"None. I like it. It's enterprising, athletic, and even brave for a man of your years to do that for a job. Shows resourcefulness. Also skill, because men are trying to nip rides here from all over the United States, but very few arrive."
"They're too old," said Major Brownwight. He turned to Katt and added, "I still don't think it's an old man's job!"
"Well sir," said Katt, stifling a sigh, "your predecessor understood and approved of it. These old-timers have a lower metabolic rate than younger people, with all that that implies. They don't mind the enforced inactivity, they won't use up so much oxygen nor need so much food, they won't spend so many hours in sleep. All qualities we need."
"Maybe so." The major turned to Ollie and said, "I just transferred in here. You know more about this than I do."
"I don't even know what you're talking about," Ollie told him.
"Without divulging classified information," said Katt, "for which you are not yet cleared, I can tell you these are little one-man jobs. Small stuff—for pioneering. That's why we want you men with lots of patience, who're used to being alone. People without a fixed place in society, and not too much to leave behind. A husky old itinerant like you is just what we want."
"For what?" Ollie insisted.
"To travel—as a sort of working passenger, since piloting will of course be mechanical—in the first manned spaceships to leave Earth for the stars."
"Spaceships?"
"Sure. Solo spaceships. Super-fast, which means the trip will seem relatively short while you're on it, and will give you extra earth-years of life in the end.