 Why is there a microphone in Craig's hotel room?
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] 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. 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. "Los Angeles." "Los Angeles, eh? "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. The knowledge that much of it was motivated by envy soothed him as he clumsily let himself into the lock. "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. Its incredibly fine-grained leather would carry none of the strange, foreign associations for the base station clerk who would appropriate it. "You will find a red button at your feet. 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. "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. "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. 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." This is my first time...." "You were ill, couldn't keep your balance, felt dizzy. That is why all spacemen carry PON, paraoxylnebutal, with them. It helps suppress certain physiological reactions to an entirely new set of conditions.
 Terran society has become increasingly controlling of its citizens.
 Terran society has become increasingly controlling of its citizens.  The hotel manager bugs all the rooms to blackmail the guests.  Wyandotte put the microphone there to monitor Craig's adjustment to Terran society.  The Intergalactic Space Service put the microphone in Craig's room to keep tabs on him.