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."

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."