Part 23 (2/2)

Lieutenant Keku thumbed the opener to Mellon's stateroom, shoved the door aside, stepped in, and slapped at the switch plaque. The plates lighted up, bathing the room in suns.h.i.+ny brightness.

”Dump him on his sack,” said Mike.

While Keku put the unconscious Mellon on his bed, Mike let his gaze wander around the room. It was neat--almost too neat, implying overfussiness. The medical reference books were on one shelf, all in alphabetical order. Another shelf contained a copy of the _International Encyclopedia_, English edition, plus several dictionaries, including one on medical terms and another on theological ones.

On the desk lay a copy of the Bible, York translation, opened to the Book of Tobit. Next to it were several sheets of blank paper and a small traveling clock sat on them as a paperweight.

His clothing was hung neatly, in the approved regulation manner, with his shoes in their proper places and his caps all lined up in a row.

Mike walked around the room, looking at everything.

”What's the matter? What're you looking for?” asked Keku.

”His liquor,” said Mike the Angel.

”In his desk, lower left-hand drawer. You won't find anything but a bottle of ruby port; Mellon was never a drinker.”

Mike opened the drawer. ”I probably won't find that, drunk as he is.”

Surprisingly enough, the bottle of wine was almost half full. ”Did he have more than one bottle?” Mike asked.

”Not so far as I know. Like I said, he didn't drink much. One slug of port before bedtime was about his limit.”

Mike frowned. ”How does his breath smell to you?”

”Not bad. Two or three drinks, maybe.”

”Mmmm.” Mike put the bottle on top of the desk, then walked over to the small case that was standing near one wall. He lifted it and flipped it open. It was the standard medical kit for s.p.a.ce Service physicians.

The intercom speaker squeaked once before Captain Quill's voice came over it. ”Mister Gabriel?”

”Yes, sir?” said Mike without turning around. There were no eyes in the private quarters of the officers and crew.

”How is Mister Mellon?” A s.p.a.ce Service physician's doctorate is never used as a form of address; three out of four s.p.a.ce Service officers have a doctor's degree of some kind, and there's no point in calling 75 per cent of the officers ”doctor.”

Mike glanced across the room. Keku had finished stripping the little physician to his underclothes and had put a cover over him.

”He's still unconscious, sir, but his breathing sounds all right.”

”How's his pulse?”

Keku picked up Mellon's left wrist and applied his fingers to the artery while he looked at his wrist watch.

Mike said: ”We'll check it, sir. Wait a few seconds.”

Fifteen seconds later, Keku multiplied by four and said: ”One-oh-four and rather weak.”

”You'd better get hold of the Physician's Mate,” Mike told Quill. ”He's not in good condition, either mentally or physically.”

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