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All was quite at the Kreyler household, a fact that immediately told Jeln that something was up. His mother Sayla normally inquired how his day at work was when returning home, but she only greeted him with a simple 'welcome back' before resuming work in the kitchen. Busu was quiet as well, helping the wheelchair-bound mother fetch out-of-reach implements and ingredients. In the living room was the father, Hulun, studiously fixing a radio. He had an assembly of vacuum tubes and wires lying on a cloth atop the living room table, each being checked and tested in turn.

"What's wrong with the radio now, father?" said Jeln as he sat down in his chair. He ran his fingers through his dark hair before removing his glasses. "It has been serviced just last week by the technician."

"I'm checking it out for flaws, son." Hulun held a vacuum tube up to the light, looking for smudges. Finding one, he wiped the tube clean before installing it back in the radio. "A radio in working order gets more money at the trade-in shop than one that doesn't."

Hearing that comment made Jeln lean forward in his chair. "Trade-in shop? Father, that radio is only six months old. You go out of your way telling friends how good it sounds, especially during orchestral broadcasts. You're not thinking of getting one of those new-made transistor radio consoles?" Jeln said pensively. "You'll be paying twice if not three times the cost of what we have now. Not to mention whatever broadcast technology the government decides to accept from the Commonwealth. Why, radio as we know it might as well as be dead as stone."

Hulun laughed. "Son, I'm just making a possible plan for the future. As I see it, I just may hollow out this radio cabinet instead and have one of those 'television' devices that your girlfriend told us about."

"Lieutenant Carson is an acquaintance," Jeln asserted. "She was just making amends for accidentally breaking my glasses."

"Untruth," called Sayla as she rolled into the living room. What available lap space she had left was playing host to a bowl of cake mix. Coming to a stop, she waved a batter-covered mixing stick in front of Jeln's face. "Your face betrays you. Why, you look like the south end of a northbound Nequad."

"Gaia's given you an excellent opportunity, Jeln." Hulun said from his impromptu work bench. "Estelle has many excellent things in her favor."

The developing situation was familiar to Jeln, for he had experienced it before. He knew exactly what his parents were thinking. "This isn't the daughter of the local breadbaker we're talking about. Estelle is literally from another planet, and you and Mother have only spent a few hours in the same room with her."

"What we've heard and seen is enough for our blood, Jeln." Sayla gave a few stirs to the contents of the batter bowl in her lap. "She'll make an excellent mother for our grandchildren."

"So you're going down that road best left alone." With a turn of the head Jeln found a spot on the wall that was far more interesting than his mother's matriarchal face. He didn't need to see her in order to hear her, though.

Hulun wiped his hands with a fresh cloth. "Just put a hold on your stubborn head, son. We're just making some observations that you might not have considered. First of all, there's your career."

"What about it?" Jeln said, his voice not as forceful as it normally was because he was still facing the wall instead of looking forward.

"Bosses are more favorable in giving raises and promotions to married employees. Now, with Estelle, you'll have all the more reason for advancement and wealth." Hulun sounded like a debate practitioner. "She's the niece of a famous and successful admiral, connected to wealth and influence that all politicians dream of having. Even more, her grandmothers, from the way Estelle described them, were the most formidable police officers ever known."

"From the health aspect," Sayla continued for her husband, "Estelle is a basket of holiday plums. She has common ancestry with Pamela Parlor, and shares with all Parlor women that magnificent, maternal bustline. With those hips and able arms she can carry child beautifully. And," the mother added whimsically, "with her short stature, when her belly fills it will be early and prominent indeed."

"This is all so familiar," Jeln said sideways. "What was the time? Two years ago and a similar situation? A daughter of the transport company? Yes, that's the one. We all knew what happened then, if you want to recall."

"We couldn't have known it, dear," Sayla said with some discomfort. "Some people are not as enlightened as they ought to be in our modern world."

Jeln, who had his hands in his lap, kneed his fingers together and stretched them, palms out. The crackling of knuckles filled the suddenly-silent room with dread. "I only regret in not getting a few more hits in. I remember the day Husana told her family about me. When it came to tell about mother, well, that's when Mr. Patyr looked away from his account books long enough to unload his scorn and disgust on Husana. Long enough to convince her not to marry the son born of woman stricken with the crippler virus." Still not turning, the right side of Jeln's face could still be seen. It was now red with some streaks of sweat evident. Busu, looking from the kitchen entrance, had never seen his brother look like this before, and it scared him. "Then came the meeting between you and Patyr. A meeting that brought to an end what good feelings me and Husana had for each other. Patyr wasted not a clock-tick telling you that no wedding was possible. Worse, it was the tone Patyr said it, and right in your face no less! We all known that the crippler can't be inherited, and when you pointed that out to him, and when he dismissed it and continued...

"So I unload a brace of punches into that bigoted bastard's head," Jeln finished. "If a fraction of sense was hammered into that stone skull of his then it was worth it."

Sayla looked despondent, being made to recall the whole incident with crystal clarity. Had she the mind to do so, she would've told her husband years ago that if her legs still worked, she would kicked Patyr in both sets of pride. Wearing a somber look, Hulun had moved up behind Sayla's wheelchair, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There were other people present when Patyr spouted his vileness, Jeln," he said. "You had no need to punch him; his own words would've poisoned all of his future business dealings. I'm thankful that Husana convinced her father not to press charges. And your mother breathed a month's worth of prayers to Gaia asking for forgiveness and compassion. It was, at the time, that Husana was the best candidate to start your family. We wanted... assurance that the family had continuance."

