"But it says nothing!"
"That's exactly what it means." Bowman was a thin, wistful-looking man with a hawk nose and a little brown mustache. He subbed as ship's cook when things were slow in his specialty. He wasn't a very good cook, but what could anyone do with the sludge from the harvest shelf of a hydroponic tank? Now, with the hlorg incumbent, there wasn't even any sludge.
"I drained off a tank and got a good look at it before it crawled over into the next one," Bowman said. "Ugly bastard. But from a strictly anatomical standpoint I can't help you a bit."
Green Doctor Stone glowered over Jenkins' shoulder at the man. "But surely you can give us something."
Bowman shrugged. "You want it technical?"
"Any way you like."
"Your hlorg is an ideal anamorph. A nothing. Protoplasm, just protoplasm."
Jenkins looked up sharply. "What about his cellular organization?"
"No cells," said Bowman. "Unless they're sub-microscopic, and I'd need an electron-peeker to tell you that."
"No organ systems?"