On the Hour, Every Hour
A Gatchaman vignette
This vignette is based on the 1972 anime series 'Science Ninja Team Gatchaman', created and owned by Tatsunoko Productions. Characters and situations are used without permission.
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"On the hour, every hour."
The newscaster smiles, shuffling her paperwork professionally. Beneath her words, music swells, its rhythm rapid and intense. Her dark hair glints in the bright studio lights as she turns to chat inaudibly to her colleague, and then the news broadcast is over, a studio ident replacing the news desk onscreen.
I sigh as my image fades from the secondary monitors, and lay down the papers. My smile fades, and the newscaster façade slides away as if it never existed. All that's left is the ache in my cheeks, and the throbbing thread of anxiety that never vanishes.
I rise, ignoring the congratulations from my producer and the nods of acknowledgement from the camera men. Those are little more than reflex actions. A daily routine. And so is my next task.
As I do every time, I move around the news desk and watch on the monitors as the video tapes rewind. I watch the Science Ninja Team face Galactor in reverse. I watch as the onslaught that threatens our world looms on the horizon, growing in power. And I've seen it all before.
I was twelve years old when Nambu came to the orphanage, and Jun was just eleven. We clung to each other in excitement, pressing to the front of the crowd, trying to catch sight of our esteemed visitor.
He was tall, but that wasn't what struck us first. Good Lord, but he was hairy. I know that sounds ridiculous now, but remember we'd led sheltered lives. The monks who raised us were holy men, powerful men, focused men. But as a rule, Asiatic men are not hairy men.
So fascinated were we with Nambu's abundant moustache that I don't think we even noticed the two boys until little Jinpei pulled at Jun's arm and pointed. The pair of them were our age, give or take. But they were worlds apart from us. Their clothes were well cut, and looked soft and smooth. Their hands were soft too – not accustomed to hard work. But their eyes? Those were familiar. Those held the spark of eagerness and intelligence that I saw every day in Jun's eyes, and in Jinpei's. That they saw in mine.
Of course, young as we were boys held little fascination for us as such. But that one moment, when they met our eyes and we met theirs… that was fascinating. We had lived for years with the knowledge that while our peers were content with a rural life in the monastery orphanage, we wanted more.
No. We needed more.
Predictably it was Jinpei who reacted first. He slipped out from Jun's grasp, ducking through the line of older boys in front of us, and dashed up to Nambu before even Cho-Kyi (the nimblest of our monk-guardians) could stop him.
"Take me with you."
Nambu took a step backwards, startled and unsure how to react to the young child. Then he glanced at the boys behind him as if reminding himself of something. They shared a look of amusement at his obvious discomfort, and I realised in that moment that they too were reminded of their early years. This wasn't a teacher with two pupils. This was a man with his family.
I think it was the pain of that realisation that kept me rooted to the spot while Jun darted forward to stand behind Jinpei, her hands on his shoulders and pulling him slightly backwards. I was a little older than Jun, just old enough to understand that I was seeing something I would never have.
But Nambu smiled down at them, bending down until he was just slightly above Jinpei's eye level.
"I think I'm looking for boys that are a little bigger," he told our little friend. Disappointed, Jinpei allowed Jun to pull him back towards me as Nambu straightened and began to inspect the pre-teen boys that the monks had lined up in the front.
Suddenly this began to make sense to me. As bizarre as it seemed given his dress and manner, Nambu must be a trainer scouting for talent. The orphanage taught us kick-boxing as a martial art – training our minds and our bodies. And giving the few of us who needed it hope. Kick-boxing offered a way out of this tranquil, restful, dull life… for some at least.
I swallowed hard, and pushed Jun and Jinpei forward again, determined that they at least should have this chance. Perhaps my own kick-boxing was best kept as a training exercise to be displayed behind closed doors, but my friends had skill and they had flare. They had a way out. Jun looked back at me, a moment of chagrin on her face as she realised why I was pushing. But then she nodded. She took Jinpei by the hand, working her way back to the front.
Jun's laughter danced across the monastery courtyard as the orphanage's young men squared off against one another – launching kicks and dodging them in a display of precise, skilled, but predictable and by the book sparring. There was nothing new there, no innovation. The two boys who had come with Nambu watched the display with ill concealed disappointment and disdain. Reading Nambu's face behind that great mass of facial hair was challenging, but from the way he turned rapidly towards the distraction I guessed he felt pretty much the same.
He sighed when he saw my friends, but he raised his hand to stop the ongoing contests when Jinpei broke free again and ran across the courtyard, dodging flying hands and feet with little regard for life and limb. The boy stopped in front of the tall man, pointing back towards Jun.
