In a terrain that was neither land nor sea, yet a flowing thing strangely in between, the aliens were quite still. They didn’t stand as the frightened do, not cowering with lowered eyes, yet more as one observing a cat attempting algebra. Again, I offered them our books, all the everything a millennia of our kind has amassed. Then with one extending arm, that was a cartoonish blue, pat, pat, patterty, pat, pat. My eyes rolled up toward the point of contact, my mouth a question mark. All that was missing were a few words, “Good, kitty. Good, kitty.”
“War?” said the alien, taking on a languid swirl. “Primitive. We have the disco-dis.”
“Huh?” was our only reply.
“We are led by the most creative brains,” says the alien. “The ‘disco-dis’ is the perfect measure of balance, poise and creative intelligence.”
“And you dance?” we asked. “Dance and disrespect the opponent.”
“All in the best possible taste,” said the alien. “Size isn’t important, a nimble brain is. We'd better respect a genius ant-wolf than the large-but-dumb. You have the dance-off, do you not? You have rap-battles, do you not? Surely your leaders aren’t simply the caveman with the largest club?”
“Right,” we replied, feeling that we were about to do the kitty-pat in return. “Yeah…” Dance off as a model for a global peace strategy?
“You did not think to extend that valuable technology?” said the alien, causally shrinking to pea size and pulsing out to elephant and blue whale. “You stuck with blowing others of your kind and the natural world to smithereens?”
"We'd love to say 'Hello,' to your kind... when you are kind," said the alien. "Kind to your own and other species. Keep working on that and perhaps we'll let your crude machinery glimpse what is beyond your quarantined world."
If we let anyone see us, if we spoke to them directly, you'd have them carted off to some mental facility. So, what's the point? Our word for you guys is close in sound to our world for "paranoid," that's not a coincidence. On a deep level, that's how we aliens see you guys. So, you call yourselves "human" which is close to "humane" and "humanitarian" and a good deal of you are "human." Those folks we actually use a different word for which is closer to "loving" in our language. Yet so many of you we call, in our words, sort of "paranoiams." It is not a genetic distinction, yet cultural and linguistic, because culture and language are interconnected and interdependent. Still, the effects on neural programming over lifetimes renders you as almost different species by the time you reach mature adult ages. You are the meek and the predators, though there are also hero types, protectors, and they are necessary in these situations. Aliens are your buddies from other planets, and we have to guide the right kind of plans to save yours.
Fixing messes, the apocalyptic type, is the mission we all chose. It takes a lot of effort and a lot of sacrifices on a personal level. I'm sure doctors and such can relate. We want to get you on the right track so we can get back to our lives, have fun, be with our families and friends. Again, I'm sure you can relate. So, aliens, yes we are. However, given our advancement and abilities, the fact that you are all still there being dicks to each other should put you at your ease somewhat. If we were as murderous as the worst humans are, you'd all be eradicated by now.
We travel more distance than you can fathom in crafts your imaginations have yet to dream of, and you think you would know we are here? We are as the good biologists, observing and tending to your dysfunction. We are the doctors of the galaxy, the care takers who come to save planets such as yours. We operate under the command of the divine spirit, the one who is love and loves us all. This is a created universe after all. So think of us as friends from far, far away, perhaps in a place with two suns, yet we are the ones who bring peace to you, help you develop into a species that is kind. So when you are ready to find us, we'll let you... if you're very, very good.
The alien assessed the data on humanity, the more he read the more conflicting it was. Under intergalactic law no species may be considered intelligent if they destroy their home world, no matter how advanced or complex their technologies may be. Yet they had the cornerstones of true intelligence - love, imagination, empathy. The rules dictated the final decision over if they were truly sentient must be decided by a "stress test" on the most intelligent one. Success meant the others would likely get to the same understanding with some help, failure would mean a mandate for the eradication of the problematic species.
The commander stretched out his antennae and tuned into the emotions of the planet and what he felt almost killed him. There was love and warmth from many species but the pain that flowed from the homo sapiens was almost enough to fry his neural network. He dissolved into the wall of the craft to mingle with his comrades. It was not a discussion but a joint feeling they arrived at. Either the dominant species had to be re-educated or eradicated. In their telepathic manner they selected the best and worst of the species and arranged for a pick up. They never did these things themselves, it was as easy for them as ordering a pizza is for a human in New York. They summoned the intergalactic snatch squad and transmitted the details.