ad asked that the voice be that of a real doctor, and Medicus thought Kim the perfect fit. She was already on staff, she was American, she had great bedside manner, and she was brilliant. Kim had agreed to do it only on the condition that Medicus test several voices along with hers before making the final decision. Medicus complied, recording samples from Kim and other doctors and then bringing in several soldiers from the NZSAS for a focus group. Mazer had been among them, and he was the most outspoken in the group for why the voice should be Kim's: She sounds like a doctor; she sounds like she knows what she's talking about; soldiers will be anxious and afraid and at the height of emotional distress; a voice like hers will calm them; I believe every word she says.
The executives had been delighted, and afterward they had made a point of introducing Mazer to Kim, citing him as proof that she had a lot of recording to do. She had scowled at Mazer playfully and blamed him for giving her more work than she had time for. He had apologized, and in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity that surprised himself more than anyone, he asked her to dinner to make it up to her.
It seemed like such a long time ago now.
Mazer sat on the sofa opposite her desk. Kim removed her shoes, sat beside him, and draped her legs across his lap.
"The Kiwi version can't be my voice," she said. "New Zealand soldiers want to hear a New Zealander."
"I don't," said Mazer. "I'd much rather hear yours."
She smiled. "It's a matter of clarity. Americans pronounce words differently. You don't want a soldier administering the wrong drug or performing an incorrect action because he or she misunderstood the directions."
"True," said Mazer. "But the real reason why it can't be you is because your voice is so intoxicating. You're like the sea sirens in The Odyssey. Soldiers become so enchanted by the music of your voice that they get all dreamy and starry-eyed and completely forget about their fellow soldier bleeding out in front of them."
She smiled again. "Yes. Tragic when that happens."
Why was he being playful? It would only make this more difficult.
"I'm leaving for China," he said. "For six months."
It was like a slap. She stared at him. "Why so long?"
"Exercises with the Chinese. We're training them on some new equipment." He couldn't speak of the HERC. It was still classified.
"Not a hostile op?"
"No," he said, reassuring her. "Purely training."
"Those can be dangerous too."
"This one won't be. It will be boring."
"How often will you get to come back?"
"I won't. Six months solid. No leave time."
She stared at him then looked down at her half-eaten pastry and pushed it around her plate. "I see. When do you leave?"
He checked the time on his wrist pad. "Less than two hours. I only found out an hour ago."
She put the plate aside, angry. "That's how much time they gave you? That's ridiculous. Not to mention insensitive. It shows a complete disregard for people. Doesn't it make you angry?"
"I'm a soldier, Kim. This is what I do. I go places."
"Why does it have to be you? I thought you were in the middle of some important training here."
"I am. It's the training here that's now taking me there."
She pulled her legs off his lap. "Can you request that someone else go in your place? I know that's unorthodox, but surely they make exceptions."
"I don't have extenuating circumstances."
"Tell them I need you here to help with the development of the Med-Assist."
"You've never needed my help before, and the military doesn't make exceptions, especially with private contractors. If you needed a soldier, they would argue that it doesn't have to be me."
She got up, crossed to the window, and looked out over the city. "Don't you want to fight this?"