Human Extraterrestrials

Introduction

Even though science fiction is often focused on the future, its assumptions are tied to the present.

Aldrin descends from Apollo 11In some respects this is obvious.  A story about the near future can become dated by history itself.  Every SF story prior to 1969 that describes the first moon landing in detail (happy 51st anniversary, last week!) is obsolete.  And every story that predicted a smooth reach out into colonizing the solar system directly after that first landing, unfortunately, is also defunct.  Stories can also be rendered unbelievable by scientific advance:  all the delightful tales based on a habitable Venus or Mars are gone with the, er, vacuum.

But there’s also a subtler way.  Even though F&SF specialize in examining our assumptions about the universe, the assumptions that seem plausible shift over time.  Fashions change.  To take a heartening example:  SF stories from the late 1940s and the 1950s tended to take it for granted that there would shortly be a nuclear world war.  (Hence it’s spot-on characterization when the 1955 version of Doc Brown in “Back to the Future” accepts Marty’s recorded appearance in a hazmat suit as logical because of the “fallout from the atomic wars.”)  But for over seventy years, we’ve managed to avoid that particular catastrophe.

One assumption that’s always intrigued me is whether we are likely to meet people like ourselves—and I mean, exactly like ourselves—on another planet.  If we discovered an Earthlike planet of another sun, might we climb down the ladder from our spaceship to shake hands with a biologically human alien?

Not Really Alien

I’m talking about a “convergent evolution” hypothesis—the notion that the human species might have developed independently more than once.  And, incidentally, the standard biological definition of “species” as “interfertile” (a more precise definition can be found on Wikipedia) is what I’m using here; because, obviously, one of the potential uses of the assumption in a story is to make possible a romance between two characters from different worlds, and romance is not unrelated to sex and reproduction.

The Cometeers coverSo we want to set aside, to begin with, a class of stories in which people from different planets are all human because they have a common ancestry.  For example, in Jack Williamson’s classic space opera The Cometeers (1936), Bob Star finds his true love Kay Nymidee among the human subjects of the decidedly nonhuman masters of an immense assemblage of space-traveling planets, the “comet.”  But the reason there are human beings present is that a research ship from Earth was captured by the Cometeers long ago, and these are the descendants of the crew.

It’s not uncommon for the inheritance to work the other way around.  David Weber’s “Mutineers’ Moon” (1991) starts with the eye-opening assumption that our Moon is actually a long-inert giant spaceship—and reveals that the humanity of Earth is descended from the original crew members of that spaceship.  Thus, it’s perfectly plausible when hero Colin MacIntyre falls for a preserved member of the original crew; they’re from the same stock.  Similarly, in at least the original 1978 version of Battlestar Galactica, the human survivors of the “rag-tag fugitive fleet” are human because Earth itself was one of their original colonies, which apparently fell out of touch.

The Era of Planetary Romance

In the early days of modern SF—say, from about 1912 through the 1930s—it was commonly assumed that the answer was yes:  human beings (with minor variations) might be found independently on other planets.  Arguably, this may have been because the early planetary romances—melodramas set on exotic worlds, heavy on adventure and love stories—were less interested in science than in plot devices.  But biology was less advanced in those days; recall that DNA was not identified as the basis of genetic inheritance until 1952.  It’s easy to forget how little we knew about things we take for granted today, even in relatively recent periods.

A classic early case is that of Edgar Rice BurroughsBarsoom.  In A Princess of Mars (1912), Earthman John Carter is transported by obscure means to Mars, called by its inhabitants “Barsoom.”  Those inhabitants include the nonhuman “Green Martians,” but also people identical to humans in several colors, particularly the “Red Martians” among whom Carter finds his lady-love, Dejah Thoris.  As a Red Martian, Dejah is human enough for Carter to mate with, and they have a son, Carthoris, thus meeting the “interfertile” criterion.

Lynn Collins as Dejah Thoris in John Carter of Mars

Lynn Collins as Dejah Thoris

To be sure, the biology here is a little mysterious.  Dejah looks entirely human, and even, to borrow a Heinlein phrase, “adequately mammalian” (see, for example, Lynn Collins’ portrayal in the loosely adapted movie John Carter (2012)).  But Martians don’t bear their young as Earth-humans do; they lay eggs, which then develop for ten years before hatching.  It’s not easy to imagine the genetics that could produce viable offspring from an individual whose genes direct live birth and one whose genes result in egg-laying.  But that didn’t stop Burroughs.

