“Elucidate, my dear Doctor,” said Mike with interest.
“I diagnose it as a physician,” Mellon said in the same dry, earnest tone. “Snookums, we have been told, is too dangerous to be permitted to remain on Earth. I take this to mean that he is potentially capable of doing something that would either harm the planet itself or a majority—if not all—of the people on it.” He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. Nobody interrupted him.
“Snookums has, therefore,” he continued, “been removed from Earth in order to protect the health of that planet, just as one would remove a potentially malignant tumor from a human body.
“This is a medical ship. Q.E.D.” And only then did he smile.
“Aw, now....” Vaneski began. Then he shut his mouth again.
With an inward smile, Mike realized that Ensign Vaneski had been taking seriously an argument that was strictly a joke.
“Mister Mellon,” Mike said, “you win.” He hadn’t realized that Mellon’s mind could work on that level.
“Hold,” said Lieutenant Keku, raising a hand. “I yield to no one in my admiration for the analysis given by our good doctor; indeed, my admiration knows no bounds. But I insist we hear from Commander Gabriel before we adjourn.”
“Not me,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I know when I’m beaten.” He’d been going to suggest that the Brainchild was a training ship, from Snookums’ “learning” periods, but that seemed rather obvious and puerile now.
He glanced at his watch, saw the time, and stood up. “Excuse me, gentlemen; I have things to do.” He had an appointment to talk to Leda Crannon, but he had no intention of broadcasting it.