Tambu

by Robert Asprin

  "Ubmat!" Nikki read. "I don't know, Dwight. It doesn't--"

  "Reverse them. Reverse them, and what you have is Tambu' !"

  "Tambu," Whitey echoed thoughtfully. "I like it. It's got a nice ring to it. Has it got any special meaning, or is it just a word?"

  "There's no special symbolism." Eisner laughed. "It's just a name. Now that that's settled, I'm ready to give my first order as your new captain."

  "Don't tell me, let me guess," Whitey quipped. "You want us to knock off the chatter and get to work. See how fast power corrupts?"

  "Actually, I was thinking more in terms of breaking out a bottle of the good wine and toasting our new names and careers."

  "And friendship!" Abuzar declared, clapping a massive hand on Eisner's shoulder. "You see, Roz? It'll take more than a new name or a new job to change this one. He'll always love his friends and his wine more than he loves work!"

  They all laughed, though some laughed louder than others.

  INTERVIEW II

  "Ulnar Blutman's Moving and Transport?" Erickson asked, as Tambu lapsed into silence.

  "Don't get your hopes up, Mr. Erickson." That was not a slip of the tongue betraying my original ship. It was a fabrication, as were the original names of the crewmembers, including my own. There is no--was no Ulnar Blutman. However, I assure you the actual origin of my name was equally inane."

  "Well, what's in a name, anyway?" the reporter shrugged, hiding his disappointment.

  "I assume you're being flippant, but there is an answer to that question. What's in a name is what one puts in a name. Tambu could have been a brand name for a new soap, but my actions and the legends which grew from them have made the name Tambu a household word of a completely different nature."

  "You sound quite proud of yourself," Erickson commented dryly, unable to hide his distaste.

  "That's another 'are you still beating your wife' sort of question," Tambu admonished. "But I'll try to answer it anyway. Yes, I am proud of myself. To get where I am today, I have overcome many obstacles and difficulties which would have stopped or crushed a lesser man. That is not boasting, merely stating a fact. I should add, however, that just because I am proud of where I am does not necessarily mean I am proud of everything I did to get here."

  "Then you're ashamed of the things you've done?"

  "Not ashamed, Mr. Erickson. Just not proud. There are certain events and decisions I regret in hindsight. Perhaps it is a rationalization, but I've never felt this type of regret was a trait unique to me. Surely there are things in your own past you wish you could do over?"

  "There are," Erickson admitted.

  "Then allow me to give you a bit of advice. Or rather, share a philosophy which has helped me when I find myself preoccupied with past mistakes. When I review a decision which turned out bad, I remember it was just that... BAD. "B"... "A"... "D". Best Available Data. I made the best decision I could, based on the data available, within the time perimeters allowed for the decision. Even though the results may not have gone as I predicted, or as I would have liked, I console myself with the memory of that moment of decision. Given the same situation, the same information, and the same amount of time to reach a decision, I would probably choose the same course of action again."

  "That makes sense." The reporter nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you."

  "Actually, it's an old accounting expression. But I find it applies readily to other fields as well."

  "Getting back to an earlier statement," Erickson pressed, suddenly aware of the interview. "You mentioned having to overcome many difficulties in your career. While it is obvious they would be there, I can only imagine what they must have been. What were some of the specific difficulties you encountered?"

  "They are literally too many to count, Mr. Erickson." Tambu sighed wearily. "At times it seems all I've encountered were difficulties. Sometimes I wonder whether I would have started this project originally if I could have looked into the future and seen the difficulties involved... if I had known then what 1 know now."

  "Once you made that decision, how soon did you begin encountering difficulties?"

  "Almost immediately. Things one takes for granted suddenly become obstacles when confronted by them directly. For example, there was the basic task of outfitting our ship for combat..."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "I don't like it, Dwight," Whitey cast a dark glance around the gloomy bar.

  "It's Tambu. Remember?" He took a leisurely sip from the glass in front of him.

