Campora was standing in the corridor. At Lodar's expression he fell back a pace, then held his ground.
"The men asked me to represent them—"
"Now, by hell!" Lodar roared. "I've had enough! Are you a First Mate or a sniveling messenger boy for the crew? Get out of my way!"
"I want to warn you—"
"Stand aside." Lodar shoved the mate back.
"Better listen to him." Ray's voice was harsh. Lodar deserved all he got, but there was no sense in stirring the Vulcan to a charnal house of mob violence. He knew only too well the temper of the crew after two days of wracking tension.
"Listen to a coward like this?" Lodar sneered savagely and pointed at Campora. "He's afraid for his own hide! But he wasn't scared to stick a knife in a man's back on Earth! Oh, no! But now he's petrified at the thought of a policeman. He's stirring up the crew. He's a traitor to his rating!"
"You can't handle men when your own temper blows up!" Ray snapped. Lodar should know that. He was an ex-fleet man.
Lodar jerked round, visibly struggling for control. "I guess you're right," he admitted slowly, his first fury spent. He turned to the mate, whose sallow face and slitted eyes were full of venom. "So you're afraid of Earth and the police, the whole kit and kaboodle of you. Well, we won't land there."
Campora looked his utter disbelief.