Learning to Dance

The layout of the ship was unfamiliar to him, and he was
starting to wonder if he would be able to find his way back
to his room when he saw a door labelled Recreation and
Training: Target Practice, Holodeck, Gym.
The gym. Tentatively he pressed the panel to open the
door.
She was there, of course, sparring with a punching bag,
setting a furious pace, spinning and kicking, each impact
sending a dull thud throughout the room. He was struck
anew by her strength, her beauty. She’d been nothing but a
dream to him for two years and now here she was, in the
flesh, red bandana, dark eyes, fury and all. The door closed
behind him with a loud whirring sound, and she whirled at
him, fists raised.
“Oh,” she said, dropping them again, grabbing a towel,
and approaching. “Hi - hi, Up.”
He watched her pick up her zapper, and sought for
something to say that wasn’t dead God, you’re beautiful.
“She’s quite a ship, isn’t she?”
She looked relieved at his choice of topic. “Three dozen
cannons, super-light speed, and a holodeck? I’d say she’s
quite a ship. Is she yours?”
“A ship called 15A-2? Not likely. She belongs to the
G.L.E.E. More of Space-Claw’s new protocol, like these
new privates, or whatever it is they call them, but I’m not a
fan. A ship needs a name, dammit.”
A pause. “You miss her, don’t you?” Taz asked. “The
Cazadora.”
He didn’t answer for a minute. “She was the first ship
that was truly mine. I christened her myself, took her on her
maiden voyage-” He drifted off. Neither of them mentioned
her last.
“I’ve always wondered about that,” said Taz, after a
minute. “Why you chose a Spanish name for her.”