I shook my head. "Charlie has only twenty-four hours liberty. We're planning to see the town tonight."
"Why don't you both come with us?" you asked. "Our folks have their own plane, so it would be no problem. And we've got a big guest room. Charlie, wouldn't you like a home-cooked meal before going back to the Moon?"
Charlie's answer was obscured by a sudden burst of coughing. I knew that he'd infinitely prefer to spend his liberty sampling Martian fizzes and Plutonian zombies.
But this night seemed too sacred for Charlie's kind of celebration.
"We'd really like to come," I said.
On our way to the 'copter parking field, Dean Dawson passed us. He was a tall, willowy man, spectacled, looking the way an academy professor should look.
"Ben," he called, "don't forget that offer. Remember you've got two months to decide."
"No, thanks," I answered. "Better not count on me."
A moment later Mickey said, frowning, "What was he talking about, Ben? Did he make you an offer?"