About a half hour after Meg arrived in the office at Pacific Fleet Intelligence on Monday, she checked her e-mail. As the waiting mail list scrolled down the screen, she noticed a message from Carl. She went directly to the message. He would be arriving at Hickam Air Force Base shortly before noon on Thursday; he had managed to snag three days of leave, enroute to a Temporary Duty assignment in Australia. She felt like jumping up and shouting 'hallelujah!' But that would be inappropriate behavior for the office. Even though she was a 'short-timer'--she expected orders to a new duty station within a month, there was a dignity to uphold. Then Meg read the rest of the message. Carl had arranged for them to stay in the new vacation cottages near Nohili Point at the Barking Sands Military Reservation on Kauai. He had included a telephone number and asked Meg to contact Matilda Kalikimaka at Barking Sands to confirm these reservations; apparently, there was a local requirement that they be confirmed by someone on active duty in the islands. She was baffled. What was he thinking of? Damn it! It had been thirteen months since he had been transferred back to the mainland. For thirteen months, she hadn't seen him. For thirteen long months, she'd had to practice the art of unisex. They could easily have gotten a cottage at Barber's Point here on Oahu. Beautiful beach there. The sand didn't 'bark,' but it was less than 30 minutes from Hickam; they could drive to Barber's Point and back to Hickam in her car on their own schedule. Going to Barking Sands required scheduled inter- island air transport, a half hour's flight, a rental car, and perhaps an hour's worth of driving on Kauai. What a waste of time that could be otherwise used! Carl had done it again. That man was infuriating, at times. Obviously he had a reason, but he hadn't let her in on it. He really took 'need-to-know' to an extreme. He liked to keep secrets, he liked to surprise her. Meg fumed silently; if she were neutered, would she still love him this much? Damn it. Why couldn't she be like Heinlein's Friday? Able to treat sex as a natural act, like eating? able to go to bed with whoever was available? regardless of gender? It would be so much more convenient than to be hung up on one man. Well, she had to admit that Carl had pulled a nearly impossible deal, getting leave on his Temporary Duty orders. And, even though they were engaged, there was no law that he had to take his leave with her. She whipped out a leave request, filled in the blanks, and headed for the division officer's office. Lieutenant Commander Berriol looked at the request and then at Meg, "Rather short fuze on this request, Sloan, isn't it?" "Yes, sir!" came the prompt reply. "I just got word on my friend's orders a few minutes ago." Berriol had long been wondering why Sloan had taken no leave since a year ago September; young officers, on their first tour of duty in Hawaii often ended up running out of earned leave. But not Sloan. Now he understood: the 'Ice Queen' actually did have a boy friend; her rumored engagement was a fact. She had been saving leave for a 'special occasion.' He smiled inwardly. Let the bachelors in the office eat their hearts out. Sloan was going to get her leave. She was one of his best analysts: she liked to work, she worked hard, she did excellent analyses, she would be gone in a few months. But he wanted to appear reluctant; other officers in the division might get the idea that leave would be routinely approved on short notice. He spoke loudly enough that those eavesdropping from the outer office could hear, "What's the status on your reports?" "I'll be staying late tonight and have the summary on the new Russian overhead surveillance satellite on your desk by close of business tomorrow. I can come in on Sunday to finish up the analysis on the new Russian Pacific Fleet anti- submarine organization for Monday's brief." Berriol was running out of questions. Several seconds of grumpy silence should do. Finally, he groused, "This office has a tight schedule for producing reports. I like to have plenty of warning on leave requests so that I can adjust assignments. If you were in my position, how would you handle a case like this?" Meg answered promptly, "I'd reward good work, sir. It helps to keep up morale." He scowled, but agreed with the logic. He checked 'approved' and deliberately signed the request as slowly as possible while still making a legible signature. He pushed the form back across the desk toward Meg. Silently, he wished her a good leave, but maintained a slightly put-upon look. There were too many flakes in the office who might be encouraged by this precedent. Meg thanked Berriol and returned to the outer office. She immediately went to the desk of Lieutenant Julie Perez, the senior analyst in the office. Perez had overheard enough from Berriol's office to know what was up. But she continued to check the duty lists. "Lieutenant Perez, ma'am?" Perez looked up with a feigned look of slight surprise. "Oh, . . . Yes, Sloan. What can I do for you?" "A personal emergency has come up. I just got leave approved for Thursday through Saturday. But I have duty on Thursday. I know this is very short notice, but could you take my Thursday duty day?" They had talked about this before. Perez knew what 'personal emergency' she was talking