Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
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 impossible for me to be of any assistance to you." "Oh, come now, Miss Wendel. There are women aboard spaceships. I'm not a starved wolf." but dream of coming home. But something nobody should "You said that already, but you can have dinner with me. Just company." "I'm afraid I don't understand." The Galactic hotel strove to preserve an archaic tone of hospitality. It advertised "a night's lodgings" and it possessed a bellboy. The "Certainly you are not, Mr. Craig. But it is not possible for me...." hoped he would have the right size of Terran units in his wallet. entered. He nudged Craig wickedly. "You know what they're like?" "Yeah," Craig said disgustedly. Traffic in the illicit mental-image tapes was known as far into space as lonely men had penetrated. Intergalactic considered them as great a menace to mental and moral stability as the hectopiates. Craig wearily got the man out of the had called it. One thing was sure: Terra aggressively went after its that he had missed an important step in the complicated clerical 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 process. He cursed the grudging attitude of the headquarters satellite admittance to any office you need to visit tonight. Therefore, it is motivated by envy soothed him as he clumsily let himself into the lock. "You are retarding the progress of others. Please respond more quickly to your orders." to hate a robot, but one could certainly hate those who set it into respect for the robot-controlled equipment of bases had risen. When 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?" The captain laughed reassuringly. "No, don't put up your guard again. The worst is over. Short of Gravitational conditioning, there is nothing to stop you from going to Terra." conditioning." "Conditioning?" asked Craig. "Yes. You have spent eleven years in space. Your body is conditioned to a normal state of free fall, or at best to a state of acceleration." "Yeah, I know. Once on Gerymeade...." "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. Channels of the ear, for example. They play an important part in our awareness of balance. They operate on a simple gravity principle. Without gravity they act up for a time, then gradually lose become progressively more didactic. He would deliver long speeches about the "freedom of open space." He spoke repetitiously of the "growing complexity of Terran society." And yet the man could not be pinned down to any specific condition the spaceman would find intolerable. 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 really knew very much about Terra. So what? I know it won't be as it "Yet you are so completely sure you will want to live out your life there, that you are willing to give up space service for it." gave you my reasons for quitting space. We analyzed them. You agreed that you could not decide that for me and that my decision is logical. You tell me spacemen don't settle down on Terra. Yet you won't—or can't—tell me why. I've got a damned good job there—" "You may find that 'damned good jobs' become boring." 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. "That's when the best of 'em want out." Craig clenched the iron rung of his bed and struggled to bring the old "Yeah, son. They've dropped it down a notch." "Dropped ... it ... down?" white-clad figures, ridiculously out of proportion, hovered wraithlike over him. Four elongated eyes peered at him. Attendants coming for to take me home.... Most of the men had passed through the torments of gravitational conditioning. The huge headquarters base centrifuge aboard the man-made satellite had gradually caused their bodies to respond once more to a single source of pull. They were now ready to become inhabitants of planets again, instead of free-falling ships. Then they again began taking paraoxylnebutal in preparation for the free-fall flight to Terra. Only one of the score of men in the centrifuge tank remained voluntarily in his cot. "Space article violator," the old man informed Craig. "Psycho, I think. doing when you get to Terra, for instance?" "I'm going into Import. My father was in it for twenty years." "Sure," said the old spaceman, watching a group of young crewmen engaged in an animated conversation. "It's a good job. There's a future to it." "Yeah." Why did he have to explain anything at all to the old space tramp? "And spend your weekends on Luna." Craig half rose from his cot, jarred into anger. But the old spaceman turned, smiling wryly. "Don't get hot, kid. I guess I spent too long in Zone V." He paused to examine his wrinkled hands. They were indelibly marked with lever callouses. "You get to thinking anyone who stays closer'n eighty light years from Terra is a land-lubber." Craig relaxed, realizing he had acted childishly. "Used to think the The old man looked up at Craig. "You don't know much about Terra, do a long time, old man, this hitting atmospheres all over the Universe." But the spaceman seemed to have lost interest. He was unpacking some personal belongings from a kit. The old man's face clouded for an instant. "In the old days, they used to say us old-timers acted like clocks. They used to say we just ran down. Now they got some fancy psychology name for it." as the plastic melted into a single, seamless whole. It was ready for irradiation. Probably in another ten years his son-to-be would put it on and play spaceman. But Craig swore he'd make sure that the kid knew what a stinking life it was. Orderly 12 handed him a message container. "Who's it from? Somebody on Terra?" "From a private spaceman named Morgan Brockman." " Brockman? duty to the Universe? No, the old man had not been in Intergalactic. He had been a tramp spaceman. Well, why had Fifty years in space. Fifty planet Terra. He tried to recall his first thrill at seeing Los "A moment, sir. Just a little greeting from the Terra. You understand, "This is Mr. Craig's first landing on Terra, Miss Wendel," the much the same way we would an extraterrestrial." The girl glanced at Craig, casting him a cool, impersonal smile. "He was formerly a flight officer in the Intergalactic Space Service." The statement was delivered in an almost exaggeratedly casual tone. The girl glanced at him once more, this time with a definite quizzical "Yes." The man laughed. "You'll excuse us, Mr. Craig. We realize that you couldn't be expected to be familiar with Terra's fashions. In your present outfit you would certainly be typed as a ... well, you'd be

<question>:
What is the Terran opinion of spacemen?

<options>:
A Spacemen are more like aliens than humans.
B Spacemen are like sailors.
C Spacemen are hicks.
D Spacemen are of lower intelligence.

<answer>:

A