Tambu

INTERVIEW I

As the airlock door hissed shut behind him, the reporter took advantage of the moment of privacy to rub his palms on his trouser legs; he wished that he had a bit more faith in his Newsman's Immunity.

He had never really expected to be granted this interview. The request had been made as the prelude to a joke: a small bit of humor to casually drop into conversation with other reporters. He had anticipated making lofty reference to having been refused an interview by the dread Tambu himself. Then, as the skeptics voiced their doubts, he could silence them by producing the letter of refusal. But his plans had come to a jarring halt.

His request had been granted.

His editor had been no less surprised than he; his cynical indifference was swept aside by a wave of excitement... excitement mixed with suspicion. An interview with Tambu would be a feather in the cap of any journalist; a much-sought-after feather which had thus far eluded the grasp of many older, more experienced reporters. It seemed strange that this prize would go to a junior reporter who in five years of working for the news service had covered only minor stories.

One thing was sure: this interview would not be filler material. It would be the turning point of his career, eagerly read and studied throughout the settled universe, focusing an incredible amount of attention on his work. If his treatment was equal to his subject, he would be flooded with job offers. But if his work was judged and found lacking...

Despite his daydreams and careful preparations, he found that now that it was imminent, he approached the meeting with increasing dread. There were a thousand ways this "golden opportunity" could sour, resulting in an abrupt end to his career... and perhaps his life with it.

He had half-expected, half-hoped, that when he arrived at the rendezvous, he would be greeted by empty space. But the ship had been there, dwarfing his own craft with its immense size. The reporter remembered being slightly disappointed at the outward appearance of the vessel. He had expected a sleek jet-black monster adorned with Tambu's well-known crest... the silver death's head surmounted on a nebula. Instead, the ship was little different from the hundreds of freighters which traversed the star lanes, shuttling their cargos from planet to planet. The only clues to this ship's potential savagery were the numerous gun turrets prominent on its outer hull. It seemed ready for combat, its sails taken in as if in preparation for flight or fight... though the idea of his tiny ship attacking this dreadnought was ludicrous.

Now, here he was aboard Tambu's own flagship, about to meet face to face with the most feared individual in the settled universe. He had only a moment to reflect upon these thoughts before a soft chime sounded and the inner door opened to receive him.

The first thing that struck him about the quarters was the psychological warmth of the room. He instinctively wanted to examine the quarters more closely, and just as instinctively suppressed the desire. Instead, he contented himself with a brief look at the cabin and its contents.

The walls were of a texture unfamiliar to him, of a dark gold in dramatic contrast to the customary white. The trappings of the room made quiet contribution to the atmosphere. There were paintings on the walls, and books lined the shelves-honest-to-God books instead of the tape-scanner usually found in libraries and studies. Several easy chairs were scattered about the room, obviously at convenient points for reading or contemplation. Tucked away in one corner was a bed-double bed, the reporter noted with professional interest.

The only reminder that this was not simply a luxury cabin or a lounge was a huge communications console which dominated one full wall of the room. Even compared to the familiar network terminals at the newscenters, this console was impressive, with banks of keys and controls surrounding a modest viewscreen. After eyeing the console's array of flickering lights and gauges for a moment, he turned again to sweep the cabin with a wide gaze, seeking an overall impression.

The total effect of the room was quite different from what the reporter had expected. It had the lived-in, personal air of a home, rather than the cold efficiency of a command post. Anywhere else it would have been incredibly relaxing. Here it gave the room the feeling of a lair. The reporter glanced about him again. Where was Tambu?

"Please be seated, Mr. Erickson."

Startled by the voice, the reporter turned again to face the console. The viewscreen was still blank, but it was apparent that the unit was operational, and that Tambu was now watching him... watching and waiting.

Fighting off his apprehensions, the reporter seated himself at the console.

"I am addressing Tambu?" he asked with an ease he did not truly feel.

