Carnivorous Cows!

     Cows are normally considered herbivores, but whoever made earth and programmed cows to function as such had clearly never been to Bodaciavore 5. The plant was nice, as nice as it could be when populated with meat-eating cattle, but Cello wasn't really meat to begin with.
     He docked his craft, which masqueraded as one of Galacar's finest, at the space port, and got his boots on the ground. The main port was a riot of various cultures and species, all melding and merging and trading. Some were even crewing up. Most would think Cello was looking for a crew, but this simply wasn't the case. His craft didn't need a crew; it was linked to him already. If he wanted, he could call his ship to him, navigating it through the sky while at a secondary location. It was another reason his superiors had picked him for the mission on Bodaciavore 5. Sure, these cows ate meat, but Earth cows ate plants. Plants! That was millions of years of evolutionary fear built into Cello that activated in the presence of cows. Unfortunately, he was the only one within the entire intelligence organization who met the necessary requirements for the mission. Namely, he wasn't made of meat.
     Wading through the crowded main concourse, he broke free of the space-port and found himself at the welcoming center for the planet. A bovine with dewy brown eyes smiled at him from behind her desk. Her teeth were needle sharp. "Hello, sir. Can I help you?" Cello already suspected the intel they had received would prove correct.
     "Yes, sorry. I'm a bit lost. I'm trying to get into the main city? I've got some items for exchange," Cello answered. As if to prove the point, he hefted the sack in his hand so the cow could see it, and favored her with an apologetic smile. The sack had been carefully chosen and constructed to appear as if it was somewhat damp, bulging with various...contraband items. However, Cello knew the truth. The sack was filled with his dirty laundry, carefully arranged to appear as what the cow imagined. The cow of Bodaciavore 5, by the by, thought it was severed human limbs.
     "Oh! Certainly, sir!" Her eyes narrowed with anticipation, and she licked her lips slowly while typing into the computer on the desk. After several moments of meticulous tapping, a small arch appeared in the middle of the wall behind the desk, and the clerk cow smiled once more. She beckoned Cello over and sent him on his way. She didn't offer any instructions, so he figured he was supposed to know this part and take care of it on his own. Shrugging to himself, he headed down the dark tunnel.
     When he finally emerged into light, he found himself in a basement kitchen. It was the new fad of the galaxy. Restaurants would serve you from the surface entrance, but on the lower floor, an immense, sprawling kitchen was busy at work. Several cooking stations were set up, the clang and clamor of pots and pans penetrating the air, along with the shouts from various chef-types. Looking around, somewhat helplessly, Cello was spotted by a large brown bull with white spots on his chest.
     "You! Is that the homo sapiens meat?"
     "Sure is!" Cello smiled. The recording device hidden within the sack had picked that up, loud and clear. His mission was technically complete the moment he got confirmation on what had been suspected. The carnivorous cows of Bodaciavore 5 were indeed eating the meat of sentient species. However, Cello couldn't be content letting things lie. As it stood, this kitchen was headquarters, the place of operation, which meant he had an obligation - a duty! -  to shut it down.
     Narrowing his eyes at the bull, he gave his own fake smile, and then the blasters went off.
     Above them, screams filtered down. His craft was shooting up the main restaurant, and even dropped a bomb. The bomb blast rocked the entire foundation of the place, and dust drifted down from the ceiling above. The bull shouted out, "What the hell is going on?!"
      Cello dropped the sack, rolls of dirty underwear spilling out. He whipped out a hand, and from his hand spread choking roots that took down multiple cows with ease. Some tried to bite him to no avail, for they had the teeth of carnivores and could not damage the hardy plant substance. Eventually, only piles of beef remained, and Cello calmly entered the tunnel once more. In fact, he walked down the tunnel with a hop in his step, and a whistling tune from his lips.
     When he came back out, the female clerk cow was cowering behind her desk, and Cello did her the favor of a root straight to the brain, no suffering for her. From there, it was easy to maneuver through the chaos, and by the time he was back at the space-port, his ship was waiting for him.
     He boarded and smiled, patting the interior.
     Cellulose was home.