James H. Schmitz used this concept in his 1951 short story
_The End of the Line_, which follows a long-range exploration
ship with a crew of about a dozen young hot-shots led by an experienced
skipper. It was first published in _Astounding_ and anthologized by
Andre Norton in _Space Pioneers_, marketed as a YA book and often found
in school libraries:
"Klim thinks Albert is beginning to look puny again," Cusat announced.
"Probably nothing much to it, but how about coming along and helping us
diagnose?"
The Group's three top biologists adjourned to the ship, with Muscles,
whose preferred field was almost-pure mathematics, trailing along just
for company. They found Albert II quiescent in vitro—as close a thing
to a self-restoring six-foot sirloin steak as ever had been developed.
"He's quit assimilating, and he's even a shade off-color," Klim pointed
out, a little anxiously.
They debated his requirements at some length. As a menu staple, Albert
was hard to beat, but unfortunately he was rather dainty in his demands.
Chemical balances, temperatures, radiations, flows of stimulant, and nutritive
currents—all had to be just so; and his notions of what was just so were
subject to change without notice. If they weren't catered to regardless,
he languished and within the week perversely died. At least, the particular
section of him that was here would die. As an institution, of course, he might
go on growing and nourishing his Central Government clients immortally. Muscles
might have been of help in working out the delicate calculations involved in
solving Albert's current problems, but when they looked round for him, they
found him blinking at a steady flow of invisible symbols over one wall of the
tank room, while his lips moved in a rapid, low muttering; and they knew better
than to interrupt. He had gone off on impromptu calculations of his own, from
which he would emerge eventually with some useful bit of information or other,
though ten to one it would have nothing to do with Albert. Meanwhile, he would
be grouchy and useless if roused to direct his attention to anything below the
level of an emergency. They reset the currents finally and, at Cusat's
suggestion, trimmed Albert around the edges. Finding himself growing lighter,
he suddenly began to absorb nourishment again at a very satisfactory rate.
"That did it, I guess," Cusat said, pleased. He glanced at the small pile of
filets they'd sliced off. "Might as well have a barbecue now."
Peter Wezeman
anti-social Darwinist