"My big sister could beat any of these guys with one hand tied behind her back!"
Jun rolled her eyes, embarrassed but not denying it. Perhaps more tellingly, none of the boys looking at Jun and Jinpei with varying degrees of annoyance and insulted pride denied it either.
Nambu didn't lean down this time, he just turned to our abbot Nyi-ma Chin-du with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry to trouble you, but I don't think any of these young men will suit my purpose." He turned to the boys. "Ken, Joe, I believe we can leave now."
The abbot smiled calmly over Jinpei's loud protests, but he met Jun's pleading eyes.
"As you will it, sir. But perhaps … one of our young women?"
Nambu smiled, as if he was taking the words as a joke. His smile faded, realising that the abbot was serious. He looked at slender, delicate Jun and then at the boys behind her – muscular from tending the livestock. He shook his head, and gestured one of his own young companions forward.
"Ken." Nambu forced a wealth of instruction into the name, shooting the boy a warning look. A smile played across Jun's lips. A boy warned to take it easy on her? He'd soon learn better.
Jun placed Jinpei firmly to one side, and now I moved forward to the youngster's side, but Jinpei wasn't about to run off. He had confidence in the girl who had chosen to be his sister. So did I.
It took Jun thirty seconds to gauge the brown-haired boy's skill in martial arts, and sweep his legs from under him. The boy, Ken, hit the ground backside-first, his expression startled. In moments, he was back on his feet, a grin on his face now as he beckoned her to another attack. This time there was no holding back. Jun mingled the formal patterns of kick-boxing with the innovations of a true martial artist, and Ken matched her with his own brand of ritual violence. The two danced around one another in something that was half way between battle and ballet. It wasn't until Jun had the boy on the ground for a second time that Nambu beckoned his second companion, Joe, into the fray. I should have felt Jinpei tense beside me, but instead I was enthralled by the sight of Jun holding off the two larger boys. When Jinpei leapt onto the back of the second aggressor, tugging at his dark-blond hair, I wasn't ready to catch him.
Cho-Kyi placed a hand on my shoulder as I took a hesitant half-step forward. I looked up into his calm, sun-weathered face.
"Doctor Nambu has sought far and wide before coming to us. He seeks warriors. I believe he has found them."
I had tears in my eyes. "I am not a warrior."
"Everyone has their own part to play in what will come. The warriors must have someone for whom to fight."
I didn't stop to listen as Nambu offered Jun her chance at a future. And I only know from second hand reports how vehemently she refused to leave Jinpei behind. Cho-Kyi had already taken me back inside the monastery, teaching me the calming meditations that in later years would allow me to report on the pain of others without feeling it myself.
I had thought Jun and Jinpei would forget me at once. I didn't expect Nambu or his wards to remember the third child who met their eyes that day. Even Jun and Jinpei, my kindred spirits amidst the passive orphanage children, could hardly be expected to remember their old life amidst the wonders of the new.
I wasn't expecting the scholarship letter that arrived at the monastery from Nambu, offering me my own path to freedom. I didn't expect Nambu to sponsor me through college and into a media internship. I never understood why he gave me the life I'd dreamed of, until the day the Turtle King attacked and I saw how he'd taken their life from my friends.
I recognised them at once, even after the years of separation. I recognised the two boys, Ken and Joe, grown now into young men that set the heart racing. I recognised Jun, still as elegant as ever, and still more deadly. And I recognised Jinpei, fearless in defence of his big sister, and the brothers he had acquired.
And now I understood why Nambu set me on the path to journalism. I understand why he wanted someone who knew them to record their victories and the price they pay for them. Every day, he sends them out to risk their lives. And he lets them remain anonymous figureheads for the ISO defence, their own personalities submerged beneath their public personas. But they are real people, and someone must remember that. Someone has to share Nambu's burden. In a world that revels in the mystery of Gatchaman and the Science Ninjas, Nambu couldn't be the only one to know their true names.
The video tape has finished rewinding now, and the monitor shows only static. I stare at it, and calm myself with a martial arts meditation. Once again they have gone out, and once again they have returned – alive and victorious. I suppress my fear for them, knowing that my anxiety will do nothing to help.
If they can do this, then I can report it. I can play my role as they play theirs. I can become the newscaster, the smiling face who reassures the public that the Science Ninjas are there for us. And I can keep the secret, keeping alive the memories of the children they once were, even as I tell the world about the heroes they have become.
I turn away from the blank screen and return to my office, helping to collate the breaking news and absorb it in time for the next bulletin.
On the hour, every hour.
The End.