E.E. Smith, whose initial SF writing goes back just about as far as that of Burroughs, was willing to accept this trope as well.  In The Skylark of Space (published 1928, but written between 1915 and 1921), our intrepid heroes travel to a planet inhabited by two nations of essentially human people—although the double wedding in the story does not involve any interplanetary romances, but is between two pairs of characters from Earth.  Smith’s later Lensman series (1948-1954), which features one of the most diverse arrays of intelligent creatures in SF, also allows for apparently interfertile humans from a variety of planets.  My impression is that this sort of duplication was also true of some of the nonhuman species in the Lensman unverse—there might be, say, Velantian-types native to planets other than Velantia.

This approach wasn’t universal in old-time SF.  The more scientifically-minded John W. Campbell’s extraterrestrial character Torlos in Islands of Space (1930) was generally humanoid in form, but quite different in makeup:  his iron bones, for instance.  It’s been argued that a roughly humanoid form has some advantages for an intelligent species, and hence that we might find vaguely humanoid aliens on different planets—though this is pure speculation.  But “humanoid” is a far cry from biologically human.

Darkover Landfall coverWe see some persistence of this tradition into the second half of the twentieth century.   Marion Zimmer Bradley’s iconic planet Darkover, for instance (first novel published 1958), is populated by the descendants of Terran humans from a colony ship and also by the elf-like indigenous Chieri, who, despite minor differences like six fingers and golden eyes, not to mention the ability to change sex at will, have interbred with the Terran immigrants.

An interesting variation can be seen in Julian May’s Saga of Pliocene Exile (first story published in 1981).  When modern humans are sent on a one-way trip into the distant past, they are enslaved by the Tanu, aliens from another galaxy who have settled on Earth.  The story indicates that the Tanu were specifically searching for a place where the local gene pool was similar to theirs—which might also account for why they came all the way from another galaxy (also a somewhat antique trope) to get here.

It’s slightly odd that, even where basically identical human beings turn up on other planets, other animals never seem to be similarly duplicated.  On Burroughs’ Barsoom, one doesn’t ride horses, but thoats; is menaced not by tigers, but by banths; and keeps a calot, not a dog, as a pet.  In a planetary romance or science fantasy setting, one is less likely to see Terran-equivalent fauna than parallel creatures with exotic names and slight differences—whence the SF-writing gaffe “Call a Rabbit a Smeerp” (see TV Tropes and the Turkey City Lexicon).

At the Movies

The all-too-human trope is carried on into the present day in video media—movies and TV.  Again, this may be partly because the science is often subordinated to the plot; but the cost and difficulty of putting convincing nonhuman characters on-screen is surely another factor.  Filmmakers’ ability to depict exotic creatures, however, has changed immensely in the last forty years, to a point where almost any imaginable creature can be created if the budget is sufficient.  Thus, the original Star Trek series of the 1960s stuck largely to slightly disguised humanoid aliens, perhaps relying on the ‘universal humanoid’ hypothesis mentioned above, while later series were able to branch out a bit.  Similarly, the Star Wars movies could readily give us nonhuman characters like Jabba the Hutt, Chewbacca, and C3PO; they, too, grew in variety as the capabilities of CGI and other techniques expanded.

Jupiter Ascending movie posterStill, it may be harder for us to adjust to interactions among characters where we can see their nonhumanity, rather than just reading about it.  So we still tend to see extraterrestrial humans on-screen.  The Kree in Captain Marvel (2019), for example, are indistinguishable from humans—an actual plot point, since this makes it possible for Yon-Rogg to tell Carol that she’s an enhanced Kree rather than a kidnapped human.  The Kree do have blue blood, in the movie; it’s not clear what kind of biological difference (hemocyanin?) might result in that feature.  We also see a number of alien humans in Jupiter Ascending (2015), though I think of that tale as a deliberate throwback to pulpish science fantasy or planetary romance.

