Chapter 12 · A Conservative Dietary Assumption

At 0217, Doctor Seln’s office received a priority medical query from Admiral Ackbar’s residence.

At 0218, Seln established that nobody was bleeding.

At 0219, she began to resent the distinction between an emergency and a question someone important wished answered immediately.

The Mon Calamari lieutenant on her display stood beneath pale domestic lighting, her posture composed with the particular care of an officer contacting a physician in the middle of the night.

“Thank you for taking the call, Doctor.”

“What has he done?”

“Nothing.” Seln waited. “Senior Commander Stent is asleep.”

“Then he is currently making the best medical decision of anyone involved in this conversation.”

The lieutenant accepted that without visible difficulty. “We are reviewing tomorrow’s meal arrangements.”

Seln looked down at the three unfinished reports on her desk. Beyond the office door, someone dropped a metal tray. Someone else said something that would not appear in the incident log.

“Of course you are.”

“The kitchen has raised a question concerning possible species incompatibilities.”

That, at least, was a legitimate reason to contact her.

Seln pulled the dietary intake field onto her display. “What substance?”

“Puffer fish.”

Her hand stopped. “Please be more specific.”

The lieutenant supplied the commercial designation, the source hatchery, and a preparation category. Seln read the accompanying entry twice, because fatigue occasionally made ordinary information look unreasonable.

This was not one of those occasions.

“Your kitchen intends to serve him a fish containing a potent neurotoxin.”

“Certain tissues contain it. Contamination of the edible portion is possible if preparation is inadequate.”

“And you know this.”

“Yes, Doctor. It is harmless to Mon Calamari. We understand that it is dangerous to humans.”

“Fatal,” Seln said.

“Yes.”

A brief silence followed.

The lieutenant continued carefully. “We wished to establish whether Chiss possess the same sensitivity.”

Seln leaned back in her chair. Somewhere in the infirmary, a monitor sounded. It stopped after two pulses. Nobody called her name.

She allowed herself to enjoy that small mercy before returning to the larger irritation. “Lieutenant, how many Chiss toxicological profiles do you imagine I possess?”

“I would not presume to estimate.”

“An excellent instinct. Keep it.”

The lieutenant’s eyes shifted slightly toward something outside the frame. A kitchen representative, perhaps. Seln hoped so. She preferred her advice to reach everyone responsible.

“Would the available medical records permit an assessment?” the lieutenant asked.

“The available medical records permit me to confirm that both Chiss I have examined possess organs and would prefer to retain them.”

She opened Stent’s file beside Thrawn’s.

Two names. Two incomplete histories. A quantity of unanswered questions that would have justified a research department, had anyone thought to provide her with one instead of another overnight shift.

“Senior Commander Stent is the second Chiss for whom this office has any clinical documentation. The first arrived with extensive injuries, an incomplete history, and a highly selective understanding of patient cooperation. The second has been in our care for less than a day.”

“He submitted to examination.”

“He did. That was helpful. It did not produce a comprehensive survey of his species.”

“Understood.”

“I have no Chiss toxicological spectrum. No established lethal-dose data. No reliable catalogue of metabolic exceptions. I do not know whether this toxin would kill him, incapacitate him, give him a regrettable afternoon or the trip of his life. His blood being a different color has failed to clarify the matter.”

The lieutenant remained professionally still. “So your recommendation would be to exclude the dish.”

“My recommendation is that you feed him dinner.”

Another silence.

Seln rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ordinary dinner, Lieutenant. Food already known to be safe for humans. Prepared without the possibility of lethal contamination. I appreciate that this may narrow the menu.”

“The kitchen wished to offer something appropriate to the Admiral’s household.”

“The Admiral’s household has already demonstrated considerable flexibility by giving him a room containing air. I suggest continuing in that spirit.”

This time, the lieutenant’s mouth plates moved. Only slightly.

Seln noticed and decided she could live with it.

“Would it be useful to ask the Senior Commander whether he has eaten it before?”

“You may ask him in the morning. You will not wake him to determine whether he has prior experience surviving your proposed lunch.”

“No, Doctor.”

“And if he says he has eaten it, establish whether he means that exact species. I have already had one conversation with him in which ‘I’ve eaten worse’ was offered as though it were a clinical finding.”

The lieutenant glanced aside again. “He made a similar observation concerning this evening’s meal.”

“What did you give him?”

She described it.

Seln listened with her eyes closed. “Was there an adverse reaction?”

“No. He finished the entire serving.”

“Then retain whatever useful knowledge that has given you. Perhaps tomorrow you could offer him something less inclined to leave the plate.”

“He reported that the flavor was good.”

“I’m delighted.”

“The movement was unexpected.”

Seln opened her eyes.

For the first time since the call began, she looked almost rested. “Yes,” she said. “That sounds like him.”

The lieutenant consulted her notes. “To confirm the standing guidance: pending more specific information, we should apply human dietary restrictions.”

“Yes.”

“Even where Chiss tolerances may differ.”

“Especially where you do not know whether Chiss tolerances differ.”

“And refer further uncertainties to your office?”

Seln regarded her.

The lieutenant waited.

“Lieutenant,” Seln said, with great courtesy, “if a substance is known to poison humans, assume it will poison your guest. You do not need my permission to withhold it. If the kitchen finds this leaves them without options, send me their inventory and I will identify something they can boil.”

The lieutenant lowered her datapad. “I believe we can manage.”

“I had every confidence.”

“Thank you for your time, Doctor.”

“Please express my appreciation to the kitchen for asking before serving it.”

“I will.”

“And my confidence that, with this guidance, they will not need to ask again tonight.”

The lieutenant’s mouth plates shifted once more.

“Good night, Doctor.”

Seln ended the call and entered a dietary restriction in Stent’s file.

Apply standard human food-safety precautions pending species-specific assessment. No known human toxins.

She considered the entry, then added:

Patient willingness to consume a substance does not establish biological compatibility.

Outside her office, someone called her name.

Seln saved the file.

At least, she thought as she stood, the Chiss was asleep.