Colonel Chua came forward, confused, furious. "What is the meaning of this? Is this the man or not? Speak, boy. Did this man come to your sister?"
Bingwen turned to him and bowed. "Forgive me, sir. I do not have a sister. I deceived you so that you would bring me here and allow me to return this stolen property. These men are honorable. They would never do what I suggested. I am yours to punish as you deem appropriate." He held out his hands.
The colonel looked ready to hit him.
"Colonel," said Mazer. "Perhaps you will allow me to punish the boy. His behavior is inexcusable, and since I'm the reason why he's here, I feel as if I am responsible. These lies he has told threaten the alliance that MOPs and China share. And he should have known what a foolish thing it was to say." He looked angrily at Bingwen, and Bingwen knew it wasn't an act.
"There was a little girl who lied as well," said the colonel. "What of her? Who will punish her?"
Mazer bowed. "You are just and thorough, Colonel. Please, allow us to remove this burden from you. We will find the girl as well. You have far more weighty and important matters to address than the petty pranks of ungrateful children."
The colonel nodded. "Ungrateful indeed." He shook a finger at Bingwen. "Is this how you thank us? We give you shelter, food, medicine, and you mock us."
Bingwen almost laughed. The man was talking as if he had rescued Bingwen from the clutches of a Formic. Yet Bingwen had a sneaking suspicion that were it up to the colonel, all the refugees would be turned away.
"Please, Colonel," said Mazer. "I'd hate for you to be bothered any further. I assure you the boy's punishment will be swift and severe."
The colonel nodded, content. Then he scowled once more at Bingwen and left.
Mazer took Bingwen by the arm, "Major Shenzu, please excuse us for a moment."
He roughly led Bingwen out of the room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, he released Bingwen and said, "Follow me."
His tone was sharp. He was not happy. He led Bingwen down a hall, through a series of doors and into a large empty cafeteria.
"I'm going to assume you have a very good reason for the stunt you just pulled," said Mazer. "A very, very good reason. Because telling a lie like that was an enormously stupid thing to do, Bing. I hope you know that."
"It had to be a bad lie or the colonel wouldn't have brought me here. It was the best one I could come up with in the time that I had. I couldn't have reached you otherwise. I'm sorry."
Mazer sighed, sat down on the floor, and leaned against the wall. The holopad was still in his hand. "Why bring me this? What's on it?"
"Uplinks to a team on Luna who have infiltrated the Formic ship and who know how to destroy it. They want to team up with you and the MOPs. You're supposed to call them."
Mazer stared at him. "How did you get this information?"
"From Dr. Arnsbrach," said Bingwen. "Well, she connected me to them anyway."
Mazer looked surprised. "You spoke to Kim?"
"She helped me set up the holo hospital."
"Holo hospital?"
"Long story," said Bingwen. "Do you really want to hear about that now?"
"Later," said Mazer. He started typing on his wrist pad.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm asking Wit to join us. He needs to hear this as well."
Wit arrived a moment later, and Bingwen told them everything he knew. When he was done, Wit said, "Victor Delgado. That's the name of the kid who uploaded the vid and tried to warn Earth." He turned to Bingwen. "And the vid you saw of the interior, it looked real?"
"Looked legit to me," said Bingwen.
Wit thought for a moment then said, "We take this to Shenzu and make the call together. We need a hard line to make the connection anyway. We can't do it in here. We'll put it on the big table and see what they have to say."
"The Chinese won't like this," said Mazer. "We're helping command their army. They'll think we're abandoning them."
"We won't abandon the op. We'll suggest they bring in Major Ketkar from India to help run things here. There are other Chinese officers who have been shadowing us who show promise. Shenzu can do plenty. The op is practically on autopilot anyway."
"Are we winning?" asked Bingwen.
"I wouldn't say that," said Wit. "Not even close. But we're certainly doing better than we were. The counteragent is working. It's devastating the death squads. We've retaken a few of the coastal cities. No one can go back there yet--not for a long time to come. Maybe years. But it gives us a little hope."
