"Fat chance," she grinned, jerking a thumb at Bart. "The boy's on a jag. He won't come near me." I heard the glasses clinking as I showered, and slipped on a cool, fresh shirt. I found them both with their noses in beer, Marny on the couch, Bart staring out at the dark street. And I noticed the suppressed excitement in Bart's eyes as I sank down in a chair. "Ok," I said. "So you've got news. Spill it." "_I passed the test, Ben!_" I squinted at him, puzzled. Something tried to clink down into place in my mind. Test? It seemed to me I _had_ heard something about a test. "That's nice," I said. "What test?" "What test! Dillon's engineering competition, stupid! I told you about that--" My eyes widened, and I sat bolt upright. "You mean the competition for _crews_?" Bart nodded excitedly. "That's right. Dillon got the government to back his contracts and research, and he'll be tripling the number of ships in space within the next five years. He needs men--the best men he can get to man those ships! And these tests are designed to pick the best part for Dillon's crew--" He sank down on the davenport, his hands trembling. "It was the only smart thing to do," he said. "Every mug on the streets thinks that he wants to walk in and ferry a ship to Mars. That wouldn't work--it takes too much knowledge, too much engineering skill, and lots more. The men who go have got to be the best bets on every score--the best to handle the long trips, the best for repairing, reporting, exploring--everything. You saw what happened to the first crews that went to Mars. There wasn't any provision for anything but technical skill, and they were at each other's throats before they'd cleared Earth's orbit. They practically killed each other--some went loopy, some wouldn't come back home--Dillon had a real mess on his hands. So the tests were set up for screening. The competition was really stiff--" I stared at him. "And you passed the tests--" He was grinning from ear to ear. "I passed them--" * * * * * I heard a swift breath, and Marny was on her feet, picking up the glasses swiftly, taking them to the kitchen. Suddenly there was a cold breath in the room, and I caught the look on Marny's face. It was one of those unguarded moments, one of those looks no woman ever wants a man to see, but I saw it, and I saw the end of things in her eyes. A look of horror and fear. For one brief instant the shield was down, and I saw the terror and revulsion on her face and knew everything that was going through that mind of hers. And then the look disappeared, and she was walking back into the room, her face pale but composed, watching Bart with a kind of blank sadness in her eyes. "That's--that's wonderful, Bart," she said. "You didn't tell me you were taking it--"