The ride back was a painful haze. Every bump accentuated the throbbing in my head. Pat, grimly intent on getting well away from the area, held the pedal down as hard as she dared and the Ferguson whipped around the curves, its independently driven wheels screeching and scraping against the asphalt like the claws of a frightened dog on a waxed floor. The fog was gone except for little patches drifting down the gullies or hanging in dead air pockets between the hills. We reached a more brightly lit area and she slowed down. There was no pursuit. We went back up the stairs of the Lab and into the showers. I felt safe again like a wounded rabbit diving into its burrow. She helped me strip and, kneeling beside me, held me in her arms as I sat under the spray. The soft fullness of her breasts and arms, dripping with the cool water, made a nest of peace and comfort. For a long minute I let go and retreated back to childhood and the contentment of a mother's arms. "My poor darling," she crooned, and rocked me gently, her slender hands smoothing my hair and caressing my face. Suddenly I struggled to my feet and, slopping water over the floor, lurched back into the anteroom. "The cylinder! I forgot the cylinder," I groaned, and flung open the door of the supersonic cabinet. The warning buzzer stopped. I fumbled agitatedly in the pocket of my windbreaker and drew out the thing that had hit me. For the first time I really looked at it. It was like an old-fashioned army aerosol bomb with a trigger mechanism on one end. I slammed shut the cabinet; the buzzer and warning light went on again. * * * * * Pat stood beside me anxiously, dripping heedlessly on the floor rug. "What was it, darling?" "This thing," I held it out to show her. "There might be virus in it and I put it in the supersonic cabinet, like a damn fool." "What will that do to it?" "I don't know for sure. Ultra-sound kills some organisms. Maybe it will be all right. It wasn't in there long." My stomach began to churn and I leaned on her weakly. "Oh, my head," I moaned. "I feel sick." She put her arm around me and led me back to the showers. I sat down again, dropping under the spray, until the nausea had passed. Then I raised my head. "We've got to get this aerosol bomb to the culture room and start making tests. Hand me the soap darling." Silently she reached it to me. I soaped the cylinder carefully, trying to sterilize it at least in part; then, after washing myself, I rinsed it off thoroughly. A few minutes later, in clean whites, we entered the living room. I slumped into a chair, elbows on the dining table, my head in my hands. Quietly efficient, Pat handed me two aspirin and codeine tablets for my pain and dialled strong coffee into a cup. She put in cream and sugar and pushed it over to me.