"That is correct, Mr. Erickson. I notice you've brought a Tri-D recorder with you. As I will not be meeting you face to face, it is unnecessary. The console at which you are seated is recording our conversation. You will be supplied with a copy. Visually, there will be nothing to record."

"I was promised a personal interview," Erickson half-explained, half-protested, then cursed himself mentally. If he didn't watch himself, he'd end up alienating Tambu before the interview even began.

"Personal in that you will be dealing with me directly rather than with one of my subordinates," Tambu clarified, apparently unoffended by the reporter's remark. "For security reasons, a face-to-face meeting is out of the question. I maintain several flagships identical to the one you are on now, and part of the problem confronting any Defense Alliance ship seeking to capture me is discovering which ship I'm on and when. My exact location is kept secret, even from my own fleet."

"Aren't these precautions a little extreme for meeting a lone reporter in a rented shuttlecraft?"

"Frankly, Mr. Erickson, reporters have been known to stray from their oaths of neutrality... particularly where my fleet and I are concerned. My defensive preparations for this meeting, therefore, go quite beyond what meets the eye. As an example, you might be wondering why you were granted this interview aboard one of my flagships when the smallest ship at my command has a viewscreen you could have listened at just as easily."

"It did cross my mind," the reporter admitted uneasily. "I assumed you were trying to impress me."

"There was that," Tambu laughed, "but there was also another, much more important reason: all my flagships, including the one you're on now, are rigged to self-destruct either from the captain's cabin, or by a remote signal from me. The explosives on board are sufficient to cause severe damage to any ships in firing range at the time of detonation. If your request for an interview had been a ploy to lure me or one of my ships to a predetermined point for an ambush, the appearance of a dreadnought-class flagship would have been a nasty surprise for the hunters. If the waiting ships were of sufficient size or numbers to trap and capture a dreadnought, the captain was under orders to trigger the self-destruct mechanism. It would have been a costly but necessary example for anyone who might entertain similar thoughts of entrapment."

"I thought the crew seemed awfully glad to see me," Erickson muttered, licking his lips nervously. "So I'm sitting here on a bomb that might go off at any time. That's certainly incentive for me to keep this interview short."

"Please, Mr. Erickson, there is nothing to worry about. I mentioned the self-destruct mechanism as an example of our defensive arrangements, not as a threat to you. Take as much time as is necessary."

"If you say so," the reporter murmured doubtfully. The conversation was taking a dubious tack, and he was eager to change the subject.

"You're upset," Tambu observed. "If you'd care for a drink, there is a bottle of Scotch on the table by the bathroom sink, along with glasses and ice. 'Inverness' I believe it's called. Feel free to help yourself."

"Thank you, no. I don't drink while I'm working."

"Very well. However, I've taken the liberty of ordering the ship's crew to load a case of that particular liquor onto your ship. Please accept it as a personal gift from me."

"You seem to know quite a bit about me," the reporter observed. "Right down to the brand of liquor I would drink, if I could afford it."

"I probably know more about you than you do, and definitely more than you'd like me to know. I've reviewed your family history, health records, psychological records, as well as copies of everything you've ever written including that rather dubious series of articles you wrote in school under an assumed name. You were checked very closely before permission for this interview was granted. I don't talk with just anyone who drops me a note. In my line of work, my whole future and that of my forces hinges on my ability to gather and analyze data. If I didn't think you were safe, you wouldn't be here."

"Yet you refuse to meet me face-to-face and dispatched a ship rigged to blow in event of betrayal?" Erickson smiled. "Your actions aren't as confident as your words."

There was a moment of silence before the reply came.

"I've made mistakes before," Tambu said at last. "Often enough that I long since abandoned any ideas of infallibility. In lieu of that, I guard against all possibilities to the best of my abilities. Now may we start the interview? Even though I have tried to set aside time for this meeting, there are many demands on my time and I can't be sure how long we'll have before other priorities pull me away."

