Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

to Mazer. “Captain Rackham, you’ll continue as team leader. Your mission objectives are there on the cube. You’ll brief the others on the plane. You fly out at 0900.”
    Mazer took the cube, surprised. “ Captain, sir?”
    “You’ve just been promoted. I’m not having some Chinese officer thinking he outranks everyone on your team.”
    *   *   *
     
    It was six o’clock in the morning when Mazer left Colonel Napatu’s office and made his way across base toward the motor pool. Three hours. Napatu had given them three hours to arrange their affairs before getting on a plane for an overseas six-month assignment.
    This is why it would never work with Kim, he told himself. This is why it was ridiculous to even consider marriage. No relationship can operate this way.
    They had never discussed marriage, but Mazer knew Kim was thinking about it as much as he was. It was evident in the little things she did: the way she smiled at any baby they passed in the market, or how she casually mentioned her goals for the future, like how she wanted a bay window in her home when she settled down, or how she would grow her own vegetables when she settled down. That was her phrase: “When I settle down.” It was never “When we settle down,” but the subtext was there nonetheless. The implication was obvious. She was putting her toe in the marriage waters and seeing what ripples it produced.
    Mazer always responded as if he sensed no subtext at all. They were making conversation, nothing more. Why yes, a bay window would be lovely. But no, gardens were a pain; there were weeds to be pulled and bugs to be sprayed and dirt to be tilled. That was time, and time was money. I’ll buy my vegetables, thank you very much.
    It was a game they played, a game of compatibility. And the more they played it, the more convinced Mazer became that he would never find a better match.
    He woke the officer on duty at the motor pool and checked out a vehicle. The drive from Papakura to East Tamaki was quick, and he parked across the street of Medicus Industries at ten minutes to seven. She would already be up in her office, he knew; she always came in early to get a jump on the day.
    He didn’t call her. Instead, he tapped his wrist pad three times to ping her, then he watched her office window on the fifth floor. She appeared a moment later, smiled, and waved him to come up. He walked to the front door, waited for the holo to appear in the box, and typed in the sequence she had taught him. The door opened, and he crossed through the empty lobby to the lifts.
    She met him on the fifth floor and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. She looked as beautiful as ever, her hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she worked over her holos all day. “This is a pleasant surprise, Lieutenant,” she said. Her American accent always made him smile.
    “I’m a captain now actually,” he said.
    “As of when?”
    “This morning.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Really? With a captain’s pay?”
    “I assume so. There wasn’t much time to discuss it. Why, you need a loan?”
    She smiled, though he could see that the promotion made her uneasy. An unexpected early-morning promotion was a bad sign. It might mean they were shipping him out.
    He waited for her to ask, but instead she cocked her head to the side and said, “You look tired.”
    “I haven’t slept in thirty-something hours,” he said.
    “And yet you came to tell me about your promotion before getting some sleep. I feel special.”
    “I didn’t come to tell you about my promotion,” he said.
    She sensed bad news coming and held up a hand. “Before I get the whole story, let’s eat first. There are pastries in the conference room.”
    She hooked her arm in his and led him down a corridor. All the offices they passed were dark and empty of people. They reached a glass-paneled room with a long table and a wide marble counter at the far end loaded with fresh fruit, pastries, and self-cooling containers of juice and milk. Kim handed him a plate, grabbed one for herself, and started loading up.
    “Are these yesterday’s pastries?” Mazer asked, picking up an apple turnover and giving it a sniff.
    “A caterer brings them in early. They’re fresh. And why should you care? You’re supposed to be able to survive off the land, eating worms and roasted field mice. Day-old pastries are luxury food.”
    He didn’t feel like eating, but he put the turnover on his