“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’.”