Where they are like everyone else is in the problems they encounter … for example, in dealing with their parents …
“Hello … Dad? It’s me. Willard … your son.”
The Legionnaire commander had retreated to the relative privacy of his own room for this call, choosing not to communicate with his father from Gunther’s office. This, in itself, was an indication of his uncertainty of how the conversation would go.
“I know,” the holo projection in the room said gruffly. “Nobody else has the clout to pull me out of a negotiation meeting.”
Seated in a corner, safely out of the camera’s view, Beeker took advantage of the rare chance to compare the two men side by side.
If anything, Victor Phule looked more like a military commander than his son did-or the majority of active military officers, for that matter. His manner and bearing displayed what his heir potential might achieve in maturity. Where his son was slender, the elder Phule had the lean, fit look of a timber wolf. His features had the sharp, angular planes of a granite cliff, whereas his son’s face still showed the softness of youth. In fact, the only visible clue as to his age was the white hair at his temples, but even that seemed a testimony of his strength rather than a hint of senility. All in all, anyone seeing Victor Phule would arrive at the conclusion, not incorrectly, that this was not a man to be trifled with, particularly if he was annoyed, as he seemed to be now.
“Well, you’ve got me,” the image growled. “What’s the problem this time?”