How far had the colonists of the hundreds of settled planets diverged? Discussion of that started before the first ship landed. Public intellectuals and college freshmen debated the issue in terms of genetics, language, culture, and politics at every hour of every day somewhere within humanity's habitational sphere. Out of those, only genetics was susceptible to evidence. When the science reporter had space to fill, nothing was more usual than to grab the latest statement about haplogroup concentrations.
Little by little, a less vital but absolutely crucial concern arose about something not so profound, but ineffably deep. Food. Did a tomato grown on Earth taste the same as one from the engineered soil of Saint Georges? Was cheddar cultivated on Montjoie even cheddar? An article here and there prompted idle speculation everywhere.
Sharmazem Zujenne loathed the idle. He applied his considerable resources to gather samples and invite guests known for their discerning palates to the banquet to end all controversies, the Interstellar Judgment. At last, experts would determine whether potatoes from settled planets ought to be given a different name, and whether the outrageous size of that famous watermelon was a trick of photography.
An occasion of that sort inevitably became the occasion. The wealthy and people who liked to be near the wealthy requested, demanded, begged for, or wangled invitations. Entire industries sprung up to supply their excessive wants. The tasting of tastings became the party of parties. For all that, Zujenne maintained strict security to ensure the samples from various worlds remained separated. On the first official day of the event, though celebrations had gone on for three, he ordered the vault opened, only to discover . . . nothing. Nothing but a note from Phantom Thief Sirius thanking him for all the produce.
"I don't know much about food, but I'm sure about one thing. Crime is the same everywhere." The detective-inspector got on the case.
Finis
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