"James White - SG 09 - Galactic Gourmet" - читать интересную книгу автора (White James)

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 ap-
plicant. 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?"