A table on the other side of the room suddenly jumped up an inch or two with a clang and a clatter. Jack started a little; I would have, too, except I knew how Dizzy spent most of his time in here wedged into something, and tinkering with its guts. Besides, I could hear him swearing as he stood up.
“Dammit, Slugger!” he huffed at me. “I was in the middle of something… oh. Hello, John.” His voice needed only three words to go down forty degrees.
“Hello, Isaac,” said Jack, just as carefully. He looked like he wanted to say more, but that wouldn’t have been smart. The higher-ups are real keen on everybody at the Site getting along, or at least not stick knives in each other. That was probably the only thing that kept Jack and Dizzy from each other’s throats, and I don’t mean that as a metaphor.