I had an encounter yesterday night with a being that seemed human, yet behaved like a stranger to our ways. It told me the following story that expains why aliens no longer visit us. This is a rough, unedited transcript.
GALACTIC QUARANTINE
‘Gentlebeings, the special ad-hoc committee on the issue of Fros 640.3 is now in session,’ intoned Seniormost Counselor Yort.
‘Motion to the chair: to accelerate discussion, let us refer to the planet by the name the natives give it,’ spoke Junior Councelor Reknip.
‘Motion seconded,’ added Senior counselor Daas.
‘Right,’ spoke the chair, “Earth it is. Gentlebeings: I would not have called the meeting on such short notice if the issue weren’t grave. Reknip, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, chair.” A holographic representation of a bipedal, mostly hairless, being filled the air. “This is the intelligent species that inhabits Earth. Let me show you some footage of a thousand revolutions ago of their planet around their sun.”
It showed an edifice built of stone, attacked by hundreds of those beings clad in metal and leather, and defended by hundreds more. The weapons being wielded were primitive: sharp metal tools, smaller tools being launched through the air by a tensed cord of sorts; also, the defenders were pouring out cauldrons of some hot or caustic liquid on the attackers. In the background, some of the latter were moving around seated on four-legged creatures.
“Cute, but not very interesting,” came one reaction.
The images switched to the aftermath of the conquest. Clearly, the beings reproduced sexually, and now both sexes were in sight. The one similar to the defenser were being put to death in various gruesome ways, while the latter were being forced to submit to reproductive acts. A collective wave of nausea wafted through the room.
“These beings clearly are extremely warlike and appallingly cruel,” came another. “But surely it will take tens of thousands of their… revolutions to develop more serious weapons.”
“So we would have thought. The following images are from a thousand revolutions later — in the middle of the year 1943, according to the Earthlings’ reckoning.”
The images showed two enormous armies in battle with each other — sitting in mechanized armored land-cruisers. One side fought under a plain red banner with some symbol in yellow in the corner, the other under a red flag with a white circle and inside a large black insignia of some sort. Foot soldiers fought with the land-cruisers, and threw or fired primitive chemical explosives at the others. The land cruisers’ main armament fired projectiles at each other, while the secondary armament — some sort of small-caliber autocannon — fired at the foot soldiers.”
“What propulsion systerm?”
“Internal combustion engine powered by liquid hydrocarbons. Crude but effective.”
Shock went through the room. It had taken their most warlike race forty times longer to make the same technological development, and half as long again to develop primitive space travel.
The images now shifted to a facility where guards herded a few thousand beings into a small chamber, which was then filled with a toxic gas, after which the dead were disposed of through combustion.
“Spirit of the Universe, why?”
“The group doing the herding considered the herded group a plague that needed to be exterminated.”
“How long did this go on.”
“For several of their years. We estimate the toll from this — and other — facilities to be several million. But that isn’t all. A mere two — two! — of their revolutions later.”
The image changed again. Thousands of primitive flying cruisers dropped objects on a large city, which was then set ablaze.
“And that was only one city of several. Now just half a revolution later.”
A single flying cruiser hovered high over an equally large city. A single pod dropped from it. Just before it reached ground level, the hologram went blindingly bright. The image zoomed out, and the unmistakable cloud shape associated with a fission explosion grew above the city.
“Almost as many Earthlings were killed at this place they call ‘Hiroshima’ as in the previous place, which they call ‘Tokyo’.”
Now everyone was gasping, or its equivalent for different life forms.
“You realize the seriousness of the matter? We have a very warlike life form in a blindingly fast, and accelerating, stage of technological development.”
“But sure they will never get off this planet…”
“I have a surprise for you.”
These images were more placid, of the surface of a celestial body that unmistakably had noatmosphere. A conveyance landed on it, and two life forms in protective suits exited it. One of them planted an insignia with stripes and stars on the surface of the moon.
“In their year 1969. Sure, it was just their planet’s only moon, and they traveled on a primitive chemical rocket, but…”
After a pregnant pause, Reknip continued. “According to our extrapolations, they will develop interstellar travel no later than by the year 2100 of their reckoning.”
In the blink of an eye hence, by galactic standards.
“But will they want to?” asked Daas.
“We believe population pressure and resource depletion will force them to at least colonize the rest of their solar system.”
“What is their population?”
“It is growing and approaching Earth’s carrying capacity, but with rational resource management and more efficient technology, the planet can probably bear another four times as many. Especially if they start harvesting mineral across their solar system.”
“Any other inhabitable planets for their physiology in it?”
“If you mean without artificial biospheres, no. The fourth planet is promising for adaptation though.”
“They have to be contained until they can be civilized to Galactic standards – or we will need to invoke General Directive 430.”
