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—"
He looked up reddening. "I hardly dared tell anyone. It was such a slender chance. I didn't see how I could possibly get through it—the psych part, particularly. I may have to go out and hang by my knees from the jets on the trips to keep myself from getting bored, but part of the test was interested in idle-time creativity, and they said I got through it better than anyone else—"
She was staring at him, her eyes wide. "That means you'll be going into Dillon's crew—"
"It means I have a chance! The final sifting hasn't been finished, there's a dozen more tests, a dozen performance checks, half a thousand conditioning tests I'd have to take—but don't you see what it means? It means I can go to space, Marny! It's a chance in a thousand, and it's mine! Dillon's cut the ice, he's had half a dozen ships up, but the real work's just begun. This puts me in on the ground floor, Marny. There's no end to the possibilities—"
She stared at him wordlessly. "But they say Dillon's an exploiter, Bart—a madman. He's out for what he can make out of it, and nothing more. You can't trust a man like that...."
Bart shrugged indifferently. "Stories," he said. "Dillon's a pioneer. Those who are afraid of space spread dirty stories, sure, but there's no proof. Anyway, I won't fly with Dillon. He just builds the ships, and his ships are the finest that can be built—"