Learning to Dance

“So,” said Up, and the ensigns drew back, looking
apprehensive. “Who’s going to give it a go? No takers?
Parker, how ‘bout you?”
The ensign stepped forward reluctantly, a stout boy who
looked like he’d rather be typing complex code onto a
computer screen than facing the ship’s most formidable
fighter in combat.
“Now, come at me, Parker,” Up coaxed. “Try your best.”
Parker, after a nervous look at the others, charged. Up
moved so quickly that Taz couldn’t tell what happened, but
the ensign was on the floor and Up wasn’t even winded.
“Remember, keep your eyes on the enemy. Don’t let
them surprise you,” Up said, helping the boy up. “Next!”
They continued in this fashion until the whistle blew for
mess. The ensigns, variously limping or holding
appendages gingerly, filed out of the deck. Taz bit her lip,
and then approached Up.
“Stupid children,” he was muttering as he towelled off.
“I wasn’t kidding, they ought to send them all straight back.
There was a time when only the best soldiers even had a
prayer of graduating from the Academy as Rangers. Now
they’ll take anyone.”
Taz tried very hard not to look at his arms, which were
on full display in his white tank top. “Why’s that?” she
asked.
He looked down at her, and slipped his jacket on. “The
robots, Taz. You think half those kids will still be alive in a
year’s time?”
She looked at the door where they’d left.
“True Starship Rangers are becoming a rare breed,” Up
said, picking up his gym bag. “There aren’t many of us
left.”
He turned to leave.
“You could teach me,” Taz blurted. She hadn’t meant to