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Mike looked at Lieutenant Keku, waiting for him to answer Vaneski's question. "What do I mean? Just what I said, Mister Vaneski. I want to know what kind of ship this is. It is obviously not a warship, so we can forget that classification. It is not an expeditionary ship; we're not outfitted for exploratory work. Is it a passenger vessel, then? No, because Dr.
Mike had looked at his hand, figured that since he and Vaneski were vulnerable, while Keku and von Liegnitz were not, he bid a weakness pre-empt of three diamonds. Von Liegnitz passed, and Vaneski had answered back with five diamonds. Keku and Mike had both passed, and von Liegnitz had doubled. Now Mike was looking at Vaneski's dummy hand.
Mike spun to one side to avoid Vaneski's dive and came down with a balled fist aimed at the ensign's neck. He almost hit Lieutenant Keku. The big Hawaiian had leaped to his feet and landed a hard punch on Vaneski's nose. At the same time, Jeffers and von Liegnitz had jumped up and grabbed at Vaneski, who was between them.
His face had gone red and then white, as though he'd suddenly realized he'd committed a faux pas. He nodded his head a little, to show he understood, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. To cover up Vaneski's emotional dilemma, Mike addressed the Medical Officer. "What do you think, Mister Mellon?" Mellon cleared his throat.
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.
He had an appointment to talk to Leda Crannon, but he had no intention of broadcasting it. As he closed the wardroom door, he heard Ensign Vaneski's voice saying: "I still say this should be classified as a cargo ship." Mike sighed as he strode on down the companionway. The ensign was, of course, absolutely correct which was the sad part about it, really. Oh well, what the hell.
He looked at the others at the wardroom table Quill, Jeffers, von Liegnitz, Keku, Leda Crannon, and Mike the Angel. But he didn't really seem to be seeing them. "Ruined," he said. "Eighteen billion dollars' worth of work, destroyed completely. The brain has become completely randomized." He sighed softly. "It was all Vaneski's fault, of course. Theology."
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."
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