"Not bad. Two or three drinks, maybe."
"Mmmm." Mike put the bottle on top of the desk, then walked over to the
small case that was standing near one wall. He lifted it and flipped it
open. It was the standard medical kit for Space Service physicians.
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.