  "I don't care if you call yourself the Queen of May," Whitey snapped. "I still don't like it."

  The bar was a typical dive, indistinguishable from hundreds of its fellows which cluttered the streets around any spaceport. Its clientele was composed mainly of crewmen on leave and ground crews, with a few drab locals holding court at the grimy tables along the walls. A tired-looking whore was perched at the bar conversing with the bartender, her drooping breasts threatening to slip free of her low neckline when she laughed.

  "I admit it's not what you'd call a class place," Tambu conceded. "But we're not here to deal with genteel folk."

  "That's not what I meant," Whitey scowled. "I've been in worse places."

  "Are you still worried about Puck? I don't like it either. Leaving a one-man watch on board ship is asking for trouble, but there wasn't any other way. All three of us had to be here for this deal: you for the technical expertise, me for the negotiating, and Egor for protection. It's dangerous, but it's the only way we could handle it."

  "That isn't it, either."

  "What then?"

  "It's this whole business. When I agreed to go along with this pirate-hunter bit, I didn't figure it would mean skulking around like a common criminal."

  "It's only a temporary situation," Tambu assured her. "Just until we get the ship outfitted. Until then we don't have much choice."

  "Sure we do. We could buy our weaponry through normal channels, like other ships do."

  "No we can't, Whitey. The kind of weapons we want can't be picked up through normal channels."

  "But other ships-" Whitey began.

  "Other ships buy antiquated weapons which haven't helped them at all in stopping a pirate attack." Tambu broke in pointedly. "We aren't cruising around hoping the pirates won't spot us, we're going to actively hunt them. For that, we'll need weapons as good or better than the ones the pirates use."

  "I suppose you're right."

  "I know I'm right. We've tried a dozen weapons dealers and gotten the same answer everywhere. 'Weapons of that nature are not available.' Then they try to sell us some popgun or other with toothy reassurances that it will be enough to protect us in most situations. Twice we've been told about the black market in arms here on Trepec, so here we are. If we can't find what we're looking for here, we'll just have to look somewhere else. We can't risk going into battle with inferior weapons."

  "We could opt against going into battle."

  "Not a chance," Tambu insisted. "The first time we try to move in on a pirate, they're going to fight--particularly if they think we're overmatched in the weapons department. I wish it wasn't the case, but that's the hard facts of the matter."

  "What I meant was that we could decide to give up the whole idea of pirate hunting."

  Tambu leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully.

  "What's bothering you, Whitey? We've gone over this a hundred times. The four of us. You were in favor of it then, and now suddenly you're against everything... the weapons, the fighting, pirate hunting... everything. What happened? Have you changed your mind?"

  "I don't know," Whitey admitted. "I was never that wild about the idea, but the three of you kind of swept me along-especially you, Mr. Tambu. You can be awfully persuasive. Now that we're actually moving on the plan... I don't know. I guess I'm just scared."

  "You can still deal yourself out if you want to," Tambu offered gently.

  "I'm not that scared." Whitey broke into a smile. "Who knows wh
at kind of trouble you three would get into if I wasn't there to watch over you. No, I may grumble a lot, but I'm still in."

  "You're sure I'm not 'persuading' you again?"

  "I'm sure, but don't laugh about your power to convince people. I was serious about that. You have a way about you... I don't know what it is, that wins folks over to your way of thinking. If you weren't so honest, you'd make an incredible con-man."

  Tambu protested, "I hate to argue with you, Whitey, but you're wrong. Maybe you're susceptible to my logic, but not everyone is. I remember a couple of girls-twins, in fact-that Egor and I made a play for on Isle, who weren't persuaded at all. Neither were their parents-or the police, for that matter. We were lucky our captain interceded for us, and he stepped in only because he didn't want to lose two crewmen-not because I convinced him to."

