In Hrunta's lab chunks of the hlorg sat in a dozen vats on tables and in sinks. Some contained antibiotics, some concentrated acids, some desiccants. In each vat a blob of pink protoplasm wiggled happily, showing no sign of discomfiture. On another table were the remains of Hrunta's (unsuccessful) attempt to prepare an anti-hlorg serum.
But no Hrunta.
"He was down there with the thing all day," Bowman said sadly. "He felt it was his responsibility, really. Hrunta thought biochemistry was the answer to all things, of course. Very conscientious man."
"But he was in bed."
"He claimed he did his best thinking in bed. Maybe he had a brainstorm and went down to try it out, and—"
"Yes." Jenkins nodded sourly. "And." He walked down the row of vats. "You'd think that at least concentrated sulphuric would dessicate it a little. But it's just formed a crust of coagulated protein around itself, and sits there—"
Bowman peered over his shoulder, his mustache twitching. "But it does dessicate."
"If you use enough long enough."
"How about concentrated hydrochloric?"
"Same thing. Maybe a little more effective, but not enough to count."