“But you’re the only one who got this close,” said another voice from behind—a male scientist wheeling over a tray of vials. “I need to know what’s on me,” Arthur said, voice sharp. “It’s in my skin. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed. It won’t come off. It itches, or maybe I think it itches— I don’t even know anymore.”
“We’ll examine it. But first…” The woman nodded to two personnel near the tent flap. “Quarantine protocol, please.” Arthur stiffened. “You’re locking me in?” “Just precaution,” she said. “We’re not treating you like a danger. We’re treating you like data.”