  "Speaking of Egor, where is he?" Whitey interrupted, peering at the door. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

  "Don't worry about Egor. He can take care of himself. He's just not particularly good at keeping timetables. Except for that, he's dependable to a flaw."

  "If you say so. There! You did it again!"

  "Did what again?"

  "Convinced me not to worry with just a few words. That's what I'm talking about. You could calm a cat in the middle of a dog show."

  "Not any more than anyone else could. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. It's no big thing."

  "You don't believe that any more than I do." Whitey snorted. "If you didn't think you had an edge on most people, why did you come along specifically to handle the negotiations on this deal?"

  "Because I'm a little better with numbers than most. Except for that..."

  "And you talk a lot better than most. You know when to push and when to back off. That counts for a lot."

  "I suppose you're right," Tambu admitted. "But why make such an issue out of it? You have a feel for the mechanics of a ship that makes me feel like a kid. Each of us has something we can do better than someone else. So what?"

  "The difference is I work with machines and you work with people," Whitey said. "I know what I'm doing and what to expect in the way of results. I don't think you do."

  "Probably not," Tambu admitted. "But I still don't see why you should get upset about it."

  "Because it's dangerous! You think you're only doing what people want you to do, and never stop to think you're actually calling the shots. Just because we agree with you when you ask the final question doesn't mean we agreed with you when you started-"

  Suddenly Tambu laid a hand on her arm, stopping her oration.

  "Heads up! We're about to have company."

  Three figures were approaching their table in a beeline course that left no doubt as to their intended destination. The girl was in her late twenties, sporting close-cropped blond hair, a halter top, shorts and sandals. The dusky-complexioned boy was in his early teens, and wore a sleeveless shirt open to the waist. Loose-fitting trousers and soft ankle-high boots completed his outfit. While there was nothing uniform about their garb, there was something in their gaze which set them apart from the other denizens of the bar and bound them together into a unit.

  The man in the lead was of an entirely different cut. In his middle fifties, his hair was close-cropped which, coupled with his expression, gave him the appearance of a Caucasian Buddha. Mechanic's coveralls gave his short, stocky figure the appearance of butterball fat, but there was a feline lightness to his walk.

  All three wore guns on their hips.

  "Mind if we join you?" the leader asked, smiling as he reached for one of the vacant chairs at the table.

  "As a matter of fact, we do." Tambu smiled back, hooking the chair with his foot and drawing it out of reach. "We're waiting for someone."

  For a moment, the man's eyes narrowed, but the smile never left his face.

  "No matter," he shrugged. "What we have to say won't take long."

  "Good," Whitey commented dryly.

  This time it was the man's companions who reacted, shooting dark looks at Whitey as their muscles tensed.

  The leader, however, took the jibe in stride.

  "A bit of a spitfire, isn't she?" he laughed, jerking his head at her.

  "You said you had some business with us?" Tambu prompted, an edge in his voice.

  The man nodded, showing even more teeth. "We've heard that you've been asking around after weapons of an exceptionally powerful nature."

  "Where did you hear that?" Whitey asked sharply.

  "Does it matter, as long as the information is accurate?"

  "What makes you think it's accurate?" Tambu countered.

  "The fact that she didn't deny it." The man smiled.

  "Assuming for the moment you're correct, what business is it of yours?" Tambu asked. "Are you an arms dealer?"

  The man threw back his head and laughed. "Me? Blackjack? An arms peddler? Not hardly." His laughter broke off and his eyes became wary. "And now that you've gotten that information out of me, maybe you wouldn't mind answering a direct question."

  "Such as?" Tambu asked.

  "Such as, are you a pirate?" Blackjack replied, his eyes darting weasel-like back and forth between the seated pair.

  "No, we're not. If we were, we probably wouldn't admit it openly."

  "Why not? I do. Blackjack's the name, piracy's the game. Been making a good living at it for over five years now. Now that I know you're not in the business yourself, I have a proposition for you."

