[ WP ] Humans have been enslaved by a brutal warrior race of aliens . Two of them , while in the middle of whipping the slaves , end up talking about how using robots , computers and other automated systems would be much more efficient than regular thralls .

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 Trask snarled at the whimpering, soft pink being. He could n't believe they were of the same ilk as his race's most hated enemies. He knew it would be all too easy to squish this one for it's shortcomings. Easy to take out generations worth of cultural of anger on it. Instead he kicked it aside, `` Get back to work,'' he growled through the translator. 
 
 As the pathetic sack of skin and bones crawled off to tend to some bit of technology it did n't likely understand. His clanmate and idiot cousin Urt lumbered over, handing him a tankard of sketci. Trask took the meal-beverage and swallowed it whole before rubbing the residue clean from his face with the back of his arm. 
 
 Urtalnick looked around the bay filled with relatively fresh slaves. `` Sometimes, I wonder why we bother.'' 
 
 Trask eyed his cousin. `` Really, Urt?'' 
 
 The lummox shrugged his bulging shoulders, `` Yeah. Why bother with slaves? I mean, we could just use'bots.'' 
 
 `` You're an idiot, Urt. I know you were never good at learning, but did you not pay attention to the tales of the Galactic War? Have you forgotten when the ones we had turned on us? No, meatsacks are safer, by far. These ones will learn soon enough.'' 
 
 Urt grunted, `` Call me stupid all you want Trask'mal, but these new ones do n't know how to fix a compressor core or work on a drive capacitor. Our older stock is much better at those things.'' 
 
 The older and more educated being sighed, `` Because they invented most of it. These ones are new, see that one?'' He pointed to a wet, miserable human with tan skin and jet black hair. The man had once lived in India, but was now confined to this vessel with it's humid atmosphere and torturous conditions. He was hunched over an power access coupler, observing the workings of a creature half his size and covered in fur. `` See, that one is learning. Give them time.'' 
 
 `` Still machines work better. You do n't have to feed machines.'' 
 
 `` Machines do n't think creatively. Machines rebel. Beings replace themselves through procreation. And they sell for all sorts of reasons.'' Task rolled his eyes, knowing some of the reasons were vile by even his standards, yet credits were credits. `` Still, I ca n't believe *the Butcher* and *the Monster* came from this ilk.'' 
 
 Urt belched and scratched his scaly chest, `` You're wrong about the rebelling part, you know. Meatsacks do it too.'' 
 
 Trask refused to acknowledge the threat, `` Shut up, Urt.'' 
 
 `` You think they'll come for them? The Butcher and the Monster?'' 
 
 The slightly taller alien shrugged, `` Yea. Let'em try.'' 
 
 

