Given as complete a battery of tests, mental, emotional and physical, as Temple ever knew existed. (Cripes, man! How the hell should I know what the cube root of -5 is? I never finished high school!)
Subjected to an exhaustive, overlong, and at times meaningless personal interview. (No doc, honest. I never knew I had a—uh—anxiety neurosis. Is it dangerous?)
"How do you do, Temple? Sit down."
"Thank you."
"Thought you'd like to know that while your overall test score is not uncanny, it's decidedly high."
"So what?"
"So nothing—not necessarily. Except that with it you have a very well balanced personality. We can use you, Temple."
"That's why I'm here."
"I mean—elsewhere. Mars is only a way station, a training center for a select few. It takes an awful lot of administrative work to keep this place going, which explains the need for all the station personnel."
"Listen. The last few weeks I had everything thrown at me. Everything, the works. Mind answering one question?"