What Sci-Fi Says About Us: From Black Mirror to The Expanse

In Episode 11 of Creatinuum: “Writing at Warp Speed; The Advancement of Science Fiction,” the podcast dives into science fiction’s evolution.

Photo by RDNE Stock project

Science fiction has never just been about the future. It’s always been about the present—our fears, flaws, ambitions, and the uncomfortable questions we’re not quite ready to answer. Over time, the genre has morphed from space opera spectacle to intimate, unsettling commentary. Today’s science fiction rarely asks, “What if we go there?” and instead wonders, “What if we keep going like this?”

Near-Future Horrors: When the Technology Isn’t the Villain

Contemporary science fiction often feels like a mirror—close enough to reflect reality, just skewed enough to make us squirm. In near-future narratives, the terror lies not in some distant, unknowable tech—but in tools we already use. None of it feels particularly far-fetched anymore. The genre no longer needs to imagine new worlds to unsettle us. It just needs to extend the timeline a few years and ask: What happens if we don’t stop?

Technology isn’t evil in these stories, but people often are. The tragedy is almost always human in origin: power unchecked, empathy lost, or innovation unmoored from ethics. Science fiction, at its sharpest, doesn’t warn us about machines. It warns us about ourselves. The vast, spacefaring kind that extrapolates what happens when humanity outgrows Earth and brings all its baggage along.

The Expanse of Human Problems

Take The Expanse for example, scientific accuracy underpins everything: gravity affects biology, politics influence colonization, and even the curve of a spaceship has to obey physics. The future is believable, detailed, and grounded. And yet, for all its high-tech realism, what’s most striking is how familiar the conflict remains.

In this version of the future, humanity hasn’t evolved past its flaws—it has simply relocated them. Earth is drained and fragile; Mars is militarized and separatist; and those living on asteroid belts are marginalized, overworked, and alienated. The divisions are old, even if the map is new. Class, power, survival—they haven’t gone away. They've just moved into orbit.

Realism vs. Romance: The Sci-Fi Spectrum

Science fiction stretches across a spectrum. On one end: realism, physics, and plausibility. On the other: metaphor, abstraction, and fantasy masquerading as tech. The genre holds space for both, but the divide sparks endless debate: What qualifies as "real" science fiction? Is a story still sci-fi if the science is hand-waved or symbolic?

Some call Star Wars a space fantasy. Others dismiss Doctor Who as nonsense. But such gatekeeping misses the point. The strength of sci-fi isn’t in its scientific rigor—it’s in its narrative flexibility. Whether grounded in math or made-up magic systems, the heart of science fiction lies in its ability to frame human questions in extraordinary settings.

At its best, the genre doesn’t just build worlds. It asks: Who lives in them? What rules do they obey or break? Who suffers and who wins?

In The End

Fictional tech often precedes real-world innovation: from the communicators of Star Trek to AI assistants, immersive worlds, and wearable devices. But beyond inspiration, science fiction serves as a cultural checkpoint. It lets us rehearse ethical dilemmas, imagine outcomes, and process collective anxiety—before the world catches up.

Whether it takes place on a war-torn Earth or aboard a Martian outpost, science fiction is rarely about the setting. It’s about the choices we make, the people we become, and the systems we carry with us—into every new frontier. 

Listen in full to Creatinuum Episode 11: “Writing at Warp Speed; The Advancement of Science Fiction,” available on Simplecast, Spotify, Apple, and other platforms.