Wit turned to Mazer. "You're right to worry about the operation. But this is the mothership we're talking about. Their supply line, their home base. If there's a chance we can destroy that, that flips this war on its head."
"Agreed," said Mazer.
Wit turned to Bingwen. "You did good, Bingwen. But next time be more careful with your lies."
CHAPTER 17
Cocoons
Lem Jukes stood at the wall screen in his office looking at several dozen mug shots of some of the most lethal men in the world. The photos were projected there in front of him, filling the wall, each accompanied by a window of data: name, languages spoken, skill set, combat experience, references, contact information. Some were in groups. Others were solo hires. It was quite the mixed bag. African mercenaries, special forces units, corporate security outfits. They were all hard men--many of whom, Lem suspected, were no more honorable than the thuggish guns-for-hire coming out of Eastern Europe.
"I don't like the looks of these guys," said Despoina. She was barefoot and sitting in one of Lem's frayed office chairs, hugging her knees to her chest. "They look like criminals, like the kind of guys you'd see on those true crime specials. You know, the guys who break bones for mob bosses." She dropped her voice and adopted a gangster accent. "Hey, bossy, you want I should rip off Guido's fingers here? I'm thinkin' he might of squeaked to the popo."
Lem regarded her. "What does that even mean? That sounds vulgar."
"Popo? It's slang in the U.S. for the police. You know, the fuzz, the badges, the doughnut patrol. Don't they have slang for the police in Finland?"
Lem shook his head and looked back at the screen. "The youth of America."
Despoina gestured to the screen. "All I'm saying is they look like a pack of bruisers. Not a single one of them is smiling."
"They're killers, Des. They're hired by governments to silently snap people's necks in the dead of night. These photos are how they market themselves. They're supposed to look tough. People who hire these kinds of people want tough. Would you hire a strike team that looked like they came from IT?"
"Hey, I know guys in IT who work out and who could pin you in under two seconds flat."
"A maimed bunny rabbit could pin me in under two seconds. I'm a lover, not a fighter."
"I'll say," she said.
He looked at her and saw that she was winking at him. Not in a seductive way, but in a mockingly seductive way. Des couldn't wink her left eye without giving it serious concentration, and it looked ridiculous whenever she tried, as if it took all of her willpower to close that eye without closing the other. It had become a joke between them.
"You shouldn't even be here," said Lem. "You're my father's secretary. People will get ideas."
She slithered out of the chair and sidled up next to him. "Oh really? What kind of ideas." Two of her fingers walked up his arm to his shoulder.
He gently took her hands. "I'm serious."
Her smile faded. "I'm here on official business, Lem. Your father wanted you to review some files. They had to be couriered over. I volunteered."
"You shouldn't have."
She pulled her hands away and folded her arms. "Okay, now you're being rude."
He took a breath and gently took her hands again. "Des, I like you. We have a nice time together. But you don't know my father. If he were to suspect that there was any sort of relationship between us, it would not go well for you."
&nb
sp; "Why? What would he do?"
"Honestly, I don't know, but he wouldn't like it. He thinks women are a distraction."
She smiled. "Good distraction or bad distraction?"
He sighed. "Can we talk seriously here for a moment? This is important."
Her face fell again. "I'm trying to help, Lem. I thought you wanted my help."
"I do, yes, but--"
"It was me who found out about that doctors' clinic at Dragon's Den. You were ready to give up on the MOPs. I found that lead for you."
"Yes. You helped. That was a good idea."
"You thought it was a dumb idea when I first presented it. You said so."
"It still hasn't panned out. We haven't heard from the kid. And you have to admit, putting the fate of the world in the hands of a ten-year-old is a dumb idea. What if he doesn't get through to the MOPs?"
"First of all, he's not ten. He's eight. And secondly, I could say the same about you, putting the fate of the world in the hands of a roguishly handsome, brilliant billionaire seems like a dumb idea, too."
