Learning to Dance

Rosie came to check on Taz just as she’d climbed
wearily into her own hospital bed. The mattresses here
made the ones on starships seem luxuriously thick. Her
muscles were ready to resign in protest.
“You did well at physio today, Taz,” her doctor said, one
hand on her back as she eased herself gracelessly into a
chair next to the bed, her massive stomach practically
needing a seat of its own. “I think we’ll be able to sign your
discharge papers soon.”
Taz didn’t say anything.
“You don’t look pleased about that,” Rosie said dryly.
“Not my usual patient response.”
“If you discharge me,” Taz said carefully. “Then I’ll be
reassigned.”
“Likely to the clean-up mission, yes,” Rosie said.
“Chasing down stray robot ships in space. A new starship,
maybe a promotion. You are a war hero, after all.”
Taz shook her head. “I’m not the hero, Rosie.”
Her doctor was quiet. “Up has a long road ahead of him.
He’s doing better than expected.” Considering he shouldn’t
really be alive at all – she didn’t say the words but Taz
heard them loud and clear.
“You mean he’s going to be here for a long time,” she
said.
“Yes, he will,” Rosie said. “He’s relearning how to use
his body, how to walk, how to write, even. That will take
time. Months – years.”
Years. “The Up I knew,” said Taz, and there was a stupid
quiver in her voice, “Would have met that challenge head
on. He would be fighting robots again before Día de los
Muertos.”
“He’s not the Up you knew,” said Rosie. “But he’s still
Up. He’s just – lost his confidence. He’s lost everything he