James White: The Galactic Gourmet

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.

A lengthy period of wakeful thinking, so concentrated that he had no clear idea of the elapsed time, was interrupted by the insistent sound and flashing light of his door signal. It was Lieutenant Timmins.

“Please excuse the interruption, sir,” it said briskly. “I trust you slept well. Is there anywhere special you would like to visit or people you want to meet? The catering computer, the food synthesizer banks, the ward diet kitchens or the food technicians responsible for …”

Gurronsevas held up two of his upper limbs, loosely crossed in the non-verbal request for silence, a Tralthan gesture which Timmins must have understood because he stopped talking at once.

“For the present,” said Gurronsevas, “none of those things. I know that you must have other duties, Lieutenant. So long as they permit it, I would prefer to have no close personal contact or conversation with anyone but yourself.”

“I have other duties, naturally,” said Timmins, “but I also have an assistant who tries very hard to make me feel redundant. For the next two days, and thereafter at mutually convenient times, I will be at your disposal. What would you like to do first?”

It was plain that Timmins was becoming impatient, but Gurronsevas did not move. He said, “At the risk of sounding repetitious and tedious, hopefully for the last time, I must remind you of my former position on Nidia. The Cromingan-Shesk was a very large, multi-species hotel and its kitchens, of which I had overall charge, were complex, technically advanced and, as you would expect, subject to periodic and most inconvenient malfunctions. I was able to reduce the number of these foul-ups by acquainting myself with the basic operation of the invisible support structures, the various other-species food reception systems, processors, ovens, and ancillary equipment, right down to the proper use of the smallest cutting implement and spoon. As well, I made myself familiar with the work of the sub-cooks, the waiters, those responsible for table decoration, the maintenance technicians, and so on down to the lowliest member of the cleaning staff. I made it my business to know enough to tell, if or when a fault occurred, whether I was being given a reason for it or an excuse.

“Before I try to give instructions to anyone in my department,” he went on, “I want to know the geographical extent of my new responsibilities and the practical problems that are likely to occur, so that the gulf of ignorance between my subordinates and myself will be as narrow as possible. My learning process should begin at once.”

Timmins’ mouth had opened while Gurronsevas had been speaking, but the configuration of its lips seemed wrong for a smile, and finally it said, “You will have to travel extensively through the maintenance tunnel network. In places it can be dirty, unpleasant and dangerous. Are you sure that is what you want?”

“Quite sure,” said Gurronsevas.

“Then we can talk as we walk,” said the Lieutenant. “But it would be better, at least in the beginning, if I talked and you listened. There is a personnel access hatch in the wall at the end of your corridor …”

According to Timmins, the maps of the hospital’s maintenance tunnels and substations, which Gurronsevas had studied so assiduously before his arrival, had been produced for the information of interested non-specialists — the drawings were too simple, too pretty, and years out of date. As soon as they entered the maintenance access door he was confronted by a flight of descending stairs which should not have existed.

“They’re strong enough to support your weight,” said Timmins, “but take them slowly. Or if you prefer we can use another access point where there is a ramp. Some Tralthans find stairs difficult …”

“I used them in the hotel,” Gurronsevas broke in. “Just don’t ask me to climb ladders.”

“I won’t,” said the Lieutenant. “But you go first. It isn’t politeness; just that I don’t want to risk a quarter of a ton of Tralthan falling on me. How is your eyesight?”

“Very good,” said Gurronsevas.

“But is it good enough,” Timmins persisted, “to clearly identify the subtle shadings and dilutions of color brought about by changes in the ambient lighting? Are you claustrophobic?”

Trying to hide his impatience, Gurronsevas said, “I am able to tell by sight alone the degree of freshness, to within a few hours, of a wide range of commonly consumed fruit and vegetables. I am not claustrophobic.”

“Good enough,” said Timmins. With a hint of apology in its voice it went on, “But look above and around you. All of the interconnecting corridors, tunnels, service bays and alcove shelters are just like this. The walls and ceilings are covered with cable looms and piping, all of which is color-coded. This enables my maintenance people to tell at a glance, like you and the fresh vegetables, which are power cables and which are the less dangerous communication lines, or which pipes carry oxygen, chlorine, methane, or organic effluvia. The danger of contamination of wards and staff accommodation by other-species’ atmospheres is always present, and such a local environmental catastrophe should not be allowed to happen because some partially-sighted entity connected up the wrong set of pipes.

“Normally,” it went on, “I would not have to ask about visual acuity or claustrophobia because O’Mara’s psychological screening would reject anyone with those defects before they were accepted for training. But your psych file was not open to me because you are not a trainee …That alcove just ahead on the right. Get in, quickly!”

For the past few seconds Gurronsevas had been aware of a high-pitched, wailing sound of steadily increasing volume. He felt Timmins’ small, soft hands pushing at his lower flank in a manner which in another Tralthan would have been considered an intimacy, but it was simply urging him to move more quickly into the alcove before squeezing in beside him.

A gravity sled, piled so high with unidentifiable stores and equipment that there seemed to be only inches to spare between the load and the corridor walls, wailed past them. Above the sound of the warning siren the Earth-human driver shouted, “Morning, Lieutenant.” Timmins raised a hand but did not speak because by then the other entity was beyond conversational range.

Now he knew the reason for the alcoves.

“It would save time if we used a gravity sled instead of walking,” said Gurronsevas. “I was accustomed to driving in Retlin city center, where the traffic was quite horrendous, and was considered competent.”