“Whoa!” Ramona interrupted, holding up her hand. “The fleet’s fine-or as good as could be expected. You haven’t been drinking, you’ve been working. Nonstop. What’s more, you worked thirty hours straight before you stopped talking to me or acknowledging there was anything in the universe except you and that damned viewscreen.”
“But the fleet’s all right?” Tambu pressed. “Who’s been handling their calls?”
“You have. But I’ll bet you couldn’t tell me who you talked with or what they said without looking at your notes.”
“You’re right,” he admitted ruefully. “I can remember generalities, but not specifics. I guess I’d better review this mess before I go any farther.”
“Not so fast! The other side of the coin is that you haven’t eaten or slept in that whole time. Now that you’re back in the land of the living, I’m not going to let you plunge into this again until you take care of yourself.”
“But I’ve got to reach a decision on this-and soon! “I’ve already stalled too long. The fleet’s counting on me.”
“Sure, the fleet’s counting on you,” Ramona argued. “So what happens to the fleet if you end up in sick bay from exhaustion and malnutrition? I’ll give you two choices: Either make your decision now, if you won’t rest until it’s done; or if you want more time to ponder the problem, rest, then make your decision. One of the two, but I want you in bed in the next fifteen minutes!”
Normally, Tambu would have been livid if any of his captains-even Ramona-had tried to give him orders. But now, he couldn’t even muster the interest or energy to argue. This, more than anything else, indicated to him that she was probably right.