 Ben runs from the crime scene, but isn't remorseful for doing so. Why is that, even though he killed a man?
With never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds and hares ... or was it follow the leader? Ben Curtis eased his pale, gaunt body through the open doorway of the Blast Inn, the dead man following silently behind him. For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead man. Again, its face would be a pop-eyed mask of surprise as Ben's fist thudded into its jaw. You can defeat him or submit to him or ignore him, and the matter is over and done. It had begun a week ago in Luna City. Ben, quietly and moderately, wanted to celebrate. At sixteen, he'd spent every weekend holiday hitchhiking from Boys Town No. 5 in the Catskills to Long Island Spaceport. And a month ago, he'd signed aboard the Odyssey —the first ship, it was rumored, equipped to venture as far as the asteroids and perhaps beyond. Ben rose and started to leave the bar, but Cobb grabbed his arm and held him there. Until this instant, Ben had suppressed his anger. Now, suddenly and without warning, it welled up into savage fury. You can give yourself up, and that's what a good officer would do. Under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years in prison and a dishonorable discharge. They don't want new men over thirty-four for officers on rockets or even for third-class jet-men on beat-up freighters—they don't want convicted killers. And whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past Mars, the souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. So , Ben reflected, you can take a beer-and-pretzels tale seriously. You can hide for a couple of days, get rid of your uniform, change your name. You can try to stay in space, even if you exile yourself from Earth. After all, was it right for a single second, a single insignificant second, to destroy a man's life and his dream? He found a tramp freighter whose skipper was on his last flight before retirement. Discipline was lax, investigation of new personnel even more so. He hadn't realized that the memory of the dead man's face would haunt him, torment him, follow him as constantly as breath flowed into his lungs. So now he sat searching for a perhaps nonexistent red-bearded giant, and hoping and doubting and fearing, all at once. "This isn't my first night here," Ben lied.
 Running gave him autonomy, and to decide how the next part of his life would pan out.
 It gave him enough time to remember the renegades, and make the plan to go meet them.  He felt he was justified in killing Cobb.  Running away game him opportunity to reflect.  Running gave him autonomy, and to decide how the next part of his life would pan out.