The Galactic Gourmet

by James White

  "There is nothing to fear, friend Tawsar," said the empath. "Joint replacements are done routinely, thousands every day on some worlds, and in the majority of cases the replacement is more efficient than the original. There is no pain. The operation is per­formed while the subject is unconscious and..."

  "No," Tawsar broke in again, less vehemently. "That must not be done. It would render parts of my body inedible."

  Gurronsevas was moving slowly into what appeared to be a service compartment adjoining the kitchen proper, which was hid­den by two swinging doors that were impervious to sight but not smell. He could see long benches stacked with trays, neatly-racked eating utensils and shelves containing cooking-pots, dishes of var­ious sizes, and cups, the majority of which were cracked or miss­ing their handles. But as the implications of what Tawsar had said began to sink in, he came to a sudden halt.

  He could only imagine how the medical team and the listen­ing Fletcher on Rhabwar were reacting; like himself they must have been shocked speechless. It was the pathologist who found its voice first.

  "W-We, that is, all of the intelligent species we know, bury their dead, or burn them, or dispose of them in other ways. But they do not use them as food."

  "That is very stupid of you," Tawsar replied, "to waste an im­portant natural resource like that. On Wemar we cannot afford such criminal wastage. We honor and remember our dead if their lives and deeds warrant it, but even so, a person's past life has little ef­fect on his or her taste provided they remain healthy. We would not, of course, eat someone who was too long dead, or who had died from a disease, or whose body contained harmful substances like metal or plastic joints. If we are sure the meat will not harm us, we will eat anything. Because of my advanced age, I myself will prob­ably be tough and stringy, but nutritious nevertheless.

  "The tastiest pieces," the Wem went on, "come from the young or the newly-mature adults who die by accident or while hunt­ing..."

  The double doors into the main kitchen swung open suddenly to reveal the figure of a Wem wreathed in steam, and two others working some distance behind it. All three wore loosely-tied aprons of a fabric that had been washed too often for it to have retained its original color. The one nearest the door was the first to speak.

  "Obviously you are one of the off-worlders," it said politely. "My name is Remrath. Please come in."

  For a moment it seemed that Gurronsevas's six, massive feet were rooted to the stone floor, because he was remembering Tawsar's earliest words to him.

  The First Cook will be pleased to see you.

  Chapter 22

  I've been monitoring your conversation, Doctor," said Fletcher on the ship frequency, "and I do not like what I'm hearing. About seventy young Wem and four instructors have come into sight heading for the mine entrance, and at the present rate of progress they should be there in forty-plus minutes. The other working parties have downed tools and are moving to join them, probably for lunch. Judging by what I've just heard, your people probably are lunch. I strongly advise you to break off contact and return to the ship at once."

  "A moment, Captain," said Prilicla. "Friend Murchison, how long do you need to finish here?"

  "No more than fifteen minutes," the pathologist replied. "The patient is being very cooperative and I don't feel like stopping—"

  "And I share your feelings," the empath broke in. "Captain, we will complete our investigation, excuse ourselves politely and then take your advice. The revelation that the Wem are cannibals is disturbing. But please do not concern yourself; neither Tawsar nor any of the other Wem within my emotive range are radiating feelings of hostility. In fact, the opposite holds true because I feel Tawsar beginning to like us."

  "Doctor," said the Captain, "when I am very hungry, as these people are all the time, I like thinking about my lunch very much. But I do not have feelings of hostility towards it."

  "Friend Fletcher," Prilicla began, "you are oversimplify­ing..."

  Gurronsevas had to switch to the Wem translation channel at that point because, while he was capable of looking in four direc­tions at once, he could conduct only one conversation at a time. It appeared that there was no immediate danger from the returning work parties, and certainly not from the aged Wem left in the mine, so that he, too, had a chance to satisfy his own professional curiosity while Murchison completed its medical investigation. Besides, while he had been listening to Prilicla and Fletcher, the Wem stand­ing before him had been speaking, and common politeness de­manded that he reply.

