There were beings terrifying in their obvious physical strength, others so horrifying and repugnant that they belonged in the realms of nightmare, and one, a large, insectile creature with three sets of beautiful iridescent wings, had a body so fragile that the sight of it among the others aroused immediate feelings of concern. There were very few vacant spaces at any of the tables.
It was obvious that space was at a premium in Sector General and, whenever it was physiologically possible, the beings who worked together were expected to dine together — although not, Gurronsevas sincerely hoped, on the same food.
He was wondering if it was possible to prepare a meal that every warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing species would find instantly palatable, and thinking that that would be the ultimate challenge for the Great Gurronsevas, when he was struck two soft double-blows from behind.
“Don’t block the entrance, stupid!” said a silver-furred Kelgian in the unmannerly manner of its race as it pushed past him. On his other flank its companion added, “Stand dreaming there much longer and you’ll starve to death.”
As he moved further into the hall, Gurronsevas realized suddenly that he felt hungry, but even stronger was his feeling of curiosity regarding the beautiful, outsized insect life-form hovering and eating above a nearby table that was furnished for Melfan ELNTs. Beside and below it there was a vacant place.
It was indeed an insect, he saw as he came up to its table, an enormous, incredibly fragile flying insect that was tiny in comparison with most of the other beings in the hall. From its tubular exo-skeletal body there projected six pencil-thin legs, four even more delicately formed manipulators, and three sets of wide, iridescent wings that were beating slowly as it hovered a short distance above the table as it wove a long, stringy substance (which Gurronsevas immediately recognized as Earth spaghetti) into a cable before conveying it delicately to its mouth.
At close range, he thought, the delicate creature was even more beautiful. For a moment its hovering flight became less stable and a series of trills and clicks issued from an unidentified body orifice like a musical backing to the translated words.
“Why thank you, friend,” it said. “I am Prilicla. You must be Gurronsevas.”
“You must be telepathic,” said Gurronsevas in surprise.
“No, friend Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla, “I am a Cinrusskin. Our race possesses a faculty which enables us to sense emotional radiation, but it is empathy rather than telepathy. You were radiating feelings characteristic of a mind that is undergoing a completely new experience, but with the unease which usually accompanies such feelings overlaid by intense curiosity. Other trace emotions are present which support the principal indications. These combined with the foreknowledge that a Tralthan was expected to arrive shortly to take charge of Dietetics enabled me to make no more than an accurate guess.”
“I am nevertheless impressed,” said Gurronsevas. The warmth and friendliness emanating from the little being was almost palpable. “May I join you?”
“Stranger, you are too damned polite,” a large Orligian from the other side of the vacant place broke in loudly. It was elderly, its bristling grey fur concealed most of the straps of its equipment harness, and it was seated not very comfortably on the edge of the table’s Melfan support cradle, all of which may have contributed to its own lack of politeness. “I am Yaroch-Kar. Just grab the seat before somebody else does. In this place you’ll find that the polite people are always badly undernourished.”
Further along the table an Earth-human made the sound Gurronsevas had learned to identify as laughter, and in a softer voice the Orligian went on. “The mechanism for food selection and delivery is standard. Just key in your physiological classification and the menu display will list the food available. We have a lot of Tralthans here so there is a good selection, even though the quality and taste are matters for argument.”
Gurronsevas did not reply. He was modifying his earlier opinion regarding this impolite Orligian. The being had tried to be helpful. It was still trying.
“With newcomers like yourself,” it went on, “it sometimes happens that the meals being consumed by your fellow diners, perhaps even the diners themselves, are visually distressing to the point where the appetite is affected. If such is the case with you, just keep one eye on your platter and close the others. Nobody here will be offended. And if you really are the person who is to be responsible for the quality, or lack of it, of hospital catering, life would be easier for you if you kept that knowledge to yourself for as long as possible.”
“My deepest thanks for the information and good advice,” said Gurronsevas. “Regrettably, I may not be able to take all of it.”
“You are being too polite again,” said the Orligian, and returned its attention to its platter.
As he moved closer to the table, being careful to straddle and not risk deforming the Melfan chair by allowing his underside to rest on it, the trilling, clicking speech of Prilicla came again.
“I feel your hunger as well as your curiosity about my method of eating,” it said, “so please assuage one while I satisfy the other …”
Prilicla might not be telepathic, Gurronsevas thought as he keyed in his choice, but with an empathic faculty of such sensitivity the difference was negligible.
“… I find that eating while in flight aids the digestion,” it went on, answering the first unasked question, “and, should it be too hot for fast consumption, the wing downdraft helps cool the soup of my Earth-human friends. The stringy material that I am weaving and eating is, of course, the Earth staple called spaghetti, which is very popular with the DBDGs on the maintenance staff. It is produced synthetically, as you know, and has a bland taste that is offset by a sauce which, when present in too large a quantity, sometimes splashes my features or those persons seated too close to me. Is there anything else you would like to know, friend Gurronsevas?”
“Professionally, I find this most interesting,” he said, forgetting in his excitement to use the mouth not engaged in eating. “Do you eat any other varieties of non-Cinrusskin food? Or do you know of anyone else in the hospital who eats other-species food? Is there anyone at this table who does?”
Yaroch-Kar put down its eating tools and said, “Diagnosticians do it sometimes, when they have a particularly strong other-species Educator tape riding them and they aren’t sure who they are. Apart from that a few have done it as a dare, or for a covert departmental initiation. I mean, imagine an Orligian like me eating, say, a helping of Melfan greeps and having to chase them around the bowl. I, personally, am very glad the practice isn’t widespread.”
Gurronsevas could not believe what he was hearing. “You mean live food is served here?”
“I exaggerate, but only a little,” said Yaroch-Kar. “The greep dish is mobile rather than alive; otherwise it is the same near-tasteless synthesized stodge we all eat. The material is treated with nontoxic chemicals which allow each piece of food to be given a small electrical charge. Half of them are charged positively and the other half negatively, then the pieces are mixed just inside the serving outlet. For the few moments before the charges neutralize each other, the effect is visually realistic and quite disgusting.”