The Galactic Gourmet

CHAPTER 4

A lengthy period of wakeful thinking, so concentrated that he had no clear idea of the elapsed time, was interrupted by the insistent sound and flashing light of his door signal. It was Lieutenant Timmins.

“Please excuse the interruption, sir,” it said briskly. “I trust you slept well. Is there anywhere special you would like to visit or people you want to meet? The catering computer, the food synthesizer banks, the ward diet kitchens or the food technicians responsible for …”

Gurronsevas held up two of his upper limbs, loosely crossed in the non-verbal request for silence, a Tralthan gesture which Timmins must have understood because he stopped talking at once.

“For the present,” said Gurronsevas, “none of those things. I know that you must have other duties, Lieutenant. So long as they permit it, I would prefer to have no close personal contact or conversation with anyone but yourself.”

“I have other duties, naturally,” said Timmins, “but I also have an assistant who tries very hard to make me feel redundant. For the next two days, and thereafter at mutually convenient times, I will be at your disposal. What would you like to do first?”

It was plain that Timmins was becoming impatient, but Gurronsevas did not move. He said, “At the risk of sounding repetitious and tedious, hopefully for the last time, I must remind you of my former position on Nidia. The Cromingan-Shesk was a very large, multi-species hotel and its kitchens, of which I had overall charge, were complex, technically advanced and, as you would expect, subject to periodic and most inconvenient malfunctions. I was able to reduce the number of these foul-ups by acquainting myself with the basic operation of the invisible support structures, the various other-species food reception systems, processors, ovens, and ancillary equipment, right down to the proper use of the smallest cutting implement and spoon. As well, I made myself familiar with the work of the sub-cooks, the waiters, those responsible for table decoration, the maintenance technicians, and so on down to the lowliest member of the cleaning staff. I made it my business to know enough to tell, if or when a fault occurred, whether I was being given a reason for it or an excuse.

“Before I try to give instructions to anyone in my department,” he went on, “I want to know the geographical extent of my new responsibilities and the practical problems that are likely to occur, so that the gulf of ignorance between my subordinates and myself will be as narrow as possible. My learning process should begin at once.”

Timmins’ mouth had opened while Gurronsevas had been speaking, but the configuration of its lips seemed wrong for a smile, and finally it said, “You will have to travel extensively through the maintenance tunnel network. In places it can be dirty, unpleasant and dangerous. Are you sure that is what you want?”

“Quite sure,” said Gurronsevas.

“Then we can talk as we walk,” said the Lieutenant. “But it would be better, at least in the beginning, if I talked and you listened. There is a personnel access hatch in the wall at the end of your corridor …”

According to Timmins, the maps of the hospital’s maintenance tunnels and substations, which Gurronsevas had studied so assiduously before his arrival, had been produced for the information of interested non-specialists — the drawings were too simple, too pretty, and years out of date. As soon as they entered the maintenance access door he was confronted by a flight of descending stairs which should not have existed.

“They’re strong enough to support your weight,” said Timmins, “but take them slowly. Or if you prefer we can use another access point where there is a ramp. Some Tralthans find stairs difficult …”

“I used them in the hotel,” Gurronsevas broke in. “Just don’t ask me to climb ladders.”

“I won’t,” said the Lieutenant. “But you go first. It isn’t politeness; just that I don’t want to risk a quarter of a ton of Tralthan falling on me. How is your eyesight?”

“Very good,” said Gurronsevas.

“But is it good enough,” Timmins persisted, “to clearly identify the subtle shadings and dilutions of color brought about by changes in the ambient lighting? Are you claustrophobic?”

Trying to hide his impatience, Gurronsevas said, “I am able to tell by sight alone the degree of freshness, to within a few hours, of a wide range of commonly consumed fruit and vegetables. I am not claustrophobic.”

