She was older than the women Rashid usually went after. And rather too thin for his taste. Yet she was alluring: cool yet tempting, proper in dress and demeanor while her smile seemed to suggest everything a man could desire. She spoke modestly, worked efficiently, and smiled deliciously. When she agreed to accompany him as his assistant on this trip to the Pacific, Rashid’s fantasies kept him awake and sweating for the entire flight.

Now, with the sun setting and the infernal racket of the trucks and construction crews beginning to ease off, Rashid walked along the sandy beach toward the little tent city that had been put up to house the workers. The largest tent of all had been erected for him. Melissa slept in a tent with three other women, all construction workers, all bigger, more muscular, and much tougher-looking than Rashid himself.

Yet he grinned as he walked along the curving beach. At least now that the construction crews were knocking off for the evening he could hear the hiss and boom of the surf. There would be a moon tonight. Very romantic, looking out across the lagoon at the night sky.

And Melissa had agreed to have dinner with him. In his tent. Just the two of them, alone. Rashid felt like a sheik of old as he prepared his mind for the night’s pleasure.

Melissa Hart had not been surprised at how easy it was to get close to Rashid. New Morality cohorts in Masterson’s personnel department had faked a record for her, and Rashid hadn’t bothered to check any of the recommendations that were signed by department heads from across the continent.

No, the man had taken one look at her and hired her with a wolfish smile.

Sex is a weapon, Melissa told herself. But a weapon is powerful only when it’s used wisely. Keeping Rashid wanting her was the important thing; as long as his desire was alive, she had the power. Allowing him to have her would diminish that power she knew. She would give Rashid smiles and glances, even kisses and fondling. But they would consummate his lust only when it suited Melissa’s goal.

Tonight we have dinner in his tent, she told herself as she clipped on a pair of faux pearl earrings. One of them was a microminiaturized radio that would transmit every word of their conversation to the solid-state recorder hidden beneath her cot.

“Big night with the big shit boss, huh?” said one of the construction workers with whom Melissa shared the tent. She was a short, burly woman with a good-natured laugh and a vocabulary from the docks. The other two had not come in yet.

Melissa nodded as she studied her image in the only mirror she had, a small hand-sized one.

“How do I look?” she asked.

The woman eyed her critically. Melissa was wearing flowing light pink silk harem pants slitted from hip to cuff, with a loose long-sleeved overblouse.

“Good enough to eat,” the construction worker said, grinning.

Melissa smiled back at her. The woman began to pull off her grimy tee-shirt. “Watch out for him,” she warned. “He’s got ideas about you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Melissa. “I’ve handled men like him before.”

“Sure.” And the woman made an up-and-down movement with her fist.

Melissa laughed at the crudity. I should give her a lecture on morality, she thought, but I don’t have the time.

As she started out of the tent, the woman said, “I’m damned fuckin’ jealous, you know.”

Surprised, Melissa blurted, “You’d want to have dinner with the boss?”

“Uh-uh,” she replied. “I’d rather have you.”

“Oh,” was all that Melissa could think to reply. But as she left the tent she thought that she would certainly have to give her a morality lecture. Then she wondered if she’d be safer in Rashid’s tent overnight than with the three other women.

Joanna felt miserably alone as she walked along the tunnel toward her quarters.

Instead of bringing them together I’m driving them further apart, she said to herself. I want Greg and Doug to work in harmony, and here I’ve as much as told Greg I don’t trust his judgment and I’m siding with Doug.

But what else can I do? Doug’s right and Greg’s simply refusing to pay attention to what he’s trying to accomplish. This whole Kiribati business could blow away at any time; Greg thinks he’s being so clever in setting it up, yet it could be a house of straw.

Well, she thought as she slid open the door to her suite, it’s done. I’ve told Greg what I’m going to do. Now I’d better tell Doug. At least he’ll be happy about it. I hope.

The message light on her computer was blinking. Joanna closed her door, then said in a clear, firm voice, “Computer, read messages.”

The screen lit up with the words as the computer announced in a synthesized contralto voice, “Dr. Kristine Cardenas returned your call at 1435 hours today.”

Joanna slid into her desk chair as she asked, “Did she leave a message?”

“Yes.”

“Read it, please.”

Again, the words spelled on the screen as Kris Cardenas’ slightly shaking voice said, “Mrs. Stavenger, I’ve been thinking about your request that I come to Moonbase to examine your son. Professor Zimmerman is with me, and we would both like to come, if that can be arranged.”

“End of message,” said the computer.

Joanna sat at the blankly glowing screen, thinking hard. Zimmerman! He swore he’d never come back here again. But Switzerland’s going to sign the nanotech treaty. Canada, too. Could it be…?

“Phone,” said Joanna. “Call Kristine Cardenas.”

Their conversation was brief, cool, and to the point Kris Cardenas and Wilhelm Zimmerman would leave from Vancouver for Moonbase on the next available flight. Joanna checked the schedules and saw that they could get to an Earth-orbiting transfer station on the next day. Then they’d have to wait for four days before an LTV was scheduled to make the weekly run to Moonbase.

She shook her head. They’re too important to sit around for four days. The authorities might even try to detain them, especially if they wait in Vancouver instead of the space station.

Joanna ordered a special flight to meet them at the orbital station and take them immediately to Moonbase. They’ll be here in three days, she told herself.

The corporate comptroller called an hour later to ask if she knew how much a special lunar flight cost and how thin Moonbase’s profit margin was already.

I’ll have to clear this with the division head,” he said, glowering out from the screen at Joanna. “And he’ll probably want to check it out with the director of Moonbase before he okays it.”

Joanna sighed. “Put it on my personal account, Lester,” she said.

Once her words reached him, his eyes went wide. “You’re going to pay for it out of your own pocket?” He looked as if she had threatened some fundamental tenet of his inner faith.

“Yes,” Joanna snapped. “And while I’ve got you on the link, I want to buy a lunar transfer vehicle. A used one, if possible; one that’s about to be retired, if there are any such available. But used or new, I want an LTV. Put that on my personal account, too.”

She thought the man would faint.