In the long Embassy dining hall, the sumptous diplomatic dining area of the Terran Diplomatic Corps two figures stared at the serine calm after a bustle of frenetic activity. On a perfect Queen Anne oak topped table (or perfect recreation of) the perfectly clean and perfectly polished tableware was set perfectly. Each seat had been perfectly adjusted to the relevant guest and their species' needs, and the menu perfectly attuned to the latest perfect Terran dining fashions. All was pretty perfect. The Diplomatic droid hummed happily to itself as it scanned the area for micro imperfections. A desert spoon was realigned by merest fraction of millimeters using house manipulation fields. The Ambassador looked on, formal diplomatic attire had been donned, he looked suitability uncomfortable. "Are we sure about the menu choices?" "Tsk, they have all been adapted to the relevant digestive needs of our guests. All allergens edited out, all flavours still present " Th...