A Match Made in Space, fictional coverI keep wanting to cite the fictional novel written by George McFly as shown in the closing scenes of Back to the Future, “A Match Made in Space,” since the cover seems to suggest an interplanetary romance (and one thinks of George as a nerdy romantic); but it isn’t actually clear whether that’s the case.  All we have to go on is the title and the cover, and that could just as easily depict a match between two humans, fostered by an alien matchmaker (or vice versa).

The Modern Era

We don’t see nearly as many extraterrestrial humans in modern SF, and for good reason.

The more we understand about genetics, the less likely it seems that another human species, so closely similar as to be interfertile, could evolve independently.  What we know about evolution suggests that there are just too many random chances along the way—cases where the prevailing mutations might have turned out differently.  Even if we assume that humanoid form is probable, why not have six fingers, or hemocyanin rather than hemoglobin?  While I’m not well enough educated in biology to venture any actual probabilities, I think our growing sense of the complexity of the human body and its workings, over the last seventy years or so, has simply made it seem vanishingly unlikely that an independently evolved intelligence would come out that close to the human genotype.

For example, the scientifically-minded Arthur C. Clarke depicted a galaxy in which each intelligent species, including humans, was unique:  The City and the Stars (1956, developed from an earlier story published in 1948).  In one of the unused story fragments he wrote while working on 2001:  A Space Odyssey (1968), his hero, well along on his journey into mystery, thinks:

He did not hesitate to call them people, though by the standards of Earth they would have seemed incredibly alien.  But already, his standards were not those of Earth; he had seen too much, and realized by now that only a few times in the whole history of the Universe could the fall of the genetic dice have produced a duplicate of Man.  The suspicion was rapidly growing in his mind—or had something put it there?—that he had been sent to this place because these creatures were as close an approximation as could readily be found to Homo sapiens, both in appearance and in culture.  (Clarke, The Lost Worlds of 2001, ch. 39, p. 220)

Contemporary SF writers who are really adept at building interesting and coherent aliens—David Brin and Becky Chambers, to name two of the best—give us a wide range of wildly exotic creatures from other planets, but not humans.

The Uplift War, coverIf we are still fond of the idea of interplanetary romance, we might find a possible work-around in the shapeshifter.  The Tymbrimi female Athaclena in Brin’s The Uplift War (1987) uses her species’ unusual abilities to adjust her appearance closer to that of a human female—but of course she has an entirely different genetic heritage, as that ability itself demonstrates.  The result wouldn’t meet our criterion of interfertility, no matter how close the similarity in physical structure.  To adjust one’s genes in the same way would be another order of change altogether.

Starman movie posterThe 1984 movie Starman, in a way, plays off this idea.  The alien in this case is apparently an entity made of pure energy, without a physical structure of its own.  Using hair from the female lead’s deceased husband, it creates a new body with a human genetic structure.  The two do, eventually, prove to be interfertile.  If we’re willing to accept the notion of an energy being in the first place, this approach is actually more plausible than, say, mating with the oviparous Dejah Thoris.

If one were writing a SF story today, it would be rash to assume that Earthborn characters could run across independently evolved humans elsewhere.  The idea may not be entirely inconceivable.  But it’s out of fashion for good reasons.  Attractive as the notion of interplanetary romance may be, at this point we’d best confine it to the kind of case noted above, where some common ancestry—no matter how far-fetched—can account for the common humanity.

Higher, Further, Faster: Captain Marvel

Wild Loyalty

Captain Marvel poster with mottoI saw Captain Marvel twice in the first ten days of its March 8, 2019, U.S. release.  So, yeah, I liked the movie.  We had big hopes for this one—the first Marvel movie with a female lead, trailing DC’s Wonder Woman (2017) by a little less than two years.  I’d say those hopes were borne out.

But my reaction was even stronger than that.

Back in 1977, when I first saw the original Star Wars (A New Hope), I remember sitting around the next day and wishing I were back there again.  Not in the universe of the movie, which is dangerous and in many places rather unpleasant; but in the story.  Something about the overall effect of it, the ambiance, the mood or attitude, fired me with a kind of instant nostalgia for something I’d just seen.  A curious feeling.