He slid his hand around her waist. "Where's the painfully shy girl I saw in my father's office a few weeks ago?"
She came in close. "All grown up."
He kissed her. It was a dumb thing to do. He had already decided not to see her again. Father was right on that point: She was a distraction, particularly now, when he was so focused on the mission at hand. He had planned in his mind how to break it to her gently--and now here he was, pulling her body tight against his, kissing her mouth, the line of her jaw, the top of her neck--
The door opened. A woman's voice. "Oh."
Lem broke away. Imala was standing in the doorway. "Sorry. I didn't know I would be interrupting."
Lem took a step to his right, brushed the front of his shirt. His face felt hot. "You didn't, you're not. Ms. Crutchfield here was merely bringing me some information."
Imala was grinning. "That looked like quite the exchange of information."
Lem ran a hand through his hair. "Is there something you wanted, Ms. Bootstamp?"
"Captain Wit O'Toole of the Mobile Operations Police is on the line. He wants to talk."
"Good. I'll join you in a moment."
Imala left and shut the door.
"I'm sorry," said Des. "You're right. I shouldn't have come. That was dumb."
Lem adjusted the cuffs on his shirt and ran a hand through his hair again. He didn't look at her. "Everyone's going to be watching the office door now. Don't come out when I do. Slip away a minute or so later when everyone's focused on the holo."
She nodded. "Right. And I won't come again."
No, thought Lem, you won't. You won't come near me at all. This is over. But aloud he said. "Tell my father I'll review the files."
"He only wants to help however he can, Lem. I don't think he's as maniacal and sinister as you think he is. At least, I haven't seen that side of him."
"Try living with him for thirty years."
She took his hand. "You want the MOPs, Lem. Do whatever you can to make it happen. These thugs here on the wall aren't a backup plan. They can't deliver like MOPs can."
He laughed. "What makes you an expert?"
"I'm not. Everybody who follows the news knows what the MOPs are. They blew up the lander. They brokered the alliance with India. They've taken down almost as many transports as the entire Chinese military. They're very good at what they do."
"They've always been my first choice."
"They're your only choice. They're white knights. These guys"--she gestured to the wall--"freelancers. They work for whoever has the fattest purse. No ethics, no scruples, they're in it for the money and the thrill of the kill. You need people who can think like Victor and remain faithful like Imala. That's MOPs."
"So you're my counselor now?"
"No. I don't presume to be anything, except a friend who wants to see you succeed."
He pulled his hand away and moved for the door.
"And Lem..."
He turned back.
"I know nothing will ever happen between us. I know that. I'm not naive enough to think otherwise. All I ask is that when you tire of me, whenever that is, you're nice about it."
After a silence, he nodded once and said, "I better go."
Then he walked out.
*
Mazer was standing in the back of the war room beside Bingwen, apart from the MOPs, who were gathered around the holotable, waiting. Wit had connected with Luna, but Imala had run off to fetch someone. Now the holofield above the table was active but empty.
Shenzu had politely asked the Chinese officers to leave the room before Wit had made the call, and to Mazer's surprise they had obeyed without hesitation--even those who outranked Shenzu. They simply bowed and walked out. The military had promoted Shenzu to major when they had all returned to China, but they might as well have made him a general for all the deferential treatment he was given.
"You don't have to stand back here with me," said Bingwen. "I'm good in the shadows by myself."
"I can see the holofield from here," said Mazer. "And you're much better company."
The truth was, Mazer didn't feel comfortable standing with the MOPs. He was not one of them, after all. He never had been. They had always treated him like one of their own, of course--they had teased him as brutally as they had teased each other--which was a form of acceptance among such men. But he was not a MOP. He had failed their test, and these men hadn't. He could fight alongside them, operate as one of them, but he could never consider himself one with their unit. Which was fine with Mazer. He held no grudges. He had not been ready when they had tested him. And in fact, failing that exam, getting rejected by Wit so long ago, was the best training anyone had ever given him.
