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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."
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That was not entirely true, he thought. During the early experimentation with
Wem vegetation 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
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