If I could get Kramer put away before anybody else started trouble, I might be able to bluff it through. I followed him and his two sheepish guards down past the power section, and the mess. I hoped there would be no crowd there to see their hero Kramer under guard.
I was out of luck. Apparently word had gone out of Kramer’s arrest, and the corridor was clogged with men. They stood unmoving as we approached. Kramer stopped.
“Clear this passage, you men,” I said.
Slowly they began to move back, giving ground reluctantly.
Suddenly Kramer shouted. “That’s right, you whiners and complainers, clear the way so the Captain can take me back to the missile deck and shoot me. You just want to talk about home; you haven’t got the guts to do anything about it.”
The moving mass halted, milled. Someone shouted, “Who’s he think he is, anyway.”
Kramer whirled toward me. “He thinks he’s the man who’s going to let you all rot alive, to save his record.”
“Williams, Nagle,” I said loudly, “clear this passage.”
Williams started half-heartedly to shove at the men nearest him. A fist flashed out and snapped his head back. That was a mistake; Williams pulled his needler, and fired a ricochet down the passage.