The Galactic Gourmet

by James White

  "Gurronsevas," he said with great difficulty. "I need air, not medical attention, urgently."

  "You're talking to us...good!" came the reply. "Hang on, we'll have you hooked up to a new tank in a few minutes."

  Gurronsevas spent what seemed like a long time in the lock chamber having his protective garment cleaned of any possible chlorine contamination and removed, but his irritation was tem­pered by the fact that while the process was going on he was able to breathe again without difficulty, and think. The duty medic, a very officious Nidian, could not believe that he had escaped seri­ous injury and wanted to transfer him to an observation ward, but that Gurronsevas would not allow. He compromised by allowing it to use its portable scanner on every square inch of his body.

  He had plenty of time to listen to the voices in his headset de­scribing many interesting events that he was unable to see. They spoke of small, unpressurized vehicles being dispatched to exam­ine and retrieve the dispersing cargo for the purpose of salvage or later safe disposal, of Trivennleth redocking and of the temporary, fast-setting sealant that was being applied to the warped freight lock and the preparations for unloading its remaining cargo.

  They did not mention Gurronsevas's daring self-rescue again, he noted with some disappointment. Perhaps they were too busy.

  When the Nidian doctor finally released him, Gurronsevas asked directions to Bay Twelve's operations center because there were words that he must say to the people there. The staff, who were mostly Earth-human, looked up at him as he entered. None of them spoke, nor did anyone smile. Placing his feet quietly against the floor to demonstrate politeness and the fact that he was at a psy­chological disadvantage, he walked across to the being who was oc­cupying the supervisor's position.

  "I wish to express my sincere gratitude for the part you and your subordinates played in my rescue," said Gurronsevas for­mally. "And for any small way in which I may have contributed to your cargo accident, I tender my apologies."

  "Any small way...!" began the supervisor. Then it shook its head and went on, "You saved your own life, Gurronsevas. And that idea of using the nutrient as a propulsion unit was, well, unique."

  When it became plain that the Earth-human was not going to say anything else, Gurronsevas said, "Shortly after I joined the hos­pital I was told by an entity I shall not name, and whom I consid­ered to be a culinary barbarian, that food is just fuel. I had not re­alized that it might be speaking the literal truth."

  The supervisor smiled, but only for an instant, and the ex­pressions of the others did not change. Gurronsevas did not need to be a Cinrusskin empath to know that he was not highly regarded by these people just then. But if they would not respond to a pleas­antry, they could not refuse a polite request.

  He went on, "I have in mind to make some important changes to the food supply of the Hudlars, among others. To make them it is possible that I shall require the permission and cooperation of the hospital's Chief Administrator. May I use your communicator? I want to talk to Colonel Skempton."

  The supervisor swung its chair around to look through the ob­servation window, a wall-sized sheet of transparent material as clear as air in the small areas where it was not covered with nutrient paint, at the team working on the damaged airlock, and at the littered and paint-splattered loading bay before turning back to face Gurron­sevas.

  "I feel sure," it said, "that Colonel Skempton will want to talk to you."

  Chapter 12

  It soon became clear that the loading bay supervisor was not fa­miliar with the workings of the Chief Administrator's mind, be­cause he was unable to talk to Colonel Skempton in spite of three attempts to do so. When Gurronsevas tried a fourth time, he was informed by a subordinate that the whole Gurronsevas problem had been passed to the Chief Psychologist who had been given Colonel Skempton's recommendations for its solution, and it was Major O'Mara that Gurronsevas should speak to, without delay.

  The atmosphere in the Psychology Department's outer office reminded him of a gathering in the Room of Dying around the re­mains of a respected friend, but neither Braithwaite, Lioren nor Cha Thrat had a chance to speak to him because Major O'Mara did not keep him waiting.

  "Chief Dietitian Gurronsevas," O'Mara began without pre­amble, "you do not appear to realize the gravity of your position. Or are you about to tell me that you are innocent, and that you are right and everyone else wrong?"

