“If you don’t,” said Mike, “you’ve got three suspected killers on your hands.”
Quill was unperturbed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Golden Wings.”
“I’m not,” Mike said. “I hit him in the pit of his stomach. Chief Pasteur filled him full of sedative. Mister Vaneski shot him with a stun beam. He died. Which one of us did it?”
“Probably no single one of them, but a combination of all three,” said Captain Quill. “Each action was performed in the line of duty and without malice aforethought—without even intent to harm permanently, much less to kill. There will have to be a court-martial, of course—or, at the very least, a board of inquiry will be appointed. But I am certain you’ll all come through any such inquiry scatheless.” He picked up a book from Mellon’s desk. “Let’s get about our business, Mister Gabriel. Mark down: Bible, one.”
Mike put it down on the list.
“International Encyclopedia, English edition. Thirty volumes and index.”
Mike put it down.
“The Oxford-Webster Dictionary of the English Language—
“Hallbert’s Dictionary of Medical Terms—
“The Canterbury Theological Dictionary—