“Good enough,” said Timmins. With a hint of apology in its voice it went on, “But look above and around you. All of the interconnecting corridors, tunnels, service bays and alcove shelters are just like this. The walls and ceilings are covered with cable looms and piping, all of which is color-coded. This enables my maintenance people to tell at a glance, like you and the fresh vegetables, which are power cables and which are the less dangerous communication lines, or which pipes carry oxygen, chlorine, methane, or organic effluvia. The danger of contamination of wards and staff accommodation by other-species’ atmospheres is always present, and such a local environmental catastrophe should not be allowed to happen because some partially-sighted entity connected up the wrong set of pipes.

“Normally,” it went on, “I would not have to ask about visual acuity or claustrophobia because O’Mara’s psychological screening would reject anyone with those defects before they were accepted for training. But your psych file was not open to me because you are not a trainee …That alcove just ahead on the right. Get in, quickly!”

For the past few seconds Gurronsevas had been aware of a high-pitched, wailing sound of steadily increasing volume. He felt Timmins’ small, soft hands pushing at his lower flank in a manner which in another Tralthan would have been considered an intimacy, but it was simply urging him to move more quickly into the alcove before squeezing in beside him.

A gravity sled, piled so high with unidentifiable stores and equipment that there seemed to be only inches to spare between the load and the corridor walls, wailed past them. Above the sound of the warning siren the Earth-human driver shouted, “Morning, Lieutenant.” Timmins raised a hand but did not speak because by then the other entity was beyond conversational range.

Now he knew the reason for the alcoves.

“It would save time if we used a gravity sled instead of walking,” said Gurronsevas. “I was accustomed to driving in Retlin city center, where the traffic was quite horrendous, and was considered competent.”

Timmins shook its head and said, “Not good enough. If you intend spending a lot of time in the service tunnels, I will arrange specialized driving instruction, in an empty cargo bay with collapsible practice-walls so that you won’t damage the hospital’s structure or yourself. But the chief reason for not using a sled right now is that it would move too fast for you to be able to see or learn anything useful about where we were going.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Good,” said the Lieutenant. “But now, a little test. Based on what little you have learned and your observations so far, what can you tell me about the stretch of tunnel we have just entered?”

Very many years had passed since Gurronsevas had attended school, but then as now he had always tried hard to impress his teachers. He said, “For a few seconds I was aware of muted rumbling and shuffling sounds and muffled other-species voices, too many and too faint for translation, coming from the ceiling. This leads me to assume that we are passing under one of the main corridors. There is a faint smell that I cannot identify which I think in greater strength would be unpleasant. I also note that, while the color coding which identifies the overhead power and communication cables, as well as the piping which carries the water and oxygen-nitrogen mixture used by warm-blooded oxygen-breathers has remained consistent, several large-diameter pipes coded for water have also appeared, and a few narrower runs with a color coding about which you have not told me. I have a question.”

“One good answer,” said Timmins, smiling, “deserves another. Ask.”

“There were no identifying markings on any of the mechanisms and equipment we have passed,” said Gurronsevas. “Are you and your maintenance staff required to recognize by sight and memorize the function of all these mechanisms?”

“God, no …!” Timmins began, when the siren of an approaching vehicle driven by a silver-furred Kelgian who did not speak forced them to take refuge in the nearest alcove. When they emerged, it continued, “Not even a Diagnostician has that good a memory. On your right is a red-blue-white-coded cabinet, that one with three of the large-diameter water pipes entering it. On the outer face is a large inspection panel with a small, hinged lid set into it. Pull back the lid and press the button inside.”

Gurronsevas did so and was surprised when a new voice began speaking to them. He could not recognize the original language but the words came clearly through his translator.

“I am a standby pump for the purpose of topping-up the environmental fluid in the Chalder main ward. This supply contains trace elements favored by its AUGL water-breathers which, although not toxic, make it unsuitable as a drinking water supply for other warm-blooded species. Functioning is automatic. The large inspection panel is opened by inserting your general-purpose key into the slot marked with a red circle and turning it, as indicated by the arrow, through ninety degrees. For component repair or replacement consult Maintenance Instructions Tape Three, Section One Thirty-two. Do not forget to close the panel before you leave.