  "Of course not," said Gurronsevas. "I admit to bearing some responsibility for the accident, but only because I was in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time and in circumstances where an accident was likely to occur. I cannot be held entirely responsible for it because, as you must agree, unless an entity is given complete control over a situation it cannot be held completely responsible for what happens. I had little control and, therefore, much reduced responsibility."

  For a long moment O'Mara stared up at him in silence. The crescents of fur above its eyes were drawn downwards into thick, grey lines and its lips were tightly pressed together so that respira­tion was taking place, quite audibly, through its nasal passages. Fi­nally it spoke.

  "Regarding the matter of responsibility," it said, "I require clarification. Shortly after the accident I was contacted by a Hudlar who said that it shares responsibility for the accident with you. What have you to say about that?"

  Gurronsevas hesitated. If the Hudlar medic was to become in­volved with the loading bay accident as well as a possible misde­meanor on the freighter, it might lose its internship at the hospi­tal. The intern had been a well-mannered being, helpful with its suggestions regarding the Hudlar food problems and, no doubt, professionally competent or it would not have been accepted for training in Sector General.

  "The Hudlar is mistaken," he said firmly. "It had business on board and accompanied me into Trivennleth, acting as my guide and advisor regarding some food problems. It wanted to escort me back again, but I insisted that I could return alone. Since I am Chief Dietitian and it a junior intern it had no choice but to comply. In this matter the Hudlar is blameless."

  "I understand," said O'Mara. It made an untranslatable sound and added, "But you should also understand that I am not greatly impressed by acts of unselfishness or nobility of character. Very well, Gurronsevas, no official notice will be taken of your Hudlar intern's earlier words to me, but only because, in this instance, a trouble shared will not be a trouble halved. Have you anything else to say in your own defense?"

  "No," said Gurronsevas, "because there is nothing else that I have done wrong."

  "Is that what you think?" said the Major.

  Gurronsevas ignored the question because he had already an­swered it. Instead he said, "There is another matter. For the con­tinuance of my dietary improvements I require material which is not presently available in the hospital. But I am uncertain whether obtaining these supplies, which will have to be transported from many different worlds and will therefore incur considerable ex­pense, is a simple matter of requisitioning them or one that will re­quire special permission from the hospital authorities. If the latter, then it is only simple politeness that I ask the Chief Administrator in person. But for some reason Colonel Skempton refuses to talk to me or even..."

  O'Mara was holding up a hand. It said, "One reason is that I advised him against seeing you, at least until the emotional dust set­tles. But there are others. You did cause that mess in Bay Twelve. Not deliberately, of course, and a major contamination, depressurization and structural damage to the cargo lock and Trivennleth's hold is expensive in maintenance time as well as the cost of—"

  "This is shameful!" Gurronsevas burst out. "If, through some miscarriage of the law and deformation of Monitor Corps' regula­tions, I am to be held responsible for this damage, then I shall pay for it. I am not poor, but if I do not have sufficient funds, then de­ductions can be made from my salary until the cost is repaid in full."

  "If you had the life span of a Groalterri," said O'Mara, "that might be possib
le. But it isn't, and in any case, you will not be asked to pay for the damage. It has been decided that the tractor-beamers have become so fast and proficient in their work that they may have grown a little over-confident, and their safety procedures are being tightened. Between the Corps budget and Trivennleth's insurance brokers, the financial aspect will be taken care of and need not con­cern you. But there is another price that you are already paying and I'm not sure if you can afford it. You are losing your reserves of good will.

  "During your visit to Trivennleth and subsequent unscheduled EVA," O'Mara went on, without allowing him time to speak, "less catastrophic events were taking place in the AUGL ward. The con­valescent Chalders became overexcited while chasing their self-propelled lunch and, according to Charge Nurse Hredlichli, all but wrecked the ward. Specifically, eleven sections of internal wall plat­ing were seriously deformed and four Chalder sleeping frames were damaged beyond repair, fortunately without ill effects to the pa­tients occupying them at the time.

