WANTED: One Sane Man By Frank M. Robinson Personnel Incorporated bragged that they could supply a man for any job. Maxwell doubted this, needing a space pilot for the first Lunar trip. Now, if he had just asked for a lunatic.... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy June 1955 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The small man adjusted his bi-focals and stared critically at the huge brass nameplate over the glass entrance doors. The plate read "Personnel Incorporated" in neat, modest lettering. Directly above the plate was a traveling neon sign which informed the public in letters six feet tall that: 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.... The small man looked at it for a minute and turned to his tall companion. "Tell me, Maxwell, why the seventy-five? Why not eighty or eighty-three?" Maxwell glanced up at the sign. "If they do seventy-six per cent or more of the business, they're a monopoly. It must pain Whiteford to have to hold himself down to only seventy-five." "Whiteford?" Maxwell looked surprised. "You haven't heard of him? The newest boy wonder in the business world? He's the genius who runs this modern slave market." He looked at his watch. "And, incidentally, he's also the guy we've got an appointment with in five minutes." They joined the crowds streaming up the wide, granite steps and found themselves in the large entrance lobby, directly opposite the battery of ascending elevators. The small man approached the starter. "--ah--pardon me, but would you tell us what floor Personnel Incorporated is on?" The starter looked shocked. "Poisonnel ain't just on one floor, Mister, it's the whole building. Who'dja wanna see?" "We wanted to--well, that is--whoever's in...." The starter brushed him aside. "Step outta the way of the passengers, Mister. Be with ya in a second.... Okay, lady, maid soivice and domestics is on the thoity-foist floor. Don't shove in the elevator, please! Next elevator, _please!_" He turned back to the small man. "We got administration on the foist floor. Second floor, automotive and transportation. Assemblers, welders, painters, cushion upholsterers, sprayers, mock-up men, testers and greasers. Thoid floor, electrical. Solderers, cabinet workers, wirers, draftsmen, coil-winders, and design expoits. Next floor, entertainers. Everything from acrobats to zither players and concert ottists. Fifth...." "We want to see Whiteford," Maxwell cut in impatiently.