Don't ever have kids.

Those words resonated with the Commodore more than they should have. It was no secret that Vansen was old, and that he'd dedicated his life to serving one military or another. For the most part, he didn't have even a trace of regret about it. He'd seen friends and colleagues settle down and start families; but that wasn't the life for him. He hadn't the patience for romance, or child-rearing; and frankly there wasn't a woman alive with the stomach to tolerate his ascerbic personality.

But there were occasions when he wondered otherwise; times when he considered the sobering fact that the burden of continuing his bloodline had fallen to him, and he had done nothing about it. There were other branches of the family of course - ordinal cousins several times removed, and so forth - and so the continuation of the line was assured. But after Vansen, son of Orlan, one arm of the Tyree family would simply end; and there were fleeting occasions where, to some part of his mind, that mattered.

Now was not the time to indulge, however; he resorted to deflection instead.

"This is a military vessel," he grunted, "Not a cruise liner. Children are largely unreliable, insubordinate, and undiciplined. On the rare occasions they even make it past the airlock, it's usually because of extremely mitigating circumstances."

Like a mother armed with a lightsaber, he added silently.