“One of the ingredients in the fryelli sauce does not occur naturally on your home world,” he went on, “but Pathology assures me that it is metabolically harmless to you. Its appeal lies in the appetite-enhancing effect of the odor and appearance. The sauce itself is tasteless, but you will have difficulty in believing that anything that looks and smells so pleasant to you does not also taste good.
“Where the gree is concerned,” he continued, “the changes are minor and for the most part visual. The surface of the translucent yursil jelly contains small, irregular convolutions which, when the diner is leaning forward to eat or talk, make it appear that the embedded synthetic gree beetles are in motion and therefore still alive. The weight of visible evidence overwhelms the diner’s taste sensors so that—”
“No doubt it looks and tastes wonderful,” Hredlichli broke in. “But what happened to the sample?”
Choosing his words carefully, Gurronsevas said, “Because it was due shortly to go into production, I sent it to you by way of Food Technician Liresschi for synthesis scanning and additional taste evaluation. Liresschi gave the sample full approval, but said that there were subtleties of taste that required repeated sampling before it was entirely satisfied. Regrettably, there was insufficient sample remaining for it to be worth passing on to you. But I shall be pleased to send you another—”
“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.”
CHAPTER 9
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.