annoyingly pleased. “Tripp had Rosie. Who did you have,
Commander?”
Up was silent.
It was at a village dance that Beatriz first met Don
Martin de Scópoli, an Italian gentleman, a Marquis, and
her father’s next potential suitor. Their eyes met from
across the room, and Beatriz was struck by the way he held
himself tall, the keen look in his eye. They met in a dance,
and he proved his mind as keen as his look, his words like
those of a poet. They challenged each other, in the dance,
and in conversation. They were equals. He complimented
her beauty, but Beatriz was struck by his as well. Their eyes
never left each other once.
Up stepped onto the mat in the hospital rehab centre. He
and Taz were not the only patients there today, there were
others working with therapists, using the weight machines,
on the treadmill. He bent his head, feeling exposed in a t-
shirt and sweats, remembering a time when he’d strip down
to his waist and take anyone to the carpet, showing off for
the cadets, showing off for her.
“Hey,” Taz said. “Mírame.”
He looked at her, standing on the other edge of the mat.
She was wearing her red headband again, and she looked
more the Ranger he was used to.
“Forget them,” she said. “It’s just you and me, okay?”
Dropping his gaze, he stepped forward, and she did the
same, dropping into ready stance.
“Okay, Up,” she said. “You remember what to do.”
It took concentration, but he managed to get his robot leg
to sink into the same, crouched position. He raised his
hands in a defensive pose, his fists near his face, his elbows
shielding his chest. They’d been practising punches,