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I don't think that I had ever been happier in my life. I am not one to make snap decisions, but Lance just seemed to fit me somehow. "Mrs. Serina Young," I let the sound roll around in the chambers of my mind trying to get the flavor of it. Definitely, I was going to have to get to know Lance much, much, better.

I had talked Lance into going to dinner with me, not that it seemed to take much talking. We went to the Black Lagoon; they were close and had the best food around. The Pirates cove where I had been eating ever since my paid holiday had ended wasn't bad and was cheaper, but it just didn't have the atmosphere that the Black Lagoon had.

Lance flashed a tip that made the headwaiter's eyes bug-out. He seated us with a great show of deference at a secluded table for two out on the pier. The sun was just setting, and the whole sky was burning with reds and gold's, the eastern sky turning to a dark purple. The table was tastefully set with pure black china, a thin circle of gold outlining the rim of the china; the dinner plate, salad plate, and bread plate, tastefully arranged on a chaste white tablecloth. A gold-rimmed crystal wine glass and water glass accented the gold-plated flatware. A single candle floated in a large crystal vase filled with water and white orchids. A soothing melody drifted from a concealed speaker. I couldn't have asked for a more romantic setting.

Lance was evidently part of the women's liberation movement for he held my chair for me, adjusting it as I settled into its soft embrace, not caring that I was more than capable of doing it myself . . . And do you know—I liked it. He seated himself across from me, and we stared into each other's eyes, not saying a word while waiting for the waiter to take our order. Again, I could sense that conflict within him. The more that I looked at him; the more he looked like that busboy at Cynthia's security villa on Draco. That was impossible, and I put the idea out of my head.

The waiter was dressed in classic buccaneer's style with a large gold earring dangling from his ear, and flowing silk clothes in bright colors. "Good evening Milady, Sir, —my name is Henry Morgan, and I will be your waiter for this evening. May I suggest our Crab special? Fresh crab cooked at your table and a fresh fruit salad. I looked at Lance and nodded my head slightly.

Lance nodded to Mr. Morgan and said: "For two."

"—and to drink, our delightful house white wine?" Our pirate waiter responded as he nodded his head in acknowledgment of Lance's order.

"Thank you, but I'll have a fresh tropical punch, Serina?"

"Me too," I said. Wondering how Lance knew of my weakness for any fruit drink. A cook was at our table almost before Mr. Morgan was out of sight. He had huge live crabs in a small aquarium; those Crabs must have been over twenty centimeters across. We each pointed out the one we wanted, and the cook put them in a pot and turned on the heat. While they were cooking, he sliced and diced a variety of fruits onto our plates, how he managed to keep one of his fingers from joining the fruit I'll never know. The knife literally blurred. He handled it so fast and with such finesse that a full assortment of tropical fruits had been prepared by the time the crabs were done. He dished them for us leaving a small pliers type instrument for use in cracking the shell and a tiny fork to assist in extracting the meat. A bowl of melted butter, with a candle underneath to keep it warm, was provided to dip the crab in. At some point, while we were mesmerized by his artistry with the knife, our tropical punches had been served in large gold-rimmed goblets, and our wine glasses had vanished.

We attacked the meal with a voracity that only a day in the ocean can give you, neither of us saying a word as we did justice to the food before us. Finally, we sat back and cracked open the crab legs, extracting the last small shreds of the delicate pink and white meat.

"You expect to exercise after a meal like this?" Lance asked putting his hand over his belly.

"We have two hours yet and then only light warm-ups for the first half hour, we'll be fine by then."

"Serina how did such a beautiful girl as you ever get interested in the Martial Arts?"

"My dad started me when I was just a little squirt, I've practiced all of my life, and then after I joined the Marine corp.—"

"You're really a Marine?" Lance interrupted.

"Why yes for almost six months now, I placed first in the unarmed combat division, that's why I'm here on the Duke of Paldonia's personal staff."

"Tell me about the Duke," Lance instructed, with that touch of authority that inspires immediate compliance.

"There is little to tell. I've only known him for a few months now. He is a fanatic about Karate, Judo, Ninjitsu and the like and has probably done more to revive the practice of Martial Arts than anyone now alive."

"But what kind of a person is he?"

I thought of the times he had chased after me in that single-minded way of his, of his attempts to get me into his bed, or alternately into my bed, and decided that it was no one else business. "He is pretty much just as you see him on ThreeDee; he sometimes comes to our classes. Maybe you'll have a chance to meet him." Lance didn't say any more and appeared to be occupied with his thoughts. Me? I was occupied looking at Lance.

After dinner, we strolled around the beautiful tropical gardens with its well-manicured meandering paths of grass. We hardly even noticed the beautiful orchids and birds of paradise and the like. We talked about small things; where we had grown up, what we had studied, our hobbies, what we had done with our lives, our dreams, hopes, and fears. As is usual with men I found that he much preferred to talk about himself. Although I had the feeling that this was not his normal manner and that for some reason, that only he knew, he was refraining, no—avoiding, talking about me.

Eventually, it was time for my Karate session with my group. I would rather have continued our talk, but Lance seemed anxious to attend.