The entrée
was a simple salad of rocket and dandelion leaves, tossed with a light dressing
of raspberry vinegar and extra virgin olive oil, topped with slivers of
parmesan and fresh truffle shavings. He raised a forkful to his mouth and
savoured the subtle combination of flavours.
He was
eating alone. The Institute had offered to serve the meal for any guests he
wanted to have as well, but there was no one he felt close enough to that he
would have elected to share this moment with him. He was a loner, but that was
nothing unusual for those who had come this far in the selection process. He
ate the salad quickly, concentrating on the taste and texture of the food,
trying to put the rest of his world aside.
As soon as
the salad was finished, the silent waiter quickly whisked the empty plate away.
While he waited for the next course, he drank from the glass of good Riesling,
which had been his choice to begin the meal. Without the distraction of the
food, his thoughts moved to his situation; the irrevocability of the step he
would take on the morrow.
For human
space exploration, the transformation offered only advantages. The more mass
had to be accelerated to near-light speeds, the greater the amount of energy
needed. Providing enough food for a human to consume over months and years was
a major problem; and the efficiency of the human body in winning energy from
food was laughable anyway – particularly when there was an alternative.
The next
course came; fettuccini with small slices of freshly grilled wild salmon,
covered with a lemon-cream sauce, lightly set off with dill. He chewed and
swallowed, reflecting on the fact that this evening was the last time he would
chew. From tomorrow onwards, chewing would become superfluous.
He would
still drink, of course – his body would still need the same amount of water,
even some more than in his present physiological state – but water was easily
recycled, even in a small ship hurtling through the immense distances between
the stars. But the biological process of producing energy through the basic
chemical reaction between oxygen and sugar – burning carbohydrates – would no
longer be necessary.
Tomorrow
morning they would sedate him, insert a central venous catheter, and pour the
nannites into his body. They would begin their busy work all through his
organism on the cellular level and four weeks later he would awaken from his
artificial cocoon state, the transformation complete.
The main
course arrived; slices of roast duck, previously marinated in red wine, with ginger
and garlic, couscous dumplings, and quickly stir-fried peppers, onions,
courgettes and thinly-sliced water chestnuts. There was a gravy of the roasting
duck juices, enhanced with the marinating theme of wine, ginger and garlic. The
wine was a rich Haut-Brion Bordeaux.
As he
savoured the duck and the wine, he thought of the changes which would take
place in his body. He would grow much thinner and lighter, his skin taking on a
green colour as it produced the specially designed chlorophyll-analogue which his
system could now use to gain energy directly from light, any source of light.
Some of his internal organs, like all those metres of intestines would
practically disappear, others, above all the liver, modify themselves to take
on adapted functions. How much more efficient, how wonderfully elegant, he
thought. All he needed apart from light was water and minerals and trace
elements (only a couple of grams daily), which could be dissolved in the water.
The transformation would make it vastly easier for him to spend long periods in
space and give him almost complete autonomy in his exploration of new planets.
It would increase his life expectancy and the new, largely plant-based cellular
structure of his body would be much more robust; better able to withstand long
periods of high acceleration, radiation and hostile environments,
He was
eating more slowly now, relishing the excellently cooked meal. His last meal.
It was the sacrifice of feeding which had gripped the public imagination most
about transformation and the reason why this ritual of the final meal, The Last
Supper, had been initiated. Indeed, although it had never for a moment rocked
his determination to take this step, the renunciation had seemed great. He had
consoled himself with the thought that it was somehow fitting; that such major
advantages, such fundamental metamorphoses, must, in some fashion, be
appropriately paid for. Until his conversation this afternoon with Helga, his
mentor. He watched her green eyes (gleaming in an even greener face)
incredulously as she explained.
“… some
kind of side-effect. We still don’t really understand how it works; despite all
the progress we’ve made, there are still many functions of the brain we only
imperfectly understand. At any rate, after transformation, you will discover
that you won’t only obtain your energy from light, you will also … taste it.
“We keep
this information confidential until immediately before transformation. We don’t
want it to have an influence on our applicants or their screening process. But
you have to be told before it happens – otherwise you will be very confused when
you awake after transformation has been completed. It is a phenomenon which
takes some getting used to.”
The waiter
removed the remains of his dessert – a creation of mousses of various varieties
of chocolate – and brought coffee and Armagnac .
Replete, he sipped the liquor. A smile played over his face.
To taste
light, in all its wavelengths, all its combinations! An unexpected galaxy of
gourmet pleasure opened itself before him, he who had been prepared to become
an ultimate ascetic for the sake of knowledge and adventure.
The
chocolate taste of Aldebaran.
The frothy
roast chicken savour of the Orion Nebula.
The sweet
lemon succulence of Sirius.
All the myriad
flavours of the universe …