  "My apologies," he said, indicating his translator pack and telling a small diplomatic lie. "This device was not tuned to you. I heard but did not understand your earlier words. Would you oblige me by repeating them?"

  "They were not of great importance," the Wem replied. "Merely an observation that I have often wished that I had four hands. They would be especially useful in this place. I am the healer and chief cook here."

  "I occupy a similar position in a somewhat larger establish­ment. But there the functions of healing and food preparation are separate, and performed by different people. How do I address you, as doctor or...?"

  "My full title is verbally cumbersome and unnecessary," the Wem broke in. "It is used only during the Coming of Age cere­monies and by pupils who have misbehaved and are hoping, vainly, to avoid just chastisement. Call me Remrath."

  "I am Gurronsevas," he replied, and added, "I am only a cook."

  As the Galactic Federation's foremost exponent of the highly-specialized art of multi-species food preparation, Gurronsevas thought, I do not believe I said that.

  "Compared with the high culinary standards said to have been achieved by our own people in the good old days," said Remrath in a voice in which anger and apology were mixed, "that is, in the centuries before the sun itself turned against us, my kitchen is prim­itive. To you it must appear no more than a cooking-place for sav­ages. But if you are interested you are welcome to look around."

  His reply was silenced by the voice of Fletcher speaking di­rectly to him on the ship frequency. "Chief Dietitian, you are not trained in First Contact procedures. So far you have not said anything wrong, but please listen carefully. Do not react adversely to anything you may see or hear, no matter how repugnant it may seem to you. Try to show an interest in their equipment and processes, no matter how primitive they seem, and praise rather than criticize. Try to be agreeable, and diplomatic."

  Gurronsevas did not reply. The interval between Ramrath's in­vitation and his answer had already stretched longer than polite­ness allowed.

  "I am most interested," said Gurronsevas, truthfully, "and will want to ask many and possibly irritating questions. But the sounds of activity I hear, and the complex odors of food well-advanced in preparation and perhaps ready for serving, lead me to think that you are simply asking out of politeness. From long personal expe­rience I know that, at a time like this, visitors are not welcome in the kitchen."

  "That is true," said Remrath, backing through the swinging doors and holding one open while it used the other hand to beckon Gurronsevas to follow it inside. He could see that its legs and tail were too stiff in their movements to enable it to turn inside the wide entrance. It went on, "But I can see that in enclosed spaces you are more agile than I am in spite of your enormous body, and you should know enough not to get in the way at the wrong times. As you have already guessed, very soon we shall be serving the main meal of the day. Perhaps I want you to see us working under pres­sure when we are at our best..." It made a short, untranslatable sound "...or our worst."

  He found himself in another cavern that was a continuation of the one he had just left. Facing him was a large, vertical wall of small, irregular stone blocks built around four open ovens that were burning wood or a similar form of dense, combustible vege­tation. There must have been natural ventilation behind the wall because there was no smoke in the kitchen and the steam from the cooking pots that had been moved from the ovens to a long, cen­tra
l table, was being drawn in that direction as well. To the right of the table, which ran from the oven area almost to within a few yards of the entrance, the upper two-thirds of the rock wall was con­cealed by open cabinets and shelves containing cooking utensils, platters and small drinking vessels, the majority of which had been made by people whose craft had not been pottery. Although crudely made and cracked or with drinking handles missing, he noted with approval, they all appeared to be scrupulously clean.

  Below the shelving there was a long trough that was supported on heavy trestles and lined with some form of ceramic filled with continually running water. A few cups and platters were visible under the surface. The wide inlet pipe at one end had no tap, so he guessed that it was fed by a natural spring rather than a storage tank, and at the other end a system of paddle-wheels fed a small genera­tor which was, presumably, responsible for the overhead lighting.

  Against the opposite wall were more shelves and open cabi­nets, wider spaced and more crudely built, containing what Gurronsevas guessed were the stores of Wem-edible vegetation and fuel for the ovens. Neither were in plentiful supply.

