"You didn't?" Whitey's face showed a mixture of relief and concern. "Then who did?"
"Puck's second in command-with the full support of the crew." Tambu sighed. "Puck was a very popular captain."
Whitey rubbed her forehead absently as if trying to erase her frown wrinkles.
"I still don't think they were justified, hitting the whole city that way," she said at last.
"They didn't mean to hit the whole city," Tambu said quietly. "They were trying for the Council Building. It might have worked, except for two things. Nobody has any experience shooting at a planetside target from space. They missed-missed badly. They also underestimated the devastation caused by weapons designed for long-range work in space."
They both lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts.
"I wish you had told me sooner," Whitey commented finally. "It was bad, hearing it the way I did. I don't know which was worse; the news itself or hearing from someone outside the fleet."
"I'm sorry," Tambu said sincerely. "I've been trying to put together a new policy statement for general release, and it isn't easy. I've been trying to alert any captain due for planetfall, but the Raven wasn't due at
Elei for another two days."
"Puck was a friend of mine," Whitey observed dryly. "You might have made an exception to your rules in this case."
"I said I was busy!" Tambu snarled. "What do you think I do with my time? Sit on my butt and play darts? I would have called you if I could, but I couldn't. There were more important things to do. I don't like saying that, but that's the way it is. The good of the fleet has to take precedence over my personal friendships."
"What's so all-fired important?" Whitey challenged. "How long does it take you to issue a statement saying you had nothing to do with Zarn-that the ship was acting against your orders and is going to be disciplined?"
"It-it isn't as simple as that," Tambu replied hesitant for the first time in the conversation. "There are a lot of factors to be considered."
"Like what?" Whitey pressed. "Don't you realize that the longer you let things sit without comment, the more people are going to assume you ordered the strike?"
"I realize it... more than you do, Whitey. As far as our personal friendship goes, I should tell you that except for the crew of Puck's ship and myself, you're the only one who knows I didn't order the strike."
"You mean you're going to take the blame for Zarn?" Whitey gaped. "Why, Tambu? You weren't responsible."
"They're a ship under my command," Tambu countered. "Technically, that makes me responsible. I've taken a lot of indirect credit in the past for things my captains did. I can't just wash my hands of what happened because things went sour."
"I don't agree. But even if I did... if I felt you were responsible, it doesn't change anything. You've got to do something. You've got to level some kind of punishment against the ship."
"For what?" Tambu demanded. "For being loyal to their captain? For going after a bunch of bastards who think they have the right to gun down anyone from one of my ships?"
"How about for leveling a city and everybody in it?" Whitey shot back. "Don't you think that was a little extreme?"
"Yes, I do," Tambu retorted. "But I'm in a bad position to judge. I haven't set foot off a ship in over six years. I don't know how bad things are for the crews when they go planetside. I've got no comprehension of what they've been putting up with. You tell me, Whitey. If things had worked out differently-if you had been gunned down on Elei instead of Puck getting killed on Zarn, how would your crew react?"
"I-I don't know," Whitey admitted. "I'd like to think they'd react with more restraint."
"But you can't be sure," Tambu pointed out viciously. "Okay, let's go a step further. If they reacted the same way Puck's crew did... if they did that and you were in my position, what would you do to them? What kind of punishment would you level? A wrist-slap? Would you have them all hunted down and executed? What?"
"I'd have to think about it. I can't just come up with an answer on something that big."
"Then why are you leaning on me for trying to take time to think?" Tambu accused. "Do you think I've been planning in advance for this? Am I supposed to have a master plan in mind for every disaster?"
"Okay! I was out of line! But you've had time now. You'd better come up with something fast. Lord knows how the planets will react when they hear-or the rest of the fleet, for that matter."
Fatigue made Tambu's laugh harsh.
"Do you want to know how they're reacting? Over two-thirds of the fleet has called in already. Less than three percent have objected to what happened--and the main protest there was they weren't notified in advance of the policy change. That's how upset the fleet is!"
"But the planets-"
"Right along with those call-ins," Tambu interrupted, "came a tidal wave of sign-ons. Our crews don't even have to go planetside and ask anymore. Planets are calling them to subscribe. Some of them are relaying calls through other planets. Financially, this is the best thing that's ever happened to the fleet. We could cut our fees by a third tomorrow and still show a profit."
He suddenly noticed that Whitey was shrinking on the viewscreen. Not that the reception was bad, but rather that she seemed to be sagging... folding in on herself.
"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly solicitous. "I didn't mean to shout at you. It's just that things have been pretty rough at this end."
Whitey shook her head, but this time she didn't raise her eyes.
"That's all right. It's what you're saying, not how you're saying it that's made up my mind."
"Made up your mind about what?" Tambu frowned.
"I'm quitting," Whitey sighed. "Getting out while the getting's good. I'll recommend Pepe, my second-in-*command, as my replacement. He's as solid as they come, and the crew respects him."