Jeln sighed. "I know you meant well. I know that all of my friends and work colleagues have married or declared their desire for union. All I ask is that I make my own decisions in selecting a mate. Can you afford me that much choice?"

Wheeling up to her son, Sayla wished she could talk to him eye-to-eye. Jeln still kept his gaze on a spot on the wall. "What I ask of you is to give Estelle a chance. More that fate was involved when she accidentally bumped into you at the museum. She certainly felt comfortable next to you and around the rest of us. Why, aside from her pale skin, which a few days on the beach can cure, she practically the same as us."

The only concession to movement Jeln made was adjusting his glasses. "Are you forgetting that she's a space sailor, going where duty calls for months and years at a time? Not to forget, she had life-extension treatments that gives centuries to her mortal existence. I'll be a decrepid old pensioner while she'll be as young and fresh as the day I first met her."

"Nequad mess," Hulun broke in with reassuring heartiness. "I'm sure as the sun that those Commonwealth life-prolonging technologies will be made available on Gaia, and that'll mean plenty of time for you and Estelle. I hope, as any parents hope, that we'll be blessed with the site of chubby-cheeked babies before we ascend the sky and join Gaia in the cradle of her bosom."

For hearing such a corny line, Jeln would've smirked, but couldn't. Sayla rolled her wheelchair atop of Jeln's shoes. She grinned as she lightly rocked her chair, reminding Jeln of the chair and Sayla's weight. "Mother, that hurts. Get off my feet."

"Not until I hear a word from you," said she with spirit. It was clear she would keep her wheelchair on top of Jeln's feet until she heard that word. "I know this because I'm a mother. Estelle will get in contact with you again. When she asks to meet you, what will you say?"

"If saying yes will get you off my feet, then yes I say." Only then did Jeln turn back to find his mother's face smiling back at him. She rolled her chair off his shoes, much to his relief. Taking off his shoes, Jeln massaged his abused feet.

"Much better," said the mother. "I sense in Estelle a desire to know more about our history and culture. Use that opportunity to get to know what makes that heart beat under that smart uniform she wears."

"Plus remember that promise you made to me," said Busu from the kitchen door. "You said you and Estelle will attend a meeting of the technical club at school. My clubfriends will just spark when they meet her in person."

"I'm sure I can arrange a meeting with Estelle," Jeln surrendered. "I'll take the initiative and call first. Would that be enough assertion of my manly prowess?"
Hulun chuckled. "Enough for the now, son, enough for the now."

-------

With characteristic care, Pablo assembled the portable scanner devices he brought along to the Hadala Temple Complex (HTC). Located within the structure known as the Temple of Gathan, Pablo had spent the better part of a hour priming his equipment while senior members of the Hadala archeological team looked on with interest. Javeus, one of the team's senior members, practically hovered behind Pablo, gazing intently as his guest went on with his work.

Pablo understood Javeus' interest. Equipment that could do a year's worth of work in minutes would be welcomed by anyone, Terran or Gaian alike. In the case of the Temple of Gathan, such equipment was a necessity. For decades Gaian archeologists were puzzled by the construction of the temple. The interior had several sections apparently made of solid blocks of stone. Archeologist thought there were rooms in those sections, and had spent decades looking for secret doors and passages that would lead to those supposed rooms. Sonar tests proved inconclusive. Test bores couldn't reach far enough into the rock, not without doing considerable and permanent changes to the rocks in question.

With a final test, Pablo was ready to shed some light on the Temple of Gathan mystery. He had Javeus take a seat next to him. The other team members got behind them, eager to see Pablo's out-of-this-word technology in action. "Ready to do the honors?" said the Terran scientist to Javeus, pointing to a button on the control panel.

"Ah, exactly how does this 'scanner' work again?" Javeus eyed the green button hesitantly.

Pablo reassured his colleauge. "The scanner employs both x-rays and magnetic resonance imaging to penetrate the rock. The emitter is shielded so people nearby won't be exposed to errant x-rays. Don't worry; the only way a person could get sterilized from this scanner is by standing in front of it for a full hour."

"A comforting thought," Javeus said briskly as he pressed the button. There were no bells or whistles to indicate that the machine was on. Just an electronic beep that no-one, aside from Pablo, had heard before. Within moments a flatpanel display flared to life, showing a composite image of the stone structure's interior. "What are we looking at?" Javeus pointed at the display.

"That, Javeus, is a perfect interior image of a solid block of stone." Pablo adjust his scanning instruments. "Not so much as a fist-sized cavity or indications of seems and joints. Either the Neo-Atlans built their temple around this giant stone or had it moved in place."

"Well," said one of the team members standing behind Javeus, "it appears that this temple was indeed the primary centre of worship for the Gathan faith. Being the god of mountains and stone, Gathan would require a suitable symbol of his earthly form. Other Gathan temples had rectangular central sections, but those turned out to be rooms with quite thick walls. This solid piece of stone..."

"I don't agree," announced another archeologist. "I still assert that it's the temple at Mount Sannar that was the primary Gathan worship center. From what we know from Neo-Atlan writings, the whole mountain was considered to be Gathan's physical embodiment on earth."

"Nequad wash," the first archeologist replied. "Those writings were nothing more that sugary praise and a stroke to the male ego. Even the writings say that the their was a rivalry between the Gathan priests at the Sannar and Hadala temples."

The air between the two men became a bit heated as they voiced their opinions. It became obvious to Pablo that the Gathan argument was a well-practiced one for those involved. As the other scientists divided themselves between the two men and their respective viewpoints, Javeus leaned over and spoke into Pablo's ear. "Don't give them much mind," he said. "Hardly a week goes by without those two working their jaws about this temple. I suspect they want to hear the sound of their voice as much as they want to others to hear them speak."

