James White - The Galactic Gourmet

“But, but you said that the sample would be enough for four helpings!”

“Yes,” said Gurronsevas.

“Food Technician Liresschi is a culinary barbarian,” said Hredlichli angrily, “and a greedy slob!”

“Yes,” said Gurronsevas again.

The charge nurse made a sound which did not translate, but before it could go on Gurronsevas said quickly, “I want to thank you for the help you have given me during our long talks together. Because of them, significant improvements have been made in the present Illensan menu, and in time more will follow. This project has therefore achieved its initial purpose and now I must begin another involving the dietary requirements of a different life-form. Again, Hredlichli, my thanks.”

For what seemed like a long time Hredlichli did not reply, and Gurronsevas wondered whether his words had been lacking sensitivity. Over the years the Illensans had earned the highest professional respect but not the liking of their other-species medical colleagues, due largely to the difficulty of making easy social contact with them or having those opportunities to air their mutual non-medical thoughts, opinions and complaints which the oxygen-breathing species took for granted. Rightly or wrongly, they felt themselves to be a small, underprivileged, chlorine-breathing minority to whom nobody listened, so that individually and as a group their dispositions had suffered. There had been a marked change in Hredlichli’s manner towards him during his work on the Illensan menu improvements, but whether that was due to him winning the Charge Nurse’s heart through its stomach, or that the other had at last found someone who found what it had to say of value, or simply that it had made an other-species friend, Gurronsevas did not know.

He wished suddenly that one of the Psychology staff, Padre Lioren preferably, had been there to tell him what he had said wrong, and how best to unsay it. Then suddenly Hredlichli spoke.

“I may have a compliment as well as a complaint for you,” it said hesitantly, “but I am not sure because, until recently, our ignorance regarding the eating habits and formalities of warmblooded oxygen-breathers was complete.”

Gurronsevas maintained a polite silence, and Hredlichli went on, “I have been discussing our work together with my Illensan friends and they are as pleased as I am about your menu changes. We have questioned the non-medical library computer and discovered that on Earth, which is one of the many worlds where the preparation and presentation of food has evolved into a major art form, there is a custom originating among a racial group called the French which appeals to us. At the end of a particularly pleasant meal the diners ask what they call the Chef du Cuisine to join them so that they can express their appreciation in person.

“We were hoping,” the Charge Nurse ended, “that you will visit us in the Illensan dining-room during main meal tomorrow so that we can do the same.”

For a moment Gurronsevas was unable to speak. Finally he said, “I am aware of that Earth custom and I am, indeed, greatly complimented. But …”

“You will be in no danger, Gurronsevas,” Hredlichli said reassuringly. “Wear whatever type of environmental protection you choose. Only your presence will be required. We do not expect you to eat anything.”

When there were over ten thousand members of the medical and maintenance staff plus a few thousand patients that he would ultimately have to please, it was neither sensible, efficient nor even fair that he concentrate all his efforts towards the satisfaction of one being, even though it was probably the most influential entity in the hospital. The O’Mara project, Gurronsevas had decided, must be allowed to progress concurrently with those of others which were likely to present fewer problems.

The decision had been influenced by his spies from the Psychology Department who, after five days during which he had engaged in some subtle tinkering with the Chief Psychologist’s food intake, had reported no discernable change in Major O’Mara’s temper, behavior following meals, or manner towards subordinates or anyone else.

During one of their daily meetings in the dining hall, Cha Thrat suggested that the Major might be one of those rare people with the ability to ignore their sensoria while engaged in serious professional mentation during meals, and was therefore unaware of the changes. Braithwaite agreed, saying that it had smelled the difference the Chief Dietitian had made to O’Mara’s meals, and that it would gladly offer itself as a more appreciative and responsive subject. Gurronsevas had replied by saying that data obtained from an objective and even hostile source was more valuable than that from an appreciative volunteer.

“However,” he ended, “as there was no strong negative response from O’Mara, I have assumed that the changes are acceptable and have already introduced my Earth-human menu changes into the main dining hall’s synthesizer. You, Lieutenant, and probably every other Earth-human in the hospital, will let me know what they think.”

“We will,” said Braithwaite, smiling as it called up the menu. “Which meals?”

“I need decent food, too,” said Cha Thrat, “as much and as often as Earth-human DBDGs.”

“I am aware of that,” Gurronsevas replied, “and the hospital’s single Sommaradvan DCNF has not been forgotten. But your species joined the Federation comparatively recently and, during my time at the Cromingan-Shesk, we did not have the opportunity of catering for Sommaradvans. Data on your eating habits and preferences is therefore scarce. If you wish to discuss them with me now I would gladly listen, if only to take my mind off the taste of this unappetizing mush that resembles only visually a truncated creggilon in uxt syrup. But my own favorite other-species dish is the Nallajim strill millipede, a beautifully-marked crawler with black and green hair about so long, and served live, of course, in an edible cage of cruulan pastry.”

“Please,” said Braithwaite, “I am about to eat.”

“I, too,” Cha Thrat said, “am suffering increasing abdominal discomfort. In a moment I shall probably turn myself inside out.”

“Suffering is good for the soul, Cha Thrat,” Padre Lioren joined in, “and if you do that we will find out whether or not you’ve got one.”

Gurronsevas was trying to devise a reply that was both culinary and theological when a Hudlar wearing the insignia of a junior intern approached the table and vibrated its speaking membrane.

“Chief Dietitian Gurronsevas?” it said shyly, and waited.

The Hudlars had the thickest and most impervious skin of any Federation species, Gurronsevas knew from long experience, and the most sensitive feelings. He said, “Doctor, may I help you?”

“You may be able to help me, and my FROB colleagues,” it said. “But is this an inconvenient time for you? Our problem is serious but non-urgent.”

Gurronsevas said, “I have a few minutes to spare before leaving for Loading Bay Twelve. If you need more time than that we can talk as we walk. What is the problem, Doctor?”

While they had been speaking, all of Gurronsevas’ eyes had been on the creature who, although not much greater in size, had a body mass at least four times that of his own. It had six tentacular limbs which served both as locomotor and manipulatory appendages and, like many immensely strong beings forced to live among entities many times weaker than itself, it was careful and gentle in its movements.

The FROB physiological classification, Gurronsevas reminded himself, had evolved on a heavy-gravity world with an ultra-dense atmosphere that resembled nothing so much as a thick, high-pressure soup. It was covered by a body tegument, transparent where it enclosed the eyes, that was as tough as flexible armor plating. As well as protecting them against the savage external pressure of their native environment, it enabled them to work comfortably in any atmospheric pressure down to and including the vacuum of space. Their skin was completely without seam or body orifice, the speaking membrane served also as its sound sensor, and they did not breathe. Food was ingested through organs of absorption that covered both flanks and the wastes were eliminated by a similar mechanism on the underside, both systems under voluntary control. When off-planet their food had to be sprayed on at frequent intervals because they were an energy-hungry species.