"Wait a minute," Tambu protested. "I haven't reached a decision on this mess yet. Don't-"
"Yes, you have,' Whitey corrected gently. "You may not know it yet, but you have. I know you, Tambu. Maybe better than you know yourself. If you were going to jump the way I think you should, you would have done it by now. Just the fact that you're still seesawing back and forth tells me something. It tells me I can't follow you any more."
Tambu felt the truth in her words wash over him as she spoke, though he wouldn't admit it even to himself.
"Isn't this a bit sudden?" he asked quietly.
"Not really. I've thought about doing it a hundred times since we started. I want out, but it has to be sudden. I can't ease away from it."
Unlike his conversations with Egor, Tambu knew instinctively that he could not argue or wheedle Whitey into changing her mind once it was made up.
"Very well. It will take some time to make the arrangements. You're due a substantial pension-and we'll have to set up a cover for you."
"Put my pension in the general fund. I've saved enough on my own to live on. As for a cover, I figure I'll just have the shuttle run me down to Elei and settle there. It's as good a place as any."
"But on Elei they know you're one of my captains," Tambu objected. "It shouldn't be safe."
"They'll also know I've quit the fleet," Whitey pointed out. "And why. I don't think I'll have much trouble."
"It sounds like you've thought this through pretty carefully," Tambu observed bitterly.
"I've given it some thought, ever since they gave me the news on Elei. Just for the record, Tambu, I think you're wrong. The fleet was never popular with the planets before, but now you're taking on the role of an extortionist. I don't think they'll put up with that for long. There's going to be trouble, and I for one don't want to be around when it hits."
"That's one person's opinion."
"Maybe," Whitey shrugged. "But then again, maybe it's the opinion of a whole lot of people. You should listen to the folks planetside as much as you do to the people in your fleet."
"At the moment, I'm more concerned with my fleet."
"I know," Whitey sighed. "That's were you're going wrong. Good-bye, Tambu. Whitey out."
Ramona reentered the cabin in time to see the view-screen fading to darkness.
"What was all that about?" she asked. "I thought you weren't going to take any more calls until after you got some sleep."
"That was a call from the Raven," Tambu explained, staring at the dark screen. "We just lost another captain-the hard way."
"Whitey?" Ramona exclaimed, setting down the tray she was carrying and moving to his side, "Whitey's been killed?"
Tambu rose and started for the bed, ignoring the sandwiches on the tray.
"No, she wasn't killed. But we still lost her the hard way."
INTERVIEW VIII
Erickson was silent for several minutes after Tambu finished his narrative.
"So that's the way it actually happened," he said at last.
"Yes," Tambu sighed. "That's how it happened. You may use it in your article, if you wish. Enough incidents have occurred since then, it is now an item of historic curiosity more than anything else. I don't believe it will change anyone's mind one way or the other."
"It's certainly given me something to think about."
"But it hasn't changed your mind noticeably. You disapproved of the Zarn incident before, and you still do... regardless of the circumstances."
"You're right," Erickson admitted. "But I will say I'm glad the decision wasn't mine to make."
"In case you ponder the problem at leisure sometime in the future, let me give you one extra thought to complicate things. I believe that we are in agreement that if consulted in advance, neither of us would have ordered the strike on Zarn. Remember, though, that you're trying to put yourself in my place, and that means deciding a course of action after the fact. By the time I entered the picture, the strike was already over-and nothing I could do or say would change that."
"So the real question was whether to atone for the deed or capitalize on it."
"That's right," Tambu acknowledged. "I chose to capitalize on it. Even in hindsight, I don't know how we could have atoned for what happened. Perhaps it was weak of me, but it was easier to take advantage of the situation."
"But was it an advantage?" Erickson pressed. "I mean, it seems to me in the long run it would have been better business if you could have disassociated yourself and the fleet from the incident."
"I fear you're a better reporter than a businessman, Mr. Erickson. There were many factors I took into consideration in that decision, most of which were business oriented. Group image: I don't feel it would have enhanced our position to let it be known to the planets that they could kill our crew members and throw us off-planet without repercussions. Internal morale: It would have had an adverse effect on our crewmen if they were to feel the hierarchy of the fleet not only did not act when one of ours was attacked, but punished them when they performed what in their eyes was a demonstration of loyalty and affection. Profit and loss: I've already pointed out that our list of subscribers increased substantially after the incident. As far as business goes, my decision was actually quite wise."
"But isn't part of business catering to one's public image? You could have avoided a lot of bad feeling if the criminal label had not been attached to you and your fleet."
"Could we?" Tambu asked sarcastically. "If you recall, even before the incident at Zarn, we were being treated like criminals or worse. If given a choice between being viewed with contempt or with fear, we'll take fear. Zarn gave us that choice."
"So, in your opinion, Zarn actually made things easier for the fleet." Erickson suggested, eager to move the interview away from the delicate subject.
"I did not mean to imply that. Richer does not equate with easier. In many ways, our newfound success increased our internal problems. In fact, there were so many decisions to be made that really important issues tended to be lost in the shuffle. Some decisions I made in haste-assuming them to be minor-came back later to haunt me mercilessly."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Coffee, love?" Ramona asked, poking her head into Tambu's cabin.
