"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_--
"_The Christian Religion and Symbolic Logic_, by Bishop K. F. Costin--
"_The Handbook of Space Medicine_--"
As Captain Quill called out the names of the books and put them into the
packing case he'd brought, Mike marked them down--while something began
ticking in the back of his mind.
"Item," said Captain Quill, "one crucifix." He paused. "Beautifully
carved, too." He put it into the packing case.
"Excuse me, Captain," said Mike suddenly. "Let me take a look at
something, will you?" Excitedly, he leaned over and took some of the
books out, looking at the pages of each one.
"I'll be damned," he said after a moment. "Or I _should_ be--for being
such a stupid idiot!"
Captain Quill narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, Mister
Gabriel?"
"I'm not sure yet, Captain," Mike hedged. "May I borrow these three
books?" He held them up in his hands.
"May I be so bold as to ask _why_, Mister Gabriel?"
"I just want to look at them, sir," Mike said. "I'll return them within
a few hours."
"Mister Gabriel," Captain Quill said, "after what happened last night, I
am suspicious of everything that goes on aboard this ship. But--yes. You
may take them. However, I want them returned before we land tomorrow
morning."
Mike blinked. Neither he nor anyone else--with the exception of Captain
Quill and Lieutenant Commander von Liegnitz, the navigator, knew the
destination of the ship. Mike hadn't realized they were that close to
their goal. "I'll have them back by then," he promised.
"Very well. Now let's get on about our work."
The job was completed within forty-five minutes. A man can't carry a
great deal with him on a spaceship. When they were through, Mike the
Angel excused himself and went to his quarters. Two hours after that he
went to the officers' wardroom to look up Pete Jeffers. Pete hadn't been
in his quarters, and Mike knew he wasn't on duty by that time. Sure
enough, Jeffers was drinking coffee all by himself in the wardroom. He
looked up when Mike came in.
"Hullo, Mike," he said listlessly. "Come sit. Have some coffee."
There was a faint aroma in the air which indicated that there was more
in the cup than just coffee. "No, thanks, Pete. I'll sit this one out. I
wanted to talk to you."
"Sit. I am drinking a toast to Mister Lew Mellon." He pointed at the
coffee. "Sure you won't have a mite? It's sweetened from the grape."
"No, thanks again." Mike sat down. "It's Mellon I wanted to talk about.
Did you know him well, Pete?"
"Purty well," Pete said, nodding. "Yeah, purty well. I always figured
him for a great little bloke. Can't figure what got into him."
"Me either. Pete, you told me he was an Anglo-Catholic--a good one, you
said."
"'At's right."
"Well, how did you mean that?"
Pete frowned. "Just what I said. He studied his religion, he went to
Mass regularly, said his prayers--that sort of thing. And he was, I will
say, a Christian gentleman in every sense of the word." There was
irritation in his voice, as though Mike had impugned the memory of a
friend.
"Don't get huffy, Pete; he struck me as a pretty nice person, too--"
"Until he flipped his lid," said Pete. "But that might happen to
anybody."
"Sure. But what I want to know--and don't get sore--is, did he show any
kind of--well, _instability_ before this last outbreak?"
"Like what?"
"I mean, was he a religious nut? Did he act 'holier than thou' or--well,
was he a fanatic, would you say?"
"No, I wouldn't say so. He didn't talk much about it. I guess you
noticed that. I mean, he didn't preach. He smoked some and had his glass
of wine now and then--even had a cocktail or two on occasion. His views
on sex were orthodox, I reckon--I mean, as far as I know. He'd tell an
off-color story, if it wasn't _too_ bad. But he'd get up and leave
quietly if the boys started tellin' about the women they'd made.
Fornication and adultery just weren't his meat, I'd say."
"I know he wasn't married," Mike said. "Did he date much?"
"Some. He liked to dance. Women seemed to like him."
"How about men?"
"Most of the boys liked him."
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Was he queer?" Pete frowned. "I'd damn near stake my life that he
wasn't."
"You mean he didn't practice it?"
"I don't believe he even thought about it," Pete said. "Course, you
can't tell what's really goin' on in a man's mind, but--" His frown
became a scowl. "Damn it, Mike, just because a man isn't married by the
time he's thirty-five and practices Christian chastity while he's single
don't necessarily mean he's a damn fairy!"
"I didn't say it did. I just wondered if you'd heard anything."
"No more'n I've heard about you--who are in exactly the same position!"
"Exactly," Mike agreed. "That's what I wanted to know. Pete, if you've
got it to spare, I'll join you in that toast."