“I am a standby pump for …” it was repeating when Gurronsevas closed the lid, silencing it.

“A verbal label,” he said admiringly, “understandable by everyone with a translator. I should have realized.”

Timmins smiled and said, “We are moving into the Illensan levels. The smell and the new color code you spotted indicate the presence of chlorine. But before we go any farther we need protective suits, so turn into the next opening on the left. In there, at least, you won’t have to worry about traffic.”

The place was a multi-species suit store, he saw at once, and the transparent doors of the cabinets ranged around the walls revealed their contents while verbal labels gave any special fitting instructions on request. Timmins lifted out a suit for itself and donned it quickly before directing Gurronsevas towards one of the Tralthan cabinets.

“With your six legs you may find getting into that thing tricky at first,” it said, “so I’ll help you. The garment is a combination of lightweight environmental protection and general purpose coveralls. On mine there is a head-hood which can be sealed should there be an emergency involving other-species contamination such as a major seal malfunction at an oxygen and chlorine interface, or between the Telfan hot level and anywhere else. Yours contains a short-duration air supply, cooling and drying elements to control perspiration and guard against heat prostration, and an emergency beacon to summon help should you get into trouble.

“Don’t use the beacon unless you cannot get to a communicator and have a serious emergency,” the Lieutenant went on, “or until you are sure that you cannot solve the problem yourself. If a full rescue team with medical support turns out and finds that you are only lost or lonely, harsh words will be spoken.”

“Harsh words,” said Gurronsevas, “would be deserved.”

Timmins smiled and continued, “The suits also give protection against dirt, and cuts and abrasions from metal projections. Unlike the medical levels and your kitchens at the Cromingan-Shesk, we do not need to work in super-clean conditions. Static charges build up in the equipment which attracts dust, and with the lubricants used everywhere it makes for a very dirty combination that is difficult to remove, particularly for entities who are covered with fur. The protective coveralls are a uniform color, Monitor Corps green, with the exception of the transparent suits used by Kelgians who need their fur to be visible for non-verbal communication. Before dressing, medical or departmental insignia of rank are transferred to the outside of the garment. Now check your head seal. Is the general fit comfortable?”

“Quite comfortable, thank you,” Gurronsevas replied. “But I have a question prompted by the AUGL water pump that spoke to me. The problem of improving the taste of food used by water-breathers is one I had not considered until now. As soon as I have gained some knowledge of the maintenance levels’ geography and food distribution network, I would like to discuss the problem with the Chalder patients. Can you arrange that?”

“That is a medical matter,” said Timmins slowly. “It would be better if you asked permission and found out the most convenient visiting times from Nurse Hredlichli, who is in charge of the AUGL ward.”

“Then I shall do that,” said Gurronsevas. “But you sound hesitant. Am I likely to encounter some difficulty?”

“Charge Nurse Hredlichli,” the Lieutenant replied, “has the reputation of being only slightly less obnoxious than O’Mara. But now, before I take you to see the main synthesizer unit under the dining hall, attach this trainee’s band to one of your fore-limbs in a position where it will be easily seen.”

This was the second time he had been told to wear the demeaning badge of a trainee, Gurronsevas thought, but the angry response he had given the impolite Chief Psychologist would scarcely do for this friendly and well-mannered Lieutenant. He was still searching his mind for reasons — or were they, perhaps, excuses? — for refusing the band when Timmins spoke again.

It said, “I myself, and soon everyone else in the hospital, will know that you are not a trainee but a specialist with considerable seniority. However, on the maintenance levels people are always in a hurry and accidents happen easily. You have seen how some of us drive, and there are many other situations where you would be at risk. Isn’t it simple good sense to let those with experience know that you have none, so that allowances can be made? After all, the hospital needs a Chief Dietitian more than it needs another patient.”

For a long moment Gurronsevas argued silently with himself, feeling shame because he could not be sure whether he was using his intelligence or giving in to moral cowardice.

“Well, if it is a matter of my continued survival,” he said reluctantly, “all right.”