.
“Your mother and sister have been worried about you,” the image continued. “It has been many years since we have heard from you.”
“I apologize for any distress I might have caused them. Since leaving home, I have traveled far, and on the occasions I could afford to communicate with you, proper facilities were not available.”
“We are not wealthy,” his grandfather pointed out sternly. “But we would have accepted the expense of such a communication to hear from our eldest son.”
Hosato hung his head. “Though I knew this, my pride would not let me impose such a burden on you. Forgive me.”
The image waved a ghostly hand. “Enough of such talk,” it said. “Tell me of your adventures since you left us.”
“Most recently, I had a supporting role in a production of Down the Alley on Tansil,” Hosato responded.
“I am not familiar with this play,” the image stated.
“It is a very old script. The story revolves around a young criminal who…”
To a casual observer viewing the conversation, it would seem to be a normal, though prolonged, exchange of pleasantries, gossip, and news between father and son.
It wasn’t.
The Hosato family, true Ninjas that they were, were very close with their secrets. They did not engage in idle conversation. The fact that Hosato contacted his family at all was an immediate indication that he was facing a crisis, one that either required the family’s counsel or was a direct threat to the family.
As they spoke, Hosato and the image of his grandfather, their hands and fingers moved minutely, constantly changing position. It was not the hand signals of the deaf-mutes or the sign language of the Great Plains Indians. It was the Hosato family code, which had been passed along for generations. It was drilled into all members of the family until they were able to carry on two conversations simultaneously, one verbal, which served only to cover the real conversation passing between the subtly moving hands. Many people spoke Japanese, but only the family knew this code.
After Hosato’s hands had finished explaining the current situation, his grandfather immediately formed the question he had been dreading.
“What of your companions?” the fingers asked.
“I seek advice on how to proceed with my mission,”
Hosato countered. “I am faced with a foe that threat-ens-the existence of mankind.”
“Mankind has faced many threats,” came the reply from the image’s hands. “Yet it still survives. Your companions constitute a direct threat to our family.”
“The mechanic does not possess sufficient knowledge of our activities to constitute a threat,” he explained.
“And the woman and the boy?”
There it was. His grandfather had now asked the question directly. Hosato could no longer evade the issue.
“I was considering sponsoring them into the family,” he stated.
The image’s hands were motionless for several moments before replying.
“A family member may sponsor only one outsider for membership.” The fingers formed the words with a crisp abruptness. “It is the law.”
“I was hoping that under the circumstances, an exception could be made to the law,” Hosato appealed.
“It is the law,” came the firm answer.
“As current head of the family, it is within your power to change or modify the law,” Hosato pleaded.
“My son,” the image responded slowly, “the laws of the family are not to be changed lightly. Perhaps if you live to succeed me as head of the family, you will realize that.”
“I do not ask lightly now!” Hosato insisted. “I only ask—”
“You ask me to change one of the oldest laws of the family,” the image interrupted. “To save you from having to make a difficult decision. I will not.”
Hosato experienced a sinking sensation in his stomach as the image’s fingers continued their statement. “There are two outsiders who now possess enough information about our family to pose a threat to its continued existence. You may sponsor only one for membership. The other must be eliminated. As you were the source of their information, it becomes your task to carry out the mission. Fail in this, and you will no longer be considered a member of the family. We will speak no more of this.”
“My grandfather,” Hosato motioned desperately, “I would ask that you keep an open mind on this. You yourself have said the strength of a law is in its flexibility.”
“As to your mechanical foes”—the image continued ignoring him—“if you insist on involving yourself further in this affair, remember your training. If faced by an enemy possessing superior strength and speed, seek a way to use that strength and speed to your advantage. Do not directly oppose, but yield and add your own strength and speed to that of your enemy to create a force greater than that directed against you.”
Hosato paid only partial attention to the image’s advice. The rest of his concentration was focused on the problem confronting him. His grandfather would not reconsider or even hear additional arguments on the subject of Sasha and James. He simply dictated that one of them must die, then dismissed the matter.
“I shall remember your advice, my grandfather,” Hosato signaled.
“Do you have any further questions or need for counsel?” the fingers asked.
Hosato thought for a moment.
“How many members of the family have been excommunicated in the past?” he asked finally.
There was a pause before the image’s hands moved in answer.
“I do not know,” it said. “If a member is so banished, all references and records of him are stricken from the family history.”
Hosato thought for a moment more.
“I have no further questions,” he signaled at last.
“I fear our time for conversation draws to an end my son,” the image said, returning to the verbal line of communication. “You must contact us more often, neh. In the meantime, continue to conduct yourself in a manner your family can take pride in. Sayonara.”
“I will remember, my grandfather. Sayonara and domo!” Hosato replied, and watched as the image faded to nothingness.
He remained motionless for long minutes after contact was broken, lost in thought.
Could he do it. Could he coldly kill either Sasha or James to preserve the curtain of secrecy around the Hosato family. Or should he openly defy his father, and in doing so face banishment from his family?
He tried to weigh the consequences of each action in his mind, but they merged and ran together La a confused kaleidoscope of indecision.
Shimatta. He had made a mistake—a big one. The only question in his mind was whether the mistake was taking James and Sasha into his confidence or in seeking his grandfather’s advice and approval.
Finally he shook his head. Perhaps Sasha was right. It was foolish to consider the future until it was known if there would be a future. There was every probability the upcoming mission against the Mc. Crae robots would solve the problem for him. If not, he could make his decision then.
He rose and went to join the others.
“That’s some complex!” the Hungarian stated enthusiastically to the group, once they had reconvened. “Do you think someday my little workshop here will grow up to be like that?”
Hosato was in no mood for humorous banter. “Come on,” he interrupted. “We’ve been waiting for your report.”
The Hungarian waved his drink at him. “And you can’t wait another five minutes. Not even for a few social pleasantries?” he protested. “I’ve been back only fifteen minutes, and you—”