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. He would never know the beautiful, gentle beast that supplied this skin. "You are retarding the progress of others. Please respond more quickly to your orders." Craig quickly removed the last of his clothing. It was impossible to hate a robot, but one could certainly hate those who set it into operation. "You will find a red button at your feet. Lower your head and depress that button." Stepping on the button with his bare foot produced an instant of brilliant blue illumination. A small scratch on his arm stung briefly and he was somewhat blinded by the flash even through his eyelids, but that was all there was to the sterilizing process. "Your clothing and effects will be in the dressing room immediately beyond the locked door." He found his clothing cleanly and neatly hung on plastic hangers just inside the door to the dressing room. The few personal items he carried in his pockets were still there. 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. "Turn your arm until the scratch is in contact with the metal plate. There will be a slight pain, but it is necessary to treat the small injury you have been disregarding." Craig obeyed and clenched his teeth against a sharp stinging. His respect for the robot-controlled equipment of bases had risen. 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. "I am Captain Wyandotte," said the man in a pleasant voice. "Well, what's next?" asked Craig somewhat more belligerently than he had intended. The man smiled. "Your reaction is quite natural. You are somewhat aggressive after Clerical, eh?" "I'm a little anxious to get home, I suppose," said Craig defensively. "By 'home' you mean Terra. But you've never been there, have you?" "No, but my father--" "Your parents left Terra during the Second Colonization of Cassiopeia II, didn't they?" "Yes," Craig said. He was uncomfortable; Wyandotte seemed to know all about him. "We might say you've been away quite a while, eh?" "I was entered as a spaceman when I was 16," Craig said. "I've never been down for any period as yet." "You mean you haven't been in a gravity system?" "Oh, I've landed a few times, even walked around for a while...." "With the help of paraoxylnebutal," supplied the captain. "Well, sure." "Mr. Craig, I suppose you've guessed that the next step in our little torture system here is psych." "So I gathered."