James White - The Galactic Gourmet

“What we can tell you,” it went on, “is that our study of the tongue structure and analysis of the saliva indicates the presence of a taste sensorium and an oral pre-digestive system that is in most respects similar to those found in the majority of warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing life-forms, including your own. If you identify and label your specimens and give us a few hours to process them, we will be able to tell you with a fair degree of certainty which plants, or sections of plants such as roots, stems, foliage or fruit, will be edible by the Wem and yourself, and which will be toxic to a greater or lesser degree. Frequently, material which we would classify as being toxic if introduced directly into the bloodstream can be rendered harmless by the normal detoxification processes of digestion, so it is unlikely that you would poison a Wem or yourself if the food samples tested are initially kept small. The same applies to any food material for the Wem produced by Rhabwar’s synthesizer.

“We cannot tell you how exactly any given sample will taste,” it went on. “The chemical composition will indicate whether or not the taste will be intense, but not whether it will be intensely pleasant or unpleasant to a Wem. As you more than anyone else here know, taste is a personal preference which varies between individuals of a single species, much less those with different evolutionary backgrounds.”

“It seems,” said Gurronsevas, “that the Wem palate will have to be reeducated.”

Murchison laughed and said, “Thankfully, that isn’t my problem. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Thank you, yes,” he replied, directing all of his eyes towards Prilicla. “But it is neither a medical nor a culinary matter. I would like to know how much time I have to work on the problem? The present friendly situation at the mine could change as soon as the hunting party returns. When will they arrive?”

“That knowledge will be useful to us, too,” said the Senior Physician. “Friend Fletcher?”

“There is a small problem, Doctor,” said the Captain’s voice from the wall speaker. “ Tremaar has been concentrating its surveillance within a circle of fifty miles radius of the mine and has seen nothing of the hunting party. Beyond that circle the surface is uneven and wooded, giving large areas of natural cover so that the observations are less than trustworthy. Other settllements are under observation, but the closest is sited on the edge of a mountain lake just over three hundred miles away. Because of the Wem aversion to sunlight, Tremaar thinks they may be traveling at night and resting out of sight by day. Either way, they are not carrying the type of portable equipment with a radiation signature that would reveal their presence to orbiting sensors.

“But I can put up our unmanned casualty search vehicle,” Fletcher went on. “That baby will detect any sign of life even if it is close to extinction. It uses a low-level spiral search pattern and, unless the whole hunting party is dead, you will have their number, rate of travel, and estimated time of arrival within a day or so, depending on how far away they are just now.”

“Do that at once, please,” said Prilicla. It flew closer to him before saying, “I can feel your satisfaction, friend Gurronsevas, but we are far from satisfied with our own progress. We are a small and uniquely-equipped medical team, too small to cure the ills of an entire planet …”

“We are also nothing,” said Naydrad, looking around from the food dispenser, “if not modest.”“… Although we should be able to solve the problems of one small, isolated community. Our contact is not going well. Your conversations with Remrath clarified the reasons for the shame it felt as an adult over being forced to eat young food, but still Tawsar is reluctant to give information in several areas important to full understanding. Progress is being made only in the Wem kitchen on the common ground of cookery. Surely, Chief Dietitian, this must be a first in the annals of First Contact procedures.”

Gurronsevas did not reply. He was pleased by both the unexpected compliment and the use of his title in conjunction with it, and he knew that the other was aware of his pleasure.

“We overheard Remrath’s invitation to you,” said Prilicla. “What are your plans?”

“I would like to return at the same time tomorrow,” Gurronsevas replied. “By then the edible vegetation specimens will be analyzed and identified and I will know enough to make a few dietary experiments while talking to Remrath and helping in the kitchen. But there is no need for physical protection. I feel very comfortable working over there.”

He did not add that he felt more at home in Remrath’s steaming and smoking and altogether primitive kitchen than he did among the shining, aseptic medical technology of the casualty deck.

“I am aware of your feelings, friend Gurronsevas,” said the empath gently. “But I would feel happier if Danalta accompanied you. As well as being able to assist you directly it will be available in case of a medical emergency. According to the statisticians, the kitchen is the second most likely room in which accidents are likely to occur.”

“Especially,” said Naydrad, “the kitchen of a bunch of cannibals.”

“As you wish, Doctor,” said Gurronsevas, ignoring the charge nurse. “Am I allowed to return Remrath’s hospitality by inviting it here?”

“Of course,” Prilicla replied, “but be careful. The same invitation was extended to Tawsar, who refused it vehemently. Its emotional radiation at the time was complex and intense and even unfriendly. Remrath might feel and react in the same fashion.

“That is why,” it went on, “we must discuss the whole Wemar situation with you, the facts we know and our speculations based on them, before you speak to Remrath again. Because of their unidentified feelings of antipathy or distrust towards us, you are maintaining our most promising communications channel with the Wem. It must not be closed accidentally because we have not provided you with all the available information.”

He was a cook, Gurronsevas thought, and neither a medic nor an other-species contact specialist. But now they seemed to be treating him as all three. His feelings about that were oddly pleasant and not a little fearful.

“We will continue to monitor and record your conversations in the mine or while you are with Remrath outside it,” Prilicla went on reassuringly, “but we no longer think it necessary to distract you with unnecessary advice, and should there be an emergency we will react quickly; our silence will not mean that we have forgotten you. Personal security procedures will be included in your Wem briefing.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Do not feel worried, friend Gurronsevas,” said the empath, “either for your safety or your ability to do the job. You have done and will do well. But I find it strange that a specialist of your eminence has not complained, nor have you felt any but the most minor and temporary emotional distress about the menial work you are doing here. On Wemar they are not treating you with the respect that is your due.”

“On Wemar,” said Gurronsevas, “I have yet to earn their respect.”

Fletcher’s low-altitude sensor vehicle discovered and sent back pictures of a party of adult Wem, forty-three in number, who were headed towards the mine but still distant by an estimated nine days’ march. They were walking rather than hopping because four of them were carrying a fifth on a litter made from thin, straight branches stripped of their twigs. Two small animals of about one-fifth the body mass of the Wem were each being dragged and driven between a pair of hunters who had them double-roped at the neck. Apart from the sick or injured one on the litter, all of the Wem wore packs which sagged loosely against their backs. Plainly the hunt had not been a successful one.