by James White
“Thank you, no,” said Gurronsevas. Silently, he added, “I can follow my nose.”
“I shall join you in the kitchen,” said Tawsar, “as soon as this strange activity is over.”
He was already moving towards the exit tunnel when Prilicla switched from the translator channels to say, “Friend Gurronsevas, I was talking about you simply to give Tawsar something other than the examination to think about. But suddenly there was an emotional response of the type I detected earlier. Feelings of hunger, curiosity and intense shame or embarrassment, but much more intense. Be very careful, and observant, because I have the feeling that you could discover something important to us. Maintain voice contact at all times and please take care.”
“I will be careful, Doctor,” said Gurronsevas impatiently as he continued his erratic journey between the desks. Who better than himself knew how many accidents could occur in a kitchen, and how to avoid them.
Prilicla resumed its attempts to take Tawsar’s mind off what Murchison and Naydrad were doing to it. Their voices sounded clearly in his earpiece.
“For the best results,” the empath was saying, “we should also investigate a healthy and active young Wem, ideally one close to maturity. It would be for purposes of comparison only, not for treatment. Would this be possible?”
“Anything is possible,” Tawsar replied. “Children are prone to take risks, for a dare or out of curiosity or to prove themselves better than other children. Maybe that is the reason I am subjecting myself to this experience, I was too stupid to realize that I have long since entered my second childhood.”
“No, friend Tawsar,” said Prilicla firmly. “There is a young and adaptable mind inside your aging body, but it is not a stupid one. There can be few others of your kind who could have faced a group of off-worlders, beings who must appear completely alien and visually horrendous to you, and help us with our investigation as you have been doing. That was and is a very brave act. But were you simply curious about us or were there other reasons for inviting us here?”
There was a long pause, then Tawsar said, “I am not a unique person. There are others here who are equally brave or stupid. Most of them are willing to meet and make whatever use of you that they can, and a few others, the majority of the absent hunters, refuse to have any part of you. As First Teacher it was my responsibility for inviting you into the mine. I was surprised that you did not need more coaxing, so perhaps you, too, are brave or stupid. And placing me under an obligation by promising to relieve the pain in my joints was unfair because I cannot repay …”
“Friend Tawsar,” Prilicla broke in, “there is nothing to repay. But if the balancing of obligations are important to your people, you have allowed us to satisfy our medical curiosity regarding the Wem, and this would repay the debt many times over. As for your stiffening joints, the pain symptoms can be relieved easily although a cure that would allow a return to full mobility might be more difficult because the condition is advanced in your case. We might have to remove the damaged joints in their entirety and fit replacements made from metal or hardened plastic.”
“No!”
The single word sounded so angry that it must have been accompanied by strong emotional radiation, and Gurronsevas was glad that he was not seeing Prilicla’s reaction. He had moved along the tunnel and was within a few paces of the kitchen entrance by the time the empath found its voice again.
“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 rep
ly.
“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, central 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 reluctan
ce 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?”