about; it had been over a year since Meg had seen Carl Munsee. But Perez decided to take this opportunity to reiterate to the office her estimation of Sloan; a Lieutenant was willing to take the duty day of a JG. She repeated the details of their deal, "Okay, you'll take my duty on Sunday and on one other weekend of my choice, too. Right?" "Right!" Meg beamed. She was home free. She thanked Perez, returned to her desk, and dashed off a e-mail reply to Carl. She paused, should she make the call to Kauai from her desk? or should she use a public phone? She decided to save time; she was a master at making short phone calls. She dialed the number Carl had provided and asked for Matilda Kalikimaka. Ensign Donna Elwood, who had the desk across from Meg's, could not help but note the conversation. Elwood was a brand new officer and looked up to Sloan, who, with more than 20 months at Pacific Fleet, had been assigned as her mentor. Elwood admired Sloan's telephone manner and often listened to pick up pointers. The male voice which answered at Barking Sands said that Matilda was not in the office today. Yes, a cottage had been reserved by Captain Carl Munsee, but it had not yet been confirmed by someone serving in the islands. Meg cheerfully said that she was calling to make that confirmation, gave her name and duty station. The voice asked whether the reservations she was confirming had been made by her husband. Meg lowered her voice; she didn't want to spell out for the intelligence office what she would be doing on leave, "No, the reservations were made by Captain Carl Munsee, United States Air Force. Last name, Mike, Uniform, November, Sierra, Echo, Echo." The voice asked, "So, you are Mrs. Munsee. Who is this M.A. Sloan?" "I'm M.A. Sloan, Lieutenant JG, U.S. Navy, Pacific Fleet." After a pause, "Would you spell that last name?" "Sloan, Sierra, Lima, Oscar, Alpha, November." Meg was becoming frustrated; with anyone else on the other end of the line, she would already be off the phone. Perez was looking in her direction; there was a policy that the telephones should not be tied up with lengthy personal calls. The male voice now said that a cottage was available; in fact, no one else would be at Nohili Point until the weekend. But the voice continued, listing all sorts of inconveniences. To begin with, it pointed out that the Officer's Club at Barking Sands was closed in mid-week. Meg had learned this when she had checked out all military recreational facilities in the islands shortly after her arrival. She patiently responded, "My friend is travelling half way around the world. If we wanted to eat and drink, we could stay on Oahu. We just want a place to get away and be by ourselves." The voice responded, saying that all food services would be closed, including the Burger King restaurant. The Base Exchange was closed; no food would be available anywhere at Barking Sands. Meg answered testily, "We plan to buy our food on the way in from the airport. We'll cook it ourselves in the cottage. We don't need any food service." The voice pointed out that during the off-season, no recreational facilities would be available, no movies, no bowling alley, no video arcade, no swimming pool; no lifeguards would be available on the beach. Meg realized that she was just not getting through to the voice. She tried a new tack, "Besides fixing and eating food, all we'll be doing is what newlyweds do on a honeymoon." Ensign Elwood made it obvious that she had been eavesdropping on the conversation; she choked on her donut and coughed moist scraps of it across the papers on her desk. Meg realized that with her reputation as the 'Ice Queen'--a good-looking (excuse the pride), healthy, and eligible young woman who refused to date, as far as anyone could tell--there was intense curiosity elsewhere in the office about a telephone conversation that obviously had nothing to do with intelligence. She wished that she had been more patient and had placed this call from a public phone where she would have had some privacy. Nevertheless, the voice continued and told Meg that there would be no maid service. That was the last straw; she was about to explode, but instead spoke quietly, with exaggerated diction. She didn't want the office to hear, "Captain Munsee and I won't be out of bed long enough for any maid to have time to make it up." From over the phone she heard a now comprehending "Oh." She also noticed the absolute quiet in the office. She looked around to see all the other analysts hurriedly turn back to their work, or whatever it was on the desk in front of them. She was mortified and began to blush. Now that the voice on the telephone understood that Meg wanted the cottage for immoral purposes, it was helpful. In less than a minute, she was able to hang up, having finally confirmed the reservation and obtained directions to the office which would have the necessary keys. She decided that she should have said right up front, "We need a place to get laid." Meg looked around the office again; all heads were down, busy at work. She could feel the blush rising from her neck and burning her cheeks. She had to get out of there. She tried to be inconspicuous as she stood up and walked out of the room. She refused to look around. Berriol looked up from his desk in the inner office; the outer office was just too quiet. He