Safeguarded on the palm of her gloved hand, she lifted the tray of crimson vials from inside the freezer. Anthropologists are not warriors, she thought and shifted the vials to watch the film of frost seeming to dance on the outside of the glass. It was not in her character to be on the attack, as Robert had suggested; but Xochi adhered to the sacrosanct principle of not interjecting political bias into her research design.
“Good morning Xochi,” Graham Meyer called out from the front of her lab. “Did you have a good weekend?”
“Wow, you scared me.” The vials clanged against each other as she tightened her hold to prevent them from falling.
“Sorry about that.” He walked closer to the table she had turned to.
“No problem. It’s just that my mind was somewhere else.” She lifted each vial from the tray and placed them into a metallic bath with oscillating water.