Sunday 4 September 2016

SCIENCE FICTION AND PORTRAYAL: DISTRICT 9

  Majority of humanity is way too fucking stupid. That is reason enough to guarantee disregard from exo-intelligences. Worse still is a risk of exploitation by sardonic life-forms or plots of actual attack and devastation. Cliché as fuck. Yet a possible looming dystopia the planet is likely to contend with. The War of the Worlds may have offered the peculiar novel-ending type of course, but in actuality, Earth is only nuclear weapon strong—a much stratified and small-scale disparity scenario—in terms of arms. Overestimating—an understatement—outer intelligences may only act to reduce surprises. Even disregarding the anthropic principle—since every situation tailors itself to produce unique features and life-forms—on a small-scale, to put evolution, natural selection and mutation into consideration. Humans—not alone.

  Visitation needs not be a Wells-ian kind of approach. District 9 offers a necessitated kind of setting. The planet's habitable space—and one yet to be inhabited—is presaged by overcast intrusion; stranded exo-sol system beings. Distinguishable by their uniformity even across genders. Speculations abound the situations around these prawns. Regarded as servile workers of a superior race, they might as well have come to spread malevolence but fell short of expectations. Their pilot regards Earth's technology as the junk it is, with an aim to restore their mother ship and return home.

  Societal clashes need no introduction. Neither will inter-planetary wars. District 9 relays the havoc on a Terran scale. The stellar proportion is another, if not a precursor to the previous. How prepared is shambolic humanity? From a War of the Worlds' approach, it has everything it needs. —The sun. Huge orbital lenses would be formidable weapons. Their concentrated and invisible heat rays would disseminate dreamless energy at the speed of light—and inflame in seconds; be infallible to disabling of electrical equipment by alien technology—fucking alien fiction, The Mad Mane Machine blames—to protect mother earth. The only downside would be cyber attacks on their functionality, which would be disastrous. This can be overcome at the expense of extra-planetary travel. Dismal when the planet's sick and inhospitable.




  Upheaval will begin with everyone's attempt to cash in on the state of deterioration. And the ordinary citizen will be at the mercy of the forces that be. Everybody caught unprepared and plunged into estopless elegy. Such disparity is sheer as the prawns came armed, shriveling human artillery with bio-enhanced articulation. The planet lays at an edge of colonization. Wipe-out is not a very bright idea, but culling will be the first call.

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