Vaneski was standing to one side, his face pale, his expression blank.
Mike said: “Jake, you and Vaneski go up and make the report to the captain. Tell him we’ll be up as soon as we’ve taken care of Mellon.”
“Right,” said von Liegnitz, massaging his bruised shoulder.
“Okay, Keku,” said Mike, “forward march.”
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 sunshiny 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.