Tambu

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 anybody 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."

"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."