Maybe that could be explained by the fact that I was young(er) and (more) impressionable at that time.  But the day after I saw Captain Marvel, here I was again with this goofy fanboy reaction.  It’s a kind of wild loyalty to a new discovery.  You want to tell people about it, you put up the wallpaper on your computer desktop, you hunt up the soundtrack.  And this at my supposedly-mature age.

So I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why I find this movie so engaging.  Since at this writing CM is still in theaters, I’m going to avoid spoilers; this post should be as safe as any current movie review or the trailers.  If you haven’t seen the flick yet, I will say this:  There are two “stinger” scenes, just as you expect from a Marvel movie these days, one in the middle of the credits and one at the very end.  And be sure to pay attention to the Marvel logo that appears just before the movie starts:  it’s an “aww” moment for longtime fans.

New and Improved

Due to their long-running serial nature, and the reluctance of publishers ever to give up on a profitable property, comic-book characters tend to stick around indefinitely and, as a result, are prone to what TV Tropes calls Continuity Snarl.  Their backstory gets more and more complicated, retconned, and re-adapted, until it becomes hopelessly incoherent.  One of the virtues of the movie versions is that the writers have a chance to start from scratch and use only the elements they choose to build a new iteration of the character.

Captain Marvel’s background is even more complex than usual.  There have been five or six different versions of a “Captain Marvel” character (not even counting the Fawcett/DC “Captain Marvel,” now known for copyright reasons as “Shazam,” who has his own movie coming out shortly).  That’s in addition to several iterations of “Ms. Marvel,” sometimes with the same person switching from one title to the other.  A summary of this history can be found at Comics Alliance; and this Wikipedia page has a quick rundown of the various versions.

Captain Marvel (Marvel Super-Heroes) coverMarvel Comics’ original Captain Marvel was a rather boring and angsty agent of the interstellar empire of the Kree (who look exactly like humans) named Mar-Vell, a young white-haired guy in an unimpressive green-and-white uniform.  (Those who’ve seen the movie will note a distant connection here.)  Mar-Vell is sent to Earth to find out what the heck is going on with these humans, after the Fantastic Four trounced a supposedly invincible Kree Sentry and then Ronan the Accuser.

In the early comics, Marvel couldn’t figure out what to do with Mar-Vell.  He engaged in slugfests with a number of established Marvel characters and suffered through a weepy romantic triangle.  After about ten issues (Captain Marvel #11), the writers had an apparently godlike being named Zo give him new powers, after which he continued to do nothing much of interest.  In issue #16, the Kree’s Supreme Intelligence changed his powers yet again and tossed him into an alternate universe called the Negative Zone, where he floats around until he periodically switches bodies with perennial Marvel kid sidekick Rick Jones, in a manner uncannily similar to that of the DC Shazam character (and also Jack Kirby’s Infinity Man, but that’s another story).

Comics scene, Mar-Vell & distressed CarolCarol Danvers—the Captain Marvel of the movie (played perfectly by Brie Larson)—also appeared in this early era, but not yet as a superhero.  She had a responsible position as security head at Cape Canaveral, but frequently she served as a mere damsel in distress, and as one of Mar-Vell’s two romantic interests. Altogether, not much promising material in this original incarnation of Captain Marvel.

Now, I haven’t followed comics closely for many a year (one can’t read everything), so I wasn’t there for the renaissance of this character in the form we see in the movie.  But as I understand it, the movie’s version dates only from 2012, when the character was rebooted by writer Kelly Sue DeConnick.

In other words, this isn’t a cinematic presentation of an iconic character like Spider-Man, Captain America, or Thor.  Here, the screenwriters elected to throw out a lot of the excess baggage of fifty years’ worth of comics.  It was the right choice.

Higher, Further, Faster

In a 2012 interview with Wired, DeConnick said:  “My pitch was Carol Danvers as Chuck Yeager.”  And that begins to explain why I love this character.  She had me at “Chuck Yeager.”

Sam Shepard with Chuck Yeager

Sam Shepard (left), playing Chuck Yeager, with Yeager himself (right)

One of my all-time favorite movies, The Right Stuff (1983), Philip Kaufman’s fact-based history of the NASA Mercury program, spends a lot of time with Yeager.  Tom Wolfe, the author of the book on which the movie was based, considered Yeager the archetype of the test pilots from whose ranks the Mercury astronauts were drawn.  Although Yeager himself never went into space, he exemplified the cool, confident, no-nonsense pilot who could take on any challenge and surmount it through a combination of superb competence and a fearless can-do attitude.  The pilot with the “right stuff” has a certain contempt for the rules, along with all other limitations, and always takes danger lightly, preferably with cool wisecracks.

