Saturday, June 1, 2013

Three Coping Mechanisms for Problems in Imaginative Fiction

Self-Caused Time Travel Event

So there are two basic models of time travel; one model says that when you go back in time everything that happens after the point you traveled to gets reset, and the other says that time is fixed and while it is possible for a time traveler to affect the future/present that effect has already been determined and if they try to change something that they know for certain happened they will fail.

Now, there is a particular problem with the fixed-time model which many writers of imaginative fiction simply love to exploit, which is that in this model two events can simultaneously cause each other. For example, in the television show Gargoyles there was an evil wizard who was falling to his death when he was rescued by... himself. From the future. Who was saved in exactly the same manner. In fact, they actually showed the whole process of the older self instructing the younger self and eventually sending him back in time to become the older self saving and instructing the younger self. So why did this happen? When the wizard was falling to his death, was there any good reason to assume he would be rescued? Of course not! He was only saved because his future, time-traveling self had been saved by his own future, time-traveling self who had also been saved by his future, time-traveling self... You get the picture? These two events are causally cut off from everything else in the universe aside from those relating to the original birth of the wizard! It's completely illogical and it really gets on my nerves...

Which is why I've developed my own theory to cope with the bad logic of this paradox. You see, my theory is that what we see in such stories is the third or fourth incarnation of a cycle. In the first cycle, a time-traveler goes back in time to make some change. Then they get zapped back to their own time and they realize that with the original problem fixed they have no reason to go back in time and fix it. I'm not quite sure what this problem looks like when it's played out, but however it looks the basic idea is that the universe swallowed a paradox and it is finding that paradox very hard to digest. Maybe the time-traveler has/is a copy of himself, maybe there's a hole in space and time, or maybe there's something else I can't even imagine. Whatever the case, the time-traveler realizes that they have to go back again in order to fix the paradox. Then, after at least one more cycle of time trying swinging in and out of balance, we finally get the cycle that you and I see in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gargoyles, and occasionally on Doctor Who. The final cycle is one in which time is satisfied because both events are caused by each other (in other words, the future event isn't disrupted by the time travel because it is caused by it) and logic is satisfied because the ultimate cause for both events lies in another timeline which logic can recognize even if time can't.

Creatures that Grow Huge in Mere Minutes

You know what's a really, really basic rule of science? The Law of Preservation of Matter. You know what the Incredible Hulk, the Xenomorph from the Alien movies, and the incredibly quickly aging child from a particular episode of Fringe all have in common? They all break the Law of Preservation of Matter. Basically, any time something grows to three times its original size or more without eating as much mass as it's gaining, that law is being broken.

Now this kind of thing is entirely acceptable in fantasy. Magic can do things like that. It is not, however, okay in science fiction, particularly a science fiction show like Fringe that makes a point of explaining how all its phenomenon are supposedly plausible in some vague way. You are allowed to bend the rules or invent new ones in science fiction, but this is the kind of thing that is just so incredibly basic that it's almost sacrilege to ignore it. And in most cases no one seems to even realize there's a problem!

In this particular case, I have a multiple theories to make my head stop hurting and to reverse my transformation into a giant squid of anger. One theory is basically all about wormholes. In this scenario, the subject in question is actually some kind of special quantum creature (I mean, there really isn't any way to explain superheroes like Thor without claiming they tap directly into the fabric of the universe) which uses tiny, cellular wormholes to draw in the necessary chemicals from all across the universe. This theory works, but it's not really one that I'm happy with simply because I find the idea of a Xenomorph incorporating this into its biology to be so absurd. The kinds of creatures that appear to gain matter out of nowhere often simply don't fit the type of something that warps the very fabric of the universe.

The two other theories I have to explain this can basically both be labeled as alchemy. The first is that the creature in question is able to draw in and incorporate any matter readily available, even if that's only the air that it breathes. Somehow, the creature is able to make those chemicals act as if they were other ones (specifically, the nutrients that a living thing needs in order to grow) or else it is able to rearrange the particles and turn the chemicals it has into the chemicals it wants (don't ask me what happens to the leftover particles).

Finally, the second alchemical theory is that the creature has that matter all along, it was just... hidden. Essentially, the idea is that in this imagined universe there is some way to trick an atom into compressing or expanding beyond its normal size. In fact, it's even possible to trick the compressed or expanded atom into behaving as if it weren't even there. That's why Bruce Banner can step on a scale and see that he's 174 pounds, but when the Hulk steps on the same scale it just gets smashed to pieces. They both have exactly the same amount of matter, but when Bruce is himself much of that matter just hides in a little corner and does nothing. It doesn't weigh anything, it doesn't react to anything, it doesn't do anything that suggests that it even exists. Until he gets angry.

Obviously, all three of these phenomenon would be unlikely to occur naturally even if they were possible, but they are still more likely than a monster growing from two feet to fifteen feet tall without having eaten anything. And so the headache is relieved.

Aliens that Could Never Have Invented Spaceships

Finally, the last problem that I can currently recall is that of monstrous, animalistic aliens that fly through lightyears of space to... eat us. Two examples of this problem are the new movie After Earth in which a race of aliens called the Ursa (which sense their prey by through the hormones released by fear and are otherwise blind even though they can apparently sense the landscape fairly well) relentlessly hunt humans and in Storage 24 in which an alien creature (which is baffled and even frightened by a robotic puppy) stalks a handful of friends through a storage facility. In both cases the aliens in question are highly animalistic (they literally fight with only tooth and nail, they are very predatory, and they are completely naked) and also have spaceships.

The problem here is that the monsters are heroes fight couldn't possibly have built the ships they fly. Even if we accept that these are extremely intelligent creatures (which is a role they certainly don't fit very well) we have to realize that it takes more than intelligence to build a spaceship. It takes an almost playful delight in solving puzzles that is so great you actually go out looking for puzzles such as the formula for converting energy into matter, it takes a collection of beings that are peaceable enough and interested enough in knowledge to preserve and build upon the discoveries of its members, and lastly it takes a complete civilization that can both provide everything needed to build a spaceship and can also support people whose role in life is to simply solve puzzles and build inventions. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see the shrieking, naked, homicidal monsters present in so many alien movies as being able to fit into the society I just described. So how did they build those spaceships?

They didn't.

I have two simple theories on this matter; one being that they stole the ships and the other being that they themselves are just as much tools as those crafts they are carried by. In the first scenario these are savage but intelligent cave aliens who came into contact with another much more developed race at some point in the past. These other aliens showed them their fabulous technology, tried to interact with them, and finally got killed for it. The monsters that we see then took the vessels of their vanquished prey and familiarized themselves with them. In other words, they are technologically parasitic savages. This also explains why these aliens invade Earth instead of terraforming new planets (if they want the land) or mining other celestial bodies (if they want resources) since they don't actually know enough about their own technology to use any planet they can't survive on.

The other theory is that they were either enslaved or bioengineered by another alien race that is actually drawing the strings. This makes sense since any seriously developed civilization would probably send probes on ahead instead of risking their own kind in any exploration of space. Perhaps their medicinal skills are advanced enough that the advantage of a probe that can heal outweighs the risk of disease. Of course, this theory also makes things very interesting for any story in which the heroes valiantly defeated some army of feral extraterrestrials. In this scenario, the invasion humanity is so happy to have survived is only a fraction of the onslaught our distant enemies are capable of unleashing.

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