When he returned the others slept fitfully. He ate a banana and wondered guiltily if his _salsa_ had anything to do with it. He decided it didn't. The other crews had died the same way without any non-sterile food aboard. He floated back into the pantry and stared at the mounds of provisions until the mugginess drove him out. * * * * * Three more days passed. Hagstrom and van den Burg grew steadily weaker. Aréchaga waited expectantly but his own appetite didn't fail. He advanced dozens of weird hypotheses--racial immunity, mutations. Even to his non-medical mind the theories were fantastic. Why should a mestizo take zero grav better than a European? He munched on a celery stalk and wished he were back on Earth, preferably in Mexico where food was worth eating. Then it hit him. He looked at the others. _They'll die anyway._ He went to work. Three hours later he prodded Hagstrom and van den Burg into wakefulness and forced a murky liquid into them. They gagged weakly, but he persisted until each had taken a swallow. Thirty minutes later he forced a cup of soup into each. They dozed but he noted with satisfaction that their pulses were stronger. Four hours later Hagstrom awoke. "I'm hungry," he complained. Aréchaga fed him. The Netherlander came to a little later, and Aréchaga was run ragged feeding them for the next two days. On the third day they were preparing their own meals. "How come it didn't hit you?" van dan Burg asked. "I don't know," Aréchaga said. "Just lucky, I guess." "What was that stuff you gave us?" Hagstrom asked. "What stuff?" Aréchaga said innocently. "By the way, I raised hell with the inventory getting you guys back in condition. Would you mind going into the far pantry and straightening things up a little?" They went, pulling their way down the passage to the rearmost food locker. "There's something very funny going on," Hagstrom said. Van den Burg inspected the stocks and the inventory list suspiciously. "Looks all right to me. I wonder why he wanted us to check it." They looked at each other. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" Hagstrom asked. Van den Burg nodded. They pulled themselves silently along the passageway back to the control room. Aréchaga was speaking softly into the recorder, his back to the entrance. Hagstrom cleared his throat and the black-haired little man spun guiltily. Van den Burg reached for the playback switch. "It's just a routine report," Aréchaga protested. "We're curious," Hagstrom said. The recorder began playing. "--I should have figured it right from the start. If food is so lousy the flies won't touch it, then humans have no business eating it." "What's the food got to do with it?" Hagstrom asked. "Quiet!" van den Burg hissed. "--got by all right on Earth where there was plenty of reinfection, but when you sealed us in this can without a bug in a million miles--" Aréchaga's voice continued.