This version of Carol Danvers starts out as a test pilot, with exactly that intrepid attitude.  The movie isn’t shy about making the comparison.  Carol passes through a Blockbuster Video store (the movie is set in 1995) and pauses to glance at a copy of The Right Stuff.  We get a scene set at Pancho’s, the pilots’ bar that figures largely in that earlier movie.  And we have a cat named Goose—a sly reference to Tom Cruise’s best friend in Top Gun, another movie about hot pilots (fighter pilots rather than test pilots).  Carol embodies this insouciant, reckless competence.  With another pilot, she exchanges a sort of catchphrase or motto—“Higher, further, faster”—from the title of one of DeConnick’s Captain Marvel comic sequences.  It captures the test pilot ideal neatly.

Captain Marvel, Avengers: Endgame trailerThese references put Carol immediately into the category of daredevil pilots—a maverick, like Tom Cruise’s lead character in Top Gun.  It’s a very engaging attitude (and I mean Attitude, with a capital A).  You don’t have to see the movie to get a sense of this.  Check out this Avengers:  Endgame trailer at about 2:10.  That little crooked smile . . . As Thor says:  “I like this one.”

Marvel and Wonder

Comparison with Wonder Woman is inevitable—and, I think, instructive.  These are both great movies with excellent main characters.  But those characters play out differently.

Wonder Woman, vambraces crossedDiana is invincible; she always has been.  She may have taken some knocks being trained by the Amazons, but she’s pretty much untouchable by anything humans have got.  She takes on the Greek god Ares as an equal.  There, to be sure, the contrast I’m trying to make falters a bit, because she’s outmatched by Ares until intense emotional strain—the loss of a loved one—causes her to claim her full power.  And at that point she really is invincible.  It’s glorious to see a woman who needs to fear nothing, splendid in her power, with a heart guiding that power to fight for the right.

When she enters the world of normal humans, Diana brings a kind of intelligent innocence.  She learns difficult lessons about the complications of the human world, but that never really deflects her from her sense of justice (along with love or compassion).  That’s what’s so great about her.

Carol, on the other hand, has to earn her power.  She doesn’t start out as an Amazon.  First she must acquire her supernormal abilities; and then she has to learn how to use them under challenging circumstances (as celebrated in this Tor article).  Carol also comes face to face with the complexities of the world—but not initially from a position of power.  She has more of a character development arc than Diana does.

Both heroes are a joy to see, coming into their power.  But Captain Marvel is more vulnerable, emotionally if not physically.  Despite the cool test-pilot attitude, the emotion that runs beneath is both her challenge and her strength.  It’s easier to sympathize with her.

Distinctive Valor

There’s more in CM to admire.  The star-spanning plot awakens that sense of wonder, of vast scope and open possibilities, that is science fiction’s strong point.  But the real key, I think, remains in the character of the heroine.

Captain Marvel, defiant with glowThe motif of desperate heroism isn’t unique; on the contrary.  Naturally our heroes are always fighting against great odds.  But some stories are better that others at evoking that undaunted resistance to overwhelming opposition.  This is one of them.  In Larson’s brilliant portrayal, we see Carol’s stubborn courage, her indomitable resolve—and always with that particular mischievous touch that comes with the test-pilot package.

To me, specifically feminine valor is especially poignant.  And when you add that devil-may-care “right stuff” attitude, it’s irresistible.  When Eowyn faces down the undead Lord of the Nazgûl at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, I empathize with her defiant stand even more than with Aragorn’s or Frodo’s.  Then add to this the reckless abandon with which Carol takes on her foes.  She fights with flair.  She takes the fight almost lightly in a sense, as if danger and peril hardly matter.  Yet at the same time she never pulls per punches, much less gives up.  It’s this, I think, that excites my wholehearted admiration.

That’s my take on it so far.  There are a lot of other fascinating angles to CM, but they’d involve spoilers.  Maybe another time . . .