The doctor took this in. “And you were never adopted?”
“Caused a fair bit of trouble for them at the orphanage.
Getting in fights all the time. Who’d want me?”
“Did you always dream of being a Starship Ranger,
Commander?”
Up paused. “I did. Those stars were awfully inviting.”
“So you enlisted when you turned eighteen.”
Up chuckled, a hollow sound. “Sixteen. I ran away from
the orphanage when I was sixteen.”
“But the enlistment age-”
“I lied,” Up said simply.
Don Luís had a daughter, just one. Her name was
Beatriz, and when they came to Mexico all marvelled at her
beauty, her lily-white skin, her waterfall-dark hair, her
luminous eyes. Her father found his dreams, and their
fortune grew, but that meant little to Beatriz, for Beatriz
dreamed of love.
Her suitors were numerous, but despite her father’s
pleas, she would not have any of them. She saw not love but
lust in their eyes, lust for her beauty, lust for her wealth.
Beatriz dreamed of completeness, of finding the other half
of her soul, of someone who would understand her better
than anyone ever had. Someone to wake up to each
morning. Someone to dream with.
Before.
Up woke with tears on his face. He blinked a few times,
and looked down at Taz, resting curled against his chest.
She was frowning, and even asleep she was filled with
tension, coiled like a small tiger about to pounce. He was
grateful she was there. He always slept better when she was