son?
The door chimed, jolting into his thoughts. "Come in," he said, reaching over and swiveling the plate back around to face him.
"Dad." Aric nodded in greeting as he and Melinda walked into the room. "We interrupting anything?"
"Not really," he assured them. "How are you two doing?"
"We're holding up." Aric glanced at Melinda. "We wanted to talk to you about Pheylan."
Cavanagh glanced at Quinn, got a fractional shake of the head in return. "What about him?"
Aric's face changed; not much, but enough. He looked at Quinn, back at his father. "We were wondering if there was anything we could do to help get him back," he said, strolling behind Quinn and around the side of Cavanagh's desk. "Some kind of pressure we could bring to bear on Rudzinski or the Parliament."
"We don't know if he's even still alive," Cavanagh said, watching his son's all-too-casual approach. He'd picked up on the mood, all right, and he was aiming for a look at the plate. "But that's a good idea," he added, reaching over and blanking the screen. "Why don't you and Melinda go work up a list of Parlimins who owe me favors."
"Sure," Aric said, measuring his father with his eyes. "You want to tell us first what's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, Dad," Aric said. "This is no time for playing games. You and Quinn are planning something. What is it?"
Cavanagh looked at Melinda. She was watching him, too, her expression firm and alert. He'd never noticed before how much there was of Sara in her face when she looked like that. "All right," he told them. "I'm going after Pheylan."
"I see." Aric looked at his sister. "When?"
"Wait a minute," Melinda said. "Personnel before timetable, Aric. You're not talking about going yourself, are you, Dad?"
"Yes, I am," Cavanagh said. "And I don't want to hear any arguments about it."
"Too bad," she said. "Because you're going to get some. This is not some little joyride out to-"
"Melinda." Aric held up his hand. "Let's hear it from the top first, okay? Dad?"
"There isn't much yet to tell," Cavanagh said, waving them both to chairs. He should have known that he couldn't keep this from them for very long. Though to be honest, he hadn't really wanted to. "I was planning to take four of our armed freighters and go look for him, but Quinn tells me that won't work. He thinks we ought to borrow some Peacekeeper attack fighters instead."
"Does he, now," Aric said, giving Quinn a long, speculative look. "And how does he intend to perform this interesting feat of prestidigitation? Especially in the middle of war preparations?"
"Actually, the mobilization will work in our favor," Quinn said. "A lot of Peacekeeper ships and personnel are being rushed back and forth across the Commonwealth right now. A couple extra transfer orders slipped into the stack will hardly be noticed."
"How many transfer orders are we talking about?" Aric asked.
"Not many," he said. "We'd need to get hold of a deep-space fueler and half a wing of Axeheads." He hesitated. "And one Copperhead fighter."
Cavanagh looked at Aric, saw his own surprise mirrored in his son's face. "I appreciate the offer, Quinn," he told his security chief. "But this is my responsibility. Mine and my family's. I'm not inviting you along."
"You don't have a choice," Quinn said bluntly. "You're going to need someone with military experience in command of those fighters-that's not even open to question. Don't worry, there should still be a few Counterpunches lying around that I can get my hands on." Cavanagh looked again at Aric, searching for something to say. Locating and getting hold of a Copperhead fighter hadn't been the part he was worried about, and both he and Quinn knew it. But finding a diplomatic way of putting it...
He was still searching when Melinda jumped into the gap. "I still want to know, Dad, when it was decided that you personally would be going on this trip."
"About two hours before you and Aric crashed the party," Cavanagh told her. "And
The door chimed, jolting into his thoughts. "Come in," he said, reaching over and swiveling the plate back around to face him.
"Dad." Aric nodded in greeting as he and Melinda walked into the room. "We interrupting anything?"
"Not really," he assured them. "How are you two doing?"
"We're holding up." Aric glanced at Melinda. "We wanted to talk to you about Pheylan."
Cavanagh glanced at Quinn, got a fractional shake of the head in return. "What about him?"
Aric's face changed; not much, but enough. He looked at Quinn, back at his father. "We were wondering if there was anything we could do to help get him back," he said, strolling behind Quinn and around the side of Cavanagh's desk. "Some kind of pressure we could bring to bear on Rudzinski or the Parliament."
"We don't know if he's even still alive," Cavanagh said, watching his son's all-too-casual approach. He'd picked up on the mood, all right, and he was aiming for a look at the plate. "But that's a good idea," he added, reaching over and blanking the screen. "Why don't you and Melinda go work up a list of Parlimins who owe me favors."
"Sure," Aric said, measuring his father with his eyes. "You want to tell us first what's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"Come on, Dad," Aric said. "This is no time for playing games. You and Quinn are planning something. What is it?"
Cavanagh looked at Melinda. She was watching him, too, her expression firm and alert. He'd never noticed before how much there was of Sara in her face when she looked like that. "All right," he told them. "I'm going after Pheylan."
"I see." Aric looked at his sister. "When?"
"Wait a minute," Melinda said. "Personnel before timetable, Aric. You're not talking about going yourself, are you, Dad?"
"Yes, I am," Cavanagh said. "And I don't want to hear any arguments about it."
"Too bad," she said. "Because you're going to get some. This is not some little joyride out to-"
"Melinda." Aric held up his hand. "Let's hear it from the top first, okay? Dad?"
"There isn't much yet to tell," Cavanagh said, waving them both to chairs. He should have known that he couldn't keep this from them for very long. Though to be honest, he hadn't really wanted to. "I was planning to take four of our armed freighters and go look for him, but Quinn tells me that won't work. He thinks we ought to borrow some Peacekeeper attack fighters instead."
"Does he, now," Aric said, giving Quinn a long, speculative look. "And how does he intend to perform this interesting feat of prestidigitation? Especially in the middle of war preparations?"
"Actually, the mobilization will work in our favor," Quinn said. "A lot of Peacekeeper ships and personnel are being rushed back and forth across the Commonwealth right now. A couple extra transfer orders slipped into the stack will hardly be noticed."
"How many transfer orders are we talking about?" Aric asked.
"Not many," he said. "We'd need to get hold of a deep-space fueler and half a wing of Axeheads." He hesitated. "And one Copperhead fighter."
Cavanagh looked at Aric, saw his own surprise mirrored in his son's face. "I appreciate the offer, Quinn," he told his security chief. "But this is my responsibility. Mine and my family's. I'm not inviting you along."
"You don't have a choice," Quinn said bluntly. "You're going to need someone with military experience in command of those fighters-that's not even open to question. Don't worry, there should still be a few Counterpunches lying around that I can get my hands on." Cavanagh looked again at Aric, searching for something to say. Locating and getting hold of a Copperhead fighter hadn't been the part he was worried about, and both he and Quinn knew it. But finding a diplomatic way of putting it...
He was still searching when Melinda jumped into the gap. "I still want to know, Dad, when it was decided that you personally would be going on this trip."
"About two hours before you and Aric crashed the party," Cavanagh told her. "And
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