The courtroom looked completely ordinary, except for the reptilian aliens. The jury box was filled with twelve brutish crocodile smiling creatures jammed into the human-sized chairs. On either side of the box I was sat in, two more leathery creatures sat at the defense and prosecution tables. Behind us, an audience of similar gecko aliens sat in the audience. Before us behind the raised dais was the judge, twice as wide as the jurors, flat-faced, plates of bone shifted over their shoulders. Their voice was raspy, dark, and ear shaking.
“Present the case against humanity.”
-The Bad News-
One of the lizard aliens stood. I felt a shiver run up my spine. Thoughts and memories began to pop into my mind. They appeared projected in the air in front of me changing too fast for me to really see. All I got were quick impressions.
Sexism. Racism. Acid in pools. Bigotry. Intolerance. Oil spills. Clear cut forests. Nuclear waste. Greed. Over-fishing. Guns, jets, tanks. War. Hiroshima. Nagasaki.
“That will be enough,” the judge said with a nod. The alien prosecutor sat back down. “Present the defense of humanity.”
-The Good News-
The other alien rose to their feet and again my memories were raided and displayed.
Friends holding hands. Babies laughing. Babies smiling. Babies crying. Babies. Family eating together. Communities banding together after disasters. Children on playgrounds. Sunsets. Rainbows. Dancing. Hugs.
“That will be all,” the judge said. “I will now pass judgment.”
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t I get to say anything?” The audience began squealing and squeaking among themselves.
“Quiet! Quiet!” the judge yelled. Silence retook the courtroom. “This is irregular but I will allow it.”
-The Ugly Truth-
I stood shakily in my box.
“You have looked at my memories of the good and bad things humans have done to ourselves, to our world but we are so much more than just the good and the bad things. We have potential to be more if you give us more time.” I paused trying to think of more to say. No bolt of inspiration hit me, so I sat back down.
“Your words have been heard and added to the record. It is the judgment of this court that Earth shall remain on the restricted contact list. Humanity will be reassessed in fifty galactic standard years. The human will be returned with their memory wiped of these proceedings.”
“You’re not going to blow up the Earth or wipe out all of humanity?” I asked.
The judge turned to look directly at me, “Of course not, we’re not humans after all.”