"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."

CHAPTER ONE

The plump, red-faced man filled the small captain's cabin with his indignant anger, barely leaving room for his adversary seated behind the desk. This was not unusual. He was Dobbs of Dobbs Electronics, a man who fought his way to the top and who wasn't about to let anyone forget it-not his relatives, not his employees, and definitely not the captain of some second-rate tramp freighter.

His noisy indignation was his trademark, as was his presence for this transaction. Other business owners would sometimes relax and enjoy their success, delegating menial tasks to their subordinates, but Dobbs was cut from different cloth. He had been there for the unloading, riding the cargo shuttle from the ship to the spaceport planetside and back again. He had personally delivered the payment for the shipment. Therefore it was only natural that he would feel obligated to personally handle this last detail.

None of the proceedings had met with his approval, but this last oversight was a particular annoyance. He was in the wrong and he knew it, but that knowledge only increased his bitterness. More than anything, Dobbs hated to be wrong. Never one to hide his feelings, particularly his anger, Dobbs let his displeasure show. It showed in his stiff bearing and tight lips, in his ruddy complexion, and in the abrupt way he slammed the attach‚ case down on the desk.

"There it is." he announced flatly. "The balance of payment. I believe you said fifteen thousand was the difference between the original purchase price and the price you're asking now?"

"That's not entirely correct," the man seated behind the desk said. "It constitutes the difference in currency exchange between the time of purchase and the time of delivery."

"Semantics," the visitor countered. "It's still costing my company fifteen thousand more than we planned."

"As you will." The man at the desk sighed. "Would you care to have a seat while I count it?"

"I'd rather stand."

The seated man had been reaching for the attach‚ case, but at his visitor's rebuke he hesitated, then sat back in his chair frowning slightly.

"Mr. Dobbs... it is Dobbs isn't it? Of Dobbs Electronics?"

The visitor nodded stiffly, annoyed there had been any doubt as to his identity. He had been dealing with this man off and on for three days now.

"You seem both upset and determined to express your annoyance by being rude. I find both positions difficult to understand."

Dobbs started to protest, but the man at the desk continued.

"First of all, when you ordered your materials Cash On Delivery, you accepted the risk of currency-exchange fluctuations. That is standard in any contract of that kind, but it's still good business. If you paid in advance and our ship was attacked and taken by pirates, you'd be out the full cost of the shipment. As it is, you have to pay only for goods delivered, even though occasionally you have to pay a premium."

"Occasionally!" Dobbs snorted. "It seems like every time..."

"And even if I felt the system was unfair, which I don't," the man at the desk continued, "this ship is only the means of delivery. We don't make the rules. We only shuttle materials from point A to point B and collect the money, as instructed. In theory, we shouldn't have allowed your men to unload your cargo until we had collected our payment in full."

The man was leaning forward now, his eyes burning with a sudden intensity.

"In short, Mister Dobbs, I feel we've treated you fairly decently through this entire affair. If you have a complaint, I suggest you write a letter. In the meantime, isn't it about time you came down off your high horse and started acting like a human being?"

Dobbs started to retort angrily, then caught himself, reconsidered, and relaxed, exhaling a long breath. Like most bullies, he would give ground when confronted by a will of equal or greater strength.