"I've known a few such people in my archeology department," Pablo confided. "Without an occasional working of the jaw, those people are afraid their mouths will seize right up."

"My thought exactly. Now, my good friend," Javeus tapped the flatpanel display, "can you make a printing of your findings? The records team will need to assess the results."

"That I can, Javeus." With a press of a button Pablo had the scanner's built-in plaspaper printer disgorge a printed sheet. "There you go. Now I suspect we'll be going to the Temple of Peci, the Goddess of Gold. If any place is to have secret chambers then it would be that one."

The older man nodded. "You have my guess on that, but first the Matriarch will want to see you. She has made the time in her schedule."

Pablo's heart rate went up a step. "When?" he said normally, keeping the edge of excitement he wanted to express from exiting his throat.

Javeus smiled. "This afternoon at 2 p.m. You must feel honored. The Matriarch moves at her own rate. Apparently she is compelled to speak with you today."

"What about the weddings she was to officiate today?" Pablo said as he shut down the scanner. "I don't want to be the cause of inconvenience for those couples and their families."

"Don't worry, friend. The Matriarch had the two couples in question reschedule the weddings for tomorrow." A glimmer of happiness sprang into Javeus' eyes. "Seeing that blessed lady grow her bosom huge four times in one day instead of two will be a sweet treat for this man."

Pablo swore his heart was beating as loud as a drum as soon as he heard Javeus utter his last sentence. The intensity of his lustful pangs to see the Matriarch's breasts swell to immense size four times in one day was only exceeded by the thought that he would be meeting her, in person, in just a few hours. Pablo was so thralled by the thought of being within tweaking range of the tall redhead's nipples that he had dismantled and packed the scanner in the record time of twenty minutes.

-------

The briefing room on the Stroud was completely occupied when the man who arranged the meeting arrived. Admiral Carson took his seat after waving his subordinates to stand at ease. "Good afternoon," he said. "It's been awhile since I've attended one of these meetings. Having a four-week stay on a most-inviting planet can make anyone a bit rusty." His smile put his fellow officers more at ease. "So please, bring this fully-relaxed old salt up to speed on his task force."

"For an old salt, sir, you look good for your age," said Commodore Tess Wilwerding like an enthusiastic ensign. Being a good friend of the Admiral, Wilwerding could get away with an occasional playful jab at Carson's appearance. Thanks to prolong, Carson had the looks of a 30-year-old in a body that has seen 71 years. Thought, at times, he could certainly act his calendar age. "Overall, the task force is experiencing high moral," Tess continued. "All shipboard departments report a rise in performance ratings. After the initial round of shore leave is complete, the main factor for all further leave will be based on those ratings. We can expect our personnel putting more into their work, increasing their chances for shore leave considerations."

"That's all the well and good, Commodore," Carson commented. "Will there be additional incentives and compensation for those who will have to wait there turn after the initial shore leave schedule?"

With a nod Wilwerding indicated to Captain Huang, chief logistics officer of the task force. Huang's face was that of the proverbial china doll, though beneath her normally non-emotive exterior was a woman who enjoyed life as much as the next person. Her fellow officers found that fact a bit hard to believe at times, given Huang's attention to detail and records that boarded on obsession. "With the groundwork that you and the contact team have made, Admiral," spoke the soft-eyed officer, "we've been able to secure a steady supply of fresh Gaian foodstuffs and drinks. The crews enjoy the influx of new mess hall menu items. A side benefit is that we will be able to extend our own shipboard supplies of food that much longer. Scheduling of duty assignments have now gone to a six-hour shift rotation instead of eight hours. This will add more off-duty time for shipboard personnel to peruse leisure time activities. Good food and play is making our stay here a happy one for all involved."

"I'm glad to hear that, Captain Huang. Our people deserve the best for the work they've performed." Carson next turned to Wilwerding. "Let's go down the list, Commodore. The report from the engineering section, please." In the course of thirty minutes the status of various departments in the task force, ranging from the medical condition of the crews to life support upkeep were discussed. Carson knew to a good extent what the department chiefs had to say. He wanted to hear their findings in person, gauging the level of professionalism his officers projected. To his relief and well-placed pride, he found that even an understandable distraction such as Gaia didn't diminish his officers' sense of duty and professionalism. Maintaining of standards was as much a mental exercise as a physical one. Keeping busy helped the task force crews maintain their edge. What Carson was about to say next will put some of those crews efforts into active use.

After the last report was done Carson looked down both sides of the conference table. Over the last three years his staff developed the collective sense of when bad news was about to be spoken. He noted the way the officers sat perfectly straight in their chairs, indicating that they were ready for what had to be some potentially bad news. "In three weeks some of us will have to prove to the brass back home that we're actually doing our jobs," Carson said with a mix of wit and seriousness. With a curt nod, Carson turned to Captain Valmont, the staff intelligence officer "I'll let our resident spook give the news."

"Thank you, Admiral." The russett-haired officer activated the tri-dee imager built into the briefing room table. A two meter-wide holographic star map came to life above the table's center. Miniscule white dots, forming unnamed chains and constellations of light, floated clockwise as if being pushed along by an invisible hand. "In eight weeks there will be a general anti-piracy operation. Thanks to some long-term undercover work of the Marshall's Office, several pirate bases have been located and," Valmont said hopefully, "if we're lucky, the Ching Shih will finally join her five sisterships in the hereafter."

