Frank M. Robinson

“ Hasn't it occurred to you that the qualifications you set up for a pilot were all wrong? When has a completely normal man ever succeeded at anything that was a little difficult? Why did you succeed? Because you're just a shade neurotic, because you've got a streak of monomania in you. It's what built up Personnel Incorporated. It's what got you to the moon and back. Hell, Whiteford, after this when we want pilots we'll just run your characteristics on the sorter and pick them out that way!"
Whiteford glared at him and for a moment Maxwell felt sorry. He had pushed a big man off a pedestal ”

“ The hammock served as a point of orientation and he dragged himself on to it and buried his face in the canvas. He tried not to feel anything or hear anything or think anything. He had lain like that for a long time when he felt something brush his face.
He opened his eyes and saw a few little spheroids of matter floating in the cabin. He batted idly at one with a free hand and it immediately broke up into smaller spheroids which drifted apart from each other. ”

“ They hardly gave at all under his efforts; they were designed to give way under the acceleration of 8 or 9 g's. The hammock and the skin tight pilot suit were supposed to keep him together under the crushing weight of acceleration, at which time he'd be like jelly in a mould.
A light sweat sprung out on his forehead. If something went wrong with the apparatus, they could scrape him off the rear bulkhead like a pancake off a hot griddle. He hadn't thought of that before. Not only that but how about radiation from the engines? Shielded, of course, but even the best engineers could sometimes.... ”

“ Maxwell pointed curiously to a small pile. "Where's that stack from?"
Whiteford glanced at it casually. "That stack was forwarded from our branch office in Hindustan. Some Indians make darn good pilot material."
He inserted part of the stack of cards from England into the chute of the machine and started it up. There was a slow snick-snick-snick as the cards passed through the intricate system of metal "fingers" that would separate the sheep from the goats—or, in this case, the pilots from the remainder of the applicants. ”

“ What entirely sane man would volunteer, for any amount of money, to pilot a plutonium engine rocket around the moon and back?"
Whiteford looked blank.
"In other words—personnel can't supply the man. Is that it?" Maxwell interrupted.
Burroughs spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "Well, now, I wouldn't say that. Someplace there must be a man...." ”

“ A single, centralized bureau was needed. Personnel Incorporated filled that need. From myself on down, everybody who's been handled by Personnel has been psychologically tested for their job—which means strikes and walkouts have been cut to a minimum.
"Modern civilization would be impossible without Personnel, Maxwell! But that's water over the dam." He nodded to Burger. "You have a personnel problem?"
"That's why I came here," Burger said testily. "As you may know, Mr. Whiteford, Atlantic Motors has constructed a rocket to make the first flight to the moon. We need a pilot for that rocket." ”

“ From what little evidence we can gather, it appears he deliberately crashed the rocket on the moon."
"Why?"
Maxwell shrugged. "Off his trolley, I suppose. That's reason number one for our qualifications being so high."
"I frankly don't think you can find one," Burger added nastily. "Atlantic Motors has tried for months with no success."
"Personnel Incorporated is not Atlantic Motors, Burger," Whiteford said sarcastically. "We've never failed! Never failed!" He repeated it like a liturgy. "We don't intend to fail now. Come back in a week and we'll have your man." ”

“ And how will you tell whether the counter is reading stray radiation from the converters or the increase in cosmic rays? The engineers never make mistakes, though. Never? Well, hardly ever!
The question of adequate shielding of the converters haunted him continuously.
By the sixth day out, Whiteford had become accustomed to the life in the cabin. He took it easy getting about and kept up with the business of the ship. By splitting the "day" into segments, as on earth, he managed to keep up a fairly normal routine. ”

“ Burger shook his head.
"Where does the government come in?"
"The government is naturally interested in rockets," Maxwell said. "It's rumored the Russians aren't far behind us. At any rate, without a pilot, the rocket is useless." ”

“ Burger wrung his hands nervously. "Only a half hour until take-off time, Mr. Whiteford. I think we've thought of everything. You realize that your position on the rocket, actually, is only the safety factor of the rocket itself. And, of course, an observer is preferable. First hand accounts of human reactions on board the rocket will be invaluable. You've been drilled for two weeks in your duties on board, the listing of meter readings in the log book, a careful diary of your own physiological reactions, etc. ”

“ It provided an hour of amusement. After that he discovered he always won; the board was too simple—he had memorized the exact sequence of moves to win the game every time. The remaining game was a complicated three-dimensional chess set. This he discarded even sooner. He couldn't win at all.
He fell back on a deck of cards and tried to play solitaire but the cards were too slick and their weight wouldn't hold them down anymore. He would manage to arrange them in neat rows and then accidentally jar them and they would go skitting off through the cabin. ”

“ They've been scientifically selected for your type of personality." Burger smiled faintly. "In fact, you'll discover that the pilot has been provided for very well, considering weight limitations and all. Practically every possible occurrence has been provided for. I'm sure you'll experience no difficulty on the flight."
Whiteford nodded absently. "Just be sure and tell Maxwell that Personnel Incorporated can always supply the man! Always!"
Inside the cabin, Whiteford methodically went through the take-off preparations he had practiced during the previous two weeks. ”

“ Maxwell started for the door and paused, his hand on the knob. The look he gave Whiteford was one of sudden admiration.
"There's something else, too. Something that it takes to send a man to the moon and back and something you can't measure on an IBM machine." He paused. "It takes courage. ”

“ She turned to the small man. "The monster's office is that glass enclosure down there"—she pointed to a glassed-in office at the end of the room—"and while there, tell him he'll have to get some more help for the switchboard." ”

“ Examination papers for applicants will be forwarded at once. Notify our other branch offices to the same effect. All on the QT, you understand. And Miss Hancock—have the psychologists test our advertising for confidence appeal. A representative of Atlantic Motors just implied we couldn't supply them with help!"
"Those cards represent exactly 250,342 applicants," Whiteford said proudly, gesturing to stacks of tabulating cards by the sorting machine. Burger looked mildly surprised. "All of them qualified to be the pilot?" ”

“ PERSONNEL CAN SUPPLY THE MAN FOR ANY JOB!—SEVENTY-FIVE PER CENT OF THE PERSONNEL PROBLEMS ON THE AMERICAN CONTINENT ARE HANDLED BY PERSONNEL—DOES YOUR JOB SEEM BORING LATELY? SEE PERSONNEL AND BE PSYCHOLOGICALLY FITTED FOR YOUR WORK!—PERSONNEL CAN SUPPLY THE MAN FOR ANY JOB!—SEVENTY-FIVE PER CENT OF THE.... ”

“ Finally he filled the skillet with water and poached the egg.
... vaporize a section of the hull big enough so he could poke his fist through it ... with a velocity of a hundred miles a second there probably wouldn't be enough left of the ship to identify....
He dumped the egg into the disposal chute. He had lost his appetite.
Read the meters, list the readings in the log book. Note any changes between consecutive readings. Test the air, note the humidity. Read the meters, list the readings in the log book. ”