With a sigh, he activated the viewscreen once more. To his surprise, however, it was Egor's face, not Whitey's that appeared on the display.
"What's wrong, Egor?" Tambu asked, instantly regretting having spoken. If he had kept quiet, Egor never would have known that his call was answered.
"Nothing's wrong," Egor answered hastily. "Whitey let me use her gear to call you is all."
"There are to be no personal conferences until the meetings are over," Tambu growled. "If there is no emergency, then-"
"It's not an emergency, but it's important," Egor interrupted. "I thought you'd want to talk it over with me first, but if you're too busy, we'll do it from the floor during the meeting."
There was a warning tone in the big man's voice that caught Tambu's attention. Swallowing his annoyance, he leaned into the mike again to apologize.
"Sorry to be so abrupt, my friend, but these meetings always set me on edge. That's part of why I avoid personal conferences until they're over-it keeps me from taking my frustrations out on people close to me. What was it you wished to discuss?"
The anger drained from Egor's face, and he dropped his eyes.
"I would like-I want you to relieve me of command," he said softly.
Tambu's annoyance flared anew, but he kept it out of his voice.
"Why?" he asked.
"These yearly meetings emphasize something we've both known for a long time now. I'm no leader. I don't belong in the same room with these others."
"You're a captain, the same as they are," Tambu retorted. "I fail to see the difference."
"The other captains know their crews," Egor protested. "When they talk at the meetings they speak as representatives of their ships."
"And you?" Tambu pressed.
"My crew doesn't like me. I don't know their minds or how they feel on the issues. I can run a ship, but I'm clumsy with people. Please. I'm asking as an old friend. Put someone else in my place. Let me go back to crewing like I did before."
"What makes you think the other captains know what their crews want?"
"It's obvious. You can see it in their stance and hear it in their voices when they talk."
"They don't know their crews any better than you do," Tambu declared harshly. "You're confusing good oratory with good leadership."
Egor frowned, trying to grasp the concept as Tambu continued.
"Look, Egor, a lot of those captains aren't as sensitive as you are. It never occurs to them that their crew might have opinions. They speak their own minds and assume their crews are in agreement with them. A lot more know their crews don't agree with them, but they don't care. They're the captains, and that's that."
"Are you sure?" Egor asked suspiciously.
"In my position, I can see it. If I were going to single out poor leaders for replacement, it would be those captains, not you. Most of them are Johnny-come-latelies who substitute words for action. Their records are so empty that they have to save their arms to call attention to each little victory. You've successfully commanded a ship for me for nearly five years now, Egor. Your record speaks for itself."
"But my crew doesn't like me," Egor insisted with characteristic doggedness.
"I'm running a business, not a popularity contest!" Tambu exploded. "Can't you get that through your head? Your crew is working because they're getting paid, not because they have any great love for you-or me, for that matter. As long as they're doing their jobs, then you're doing yours. Beyond that I don't want to hear about it."
The words hung heavy in the air as Egor stared out of the viewscreen at him with a frozen expression.
"You're right," the big man said at last, not changing his expression. "I shouldn't have bothered you."
"Egor," Tambu began, his anger gone, "my friend, I-"
"Don't worry," Egor interrupted levelly, "I'll command my ship for you. I'll command it for you until you remove me yourself. Egor out."
The viewscreen went blank.
Tambu sat motionless, staring at the screen and trying to remember when, if ever, a captain had broken with him instead of vice versa.
INTERVIEW VII
"It sounds as if those yearly meetings were quite something," Erickson commented.
"They still are," Tambu said. "The captains' meetings are still one of the high points on the fleet's yearly calendar. Though they are usually much calmer than the episode I just mentioned, occasionally they can become as spirited and emotional as those conducted during our formative years."
"Yet despite their emotional outbursts, they seem to be fairly levelheaded when it comes to advice or debate."
"Never underestimate the abilities of a ship captain," Tambu warned. "No matter how often I tell myself that, I still forget sometimes that just because someone dresses funny or doesn't speak well doesn't mean he is any less capable or intelligent. To survive as a ship captain, particularly a fighting ship captain, requires a wide range of skills and abilities. One must be a tactician, a diplomat, a father-confessor, a personnel manager, and an accountant all rolled into one. Then, on top of it all, no be a leader: one who can command and get respect and cooperation from a wide range of individuals."
"I must admit that's a different array of characteristics than has been displayed when one of your captains has been interviewed by the press," Erickson observed, cautiously.
"Of course it is!" Tambu snapped. "When you interview someone, they'll tell you what they think you want to hear. Not that they'll lie to you, mind you-just change their priorities and emphasis a bit."
"Then the captains have been deliberately trying to create the impressions they have?" the reporter blinked.
"Certainly. First of all, a captain is an administrator. If a captain tried to tell you about drudgery and paperwork involved in his job, you'd lose interest. Instead, they tell you all about the dangers of space, the ship-to-ship duels, and the harrowing escapes they've had--much of which is simply rehashings of stories they've read in adventure novels."
