Willingness is the single most important test, as you said. But that means all the other tests are...what?
Not useless, as you suggested. On the contrary, I think the test results are a valuable resource. Even if the colonists are all insane, shouldn't the governor have a good dossier on each individual's particular species of madness?
I know, you're not letting through anyone who needs to maintain functional sanity with drugs. Or known addicts and alcoholics and sociopaths, or people with genetic diseases, etc. We always agreed on that, to avoid overburdening the colonies. They'll develop their own genetic and brain-based quirks in a few generations anyway, but for now, let them have a little breathing room.
But the family you queried about, the ones with a plan for marrying off a daughter to the governor--surely you will agree with me that in the long history of motives for joining a faraway colony, marriage was one of the noblest and most socially productive.
--Hyrum
"Do you know what I did today, Alessandra?"
"No, Mother." Fourteen-year-old Alessandra set her book bag on the floor by the front door and walked past her mother to the sink, where she poured herself a glass of water.
"Guess!"
"Got the electricity turned back on?"
"The elves would not speak to me," said Mother. It had once been funny, this game that electricity came from elves. But it wasn't funny now, in the sweltering Adriatic summer, with no refrigeration for the food, no air-conditioning, and no vids to distract her from the heat.
"Then I don't know what you did, Mother."
"I changed our lives," said Mother. "I created a future for us."
Alessandra froze in place and uttered a silent prayer. She had long since given up hope that any of her prayers would be answered, but she figured each unanswered prayer would add to the list of grievances she would take up with God, should the occasion arise.
"What future is that, Mother?"
Mother could hardly contain herself. "We are going to be colonists."
Alessandra sighed with relief. She had heard all about the Dispersal Project in school. Now that the formics had been destroyed, the idea was for humans to colonize all their former worlds, so that humanity's fate would not be tied to that of a single planet. But the requirements for colonists were strict. There was no chance that an unstable, irresponsible--no, pardon me, I meant "feckless and fey"--person like Mother would be accepted.
"Well, Mother, that's wonderful."
"You don't sound excited."
"It takes a long time for an application to be approved. Why would they take us? What do we know how to do?"
"You're such a pessimist, Alessandra. You'll
have no future if you must frown at every new thing." Mother danced around her, holding a fluttering piece of paper in front of her. "I put in our application months ago, darling Alessandra. Today I got word that we have been accepted!"
"You kept a secret for all this time?"
"I can keep secrets," said Mother. "I have all kinds of secrets. But this is no secret, this piece of paper says that we will journey to a new world, and on that new world you will not be part of a persecuted surplus, you will be needed, all your talents and charms will be noticed and admired."
All her talents and charms. At the coleggio, no one seemed to notice them. She was merely another gawky girl, all arms and legs, who sat in the back and did her work and made no waves. Only Mother thought of Alessandra as some extraordinary, magical creature.
"Mother, may I read that paper?" asked Alessandra.
"Why, do you doubt me?" Mother danced away with the letter.
Alessandra was too hot and tired to play. She did not chase after her. "Of course I doubt you."
"You are no fun today, Alessandra."
"Even if it's true, it's a horrible idea. You should have asked me. Do you know what colonists' lives will be like? Sweating in the fields as farmers."
"Don't be silly," said Mother. "They have machines for that."