A murmur of agreement filled the room. The Ching Shih was one of six superdreadnaughts built at the Aquarian pirate shipyard eighty years earlier. Like her sisterships, the Shih, at 250,000 tons, was 25% larger than a Commonwealth SD. However, about 40,000 tons of the Shih's capacity was devoted to holding cargo and repair systems, serving both as the treasurebox and repair ship of a pirate squadron. During the decades of their operation, the six pirate SDs caused considerable mayhem, raiding and attacking shipping routes and colony worlds. With the speed to outrun Commonwealth capital ships and the firepower to crush cruisers that could catch them, the largest combat ships operated by the pirates were untouchable.

Eventually, the 'golden time' of pirate operations came to an end. In 2441 two of the SDs, Port Royal and Gold Coast, were destroyed along with a hefty percentage of the Aquarian pirate fleet at their home port of Aquarias. Nine years later the Cutlass was so badly damaged in a battle with six CSN battlecruisers that her crew scuttled their ship rather than letting it be captured. The Spanish Main crossed paths with the battleship-sized Q-ship Walkabout in 2458. The ensuing vicious battle resulted in both ships succumbing to the damage inflicted by the other. As for the Barbary Coast, it enjoyed seven more years of operations than the Spanish Main. Instead of ships, the Barbary Coast was assailed by the combined fighter strength of two CSN fleet carriers. One-third of the engaging fighters were destroyed, but that left eighty more to finish the job, reducing the huge pirate ship into an unrecognizable collection of debris. With only the Ching Shih remaining, the CSN commander that could claim its destruction would gain a goodly amount of prestige.

Valmont manipulated the tri-dee controls, highlighting a specific holographically-generated star in the floating display. "As you can see, there's one pirate base 156 light-years from Gaia. Being that our task force is the closest, the strategy board has decided to detach a number of our ships to support the operation against that base."

"How many are we talking about, Mr. Valmot?" said the Stroud's commander, Captain Ichiba.

"Roughly a third of our ships, including the battlecruisers that escorted the science ship."

Commander Jordan, the staff strategy officer, reacted to that particular piece of news briskly. "One-third? We need to keep the task force intact." He turned to Admiral Carson. "Sir, though the pirates have been reduced in numbers over the past 20 years they're still capable of bold action. We need a strong enough force to deter any thoughts the pirates may have in raiding Gaia. What we have now will ensure the planet's safety."

With a practiced face of a judge delivering a sentence, Carson made his reply. "Commander, rest assured that I stressed that point to the Admiralty since our arrival. The policies in place to deal with the pirates have made results, but the fact remains that one sure way to stop pirates is to destroy their ships. In addition to the Ching Shih, there are at least four construction ships in the pirate's employ that can build battlecruiser-sized hulls. With those gone, the pirates will become very reluctant to commit their surviving big ships to action. In time, the largest ships those criminals can build, field, and maintain will be destroyers. With the convoy system we have in place, those destroyers will find the hunting pretty scarce."

"All of which you said is possible, Admiral." Jordan tapped the table surface for emphasis. "The fact remains is that Gaia is a pirate's treasure wet dream." He shot a sidelong look at Valmont. "God forbid that our inside sources are wrong, but what if the pirates throw all their heavy stuff here? We'll be on even terms with what we have now. With one-third gone..."

"I have to disagree with Commander Jordan." Sitting even a bit more straight in his chair, Valmont returned Jordan's look with interest. "Pirates go after the sure thing, and gold doesn't do a dead man any good. They may be able to overwhelm the odd convoy with what ships they have, but," he said firmly, "what they don't do is to go out and deliberately seek battle. Pirates would rather hide under a rock while a task force such as ours is operating in their area. Moreover, despite the image they want to project, pirate vessels are not as capable as ours. Even with cloaking ECM, half of their battlecruisers are nothing more than converted high-speed modular freighters. They may pack a punch in the missile department, but any sort of internal damage will greatly reduce their combat effectiveness. Only their fighters provide a significant threat, but our fighters can more than hold their own against them."

"Some pirates aren't noted for their reasoning and logical ways of thinking, Mr. Valmont. There have been examples of seemingly impossible feats that they have pulled off. Recall the theft of the Barham in 2339, for one."

"Mr. Jordan, there's a big difference between stealing a ship and attacking a well-defended target..."

"That's enough," said Carson with a raised hand, silencing Valmont in mid-sentence. "The Brass has made their decision, and further debate on the subject will be pointless. Even with the one-third reduction, our remaining battle-capable ships will top the scales at three million tons. Moreover, only one light carrier will be going, so our fighter strength will still be robust. To pardon the cliche, we'll all have to make more with less." Carson didn't need to look at Jordan's face for a reaction. On the outside, Jordan was as unreadable as a wall, but a sensitive soul could hear the gears turning and steam building as the strategy officer figured out ways to carry out the task laid before him. Likewise, Valmont was looking forward to spending hours each day evaluating incoming intelligence reports on pirate activity. As for Huang, the reduction of the task force will be merely just another exercise of logistics. Allocating foodstuffs and missiles between a multitude of ships was something she could do in her sleep.

Carson continued. "Now is the time to discuss the specifics of the reallocation of our ships and supplies. We will also revise our operational plans and ship exercise schedules. So," he glanced at the wall chrono, "those who have to use the head, do so now. We're going to be at it for the next few hours." His grin made everyone feel at bit at ease. "At evening mess I want to have a preliminary plan of action sitting in front of me as I eat some of that fine Gaian sweetfruit that Captain Huang has provided for us."