noticed the studied busy- ness of most of his subordinates and the crimson blush on Meg's face as she walked out of the office. It contrasted so starkly with her blonde hair. When the door closed behind her, he asked, "Would someone please tell me what that was all about?" For several seconds, the office was silent. Finally, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) William T. O'Bannon, a handsome, self-assured Academy graduate, spoke up irreverently, "The 'Ice Queen' is going to get laid on Thursday." One of the women in the office tossed a printer manual at O'Bannon's head. Ensign Elwood spoke up, "You're just jealous, Mr. O'Bannon, sir. You hit on her for a date just about every time she turns around. How many times has she turned you down? Sir!" A female voice rose above the hubbub, "God's gift to womankind is an expert on Sloan." Lieutenant Perez eventually spoke up, "O'Bannon, you know what that tells us?" She continued without waiting for the ring-knocker to answer, "Sloan shows good taste in choosing who she goes to bed with." Berriol looked disgusted. He finally bellowed, "Okay, okay. Back to work, people. We have work to do." He muttered, as he went back to his desk, "Women! Goddammed hormones!" Perez noticed Berriol muttering as he went back to his desk. She guessed what he was thinking and, as she turned back to her keyboard, mimicked him, talking to no one in particular, "Why can't a woman be more like a man." - - - - - When dawn came Thursday morning, so did Meg. She had been awake since half past five--0530 hours she reminded herself. Unable to sleep, she had let her fingers do the walking, hoping that it would reduce the tension that had built up in anticipation of her fiance's arrival. It hadn't discernably helped, she realized, as she stood near the arrival gate at Hickam Air Force Base in the late morning sun and watched Carl's plane swing around on the nearby apron to debark its passengers. She felt more moisture than just her own perspiration. Suddenly, she laughed to herself: she had called that jet out there 'Carl's plane'; but he wasn't the only passenger on board. Wincing and involuntarily ducking against the scream of turbojet engines, Meg realized that her morning had passed in a blurry haze; she couldn't even remember the drive into the base from her apartment. She reached up and touched the hibiscus blossom in her hair. Yes, it was there. Then glanced down at her right hand. Yes, again. She had the six plumeria leis for Carl's arrival. The whine of the turbines died and soon passengers were debarking. Meg felt herself trembling as she saw the first arrivals pass through the nearby gate. She had to force herself to keep her right hand from clenching in anticipation. She had decided that her fiance should receive the traditional greeting; she glanced again at her sweaty . . . 'Sweaty' was the right word, she decided; perspiration was not descriptive enough of what her body was doing to her right now. She glanced at her sweaty right hand and hoped the plumeria blossoms would not be too damaged. Suddenly, she saw him and then there was only one other person anywhere in the world around her. Yes, there were colors and blurs here and there and an occasional muffled sound that made absolutely no sense. How could it? The only thing that mattered was that smiling brown-haired, blue-eyed man in the light blue short sleeve shirt and khaki cotton slacks, carrying the gray flight bag. Meg had started to take the leis in both hands, in order to place them over his neck, when she realized that neither he nor she wanted to delay their first embrace long enough for that silly ceremony. She swung her right hand and the leis free, just as Carl reached her, grabbed her, and crushed her to his chest. In a flash, the thirteen months apart disappeared. Meg had no idea what it was that brought her back to the present. But suddenly it seemed to her that it was incongruous for them to be French kissing in such a public place. Shortly, they broke the kiss and the embrace, and she remembered to drape the leis around his neck. She marveled that she had had the presence of mind or something and had not crushed the fragile blooms during their welcoming mutual grope. "What did you say?" Meg realized that Carl was almost shouting to make himself heard above the noise at the gate. She stood on tiptoes, leaned close to his ear and answered, "I said, 'Aloha.' Remember? It means both 'welcome' and 'I love you.'" He grinned and, as he leaned down to pick up the flight bag he had dropped at some time or another, said, "Isn't that redundant? I mean, what more could you have to say, after the kiss you gave me?" Though she blushed, Meg seized the opportunity and grabbed his arm. "Carl, why don't you just get your luggage and let me show you what else I could have to say. I want to. It's only fifteen minutes to my apartment. We don't need to go to Kauai." The grin disappeared from his face as he recognized how serious she was. He seemed to pause a moment, then said, "Oh, Meg, I'd love to. But my bags are already on their way over to the International Airport." "We can call and have them send them back. Or we can go over and pick them up." Then very hesitantly, she added, "You won't . . . need . . . to wear . . . much, . . . if you don't want to, . . . 