"Certainly," Erickson agreed readily, glad to resume the familiar role of an interviewer. "I guess the first question would be to ask why someone of your intelligence and abilities turned to the ways of war and world conquering as a way of life rather than seeking a place in the established order."

"Purely a matter of convenience. If you think for a moment, I'm sure you could think of several men both as intelligent and as ruthless as I in your so-called established order. As you pointed out, they have successfully risen to positions of power, wealth, and influence. I am not that much different than they; only I chose to move into a field where there was little or no competition. Why fight my way up a chain of command when by taking one step sideways I could form my own chain of command with myself at the top, running things the way I felt they should be run from the start instead of adapting someone else's system until I was high enough to make my presence felt."

"But to terrorism and violence as a way of life?" the reporter pressed. "It seems a rather harsh way to extract a living from the universe."

"Terrorism and violence," Tambu mused. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Tell me though, Mr. Erickson, do you apply the same phrasing to what the Defense Alliance does? Both my fleet and that of the Alliance earn their living the same way-selling protection to the planets. They include us as one of the threats they are protecting the planets against. Aside from that, we do not differ greatly, except in words; a 'police action' versus a 'reign of terror.' Perhaps I over simplify the situation, but I don't feel the differential is justified."

"Then you see nothing wrong in what you're doing?" the reporter asked.

"Please, Mr. Erickson, none of your journalistic tricks of putting words in my mouth. I did not say I don't see anything wrong in what I do; simply that I don't see that much difference between my own forces tactics and those of the Defense Alliance."

"Are you then asserting that in the current conflict that it is you who are the hero and the Defense Alliance the villains?" Erickson prodded.

"Mr. Erickson I have asked you once, I will now warn you," Tambu's tone was soft, but deadly. "Do not attempt to twist my words into what I have not said. If I make a statement or express an opinion you take exception to, you are certainly welcome to comment to that effect, either in this meeting or in your article. However, do not attempt to condemn me for opinions which are not my own. I have shown my respect for you and your intelligence by granting this interview. Kindly return the compliment by remembering that in this interview you are not dealing with a dull-witted planetary sub-official and conduct yourself accordingly.

"Yes, sir. I'll remember that," the reporter promised, properly mollified. He would have to mask his questions more carefully.;

"See that you do. Still, you did raise a curious point. The rather romantic concept of heroes and villains, good guys and bad guys. It would be amusing if I did not think that you actually believe that rot. That's the main reason I granted this interview. It stands out all over your writing, and I wanted to meet someone who really believes in heroes. In exchange, I offered you a chance to meet a villain."

"Well, actually... "Erickson began, but Tambu cut him off.

"There are no heroes, Mr. Erickson. There are no villains." Tambu's voice was suddenly cold. "There are only humans. Men and women who alternately succeed and fail. If they are on your side and succeed, they are heroes. If they're on the other side, they're villains. It's as simple as that. Concepts such as good and evil exist only as rationalizations, an artificial logic to mask the true reasons for our feelings. There is no evil. No one wakes up in the morning and says, 'I think I'll go out and do something terrible.' Their actions are logical and beneficial to them. It's only after the fact when things go awry that they are credited with being evil."

"Frankly, sir, I find that a little hard to accept," Erickson frowned. This time his challenge was planned, carefully timed to keep his subject talking.

"Of course. That's why you're here, so I could take this opportunity to show you a viewpoint other than that to which you are accustomed. As a journalist, you are no doubt aware that in the course of my career I have been compared with Genghis Khan, Caesar, Napoleon, and Hitler. I believe that if you could have interviewed any one of those men, he would have told you the same thing I am today, that there is no difference between the two sides of a battle except 'them and us'. There may be racial, religious, cultural, or military differences, but the only determination of who is the hero and who is the villain is which side he's on. That-and who wins."

"Then what you are claiming is that this moral equivalence of opponents also applies to today's situation?"