Description
All was quite at the Kreyler household, a fact that immediately told Jeln that something was up. His mother Sayla normally inquired how his day at work was when returning home, but she only greeted him with a simple 'welcome back' before resuming work in the kitchen. Busu was quiet as well, helping the wheelchair-bound mother fetch out-of-reach implements and ingredients. In the living room was the father, Hulun, studiously fixing a radio. He had an assembly of vacuum tubes and wires lying on a cloth atop the living room table, each being checked and tested in turn.

"What's wrong with the radio now, father?" said Jeln as he sat down in his chair. He ran his fingers through his dark hair before removing his glasses. "It has been serviced just last week by the technician."

"I'm checking it out for flaws, son." Hulun held a vacuum tube up to the light, looking for smudges. Finding one, he wiped the tube clean before installing it back in the radio. "A radio in working order gets more money at the trade-in shop than one that doesn't."

Hearing that comment made Jeln lean forward in his chair. "Trade-in shop? Father, that radio is only six months old. You go out of your way telling friends how good it sounds, especially during orchestral broadcasts. You're not thinking of getting one of those new-made transistor radio consoles?" Jeln said pensively. "You'll be paying twice if not three times the cost of what we have now. Not to mention whatever broadcast technology the government decides to accept from the Commonwealth. Why, radio as we know it might as well as be dead as stone."

Hulun laughed. "Son, I'm just making a possible plan for the future. As I see it, I just may hollow out this radio cabinet instead and have one of those 'television' devices that your girlfriend told us about."

"Lieutenant Carson is an acquaintance," Jeln asserted. "She was just making amends for accidentally breaking my glasses."

"Untruth," called Sayla as she rolled into the living room. What available lap space she had left was playing host to a bowl of cake mix. Coming to a stop, she waved a batter-covered mixing stick in front of Jeln's face. "Your face betrays you. Why, you look like the south end of a northbound Nequad."

"Gaia's given you an excellent opportunity, Jeln." Hulun said from his impromptu work bench. "Estelle has many excellent things in her favor."

The developing situation was familiar to Jeln, for he had experienced it before. He knew exactly what his parents were thinking. "This isn't the daughter of the local breadbaker we're talking about. Estelle is literally from another planet, and you and Mother have only spent a few hours in the same room with her."

"What we've heard and seen is enough for our blood, Jeln." Sayla gave a few stirs to the contents of the batter bowl in her lap. "She'll make an excellent mother for our grandchildren."

"So you're going down that road best left alone." With a turn of the head Jeln found a spot on the wall that was far more interesting than his mother's matriarchal face. He didn't need to see her in order to hear her, though.

Hulun wiped his hands with a fresh cloth. "Just put a hold on your stubborn head, son. We're just making some observations that you might not have considered. First of all, there's your career."

"What about it?" Jeln said, his voice not as forceful as it normally was because he was still facing the wall instead of looking forward.

"Bosses are more favorable in giving raises and promotions to married employees. Now, with Estelle, you'll have all the more reason for advancement and wealth." Hulun sounded like a debate practitioner. "She's the niece of a famous and successful admiral, connected to wealth and influence that all politicians dream of having. Even more, her grandmothers, from the way Estelle described them, were the most formidable police officers ever known."

"From the health aspect," Sayla continued for her husband, "Estelle is a basket of holiday plums. She has common ancestry with Pamela Parlor, and shares with all Parlor women that magnificent, maternal bustline. With those hips and able arms she can carry child beautifully. And," the mother added whimsically, "with her short stature, when her belly fills it will be early and prominent indeed."

"This is all so familiar," Jeln said sideways. "What was the time? Two years ago and a similar situation? A daughter of the transport company? Yes, that's the one. We all knew what happened then, if you want to recall."

"We couldn't have known it, dear," Sayla said with some discomfort. "Some people are not as enlightened as they ought to be in our modern world."

Jeln, who had his hands in his lap, kneed his fingers together and stretched them, palms out. The crackling of knuckles filled the suddenly-silent room with dread. "I only regret in not getting a few more hits in. I remember the day Husana told her family about me. When it came to tell about mother, well, that's when Mr. Patyr looked away from his account books long enough to unload his scorn and disgust on Husana. Long enough to convince her not to marry the son born of woman stricken with the crippler virus." Still not turning, the right side of Jeln's face could still be seen. It was now red with some streaks of sweat evident. Busu, looking from the kitchen entrance, had never seen his brother look like this before, and it scared him. "Then came the meeting between you and Patyr. A meeting that brought to an end what good feelings me and Husana had for each other. Patyr wasted not a clock-tick telling you that no wedding was possible. Worse, it was the tone Patyr said it, and right in your face no less! We all known that the crippler can't be inherited, and when you pointed that out to him, and when he dismissed it and continued...

"So I unload a brace of punches into that bigoted bastard's head," Jeln finished. "If a fraction of sense was hammered into that stone skull of his then it was worth it."

Sayla looked despondent, being made to recall the whole incident with crystal clarity. Had she the mind to do so, she would've told her husband years ago that if her legs still worked, she would kicked Patyr in both sets of pride. Wearing a somber look, Hulun had moved up behind Sayla's wheelchair, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There were other people present when Patyr spouted his vileness, Jeln," he said. "You had no need to punch him; his own words would've poisoned all of his future business dealings. I'm thankful that Husana convinced her father not to press charges. And your mother breathed a month's worth of prayers to Gaia asking for forgiveness and compassion. It was, at the time, that Husana was the best candidate to start your family. We wanted... assurance that the family had continuance."

