"Of course," replied Chilton. "Here -- I'll help you up."

Help was a negligible word to engage; it was more like carry, for the sake of his action. He gripped Connors soundly around the shoulders, holding him close, walking him out of the containment center. Chilton found a chair for the man to sit, as he walked over to the miniature refrigeration device (intended for his own use, mind, and a relic of the past few weeks, when he had been working alone down here).

"You responded well to the sedative," said the psychiatrist. "Or -- the Lizard did."

Chilton cleared his throat, as he offered Connors a chilled water bottle. Sparkling.

"He doesn't think well of you."