An insistent chiming interrupted his thoughts, and he looked to his console. The priority call light flashed red, drawing a frown to his face.

There was supposed to be a ban on personal conferences for the duration of the meetings, sparing him the annoyance of captains "stumping" for support of their proposals. For a moment he considered ignoring the call, then he noticed it was coming from the Raven. Was there trouble among the captains? A duel?

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.

"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."