shirt haphazardly over his head as he walked briskly away
down the corridor.
It was Pedro.
After a long moment, Up turned and walked back in the
direction he’d come.
Up raced through the ship, the maddening countdown
echoing in his ears. Too late, too late, you’re too late, it
said, she’s done it, she’s gone -
“Ship separation initiated.”
Up rounded the corner in time to see Taz throw herself at
the forcefield.
“PEDRO!”
And then he understood.
The barrier fizzed and snapped as with a shudder, the
engineering section of the Cazadora began to fall away
from the rest of the ship. Up rushed forward and dragged
Taz back from the forcefield, now showing them the
blackness of space, the heart of his ship growing smaller
among the mass of robot enemies as the Cazadora’s
auxiliary engines kicked in, putting distance between them.
He wrapped his arms around Taz, pressing her back to his
chest, holding her firmly as she struggled, still shouting, a
stream of fluent Spanish that he couldn’t understand, and
one name, over and over.
The void of space lit up orange.
It was the biggest human success in the conflict’s
history. There should have been a parade, some kind of
commemoration at least, but this was war and there wasn’t
time for such things.
There was barely a funeral. Hundreds of flag-adorned
coffins had been laid to rest in this grassy hill on Earth
today. Pedro’s was just a marker, a flag, a framed picture