“And we’ll get it done,” she said, her shoulders
slumping. “But von Tuppington – what the hell kind of
name is that anyway?”
They reached her bunk, where she lived with the other
junior-grade lieutenants, and stopped outside the door.
“Why didn’t you take the promotion when they offered it
to you, Up?” she asked. “It could have been you sitting
there giving Tripp idiota missions instead of the other way
around.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Who wants to be stuck
behind a Rear Admiral’s desk? I’ll take adventure and the
Cazadora any day. I’ll stay a Commander forever if they’ll
let me. Besides, who’s got time to spend polishing all those
buttons?” He smiled, and tweaked her on the nose, knowing
full well that if anyone else tried that they’d lose their hand.
He was feeling a little daring tonight. “I’ll see you in the
morning.”
“Dance lessons, 0900 hours sharp,” she said. “Let’s hope
you’re better at ballroom than you were at salsa.”
As it turned out, Up’s dancing skills were universally
awful. The instructor Tripp had brought from Earth, who
referred to herself in the third person as Madame LaViolet,
was at her breaking point.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Madame LaViolet rapped her cane
on the floor. “Monsieur Comman-daire, you are the man in
this situation! You must lead! Again! 1-2-3, 1-2-3 -”
Up, dressed casually in a black tank and his grey
Commander’s pants, was gripping Taz’s waist so tightly she
could hardly breathe. His face was screwed up in
concentration as he focused on his feet, consistently getting
them tangled in hers. It would have amused Taz if he didn’t
keep stepping on her.
“No, no, no!” Madame LaViolet screeched. “Look at