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Bring it in, and we'll take a look at it." They went back into the Maintenance Section, and Vaneski spread the suit out on the worktable. There was an obvious rough spot on the right sleeve. "Looks bad," said Vaneski. "I'll run a test right away." "Okay," said Mike. "I'll leave it to you. Can I pick it up in the morning?" "I think so.
His own hand held the ace, nine, seven of spades; the ten, six, two of hearts; the jack, ten, nine, four, three, and deuce of diamonds; and the eight of clubs. Vaneski, his partner, had bid a club. Keku had answered with a take-out double.
There was a note of triumph in his voice. Lieutenant Keku's gaze didn't waver from Mike's face, nor did he say a word. For a boot ensign to interrupt like that was an impoliteness that Keku chose to ignore. He was waiting for Mike's answer as though Vaneski had said nothing. But Mike the Angel decided he might as well play along with Keku's gag and still answer Vaneski.
Ensign Vaneski colored, and his youthful face became masklike. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Quill didn't even bother to answer; he looked back at Mike the Angel, who was still standing at attention. Quill's voice resumed its caustic saccharinity. "But don't let that go to your head, Mister Gabriel. I repeat: Where is your pretty red spaceman's suit?"
As a full commander, he could overlook Vaneski's impoliteness to his superiors without ignoring it as Keku was doing. "Ah, but the brain won't be unloaded, Mister Vaneski," he said mildly. "The ship will be dismantled which is an entirely different thing. I'm afraid you can't call it a cargo ship on those grounds." Vaneski didn't say anything.
Mister Vaneski opened the locker, there, for a look-see, and Mellon jumped out at him. Vaneski fired his stun gun. Mellon collapsed to the deck. He's in bad shape; his pulse is so weak that it's hard to find." Mike the Angel walked over and looked down at the fallen Medical Officer. His face was waxen, and he looked utterly small and harmless. "What happened?" asked another voice from the door.
"Well it seems to me," he said in a dry, serious tone, "that this is really a medical ship." Mike blinked. Keku raised his eyebrows. Vaneski swallowed and jerked his eyes away from Mike's face to look at Mellon but still he didn't say anything. "Elucidate, my dear Doctor," said Mike with interest. "I diagnose it as a physician," Mellon said in the same dry, earnest tone.
Most of you men have been around here long enough to have some idea of what's going on, but I understand that Mister Vaneski knows somewhat more about robotics than most of us. Do you have any light to shed on this, Mister Vaneski?" Mike grinned to himself without letting it show on his face. The skipper was letting the boot ensign redeem himself after the faux pas he'd made.
Mike heard footsteps coming down the companionway. He glanced out through the door, which he had deliberately left open. Ensign Vaneski walked by, glanced in, grinned, and went on his way. The kid had good sense, Mike thought. He hoped any other passers-by would stay out while he talked to Leda. "Does a thing like that happen often?" the girl asked. "Not the fast solution; I mean the beat note."
"Excuse me, sir, but you said this killer was waiting for you outside your room when the lights went out. You said you knew it wasn't Snookums because Snookums smells of hot machine oil, and you didn't smell any. Isn't it possible that an air current or something blew the smell away? Or " Mike shook his head. "Impossible, Mister Vaneski. I woke up when the door slid open.
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