James White - The Galactic Gourmet

But when Creethar was finally enticed into eating a little dispenser food containing the required medication, and its continuing increase in body mass necessitated easing of its restraining straps, compliments of a kind were forthcoming.

“Today’s meal wasn’t bad, Gurronsevas,” Murchison said grudgingly. “And the lutij and yant dessert could grow on me in time.”

“Like a fungus,” said Naydrad. But its fur remained unruffled, he noticed, so the Kelgian’s disapproval could not have been extreme.

“I liked what you did with the main course,” said Prilicla who, when it was unable to say anything complimentary, said nothing. “While the taste and texture were completely different, I would rate it close to my other favorite non-Cinrusskin dish, Earth-human spaghetti with cheese in tomato sauce. But I feel distended and have a need for some flying exercise outside the ship. Would one of you like to accompany me?”

It was looking only at Gurronsevas.

Prilicla did not say anything else to him until they were outside and the ship’s protection screen had blinked off to let them through. With the empath hovering close to his shoulder, he walked slowly away from the mine entrance and down into the valley. Their path would pass within one hundred yards of a Wem working party, but he knew that the teacher in charge would ignore them.

“Friend Gurronsevas,” the empath said suddenly, “we, but to a greater extent you, are gaining Creethar’s trust, and the process would not be aided if we were to exclude it from our conversations by switching off its translator. That is why I wanted to talk to you alone.

“You must already have guessed that Creethar is ready for discharge,” it went on. “Apart from one immobilized lower limb, whose cast is timed to dissolve in two weeks’ time when the fractured bones have knitted fully and will support its weight, it has healed well. It should be happy, relieved and pleased at the prospect of returning to its normal life, but it is not. I am far from happy with our patient’s emotional state. Something is badly wrong, and I would like to know what it is before I send Creethar back to its friends. That will be no later than two days from now because there is no clinical reason for keeping it longer.”

Gurronsevas remained silent. The other was restating a problem, not asking a question.

Prilicla went on. “It may well be that returning Creethar to its people will solve all our problems. Hopefully, it will reduce their present hostility towards us, restore Remrath’s personal friendship with you and enable us to resume friendly contact. But there is something about them that we do not fully understand, something that causes inexplicable emotional responses in our patient. Unless we completely understand the reasons for its unnatural feelings, sending it home could be another and even greater mistake. I cannot tell you what to say or ask, because the most general and superficial remarks about its parent Remrath, its hunter friends, and life in the mine are met with a disproportionately severe emotional reaction, which resembles that of a fearing person whose deeply held beliefs are under attack.

“I know that you are not a trained psychologist, friend Gurronsevas,” Prilicla continued, “but do you think that you could spend the next two days talking to Creethar? Talk about safe generalities while listening, as we all will be, for the specific items of information which, in my own experience, many beings suffering emotional distress of this kind are secretly wanting to reveal. If, during the course of the dialogue there is anything that the team should do or refrain from doing, or an idea that might be helpful occurs to you, tell us. You will be in effective charge of the non-medical treatment.

“Creethar trusts you,” Prilicla ended. “It is more likely to tell its troubles to you than to any of us. Friend Gurronsevas, will you do this for me?”

“Haven’t I already been doing that,” said Gurronsevas, “unofficially?”

“And now,” the empath replied, “it is an official request by Rhabwar’s medical team leader for specialist assistance in a crucial stage of the Wem contact. This must be done because, if you are unsuccessful, the responsibility will be entirely mine. You must not blame yourself for anything that may go wrong and, in this very unusual situation, neither will the rest of the medical team. You are not an easy person to like, friend Gurronsevas. You too closely resemble some of your recent Wem dishes in that you are an acquired taste. But you have gained our respect and gratitude for your assistance with Creethar, and none of us will blame you if you fail to resolve a problem that has already baffled us. How do you feel about this, friend Gurronsevas?”

For a moment Gurronsevas was silent, then he said, “I feel complimented, encouraged, reassured, and anxious to do everything that I can possibly do to help. But, being an empath, you already know my feelings, and I think it was your intention to make me feel this way.”

“You are right,” said Prilicla, and gave a short trilling, untranslatable sound that might have been Cinrusskin laughter. “But I have not been tinkering with your emotional radiation. The feeling of wanting to help was already there. Now I feel you wanting to say more.”

“A few suggestions, yes,” said Gurronsevas. “I think you should decide on the exact time and place of Creethar’s return and inform Remrath and the others, in case there are preparations they may want to make. We know they are anxious to have Creethar back, and telling them when would be a politeness that might reduce their hostility towards us. The best time would be in the early forenoon, I think, when the working parties and teachers are returning for their midday meal. That would ensure a large number of spectators and maximum effect, but whether the effect will be good or bad I cannot say.”

“Nor I,” said Prilicla. Quickly it gave the time and circumstances of Creethar’s discharge, then went on, “But how will you tell them, when they close their ears whenever we try to speak? Have you forgotten that problem? Because I cannot feel you worrying about it.”

Gurronsevas had always tried to avoid waste, whether of time, material, or breath. Instead of answering the question he stopped, rotated his massive body slightly so as to bring his speaking mouth to bear on the Wem work-party which was less than two hundred yards away, and filled his lungs.

“This is an announcement from the preservers on the off-world ship,” he said, slowly and distinctly and very loudly. “The hunter Creethar will be delivered to the mine entrance at one hour before noon on the day after tomorrow.”

He could see the Wem teacher’s ear flaps close at the first words, and hear the anger in its voice as it tried to make the students do the same while Gurronsevas repeated the announcement. But it was not succeeding because the young ones were hopping around their instructor in small circles and shouting excitedly to each other. He knew that the Wem adults had closed their ears to the off-worlders, but there was no way that they could stop listening to their own children.

The news about Creethar’s return would be all over the mine by nightfall.

“Well done,” said Prilicla, making a graceful, banking turn so that it again faced the ship. “But now you have a lot more talking to do. Let us return to our patient.”

It was almost as if Creethar had become Gurronsevas’s patient. They were left alone on the casualty deck for long periods while the medical team stayed in their quarters or on Rhabwar’s tiny dining and recreation deck. He knew that Williamson on Tremaar was recording everything that was said, but the other Captain’s comments or criticisms were withheld so that he could talk to the patient without distractions.