The Galactic Gourmet

CHAPTER 2

The inner office of the Chief Psychologist was larger than the outer one, Gurronsevas saw, and if anything it resembled a well-appointed torture chamber from his native Traltha’s pre-civilized past. Ranged around the walls and encroaching towards the center of the floor, and in two cases hanging from the ceiling, was a weird and wonderful assortment of furniture that was designed to enable the different species with business in the office to sit, lie, curl up, or hang at ease. As a member of a species who preferred to work, eat, sleep and do everything else standing on its six feet (except on occasions when eye-level other-species social intercourse was necessary), Gurronsevas found these office accessories of marginal interest. That was why he moved without hesitation to stand in the clear area of floor before the rotatable desk console at which sat this entity of indeterminate authority, O’Mara.

Gurronsevas directed all of his eyes towards O’Mara but remained silent. The Major knew who he was so it was unnecessary to introduce himself, and he wanted it to be established from the beginning, at the risk of committing a minor act of insubordination or impoliteness, that he was a person of strong will who would not be forced into making unnecessary conversation.

The Major appeared to be old (as Earth-humans counted their years), although the head-fur and hairy crescents shading its eyes were grey rather than white. Its facial features and the two hands resting on top of the desk remained motionless while it was returning his gaze. The silence lengthened until suddenly it nodded its head. When it spoke it did not use either his name or its own.

There had been a brief and silent contest of wills, but Gurronsevas was not sure who had won it.

“I must begin by welcoming you to Sector General,” said O’Mara, and not once did he allow the flaps of skin that protected and lubricated its eyes to drop. “We both realize that these words are nothing more than a polite formality because your presence here was not requested by the hospital, nor is it as the result of unusually high medical or technical aptitude. You are here because someone in Federation Medical Administration had a rush of brains to the head and sent you, leaving us to discover whether or not the idea is viable. Is that a fair summation of the situation?”

“No,” said Gurronsevas. “I was not sent, I volunteered.”

“A technicality,” said O’Mara, “and possibly an aberration on your part. Why did you want to come here? And please don’t repeat the material in your original submission. It is long, detailed, most impressive, and probably accurate; but very often the facts contained in documents of this kind are shaded in favor of the applicant. Not that I am suggesting that deliberate falsification has taken place, just that an element of fiction is present. You have no previous hospital experience?”

“You know I haven’t,” Gurronsevas replied, resisting an urge to stamp his feet in irritation. “I do not consider that a bar to the performance of my duties.”

O’Mara nodded. “But tell me, in as few words as possible: did you want to work here?”

“I do not work,” said Gurronsevas, raising and lowering two of his feet with enough force to make the floor-mounted furniture in the room vibrate. “I am neither an artisan nor a technician. I am an artist.”

“Please forgive me,” said O’Mara in a voice which seemed to be totally devoid of contrition. “Why have you decided to favor this particular hospital with your artistry?”

“Because it represents a challenge to me,” he replied fiercely. “Perhaps the ultimate challenge, because Sector General is the biggest and best. That is not a clumsy attempt at flattering you or your hospital; it is a widely-known fact.”

O’Mara inclined its head slightly and said, “It is a fact known to each and every member of the hospital staff. And I’m pleased that you have not tried to use flattery on me, clumsy or otherwise, because it doesn’t work. Neither can I conceive of any circumstances where I would use it on another entity — although I have been known, on a very few occasions, to stoop to politeness. Do we understand each other? — And this time you may take a few more words to answer the questions,” it went on before Gurronsevas could reply. “What is there about this medical madhouse that attracted you, why did you decide to come, and what kind of influence do you have that you were able to swing it? Were you unhappy with your previous establishment or superiors, or they with you?”

“Of course not!” said Gurronsevas. “It was the Cromingan-Shesk in Retlin on Nidia, the largest and most highly-acclaimed multi-species hotel and restaurant in the Federation. They treated me very well there, and had that not been so there were several other establishments that vied with each other to obtain my services. I was quite happy there until about a year ago, when I spoke with the Monitor Corps ranking officer on Nidia Base, Fleet Commander Roonardth, a Kelgian.”

Gurronsevas paused, remembering the ridiculously short and simple conversation that had brought his former life of contentment and boredom to an end.

“Go on,” said O’Mara quietly.

“Roonardth wished to compliment me in person,” Gurronsevas went on, “and it was a personage of sufficient importance for me to be called to its table so that it could do so. Kelgians are, as you know, very forthright beings who are psychologically incapable of lying or even of being polite. During the conversation that ensued it said that it had just consumed the finest meal of Crelletin vine-shoots in its life, rendered even more enjoyable because of its recent stay in Sector General where it had been taken after an unspecified but clearly life-threatening accident in space. Roonardth had no complaints about the medical services, but said that when it criticized the meals being served, it was told by an Earth-human DBDG nurse of a conspiracy aimed at poisoning long-stay patients whose convalescence was overlong, but that it was nevertheless fortunate in that it did not have to eat in the staff dining hall.

“The Fleet Commander said that no doubt the remark was an example of what Earth-humans called humor,” he went on, “but it also suggested that if someone like Gurronsevas (if there were anyone else like Gurronsevas) were to take charge of Sector General’s commissariat, then patient recuperation and staff morale would be greatly enhanced. It was a high compliment that gave me much pleasure. But later I began thinking about it and feeling dissatisfied with a style of life which, I realized, had become pointless and boring. When Roonardth next came in to dine, I excelled myself so as to have the opportunity of speaking to it again, and I asked if the Fleet Commander’s earlier suggestion had been a serious one.

“It was,” Gurronsevas ended, “and Roonardth had the rank and sufficient influence with the department responsible for maintaining the hospital to have me sent, after a wait of a year, to Sector General.”

