It was going to be celebrity meat. As in, genetically identical to celebrities. In some circles, it would become de rigueur to host dinner parties at which one served meat cultured from the people throwing the dinner party. I wanted to see that future.
I sampled some of Li’s unusual dish while he continued. “I had the ship take a few cells from a variety of people on Earth. Without their knowledge, of course.” He waved the sword vaguely at the table behind us. “Most of you over there will be eating either Stewed Idi Amin or General Pinochet Chilli Con Carne; here in the centre we have a combination of General Stroessner Meat Balls and Richard Nixon Burgers. The rest of you have Ferdinand Marcos Sauté and Shah of Iran Kebabs. ...”
We ate up, most of us quite amused. One or two thought the idea a little too outré, and some affected boredom because they thought Li needed discouragement not accomplices, while a few were just too full already. But the majority laughed and ate, comparing tastes and textures.
“If they could see us now,” Roghres giggled. “Cannibals from outer space!”
