From the Ocean from teh Stars by Arthur C. Clarke

understand."
    It was a sensible and reasonable request; even before Indra had made it, Myers had come to the same conclusion.
    "Very well—but remember, this is confidential, for Walter's own sake. I'm only telling it to you because this is an emergency and you may be able to help him if you know the facts.
    "Until a year ago, Walter was a highly qualified spaceman. In fact, he was chief engineer of a liner on the Martian run, which as you know is a very responsible position indeed, and that was certainly merely the be ginning of his career.
    "Well, there was some kind of emergency in mid-orbit, and the ion drive had to be shut off. Walter went outside in a space suit to fix it— nothing unusual about that, of course. Before he had finished the job, however, his suit failed. No—I don't mean it leaked. What happened was that the propulsion system jammed on, and he couldn't shut off the rockets that allowed him to move around in space.
    "So there he was, millions of miles from anywhere, building up speed away from his ship. To make matters worse, he'd crashed against some part of the liner when he started, and that had snapped off his radio antenna. So he couldn't talk or receive messages—couldn't call for help or find out what his friends were doing for him. He was completely alone, and in a few minutes he couldn't even see the liner.
    "Now, no one who has not been in a situation like that can possibly imagine what it's like. We can try, but we can't really picture being ab solutely isolated, with stars all around us, not knowing if we'll ever be rescued. No vertigo that can ever be experienced on Earth can match it—not even seasickness at its worst, and that's bad enough.
    "It was four hours before Walter was rescued. He was actually quite safe, and probably knew it—but that didn't make any difference. The ship's radar had tracked him, but until the drive was repaired it couldn't go after him. When they did get him aboard he was—well, let's say he was in a pretty bad way.
    "It took the best psychologists on Earth almost a year to straighten him out, and as we've seen, the job wasn't finished properly. And there was one factor that the psychologists could do nothing about."
    Myers paused, wondering how Indra was taking all this, how it would affect her feelings toward Franklin. She seemed to have got over her initial shock; she was not, thank God, the hysterical type it was so difficult to do anything with.
    "You see, Walter was married. He had a wife and family on Mars, and was very fond of them. His wife was a second-generation colonist, the children, of course, third-generation ones. They had spent all their lives under Martian gravity—had been conceived and born in it. And so they could never come to Earth, where they would be crushed under three times their normal weight.
    "At the same time, Walter could never go back into space. We could patch up his mind so that he could function efficiently here on Earth, but that was the best we could do. He could never again face free fall, the knowledge that there was space all around him, all the way out to the stars. And so he was an exile on his own world, unable ever to see his family again.
    "We did our best for him, and I still think it was a good best. This work here could use his skills, but there were also profound psychological reasons why we thought it might suit him, and would enable him to re build his life. I think you probably know those reasons as well as I do, Indra—if not better. You are a marine biologist and know the links we have with the sea. We have no such links with space, and so we shall never feel at home there—at least as long as we are men.
    "I studied Franklin while he was here; he knew I was doing it, and didn't mind. All the while he was improving, getting to love the work. Don was very pleased with his progress—he was the best pupil he'd ever met. And when I heard—don't ask me how!—that he was going around with you, I was