The Regional Premier (left) stopped to examine Lt. Commander Grog and to listen to the impassioned gurgles from the growing crowd of his concerned kin. He then spoke in simple, measured glugs and clicks; the one universal talent shared by politicians across the galaxy.

"...mmm ... this kind of slimelessness and floppidity is critically important... I agree that he needs the healing rituals of the Monks at the Temple of Mo... We must request the service of the Slog Stable Master!"

**... you know, I don't want to appear ungrateful here, but we have been carting Grog all over this planet today... how far away is this Stable Master guy, and how fast can we get to this Temple of Moo?"**