'til Saturday, . . . when you leave for Australia." "My bags are checked through to Lihue, Meg. And I put some government equipment that I've signed for in them. . . . Besides, haven't you seen enough of Oahu? You haven't been to Kauai yet, have you? You can't leave the islands, go back to the mainland without seeing Barking Sands." She realized that he was correct about Oahu. She had seen all there was to see on this island. And, before he had been detached a year ago last September, they had gone to the Big Island twice, to Maui, even to Molokai. They had planned to go to Kauai, but that trip had been scrubbed by a hectic weekend she had been required to spend working on PacFleet's input to PacCom for the latter's input to the JIEP. However, their canceled trip would have taken them to Wailua, just a stone's throw up the road from the airport at Lihue. She wondered why he wanted to go to Barking Sands this time. What was the big deal about sand that 'barked'? Meg was about to renew her invitation that he spend his leave in an extremely private, thoroughly intimate, though quite unspectacular locale, when she recognized the look in his eyes. No matter what she might say, no matter how long it might take, he would work her around to going to Kauai. She surrendered: it would be better to save her breath and energy and spend the time instead enjoying his company. She was smiling again when they arrived on the opposite side of the airfield at the main terminal for Honolulu International Airport. He remarked on the dark red hibiscus bloom in her hair as they sat down to eat. She learned that he had been awake for nearly fourteen hours as they consumed what was dinner for him and lunch for her; he had not been able to get any good sleep on the flight to Oahu. Although the flight to Kauai was smooth as glass, he stayed awake. She didn't blame him; after thirteen months apart, she couldn't keep her eyes off him either. Besides, there wasn't much else to do: neither of them had a fantasy about using an aircraft's bathroom that way. And the plane was far too crowded to let him feel her up under her muumuu. Meg was somewhat amazed at the discussion Carl initiated as she drove them away from the Rice Shopping Center in Lihue. He asked about the Russian overhead surveillance satellite that she had studied before going on leave. At first she was reluctant; but they were both cleared for this level of intelligence and, in fact, he had provided her some of the information that she had used in finishing the briefing summary. Soon she was absorbed in their 'shop talk.' It seemed that he wanted to ensure that she knew the capabilities of the new Russian infrared sensor. Much higher discrimination due to a major advance in optics and greatly improved sensitivity to temperature differences. Meg agreed that, under the right conditions, against the right background, it might be possible to detect small groups of humans, perhaps even individuals. But she would want to make her own calculation of the proportion of a single pixel a human body would occupy and verify the expected skin temperatures and background temperature that Carl suggested. Suddenly, she had a list of doubts. Clothing would probably act as shielding and reduce the IR emissions available to the sensor. Besides, human beings would be very small targets from overhead. Even a jogging bald man would probably not generate enough heat within the space of a pixel to create the needed temperature gradient to be detectable. Carl let the topic drop with Meg's doubts and changed the subject, commenting once again that the dark red hibiscus bloom was stunning in her hair. She glanced over at him and smiled from ear to ear before turning back to look at the road. That was the impact she had wanted; she always appreciated his compliments. Carl had been quite alert, even enthusiastic, while they talked on the way to Nohili Point. And yet, by the time they finally reached the cottage and unloaded their groceries, he had been awake for over twenty hours. He barely got through dinner, bravely changed into his sleeper shorts, told her that he wanted to go swimming early in the morning, but fell asleep--despite her new sheer negligee, his head in her lap, the clock showing not quite 1930 hours. Meg ran her hand through his hair, there was no response. He was dead to the world. This was not fair! She had kept her hands off of him since before noon, for more than seven and a half hours. And this was her reward for that restraint? She pulled the dark red bloom out of her hair and threw it toward the open window. Perez would be disappointed in her. Elwood would never believe it. If O'Bannon ever got wind of it, he would make some stupid remark like "that's what you get for dating Air Force." She should have pulled the car off into that cane field right outside the airport in Lihue and torn his clothes off when she had had the chance. Carl had sprawled diagonally, taking up parts of both sides of the bed; she took a pillow and finally found a position in which she could share the bed with him. It would have been more comfortable to sleep on the couch; but she wanted to be close. She didn't think she was tired, but fell asleep quickly. Some time later, Carl woke up, scooted over to one side of the bed and gently moved Meg into a more comfortable position before he went back to sleep. She was barely aware of