Finally, Kroll exhaled. "Turn the ship around," he said. "Go back to Mars."
The crew stood with their limp hands at their sides. They were tired. They didn't want to live any more. They just stood with their feet on the deck. Then, one by one, they began to walk away like so many cold, dead men.
"Hold on," cried Nibley, weakening. "I ain't through yet. I got two orbits to fix. I got one to lay out for this ship to Jupiter. And I got to finish out my own separate secret personal orbit. You ain't turnin' back nowhere!"
Kroll grimaced. "Might as well realize it, Grandpa. It takes seven hours to get through the Swarms, and you haven't another two hours in you."
The old man laughed. "Think I don't know that? Hell! Who's supposed to know all these things, me or you?"
"You, Pop."
"Well, then, dammit—bring me a bulger!"
"Now, look—"
"You heard me, by God—a bulger!"
"Why?"