"Some fuddy-duds down sunward had some foolish ideas about reducing the crew out here by some twenty persons. You know, trying to save money. I'm to report upon your dispensability. I will be pleased to report that the women's contingent is completely and magnificently indispensable to General Fission. Which reminds me, will you have dinner with me when we get home?" Martha was somewhat paler. She leaned against the door. "And _I_ put _you_ on report!" "Answer my question, girl, and hand me my pants." "Your question? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course, I'll have dinner with you. Here are your pants." "And breakfast and lunch?" "Is this a proposal?" "Proposals on Mars violate our contract. So do propositions, so let's just call it a date." "Date?" Martha fondled the word that sounded so alien and lovely. She smiled. "All right, Peter, it's a date."