this; it seemed like a dream. But when the alarm clock went off, she was jolted awake. Meg was sitting up before she recognized that it was still before dawn. She looked at the clock; in glowing red numerals, it said 0500 hours. No wonder it was dark outside; it wasn't even morning twilight. She flopped back down on the bed. She was going to kill that man. She had not set the alarm; there was only one guilty party. Then she realized that Carl was up and moving around the room. Light from the full moon streamed in the west-facing windows. She saw the moon low in the western sky not far above the horizon. Carl was putting a beach blanket and various other things into a beach bag. Obviously, he was going to go swimming. Shortly, he came back to the bed, "Come on, sleepy head, time to hit the beach." "Carl, you've got to be kidding. Swimming at this hour?" He sat on the bed beside her and gave her a caress guaranteed to ensure she was awake. That was more like it; she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the bed on top of her. Carl spoke softly in her ear, "Meg, we're going down to the beach." She petulantly replied, "Only if you carry me." As if it were preplanned, he scooped her up and somehow worked the handles of the beach bag over his right wrist. When he got to the door of the cottage, he asked for her cooperation. She opened the door and then put her arms around his neck. Surely, once they got outside, he would stop and they would go back to bed. They were dressed only in sleepwear. But Carl did not stop. Surprisingly for late October, there was a warm, friendly, gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. If he had not pinned a wee bit of the bottom hem of her negligee between her hip and his chest, the garment would have blown up over her head. Rather than try to keep herself covered, she simply closed her eyes and buried her head against his neck. Anytime now he would stop and they would laugh and go back to the cottage. Meg felt the movement of his walk change and heard a slight crunch. She opened her eyes, they were in the midst of white coral sand dunes. She was astounded, "I hope you have my swim suit in that bag, sir." "Don't worry, Meg. It's there. So is mine." She told him to put her down. They silently walked hand in hand through the dunes, listening to the barely audible "bark" of the sand beneath their feet, and onto a beautiful, wide beach. A band of golden light from the full moon flowed across the ocean from the horizon to the beach. She looked up at her companion. He had surprised her; for a remote sensors engineer, Carl had become unexpectedly romantic. As they started down the gently sloping beach, she noticed that there were hardly any waves lapping at the water's edge. Beyond the high water mark, the sand felt cool under her feet. The ebbing tide had taken the previous day's heat out to sea with it. She looked at the distance to the softly lapping waves. It was probably near low tide. Carl stopped and started to spread the beach blanket well below the high water mark. Meg was perplexed. Although the sand was practically dry there, she questioned the wisdom of his choice. The Air Force captain listened to the advice of the Navy JG, but continued to spread the blanket in this intertidal zone. She tossed the towels further up the beach toward the high water mark, fished her bikini out of the beach bag, and then pulled her negligee over her head. Carl surprised her, enfolding her in his arms from behind. His left arm crossed her chest. She felt the coolness of his metal watchband against her left breast; he cupped her right breast in his hand. His right arm went lower and he caressed her abdomen. With a shriek of half-surprised laughter, she indicated her consent to what would happen, dropped her bikini, let her negligee blow up the beach in the breeze, and, opening her thighs to his hand, leaned back into him. Carl knew the loci of all the erotic buttons which were arrayed throughout her body; he also knew the codes to press. Meg mused that they were being very reckless. If some one were on the beach, . . . Because of the full moon, no one who viewed the beach could fail to see them; no one could doubt what they were doing. Under other circumstances, she would have been beside herself in embarrassment. Perhaps it was the sea breeze, but tonight this openness acted as an aphrodisiac. They slowly went down to their knees. Given the attention she was receiving, she had no idea how long it was before he laid her down on the blanket. Nor did she care. When they were done, they held each other closely, still coupled, unwilling to break the physical bond. As her breathing finally slowed and her head began to clear, she opened her eyes and looked up into the sky beyond his shoulder. She dreamily noted the beautiful stars overhead. Procyon was almost directly overhead. Almost due south, but easily visible over Carl's shoulder was Sirius, the brightest star anywhere in the sky. Slightly to the west stood the constellation Orion, with Betelgeuse, Belatrix, and his three-star belt. During their thirteen months apart, she had often imagined that the mighty hunter was her Carl. And had taken comfort in seeing those stars. She smiled: she had fantasized about, but had not anticipated making love beneath the giant's watchfulness. After a few moments, as she