Tambu broke in. “Excuse me for interrupting, Pepe, but how many planets were you patrolling before the Defense Alliance began their operations?”
“Maybe twelve,” Pepe answered.
“Your reports say ten. And how many now?”
“Fifteen,” Pepe admitted.
“So at least, in your case, your business has increased-not decreased-with the appearance of the Alliance,” Tambu observed.
Pepe flushed.
“You told me to speak for the fleet, not my ship,” he argued.
“Quite right.” Tambu smiled. “Continue.”
“What is truly bad,” Pepe explained, his voice rising, “is the unhappiness in our crews. For many years now we tell them, ‘Practice with your guns… be ready to fight.’ Now, for the first time we have someone to fight, and we tell them, ‘Run away… don’t fight.’ Our crews… don’t know what to think anymore. They are con-fused. Are they fighters or runners, eh? We can’t keep telling them to be both.”
Scattered applause and murmured approval swept the room as Pepe sat down. Tambu pursed his lips and frowned as he watched, then leaned towards the mike.
“Thank you, Pepe. Before we go much further with the discussion, however, we should define our terms. What is this Defense Alliance we’re all so concerned about? While most of you know some of the facts, allow me to take a few moments to summarize the information which has come to me, so that we’re all on even footing.”
There were loud groans and the sound of people shifting in their chairs impatiently, but Tambu ignored them. Despite his awkward speaking form, Pepe had been a little too good at stating the fleet’s complaints. Tambu wanted to slow the pace of the meeting before it got out of control.