They both lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts.
“I wish you had told me sooner,” Whitey commented finally. “It was bad, hearing it the way I did. I don’t know which was worse; the news itself or hearing from someone outside the fleet.”
“I’m sorry,” Tambu said sincerely. “I’ve been trying to put together a new policy statement for general release, and it isn’t easy. I’ve been trying to alert any captain due for planetfall, but the Raven wasn’t due at
Elei for another two days.”
“Puck was a friend of mine,” Whitey observed dryly. “You might have made an exception to your rules in this case.”
“I said I was busy!” Tambu snarled. “What do you think I do with my time? Sit on my butt and play darts? I would have called you if I could, but I couldn’t. There were more important things to do. I don’t like saying that, but that’s the way it is. The good of the fleet has to take precedence over my personal friendships.”
“What’s so all-fired important?” Whitey challenged. “How long does it take you to issue a statement saying you had nothing to do with Zarn-that the ship was acting against your orders and is going to be disciplined?”
“It-it isn’t as simple as that,” Tambu replied hesitant for the first time in the conversation. “There are a lot of factors to be considered.”
“Like what?” Whitey pressed. “Don’t you realize that the longer you let things sit without comment, the more people are going to assume you ordered the strike?”
“I realize it… more than you do, Whitey. As far as our personal friendship goes, I should tell you that except for the crew of Puck’s ship and myself, you’re the only one who knows I didn’t order the strike.”