by James White
“Thank you, yes,” he replied, directing all of his eyes towards Prilicla. “But it is neither a medical nor a culinary matter. I would like to know how much time I have to work on the problem? The present friendly situation at the mine could change as soon as the hunting party returns. When will they arrive?”
“That knowledge will be useful to us, too,” said the Senior Physician. “Friend Fletcher?”
“There is a small problem, Doctor,” said the Captain’s voice from the wall speaker. “Tremaar has been concentrating its surveillance within a circle of fifty miles radius of the mine and has seen nothing of the hunting party. Beyond that circle the surface is uneven and wooded, giving large areas of natural cover so that the observations are less than trustworthy. Other settllements are under observation, but the closest is sited on the edge of a mountain lake just over three hundred miles away. Because of the Wem aversion to sunlight, Tremaar thinks they may be traveling at night and resting out of sight by day. Either way, they are not carrying the type of portable equipment with a radiation signature that would reveal their presence to orbiting sensors.
“But I can put up our unmanned casualty search vehicle,” Fletcher went on. “That baby will detect any sign of life even if it is close to extinction. It uses a low-level spiral search pattern and, unless the whole hunting party is dead, you will have their number, rate of travel, and estimated time of arrival within a day or so, depending on how far away they are just now.”
“Do that at once, please,” said Prilicla. It flew closer to him before saying, “I can feel your satisfaction, friend Gurronsevas, but we are far from satisfied with our own progress. We are a small and uniquely-equipped medical team, too small to cure the ills of an entire planet …”
“We are also nothing,” said Naydrad, looking around from the food dispenser, “if not modest.”“… Although we should be able to solve the problems of one small, isolated community. Our contact is not going well. Your conversations with Remrath clarified the reasons for the shame it felt as an adult over being forced to eat young food, but still Tawsar is reluctant to give information in several areas important to full understanding. Progress is being made only in the Wem kitchen on the common ground of cookery. Surely, Chief Dietitian, this must be a first in the annals of First Contact procedures.”
Gurronsevas did not reply. He was pleased by both the unexpected compliment and the use of his title in conjunction with it, and he knew that the other was aware of his pleasure.
“We overheard Remrath’s invitation to you,” said Prilicla. “What are your plans?”
“I would like to return at the same time tomorrow,” Gurronsevas replied. “By then the edible vegetation specimens will be analyzed and identified and I will know enough to make a few dietary experiments while talking to Remrath and helping in the kitchen. But there is no need for physical protection. I feel very comfortable working over there.”
He did not add that he felt more at home in Remrath’s steaming and smoking and altogether primitive kitchen than he did among the shining, aseptic medical technology of the casualty deck.
“I am aware of your feelings, friend Gurronsevas,” said the empath gently. “But I would feel happier if Danalta accompanied you. As well as being able to assist you directly it will be available in case of a medical emergency. According to the statisticians, the kitchen is the second most likely room in which accidents are likely to occur.”
“Especially,” said Naydrad, “the kitchen of a bunch of cannibals.”
“As you wish, Doctor,” said Gurronsevas, ignoring the charge nurse. “Am I allowed to return Remrath’s hospitality by inviting it here?”
“Of course,” Prilicla replied, “but be careful. The same invitation was extended to Tawsar, who refused it vehemently. Its emotional radiation at the time was complex and intense and even unfriendly. Remrath might feel and react in the same fashion.
“That is why,” it went on, “we must discuss the whole Wemar situation with you, the facts we know and our speculations based on them, before you speak to Remrath again. Because of their unidentified feelings of antipathy or distrust towards us, you are maintaining our most promising communications channel with the Wem. It must not be closed accidentally because we have not provided you with all the available information.”
He was a cook, Gurronsevas thought, and neither a medic nor an other-species contact specialist. But now they seemed to be treating him as all three. His feelings about that were oddly pleasant and not a little fearful.
“We will continue to monitor and record your conversations in the mine or while you are with Remrath outside it,” Prilicla went on reassuringly, “but we no longer think it necessary to distract you with unnecessary advice, and should there be an emergency we will react quickly; our silence will not mean that we have forgotten you. Personal security procedures will be included in your Wem briefing.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Do not feel worried, friend Gurronsevas,” said the empath, “either for your safety or your ability to do the job. You have done and will do well. But I find it strange that a specialist of your eminence has not complained, nor have you felt any but the most minor and temporary emotional distress about the menial work you are doing here. On Wemar they are not treating you with the respect that is your due.”
“On Wemar,” said Gurronsevas, “I have yet to earn their respect.”
CHAPTER 25
Fletcher’s low-altitude sensor vehicle discovered and sent back pictures of a party of adult Wem, forty-three in number, who were headed towards the mine but still distant by an estimated nine days’ march. They were walking rather than hopping because four of them were carrying a fifth on a litter made from thin, straight branches stripped of their twigs. Two small animals of about one-fifth the body mass of the Wem were each being dragged and driven between a pair of hunters who had them double-roped at the neck. Apart from the sick or injured one on the litter, all of the Wem wore packs which sagged loosely against their backs. Plainly the hunt had not been a successful one.