  "I know that Hredlichli is obligated to you," the Major went on, "because of improvements you made in the Illensan menu, but at present I would not say that it considers itself to be your friend. The same situation exists with Lieutenant Timmins, who is re­sponsible for repairing the damage not only to the Chalder ward but minor sub-structures in Bay Twelve.

  "But it is Colonel Skempton that you should worry about, and avoid meeting, because he wants you fired from the hospital and returned to your previous planet of origin. Forthwith."

  For a moment Gurronsevas could not speak. It was as if his immobile, domed cranium were a dormant volcanic mountain about to split open under the double pressures of shame and fury over the fate that had allowed such a cruel injustice to be perpetrated on a being as professionally accomplished, and with so much to offer this establishment, as himself. But it was the feeling of shame which predominated, and so he forced himself to speak the only words that could be spoken in this situation.

  Gurronsevas turned to leave, making no attempt to muffle the sound of his feet, and said, "I shall tender my resignation, effective immediately."

  "I have found," said O'Mara in a voice that was quiet but somehow managed to halt Gurronsevas in mid-turn, "that words like forthwith and immediately are used very loosely. Consider.

  "A ship bound for Traltha or Nidia or wherever else you de­cide to go," the Chief Psychologist went on, "may not call at Sec­tor General for several weeks; or, if you choose to go to an obscure Tralthan colony-world infrequently visited by commercial or Mon­itor Corps vessels, for much longer than that. The delay would en­able you to complete any current projects before you have to leave. This would benefit the hospital, provided you do not involve it in any more near-catastrophes. And you personally would benefit be­cause the longer you spend here the less likely it will seem to out­siders, including your colleagues in the multi-species hotel business, that your separation from Sector General was involuntary and your professional reputation would suffer minimum damage.

  "Insofar as it is possible for a Tralthan," O'Mara continued, showing its teeth briefly, "try to keep a low profile. Do nothing to attract Colonel Skempton's attention, nor annoy anyone else in au­thority, and you will find that your departure will be something less than immediate."

  "But eventually," said Gurronsevas, making a statement rather than a question, "I will have to go."

  "The Colonel insisted that you leave the hospital soonest," it said, "and I promised that you would. Had I not done so you would have been confined to quarters."

  The Chief Psychologist sat back in its chair, giving a clear, non-verbal indication that the interview was at an end. Gurronsevas remained where he was.

  "I understand," he said. "And I would like to say that you have shown sensitivity and concern for my feelings in this situation. Your reaction is, well, surprising and confusing, because I could not imagine an entity with your reputation acting in such a sympathetic fashion..."

  He broke off in embarrassment, aware that the attempt to ex­press his gratitude was verging on the insulting. O'Mara sat forward in its chair again.

  "Let me dispel some of your confusion," it said. "I am, of course, aware of your covert tinkering with my menu, and have been from the beginning. And no, the outer office staff did not be­tray you. You forget that I am a psychologist, and the type of con­tinuous, non-verbal signals they were emitting was impossible to hide from me. And you betrayed yourself by significantly improv­ing the taste of meals which were formerly so tasteless that I could safely engage my mind with more important matters while eating. But not any more. Valuable time is wasted wondering what new culinary surprise lies in ambush, or speculating afterwards on pre­cisely how you achieved a particular taste. Not all of your changes were for the better, and I have sent you a list of my reactions to all of them together with suggestions for further modifications."

  "That is most kind of you, sir," said Gurronsevas.

  "I am not being kind," said O'Mara sharply. "Nor sympa­thetic, nor do I possess any of the other qualities you are trying to attribute to me. I have no reason to be grateful to a being who is merely doing its job. Is there anything else you want to say to me before you leave?"

  "No," said Gurronsevas.

  He could hear the movable furniture and O'Mara's desk or­naments rattling as he stamped out of the office.

  "What happened?" said Cha Thrat when the door had closed behind him. From the way they were staring at him, it was obvious that the Sommaradvan was speaking for Lioren and Braithwaite as well.

