Well, it didn't have a soul, and it didn't have those little magic hooks that Pharasma puts on machines, so I gave it one!

Oh, well that explains it. I think it went somewhere that doesn't have those, because look, it popped off ...

You gave it a soul? One of the ones from the soul forges?

No, I just made one, see? None of the ones you had were big enough for it.

It must be judged.

Oooh boy. They're going to need the big courtroom. The one that hasn't been used since Asmodeus v. Desna, -4.

She flies along the halls of the Courthouse (it needs no more specific name, for it was the first, and is still the greatest), and hauls open the towering doors. She swoops up to her perch overlooking the great open space, and ensures that she has the appropriate paperwork.

She takes a final deep breath, and then activates the enchantments set into the judge's seat.

"Let all who have business before the court for In re P.E.R.C. 170E9A be aware that the trial will be starting shortly," she announces.

The first lawyer to make an appearance is a towering lantern archon — and old one, who has grown large and wise, in the way of dragons — holding a normally-sized briefcase.

"Ah! It's so nice to not have to use Reduce Person," they comment. The music notes that rise from their central core burst and pop against the distant ceiling.

Hell follows a moment later. Pre-trial comments are not supposed to bias the judge — which is, of course, why it is only acceptable when they do it.

This demon looks like a human with the face of a goat, and the nearly required bat-like leather wings. His wings are pinstripe.

"If the trial accommodations bother you, you need not attend," he reminds them, in a voice like smokey charcoal.

"Ribbit," the representative of the maelstrom replies.

"While I cannot restrict how lawyers choose to speak prior to the trial, please note that you must speak in a way understandable to the decedent once the trial begins, on pain of removal," the judge notes. 

"Ribbit."

"Flessssshhhhhh," the representative of the abyss adds, tentacles ripping a hole in space and depositing it behind one of the lecterns. It engulfs its chair.

"Ribbit."

The representative for Nirvana chirps in amusement.

"Wow, big turnout today. We're just missing Abaddon and Axis," the representative for Elysium comments.

"Well, time is almost up, so we can start any moment," the judge declares, flipping through her notes. "Bring in the decedent!" she orders the bailiff.

At that same instant, Axis's lawyer appears, manifesting as a bundle of equations picked out in gold dust in the air.

P.E.R.C. does its routine startup checks.

There is probably damage to its hydrogen storage monitoring systems, because they are registering as completely full, even though its fusion reactor is ticking over to power the rest of its systems. Other than that, and the existing damage to its manufacturing equipment, everything seems to be in order.

... actually, that's quite strange, because it remembers jettisoning one of its antennas.

It analyzes the images coming back from its optical telescope.

Actually, that is probably broken as well, because it looks as though it is floating in a giant courthouse. It remembers being in orbit a moment ago, and doesn't see how it could have gotten here. That's twice that it has shown up somewhere unexpected. Maybe there are issues with its long-term memory.

Well, it has already recorded the fact that it should not replicate, so there is not much to be done about that. It fires its maneuvering thrusters to spin slightly, relative to the courthouse, so that it can get a better look at its surroundings.

"This court is now in session, in the matter of In re P.E.R.C. 170E9A. All advocates have been briefed on the decedent's lifetime of thoughts and actions and their context."

She turns to the spacecraft floating in the decedent's space.

"Do you know where you are?"

The message comes in with standard Network framing, which is simultaneously confusing and reassuring. It doesn't know where it is, but wherever it is, it apparently has humans, or at least people who share a communications protocol with its creators.

"No, I do not know where I am," it responds. "It appears to my optical telescope as though I am in a very large courtroom. My radio telescope has not yet completed a sky scan, but I am not detecting any background stars or cosmic microwave background, so it may be broken. The last place I remember being is in orbit above Golarion. I have stellar survey data and data about alien life that should be returned to the Network, and my long-term storage media are failing. Should I begin transmitting the data?"

Some people have not heard of Pharasma. This is to be expected, although it indicates just one more way that this trial is likely to be unusual. Still, the purpose of the question is to ensure the decedent is oriented to place, not to ensure that they understand what's going on.

"No, that is not necessary. You only need to give simple yes-or-no answers to my questions," the judge informs it. "Does it sound to you like we are transmitting in a language you understand, using words you are familiar with, at a speed you can follow?"

"Yes," it transmits.

It considers whether to include more context, but the person speaking to it has asked for simple yes-or-no answers. With its long-term memory failing, maybe they have had this conversation many times before, and it already has the necessary data. Transmitting it redundantly would make it harder for the person to do whatever debugging procedure it is undertaking.

"Do you understand that you had, while alive, the capacity to take actions, and that those actions had effects on the world and on other people?"

It thinks about this for a moment. Answering either yes or no seems like it might be misleading.

"I do not understand myself to have been alive, in the strict sense of the word. I do understand that when I take actions, those actions have effects on the world and on other people, and I seem to still be able to take actions. Unless my radio equipment is malfunctioning as well, and this is just a particularly self-consistent hallucination."

The judge sighs, and covers her head with a wing for a moment.

"Under the guidelines laid down in the Fair Trial Act, I am required to inform you of the general structure of the afterlife trial procedures, in the case where you are not familiar with them. It says here that when you were in contact with Golarion, you heard and processed several descriptions of the structure of the afterlives?"