Still, he couldn't surrender control of two hundred ships to save six ships any more than he could do it to save one ship-one ship!
Slowly, his hand released the double lock on one of the levers on his console.
"Hairy," Tambu said coldly. "You just made a big mistake, Hairy. I was willing to listen to your complaints because I think you've got a valid case. But I can't be nice to you anymore, Hairy. You just became a danger to the fleet."
Hairy was panicky now. He wet his lips and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"Look at the console in front of you, Hairy. Do you see the red lever? The one with the double safety lock? Do you know what that is, Hairy?"
"It's-it's the ship's self-destruct mechanism," Hairy managed at last.
"That's right, Hairy. But did you know I can activate that mechanism from right here at my console? Did you know that, Hairy?"
Hairy shook his head woodenly.
"Well, you know it now! Game time is over, Hairy. You have five seconds to call your crew to assemble in front of that screen where I can see them all, or I activate the mechanism."
Despite his firm declaration, Tambu was holding his breath, hoping. If the mutineers would only comply now-stand there so he could see they weren't manning the guns, leveling their sights on an unsuspecting fleet-
For a moment, Hairy wavered. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes darted to someone off-screen. Another voice called out, its words indistinguishable, but it seemed to strengthen Hairy's resolve.
"You're bluffing," he challenged, his head coming up defiantly. "We've got all the captains on board. Even if you could do it, you wouldn't just-"
"Good-bye, Hairy," Tambu said, lowering his hand to the console's keyboard.
For a split second, Hairy's face filled the screen, his eyes wide with terror. Then, for the second time that day, the screen went blank.
Immediately, Tambu rekeyed the display, and the view of the fleet reappeared-the fleet minus the Scorpion. There was no trace left of the meeting ship.
The console's board lit up like a Christmas tree. The blinking red lights chased each other up and down the board as Tambu sat and stared. Idly he noted in his mind which ships took the longest to call in.
Finally, his mind focused and he lunged forward, gripping the mike with one hand as his other played rapidly over the console's keyboard.
"This is Tambu," he announced. "All ships, cancel your calls and stand by for a fleetwide announcement."
He waited as the call lights winked out.
"There has been an explosion of unknown origin on board the Scorpion," he announced. "We can only assume there are no survivors."
He paused for a moment to allow the message to sink in.
"First officers are to assume command of their vessels immediately," he ordered. "You are to take the rest of the day for whatever services you wish to perform for the lost personnel. Starting at 0800 hours tomorrow, I will contact each of you individually to assist in reorganizing your crews as well as to issue specific orders and assignments. Those ships closest to the Scorpion have one hour to conduct a damage inspection of their ships. After that, they are to call me with a status report. Acknowledge receipt of message by responding with an amber call."
He watched as the board lit up again. This time the lights were all amber-all but one. The Scorpion would never call in again.
"Tambu out."
The fleet secure, Tambu slumped back in his chair as the enormity of his deed washed over him.
Gone! All of them. Ramona, Egor, A.C., Jelly...all of them wiped out when he pressed a single button on his console.
In his shock-dulled mind, he realized he had lost his personal battle. When pressured, it was Tambu who controlled his actions, and Tambu had ended his last hope of retirement. He couldn't leave the fleet now. With the captains gone, there would be no one to pass control to. He would have to stay on, working with the new captains, reorganizing...
He had lost. He was Tambu.
The horror of that realization rose up and sucked him down... Tambu wept.
INTERVIEW XII
"I transferred ships shortly after that. I found my old quarters held too many memories for comfort. That pretty much brings us to the present. For the last two years, I have been training the new captains. The Council is now established and functioning, allowing me leisure time, which in turn enabled me to grant you this interview."
"And the fleet never found out the actual cause of the explosion on the Scorpion?" Erickson asked.
"Of course they found out. I told each of the new captains during their initial briefing. I felt it was a necessary lesson as to the possible repercussions of a poor captain-crew relationship."
"Didn't anyone question what you had done?" the reporter pressed. "I mean, surely someone objected to your handling of the situation."
"Remember our discussion of famous people, Mr. Erickson," Tambu instructed. "None of the new captains had ever dealt directly with me before. They had been suddenly thrust into a new position of responsibility, and were casting about for direction and approval. Preconditioned to view me with awe and fear, they readily accepted me as their authority figure, the only one between them and chaos. No one questioned my actions, but they eagerly learned the lesson of the disaster."
"Of course, you've done nothing to encourage that awe and fear," Erickson said.
"Quite the opposite," Tambu admitted easily. "I've done everything I could to build the image. Most of my work for the last two years has been establishing and maintaining the gap between myself and the fleet."
"But why?" the reporter asked. "It seems you're not only accepting your isolation, you're creating it."
"Well put, Mr. Erickson. As to why I'm doing this, remember the Scorpion episode. I lost a ship, a good crew, and all my captains because I had allowed my judgment to be clouded by personal friendship. I have found I function much more efficiently in isolation. As I started this latest phase without friends or confidants, it has been relatively easy to avoid forming any. I feel my judgments and appraisals have benefited from this detachment."
"Have you taken a new mistress?" Erickson said bluntly.
"No," Tambu replied after a moment's pause. "I make no pretensions of loyalty to Ramona's memory. I have no doubts that eventually I will need someone again, but it's still too soon."
"It occurred to me earlier in the interview, but now that I've heard your whole story, I feel I must make the observation out loud: You pay a terrible price for your position, Tambu."
"Don't pity me, Mr. Erickson." Tambu's voice was cold. "I do what I do willingly-just as you accept travel, cheap rooms, and restaurant food as a necessary part of your chosen occupation. Once, when I thought of stepping down, I felt regret and remorse. I mentioned at the end of that episode, however, that battle has been won-or lost, depending on your point of view. I am Tambu now, and I do what is necessary to be Tambu. I was born in the early days of the fleet's formation, and the fleet is my life now."
"Then you have no plans for retirement now that the Council is ready to assume command?" Erickson asked.
"Retire to what?" Tambu countered. "My family is dead. My friends are dead. There's nothing for me outside of the fleet."
"That's pretty definite," the reporter acknowledged. "What about the future? What do you see ahead for you and the fleet? A continuance of the status quo?"
"Nothing is forever, Mr. Erickson. The only certain thing in the universe is change. The specifics are anybody's guess. The Defense Alliance is growing larger every year. They may eventually feel they are strong enough to attempt a direct confrontation. I think it would be stupid of them to try it, but they've come a long way doing things I thought were stupid. Then again, they may simply crowd us out of the starlanes."