He squatted down and faced Bingwen. "How's your arm? I didn't hurt it when I pulled you out of the room earlier, did I?"
Bingwen rotated his shoulder. "No. You were easy on me. I knew you were acting."
"I wasn't completely acting. I was mad. But I knew there had to be a good reason for you to pull a stunt like that. Who's the girl who helped you?"
"Her name's Pipo."
"She's not your girlfriend, is she?"
"I'm eight, Mazer. I'm not supposed to have girlfriends until I'm in my late teens or early twenties."
Mazer laughed. "You've got it all mapped out, haven't you?"
"You should call Kim."
The words came out of nowhere and stopped Mazer cold.
Bingwen frowned. "She worries about you. If she's a friend, it would be nice to call her. I think she would like that."
"You've talked to her a lot?"
"Every day for the past week. She's the best doctor we have in the clinic. By far. Why are you smiling?"
"Because you know what makes a good doctor. I don't think I knew that when I was eight years old. I probably would have based that judgment on who gave the fewest shots."
"It's how they treat people," said Bingwen. "Some doctors are kind, but others are ... I don't know the word in English. Not mean, but--"
"Brusque?"
"I don't know that word."
"Impatient? Callous? Cold?"
"Cold? That means something other than temperature?"
"It means they don't seem nice."
"Right. They don't seem nice. They're scientific about treating people."
"You don't know the multiple definitions of cold, but you know the word 'scientific'?"
Bingwen shrugged. "Some words stick, some words don't."
"So Kim is one of the nice ones?" said Mazer.
"The nicer of the nice ones."
"Nicest," corrected Mazer. "Nicer is for two. Nicest is the superlative."
"I don't know what 'su-per-lative' means. Stop using words I don't know."
Mazer nodded. "Give me a list of all the words you don't know, and I'll be sure not to use them."
"You're one to talk," said Bingwen. "Your Chinese is awful."
&nbs
p; "I thought I did okay."
"You talk Chinese as well as Mongo did."
"Who was Mongo?"
"Our family water buffalo."
"Your English is better than my Chinese. I'll give you that."
"So you will call Kim?"
Mazer took a breath. "It's complicated, Bing. When you get older life gets more complicated."
"I think she loves you. Like how my mother loved my father. She didn't say that to me. But she does."
She did. Mazer knew she did. She had told him so. Just once. But it was enough. He thought of that moment often. They had gone to the salt marshes of Manukau Harbor. She had wanted to see the thousands of migratory godwits who had gathered there to feed. He and Kim had stood in one of the many wooden towers built along the shore for birdwatchers. Mazer had brought her a pair of military binoculars.
"They'll fly over eleven thousand kilometers without taking a single break," Kim had said.
"Sounds like the military," Mazer had said.
"From here to northern China and then on to Alaska and back. The longest single flight of any species."
A salty breeze was blowing in from the water, lifting her hair away from the nape of her neck. The air smelled of brine and mud and eelgrass. The song of thousands of chittering godwits was not as loud as Mazer had thought it would be. And he marveled at how they moved on the water, lifting together as a single unit, undulating in the air like a giant wave as they shifted, circled back, landed, and took to the air again, like a single organism with a thousand different sets of eyes.
"They're monogamous, you know?" Kim had said. "All that flying, all that distance; tens of thousands of them crammed into a small space like this, all of them looking exactly alike. And yet somehow they snuggle up next to their mate at day's end. Somehow they find each other."
"In Maori culture, the birds are the messengers of the gods," Mazer had said. "Legend has it that the first of our people came here in a fleet of waka, or canoes, following the flight of the godwits. They were the guides the gods had given us. There's a song about it that the children sing."
"Do you know it?"
"Most of it."
"Let's hear it."
He laughed. "What, you want me to sing it? Now?"
"We're alone. I won't laugh, I swear. I think it's fascinating. You don't talk about this kind of stuff. Your culture, I mean. I want to know about it."
"It's a children's song, Kim. It's in Maori."
"I'll never ask you to sing anything ever again. I promise."