'My honorable father can go fuck himself,' Tomashi interrupted.
'He's here,' Kage forced in, before his charge could go off on a lengthier rant.
'So?'
'He wouldn't care for…'
'You're right. He. Wouldn't. Care.' Tomashi said. He produced a flat-profile pistol from under the pillows on the bed and made a show of checking the magazine and the slide, sighting along its length at nothing in particular in a corner of the room.
'Where did you get that?' Kage asked, already knowing the answer. The weapon was a familiar one. There was a cold knot in his stomach.
'Where do you think?'
'That's not a toy.'
'Sure it is, just like you.' He swung the pistol around to point in Kage's direction, causing the other man to fight down the urge to reach for his own weapon, holstered under his coat.
'Do not point that thing at me!' he said through clenched teeth, taking a fractional step towards the lounging Tomashi.
'Or what…? You'll kill me?'
Stepping in, grabbing the hand holding the gun faster than the eye could follow, pinning the wrist in a vice-like grip…
'No…' he said quietly. 'No, but it's careless, and dangerous, not everyone has my… restraint.'
Tomashi just laughed, slowly releasing the hammer of the gun and deliberately raising the barrel towards the ceiling before lowering it to the bed.
'Something to be said for going out in a blaze of glory,' he mused, more to himself, looking longingly at the gun. 'Better to burn out than to fade away.'
If so, you're well on your way, Kage thought. Even if he was able to protect Tomashi from all outside threats, including the strong temptation to beat him within a nanometer of his life, he couldn't do anything to protect him from himself. A fascination with simsense programs had blossomed into a full-blown obsession, perhaps even addiction.
Tomashi had long since given up popular sims like Shadow Super-Mage Talon and Ninja Slayer IX. Even the so-called 'California Hot' and 'Kong Chips,' with their barely legal signal levels and boosted emotional gains, were not enough to satisfy him. Tomashi was into what many called 'real sim.' It wasn't the pre-packaged, carefully edited programs sold in stores, recordings of staged events and the experiences of simstars, but raw 'wet record' sims of real action, real events, of the kind of life he didn't have.
He tried a different tack: 'Your father is concerned about you… and so am I.'
'My father is concerned about his reputation and his legacy,' Tomashi countered bitterly, 'and you're paid to be concerned about me.'
'No, I'm not,' he countered, just as coldly, 'and you know it.'
'Sure you are. You're paid with your life, and your honor, and all those things you can do.' He gestured vaguely towards his own head with the pistol he held in his hand, as if all those things were stored up there, which, in a way, they were. 'I have a pretty good idea just how much all of your mods cost.' He waved his free hand-and not the gun-in Kage's direction.
'I'm sure you do,' he shot back, 'especially…' but then a knock sounded at the door and Kage went to it, shooting the slightly younger man a penetrating look. It was a familiar routine and his duty gave him something to hold on to in situations like this. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his spare pistol disappear beneath Tomashi's pillow. He'd have to deal with that later.
Even though they were as safe in the oyabun's home as they could be anywhere, Kage approached the unknown behind the door like a possible threat. It was his job. He opened the door a fraction, his concealed hand hovering near his weapon.
'Yojimbo,' the man on the other side said, and he bowed slightly in response.
'Kanaga-san,' he replied neutrally, sliding the door open further for the kobun to enter the room, if he wished.
'The Chairman wishes to see you.'
Kage wondered if he detected a hint of gloating in the kobun's voice. He knew full well Kanaga was a traditionalist who did not approve of half-breed 'samurai' guarding the oyabun's son. He frequently criticized Chairman Shigeda's policies, in fact; Kage never understood why the oyabun tolerated him, but Kanaga was efficient, and the Chairman liked men willing to challenge him, to a point. Such tolerance was a part of the 'New Way' Shiegada-sama and his organization espoused.
He bowed in acknowledgement of the message, as if delivered by the voice of the oyabun himself, and Kanaga turned and walked away from the door. Kage gave a quick glance back before he followed, but Tomashi was already settling back onto the pillows and restarting the sim-feed. He sighed, closing the door behind him as he left.
The room down the hall was the oyabun's personal study, and sometime office, although he conducted little official business there. It was appointed in a lean, minimalist style enhanced by virtual installations. Displays, input devices, and other necessities could appear as needed via the oyabun's personal commlink and the other discretely hidden Matrix nodes in the room. Kage knew full well that he entered through an invisible web of scanning beams, tiny cams, and mics-every action observed and recorded. Another typical night for me, he mused somewhat bitterly. He was only grateful Tomashi hadn't thought to activate his sim-rig to record this as well.
The oyabun did not speak at first, leaving Kage standing just inside the panel doors as Kanaga withdrew and they whispered closed. Although they looked like traditional rice paper, they were actually a far tougher polycarbonate composite. The Shigeda-gumi was a progressive one, after all, and the Chairman (he preferred that title whenever possible) sought to blend old and new practices suited to the Sixth World. The virtual rendering decorating the wall opposite the windows was symbolic of this: based on the first famous commuter-captured photo of the Great Dragon Ryumyo in Japan, displayed across the Internet in the days just after the Awakening at the end of 2011. The iridescent dragon and the sleek bullet train were a contrast between the ancient and modern, the mythical and technological. The paired swords displayed on the polished wood credenza were replicas using modern carbon steel with monofilament diamond edges. The calligraphic wall scroll, on the other hand, was authentic, from the 1800s, as Kage recalled.
Chairman Shigeda stood in front of the window to the side of the room's low desk, arms clasped behind his back, looking out into the rain spattered darkness through the carbon-composite windows in a manner Kage found achingly familiar.
'My son,' he began in a low, firm voice, 'is not worthy of your efforts, Yojimbo.'
'Shigeda-sama…' the oyabun's hand went up, cutting off any further protest and indicating he was not looking for vain denials of what they both already knew.
'Still,' he continued, as if not interrupted. 'Tomashi is safe in your care. I know this. You were made to be his perfect companion and protector… as his mother wished.'
His perfect plaything, Kage thought, but kept the comment to himself.
'Your service has been right and honorable, but my son has not followed your example as I had hoped. I must now send him away, and you with him.'
Kage's head involuntarily lifted, eyes flicking toward the window. Fortunately, the other man had not turned around and did not see, focused on whatever images were there for him in the darkness beyond the glass.
Chairman Shigeda was a relatively young man for his esteemed position, and believed it was important to maintain appearances. He dressed in a Western fashion, in a dark, tailored suit with a cream-colored, perfectly pressed shirt and a handmade silk tie. His collar and cuffs were long enough to conceal the irezumi, the traditional tattoos he wore, and his black hair was neatly trimmed and styled.
Kage considered the contrast between them, dressed as he was in a flowing armored coat, even indoors, with the close-fitting dark clothes underneath made of modern armor-cloth blends. He wore serviceable combat boots rather than imported leather shoes, and was permitted not even the tattooing of a lowly initiate, as he could not be acknowledged as anything other than what he was: Not of pure blood, but with mixed Japanese and Western features. His head was shorn, for simplicity and utility, making him look much like a dark-clad, lethal Buddhist monk, sworn to follow his path for life.
