"We have the power,” said Greg.
Russ moved the lighter back and forth over the tobacco, igniting it carefully. Clouds of blue smoke swirled around his head. He spoke out of the smoke.
"Right now,” he said, “we better see how Craven and our other friends are getting along. I didn't like the way Stutsman was talking or the way he was swinging that gun around. And Chambers wasn't anywhere in sight. There's something screwy about the entire thing."
"WHAT are we going to do now?” demanded Stutsman.
Craven grinned at him. “That's up to you. Remember, you're the master mind around here. You took over and said you were going to run things.” He waved a casual hand at the shattered machines, the ripped out apparatus. “Well, there you are. Go ahead and run the joint."
"But you will have to help,” pleaded Stutsman, his face twisted until it seemed that he was suffering intense physical agony. “You know what to do. I don't."
Craven shook his head. “There isn't any use starting. Manning will be along almost anytime now. We'll wait and see what he has in mind."
"Manning!” shrieked Stutsman, waving the pistol wildly. “Always Manning. One would think you were working for Manning."
"He's the big shot out in this little corner of space right now,” Craven pointed out. “There isn't any way you can get around that."
Stutsman backed carefully away. His gun came up and he looked at Craven appraisingly, as if selecting his targets. “Put down that gun,” said a voice.