“Correct, sir,” said the Hudlar promptly. “The occasional bad taste is, or would be, a reminder of home and normality.”
Gurronsevas thought for a moment, then said, “I well understand the concept of combining sweet with sour, or the astringent with the bland to improve the taste sensation. But frankly, I do not think the Hospital would allow me to introduce toxic material deliberately into a species’ menu, especially if it would quickly render the remainder of the food supply inedible.”
The Hudlar had no features to reflect its feelings, but the hard muscles supporting its speaking membrane had begun to sag. Gurronsevas went on, “However, I am willing to look at the problem. How can I obtain samples of this mildly toxic material? Must you send to Hudlar for it?”
“No, sir,” said the intern quickly, its speaking membrane once again stretched stiffly in excitement. “A large volume of Hudlar atmosphere came aboard the freighter while it was loading on the home world. There is a pocket of it on the recreation deck. It will be pretty stale by now, but the non-edible material you need will be present in quantity. And if you would be interested in a tour of the ship while you gathered specimens, I would be pleased to arrange it.”
Gurronsevas was remembering the Hudlar medic’s childhood friend who was in female mode somewhere within the freighter. He thought, I’m sure you would.
CHAPTER 10
The Hudlar medic needed magnetic wrist pads, a sealed air-bag communicator to enclose its speaking membrane, but no other environmental protection of any kind, so that it dressed very quickly and was ready long before Gurronsevas; but, being a Hudlar, there was no other way for its eagerness to show.
As soon as Gurronsevas had learned of the arrival of a Hudlar freighter at Bay Twelve, he had decided to spend some time studying the unloading operation. It was a matter of professional curiosity. He wanted to observe and if necessary question all aspects of the hospital’s food supply, storage, distribution and processing systems even though, as the Chief Dietitian with a specialist catering staff, he might never have need of the information. But he had followed this rule on taking up all new appointments and he had no wish to change the habit of a lifetime.
A few minutes later they were emerging into the temporary vacuum of the vast unloading dock, accompanied by repeated warnings not to get in the cargo-handlers’ way or between the tractor-beam projectors and the incoming containers that were being moved and stacked with seemingly reckless speed. With the Hudlar taking the lead and staying close to the floor plating, and as they were about to enter the lock itself, an impatient voice on Gurronsevas communicator ordered a three-minute hold on unloading operations to allow two members of the hospital staff to traverse the lock in the wrong direction. The voice, whose species of origin was unknown, sounded authoritative but impatient.
Another Hudlar detached itself from the cargo-handling team and joined them. It was polite and friendly, and became even more so when the intern explained Gurronsevas’ position at Sector General and his professional interest in improving the quality of Hudlar tanked food. There were no objections to two members of the hospital staff touring the ship, it said, provided one of the crew accompanied them. It immediately volunteered itself for the duty and led the way towards the nearby personnel lock.
Like Chalder Patient One-Thirteen, Hudlars did not give or use their names in the presence of anyone who was not a member of the family or a close friend, and this one had not even revealed its rank, duties or identity number so that Gurronsevas did not know what it was. Judging by its assured manner of speech while it was discussing the mechanics of its race’s food ingestion, it was possible that the other was the ship’s medical officer.
Whether or not it was the friend in female mode that the intern had come to visit was also unknown. Hudlars were said to be very undemonstrative beings, at least in public.
“Is the gravity setting and external pressure comfortable for you?” asked the second Hudlar as they moved into the crew quarters. It was looking at Gurronsevas’s protective envelope, whose flexible sections were pressed tightly against his body. Hudlars could live and work for long periods in airless and weightless conditions, but whenever possible they preferred the home comforts of high pressure and heavy gravity.
“Quite comfortable,” Gurronsevas replied. “In fact, these conditions more closely approximate those on my home planet than the standard Earth-G maintained in the hospital. But I shall not unseal my suit, if you don’t mind. Your air is rich enough in oxygen not to be lethal, but there are other constituents, some of them still appear to be alive, which might cause me respiratory distress.”
“We do not mind,” said the second Hudlar. “And you will find more of those constituents on the recreation deck, which is the best place to withdraw your non-edible samples. Is there anywhere else you would like to visit?”
“Everywhere,” said Gurronsevas. “But especially the dining area and kitchens.”
“You do not surprise me, Chief Dietitian,” said the Hudlar, making an untranslatable sound. “Are you familiar with the layout of these vessels?”
“Only as a passenger,” he replied.
“As a passenger,” the second Hudlar went on, “you will already know that the majority of the Federation’s starships are built by Nidia, Earth and your heavy-gravity Traltha because those three cultures produce the most dependable vessels. Even though the control systems, life-support and crew accommodation are built to suit the user species, Tralthan ships are the most favored by both the commercial operators and the Monitor Corps itself …”
“Who say,” Gurronsevas joined in proudly, “that even the Tralthan earth-moving machinery is put together by watchmakers.”
The Hudlar paused for a moment, then it said, “Correct. But I have no wish to give offense by presuming a low level of general knowledge. Only to say that this is a robust ship, built to Hudlar specifications on Traltha, so you can relax and throw your not inconsiderable weight around safe in the knowledge that our equipment and fittings are not susceptible to accidental damage.”
“No offense was taken,” said Gurronsevas. Appreciatively he stamped his six heavy feet in turn with a force that would have seriously dented Sector General’s flooring. “Thank you.”
As he followed them towards the control deck, he thought that the lighting was a little dimmer than that of his native Traltha, and made worse by some kind of colloidal suspension in the air that formed a grey film on his visor which he had to wipe clean every few minutes. Apparently the two Hudlars were not troubled by it.
Gurronsevas showed a polite interest in the equipment and displays on the control deck, but lingered at the screen which showed the unloading operation as viewed from the freighter. The Hudlar crew-member explained that the food material for the synthesizers in the warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing section, which was not susceptible to damage or chemical change through rough handling, was the first to be off-loaded. The Illensan material and their own tanks of compressed Hudlar nutrient required more handling before transfer to their respective storage facilities by the hands and gravity floats of specialist cargo teams, rather than being thrown about by tractor beam operators. The internal transfer teams, who operated without spacesuits, would join the other handlers as soon as the freighter’s hold and the airless loading bay were returned to normal atmospheric pressure. This was happening as they watched, but given the size of the combined volume of the receiving dock and freight hold, the process was necessarily a slow one, and so would leave just enough time for the less fragile stores to be unloaded.