It had been left to Gurronsevas’s discretion whether or when to show the pictures to Remrath. The news of the arrival of the hunting party might have an unsettling effect on his steadily improving relations with Remrath. Since their trip together in the valley, the Chief Cook had never been short of words, especially, as now, when they were words of criticism.
“This is completely ridiculous and childish,” said the Wem impatiently. “Gurronsevas, how often must I tell you that eating vegetation is a practice forced on us by near-starvation and not by choice. Cold or hot, raw or stewed, whatever form they take, they are still vegetables. You make them look nice on the platter, I admit, but youngsters find it easier to make designs by pushing colored stones and pieces of wood around on their desktops than by making a soggy mess with bits of raw vegetation on their platters. What is it? Surely you don’t expect anyone to actually eat this stuff?”
“It is a salad,” he replied patiently in an attempt to counter the other’s impatience. “If you will observe it closely you will find that it is composed of small amounts of familiar Wem vegetation, diced, sliced and shredded into unfamiliar forms, covered lightly with a dressing comprised of your vrie seeds crushed and mixed with the juice of unripe moss berries to give it the necessary tang, and arranged into a visually interesting design. The crill bud can also be eaten if desired, and they will be fully opened by the time the meal is served, but their purpose is chiefly decorative as well as aroma-enhancing. I have already explained that the attraction of this dish, and of the other two dishes on the tray, lie in their visual and olfactory presentation as well as in the taste.
“Please try the salad,” Gurronsevas went on. “I have eaten of all three dishes without harm to myself and, in spite of the ingredients being strange to me, I have found some of them to be quite pleasant.”
That was not entirely true, he thought. During the early experimentation with Wem vegetati
on the pleasure had been preceded by much digestive displeasure. But, he reminded himself, a great deal of trouble had been caused throughout every world’s history by people who insisted on telling too much of the truth.
“Taste them and see,” he added.
“I do not understand why there have to be three separate dishes,” said Remrath. “Why not mix them all together?”
The mere idea sent a small, unnoticed shiver of revulsion through Gurronsevas’ massive body. He had already answered that question earlier and suspected that Remrath was simply fighting a delaying action which, as a fellow cook, it could not hope to win. Perhaps he should answer it again, and this time leave no doubt in the other’s mind about his meaning.
“Among all of the intelligent species known to me,” said Gurronsevas, “the practice is to prepare and serve meals comprising a number of separate and contrasting or complementary dishes, or courses. This is because they consider eating as a pleasure of the taste sensors that can at times be subtle and long-delayed and at other times sharp and intense. The ingredients of the individual dishes are chosen to perform a similar function on a smaller scale within a single course.
“A meal can consist of many different courses,” he went on enthusiastically, “five, eleven, or even more, so that the event can last for hours. With the larger and more complex meals, which often have the secondary political and psychological function of impressing the guests with their host’s or its organization’s or tribe’s wealth, the diner is not expected to eat everything that is set before it; and great gastronomic discomfort would ensue should it try. Personally, I am not in favor of such over-large and wasteful meals, favoring as I do quality rather than quantity. Nevertheless, each and every course is meticulously prepared and served with the proper accompanying—”
“Off-worlders waste so much of their lives eating,” Remrath broke in, “how did you find the time to build starships and carts that float on air and your other technical marvels?”
“We use these things without needing to understand them,” Gurronsevas replied. “They are built to save time, not waste it, so that we can have more of it to enjoy the lasting pleasures of life, like eating.”
Remrath’s reply did not translate.
“There are other pleasures,” Gurronsevas admitted, “especially those associated with procreation. But these cannot be indulged in continually, or with great frequency, without incurring severe debilitation or some other health penalty. The same applies to the exciting or dangerous activities of, say, mountain-climbing, sea-diving or flying in unpowered aircraft. The principal excitement of those occupations is that the entity concerned is pitting daring and skill against what can often become a life-threatening situation. The mental and physical coordination required for these activities deteriorates with age, but with age the ability to appreciate the pleasures of good food and drink increases with practice. And they are pleasures which can be repeatedly indulged to satiety and which, when the proper foods are ingested regularly and in the correct amounts, can significantly extend your life.”
Remrath said quietly, “Eating this stuff, eating raw vegetables, will keep my body young and fresh?”
“If they are eaten from an early age and throughout maturity,” Gurronsevas replied, “they will keep you younger and fresher for a much longer time. Especially if you learn to eat vegetation exclusively, as I prefer to do. Our own healers agree on this, and I have personal experience of cooking for aging beings where such was the case. But I must be truthful. Changing your eating habits would not mean that your people would live forever.”
Remrath returned its attention to the tray Gurronsevas had prepared with such care, then said sourly, “If they have to eat this stuff, they would not want to.”
Gurronsevas thought that he had received more professional insults since coming to Wemar than in all of his past life. He indicated the tray and returned firmly to his subject.
“As I was saying,” he said, “a meal normally consists of three courses. The first, which I have already described, is a small, fresh-tasting starter designed merely to sharpen rather than blunt the appetite.