"And of course reporters like me eat it up," Erickson smiled appreciatively. "Tell me, do you think this editing of information is unique to ship captains?"
"Not at all. I feel it's a normal human tendency. If I asked you to tell me what it was like being a reporter, would you tell me about having to write stories about things that didn't interest you, while older, less capable reporters got the prime assignments? Or would you regale me with tales about gathering news under dangerous conditions and bravely exposing the truth despite the pressures of a corrupt establishment?"
"Touch‚! It sounds like you know the news business."
"I know people," Tambu corrected. "I have to. In your line of work, if you make an error in judging people, you lose a story. If I make an error, people die. It's a great incentive for me to get to know people as well as is humanly possible."
"Yet you still make mistakes," Erickson noted quickly.
"Too often," Tambu admitted. "But then, at the stakes I'm playing at, one mistake every five years is too often."
"I can see why you established the yearly captain's meetings. That's a lot of weight for anybody to carry alone. At least the meetings let you spread the responsibility around a little."
"Yes and no. While the discussions are helpful, the final decisions are still mine. I've discovered that having additional viewpoints and opinions does not always ease the decision-making process. Then, too, I have to make independent decisions on things which arise between meetings."
"Could you estimate a percentage split as to the number of decisions that come out of the meetings versus those that are made unilaterally?"
"No, I couldn't. There have been so many decisions made over the course of my career that I literally couldn't count them, much less divide them into categories. What's more, the varying magnitude of the problems would make a numerical comparison meaningless."
"I see. Well, how about decisions of major importance or impact? Would you have a feel for that?"
"I'm af
raid the answer is still no," Tambu replied, but more hesitantly. "I've never thought of decisions in numerical terms. If I correctly interpret the direction of your questioning, however, there was one specific major decision I recall having to make unilaterally. I also recall that it was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tambu sat alone, slouched at his command console. The viewscreen display showed the starfields outside, but his eyes were directed at the cabin wall, unfocused and unfeeling.
Moving as if it were not a part of him, his hand picked up the decanter to fill the wineglass before him. Only after setting the vessel down and raising the glass to his lips did he realize that both glass and decanter were empty.
Annoyance and puzzlement filled his mind as he frowned at the glass, momentarily driving out all other thoughts.
How much had he drunk? He wanted another glass, but knew he had to keep his mind clear to sort out the current situation. Had he filled the decanter this morning? How long ago was morning?
He ran a weary hand over his chin and noted with some surprise the well-developed stubble which met his touch. It had obviously been more than twelve hours since he shaved, but he couldn't remember shaving.
With a growl of self-disgust, he pushed the glass and decanter away from him. If he couldn't even remember what time of day it was, he certainly was in no condition to drink.
"Are you with us again?"
Tambu turned his head slowly and found Ramona perched on the foot of his bed. He hadn't heard her come in and didn't have the faintest idea how long she had been there.
"I'm sorry, love," he apologized, smiling faintly as he stretched. "My mind must have drifted a bit. Did you say something?"
Ramona shook her head.
"You know, lover, for a grim, humorless type, at times you have an incredible talent for understatement."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning this is the first time you've come up for air in over two days. When your mind drifts, you don't kid around!"
"Two days!" Tambu exclaimed, ignoring her jibe. "What happened? Was I drinking? What about the fleet?"
"Whoa!" Ramona interrupted, holding up her hand. "The fleet's fine-or as good as could be expected. You haven't been drinking, you've been working. Nonstop. What's more, you worked thirty hours straight before you stopped talking to me or acknowledging there was anything in the universe except you and that damned viewscreen."
"But the fleet's all right?" Tambu pressed. "Who's been handling their calls?"
"You have. But I'll bet you couldn't tell me who you talked with or what they said without looking at your notes."
"You're right," he admitted ruefully. "I can remember generalities, but not specifics. I guess I'd better review this mess before I go any farther."
"Not so fast! The other side of the coin is that you haven't eaten or slept in that whole time. Now that you're back in the land of the living, I'm not going to let you plunge into this again until you take care of yourself."
"But I've got to reach a decision on this-and soon! "I've already stalled too long. The fleet's counting on me."
"Sure, the fleet's counting on you," Ramona argued. "So what happens to the fleet if you end up in sick bay from exhaustion and malnutrition? I'll give you two choices: Either make your decision now, if you won't rest until it's done; or if you want more time to ponder the problem, rest, then make your decision. One of the two, but I want you in bed in the next fifteen minutes!"
Normally, Tambu would have been livid if any of his captains-even Ramona-had tried to give him orders. But now, he couldn't even muster the interest or energy to argue. This, more than anything else, indicated to him that she was probably right.
"All right," he sighed, shooting a covert glance at the console's call board. "But wake me up again in a couple of hours."
"I'll try once after six hours. But if you won't budge, I'll let you get another four."
"Under no circumstances more than eight," he insisted. "Even if you have to throw ice water on me. I've got to get this problem resolved."
