The Galactic Gourmet

CHAPTER 3

The compartment was much smaller than his former quarters in Retlin, but a beautiful and almost three-dimensional picture of Tralthan mountain scenery that covered one wall gave it a feeling of spaciousness, while the colors used to decorate the other walls and ceiling were identical to those he had left. A small but adequate body-immersion pit, terraced on one side for ease of entry, was recessed into the floor under the picture wall. There was a gravity control unit so that he could increase the compartment’s G-level for exercise or relaxation, since the standard gravity pull used inside the hospital was just over half Tralthan normal. A console with communicator and large view-screen was set into one corner, and the two containers (one large and one small) that had come with him on Tennochlan were already waiting inside the entrance.

“This is unexpected and very pleasant, Lieutenant Timmins,” said Gurronsevas. “My thanks for your efforts in making it so.”

Timmins smiled and made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then used it to point at the communications console.

“The operation is standard,” it said, “and there are a large number of medical training and information channels available, including one covering the detailed geography of the hospital which you will find helpful, with a recall provision for study purposes if required. To understand them you will need to use your multichannel translator pack; that’s it lying on top of your console. Unfortunately, the entertainment channels are, well …I know the Earth-human material is old and not very good, and the other-species staff have similar complaints. There is a rumor, never officially denied by O’Mara, that the Senior Physician in charge of training, Cresk-Sar, has deliberately arranged this to encourage more study during leisure periods.”

“I understand,” said Gurronsevas, “and sympathize.”

Timmins smiled again and said, “You have concealed storage spaces here and here, and recessed attachment points for any pictures or wall hangings you may have. They work like this. Would you like help unpacking and arranging your personal effects?”

“Since I have very few, that will not be necessary,” Gurronsevas replied, and pointed. “But as quickly as possible I would like that larger container to be stored under moderate refrigeration where I can have ready access to it. The contents will be required for my work.”

The expression on Timmins’ soft, yellow-pink features was probably one of curiosity, which Gurronsevas did not intend to satisfy as yet, then it said, “There is a cold-storage facility at the other end of your corridor. We don’t need to waste time going for a gravity sled; it isn’t very heavy.”

A few minutes later Gurronsevas’s precious container was in a cool, safe place, and Timmins went on, “Would you like to rest now, sir? Or tour part of the hospital, or maybe visit our dining hall for warm-blooded oxygen-breathers?”

“None of those,” Gurronsevas replied. “I will return to my quarters and familiarize myself with the hospital layout. Then I would like to find my way to the dining hall, alone. Sooner rather than later I must learn to — how does your species put it? — stand on my own six feet.”

“Understood, sir,” said Timmins. “You have my personal comm code. Call me if you need help.”

“My thanks, Lieutenant,” said Gurronsevas. “I will need help — but hopefully not too often.”

Timmins raised one hand and left without speaking.

Next day Gurronsevas was able to find his way to the correct level without having to ask anyone for directions, but this was because, during the final stages of the journey, he followed two Melfan student nurses who were discussing the necessity for hurrying their next meal to avoid being late for a lecture. He was sure, however, that he would be able to find the place again without passive guidance.

In the four principal languages spoken throughout the Federation — Tralthan, Orligian, Earth-human and Illensan — and as a spoken identification for translation by the other user species, the sign above the wide, doorless entrance announced Main Dining Hall, species classifications DBDG, DBLF, DBPK, DCNF, EGCL, ELNT, FGLI and FROB. Species GKNM & GLNO at own risk. Gurronsevas moved inside and stopped, paralyzed as much by the sight of so many other species together in one place as by the muted roar of their barking, grunting, growling, cheeping and whistling conversations.

Gurronsevas did not know how long he stood staring across that vast expanse of highly polished floor with its regimented islands of eating benches and seating grouped together by size to accommodate the incredible variety of beings using them. It was far beyond anything in his previous experience. He identified members of the Kelgian, Ian, Melfan, Nidian, Orligian, Dwerlan, Etlan, Earth-human, and his own Tralthan species, plus others that were completely new to him. Many of them were occupying tables and using eating utensils that had been designed for entirely different life-forms, seemingly for the purpose of conversing with other-species friends.

