d old Emery
Bullard. Had it all figgered out."

He speared a big forkful of food and crammed it into his mouth,
munching noisily. "Had it all figgered. Pop-corn. Best damned pop-corn
you ever saw, kind they raise not fifty miles from where I was born.
You know, I didn't useta like you guys. But now I love everybody. When
we get to Saturn, I'm gonna make up for all the times I didn't give
you pop-corn. We'll pop and we'll pop. And beans, too. I useta hate
beans. Always beans on a ship. But now we're saved, and I love
beans!"

He stared after us, half coming out of his seat. "Hey, docs, ain't you
gonna let me tell you about it?"

"Later, Bullard," Pietro called back. "Something just came up. We want
to hear all about it."

* * * * *

Inside the mess hall, he shrugged. "He's eating the food himself. If
he's crazy, he's in a happy stage of it. I'm sure he isn't trying to
poison us." He sat down and began eating, without any hesitation.

I didn't feel as sure, and suspected he didn't. But it was too late to
back out. Together, we summarized what he'd told us, while Napier
puzzled over it. Finally the doctor shrugged. "Visions. Euphoria.
Disconnection with reality. Apparently something of a delusion that
he's to save the world. I'm not a psychiatrist, but it sounds like
insanity to me. Probably not dangerous. At least, while he wants to
save us, we won't have to worry about the food. Still...."

Wilcox mulled it over, and resumed the eating he had neglected before.

"Grundy claimed he'd been down near the engine room, trying to get
permission to pop something in the big pile. I thought Grundy was just
getting his stories mixed up. But--pop-corn!"

"I'll have him locked in his cabin," Muller decided. He picked up the
nearest handset, saw that it was to the galley, and switched quickly.
"Grundy, lock Bullard up. And no rough stuff this time." Then he
turned to Napier. "Dr. Napier, you'll have to see him and find out
what you can."

I guess there's a primitive fear of insanity in most of us. We felt
sick, beyond the nagging worry about the food. Napier got up at once.
"I'll give him a sedative. Maybe it's just nerves, and he'll snap out
of it after a good sleep. Anyhow, your mate can stand watching."

"Who can cook?" Muller asked. His eyes swung down the table toward
Jenny.

I wondered how she'd get out of that. Apparently she'd never told
Muller about the scars she still had from s