"Morning," Phillip said weakly. "Nice day. Looks like the sun might come through."
"Yeah," said Jake. "Nice day. You—uh—feel all right this morning?"
"Fine, fine." Phillip tossed his hat in the closet, opened the incubator on his culture tubes, trying to look busy. He slammed the door after one whiff and gripped the edge of the work table with whitening knuckles. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Thought you looked a little peaked, was all."
They stared at each other in silence. Then, as though by signal, their eyes turned to the office at the end of the lab.
"Coffin come in yet?"
Jake nodded. "He's in there. He's got the door locked."
"I think he's going to have to open it," said Phillip.
A gray-faced Dr. Coffin unlocked the door, backed quickly toward the wall. The room reeked of kitchen deodorant. "Stay right where you are," Coffin squeaked. "Don't come a step closer. I can't see you now. I'm—I'm busy, I've got work that has to be done—"
"You're telling me," growled Phillip. He motioned Jake into the office and locked the door carefully. Then he turned to Coffin. "When did it start for you?"