"Agreed," Ramona nodded, rising to her feet. "I'll run down to the galley and swipe a couple of sandwiches for you. If you doze off, they'll be here on the side table when you wake up-and quit looking at the call board! I'm giving orders to put any incoming calls, on hold until you wake up."
"Not the blinkers!" Tambu ordered, his head coming up with a snap. "I'm not going to lose a ship because I need a little sleep!"
Ramona chewed her lip.
"Can I try to do a little screening?" she asked hesitantly. "We both know that some of the captains abuse the emergency priority to get your attention."
"Very well," Tambu agreed wearily. "But I want to take any genuine emergencies."
"I know." Ramona stooped to give him a quick kiss. "That's why you're top dog in this outfit."
He remained seated at the console for several minutes after her departure, pondering the true nature of his current status. Was he top dog? He didn't feel like it. There was no power or joy in his routine-only incredible fear.
It was as if he was at the controls of a ground skimmer with the throttle jammed wide open, trying desperately to avoid obstacles darting at him from the distance, fighting certain knowledge that eventually he would react too slowly or steer in the wrong direction. The longer he survived, the faster the skimmer was going, making the inevitable crash that much more terrible when it finally came.
With effort, he closed his mind against the image. Ramona was right. He needed sleep, if only to steel his nerves.
He was stretching his legs, preparing to rise from his seat, when a chime sounded and a light came on the console.
Tambu smiled as he looked at the signal. Ramona was slipping. The light was red, but not blinking. Either she hadn't issued her orders yet, or a call managed to slip past her blockade.
His eye fell on the indicator, and his smile faded abruptly. The call was from the Raven! From Whitey! I Whitey had never used a priority signal of any kind.
Without thinking, his hand went to the transmission switch.
"Tambu here," he said even before the signal appeared on his screen. "What's the problem, Whitey?"
Whitey's face appeared on the screen, her features frozen in a mask of anger.
"Tambu?" she asked. "I want to know what's going on!"
"About what?" Tambu blinked, then it all came back to him. Of course! That's what Whitey would be calling about.
"All right," Whitey snapped. "If you want to play games, we'll take it from the top. I was just down on Elei making our sales pitch. They were receptive-very receptive for a planet that had never agreed with our position before. They were so receptive, in fact, they wouldn't even let me talk. They just signed up-said they'd pay whatever we asked."
"And you want to know why," Tambu finished for her.
"I asked them why," Whitey spat. "And you know what they said? They said they were paying so my ship wouldn't burn their capital."
Tambu ran his fingers wearily through his hair, but didn't interrupt.
"Of course I laughed at that," Whitey continued bitterly. "I told them I was one of Tambu's captains and that Tambu doesn't operate that way. You know what they said to that?"
"They told you about what happened on Zarn," Tambu answered tonelessly.
For several moments Whitey stared at him out of the screen, her anger melting into hurt puzzlement.
"Then it's true?" she finally asked in a soft voice. "I was hoping they were lying-or had been lied to."
"It's true," Tambu admitted.
"And you want to know why I'm calling?" Whitey demanded, her anger returning in a rush. "What's going on in the fleet? We never agreed to anything like this."
"I doubt they told you the whole story," Tambu began.
"How many ways can you read the facts?" Whitey interrupted. "One of our ships burns out a whole city-a city that has no way of fighting back. How can any
body justify that?"
"Nikki's dead," Tambu said softly.
"Nikki? Puck?" Whitey blinked. "What happened?" j
"He went to pay a call on the Planetary Council, much j as you did on Elei," Tambu explained. "It seems they not only refused our services, they were exceptionally unpleasant about it. Among other things, they stated that their planet was going to bar their spaceport to any of our ships."
"But spaceports are open to any ship, regardless of origin!" Whitey protested.
"That's right," Tambu confirmed. "But the Council seemed ready to overlook that detail, along with numerous other niceties humans usually extend to each other-niceties that usually transcend planetary or racial differences. Anyway, to keep a long story short, Puck lost his temper and told him what he thought of them and their decisions. He was complete enough in his oration that he finished it by spitting on the floor, whereupon the Council guards shot him down in cold blood."
"Good God!" Whitey gasped. "What did they do to the guards?"
"Nothing," Tambu replied grimly. "Not only were the guards not disciplined, the Council had his body delivered back to the ship's shuttlecraft with the message that he was to be taken off-planet for burial. I believe the specific quote was they 'didn't want him or scum like him on their planet, alive or dead.' Shortly thereafter, his ship opened fire on the capital."
"You're sure he didn't attack them physically?" Whitey pressed.
"He was alone and unarmed, Whitey," Tambu said softly. "When they carried his body through the streets to the spaceport, the crowds cheered the guards and spit on his body."
"How do you know all this if he was alone?" Whitey challenged.
"From reports submitted by our informants who were there at the time. I've even got copies of the official reports of the incident prepared by the Council guardsmen. Most of my time since the blow-up has been spent piecing the facts together and checking them."
"You mean you ordered the strike before you checked the story?" Whitey exploded.
"I didn't order it at all, Whitey. I didn't even approve it."
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