Sequestration

"Are you the ... leader?" Visions of probes danced through my head and other parts of my anatomy.

"Yes," I replied. "I'm the leader." It always helps to speak from a position of authority, however fraudulent and delusional. It's the way we do things in this country.

"I represent the High Galactic Council," it said from somewhere inside its bulbous head.

"Dang!" I blurted. "I always thought all that UFO stuff was the product of diseased and feeble minds!"

"It is," said the little alien creature. "Mostly. Except for a few ... experiments. This is the first and last formal contact between the HGC and your planet."

"Um, ... why?" I managed, finally.

"We have been watching the collapse of your ... for lack of a better word ... civilization," it said. "Basic infrastructure, education, health care, public safety, massive unemployment ... It's a very long list. I could say 'endless,' but that would be disingenuous."

"You can see all that?" I marveled.

"There is very little that we cannot see." It hesitated briefly, then went on. "And it is not part of my function to ask, but I am curious. Why? That is what we cannot see."

"Oh, well, it's the deficit, innit?" I explained. "You have to fix deficits. So we cut costs." Here I was on solid ground.

"Costs ... as of everything intelligent beings need to thrive?" asked the creature densely. "How did you decide what costs to cut and how much?"

"Oh, we couldn't decide that," I explained. "We just took a big whack out of everything."

"And nobody thought that was ... unwise?"

"No, everybody thought that was unwise," I replied. "But they couldn't agree on anything wise. Never could. So they had to take the big whack approach. Because unwise was the only thing they could agree on."

"And nobody thought that doing nothing was better than doing something idiotic?" They alien looked puzzled.

"It's the deficit, innit?" I explained again. "You have to fix deficits."

"Never mind," said the bug-eyed little beast. "I was way off topic and shouldn't have asked. The High Galactic Council has determined that you are dangerous and destructive vermin and will therefore be denied the further use of space."

"You're not planning on invading us?" I gasped.

"Oh, hell, no," said the alien. "We don't do that crap. We could contract some obnoxious cootie disease or something. And you're bound to do a better job of it yourselves. We just won't let you have contact with any species not of your planet, and we won't let you leave your planet, even technologically."

"What does that mean?" I was a little past my depth.

"Any probes you have sent out will be terminated. All of your satellites will be liquidated. You will not be able to leave your planet or send anything off it." It looked a little smug.

Most of that didn't sound too bad to me, but one thing did nudge my brain.

"Satellites?" I gawped. "But what about our cell phones?"

"Nah," it scoffed, "those aren't going to work anymore. No more GPS, either. Or weather satellites. Or military applications or snooping. You'll be better off for those, anyway."

"What if an asteroid is about to hit us?" I asked. "And we shot off a rocket to deflect it?"

"You aren't that good," it said, "and we aren't that lucky. Anyway, you've got 24 hours."

"To change your minds?" I suggested.

"No," it replied. "To tell your species. Then it goes into effect. It's the most severe punishment we inflict on dangerous species, complete segregation from intelligent species. We call it 'sequestration.'"