“Dr. and Mrs. von Tuppington are passionate activists
for the welfare of endangered alien animal species and have
donated oodles of money to the cause, which is how they
got their invitation,” Tripp continued. “They know nothing
about robots, war, or mixed martial arts, but they are rather
good ballroom dancers – won first place in the Alabama
championships last year.”
“You're enjoying this, aren’t you?” said Up.
“Immensely,” Tripp said, his smile bigger than ever.
“The ball is a week away, which won’t be much time to
prepare you.” He eyed Taz as he said this. “So my team will
be staying on the Cazadora in the meantime to brief you on
the situation and coach you into looking, sounding, and
acting the part.” His smile faded. “In all seriousness, we
wouldn’t have chosen the two of you if we didn’t think you
were the best bet for retrieving the information. This could
be the most important mission we’ve ever sent you on.”
“I understand, Tripp,” Up said, one hand on Taz’s
shoulder to stop the outburst he could sense coming. “But
did you have to add in the ballroom dancing?”
Taz stalked down the corridor, muttering a thousand
Spanish insults about Rear Admiral Tripp under her breath.
“Of all the stupid, idiota-” She whirled on Up, who was
walking along behind her, looking slightly amused. “Un
maldito baile! And I have to play your stupid, simpering
esposa – and wear a dress, probably, and giggle and a
million other lo femenino -”
“Relax, Taz,” Up said. “Tripp was right – they wouldn’t
have picked us if they didn’t think we could do it. You
know what will happen if the robots get a hold of that
information - it’s adiós to the whole human race!” She
didn’t look convinced. “Think of it as just another job,
Ranger.”