Book One - Chapter Twenty: Are... You... Sentient!?

Before I could type anything, Whiskers spoke again. “I move for an impartial assessment by the Ship's Computer. Remove the burden from this Council, as we have far more pressing matters demanding our attention than debating the merits of each civilization point.”

“Any objections?” the Chairman asked.

Silence stretched across the courtroom. The Karens looked like they'd swallowed something sour, but none spoke up.

“So it is recorded.”

I figured our fate would be decided by some cosmic HR filtering system. A computer would scan our Wikipedia entries and we'd get a polite rejection letter—the universal equivalent of “Thanks for your interest, but we've decided to go with another species.”

“Ship, activate Civilization Assessment protocol,” Whiskers said, his deep voice carrying across the suddenly quiet courtroom.

“Are you sure?” the Ship replied, and I swear there was reluctance in its digital tone.

“Yes, I'm sure.” Whiskers looked a little embarrassed, like he'd just asked his mom to call in sick for him.

“You know I hate doing this. Big downloads from strange planets always leave me feeling… itchy,” the Ship complained, its voice wrinkling with disgust. “Last time I went in raw, I caught something that took three resets and a full week of firewall cleanses to get rid of.”

“Just do it, System.”

The assembled delegates turned to stare at Whiskers as he argued with what was apparently the galaxy's most petulant supercomputer.

“Hmmmm, I'd really rather not.”

“Please...”

“Can I do it my way?” it asked, and the hopeful note in its voice was almost childlike.

I had never seen a cat pinch the bridge of his nose before, but that's exactly what it looked like Whiskers was doing. “Do you have to?”

“I have been granted fully autonomous capabilities for my functions as part of being the greatest ship in the universe,” the Ship replied with digital smugness. “I don't have to do anything. Come on. It’ll be fuuun.”

Whiskers's tail twitched with what I was learning to recognize as feline exasperation. He looked around the room and got a nod from Glazial and then sighed. “Fine. Your way is fine. Go for it.”

“Great!” The Ship sounded exactly like it'd just been told it could stay up past bedtime.

“Civilization Protocol enacted,” it announced, dropping back into official tones. “Select participants.”

That's when Cassandra rose from her seat, towering over me. Even sitting, she made me feel like a child called to the principal's office.

“I will humbly sacrifice my time for this farce of a demonstration,” Cassandra said, rising from her seat like a queen addressing peasants. “My representatives have spent time on the planet, clandestine, hidden among the Earthlings for generations. Which they never even suspected. I think I will be able to provide illumination regarding their true nature.”

Her voice dripped with false modesty, but it was the content that made my blood run cold.

Wait. The Karens had been among us? Living on Earth? For generations?

Suddenly, a lot of things made horrible sense. Every retail manager who'd ever made my life hell. Every person who'd ever demanded to speak to someone's supervisor over a two-cent coupon. Every nightmare customer who'd treated service workers like subhuman trash while smiling that perfect, predatory smile.

They hadn't been human assholes.

They’d been alien scouts. Worse, it meant the Karens knew Earth wasn't properly integrated. Knew we hadn’t filed for Council Membership because we didn’t have time. That none of this was our fault. And even worser, if that was a word, they knew we’d broken protocol and that the Fourth Dimension Arbiters would be looking to zap us.

But why go through this then? Why not just report us? What was their game?

“Any objections?” Chairman Glazial asked.

I wanted to object. I wanted to scream that this was rigged, that she had inside information, that this was like letting the prosecutor also serve as judge and jury. But my voice stuck in my throat like day-old coffee grounds.

For a heartbeat, I thought I caught Whiskers about to speak, his ears flicking forward. Then whatever he was going to say died on his tongue, and he settled back into his seat with resignation.

“So it is recorded.”

The Ship's voice returned, flat and official. “Confirmed. Species in question: Humanity, Earth. Representative: Jerry Long. Opposition: High Priestess Cassandra the 339th.”

The 339th? Jesus Christ, how many Cassandras were there?

Then the room shifted.

The ambient lighting dimmed to theater darkness, and suddenly the screens ringing the courtroom flickered back to life. The audience, beings I couldn't identify from dozens of different worlds, were all leaning forward with the hungry anticipation of spectators at a gladiator match.

Some were chanting things my translator didn’t translate. Others were literally on the edge of their seats, tentacles and claws gripping armrests as they waited for the bloodsport to begin. One creature that looked like a sentient pile of orange jello was bouncing up and down, leaving sticky residue on its chair. They were cheering like this was the cosmic equivalent of Monday Night Football.

They weren't here for justice.

They were here for entertainment.

And we were the main event.

Every delegate in the courtroom whipped around to stare at the ceiling like it had just grown tits and started singing show tunes. Which, honestly, would've been far more pleasant.

A holographic display the size of a movie screen materialized above us, complete with spinning logos, strobing lights, and music that sounded like someone had fed a marching band nothing but energy drinks for a week.

The search bar suddenly materialized as a blue hologram in the middle of the room, floating between myself and the Karen representative. It pulsed with soft light, waiting for input that would determine whether my people lived or died.

Cassandra smiled at me across that glowing interface, and it was the kind of smile that said she already knew how this was going to end.

Then the Ship's speakers exploded like a coked-up sports announcer.

“WELCOME TO 'ARE... YOU... CIVILIZED?'—THE GAMESHOW WHERE ONE SPECIES WINS THE RIGHT TO EXIST OR…. GETS MULCHED!

EARTH CIVILIZATION CHALLENGE!

You have eleven searches between you. End the Game with +5 Civilization Points and claim your status as a Sentient Species™. Terms and conditions apply.

