Hell, Gon-Zuu was in hell.
The body shell they had inhabited was overcome, again, by a wave of disgusting nausea. Gon-Zuu would have to lie down soon, preferably on the floor. They fumbled in the pocket of the alien clothing for a tablet that they swallowed dry. The only thing that helped with the constant nausea and prevented vomiting, a fate worse than death, was a medication designed for impregnated human females.
Nothing had prepared them for being trapped at the pinnacle of a soft mound of flesh, or for the sickening see-saw movement that displacement involved. Gon-Zuu’s home world had much stronger gravity than this primitive planet and their species had evolved accordingly, hugging the ground when displacing themselves.
Despite three months of attempting to become accustomed to the body shell and its method of displacement – “walking” the humans called it for Gon-Zuu had most definitely not managed “running” – they still struggled with constant feelings of vertigo and what humans called seasickness. Gon-Zuu constantly felt like they were going to fall off a precipice and smash screaming onto the unforgiving ground. The motion jostled and jarred them and that ground never stopped rolling.
Gon-Zuu had begged to be allowed to discard the body shell and leave the planet. But their superiors had insisted that they had to wait three months to see if they could become accustomed to the swaying motion while trapped so high above the planet’s surface in a flubbering jelly vessel. Only then would their commandant accept a full report.
Gon-Zuu was already certain of the message their report would contain:
Human body shells are not suitable receptacles for the Cretoid.
Strongly advise seeking alternative planet for colonisation.