On the third day van den Burg put bags of steak and string beans into the hi-fi oven and strapped himself into a chair. He used chopsticks to snare the globules of soup and coffee which escaped from hooded cups despite all precautions. "How is it?" Hagstrom asked. "It'd taste better if you'd come down and sit on the same side of the ship." Human Factors had recommended that table and chairs be situated in one plane and resemble the real thing. The sight of one's fellow man at ease in an impossible position was not considered conducive to good digestion. Hagstrom dived across the room and in a moment Aréchaga joined him. Aréchaga sampled the steak and vegetables and turned up his nose. He broke seals and resurrected pork, beef, onions, garlic, and sixteen separate spices. There was far too much _sancoche_ for one meal when he was through. "What'll you do with the rest of it?" Hagstrom asked. "Eat it tomorrow." "It'll spoil." "In this embalmed atmosphere?" Aréchaga asked. He sampled the stew. "Irradiated food--pfui!" He went to his locker and extracted a jar. "What's that?" van den Burg asked. "_Salsa picante._" "Literal translation: shredding sauce," Hagstrom volunteered. "Guaranteed to do just that to your taste buds." "Where'd you get it?" van den Burg asked. "Out of my locker." "Not sterile, I presume." "You're darn tootin' it ain't. I'm not going to have the only tasty item on the menu run through that irradiator." "Out with it!" van den Burg roared. "Oh, come now," Aréchaga said. He poured _salsa_ over the stew and took a gigantic bite. "I hate to pull my rank but you know what the pill rollers have to say about unsterilized food." "Oh, all right," Aréchaga said morosely. He emptied the jar into the disposal and activated the locks. The air loss gave the garbage a gradually diverging orbit. * * * * * He began cranking the aligning wheels. When the stars stopped spinning, he threw a switch and began reading rapidly into a mike. Finished, he handed the mike to Hagstrom. Hagstrom gave his report and passed it to van den Burg. Aréchaga rewound the tape and threaded the spool into another machine. He strapped himself before a telescope and began twiddling knobs. Outside, a microwave dish waggled. He pressed a trigger on one of the knobs. Tape screamed through the transmitter pickup. "Make it?" Hagstrom asked. "It began to wander off toward the end," Aréchaga said. He switched the transmitter off. The temperature had risen in the four minutes necessary to squirt and the sunward side was getting uncomfortable even through the insulation. Hagstrom began spinning the wheel.