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 Space Service physician’s doctorate is never used as a form of address; three out of four Space 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.”