There were beings terrifying in their obvious physical strength, others so horrifying and repugnant that they belonged in the realms of nightmare, and one, a large, insectile creature with three sets of beautiful iridescent wings, had a body so fragile that the sight of it among the others aroused immediate feelings of concern. There were very few vacant spaces at any of the tables.

It was obvious that space was at a premium in Sector General and, whenever it was physiologically possible, the beings who worked together were expected to dine together — although not, Gurronsevas sincerely hoped, on the same food.

He was wondering if it was possible to prepare a meal that every warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing species would find instantly palatable, and thinking that that would be the ultimate challenge for the Great Gurronsevas, when he was struck two soft double-blows from behind.

“Don’t block the entrance, stupid!” said a silver-furred Kelgian in the unmannerly manner of its race as it pushed past him. On his other flank its companion added, “Stand dreaming there much longer and you’ll starve to death.”

As he moved further into the hall, Gurronsevas realized suddenly that he felt hungry, but even stronger was his feeling of curiosity regarding the beautiful, outsized insect life-form hovering and eating above a nearby table that was furnished for Melfan ELNTs. Beside and below it there was a vacant place.

It was indeed an insect, he saw as he came up to its table, an enormous, incredibly fragile flying insect that was tiny in comparison with most of the other beings in the hall. From its tubular exo-skeletal body there projected six pencil-thin legs, four even more delicately formed manipulators, and three sets of wide, iridescent wings that were beating slowly as it hovered a short distance above the table as it wove a long, stringy substance (which Gurronsevas immediately recognized as Earth spaghetti) into a cable before conveying it delicately to its mouth.

At close range, he thought, the delicate creature was even more beautiful. For a moment its hovering flight became less stable and a series of trills and clicks issued from an unidentified body orifice like a musical backing to the translated words.

“Why thank you, friend,” it said. “I am Prilicla. You must be Gurronsevas.”

“You must be telepathic,” said Gurronsevas in surprise.

“No, friend Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla, “I am a Cinrusskin. Our race possesses a faculty which enables us to sense emotional radiation, but it is empathy rather than telepathy. You were radiating feelings characteristic of a mind that is undergoing a completely new experience, but with the unease which usually accompanies such feelings overlaid by intense curiosity. Other trace emotions are present which support the principal indications. These combined with the foreknowledge that a Tralthan was expected to arrive shortly to take charge of Dietetics enabled me to make no more than an accurate guess.”

“I am nevertheless impressed,” said Gurronsevas. The warmth and friendliness emanating from the little being was almost palpable. “May I join you?”

“Stranger, you are too damned polite,” a large Orligian from the other side of the vacant place broke in loudly. It was elderly, its bristling grey fur concealed most of the straps of its equipment harness, and it was seated not very comfortably on the edge of the table’s Melfan support cradle, all of which may have contributed to its own lack of politeness. “I am Yaroch-Kar. Just grab the seat before somebody else does. In this place you’ll find that the polite people are always badly undernourished.”

Further along the table an Earth-human made the sound Gurronsevas had learned to identify as laughter, and in a softer voice the Orligian went on. “The mechanism for food selection and delivery is standard. Just key in your physiological classification and the menu display will list the food available. We have a lot of Tralthans here so there is a good selection, even though the quality and taste are matters for argument.”

Gurronsevas did not reply. He was modifying his earlier opinion regarding this impolite Orligian. The being had tried to be helpful. It was still trying.

“With newcomers like yourself,” it went on, “it sometimes happens that the meals being consumed by your fellow diners, perhaps even the diners themselves, are visually distressing to the point where the appetite is affected. If such is the case with you, just keep one eye on your platter and close the others. Nobody here will be offended. And if you really are the person who is to be responsible for the quality, or lack of it, of hospital catering, life would be easier for you if you kept that knowledge to yourself for as long as possible.”

“My deepest thanks for the information and good advice,” said Gurronsevas. “Regrettably, I may not be able to take all of it.”

