[ WP ] A sci-fi story where humanity are the monsters .

**20:31 Earth Time, June 19th, 3015** 
 
 The Mooman ambassador left a big hole to fill when he was gone, in our souls probably, but certainly in the menu. We barely look each other in the eye now, except in fits of certainty that somebody is still hording away some small morsel of that poignant savory. 
 
 We fret, and because we worry about our souls, and about our own hides, we regret. Texacon has total jurisdiction over us as per our contract way out here, except for where Intergalactic law is already in place. Engaging in behavior that might bring about an interstellar war with a sentient species might fall into that category, so returning to Earth is a good way to get consumed by a lab-grown mini black hole as punishment for treason. 
 
 On the other hand, to throw ourselves on Texacon ’ s machine-efficient mercy for our bad judgment, is to get ourselves reconstituted into nutrients for the greenhouses and the protein shakes. Bloody barbaric. Its partly by the grace of the fuckups that came before us that we ’ ll be so blandly nourished for the remainder of this return trip, but of course we aren ’ t going home. How can we? 
 
 **23.51 Earth Time, June 19th, 3015** 
 
 We ’ re saved! Well, we might be saved! I was rocking in the cockpit for hours. Some of it was self-pity over our seemingly sealed fate, but even then my mind just kept wandering back to moochops and that melting meat like butter on the tongue, and I only truly sobbed when I was overcome with the realization that I would never experience those revelatory flavors on my taste-buds again. 
 
 And as I stared through blurred vision at myself in profile on the monitor, Wolf-Rayet-Star Velorum gleaming brightly over my left shoulder, I knew that 4 in 5 of us with olfactory senses could never have resisted the temptation to do what we ’ d done, not after smelling the ambassador ’ s flesh when he accidentally sat his rump on that burner plate; hallelujah! 
 
 You know what else? 4 out of 5 salivating humans is a hell of a market, and Texacon isn ’ t the only Charter staking claims to this solar system. Monstranto is just big enough that for the right incentive it might buy out our contracts, and start working on their good chums on the intergalactic oversight committee to correct a little miscategorization; a little glitch that should never happen again if future taxonomists just take into account my golden rule, namely, *if it tastes this damn good, then there ’ s no way in hell it can be sentient. * 
 
 It didn ’ t take much convincing…hell, we ’ re doing so much drooling now the doc has issued us all antacids. Next stop is the other side of what I ’ m going to Call Bovine 9 from now on. 
 
 We need to pick up a few new ambassadors. 

