Whiteford looked bored. "All the Sunday supplements have carried articles about the A-M rocket. As for the pilot, there are thousands of men in this country alone who are probably qualified for the job. To find one would be routine, I should think." "It's somewhat more complicated than picking a pilot out of a hat, Mr. Whiteford. Not just any pilot will do. There are, of course, certain technical qualifications but there are more important ones than that. Our man would have to be perfect mentally--no nervousness, neurosis, streaks of instability or anything of the sort. We could hardly trust 75,000,000 dollars worth of rocket to a man who wasn't sound physically and mentally." "I take it you couldn't find any?" 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." "And the government has been unsuccessful, too?" Maxwell hesitated. "As a matter of fact we found a pilot--at least we thought we had. He piloted the first rocket that was sent--one flight has been attempted before. 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." "Just like the Royal Canadian Mounted," Maxwell muttered. When they had gone, Whiteford flipped the switch of the intercom. "Miss Hancock? Cancel my appointment with the directors of AT&T. Call in the company psychologists to prepare a personnel test. Contact Haskins at our London office and Schubert in Paris and tell them we intend to launch a campaign for rocket pilots immediately. 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?"