"I guess I'll take me a nap," he said thickly, his words slurred. He scratched himself once again, yawned deeply, and slumped against the tree, obviously in sleep.
Baren Darl looked at me triumphantly. "The reaction is somewhat different than we'd expected, but obviously the fleas have given him lepbonic plague. This weapon at least is as successful as we had—"
I peered down at the Earthling suspiciously. His clothes were disarrayed and torn. I pointed at a speck on his uncouthly hairy chest.
"And what is that?" I snapped at Baren Darl.
He bent down to see what I indicated.
"It seems to be one of the fleas," he told me.
"Then what is it doing on its back with its feet up in the air?"
"It seems indisposed."
"It seems dead you numbskull!" I roared at him. "After biting this Earthling your fleas have died!"
In a high rage, I strode up and down the clearing trying to coordinate my thoughts to the point where I could make an intelligent decision on this situation. Obviously, a crisis was at hand. Using these weapons devised by our scientists, after detailed instructions on their construction by Baren Darl and his group of efficient "experts," would obviously be suicidal. They were completely worthless.