Ask, "What kind of information?"

"The kind that will help our leaders decide if we can live in this world, or if we have to keep looking." The lizard sighs. "I've been to eight Earth's, personally, and there were two other teams before I joined. I'm starting to think there's just no place for us anywhere."

"What's wrong with your own world...Um...Sorry, I don't know your name. Do you have a name?" you ask.

"It's Sebastian," the lizard replies, that dark tongue flicking out again, "but everyone calls me Zilla."

"Oh, you're a guy!" you say, taking another look at it- him. Even knowing, you can't really see any gender-identifying features. He gives you a dirty look, like you should have been able to tell. "Sorry, you're the first Genetic-Hybrid-Whatever I've ever met."

"You can call us Furs or Furries," Zilla says. "It's easier to remember. Although us reptiles prefer to be called Scalies. It doesn't really matter, though. We're being hunted to extinction, systematically being exterminated, now that those who created us no longer need us to fight in their stupid war. We're unwanted competition for food, water, shelter. That's what's wrong with our world."

"That's terrible," you say, "but I'm not sure if our world will be any better for you. We have too many people as it is."

"How many?" Zilla asks.

"7.5 billion, I think," you say. "I could look it up, if I had my phone." You suddenly realize that you're still zip-tied to the bed frame.