Learning to Dance

“Up here.”
“Urgent message from Rear Admiral Tripp, sir.”
Up and Taz raised their eyebrows at each other. “Patch
him through,” he said, knowing that Taz would keep her
presence quiet.
“Tripp?”
“Up,” Tripp’s voice came through, and his breathing was
ragged. “It’s the Admiral – he’s dead.”
“Dead?” he repeated, as Taz’s eyes widened to match his
own.
“Assassinated,” Tripp said, sounding like he had aged
twenty years since Up had last spoken to him. “The robots
have control of G.L.E.E. headquarters. They’ve done it.
They’ve taken over.”