  Anger and embarrassment made it difficult for Gurronsevas to keep his voice at a conversational level as he replied, "I am to leave the hospital, not immediately but soon. Until then I am to do my job, as O'Mara calls it, without attracting attention to myself. I'm afraid the Major knows that you cooperated with me in making the menu changes. It was pleased with them but not grateful. Will any of you suffer because of the conspiracy?"

  Braithwaite shook its head. "If O'Mara had wanted us to suf­fer, we'd have known about it by now. But try to look on the bright side, Gurronsevas, and do as he says. After all, the Major seems to approve of some of the things you are doing and wants you to con­tinue doing them. If he had been displeased, well, you would not have been leaving soon but on the first ship going anywhere. You don't know what will happen."

  "I know," said Gurronsevas miserably, "that Colonel Skempton wants to get rid of me."

  "Perhaps," said Lioren gently, "you could covertly introduce substances into the Colonel's meals which would eliminate the problem by—"

  "Padre!" said Braithwaite.

  "I did not mean substances of lethal toxicity," Lioren went on, "but taste-enhancers similar to those used on Major O'Mara. There is a saying current among Earth-human DBDGs that the way to a man's heart lies through its stomach."

  "Surely," said Cha Thrat, "a questionable and risky surgical procedure."

  "I'll explain it to you later, Cha Thrat," said Braithwaite, smil­ing. "Lioren, psychologically that is sound advice, but Skempton is unlikely to be influenced as easily by Gurronsevas's cooking. His psych file says he is a vegetarian, which means that—"

  "Now that I don't understand," Cha Thrat broke in again. "Why should a member of the DBDG classification, which is om­nivorous, elect to become a herbivore? Especially when the basic food material is synthetic anyway. Is it some kind of religious re­quirement?"

  "Perhaps," Lioren replied, "it has beliefs similar to the Ull, who say that to eat the flesh of another creature, sentient or otherwise, is to preserve its soul within the eater. But the Colonel has never consulted me on religious matters so I am unable to speak with cer­tainty."

  "Cooking for herbivores," said Gurronsevas, "has never been a problem for me."

  Braithwaite nodded and Cha Thrat remained silent. Both of them were looking at the padre, all of whose eyes were directed steadily at Gurronsevas.

  "May I also remind you," said Lioren quietly, "that this
is a very large establishment housing many thousands of entities who, because of the nature of the work they do and their feelings and mo­tivations regarding it, tend to have very short memories where the occasional interpersonal conflicts are concerned. If people held grudges in a place like this the level of mental health would be very low, and the type of person who would hold a grudge is excluded by the psychological screening.

  "It may be that other events will transpire," it went on, "al­though hopefully not with as much potentiality for disaster as your own recent adventure, which will turn Colonel Skempton's atten­tion in other directions and reduce its present hostility towards you. You are to leave the hospital soon, you say, but as a measure of time that period is flexible and your departure might not be permanent. To God or fate or whatever random operation of the laws of chance that you may or may not believe in, all things are possible."

  Lioren paused for a moment, then added, "My advice is to fol­low the Major's advice and concentrate on the work that you are uniquely qualified to perform, and do not give up hope."

  The advice was sound if ridiculously overoptimistic, Gurronsevas thought. But when he left them he was walking quietly and he did not know why he was feeling better.

  Chapter 13

  The feeling of optimism lasted for only a few hours, and during the first three days of maintaining a low profile he grew in­creasingly depressed, uncertain and lonely. His visits to his food synthesizer staff and Pathology became infrequent and brief because the people in both places kept looking at him when they thought his attention was elsewhere, but whether it was with sympathy or morbid curiosity he did not know. Apart from those few occasions he remained in his quarters, refused to answer the communicator and ate only from the food dispenser, which did not help lift his de­pression one little bit.

  In the middle of the fourth day someone began tapping po­litely but with extraordinary persistence on his door. It was Padre Lioren.