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"No."
Major General Hampstead touches Vice Admiral Omohundro on the shoulder with the fingertips of his right hand and whispers into his ear. After two short sentences Brigadier Yost leans toward them to listen. I attempt to listen, but the terminal's auditory sensors are inadequate to the task. I reexamine my Peacekeeper military legal code listing, attempting to extrapolate their conversation. From my expression algorithms and a tone/inference examination of the trial transcript, I calculate a probability of 0.87 that the three judges do not in fact wish to find Aric and the Copperheads guilty. This is also consistent with several conversations that took place both before and after Commander Cavanagh's rescue, in which the participants of the rescue mission speculated that Peacekeeper Command would find it politically difficult to prosecute them should the mission be successful.
Security Chief Qui
Vice Admiral Omohundro looks briefly at the terminal lens. Expression analysis indicates wariness. "Thank you for your testimony and corrections, Max. If we need anything more, we'll contact you."
He reaches for a switch on the table. "You may speak, Commander Qui
"Sir, it seems obvious to me—"
The visual and auditory linkages are broken as the data-feed line is disco
But I am curious. Security Chief Qui
The far end of the linkage is broken, but the fluctuations of the disco
"—that Peacekeeper Command can hardly afford the luxury of taking eight Copperheads out of their fighters and locking them away somewhere. Furthermore, I'm sure the three of you have more urgent matters to attend to than to preside over full-blown court-martial proceedings."
Vice Admiral Omohundro's expression goes through four subtle but recognizable emotional changes as Security Chief Qui
"Agreed, sir. On the other hand, you must also consider troop morale. And, after all, we did succeed in bringing Commander Cavanagh back."
Vice Admiral Omohundro looks over at Commander Cavanagh. There is no longer any doubt: his expression is one of anticipation. "If you have a point to make, please get to it."
Qui
There is a distinct flicker in four of the polished metalwork surfaces within my line of sight. I examine the reflections and deduce that one of the still as-yet-unseen observers has crossed his arms across his chest. Further examination is inconclusive, but I estimate a probability of 0.60 that his expression has also changed.
Vice Admiral Omohundro looks in that direction, his expression also changing. "You have a comment to make, Parlimin VanDiver?"
I have a name now, and I take 0.01 second to locate and study the appropriate file. Jacy VanDiver, fifty-five, from Grampians on Avon; appointed a member of the NorCoord Parliament in 2297. The file notes several acrimonious contacts between Parlimin VanDiver and Lord Cavanagh over the past fifteen years, involving both business and political matters. Another curious fact catches my attention: Parlimin VanDiver was also under consideration for a seat in the NorCoord Parliament in 2291 and 2294. In both instances Governor Fletcher of Grampians on Avon appointed Lord Cavanagh instead.
"Not at the moment, Admiral." Parlimin VanDiver's voice is rich and deep. Without a baseline reading I ca
Vice Admiral Omohundro continues to look at Parlimin VanDiver for another 0.63 second, then returns his attention to Security Chief Qui
Vice Admiral Omohundro picks up a gavel lying beside his right hand and raises it to a height of 16.5 centimeters above the table. "This hearing is adjourned."
The gavel came down sharply on the table, and Pheylan Cavanagh breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
It was over.
"There we go," Admiral Rudzinski murmured from beside him as they stood up. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Pheylan smiled lopsidedly. "No, sir. Hardly even worth coming in for."
The admiral smiled wryly in return, then sobered. "You realize, of course, that this is hardly a triumph for any of them. They've escaped prison sentences so that they can be sent to the front lines of a war."
"That's where they should be, sir," Pheylan reminded him quietly. "We're Peacekeepers. That's our job."
And then Aric was there in front of him, trying hard not to grin and not succeeding all that well. "Well, that's over," he said, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Pheylan, for testifying for us."
Pheylan brushed past the outstretched hand and enveloped his older brother in a brief bear hug. "I think most of the debt is still on my side of the ledger," he reminded Aric as he stepped back again. "What are you going to do now?"
Aric grimaced. "I'm going to get the fueler released from impoundment and try to track Father down."
"Still no word from him?" Pheylan asked.
"No," Aric said. "I finally got a chance to talk to Captain Teva, though. It turns out Dad deliberately ordered him and the Cavatina away from Mra-mig about two and a half weeks ago."
"Yes, I heard he'd been on Mra-mig," Rudzinski said. "What was he doing there?"
"Looking for information about the Zhirrzh that might help us find Pheylan," Aric told him. "That 'Conquerors Without Reason' title we've been using apparently originated from some Mrach legend."
"Did he find anything?" Rudzinski asked.
"Apparently not," Aric said. "At least that was the message he sent to Dorcas with the Cavatina. After that, near as I can tell, he just dropped off the edge of the universe."
A breath of air brushed the back of Pheylan's neck, and he turned to find a burly, middle-aged man standing off to the side, listening silently to the conversation. "May we help you, sir?" he asked the man.