The human race must be exterminated. So sorry. Sincerely, the aliens.

The human race must be exterminated. So sorry. Sincerely, the aliens.

The time has come; my five years on Earth have ended. I must submit my findings. It’s not looking good for them — the facts and the numbers are all there. Proof is in my pudding, as they would say. Poor fools. It was a good five years. I enjoyed it. I met the most interesting people and saw wonderful places.

My concern is simple: the human race has eaten its own tail. The majority of society is crippled. Most governments are overseen by — bluntly put — idiots. People are in power who should not be in power.

“Would you like another coffee?” The waitress pulls me out of my thoughts. She wears a practised smile and tilts her head the way servers are taught to tilt theirs. “Oh… uh — I’m good for now, thanks.” She turns like a dancer to leave. I can’t help myself. “Wait.” She turns back, eyes wide with hopeful expectation. “I’ll have waffles with ice cream.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks.” Shame — poor girl. She probably won’t be here next week. No one will. I sigh and look out at the busy street: people moving through their days, enthralled by their inner worlds, unaware their world will end. A child pushes an old man in a wheelchair across the road, ice cream melting down his hand.

No matter how sweet, beautiful, kind, wicked, selfish, cruel, or disgusting a species might be, population and consequence must be taken into account. I learned that watching deer die.

One of my human friends drove me out to a reserve. The deer had exploded in number — no predators left, no balance. They starved among the scrub. The anti-hunting groups had turned away from the hard choice; so nature tilted and suffered. Seeing ribs, hip bones, hollowed faces — eyes still bright with life but glossed with fear — was sobering. Sunshine all the time makes a desert, an Arabian proverb someone quoted to me. It was inevitable: too many mouths, too few resources, and people who would rather look away.

To see the deer starve when a cull would have saved the herd felt crueller than doing the cull. Ignorance breeds suffering.

Humans oversee the earth — Genesis says man will have dominion — and, sadly, they are very bad at it. Species go extinct by human hands; others are left to perish by neglect. How long do humans have before they destroy themselves? Fifty years? Maybe a hundred?

It does not matter if the signs are clear. I like a few humans, but I doubt the council will turn a blind eye to the facts.

One can argue you cannot punish the good for another’s evil. You cannot exterminate a species for a minority’s crimes. That is true, but the scale matters: overpopulation, poisoned water, poisoned minds, climate collapse. The council will not spare humanity for the sake of a few decent people. What a waste. What a pity. Here and there one finds goodness, but the majority earns little sympathy.

This is quite the pickle. I hate pickles. So gross — especially the saltiness and texture. Sweets are better.

I marinate in the conflict of my thoughts, but it melts away a little when I see my waitress.

“Waffles with ice cream. Anything else?”

“I’m good, thanks, Barbra.”

She's in a good mood today. I cam tell she met a guy. Cute.

Barbara and I have an unspoke agreement. She gives mes seniot discount even though this form is not there yet and I give her a good tip. So in the end. I pay her more and less for the food so she can live out her last days with a few extra bucks.

“Cool.” She walks away, unaware of my predicament. Well — can this be a predicament? The facts are the facts, unfortunately. I will miss humans’ ice cream. I won’t miss their pickles.

Amazing how many things go into the dish: flour from wheat, milk from a cow, vanilla from a tropical vine, eggs from a chicken. The humans are the same — a jumble of ingredients that somehow make something lovely. Too bad one rotten egg spoils the whole dish.

If I miss the good humans and not the bad, am I really impartial? If I were the pacifist I was meant to be, I would not feel so bad for the few good ones. My eyes start to leak. Those stupid, gross, idiotic humans have crept a little into my good books. I sniffle to hold back the tear. I don’t want to see my friend Jim die. I love his stories. He showed me the deer. He showed me the ingenuity and the shortcomings of these people.

Outside in the street people laugh together. There is a man shouting on the phone. A young woman speed walks through the crowed determined to keep everyone from seeing her casually wipe at her upper cheek, but everyone is too busy living. So luckily and unfortunately - no one sees her cry.

The kid and the old man in the wheelchair have long gone and now couple walks out tje ice cream shop. Clearly a firsr date with those nervous smiles and tight body langue.

I will miss Barbra — she brings me my waffles and makes being a council advocate easier. She’s working off student debt. This place makes the best waffles. Ice cream starts to melt over the waffle, stealing its crisp with creaminess.

I will miss this diner floor with its cracked tiles that the owner is too cheap to replace. Can't be too judgy - I am cheap too. What will I miss most of all? No, I don't want to think about it.

My phone buzzes. A text: Please answer your phone. We have read your report and want a meeting.

Annoyance fills me.

Now is not a good time. My nose is stuffy. I have allergies.

I take another bite.

I know the report looks bad. The council is likely to recommend extermination — all because of my research. I can't lie. Research has to be ethical and true even if the contents and subject does not fit to our liking. Lying does not solve anything. On the contrary it drags out and complicates situtions. I can't lie on behalf of the humans to save their skin so that only later they trip on their way down the stairs.

It is cruel to be kind. Giving false hope will do them no good. I will not be cruel by being kind. I will be just. Yes, its not fair, but life is not fair. Chaos is a law we all obey. The humans have ruined themselves - we will just make the finishing blow quicker.

Some people deserve to die, obviously: arsonists who burn forests, men who murder and dismember, corporations that poison rivers. The rest are a calculation. A war could be one solution; a disease another.

Population control is messy.

Another text: We need to have a meeting so the council can decide.

I hesitate. They reply: Are you having second thoughts? Did you get close to the rats?

My blood simmers, but guilt creeps in. I type honestly: The majority of humans are assholes. Some need to be put down, unfortunately. It does not help to kill them all. Population control is needed; war might push them to a new era.

I send. Bad. A war is not nice, but my data is stubborn. I bite my lip, then try to be kinder:

How about a big natural disaster? A disease or two?

Their reply makes me blink: Are you suggesting we keep some of them? The council might consider a recommendation if you present a professional opinion.

I stare at the text. Then I type,We have to keep a few. Who will make our ice cream?