 The denizens of Terra would most likely make fun of Craig for his ______.
SEA LEGS By FRANK QUATTROCCHI Illustrated by EMSH 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. But something nobody should do is bet on the validity of a homesick dream! 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. "Grav 1—Terra," fumbled Craig. "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. He cursed the grudging attitude of the headquarters satellite personnel and felt the impotence of a spaceman who had long forgotten the bureaucracy of a rear area base. The knowledge that much of it was motivated by envy soothed him as he clumsily let himself into the lock. Craig obeyed the robot voice and began reluctantly to remove his flight jacket. It was impossible to hate a robot, but one could certainly hate those who set it into operation. 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. "By 'home' you mean Terra. "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. "I was entered as a spaceman when I was 16," Craig said. "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.
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 clothing  accent  posture  walking