"Thanks, I could use a break."
"We finally found our problem." Ramona gave him a steaming cup and curled up in a nearby chair. "It took three rounds of check-inspections, but we found it."
"Where was it?" Tambu asked curiously.
"There was a flaw in one of the circuit boards in the Emergency Life Support Override System. It took only three minutes to replace-once we found it. Could have been nasty if we hadn't caught it, though."
Tambu frowned.
"Isn't that a sealed system? When was it last inspected?"
"Two years ago," Ramona recited. "During its scheduled preventative maintenance cycle."
"Then the problem's been with us that long?" Tambu winced.
"No," Ramona insisted firmly. "It's a recent development."
"You seem awfully sure of that."
"I am, for two reasons. First, it was triple-checked during that inspection. I know the crewmembers whose initials were on the seal. They aren't the kind who would fake an inspection or miss a defect that obvious."
"And the other reason?"
"The other reason is the tapping started only recently."
"I thought so." Tambu smiled. "You know, sometimes I wonder if superstitions would survive if we didn't force feed them."
"Now, look," Ramona flared, "I'm not saying I believe in all the superstitions that we keep in space, but the tapping on the outer hull of a ship as a warning of impending disaster is fairly well documented."
"By searching until something wrong is found?" Tambu teased. "In any network of circuits and machinery as complex as a ship, at any given point in time, a close inspection would reveal something wrong. Are you trying to say you honestly believe that if we had inspected that system, say, a week ago, that we wouldn't have found the flaw?"
Ramona glared. "All I know is that on five separate occasions I've been on board a ship when the tapping was heard. Each time a pending malfunction was found. That's enough to convince me to stop everything and run a check-inspection if we hear it again. Wouldn't you?"
"Sure I would," Tambu acknowledged. "But even though I keep the superstitions right along with everybody else, there's part of my mind that reminds me that what I'm doing is silly. You'd think man would have outgrown such childishness, but instead we find technology and superstition advancing hand in hand down the starlanes. I just find it a bit ironic is all."
"Well, I don't think we'll ever get away from it," Ramona grumbled, still annoyed at his teasing. "Let's face it. Our crewmembers aren't the brightest representatives mankind can muster. A lot of them don't have much education other than what they've picked up on shipboard. That means they learn the superstitions right along with everything else."
"Right," Tambu nodded. "Oh well, I'm glad we're under way again. If that's the biggest hassle on this ship, it's the shining star of the fleet."
"Speaking of shipboard hassles," Ramona said, "has there been any more word about the crewman who died on board the Scorpion?"
"As a matter of fact, the investigation's closed. The final ruling is suicide."
"Suicide?" Ramona frowned. "Any report as to the reason?"
"Space-depression." Tambu shrugged. "Egor says the guy was a borderline basket case when he signed on. Probably joined out of a death wish and decided to do it himself when he found out how slow things really are working for the fleet."
"Egor?" Ramona echoed. "You let Egor investigate it himself?"
"I didn't let him do it," Tambu protested. "He did it on his own initiative. Wouldn't you if it happened on your ship?"
"Aren't you going to conduct your own investigation as a check?"
"What for?" Tambu countered. "I have no reason to doubt Egor's conclusions. I thought you were the one who was always after me to delegate more and quit trying to run everything personally."
"Maybe I shouldn't say this," Ramona hesitated, pur
sing her lips, "but there have been a lot of rumors of discontent on the Scorpion."
"You're right, you shouldn't say it," Tambu commented grimly. "There are problems on the Scorpion. Egor has" reported them to me himself, and the last thing he needs right now are a lot of rumormongers fanning the flames."
"In that case, maybe I'd better take my rumors and leave."
"Hey, hey!" Tambu soothed, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lean on you. Look, I know you're trying to help... and I appreciate it. It's just that I'm a bit on edge. I really hate wading through all this."
He gestured toward the table behind him.
"The yearly financial statements?" Ramona raised her eyebrows, her anger mollified by her curiosity. "I thought you enjoyed playing with numbers, love."
"There's a limit! Nine boxes of paper and data tapes is a bit much, even for me."
"Why don't you just review the summaries?" she suggested.
"These are the summaries. The support data behind them would fill several cargo holds."
"Well, it should solve your leisure-time problem," Ramona joked. "Seriously, though, why do you bother? I mean, just the fact that everyone has to submit yearly reports to you should serve as a deterrent against embezzlement without your having to review them all."
"Don't bet on it." Tambu sighed. "Sooner or later, people would figure it out if I just filed their reports. Sometimes... wait. Here, let me read this to you."
He fished around on the table for a specific sheet of paper, found it, held it aloft, and read:
"If you have gotten this far in our report, we will buy you a case of your favorite whiskey. Simply call so we know what brand to buy."
"Really?" Ramona laughed. "Are you going to collect?"
"I sure am," Tambu grinned. "And on the other eight notes like it I've found buried in other reports. I also get to send about a dozen terse reprimands to references to my parentage or sexual preferences."
"What are you going to do with all that liquor?" Ramona asked. "You don't drink anything but wine."
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