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evolved on a heavy-gravity world with an ultra-dense atmosphere that resembled
nothing so much as a thick, high-pressure soup. It was covered by a body
tegument, transparent where it enclosed the eyes, that was as tough as
flexible armor plating. As well as protecting them against the savage external
pressure of their native environment, it enabled them to work comfortably in
any atmospheric pressure down to and including the vacuum of space. Their skin
was completely without seam or body orifice, the speaking membrane served also
as its sound sensor, and they did not breathe. Food was ingested through
organs of absorption that covered both flanks and the wastes were eliminated
by a similar mechanism on the underside, both systems under voluntary control.
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When off-planet their food had to be sprayed on at frequent intervals because
they were an energy-hungry species.
The most common problem with Hudlars was periodic starvation. When their minds
were concentrating on their duties or an interesting conversation, and often
while they were hurrying to the dining hall sprayers, they collapsed
helplessly onto a ward or corridor floor whenever their food ran out, and they
could not be revived until they were repainted. If the coating of food was
applied without delay, there were no ill-effects, so the condition was
considered to be a nuisance rather than a medical emergency. To reduce the
incidence of Hudlars collapsing from malnutrition at the wrong times and
places, every oxygen-breathing ward in the hospital stocked a supply of Hudlar
paint for use in these non-emergencies. But this one's organs of absorption
were thickly covered by nutrient paint, Gurronsevas saw, so its problem could
not be food.
It is always wrong, Gurronsevas told himself as soon as the Hudlar began to
speak, to jump to conclusions.
"Sir," it said, "everyone is talking about the alterations you have made to
the
Chalder, Illensan and Earth-human menus. I, we Hudlars, that is, would not
want you to think that we are complimenting you simply for the purpose of
influencing your future actions, because the compliment is deserved whether or
not you...Oh, are you leaving for Bay Twelve now? I, too, have business there.
Shall I walk in front of you, Chief Dietitian? We would make better time
because the other entities using the corridors will try to avoid colliding
with a Hudlar, regardless of any differences in medical rank."
"Thank you, Doctor," said Gurronsevas. "But I'm not sure that I can do
anything for you. Hudlars are, well, Hudlars. My experience of serving patrons
of your species was similar to what happens here, except that a light screen
was placed around their dining area to protect nearby patrons from misdirected
nutrient. The food tanks were taken from stores, and the only function of my
kitchen staff was to ensure that the spraying equipment was arranged on a
suitably decorated floater. What changes had you in mind, Doctor?"
Five minutes later they were moving along the corridor leading to the null-G
drop-shaft that would take them close to Bay Twelve, and still the other had
not spoken. Gurronsevas did not know whether it was disappointment or shyness
that was keeping the intern's speech membrane silent.
Finally, it said, "I don't know, sir. Probably I am wasting your time and
trying your patience. The food we are given is perfectly suited to our
nutritional needs and cannot be faulted, but it is utterly tasteless and
unexciting when it enters our absorption organs. I do not wish to criticize
the Hospital or yourself because all Hud-
lar food supplied by the home planet tastes like this because, as you will
already know, it must be dried and all constituents likely to cause spoilage
removed before it is emulsified prior to suspension in the nutrient paint.
Attempts at synthesizing Hudlar food have been unsuccessful, and most
unpalatable."
It was Gurronsevas turn to remain silent. He sympathized with the Hudlar, but
he had asked a question and he was not going to ask it again.
"I don't know what if any changes are possible," the intern went on. "All
Hudlars working away from our home planet use the paint and are resigned to
its use. But if only we could look forward to the pleasure rather than the
utter boredom of eating, we would not, I feel sure, collapse so often in
inconvenient places."
It had a point, Gurronsevas thought.
They were moving through the entrance to the control center of Bay Twelve,
through the transparent canopy he could see the open cargo locks of the
unloading dock and the hold of the recently arrived freighter. The first
sealed containers, brightly color-coded to indicate origin and contents, were
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