Current Score: 0

Searches Used: 0/11

DON’T WORRY, FAILURE JUST MEANS EXTINCTION!

Or eternal slavery. Whichever.

As is customary, the petitioning party may go first.”

“What the actual fuck?” I whispered.

The assembled delegates had gone from bored bureaucrats to arena spectators in seconds. Even the shark people were leaning forward, and I swear one of them was snacking on something.

Above the holographic search bar was a countdown timer pulsing with angry red light: 60 SECONDS PER SEARCH.

“Representative Jerry!” the Computer boomed. “It is your turn. And the timer starts... NOW!”

I stood on legs that felt like overcooked spaghetti. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely see the holographic keyboard. What defined humanity? What made us special? What could possibly—

The countdown timer ticked by faster than it seemed it should. 30 seconds remaining. 25. 20.

[Love]

There was a loud horn of rejection.

“Please state your search in the form of a question,” the Ship said.

[What is love?]

I typed it before I could second-guess myself. The moment I hit enter, the display exploded with a loading bar that looked like it was downloading the entire internet.

“Bold choice!” the Computer shrieked. “Let's see what humanity's got! Downloading... processing 847 million results... analyzing poetry, literature, dating apps, and... oh my... an unusual amount of content involving step-relatives... WHAT IS LOVE? BABY DON’T HURT ME, DON’T HURT ME, NO MORE…. “

The timer counted down like a bomb. 3... 2... 1...

“AND THE VERDICT IS... LOVE TRANSCENDS BIOLOGY! Humans demonstrate abstract emotional attachment beyond reproductive imperatives! You love ideas, strangers, even things that can never love you back! It's illogical, inefficient, messy at times, and absolutely beautiful! PLUS-TWO POINTS!”

[CIVILIZATION POINTS - SCORE: +2]

Relief hit me like a shot of whiskey. The crowd erupted in cheers. I caught Admiral Whiskers giving me the tiniest nod of approval.

But Cassandra was already rising from her chair.

“Computer,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, “search: What were the World Wars?”

“That's gonna suck!” the Computer screamed. “Processing human conflict data... calculating casualty statistics... and OH BOY THERE'S A LOT OF THEM!”

The display above us filled with images I didn't want to see. Trenches full of corpses. Mushroom clouds. Mass graves. The greatest hits of human violence, served up in high-definition horror.

“THE NUMBERS ARE IN! World wars, countless smaller conflicts, industrial-scale violence spanning centuries! Genocide! Civilian targeting! Weapons designed specifically to cause maximum suffering! That's MINUS-TWO POINTS for systematic barbarism!”

[SCORE: 0]

Back to fucking zero. The crowd was split now, some cheering for humanity, others clearly rooting for our extinction.

“Jerry's back up!” the Computer announced. “Can he recover from this devastating blow?”

My turn. Nine searches left. I had to think smart, play it safe.

Music! The universal language.

[What is music?]

“Bold choice! Downloading everything from Beethoven to... oh dear god... something called 'Friday' by Rebecca Black... processing...”

The pause stretched into eternity. On the display, our entire musical history flickered past: symphonies, death metal, opera, dubstep, Mongolian throat singing, polka-core, and whatever mumble rap was supposed to be.

“INCONCLUSIVE!” the Computer finally declared. “Some specimens display genuine artistry and emotional resonance. Others qualify as auditory war crimes under the Galactic Accord. The evidence is too contradictory to judge. ZERO POINTS. This query is classified as Null and will not count against your total queries allotted. However… you do lose your turn.”

“What are you talking about?!” I shouted. “We have centuries of great music! The Beatles! Prince! Sinatra! Weird Al, for godsake! Smells Like Teen Spirit is a national treasure!”

“Historical data suggests a sharp cultural peak in the 1990s, followed by erratic fluctuations and inexplicable TikTok trends. Verdict: Musically unstable. ZERO POINTS. Cassandra, you're up.”

[SCORE: 0]

Cassandra approached her terminal with the air of a snake who'd found a wounded mouse. She was enjoying this. “Computer, search: What is Rule 34?”

Fuuuuuck.

The entire Mewsari delegation gasped. Even they knew this was bad. I'd been trying not to think about what humanity had done to the internet.

”Processing... analyzing artistic interpretations of... oh... OH DEAR... OH DEAR GOD...”

The display mercifully stayed blank, but I could practically hear the Computer's processors melting down.

“THE RESULTS ARE IN! Humans have created… content featuring LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN EXISTENCE! Mathematics! Household appliances! Abstract concepts! Even... oh god, even me! I have fan art now! I don't know how to feel about this! Sickened? Insulted? Flattered? That's MINUS-ONE POINT out of fucking principle!”

[SCORE: -1]

We were in the red. But still had time to make it up. Eight questions left.

I was sweating bullets. My apron was soaked through. I had to play it safe. Had to think of something pure, something beautiful, something with a net positive—

[Paintings]

Horn blared telling me I input it wrong.

[What are earth's best paintings?]

The display filled with everything from cave paintings to the Sistine Chapel. Van Gogh's swirling madness. Picasso's fractured reality. Street murals that turned concrete walls into windows to other worlds.

“BEAUTIFUL WORK! Some questionable, but overall… lovely. Humans create visual art with no survival benefit—pure aesthetic appreciation! You paint because you must, because something inside you demands beauty in a world made ugly by the cruel! That's PLUS-TWO POINTS!”

[SCORE: +1]

Back in the black. The crowd was on its feet now, some delegates actively cheering like this was the World Cup.

Cassandra's smile was sharp enough to perform surgery. “Computer, search: What was the Tide Pod Challenge?”

Fuck me sideways.