noticed a slight lightening in the east, the weirdest question entered her mind: why had Carl worn his watch to go swimming? Several soft kisses, however, distracted her, until he asked, "Do you remember what we talked about regarding the capabilities of the Russian satellite?" Meg thought that he had asked a highly inappropriate question, given the circumstances, but answered, "Yes." She could see a big grin on his face as he spoke, "I hope you smiled. We were on candid camera." She stared at him, not understanding what he was talking about. He glanced at his watch and continued, "There's a special project, highly classified, being prepared only about two miles south of here, a couple hundred yards back from the beach. The Russian satellite passed overhead about five minutes ago. In two weeks, my office gets their images; we're doing a cooperative project that I can't tell you about. But I decided to conduct an experiment, an informal test of the sensitivity of their system." Meg began to comprehend as he touched her nose, grinned again, and said, "You were my lab partner." She abruptly pushed him off of her and sat up. "Carl, you didn't!" "Think of it. Two human bodies, in the horizontal position--not vertical, no clothes--to use your words, 'no shielding.' I don't know what the average skin temperature would be during sexual intercourse, but it should be rather elevated. The sand here is cool. Nice background." Meg burst out laughing. "So that's why that damned alarm went off at 0500. God, what an exhibitionist you are! This must be the most imaginative flash ever staged on earth." Carl sat up and dragged the beach bag to his side, "If we even show up, all we'll be is a pixel on the beach. But before we go, I have to get a GPS fix so I'll know where to look for us on the image." Meg demanded, "If we do show up, I want a copy to remember this morning." He temporized, "We'll see. Shouldn't be any trouble." As she watched him open the receiver and begin to operate it, a question formed. "Carl, what would you have done, if it had been rainy this morning. Or even cloudy." He looked up, grinned at her, then reached over and ran a hand up the inside of her leg as he said, "We would have slept in and I would have gotten you up quite properly." She pulled her leg away and scowled, "No, I'm serious. It doesn't sound like you to take a chance on a one-time thing. I mean, we're spending all your leave here on Kauai, taking a chance on one overhead pass?" Without looking in her direction, he pulled a slip of paper out of the receiver case and handed it to her. "That's from the emphemeris on the satellite. We would have had another chance tonight when it passes overhead again." In the dim twilight, Meg strained to read what was written on the paper. "So we would have had more than one chance to do this?" "Yep." She began to smile. The smile turned into a grin. For the first time in her life, she knew when she was going to get laid. Down to the minute. It was there on the paper. She tried not to sound gleeful when she spoke again. "Carl, you're the scientist here. Why didn't you talk this experiment over with your 'lab partner'? Isn't that proper procedure?" He paused and turned once more to look at her. "Yes. But what does that have to do with--" She interrupted him triumphantly, "We're just going to have to do it again. Tonight. Your experiment wasn't conducted under optimum conditions." Even if she hadn't been able to see his puzzled expression, his response indicated incomprehension, "Huh?" "Have you ever seen infrared photography of a man and a woman, ah, . . . doing what we just did?" "Don't tell me the Navy takes those sort of photos." Meg frowned, then guessed that he was jerking her chain. So she pulled her punch and only slapped at his shoulder as she replied, "No, silly. Open sources. In fact, cable TV. The Learning Channel. TLC has some of the best stuff this side of the Playboy Channel. . . . Anyway, if you'd seen the video you'd know that a woman emits more heat when thoroughly aroused than does a man." She paused for a moment to let the information sink in. With a big grin, she continued, "For best results, I should have been on top. Besides, if you do me right--and you can, I can last longer. All the way through the pass." Carl grinned from ear to ear. "Meg, I'm surprised at you." "I'm easily corrupted. By the right man." "Okay, okay, you're on for tonight," he said, turning once again to the GPS receiver. "But for now, woman, let me get our position recorded." Meg patiently waited as Carl fiddled with the receiver and jotted down some figures. When he had finished recording their location, she struck him over the head with her bikini bottom. "Now, sir. Before we go back to the cottage, we're going swimming. That's what you got me up for at this ungodly hour." Carl held up his swim trunks and shook them, "We weren't very careful, Meg. They're full of sand. Itchy." "Why the sudden modesty, Carl? You think the dolphins care?" Meg jumped up and started for the water's edge, "Last- one-in's a . . . ." She didn't finish the sentence. Carl was getting to his feet; she bolted for the water, heading straight toward the setting moon. If he had gotten her to pose for a Russian satellite, then he owed her something special before they came back ashore, even if it was already morning twilight.