"You see," Faure said, leaning closer to her, placing his hands on the knees of his perfectly-creased trousers, "it is not I who resists your request. The Peacekeepers are military men. And women, of course. They do not want a news reporter to travel with them. They fear it might hamper them-"

"The military never wants reporters around."

"Quite so. But in this case I can fully understand their hesitation."

Edith said, "If there's a news blackout, the media will have nothing to work with except rumors."

"We will furnish news releases, as a matter of course. Each day a complete summary will be given to the media."

"But some reporters will wonder how accurate it is. There's always the tendency to put your own spin on the actual events, isn't there."

Wearily, Faure replied, "I suppose so. But you must not impugn the integrity of the Peacekeepers. They have accomplished very difficult assignments in many parts of the globe. Take Brazil, for example-"

"Are you saying," Edith interrupted, "that it's up to the Peacekeepers themselves to decide if they take a reporter or not?"

"No, not at all. Merely-"

"Because I thought the Peacekeepers reported to you. I thought you made the final decisions."

"But I do!"

"Yet in this case you're going to let them dictate to you, is that it?"

Faure's moustache quivered slightly. "Not at all! I make the decision and they follow."

Smiling her prettiest, Edith knew she had him. "In that case, you certainly understand how important it will be to have an unbiased, trusted news reporter on the scene when they land at Moonbase."

Faure's face clearly showed that he did not like being mousetrapped. But slowly his expression changed; he smiled again, showing teeth.

"Yes, you are correct," he said slowly. "The responsibility is mine. All mine. The weight of the major decisions is upon my shoulders alone."

Edith recognized the crafty look in his eyes.

"This is not an easy decision to make, Miss Elgin," Faure went on. "Special arrangements require certain… ah, accommodations."

"What do you mean?" Edith asked, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

Leaning forward even more and tapping a pudgy finger on her knee, Faure said, "We have much to discuss about this. Perhaps we could have dinner this evening?"

The body tax. Edith controlled her inner anger as she told herself, Even after all these years of women's rights it still comes down to the damned body tax. He's got the power and he knows it. If I want him to do me a favor he expects me to do one for him in return. And all he sees is a good-looking blonde.

"Dinner sounds fine," she said, thinking, It won't be the first time you've opened your legs to get a good assignment. Sometimes you've got to give some head to get ahead.

TOUCHDOWN MINUS 96 HOURS

The mercenary stared at the message that was waiting for him on his wall screen.