Part 35 (1/2)
Mike closed his eyes. ”Eighteen billions down the drain just because a robot was taught theology. What price glory?”
22
Captain Sir Henry Quill scowled and rubbed his finger tips over the top of his s.h.i.+ny pink pate. ”Your evidence isn't enough to convict, Golden Wings.”
”I know it isn't, Captain,” admitted Mike the Angel. ”That's why I want to round everybody up and do it this way. If he can be convinced that we _do_ have the evidence, he may crack and give us a confession.”
”What about Lieutenant Mellon's peculiar actions? How does that tie in?”
”Did you ever hear of Lysodine, Captain?”
Captain Quill leaned back in his chair and looked up at Mike. ”No. What is it?”
”That's the trade name for a very powerful drug--a derivative of lysurgic acid. It's used in treating certain mental ailments. A bottle of it was missing from Mellon's kit, according to the inventory Chief Pasteur took after Mellon's death.
”The symptoms of an overdose of the drug--administered orally--are hallucinations and delusions amounting to acute paranoia. The final result of the drug's effect on the brain is death. It wasn't my blow to the solar plexus, or the sedative that Pasteur gave him, or Vaneski's shot with a stun gun that killed Mellon. It was an overdose of Lysodine.”
”Can the presence of this drug be detected after death?”
”Pasteur says it can. He won't even have to perform an autopsy. He can do it from a blood sample.”
Captain Quill sighed. ”As I said, Mister Gabriel, your evidence is not quite enough to convict--but it is certainly enough to convince.
Therefore, if Chief Pasteur's a.n.a.lysis shows Lysodine in Lieutenant Mellon's body, I'll permit this theatrical denouement.” Then his eyes hardened. ”Mike, you've done a fine job so far. I want you to bring me that son of a b.i.t.c.h's head on a platter.”
”I will,” promised Mike the Angel.
23
Captain Sir Henry Quill, Bart., stood at the head of the long table in the officers' wardroom and looked everyone over. The way he did it was quite impressive. His eyes were narrowed, and his heavy, thick, black brows dominated his face. Beneath the glow plates in the overhead, his pink scalp gleamed with the soft, burnished s.h.i.+niness of a well-polished apple.
To his left, in order down the table, were Mike the Angel, Lieutenant Keku, and Leda Crannon. On his right were Commander Jeffers, Ensign Vaneski, Lieutenant Commander von Liegnitz, and Dr. Morris Fitzhugh.
Lieutenant Mellon's seat was empty.
Black Bart cleared his throat. ”It's been quite a trip, hasn't it? Well, it's almost over. Mister Gabriel finished the conversion of the power plant yesterday; Treadmore's men can finish up. We will leave on the _Fireball_ in a few hours.
”But there is something that must be cleared up first.
”A man died on the way out here. The circ.u.mstances surrounding his death have been cleared up now, and I feel that we all deserve an explanation.” He turned to Mike the Angel. ”Mister Gabriel--if you will, please.”
Mike stood up as the captain sat down. ”The question that has bothered me from the beginning has been: Exactly what killed Lieutenant Mellon?
Well, we know now. We know what killed him and why he died.
”He was murdered. Deliberately, and in cold blood.”
That froze everybody at the table.