 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. "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. "Insert your right arm into the instrument on the central table," commanded the same voice he had heard before. "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...." During the days that followed, the psychologist seemed to Craig to become progressively more didactic. Through the ports of the headquarters base satellite, he scanned the constellations for the scores of worlds he had visited during his eleven years in space. He had weathered difficult landings on worlds with rip-tide gravities, had felt the pull of the incredible star-tides imparted by twin and even triple star systems. He had been on Einstein IV, the planet of eight moons, and had felt the pulse of all eight of the satellites at once that no PON could completely nullify. But even if he could accept the psychologist's authority for the cumulative effect of a gravity system, he could not understand the unspoken warning he felt underlying all that the man said. "Mr. Craig," the psychologist said slowly, "you have my authorization for you to return to Terra as a private citizen of that planet. On the eighth day, two attendants, who showed the effects of massive doses of PON to protect themselves from the centrifugal force, had to carry a man out of the tank. Many others asked to be removed, begged to be allowed to withdraw their resignations. "The twelfth day is the worst," a grizzled spaceman told Craig. "How ... how do they know when you ought ... to come out?"
 Two screening technicians
 A reporter and his cameraman  Two members of Terra's welcoming committee  Two screening technicians  A psychologist and his assistant