Learning to Dance

with traces of battles past. Taz flopped to the ground. She’d
always secretly admired Up’s arms. Now she was going to
have to add the rest of his torso to that list, too.
Up gave her an odd look, and she realized she was
staring. Consiga un apretón, Taz. This is no time to start
mooning over how good your commanding officer looks
with his shirt off. Get a grip.
The temperature was much more bearable now that the
sun was beginning to set. They sat together and ate
wretched dehydrated spaghetti with meatballs. Up laughed
at the look on her face as she chewed.
“What I wouldn’t give for a nice tortilla,” she said,
swallowing with a grimace. “Maybe with some pico de
gallo.”
“You’ll have to make some suggestions to the chef once
we’re back on the Cazadora,” Up said. Neither of them
mentioned the distinct possibility that they might not be
returning at all. Taz knew as well as Up did that getting this
radio to work was a long shot even once they got to the
mountains – and as far as they knew, no one had seen them
go down to the surface. The Cazadora would have to search
all thirteen moons to find them – if they didn’t just assume
that the Arrow had been destroyed in the battle.
“There are enough supplies here to last a week,” said
Up. “More, if we stretch it. I reckon it’ll take a few days to
reach the mountains.”
Taz nodded, and wondered if this was it for them. To die
of starvation, or heatstroke, on some alien moon,
completely alone. She looked at their shadows, side by side
and growing long in the dusky sunset. Well, not completely
alone.
Night fell, and the temperature continued to drop. Taz
put her jacket back on, and Up used the emergency kit to
start a small fire. Without wood, it would be difficult to