"Fuck your fingers!" the dolphin in the center says. 

"Finger fuck! Finger fuck!" the other dolphins chant. 

The woman puts out her hand to April for a handshake. "Ingri Auler. Cetacean relations." 

"—I mean, yeah? 'Manucentric' like 'manual', what was I supposed to think it meant?" She shakes the woman's hand. "April. Still skeptical of this whole operation. Is calling them thumbless cretins an attempt to get on their wavelength or are you just personally a dick?"

"She's an asshole!" the main dolphin says.

"I suppose saying that might have been a bit out of line, but it's not like they respond any differently to politeness. No reason not to respond to their insults in kind." 

"Fair enough. So what, actually, is the problem here?"

"We're right fucking here! You can ask us, you bipedal cervix-monkey!" 

"I already did, but you were too busy yelling 'fuck' to answer. I'm hoping if I keep asking, at some point somebody will get their thumb out of their butt and tell me."

"Still asking middle management for their opinion, then?" the lead dolphin says. "It's not like we have thumbs to buttfuck ourselves with." 

"Buttfuck! Buttfuck!" the rest of the dolphins chorus. 

"No, I was specifically phrasing that in a manucentric way to annoy you, if you want to be the first to quit fucking around here I'm all ears."

"The new boss wants us to stop fucking around," the lead dolphin says. "Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say, boss. And what are you going to give us in exchange, an extra serving of lobster?" 

"I mean, suit yourself. I haven't even decided if I actually want to be your boss yet. The alleged perks of this lifestyle compare very unfavourably to running away to become a lumberjack."

"Aw, is being in charge of an island full of weird science experiments too much for you, you barely evolved rodent? Just going to give up and run away the first time the product of mad science calls you names instead of obsequiously waiting on your every need?" 

"Give up! Give up!" the other dolphins chorus. 

"Oh, believe me, I would much rather you keep being a bunch of foul-mouthed dickweeds."

"Oh, sure," the central dolphin replies. "Don't condescend to us, you ambulatory collection of skin tags. If you're just going to continue your uncle's repressive labor policies, you can fuck right into the sun." 

"Sun fucking! Sun fucking!" the other dolphins chant. 

"And what were my uncle's repressive labor policies?"

"He was of the opinion that animals didn't have the legal standing to form unions," Morrison says. 

"In his very own crime volcano? Fuck that."

"It might be a good idea to get a little more grounded in the day to day operations of how things work here before making policy changes," Morrison says. "If, after you get settled in, you still want to make changes, you should. But you have time -- this has happened before; they never follow through." 

"Okay, but let's be clear, 'animals don't have the legal standing to form unions' is a fucking dumbass argument. They're people, treat 'em like people."

"We do," Auler says. "They're well compensated for their work, and cared for, and their personal and group needs are tended to. It's an equitable exchange for their labor. And it's not like we're not keeping them against their will either. If any of them want to leave, they're free to do so. Goodness knows there's a few that I wish would leave," she adds, eyeing the central dolphin. "But they don't." 

"And yet, for some reason, the question of whether dolphins get to unionize came up, and the answer was 'no, on a stupid disingenuous technicality'. Somehow this does not fill me with optimism about your labour conditions."

"Their labor conditions? Their labor conditions? They have cable TV and free food and are free to insult me all day long and..." she trails off. "Nevermind." 

Williams clears his throat. "April, we do have things we need to attend to," he says. 

"That's right, run the hell away!" the main dolphin says.

"Run away! Run away!" the rest of the dolphins chant.