“But you can’t see any reason for learning to use it?”

The boy’s beige cotton-and-nylon jumpsuit would give him freedom of movement, though not as much as Hosato’s black fencing uniform. The soft-soled boots would give him traction, but the cloak was too long. With any luck, he’d trip over that cloak, or at least find it tangling his arm if he turned too suddenly.

“No, I don’t,” the youth retorted. “Nobody actually fights with swords. They’re a fashionable status symbol. Two years ago it was spangle gloves, today it’s swords. Big deal.”

Hosato abandoned his preparatory observations to make one last effort to convince the boy logically.

“Look, James. Your father is one of the most important men in this complex—a complex, I might add, that is constantly feuding with another complex on Grunbecker’s planet. That makes you a prime target for kidnapping or assassination. Realizing that, can’t you see the value of learning to use the one weapon the laws let you carry?”

“Let Security handle them.” The boy shrugged. “That’s what we pay them for.”

The tile floor of the rec room would give them decent footing, though not ideal. The far end of the room was still in darkness, but the X aisle here between the four pool tables would be well lighted enough to work in. Having completed his survey, Hosato moved to set up the confrontation.

“Security will handle them.” He sneered, mimicking the boy’s voice. “And what if they don’t. What will you do then. File a complaint. Or would you be forced to do your own fighting for a change?”

The main vulnerability of youth is not inexperience, it’s pride. The boy’s head came up with a snap as he reacted to the slight.

“I can take care of myself if I have to.”

“Is that a fact?” Hosato stung the boy with a patronizing smile. “Tell you what, James. If I can prove to you that you can’t handle yourself in a fight, will you agree to study what I have to teach you?”