“You are being too polite again,” said the Orligian, and returned its attention to its platter.

As he moved closer to the table, being careful to straddle and not risk deforming the Melfan chair by allowing his underside to rest on it, the trilling, clicking speech of Prilicla came again.

“I feel your hunger as well as your curiosity about my method of eating,” it said, “so please assuage one while I satisfy the other …”

Prilicla might not be telepathic, Gurronsevas thought as he keyed in his choice, but with an empathic faculty of such sensitivity the difference was negligible.

“… I find that eating while in flight aids the digestion,” it went on, answering the first unasked question, “and, should it be too hot for fast consumption, the wing downdraft helps cool the soup of my Earth-human friends. The stringy material that I am weaving and eating is, of course, the Earth staple called spaghetti, which is very popular with the DBDGs on the maintenance staff. It is produced synthetically, as you know, and has a bland taste that is offset by a sauce which, when present in too large a quantity, sometimes splashes my features or those persons seated too close to me. Is there anything else you would like to know, friend Gurronsevas?”

“Professionally, I find this most interesting,” he said, forgetting in his excitement to use the mouth not engaged in eating. “Do you eat any other varieties of non-Cinrusskin food? Or do you know of anyone else in the hospital who eats other-species food? Is there anyone at this table who does?”

Yaroch-Kar put down its eating tools and said, “Diagnosticians do it sometimes, when they have a particularly strong other-species Educator tape riding them and they aren’t sure who they are. Apart from that a few have done it as a dare, or for a covert departmental initiation. I mean, imagine an Orligian like me eating, say, a helping of Melfan greeps and having to chase them around the bowl. I, personally, am very glad the practice isn’t widespread.”

Gurronsevas could not believe what he was hearing. “You mean live food is served here?”

“I exaggerate, but only a little,” said Yaroch-Kar. “The greep dish is mobile rather than alive; otherwise it is the same near-tasteless synthesized stodge we all eat. The material is treated with nontoxic chemicals which allow each piece of food to be given a small electrical charge. Half of them are charged positively and the other half negatively, then the pieces are mixed just inside the serving outlet. For the few moments before the charges neutralize each other, the effect is visually realistic and quite disgusting.”

“Fascinating,” said Gurronsevas, thinking that this Yaroch-Kar was unusually knowledgeable where hospital cuisine was concerned. Perhaps it thought of itself as a gourmet, and he was anxious to continue the conversation. He went on, “At the Cromingan-Shesk we had to import live greeps, usually crottled, which made them a rare and expensive delicacy. But isn’t it theoretically possible to produce a meal that would be metabolically suited to, and attract and satisfy the appetites of all warm-blooded oxygen-breathers? A dish that would combine the visual appearance and taste sensations of, say, the Kelgian crelletin vine-shoots, Melfan swamp nuts, and greeps, of course, Orligian skarkshi, Nallajim bird-seed, Earth-human steak, and spaghetti, too, and our own …Is something wrong?”

With the exception of the hovering Prilicla the other entities at the table were making loud, untranslatable noises. It was the Earth-human who replied.

“Wrong?” it said. “The very idea is driving us to the point of imminent regurgitation.”

Prilicla made a short, trilling sound which did not translate, then went on, “I can detect no feelings of emotional or digestive distress, friend Gurronsevas. They are exaggerating their verbal responses for humorous effect. Do not concern yourself.”

“I understand,” said Gurronsevas, returning all attention to the Cinrusskin. “Does weaving the spaghetti strands into a cable also aid your digestion?”

“No, friend Gurronsevas,” Prilicla replied. “It is done for my own amusement.”

“When I was very young,” Yaroch-Kar joined in, “which was a long time ago, I can remember being verbally chastised for playing with my food.”

“I, too, have a similar memory,” said Prilicla. “But now that I have grown up to be big and strong, I can do as I please.”

For a moment Gurronsevas stared in astonishment at the thin, egg-shell body, spidery limbs and incredibly fragile wings then he, too, joined the others in making the untranslatable sounds that were his own Tralthan equivalent of laughter.