Earth Afire (The First Formic War) by Orson Scott Card, Aaron Johnston Page B

impressive flying, Lieutenant. We watched the whole approach on Mr. Burnzel’s holopad.” His English was flawless and completely without an accent.
    Burnzel was all smiles as he held up his holopad as if proof of the claim.
    “Lieutenant Reinhardt is our pilot,” said Mazer, “but I’ll be sure to pass on your praise. Please, won’t you be seated? The safety harnesses are there in the jump seats. We should have a smooth ride in, but we’d appreciate you buckling up as a precaution.”
    “Of course,” said Burnzel, the smile still plastered across his face. He sat in the jump seat and began buckling the straps. “We were also hoping you could demonstrate to Captain Shenzu how fast the HERC could go with a heavy payload.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Oh you know. Give us a little show, Lieutenant. Zip around the valley for a minute. Impress us. No loop-the-loops, though,” he said with a laugh. “Go upside down and we lose antigrav.” Then he laughed as if that were the funniest joke in the world.
    Fatani was back inside by now. He and Mazer exchanged glances, and Fatani shrugged. Mazer hit the command to seal the hole in the floor and made his way back to the copilot’s seat.
    “You want to tell me what’s going on?” Reinhardt said under his breath.
    “I’m finding out,” said Mazer. He slid his helmet visor back down into place. “Blue River, Blue River. This is Jackrabbit. Target is secure and airborne, over.”
    This time the voice on the radio was Colonel Napatu’s. “Jackrabbit this is Blue River. Have you secured the passengers?”
    “Affirmative. They’re retrieved and buckled in the cabin, sir.”
    “Good. Don’t jostle them. Bring her in nice and easy.”
    “They’re asking that I come in hot, sir. Give them a show.”
    “Negative. You bring her in slow. We’re not bowing to some corporate jackass any more than we have to.”
    *   *   *
     
    “A sales demonstration?” said Reinhardt. He, Patu, Fatani, and Mazer were all standing in Napatu’s office, still wearing their flight suits. “The mission was a sales demonstration?”
    “The Chinese are interested in the HERC,” said Colonel Napatu. “They wanted to see it in action before they cut any deal with Juke Limited.”
    “Since when does the SAS give test-drives to the Chinese?” said Reinhardt. “Look, no offense, sir, but we were taking some heat out there. Nothing but flares, yes, but we all took this op rather seriously. I was flying like a bumblebee to avoid that flack. We could have buried that bird in a hillside. And for what? To show off to a Chinese captain and some suit from sales trying to meet his monthly quota? Pardon me for saying so, sir, but this whole thing strikes me as incredibly negligent.”
    Napatu leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach, and cocked his head to the side. “Are you finished, Lieutenant?”
    Reinhardt straightened and retreated a step, his cheeks flushed. He put his hands behind his back in parade-rest position. “Yes, sir. Pardon me for speaking candidly, sir.”
    “Since I happen to believe you’re justified in being annoyed, I’ll forgive that candor, Lieutenant. But I’ll kindly remind you that an SAS officer holds his tongue as well as he holds a rifle, especially when addressing a senior officer.”
    “Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, sir.”
    Colonel Napatu sighed and swiveled in his chair for a moment. “All of you sit down. I don’t like you hovering over my desk like that.”
    Mazer and the others took a seat in the armchairs and sofa opposite Napatu’s desk.
    Napatu put his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes, suggesting he was as sleep deprived as the others. “I would love for you all to believe that the SAS is immune to the bureaucratic crap that so plagues the rest of the military,” he said. “And I would love for you to believe that I as the CO of this unit have the authority to tell the defense department where they can stick