“Yes,” said O’Mara. “Roonardth carried enough clout. I assume that you spent the waiting time familiarizing yourself with the layout and organization of the hospital? And, like any eager little newcomer, you are anxious to make a good impression on everyone as quickly as possible, and have already made plans to that effect?”

Gurronsevas’ first thought was to point out to the diminutive Earth-human that, possessing as he did more than five times the other’s body mass, he could scarcely be described as ‘little.’ Then he decided that O’Mara must have used the word deliberately in an attempt to unsettle him, and answered simply, “Yes.”

The Major regarded him in silence for a moment, then it nodded and briefly showed its teeth. “In that case, what are your immediate intentions?”

“As soon as possible,” said Gurronsevas, trying to control his enthusiasm, “I shall call a meeting of all hospital food technicians and associated medical personnel, with the purpose of introducing myself to those few who may not already know of of me by reputation …”

O’Mara was holding up one hand. It said, “All food technicians? Even the chlorine-breathers, and the ultra-low temperature and other exotic life-forms?”

“Of course,” Gurronsevas replied. “But I would not make any major changes in the exotics’ diets …”

“Thank God for that,” said O’Mara.

“… Without first making a careful study of the probable effects and obtaining the medical and technical advice of those with prior experience. But in time I intend to increase the present range of my culinary expertise, extensive though it already is, to include the dietary requirements of species other than the warm-blooded oxygen-breathers. I am now, after all, the hospital’s Chief Dietitian.”

O’Mara was moving its head from side to side in a gesture, Gurronsevas had learned, that indicated non-verbal negation. Impatiently he wondered what objection this unpleasant entity had to him doing his job.

“I’ll tell you exactly what you are,” said O’Mara, “and what you will do. You are a potentially dangerous contradiction. As a newcomer to the hospital without prior technical or medical training you should be classified as a trainee. Instead you have arrived as the head of a department whose ramifications are completely unknown to you. Two points in your favor are that you are aware of your ignorance; and, unlike our trainees, you have wide experience of other-species social contact. Nevertheless, you will soon be faced with and have to adapt to physiological types not normally found in the dining rooms of the ultra-exclusive Hotel Cromingan-Shesk. Since you appear to have a high opinion of your own importance and I, on rare occasions, am capable of exercising tact, I have avoided using the words will or must do, even though they are more appropriate in this case. No, don’t interrupt.

“While you are learning the ropes,” O’Mara continued, “please remember that, in spite of the influence you may have with the high-ranking gourmets of the Monitor Corps, you are here on probation, the period of which can be shortened in three ways. One, you may find the work too much for you and decide to resign. Two, I decide that the work is too much for you and kick you out. Three, and this is an improbability that comes within the category of wish-fulfillment, you display such a high level of aptitude that we are forced to confirm your position and request that you stay.

“Before you do or plan anything,” it went on, “familiarize yourself with the hospital. Take all the time you need — within reason — to settle in. Before making any dietary changes have them vetted by the Diagnostician-in-Charge of the relevant department for possibly harmful medical effects. Should you encounter any psychological problems of your own I will, of course, try to assist you — provided you can satisfy me that you are not able to solve them yourself. If you have any other problems or questions while settling in, call on Lieutenant Timmins for help. You will find, if you have not already done so, that he is a polite and helpful person and one of the few people in this place who, unlike myself, seem able to suffer fools gladly.

“When I have more time to spare,” it continued, “we will discuss the boring administrative details. Your salary, entitlement to paid leave and reduced transportation charges to your home world or chosen place of vacation, and supplies of free protective clothing and equipment. With or without the clothing you should wear a trainee’s arm- or leg-band so that—”

“Enough!” said Gurronsevas loudly, making no attempt to hide his feeling of outrage. “I require no salary. By the exercise of my unique talents I have already amassed more wealth than I could hope to spend during the rest of my life, no matter how profligate I should become. And I remind you again that I am a specialist renowned throughout the Federation and not a trainee, so I shall wear no trainee’s badge or—”

“As you wish,” said O’Mara quietly. “Is there anything else you wish to say to me? No? Then I expect you have other things to do less wasteful of your time and mine.”

The Chief Psychologist glanced pointedly at its wrist chronometer, then tapped briefly on its console. When its communicator lit up it said quietly, “Braithwaite, I will see Senior Physician Cresk-Sar now.”

Gurronsevas returned to the outer office seething with anger and making no attempt to place his feet quietly on the floor. The Nidian Senior waiting to see O’Mara took hasty evasive action while all the eyes of the department’s staff remained firmly on their work displays, even though small items of equipment resting on the console desks were vibrating noisily with every foot-fall. He stopped only when he reached the waiting Timmins.

“That is a most infuriating entity,” he said angrily. “As a Healer of the Mind it is incredibly lacking in sympathy or sensitivity, and, although I am not in that profession, I would say that it causes more psychological distress than it cures.”

Timmins was shaking its head slowly. It said, “You are quite wrong, sir. The Major is fond of saying that his job here is to shrink heads, not swell them. If the meaning of that particular Earth-human phrase is unclear to you I will explain it later. He is a very good psychologist, the best that any mentally distressed or traumatized entity could wish for, but he also likes to project the image of a thoroughly nasty and sarcastic person to those friends and colleagues about whom he has no cause for professional concern. If he were ever to show you sympathy and concern, and to act towards you as a patient rather than a colleague, you would be in real trouble.”

“I–I’m not sure that I understand,” said Gurronsevas.

“In fact, sir,” said the Lieutenant, smiling again, “you showed commendable restraint. The inner office is supposed to be soundproofed and we heard your voice raised only once. Many of the others try to slam the door on the way out.”

“Lieutenant,” said Gurronsevas, “it is a sliding door.”

“Even so,” said Timmins.