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

<passage>:
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. cards and forms to his room. Tired from the long, confusing day, Craig was not impressed. He vaguely wondered if the little drama of the hotel carried so far as a small fee to be paid the bellboy, and he "For five I'll tell you where it is," he said in a subdued tone. wallet. "Sure, they don't put in screens here. Wanted to, but the boss convinced 'em there aren't any Freedomites ever stay here." "Where is the microphone?" Craig asked as he found a ten unit note. He was too puzzled to wonder what he was expected to do with the information. A murmur greeted the order. Craig experienced the thrill of knowing Or I'll do it for another two." "I—I—" Craig muttered, fumbling in his pockets. Intergalactic considered them as great a menace to mental and moral stability as the hectopiates. Craig wearily got the man out of the how long it would take him to shake his—sea legs, the psychologist had called it. One thing was sure: Terra aggressively went after its strangers. personnel and felt the impotence of a spaceman who had long forgotten that he had missed an important step in the complicated clerical motivated by envy soothed him as he clumsily let himself into the lock. process. He cursed the grudging attitude of the headquarters satellite the bureaucracy of a rear area base. The knowledge that much of it was appropriate it. He would never know the beautiful, gentle beast that "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 and he was somewhat blinded by the flash even through his eyelids, but that was all there was to the sterilizing process. he withdrew his arm, the scratch was neatly coated with a layer of II, didn't they?" The worst is over. Short of Gravitational conditioning, there is "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 Wyandotte. "Men on a rolling ocean acclimated themselves to a rolling didn't roll any more. During the days that followed, the psychologist seemed to Craig to 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 had weathered difficult landings on worlds with rip-tide gravities, had cumulative effect of a gravity system, he could not understand the "So I'll transfer. I don't know what you're trying to get at, Captain, definitely need. Good luck. You'll need that too." 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. "That's between waves of nausea. "Blood pressure. They get you just before you go into shock." desperately wanted something to distract his mind from the ghastly conditioning process. "Dropped ... it ... down?" "They tried that a few times—once when I was aboard. You wouldn't like it, kid. You wouldn't like it at all." "How ... many times ... do they drop it?" "Four times during the day, three at night. Twenty days." A nightmare of visual sensations ebbed into Craig's mind. He was vaguely aware of the moans of other men in the vaultlike room. Wave upon wave of nausea swept him as he watched the seam lines bend and "... got it bad." "We better take him out." "... pretty bad." "He'll go into shock." "... never make it the twelfth." "We better yank him." "I'm ... all right," Craig mumbled at the voices. He struggled with the Attendants coming for to take me home.... "Touch me and I'll kick your teeth in!" he yelled. "I'm going to Terra. Wish you were going to Terra?" Then it was better. Oddly, he passed the twelfth day easily. By the Most of the men had passed through the torments of gravitational single source of pull. They were now ready to become inhabitants of planets again, instead of free-falling ships. On the eighteenth day, automatic machinery freed them from their imprisoning cots. Clumsily and awkwardly at first, the men began to walk, to hold their heads and arms in proper attitudes. They laughed and joked about it and kidded those who were slow at adjusting. 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. Went amuck with some extraterritorials. Killed a dozen." "What will they do, exile him?" "Not to Chociante, if that's what you mean. They just jerked his space card and gave him a one-way ticket to Terra." "For twelve murders?" asked Craig incredulously. "Yeah." Why did he have to explain anything at all to the old space tramp? "Once I get set up, I'll probably try to open my own business." "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 'em read to you. Sailors could go to sea until they just sort of dried out of you, leaves you brittle and old—old as a dehydrated piece of stand this whirligig conditioning, you're through with space." They'll dump him, won't they? After a tracer is sent through. But it won't do any good. He probably outlived everybody that ever knew him. carton was completely filled, he ignited the sealing strip and watched It was the signal for relief in the passengers' quarters many were beginning to feel a reaction to the short free-fall flight from the headquarters satellite. The audio called out: "Flight Officer Robert Craig. Flight Officer "From a private spaceman named Morgan Brockman." Brockman? shot me out the tube. How do I know? Same way you know when your transfer I made out. It isn't much out of seventy years of living, Her name is Ethel Brockman. I know she'll still use my name. Her husband deserted her fifty years before? Some kind of story about one's duty to the Universe? No, the old man had not been in Intergalactic. He had been a tramp spaceman. Well, why had he left? years! Zone V had been beyond anybody's imagination that long ago. He must have been in on the first Cetusian flights and shot the early landings in Cetus II. God only knew how many times he had battled Zone 111b pirates.... Damn the old man! How did one explain? Angeles, 1500 square miles of it, from the ship as it entered the Both men were gone in an instant, leaving Craig completely bewildered. "You goin' to move on, buddy, or you want to go back?" "You mean he screened me? What for?" get it over with quick." first physical contact with Terra had passed unnoticed. "Sir! Sir!" cried a voice behind him. "You dropped this, sir. Quite by accident, of course."

<question>:
What happened to Morgan Brockman by the end of the passage?

<options>:
A He died on the way to Terra
B His ex-wife Ethel had him assassinated
C He refused to leave his cot after conditioning
D He was arrested for being a Freedomite

<answer>:

A