"We haven't got weeks. People are falling apart. This thing's contagious."
Even while Murt said it, he felt it was the wrong approach. He knew his own perspective was shot, but Phyllis would probably try to protect him against himself.
She did not. Instead, her face softened with sympathy and something else he refused to identify. She said, "I'll be right back."
The pressure in his head throbbed down his neck into his body. He wanted her so much, it was difficult to resist following her out into the hall. She returned in a few minutes with a 500-cc glass-stoppered reagent bottle half full of a milky fluid.
"Oral administration?" he asked.
She nodded. "Fifteen cc for the monkeys."
She secured a small beaker and a tapered graduate from the glassware cabinet and set them before him. He poured 50 cc into the graduated measure and transferred it to the beaker.
"What do they call it?" he asked.