Tambu Read online

  "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."

  "You seem unconcerned about either possibility."

  Tambu laughed. "If you want my real prediction of the future, I fully expect to slip on a bar of soap and crack my head open in the shower. I've led far too exciting a life to be able to expect anything but an anticlimactic death. But whatever happens in the future, I am the fleet. If I die, the fleet dies with me, and vice versa. I'll leave it to the Fates to work out the details."

  "A fitting epitaph," Erickson smiled. "Well, while I could sit here for days talking with you, I've got to admit I have more than enough material for my article."

  "Very well, Mr. Erickson. It has been a rare pleasure talking with you these last few hours. Can you remember the way back to the docking bay where your ship is, or shall I call for a guide?"

  "I can remember the way. Just give me a moment to gather my things."

  "If you don't mind, Mr. Erickson, may I ask you a question before you go?"

  "Certainly," the reporter blinked. "What would you like to know?"

  "Solely to satisfy my own curiosity, I'd like to know what you intend to say in your article."

  A shiver of apprehension ran down Erickson's spine. The alienness of his surroundings came back to him with a rush, as did the distance he had to cover to reach his ship and safety. Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced the blank viewscreen directly.

  "I'm going to try to tell your story as I see it," he said carefully. "It's the story of a forceful man with a dream, a dream that went awry and carried him with it."

  He paused for a moment, but there was no rebuttal from the screen.

  "The man had an incredible sense of loyalty and obligation," he continued haltingly, " a sense of loyalty so strong, it blinded him to everything else in the universe and in his mind. First he was loyal to his friends, then to the planets, and finally to the fleet... the business he had built. At each step, his sense of obligation was so strong, so single-minded, that it was beyond the comprehension of everyone who came in contact with him. There were people all along the way who might have swayed him from his course, but they couldn't understand what was happening, and instead of helping, actually speeded him on his way with their actions. It's the story of a man who gave so much of himself that now there's nothing human left-just the image he built with the aid of those who supported or opposed him. That's the story I intend to write, sir... assuming, of course, I'm allowed to leave the ship with my notes, mind, and body intact."

  "That's an interesting story," Tambu said after a moment's silence. "I'll look forward to seeing it in its final form. I don't agree with all your observations, but, even if I took exception to the entire story, you would be allowed to leave. I granted you an interview and a newsman's immunity, Mr. Erickson. There were no conditions about whether or not I would like what you wrote. If I had wanted my own opinions printed, I would have simply written the article myself and released it to the news services."

  "But you still controlled what you did and didn't tell me," Erickson pointed out. "I remember that earlier in our conversation, you stated that anyone being interviewed would slant the facts to create a certain impression. Would you tell me now, off the record, how much of what you've said was exaggerated or downplayed to further your own image?"

  "You'll never know that for certain, Mr. Erickson. But if you're willing to believe me at all, accept that I have not knowingly slanted anything. You see, I feel that actions and reactions have been colorful enough without exaggeration. Then, too, there's the fact that I sincerely believe your article will not affect me or the fleet in any way-positive or negative. Our supporters and decriers will accept or reject different portions of your accounts depending on their preformed conception of our motives and activities. Perhaps if I truly believed your article would change people's minds, I might have become concerned enough to lie to you; but as it stands, the truth can be no more damaging to the fleet than any fabrication."

  "But if my article really means so little to you, why did you bother giving me the interview at all?"

  "I told you at the beginning of our conversation. Curiosity. As one who has been branded as the archvillain of contemporary times, I was curious to meet and have a prolonged conversation with someone who believes in heroes and villains. That same curiosity prompts me to ask you one more question. During our talk, you have shown both distaste and sympathy for me. I ask you now, in your opinion, am I a villain?"

  Erickson frowned.

  "I don't know," he admitted finally. "While I still believe in evil, I'm no longer sure of its definition. Is evil inherent in the deed, or in the intent? If it's in the deed, then you're a villain. Too many bodies can be laid at your doorstep to be ignored. Of course, if that's our sole unit of measure, then every honored general from mankind's history must be burning in hell right now."

  "You are quite correct," Tambu acknowledged. "I personally tend to judge myself on a basis of intent. By that measure, I feel no guilt over my career. I wonder how many people could make the same claim? Yourself, Mr. Erickson. During our interview, I've observed you waging war with yourself-the man versus the professional. You've been constantly struggling to impose 'what you should say' over 'what you would like to say.' In that, your dilemma is not unlike my own Eisner-Tambu difficulties."

  "You're quite observant," Erickson acknowledged, "but I'd like to think I'm not the only one with that problem. I'm sure a lot of reporters suffer the same dilemma."

  "A lot of people suffer the same dilemma," Tambu corrected. "I was not attempting to criticize you. I was trying to point out that many people feel the need to sacrifice their normal inclinations to conform to their chosen professions. I would hazard a prophecy that if you continue with your career as a reporter, the day will come when your personal questions or statements will not even enter your mind during an interview. You will conduct yourself consciously and subconsciously as a journalist-and o
n that day you will have become a journalist just as I have become Tambu."

  "You may be right." Erickson shrugged. "However, the standards and ethics of my profession were set long before I entered the field; and if I adhere to them, there is little or no chance I will gain your infamy. Remember, sir, you set your own standards and must therefore bear the full weight of their consequences."

  "I can't deny that," Tambu admitted, "either the setting of standards or the responsibility for them. However, we were speaking of intent and guilt. Though branded a villain, throughout my career, I have acted with what in my mind were the purest of intentions. All too frequently the results went awry, but each decision made was, in my judgment, made in favor of the greatest good for others, not for myself-and was therefore in keeping with my personal ethics. That is the salve I have to use against any doubts or feelings of guilt. Do you have that same salve, Mr. Erickson? Can you say that in your career as a reporter you've never betrayed a confidence, cheated a friend, or broken a promise for the sake of a story? That you've never gone against your own principles to further your career? That you've never allowed your self-interest to overshadow your ethics?"

  The reporter dropped his eyes and frowned thoughtfully, but did not answer.

  Tambu concluded, "Then I ask you, Mr. Erickson, who is the bigger villain? You or I?"

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