“It is followed by the main course,” he continued, “which is more nutritious and varied regarding its ingredients and, as you can see, much more bulky. Here again the visual presentation is important and you will recognize most of the vegetables, although you are not used to seeing some of them in this under-cooked form. This was done so that each variety could be placed separately on the platter, which adds to the visual effect as well as allowing the vegetables to retain their individual tastes, which would otherwise be diluted or lost if they were to be mixed together in a stew. As in your stew, the principal vegetable used is the orrogne. It is, if you will excuse me saying so, a particularly bland and tasteless vegetable which I have sliced and dry-cooked, we call it roasting, after brushing on a little oil of crushed glunce berries, which you do not appear to consider a food, to avoid charring. The orrogne taste remains the same, but with the surfaces crisped and covered by a film of oil, I think you will find it more interesting to eat …”
“It has an interesting smell,” said Remrath, inhaling loudly through its nose and bending over the tray.“… Especially,” Gurronsevas went on, “in conjunction with the dark red jelly, which was also made from local — no, don’t eat it directly with a spoon. Use your food spike, select a portion of vegetable and touch it lightly against the jelly. It is similar to Kelgian sarkun, or strong Earth mustard, and is very hot on the tongue—”
“Hot!” Remrath burst out, grabbing for one of the two beakers on the tray and emptying it quickly before saying, “Great Gorel, it set my whole mouth on fire! But, but what have you done to our water?”
“I may have miscalculated the level of sensitivity of the Wem palate,” Gurronsevas said apologetically, “or I will need to reduce the proportion of powdered cressle root or, as with any new ingredient, the jelly may be an acquired taste. The liquids in the beakers have each been flavored with the juice of two different berries, one bitter-tasting and the other slightly sweeter and aromatic. Your names for them are unknown to me because you do not use them in the kitchen, but the healers on the ship say that they are harmless to the Wem.”
Remrath did not reply. It had speared another slice of roasted orrogne on its eating spike and was touching it carefully to the jelly. Its other hand was holding the beaker close to its mouth as if in readiness to extinguish another fire.
“Your mountain spring water is cold and fresh and makes a fine liquid accompaniment to a meal,” said Gurronsevas, “but by the time the water is being drunk it has become tepid and uninteresting. The flavoring is an attempt to give it an appeal that is not dependent solely on its low temperature and, hopefully, to stimulate the taste sensors to a greater appreciation of the accompanying food. On many other worlds the preferred accompaniment is wine, which is a liquid containing varying proportions of a chemical called alcohol that is produced by fermentation of certain species of vegetation. There are many different wines that can be chosen to complement and enhance the taste of the meal or the course that is being consumed, but on Wemar I have encountered problems where the production of alcohol is concerned and have been forced to give up the attempt.”
There were several native plants whose fermentation would have produced alcohol, but the problem had been philosophical rather than physical. So far as the medical team knew, the use of alcohol as a beverage was unknown on Wemar and they did not want the responsibility of introducing it. Pathologist Murchison had been particularly vehement in its objections, citing the case of an early Earth-human sub-culture of the Amerindians that had been virtually destroyed through overindulgence because they had no prior experience of its mind-deadening and mood-changing effects. Prilicla had gently agreed that in their present situation the Wem had problems enough.
“The third course,” Gurronsevas resumed, “we call the dessert, or the sweet. Again it is a small dish, a pleasant farewel
l to a stomach that is almost filled to repletion. This one is made from chopped cretto stalks, heated until the water has boiled away to leave it with the consistency of a thick, smooth, and tasteless paste, under which there are hiding a few stoned den berries, diced matto and a few other items which I will not name as yet. Please try it. It will not burn your tongue but I think it may surprise you.”
“Wait,” said Remrath. It had put down the beaker and was gently applying its fifth slice of orrogne to the jelly. “I haven’t decided how much I dislike this one yet.”
“In your own time,” said Gurronsevas, and went on, “Instead of a cold salad, the starter dish can be a hot soup. In consistency this is something between a flavored drink and a very thin stew, contains small amounts of vegetation to which are added very small quantities of your herbs and spices to vary the taste. I am still experimenting with combinations that show promising results, but I would not want you to taste the result of an unsuccessful experiment.
“You do not seem to be aware of the many edible herbs and spices growing in your valley,” he continued, “the majority of which our healers have pronounced safe and even beneficial for the Wem, and myself. Regrettably, there are subtle differences in taste sensitivity and appreciation between the Wem and Tralthan species, and it is important that these differences be reconciled so that I can make further suggestions.”
Remrath laid down its eating spike and dipped its spoon cautiously into the dessert. The platter containing the main course, whose portions were rather small, was more than half empty.
“You have said that the mine grows very cold at night,” Gurronsevas went on, “and damp when heavy rain enters the ventilation shafts. The young Wem are not inconvenienced by this, but the teachers are. One of my suggestions is that, when your fuel reserves permit it, the teachers heat the water served with the evening meal so that they will feel warmer when they cover themselves for the night. Better still, if they were to take a thick, highly-spiced soup before retiring, one that is hot in taste as well as temperature, they would find it more comforting than shivering under their blankets until their own body heat slowly warmed them.