  Gurronsevas followed Remrath around the kitchen, content to allow the Wem cook-healer to do all the talking, especially as the purpose of the very basic equipment was already clear and he had no need to ask questions. He was silent even when Remrath paused before a long, low cabinet positioned below the trough of running water beside the paddle-wheels and splashed by them.

  There was a wide flange around the outward-facing edges of the cabinet which prevented water from seeping into its double doors, which hung open to reveal an empty interior. A simple but effective method of cooling by evaporation, he thought. Nowhere else was there anything that resembled a cold storage facility that would have indicated the presence of fresh meat.

  In the light of his knowledge that the Wem were cannibals, Gurronsevas did not know whether to feel relieved or worried.

  The tour of the kitchen ended with a return to the oven area where the contents of several cooking pots were simmering gently and others were on the side table, covered by thick cloths to keep them warm. Remrath said suddenly, "You have said very little, Gurronsevas, and asked no questions. Is the sight of our primitive methods of food preparation abhorrent to you?"

  "To the contrary, Remrath," he replied firmly. "In essence, kitchens have been very much the same on every world I've visited, but it is the small differences that I find of greatest interest. I have many questions for you..." He reached for a large wooden spoon that lay beside a simmering pot that had not yet been cov­ered. "...and the first one is, may I be permitted to taste this? Please excuse me for a moment. My colleagues are talking to me."

  It would have been truer to say, Gurronsevas thought angrily, that they were talking about him.

  "...Whether through ignorance or stupidity or both!" Cap­tain Fletcher was saying. "Doctor Prilicla, talk to it! Make it see sense, dammit. You don't land on a strange planet and start sam­pling the local fast food outlet—"

  "Friend Gurronsevas," Prilicla broke in. "Is this true? Are you about to eat Wem food?"

  "No, Doctor," he replied, bypassing the translator. "I am about to taste the smallest possible portion of a Wem dish. With respect, I would remind everyone that I have a well-educated palate com­bined with a highly developed sense of smell, and that I would be immediately aware of it if any dish is likely to prove harmful. Since I do not intend to swallow, there is no risk of ingesting possibly toxic material. As well, in consistency the dish is something between a thin vegetable stew and a thick soup which has been boiling in a covered container for more than an hour. I am grateful for your concern, Doctor, but it is not in my nature to take stupid risks." There was a moment's silence, then Prilicla said, "Very well, friend Gurronsevas, but if you should inadvertently swallow some­thing, especially if it has any unusual or unpleasant effects, return to the ship at once. Be very careful."

  "Thank you, Doctor," said Gurronsevas, "I most surely will." He was about to resume speaking to Remrath when the Cinrusskin went on quickly, "You may have been too busy to listen to our conversation with Tawsar, or fully understand what you heard. The current position is that, with Tawsar's willing cooperation, we have obtained all the physiological data that we need at present and it will require further study on Rhabwar to help us decide what else we need. The information on the Wem social structure is meager, however, and I feel a strong reluctance from Tawsar to speak about the subject, so that further conversation is becoming increasingly difficult.

  "This seems like the right time for us to break off contact without the risk of giving offense," it continued. "The imminent ar­rival of the working parties for their midday meal allows us to say, truthfully where everyone but Danalta is concerned, that we must return to the ship for the same purpose. Please complete your food-tasting as quickly as possible, apologize to the kitchen staff and say that you must return with us. They will assume that you, too, are due a meal. Join us as we pass the kitchen entrance in a few min­utes time."

  Gurronsevas was holding the long spoon a few inches above the simmering contents of the pot. As Remrath watched and lis­tened to his untranslated words to Prilicla, he knew that it must be feeling irritated at being excluded from the conversation. Had their positions been reversed, Gurronsevas would certainly have been angry, but suddenly he found that he could not speak to either of them.

  "Your emotional radiation is difficult to resolve at this range," said Prilicla, "especially with the kitchen staff adding their own emotions. Is there a problem, friend Gurronsevas?"