Jeln sighed. "I know you meant well. I know that all of my friends and work colleagues have married or declared their desire for union. All I ask is that I make my own decisions in selecting a mate. Can you afford me that much choice?"

Wheeling up to her son, Sayla wished she could talk to him eye-to-eye. Jeln still kept his gaze on a spot on the wall. "What I ask of you is to give Estelle a chance. More that fate was involved when she accidentally bumped into you at the museum. She certainly felt comfortable next to you and around the rest of us. Why, aside from her pale skin, which a few days on the beach can cure, she practically the same as us."

The only concession to movement Jeln made was adjusting his glasses. "Are you forgetting that she's a space sailor, going where duty calls for months and years at a time? Not to forget, she had life-extension treatments that gives centuries to her mortal existence. I'll be a decrepid old pensioner while she'll be as young and fresh as the day I first met her."

"Nequad mess," Hulun broke in with reassuring heartiness. "I'm sure as the sun that those Commonwealth life-prolonging technologies will be made available on Gaia, and that'll mean plenty of time for you and Estelle. I hope, as any parents hope, that we'll be blessed with the site of chubby-cheeked babies before we ascend the sky and join Gaia in the cradle of her bosom."

For hearing such a corny line, Jeln would've smirked, but couldn't. Sayla rolled her wheelchair atop of Jeln's shoes. She grinned as she lightly rocked her chair, reminding Jeln of the chair and Sayla's weight. "Mother, that hurts. Get off my feet."

"Not until I hear a word from you," said she with spirit. It was clear she would keep her wheelchair on top of Jeln's feet until she heard that word. "I know this because I'm a mother. Estelle will get in contact with you again. When she asks to meet you, what will you say?"

"If saying yes will get you off my feet, then yes I say." Only then did Jeln turn back to find his mother's face smiling back at him. She rolled her chair off his shoes, much to his relief. Taking off his shoes, Jeln massaged his abused feet.

"Much better," said the mother. "I sense in Estelle a desire to know more about our history and culture. Use that opportunity to get to know what makes that heart beat under that smart uniform she wears."

"Plus remember that promise you made to me," said Busu from the kitchen door. "You said you and Estelle will attend a meeting of the technical club at school. My clubfriends will just spark when they meet her in person."

"I'm sure I can arrange a meeting with Estelle," Jeln surrendered. "I'll take the initiative and call first. Would that be enough assertion of my manly prowess?"
Hulun chuckled. "Enough for the now, son, enough for the now."

-------

With characteristic care, Pablo assembled the portable scanner devices he brought along to the Hadala Temple Complex (HTC). Located within the structure known as the Temple of Gathan, Pablo had spent the better part of a hour priming his equipment while senior members of the Hadala archeological team looked on with interest. Javeus, one of the team's senior members, practically hovered behind Pablo, gazing intently as his guest went on with his work.

Pablo understood Javeus' interest. Equipment that could do a year's worth of work in minutes would be welcomed by anyone, Terran or Gaian alike. In the case of the Temple of Gathan, such equipment was a necessity. For decades Gaian archeologists were puzzled by the construction of the temple. The interior had several sections apparently made of solid blocks of stone. Archeologist thought there were rooms in those sections, and had spent decades looking for secret doors and passages that would lead to those supposed rooms. Sonar tests proved inconclusive. Test bores couldn't reach far enough into the rock, not without doing considerable and permanent changes to the rocks in question.

With a final test, Pablo was ready to shed some light on the Temple of Gathan mystery. He had Javeus take a seat next to him. The other team members got behind them, eager to see Pablo's out-of-this-word technology in action. "Ready to do the honors?" said the Terran scientist to Javeus, pointing to a button on the control panel.

"Ah, exactly how does this 'scanner' work again?" Javeus eyed the green button hesitantly.

Pablo reassured his colleauge. "The scanner employs both x-rays and magnetic resonance imaging to penetrate the rock. The emitter is shielded so people nearby won't be exposed to errant x-rays. Don't worry; the only way a person could get sterilized from this scanner is by standing in front of it for a full hour."

"A comforting thought," Javeus said briskly as he pressed the button. There were no bells or whistles to indicate that the machine was on. Just an electronic beep that no-one, aside from Pablo, had heard before. Within moments a flatpanel display flared to life, showing a composite image of the stone structure's interior. "What are we looking at?" Javeus pointed at the display.

"That, Javeus, is a perfect interior image of a solid block of stone." Pablo adjust his scanning instruments. "Not so much as a fist-sized cavity or indications of seems and joints. Either the Neo-Atlans built their temple around this giant stone or had it moved in place."

"Well," said one of the team members standing behind Javeus, "it appears that this temple was indeed the primary centre of worship for the Gathan faith. Being the god of mountains and stone, Gathan would require a suitable symbol of his earthly form. Other Gathan temples had rectangular central sections, but those turned out to be rooms with quite thick walls. This solid piece of stone..."

"I don't agree," announced another archeologist. "I still assert that it's the temple at Mount Sannar that was the primary Gathan worship center. From what we know from Neo-Atlan writings, the whole mountain was considered to be Gathan's physical embodiment on earth."

"Nequad wash," the first archeologist replied. "Those writings were nothing more that sugary praise and a stroke to the male ego. Even the writings say that the their was a rivalry between the Gathan priests at the Sannar and Hadala temples."

The air between the two men became a bit heated as they voiced their opinions. It became obvious to Pablo that the Gathan argument was a well-practiced one for those involved. As the other scientists divided themselves between the two men and their respective viewpoints, Javeus leaned over and spoke into Pablo's ear. "Don't give them much mind," he said. "Hardly a week goes by without those two working their jaws about this temple. I suspect they want to hear the sound of their voice as much as they want to others to hear them speak."

