"_Magnified_, you mean," said Jake. "Perfume still smells sweet--there's just too much of it. The same with cinnamon; I tried it. Cried for half an hour, but it still smelled like cinnamon. No, I don't think the _smells_ have changed any." "But what, then?" "Our noses have changed, obviously." Jake paced the floor in excitement. "Look at our dogs! They've never had colds--and they practically live by their noses. Other animals--all dependent on their senses of smell for survival--and none of them ever have anything even vaguely reminiscent of a common cold. The multicentric virus hits primates only--_and it reaches its fullest parasitic powers in man alone_!" Coffin shook his head miserably. "But why this horrible stench all of a sudden? I haven't had a cold in weeks--" "Of course not! That's just what I'm trying to say," Jake cried. "Look, why do we have any sense of smell at all? Because we have tiny olfactory nerve endings buried in the mucous membrane of our noses and throats. But we have always had the virus living there, too, colds or no colds, throughout our entire lifetime. It's _always_ been there, anchored in the same cells, parasitizing the same sensitive tissues that carry our olfactory nerve endings, numbing them and crippling them, making them practically useless as sensory organs. No wonder we never smelled anything before! Those poor little nerve endings never had a chance!" "Until we came along in our shining armor and destroyed the virus," said Phillip. "Oh, we didn't destroy it. We merely stripped it of a very slippery protective mechanism against normal body defences." Jake perched on the edge of the desk, his dark face intense. "These two months since we had our shots have witnessed a battle to the death between our bodies and the virus. With the help of the vaccine, our bodies have won, that's all--stripped away the last vestiges of an invader that has been almost a part of our normal physiology since the beginning of time. And now for the first time those crippled little nerve endings are just beginning to function." "God help us," Coffin groaned. "You think it'll get worse?" "And worse. And still worse," said Jake. "I wonder," said Phillip slowly, "what the anthropologists will say." "What do you mean?" "Maybe it was just a single mutation somewhere back there. Just a tiny change of cell structure or metabolism that left one line of primates vulnerable to an invader no other would harbor. Why else should man have begun to flower and blossom intellectually--grow to depend so much on his brains instead of his brawn that he could rise above all others? What better reason than because somewhere along the line in the world of fang and claw _he suddenly lost his sense of smell_?" They stared at each other. "Well, he's got it back again now," Coffin wailed, "and he's not going to like it a bit." "No, he surely isn't," Jake agreed. "He's going to start looking very quickly for someone to blame, I think."