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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."
