The thick-glass phial was simply that. Calhoun removed the cover from the other. It contained small and horrible squirming organisms, writhing in what was probably a nutrient fluid to which they could reduce human refuse. They swarm jerkily in it so that the liquid seemed to seethe. It smelled. Like skunk.
The grid operator clenched his hands.
"Put it away!" he commanded fiercely. "Out of sight! Away!"
Calhoun nodded. He locked it in a small chest. As he put down the cover he said in an indescribable tone:
"It doesn't smell as bad to me as it did."
But his hands were steady as he drew a sample of a few drops from the vaccine bottle. He lowered a wall panel and behind it there was a minute but astonishingly complete biological laboratory. It was designed for microanalysis—the quantitative and qualitative analysis of tiny quantities of matter. He swung out a miniaturized Challis fractionator. He inserted half a droplet of the supposed vaccine and plugged in the fractionator's power cable. It began to hum.
The grid operator ground his teeth.
"This is a fractionator," said Calhoun. "It spins a biological sample through a chromatograph gele."
The small device hummed more shrilly. The sound rose in pitch until it was a whine, and then a whistle, and then went up above the highest pitch to which human ears are sensitive. Murgatroyd scratched at his ears and complained:
"Chee! Chee! Chee!"