"I'm not kidding, I heard it myself from the jaws of Mr. Nombogog! Don't believe me if you don't want to."
Zumbog lifts its jaw in indignation, eyes pointed away from its group of friends. Laughter follows around the Platooza and Zumbog ignores their delirious chatter-mongering for his socket of huile-de-poisson. His mouth receptacle takes a sip, but doesn't let him taste any of it.
Zumbog believes he will have to get a replacement from the Head-of-Alien-Human manufacturing. While popular for the rich and powerful, he really does not understand the hype of all these 'human functions'. The first day with his new attachment and Zumbog had gotten something of a mashed 'nut' stuck in his artificial throat and had to go home early to wipe it all out.
Unfortunately, the humans take great custom in oily consumables, hence the huile-de-poisson that he drinks now. It smells foul, but the humans along the- what was it called? Oh yes, the "ocean" in the "arctic"- they seemed, by observation to enjoy it with their breakfast. Zumbog had observed this himself, but he truly isn't so sure of the intelligence of those particular frozen fish-eating creatures.
Although it was his choice in major, maybe some other lucky bugger would have been more worthy of the Galactic Academy trip this year.
"-is talking to take them all- but I think we could only manage half. I know they are an utmost valuable resource but we don't even know what upgrades they will need to adapt on our planet."
"This is true, and if this is true what Zumbog says, I'm not entirely certain how we can discover such mechanisms as needing, uh, photosynthesis. Is that what it is?"
"No, that's for daisies. The human's will just get sick."
"Well, anyways. How could we go about discovering exactly why?"
Zumbog looks to Betbog, journalist and flesh engineer of the eighth-guard-ship, and in the best imitation of approval he can muster under his scales, he nods to her.
But he is cut off by Ragonzog, soldier of the eighth guard ship and a rather cocky extraterrestrial.
"I think it's nonsense, wouldn't even consider it. I mean how utterly stupid would it be for something to be so dependent on a planet that they don't even live on? It's one thing to be so sensitive as to get sick at the slightest consumable, but that? I'd never!"
"Yes, I agree, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"
Most nods of agreements follow similarly, with similar words of agreement. Unlike them, Betbog looks merely skeptical.
"It may be worth research." She says slowly, and they quiet down, because she is by far the prettiest extraterrestrial in the galaxy. Albeit it is a small galaxy. "But would take plenty of careful dissection."
Murmurs of agreement follow around the platooza. Zumbog is the one to pitch in, though, over another sip of his dubious drink.
"I'm sure the humans are simply inferior, and I would bet all my compartments that the dog-kind are far more superior. As justiciar Platgog said last week, the dog-kind is much further superior than the human kind and more likely of galactical survival, worthy of much more in the way of resources and company. Would you shirk a judiciary, Betgog?"
"Oh no, Of course not. I am only saying that if we extracted a human from earth and brought them out of the sun's reach, we would find out without risking a single dog kind. And it could even be a further scientific advancement to see why this is, and what it is about the sun that they require so much." Betgog replies, diplomatic as ever. Zumbog shrivels his chin, distasteful of her position.
"The very least you could do is believe me, if yer gonna' go on an expedition like that on my word. Remember last time we abducted one of them! Now they think all we want to do is probe them! Just because Gandagolg wanted to play a stupid prank of the poor wretch!"
Murmurs cross the table, finally Zumbog earns mutters of 'good point there' and he perks up with the praise, a new plan forming in mind.
"Let's start with the cats, they are not any precious commodity to us and I am told they are quite… docile. Fluffy. I heard. And their toes are made of soft beans."
"Beans? Like the solid nut-like things?"
"No, no." Zumbog replies. "They are round, and squishy. Quite harmless looking. I'm sure it will be no trouble to collect them for our experiment."