The darkness made it a little easier, for he could not see what lay there so well as if it had been light. The face lay against the floor and he could not see the face. It would have been harder had the face stared up at him.
He stood there considering.
In just a little while the Folk would miss Joe and would start to hunt for him. And they must not find him. They must never know. The idea of killing long since had been wiped away; there could be no suggestion of it. For if one man killed, no matter how or why, then there might be others who would kill as well. If one man sinned, his sinning must be hidden, for from one sinning might come other sinning and when they reached the new world, when (and if) they reached the target planet, they would need all the inner strength, all the fellowship and fellow-security they could muster up.
He could not hide the body, for there was no hiding place but could be found.
He could not feed it to the converter because he could not reach the converter. To reach it he'd have to go through the hydroponic gardens.
But no, of course, he wouldn't.
There was another way to reach the converter—through the engine room.
He patted his pocket and the keys were there.
He bent and grasped Joe and recoiled at the touch of the flesh, still warm. He shrank back against the metal wall and stood there and his stomach churned and the guilt of what he'd done hammered in his head.