She had her own list of names of the crew on the desk before her. Heading the list was the name, Comdr. Hugh Dunnam. Dr. Nale would ordinarily call him first. Next would come any of the crew that the commander reported unbalanced, followed by the rest of the crew.
Sometimes when the psych observer's report was unfavorable to the whole crew he called some crew member at random before calling the top name.
It didn't surprise her, therefore, when the intercom came to life and Dr. Nale's voice pleasantly asked for a name two-thirds of the way down on the list of forty names—Ren Gravenard, spaceman/2d cls.
Martha's pencil followed the list down, making a light check after the name while she dialed quarantine to send in the man.
In her mind's eye she could visualize the lifted eyebrows of the day shift guards as they glanced over the huddled crew. She could see their suddenly changed attitude toward the crew, their new caution as they opened the heavy wire door and led the man out. She could see, too, the worried frown of Comdr. Dunnam, whoever he was, as he realized what that meant—to have a crew member precede him.
She could see, too, Dunnam's probable warning look to spaceman Gravenard to keep mum and play his cards close.
That was the trouble with crews of ships when they thought they might be held up by psych over something. They invariably overplayed their innocence right from the start.
The side door from quarantine opened. Two guards entered, preceding and following the first victim warily. Martha sized Ren Gravenard up closely while her face assumed the careful, welcoming smile that often brought attempts at dating.
Ren Gravenard was no different in appearance than a million like him. He was average in everything including his type of character.
"You are Ren Gravenard?" she asked.