  "And what would that be?" Whitey asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  "It's a straightforward deal. You tip us as to where you're going with your next shipment, we meet you, put a few picturesque but easily repaired holes in your hull, relieve you of your cargo, and we split the profits down the middle."

  "You lost me with your logic somewhere," Tambu said. "Would you mind backing up and starting over?"

  Blackjack rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Look, if you're not in the business, then you're looking for big guns to protect your cargo. If you're willing to pay that much for weapons, it stands to reason what you're protecting has to be pretty valuable. Right?"

  "Keep going," Tambu replied noncommittally.

  "The odds of your bringing a valuable shipment through are low, at best. You can't keep something that big a secret, and every space wolf around will be waiting for you. If you put up a fight, like it looks like you're planning to do, you'll probably not only lose your cargo, but your ship as well and maybe your lives."

  "And so you're going to be generous and offer us a better deal," Tambu said wryly.

  "Why not? If you do it my way, neither of us lose any men, and we both come out of it richer. Everybody's happy-except the insurance company that has to cover the loss. But they've got plenty of money."

  He beamed at them, obviously delighted with his own cleverness. Tambu matched him smile for smile.

  "No deal," he said flatly.

  Blackjack's face fell.

  "Why not?" he asked in a hurt tone.

  "Just because we aren't pirates doesn't mean we're stupid. What if we give you our flight plan and run out the welcome mat when you show up. What's to keep you from shooting our ship and us full of holes and keeping the whole pie instead of just half?"

  Blackjack was no longer smiling.

  "I'll assume you aren't willing to take my word for it..."

  "Good thinking," Whitey said.

  "...and instead I'll point out that it's in my own best interest to keep this relationship going as a long-term business deal. Four or five halves add up to more than two halves, if you get my meaning."

  "Don't you think the insurance company would get suspicious after a while? Not to mention our customers?" Tambu asked.

  "We could stagger it a bit," Blackjack explained, eager again. "Let a few shipments through and only hit the really big ones. By the time anyone figured out anything funny was going on, you'd have made enough to retire."

  "It's still no deal, Blackja
ck. I appreciate the offer, but I still think we're better off trusting in the guns we have pointed out than in the one pointed at us."

  "You know what this means, don't you?" Blackjack rumbled, his expression darkening. "If we find you out there, it will be no quarter."

  "On either side," Tambu nodded. "Be sure your crew knows that before you come barreling in on us."

  "It's your funeral." Blackjack turned to leave.

  "Just a second, Blackjack," Tambu called. "I have one last question before you and your playmates disappear."

  "What's that?" Blackjack scowled.

  "What would you have done if we said we were pirates?"

  "Then I would have told you to stay away from my territory. I don't take kindly to folks trying to horn in on my range."

  "And where is your range?" Tambu asked innocently.

  "You'll find out when you cross it. Until then, just keep looking over your shoulder."

  "No harm in asking," Tambu shrugged.

  The blond girl was whispering something in

  Blackjack's ear. He listened intently, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

  "That's a good question. Those weapons you're after cost a lot of money. Do you have it with you, or is it on your ship?"

  A sudden tension filled the air as the two forces surveyed each other.

  "I don't think I'll answer that," Tambu said.

  "Why not? It'll save us the trouble of finding out the hard way."

  "Because the person we were waiting for just showed up," Tambu smiled, meeting the pirate's eyes squarely.

  "Really?" Blackjack jeered.

  "Really!" Egor answered, looming behind the trio, gun in hand. "These three giving you trouble, captain?"

  "Trouble?" Tambu smiled at the frozen trio. "There's no trouble here. As a matter of fact, these three were about to put their weapons here, on the table, and go have themselves a drink. Isn't that right, Blackjack?"

  The pirate nodded, tight-lipped, and eased his gun from its holster, placing it carefully on the table. One by one, the other two followed suit.

  Tambu pointed. "I think that table there will do, where we can see you-and do keep your hands above the table, hmmm?"