"I've known a few such people in my archeology department," Pablo confided. "Without an occasional working of the jaw, those people are afraid their mouths will seize right up."

"My thought exactly. Now, my good friend," Javeus tapped the flatpanel display, "can you make a printing of your findings? The records team will need to assess the results."

"That I can, Javeus." With a press of a button Pablo had the scanner's built-in plaspaper printer disgorge a printed sheet. "There you go. Now I suspect we'll be going to the Temple of Peci, the Goddess of Gold. If any place is to have secret chambers then it would be that one."

The older man nodded. "You have my guess on that, but first the Matriarch will want to see you. She has made the time in her schedule."

Pablo's heart rate went up a step. "When?" he said normally, keeping the edge of excitement he wanted to express from exiting his throat.

Javeus smiled. "This afternoon at 2 p.m. You must feel honored. The Matriarch moves at her own rate. Apparently she is compelled to speak with you today."

"What about the weddings she was to officiate today?" Pablo said as he shut down the scanner. "I don't want to be the cause of inconvenience for those couples and their families."

"Don't worry, friend. The Matriarch had the two couples in question reschedule the weddings for tomorrow." A glimmer of happiness sprang into Javeus' eyes. "Seeing that blessed lady grow her bosom huge four times in one day instead of two will be a sweet treat for this man."

Pablo swore his heart was beating as loud as a drum as soon as he heard Javeus utter his last sentence. The intensity of his lustful pangs to see the Matriarch's breasts swell to immense size four times in one day was only exceeded by the thought that he would be meeting her, in person, in just a few hours. Pablo was so thralled by the thought of being within tweaking range of the tall redhead's nipples that he had dismantled and packed the scanner in the record time of twenty minutes.

-------

The briefing room on the Stroud was completely occupied when the man who arranged the meeting arrived. Admiral Carson took his seat after waving his subordinates to stand at ease. "Good afternoon," he said. "It's been awhile since I've attended one of these meetings. Having a four-week stay on a most-inviting planet can make anyone a bit rusty." His smile put his fellow officers more at ease. "So please, bring this fully-relaxed old salt up to speed on his task force."

"For an old salt, sir, you look good for your age," said Commodore Tess Wilwerding like an enthusiastic ensign. Being a good friend of the Admiral, Wilwerding could get away with an occasional playful jab at Carson's appearance. Thanks to prolong, Carson had the looks of a 30-year-old in a body that has seen 71 years. Thought, at times, he could certainly act his calendar age. "Overall, the task force is experiencing high moral," Tess continued. "All shipboard departments report a rise in performance ratings. After the initial round of shore leave is complete, the main factor for all further leave will be based on those ratings. We can expect our personnel putting more into their work, increasing their chances for shore leave considerations."

"That's all the well and good, Commodore," Carson commented. "Will there be additional incentives and compensation for those who will have to wait there turn after the initial shore leave schedule?"

With a nod Wilwerding indicated to Captain Huang, chief logistics officer of the task force. Huang's face was that of the proverbial china doll, though beneath her normally non-emotive exterior was a woman who enjoyed life as much as the next person. Her fellow officers found that fact a bit hard to believe at times, given Huang's attention to detail and records that boarded on obsession. "With the groundwork that you and the contact team have made, Admiral," spoke the soft-eyed officer, "we've been able to secure a steady supply of fresh Gaian foodstuffs and drinks. The crews enjoy the influx of new mess hall menu items. A side benefit is that we will be able to extend our own shipboard supplies of food that much longer. Scheduling of duty assignments have now gone to a six-hour shift rotation instead of eight hours. This will add more off-duty time for shipboard personnel to peruse leisure time activities. Good food and play is making our stay here a happy one for all involved."

"I'm glad to hear that, Captain Huang. Our people deserve the best for the work they've performed." Carson next turned to Wilwerding. "Let's go down the list, Commodore. The report from the engineering section, please." In the course of thirty minutes the status of various departments in the task force, ranging from the medical condition of the crews to life support upkeep were discussed. Carson knew to a good extent what the department chiefs had to say. He wanted to hear their findings in person, gauging the level of professionalism his officers projected. To his relief and well-placed pride, he found that even an understandable distraction such as Gaia didn't diminish his officers' sense of duty and professionalism. Maintaining of standards was as much a mental exercise as a physical one. Keeping busy helped the task force crews maintain their edge. What Carson was about to say next will put some of those crews efforts into active use.

After the last report was done Carson looked down both sides of the conference table. Over the last three years his staff developed the collective sense of when bad news was about to be spoken. He noted the way the officers sat perfectly straight in their chairs, indicating that they were ready for what had to be some potentially bad news. "In three weeks some of us will have to prove to the brass back home that we're actually doing our jobs," Carson said with a mix of wit and seriousness. With a curt nod, Carson turned to Captain Valmont, the staff intelligence officer "I'll let our resident spook give the news."

"Thank you, Admiral." The russett-haired officer activated the tri-dee imager built into the briefing room table. A two meter-wide holographic star map came to life above the table's center. Miniscule white dots, forming unnamed chains and constellations of light, floated clockwise as if being pushed along by an invisible hand. "In eight weeks there will be a general anti-piracy operation. Thanks to some long-term undercover work of the Marshall's Office, several pirate bases have been located and," Valmont said hopefully, "if we're lucky, the Ching Shih will finally join her five sisterships in the hereafter."