"Especially today," Tambu said. "Now that mankind has moved away from the bloodbath concept of war, it is easier than ever to observe. Despite the blood-curdling renditions of space warfare which adorn the newstapes and literature, actual combat is a rarity. It's far too costly in men and equipment, and there is no need for it. Each fleet has approximately four hundred ships of varying sizes, and there are over two thousand inhabited planets. Even at the rate of one ship per planet, there is always going to be over eighty percent of the planets unoccupied at any given time. For a ship of either force to move on a new planet means temporarily abandoning another. As such, there is little or no combat between the fleets. The objective is to either move into unoccupied systems and divert their tribute into our coffers, or move into an occupied system with sufficient force to where the opposing ships will abandon the system rather than enter into a lopsided battle. It's a massive game of move and countermove, with little if any difference between the gamesmen."

"A stalemate," Erickson suggested. "Yet there was a time when the Defense Alliance was substantially weaker than your fleet. I find it interesting that you were powerless to stop its growth.

"Just because we refrained from openly opposing the Alliance when it was forming doesn't necessarily mean we were powerless to do so. You might say that was my error. I seriously underestimated their potential at first and actually ordered my fleet to avoid contact with them. Remember, we were well established at the time, and did not consider them a serious threat."

"I remember," the reporter nodded. He didn't, but he had done his homework in the news-service's backfiles. "Actually, I had hoped to get some information from you about those early days, before the Defense Alliance formed."

"That would take quite a bit of time, Mr. Erickson. I don't think you're aware of what you're asking. Most people never heard of me until we first started offering our services to the planets. In actuality, the fleet had been operating as a unit long before then. For me, the early days go back much farther than the point when we first appeared in the public eye."

"But that's specifically what I'm after. I want to be able to trace your career from its early days to the present, showing how you've developed over the years."

"Very well," Tambu sighed. "We'll cover as much as time allows. This will probably get quite involved, but I'm willing to talk if you're willing to listen."

"Then how would you say your career began?"

There was a moment's pause.

"There is a strong temptation to say I started out as a child."

"... born into a poor, but honest family?" Erickson completed the old joke, smiling in spite of himself.

"Not really. Actually, my parents were fairly well off. Various people have speculated that I had a bitter childhood, ruthlessly fighting for existence in the streets of some backwater planet. The truth is my father was... successful, quite successful at what he did. I would even go so far as to say that I had more love and affection in my early childhood than did the average person."

"Then...what happened? I mean, why did you... choose the path you have?"

"Why did I turn renegade?" Tambu asked, echoing Erickson's thoughts. "First, allow me to clarify my home situation. While, as I said, I was not lacking for affection, there were certain expectations placed upon me. I was to exceed my father's achievements-a task which, I assure you, was not easy. It seemed that everything I set my hand to, my father had been there first and done it better."

"So your father's pressure eventually drove you out," Erickson prompted as Tambu paused.

"Not directly... nor intentionally," Tambu corrected. "Much of it was self-imposed pressures or expectations. When I flunked out of college--undergraduate studies, at that--I decided to strike out on my own rather than return home. This was done partly because I was ashamed to face my parents, and partly to make a name for myself as myself, not as my father's son."

"I must admit you've succeeded there," the reporter smiled, shaking his head ruefully. "So you ran away to space. Then what?"

"I worked tramp freighters for several years. I had a friend... a close friend. He was several years older than I, and gentle as a kitten for all his strength. We worked several ships together, and probably would still be doing just that except for the mutiny."

"The mutiny?" Erickson's attention focused on the story possibilities.

"Not in the sense you're imagining. There was no organized revolt, no dark conspiracy. It just happened. Unfortunately, I can't give you the details without seriously breaching security... both my own and the forces'."

"Couldn't you omit specific details and change the names?" the reporter pleaded.

"Possibly... Actually, the important event was not the mutiny, but the decision we reached shortly thereafter."