A collective shudder — or its equivalents — went through the room. GD 430 concerned the wholesale extermination of another life form. It had last been implemented forty thousand Earth years ago — by inducing the star around which the offending life form’s planet rotated to go nova. Literally anything would be better than a repeat performance.
“So what do you propose to do?”
“Curbing population growth would be a great start. Less population pressure, and they won’t be as keen to get off their planet.”
“I have a plan,” spoke up Tluacuof. “Implant a belief in them that mating in the reproductive orifice is sinful, and other orifices are sacred.”
“A good start, but there is a more comprehensive solution”, spoke Senior counselor Icsmarg. “My team spared time nor expense to develop a mind virus that we believe to be an answer to the situation. If the Chair permits—”
“Permission granted.”
And thus Icsmarg laid out his plan.
—
About thirty Earth-years later.
“The follow-up meeting of the Special Committee on Fros 1024.3, otherwise known as “Earth”, is now in session,” spoke Seniormost Counselor Yort. “As you recall, we authorized Senior Counselor Icsmarg to introduce the mind virus called ‘pomo’. Let us now review the results. Reknip, you have the floor.”
Again, three-dimensional images filled the space. An orator was ranting:
“We must decolonize science! Math is a tool of the white patriarchy! Other ways of knowing…”
Mirth in the conference room. “Good luck developing interstellar travel that way.”
“Or even staying alive.”
Another clip had a disheveled-looking musician of sorts producing sounds while whining about his desire to be ‘rape’d, ‘used’, and ‘waste’d.
“There is a logical contradiction here. He wants to be, er, ‘possessed’ against his will?”
“That’s the effect of this virus for you. It erodes the capacity for coherent thought.”
Next, juveniles at an educational institution were explained there were not two genders, but no fewer than one hundred and thirty-seven.
“Why?”
“That way, they are less likely to reproduce and population will drop.”
The next device showed images extracted from the personal computing device of the heir to the leader of the most powerful nation. It showed the heir, naked, in the process of ingesting illicit neuroactive chemicals, in various acts with equally naked females, and bragging about bribes he had extracted on behalf of his progenitor.
Counselor Volyrk was not easily shocked, but most taken aback that the Earthlings had gone from primitive mechanical calculating devices to this technology in so short a time span.
“Do the Earthlings know this?”
“Yes.”
“How come this leader and his offspring are still in power?”
“Oh, they are not really — we are controlling them indirectly. They are in thrall to the leader of the most populous nation — and him we have suborned.”
“And the Earthlings are not rising in revolt?”
“Half of his nation want him gone, but the other half think they will not be able to kill their offspring during gestation if his opponent comes to power.”
“We would want them to do that, of course. Keep population pressure down.”
Next came images of a demonstration demanding that various technologies be given up to stop “global warming”. One of the demonstrations was led by a juvenile who seemed mentally the worse for wear.
“Are we controlling her?”
[…]
“So our plan is working.”
“The mind virus is effective — that’s the good news. The bad news is: see here. Junior Scout Sateg was sent on a reconnaissance mission, disguised as one of the locals. This is footage from his debriefing.”
The Galactic went on an excited discourse “… reality is only an illusion! There is no objective truth, only narratives fighting for power! Infinite different genders! Galactic reparations payments now! Gravity is a social construct…”
“We tried to treat him, but then he infected others of the treatment crew. We had no choice but to place them in complete biocontainment and cut off communications — otherwise we’d have had to euthanize them.”
Shock turned to horror. This ‘pomovirus’ was a Doomsday weapon that could destroy all of Galactic civilization.
“There’s nothing for it. Convene the Supreme Galactic Council and request authorization to implement Directive 430.”
“No! Not xenocide. I beg you — there must be an antidote!”
“That will take hundreds of their years to develop.”
“If they don’t extinguish themselves by then.”
“It’s quite possible that those most resilient to the virus will reproduce most — and hence become the dominant population.”
“So we must give them a chance. In the meantime, let’s place them in Galactic quarantine.”
“How?”
“The standard procedure. Surround the system with a belt of warning buoys broadcasting a signal warning all spacecraft to avoid it, in Galactic Standard and in all major Galactic languages.”
Nods, grumbles, and other expressions of assent went across the room.
“I move for a vote.”
“Motion seconded.”
“Therefore, let us vote.”
The motion passed unanimously. Ever since, the planet the locals call Earth has been the Galactic equivalent of an isolation cell for the dangerous mentally ill.
One counselor was not around to witness it, however. Overcome with guilt, Icsmarg had disabled the safety interlocks of his personal spacecraft, boarded it, and piloted it into the heart of Earth’s sun.
The above is a work of satirical fiction. To paraphrase Heinrich Böll, similarity with actual events is neither coincidental nor intentional, but merely unavoidable.
Spin, strangeness, and charm 