A Madman on Board

Conroy found himself shanghaied to certain death in the radiation chamber of Earth's Wheel in space—as the planet below faced doom from—
Through the clear plexiplast viewing dome of Earth Satellite V2-ZF, the bright orb of Earth could be seen, full and lustrous green against the sharp blackness of space.
But Dave Conroy wasn't able to feel much pleasure in the view. As he waited, hands linked with duralloy chains, he knew only that somehow he had landed in trouble—trouble that would probably cost him his life, here among the beauties of the orbital satellite.
Go on in, next batch, a bored voice ordered.
Dave began to move, along with the half-dozen stubble-faced disreputable-looking men he was chained to. They stepped through a permaluce door; it swung closed silently behind them.
This is the entrance to the jetroom, a uniformed man facing them announced. I'm Major Hawes. Welcome to Earth Satellite V2-ZF—you poor suckers! An acid sneer tinted his voice.
Hey, hold on! the man next to Conroy shouted. What's goin' to happen to us?
Major Hawes smiled politely. You'll be put to work in the jetroom of the Satellite, making sure our noble orbiting wheel stays warm and cozy. You'll be feeding radioactives to the converter. You'll be doing a lot of jobs robots could do twice as well, and after a year or so of it your bodies will start to rot and you'll fall apart and you'll get the deaths you deserve.
Hawes chuckled. There'll be guards making sure you don't shirk. Inside, now—and your predecessors will show you what you're to do.
The chains fell away. In here, no chains were needed. Dimly, Dave Conroy rubbed his forehead and wondered what he had done to condemn himself to this living hell.
What kind of place is this? he asked the man at his right, as a gleaming cupralloy door irised open before them.
Is your mind snapping, buddy? You can't have forgotten so soon.