Two hundred years ago, they'd have said Jon-Jack Killian could sell ice to the Eskimos. But that was considered racist nowadays. Plus, thanks to widespread global warming, ice was a welcome commodity at Alaska's many beach resorts.

 

“Mr. Killian, people are calling this the best worst idea ever,” said the newscaster, adopting an air of gravity for his viewers. “How do you respond?”

 

“Well, Kent.” Jon-Jack began, hoping the guy's name was actually Kent. This was Jon-Jack's twelfth interview of the week, and he was starting to lose track. The newscaster didn't correct him, and the holo-cams zoomed in for a close up, so he continued. “I can't disagree. Find a need, fill a need. That's the mantra of business. But filling a need isn't simply about closing gaps in the marketplace. It's about providing a solution. Preferably, a lasting one. If this product prevents another war, what's the downside?”

 

Killian hadn't fought in the war himself. The corporation that employed him, Mondrian S.A., was the 23rd largest in the world. A multinational food and drink processing conglomerate, Mondrian had its hands in everything from baby food to bourbon. As such, it was a supplier to the Combined Earth Forces and considered an essential business during the Earth-Mardool War. Jon-Jack escaped conscription by working in a “reserved occupation.” He was an invaluable asset to Mondrian. But even they had doubts about the salesman's latest enterprise.

 

“Still...” wavered the interviewer. “Selling human meat. It's gruesome.”

 

“Artificial human meat,” corrected Jon-Jack with a reassuring smile.

 

The Mardool regarded themselves a “warrior” race. This proved their eventual undoing, as they considered high technology an impersonal, inferior way of killing. Ultimately, Earth-made orbital strike platforms and electromagnetic pulse weapons triumphed. Another win for free market innovation.

 

The real problem began after Mardool High Command reluctantly surrendered. The Mardool, it turns out, were obligate carnivores. During the war they developed a regrettable habit of consuming human corpses. The practice struck terror in Combined Earth Forces soldiers. Following the armistice, it left a bitter taste in the mouths of Earthlings. So to speak.

 

Humans branded the Mardool unrepentant monsters. Those feelings only intensified in the post-war era, when certain Mardool took to kidnapping humans and trafficking their flesh in illegal, underground meat markets.

 

Jon-Jack Killian's solution was simple and — to most consumers on Earth — utterly repugnant: artificial human flesh. If the Mardool wanted to eat humans, let them eat Hyoomans™. Earthlings were disgusted. Mardool were skeptical. But Jon-Jack was convinced. Find a need, fill a need.

 

A week after his last holo-vid interview, Jon-Jack was asked by Mondrian's CEO to head up the first shipment of Hyooman™ Meat to Mardool. It wasn't that the company had faith in Killian's new launch. Despite sinking two years in R&D and almost fifty million on the product roll-out, it remained a dicey prospect. And if it was going to flame out like the Ford Edsel, New Coke, Tesla Motors and that fast food restaurant on Titan, they wanted Killian front and center as fall guy.

 

In a diplomatic meeting room on Mardool, painted a disquieting shade of red, Jon-Jack chewed his lower lip. Holo-cams circled, waiting for something to happen. A handful of brave, publicity-seeking human diplomats and a phalanx of Earth Forces soldiers were arrayed behind him. But it was just for show. Ammo had not been issued. Animosity was still high, and commanders didn't want to risk a firefight over harsh words or licked lips.

 

Eventually, with a good deal of hubbub, the Mardool contingent entered. Jon-Jack had never actually seen a Mardool face-to-face. They were all at least seven feet tall. Their skin was rubbery, their eyes black and beady. And that toothy, shark-faced grin was positively unnerving in person. For the first time, Jon-Jack had doubts. These were not the sort of beings you wanted on your “dissatisfied customer” list.

 

Introductions were made around the table, which took a while, as most Mardool honorifics included lists of enemies killed and preferred methods of torture. By the time it got to Jon-Jack, he decided to get right to the heart of the matter.

 

He stood up and pushed a plastic can of Hyooman™ Meat toward the head Mardool diplomat.

 

“My name is Jon-Jack Killian. And I'm here to introduce the people of Mardool to Mondrian's latest food innovation.”

 

The diplomat looked at the can and snorted. Actually snorted.

 

“You expect us to eat this?” he said in a truly impressive basso profundo voice.

 

Jon-Jack cleared his throat. “Hyooman™ Meat contains all the essential nutrients for a healthy Mardool diet. Plus it utilizes CRISPR-guided genome editing to produce an animal-based protein that closely resembles that of Earth-based humans.”

 

“But how does it taste?” shouted a hulking Mardool toward the back of the room.

 

“It tastes just like human,” said Jon-Jack with a grin.

 

“How do you know?” asked the diplomat.

 

“E-Excuse me?” stuttered Jon-Jack.

 

“Have you ever consumed human flesh? What does it taste like?”

 

“It… well, it tastes like… you know, chicken,” offered Jon-Jack.

 

“HUMAN DOES NOT TASTE LIKE CHICKEN!” bellowed the diplomat.

 

Jon-Jack felt the holo-cams push in on his sweaty face. “In a, uh, blind taste test,” he said, searching for the right buzzwords, “our food scientists assure us that you would not be able to tell the difference between this and real human meat.”

 

The diplomat leaned forward, pushing his huge, toothy face toward Jon-Jack.

 

“Prove it,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Killian relaxed as the transport shot back to Earth. He had never felt so much relief at closing a deal. The Mardool had eagerly taken the thousand sample cases and signed an initial five-year contract for all the Hyooman™ Meat Mondrian's factories could produce.

 

Jon-Jack looked down at his left hand. The index finger was missing. It still throbbed a bit.

 

A small price to pay for the deal of the century.