  "No, Doctor," he replied, "not if...How sure are you that the Wem mean us no harm?"

  "I am as sure as an empath can be about the feelings of oth­ers," Prilicla replied. "The kitchen staff are radiating curiosity and caution normal to the situation, but no hostility. Not being a telepath I cannot tell what they are actually thinking, and because of this there is a small element of doubt. Why do you ask?"

  Gurronsevas was still trying to find the right words for his reply when Prilicla spoke again.

  It said, "Is it because you are radiating an intense curiosity, presumably a professional curiosity, considering your present sur­roundings, and do not wish to leave until it is satisfied? Or is it that you feel more comfortable in a kitchen among other-species cooks than with the medics on the casualty deck of an ambulance ship?"

  "Are you sure you are not a telepath?" asked Gurronsevas.

  "I am sorry, friend Gurronsevas," said Prilicla, "I had no wish to embarrass you because your embarrassment affects me. You may remain in the kitchen, but Doctor Danalta will stay with you as a protector. It is not capable of hurting any other intelligent being, but friend Danalta can assume some truly fearsome shapes if attacked. Should your situation there become dangerous, make your way quickly to the wooden outer wall and onto the lip of the cavern mouth, where friend Fletcher will lift you to safety with a tractor-beam.

  "While you are satisfying your culinary curiosity," it went on, "do you think you could widen the conversation to include general questions on the Wem social and cultural background, both past and present if possible? Do not be too obvious about it, and move away from subjects that appear to be sensitive. It may be that you will have more success with Remrath than we've had with Tawsar.

  "Do not waste time replying," it ended. "I can feel Remrath's impatience growing very rapidly."

  "Sorry for the interruption, Remrath," he said, doing as he had been told. "My friends, all but the one called Danalta, need to re­turn to the ship for their own meal and this, your own eating period, seems like an opportune time. You will find Danalta an in­teresting being who is able to change shape at will. It can go with­out food for long periods, even longer than I myself can do. It is much smaller than I, a healer but not a cook, and with your per­mission I would like it to observe the workings of your kitchen."

  Remrath, Gurronsevas suspected, knew as well as he did that there was another
reason for Danalta's presence. The concept of there being safety in numbers was one shared by every thinking race.

  "Your friend is welcome so long as it doesn't obstruct us," said Remrath, then pointed a bony digit at the spoon Gurronsevas was still holding above the pot. "Are you going to do something with that?"

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Gurronsevas dipped the spoon into the greenish-brown, bubbling mass, stirred it briefly to feel the consis­tency, then raised a spoonful to his breathing orifice until he judged the temperature to be cool enough not to blister his mouth before touching it to the taste pad covering the inside of his upper lip.

  "Well?" Remrath asked sharply.

  Gurronsevas thought that he could detect the presence of three different forms of vegetation, but they had been so thoroughly mixed and overcooked that he could not separate the individual tastes, much less relate them to foods already known to him. No condiments, sauces, mineral or chemical flavorings were present, and not even a trace of the salt which must have been available from Wemar's seas. Plainly the food was being prepared too far in ad­vance and the subsequent overcooking had destroyed any comple­mentary or contrasting taste possessed by the original constituents.

  "A little bland," said Gurronsevas.

  Remrath made an untranslatable sound and said, "You are being much too diplomatic, off-worlder. You have tasted our sta­ple dish, a meat and vegetable stew without the meat, and by the time it reaches table it will be scarcely warm. Bland is a polite de­scription for this unappetizing mess, but it is not the word we or our pupils would use."

  "It needs something," Gurronsevas agreed. Deliberately, he directed all four of his eyes towards the empty cold cabinet he had noticed earlier and went on, "Doubtless the meat would improve the taste, but you do not appear to have any. Is meat a part of their normal diet?"

  In his head-set Prilicla said warningly, "You are in a very sen­sitive area, friend Gurronsevas. Remrath's emotional radiation is disturbed and angry. Tread gently."