 Upon landing, Craig is greeted by whom?
Rootless and footloose, a man in space can't help but dream of coming home. Flight Officer Robert Craig surrendered the tube containing his service record tapes and stood waiting while the bored process clerk examined the seal. Craig handed him a battered punch card and watched the man insert it in the reproducer. He felt anxiety as the much-handled card refused for a time to match the instrument's metal contact points. He crossed the long, dreary room, knowing the eyes of the other men were upon him. "Your service tapes," the next noncom said. "Grav 1—Terra," fumbled Craig. "Los Angeles." "No specific destination," supplied the man as he punched a key on a small instrument, "Air-lock ahead and to your right. Any metal?" "Metal?" asked Craig. "Place your clothing in the receptacle provided and assume a stationary position on the raised podium in the center of the lock." Craig obeyed the robot voice and began reluctantly to remove his flight jacket. Stepping on the button with his bare foot produced an instant of brilliant blue illumination. He found his clothing cleanly and neatly hung on plastic hangers just inside the door to the dressing room. The Schtann flight jacket was actually there, looking like new, its space-blue unfaded and as wonderfully pliant as before. "Insert your right arm into the instrument on the central table," commanded the same voice he had heard before. When he withdrew his arm, the scratch was neatly coated with a layer of flesh-colored plastic material. He dressed quickly and was on the verge of asking the robot for instructions, when a man appeared in the open doorway. "Well, what's next?" asked Craig somewhat more belligerently than he had intended. "I'm a little anxious to get home, I suppose," said Craig defensively. "No, but my father—" "Your parents left Terra during the Second Colonization of Cassiopeia II, didn't they?" He was uncomfortable; Wyandotte seemed to know all about him. "Oh, I've landed a few times, even walked around for a while...." "Mr. Craig, I suppose you've guessed that the next step in our little torture system here is psych." Short of Gravitational conditioning, there is nothing to stop you from going to Terra." That is why all spacemen carry PON, paraoxylnebutal, with them. It helps suppress certain physiological reactions to an entirely new set of conditions.
 Two screening technicians
 A reporter and his cameraman  Two members of Terra's welcoming committee  Two screening technicians  A psychologist and his assistant