"I suppose you're right," the commander said, though he glanced involuntarily at the restaurant door even as he spoke. "I guess I've been edgy ever since Tiffany and Doc got jumped, and I'm not particularly confident that the troops will always check with me before they swing into action, as you well know."

"Don't remind us, Willard," Jennie Higgens said, wrinkling her nose slightly as she held her own glass out to her cameraman for a refill. "I mean, we've accepted your apology and all, but don't push your luck. You know, I can't help but feel we'd still be cooling our heels under guard if you hadn't remembered I had been to nursing school before signing onto the glamorous world of broadcast news. How is Harry, by the way?"

"He seems to be coming along fine," Phule said. "At least, it's getting more and more difficult to keep him horizontal while he's mending. Fortunately I think he's met his match in Beeker. Incidentally I want to thank you again for taping him up."

"I've had a lot of practice with that, though I'm better on bone bruises," the reporter said. "In case the subject ever comes up, don't ever let anyone con you into thinking that field hockey is a ladylike game. It can be as rough or rougher than lacrosse-at least the way we used to play it." She paused and cocked an eyebrow at the Legionnaire commander. "Maybe I shouldn't mention it, but you are aware, aren't you, that that's the fifth or sixth time you've thanked me for patching up the sergeant?"

"Is it?" Phule frowned, rubbing his forehead with one finger. "Sorry. I don't mean to be redundant. I seem to be a bit forgetful lately. I guess I'm a little tired."

The reporter and the cameraman exchanged glances. It had been impossible not to notice the lines of fatigue etched into Phule's face, though they had both been careful not to comment on it.

"Oh well." The Legionnaire commander shrugged and forced a smile. "The one thing I can't thank you enough for is your willingness to sit on this story-for a while, anyway. I know how much it must mean to you."

"No, you don't," Sydney muttered, glancing away as he took another sip of his wine.

Jennie shot him a dark glare, then turned back to the conversation.

"It's nice of you to thank us," she said easily, "but really, Willard, reporters aren't totally insensitive, no matter what you've heard-the good ones, anyway. It's easy to see that publicizing what you're doing would endanger your undercover operatives, so it's no big thing for us to hold off for a while."

"Well, Jennie," Phule said carefully, "contrary to popular belief, I'm not totally insensitive, either. What was that you were saying about my not really knowing how much this story means to you, Sydney?"

"What?" The cameraman blinked in surprise at suddenly being the focus of the conversation. "Oh ... nothing."

The Legionnaire commander leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest, as he looked back and forth between his two dinner companions.

"Now, look," he said. "I've been up-front and candid with you two in this whole deal-probably more than I should have been. I don't think it's asking too much for you to return the favor. Now, what is it that I don't know about your involvement with this story?"

Uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Then the reporter shrugged her shoulders.

"Tell him, Sydney," she said.

The cameraman grimaced before he spoke.

"I guess loose lips really do sink ships," he said. "All right, Captain. What I was so carelessly referring to is that both our jobs are on the line for this assignment. The news director wasn't particularly convinced that there was a story here, but Jennie kept leaning on him until he agreed to send us, but on the proviso that if we don't come up with something to justify the cost of the trip, we needn't bother coming back, and whatever benefits or severance pay we had coming would be applied against the cost of the wild-goose chase."

"Why, Jennie?" Phule said.

"Oh, he just made me mad," the reporter admitted. "He acted like I was making the whole thing up to get the news service to pay for a passion-filled vacation on Lorelei for Sydney and me. I kept trying to convince him it was a legitimate story and ... well, when he got around to making his `take it or leave it' offer, I couldn't refuse or it would look like he was right all along."

"Interesting," the commander said. "But what I meant was, why didn't you want to tell me about this?"

Jennie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I didn't want it to seem like you were under any obligation to us. You have a habit of taking responsibility for everything and everybody around you, Willard, and I was afraid it would come across like we were trying to play on your generosity ... or your guilt."

"Well, this assignment has aged me a bit," Phule said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "As somebody told me not too long ago, I figure you're both adults and capable of making your own decisions and living with the consequences. You two made the deal, and I assume you did it taking into account how much you were willing to risk against what potential losses. That makes it your business, not mine."

The reporter smiled. "Thank you, Willard. I appreciate that."

"Of course," the commander added carefully, "if it turns out that you do end up in the ranks of the unemployed, I hope you won't hesitate to let me help you find a new position. That much I'd be willing to do whether or not the story in question involved me and mine."

"We'll see." Jennie grinned impishly. "We're not dead yet."

"Just one thing, Sydney," Phule said, "if you don't mind my asking. I notice you had your holo-camera gear along, and that's fairly expensive equipment. Is it your own, or does it belong to the news service? Would you have to send it back if things went bad?"

"Oh, it's mine," the cameraman acknowledged. "It's not the newest stuff available, mind you, but I've pieced together an adequate rig over the years. I figured that just in case the time had come for me to finally strike out on my own, I should ... Excuse me, but is this someone you know, Captain? She seems to be coming this way."

The commander followed Sydney's gaze and saw a matronly woman in a loose-fitting, almost bat-wing black dress approaching their table. While she seemed somehow familiar, he couldn't quite place her in his memory. As their eyes met, however, the woman smiled her own recognition.

"Good evening, Captain Jester. May I join you?"

The voice swept away any uncertainty.

"Colonel Battleax?" Phule gulped, rising reflexively to his feet. "What are ... Please ... have a seat."

The colonel graciously accepted the chair he held for her as if it was what she had been expecting all along.

"I ... Excuse me, I don't think you've met," the commander managed, still trying to recover from the shock of Battleax's presence in the middle of an assignment. "This is Jennie Higgens and Sydney Nolan."

"Ah yes, the reporter," Battleax said, smiling sweetly as the two women shook hands. "I believe we met briefly on Haskin's Planet."

"That's right," Jennie acknowledged. "Back during the ... investigation of Willard's handling of the alien invasion."

"Well, I don't think we ever met. Not to talk, anyway." Sydney interrupted, extending his own hand. "I was behind the camera that day."

"Of course," the colonel said. "I never did get a chance to thank you both for the coverage you provided. It made our job so much easier to have half the galaxy looking over our shoulder."

"Umm ... what brings you to Lorelei, Colonel?" Phule interjected, trying desperately to change the subject before things got bloody.

"Actually, you do, Captain." Battleax smiled, showing a few extra teeth. "You and your merry band of cutthroats. I think, however, our discussion of that should wait for another time-sometime, shall we say, more private? I wouldn't want to bore your guests with Legion chitchat."