A murmur of agreement filled the room. The Ching Shih was one of six superdreadnaughts built at the Aquarian pirate shipyard eighty years earlier. Like her sisterships, the Shih, at 250,000 tons, was 25% larger than a Commonwealth SD. However, about 40,000 tons of the Shih's capacity was devoted to holding cargo and repair systems, serving both as the treasurebox and repair ship of a pirate squadron. During the decades of their operation, the six pirate SDs caused considerable mayhem, raiding and attacking shipping routes and colony worlds. With the speed to outrun Commonwealth capital ships and the firepower to crush cruisers that could catch them, the largest combat ships operated by the pirates were untouchable.

Eventually, the 'golden time' of pirate operations came to an end. In 2441 two of the SDs, Port Royal and Gold Coast, were destroyed along with a hefty percentage of the Aquarian pirate fleet at their home port of Aquarias. Nine years later the Cutlass was so badly damaged in a battle with six CSN battlecruisers that her crew scuttled their ship rather than letting it be captured. The Spanish Main crossed paths with the battleship-sized Q-ship Walkabout in 2458. The ensuing vicious battle resulted in both ships succumbing to the damage inflicted by the other. As for the Barbary Coast, it enjoyed seven more years of operations than the Spanish Main. Instead of ships, the Barbary Coast was assailed by the combined fighter strength of two CSN fleet carriers. One-third of the engaging fighters were destroyed, but that left eighty more to finish the job, reducing the huge pirate ship into an unrecognizable collection of debris. With only the Ching Shih remaining, the CSN commander that could claim its destruction would gain a goodly amount of prestige.

Valmont manipulated the tri-dee controls, highlighting a specific holographically-generated star in the floating display. "As you can see, there's one pirate base 156 light-years from Gaia. Being that our task force is the closest, the strategy board has decided to detach a number of our ships to support the operation against that base."

"How many are we talking about, Mr. Valmot?" said the Stroud's commander, Captain Ichiba.

"Roughly a third of our ships, including the battlecruisers that escorted the science ship."

Commander Jordan, the staff strategy officer, reacted to that particular piece of news briskly. "One-third? We need to keep the task force intact." He turned to Admiral Carson. "Sir, though the pirates have been reduced in numbers over the past 20 years they're still capable of bold action. We need a strong enough force to deter any thoughts the pirates may have in raiding Gaia. What we have now will ensure the planet's safety."

With a practiced face of a judge delivering a sentence, Carson made his reply. "Commander, rest assured that I stressed that point to the Admiralty since our arrival. The policies in place to deal with the pirates have made results, but the fact remains that one sure way to stop pirates is to destroy their ships. In addition to the Ching Shih, there are at least four construction ships in the pirate's employ that can build battlecruiser-sized hulls. With those gone, the pirates will become very reluctant to commit their surviving big ships to action. In time, the largest ships those criminals can build, field, and maintain will be destroyers. With the convoy system we have in place, those destroyers will find the hunting pretty scarce."

"All of which you said is possible, Admiral." Jordan tapped the table surface for emphasis. "The fact remains is that Gaia is a pirate's treasure wet dream." He shot a sidelong look at Valmont. "God forbid that our inside sources are wrong, but what if the pirates throw all their heavy stuff here? We'll be on even terms with what we have now. With one-third gone..."

"I have to disagree with Commander Jordan." Sitting even a bit more straight in his chair, Valmont returned Jordan's look with interest. "Pirates go after the sure thing, and gold doesn't do a dead man any good. They may be able to overwhelm the odd convoy with what ships they have, but," he said firmly, "what they don't do is to go out and deliberately seek battle. Pirates would rather hide under a rock while a task force such as ours is operating in their area. Moreover, despite the image they want to project, pirate vessels are not as capable as ours. Even with cloaking ECM, half of their battlecruisers are nothing more than converted high-speed modular freighters. They may pack a punch in the missile department, but any sort of internal damage will greatly reduce their combat effectiveness. Only their fighters provide a significant threat, but our fighters can more than hold their own against them."

"Some pirates aren't noted for their reasoning and logical ways of thinking, Mr. Valmont. There have been examples of seemingly impossible feats that they have pulled off. Recall the theft of the Barham in 2339, for one."

"Mr. Jordan, there's a big difference between stealing a ship and attacking a well-defended target..."

"That's enough," said Carson with a raised hand, silencing Valmont in mid-sentence. "The Brass has made their decision, and further debate on the subject will be pointless. Even with the one-third reduction, our remaining battle-capable ships will top the scales at three million tons. Moreover, only one light carrier will be going, so our fighter strength will still be robust. To pardon the cliche, we'll all have to make more with less." Carson didn't need to look at Jordan's face for a reaction. On the outside, Jordan was as unreadable as a wall, but a sensitive soul could hear the gears turning and steam building as the strategy officer figured out ways to carry out the task laid before him. Likewise, Valmont was looking forward to spending hours each day evaluating incoming intelligence reports on pirate activity. As for Huang, the reduction of the task force will be merely just another exercise of logistics. Allocating foodstuffs and missiles between a multitude of ships was something she could do in her sleep.

Carson continued. "Now is the time to discuss the specifics of the reallocation of our ships and supplies. We will also revise our operational plans and ship exercise schedules. So," he glanced at the wall chrono, "those who have to use the head, do so now. We're going to be at it for the next few hours." His grin made everyone feel at bit at ease. "At evening mess I want to have a preliminary plan of action sitting in front of me as I eat some of that fine Gaian sweetfruit that Captain Huang has provided for us."