I recently finished a philosophical science-fiction novel by Soviet authors Arkady Strugatsky and Boris Strugatsky called “Roadside Picnic”. Aliens visit certain places on Earth; those places (“the zones”) become riddled with alien artifacts that are incomprehensible to humans, and an entire subculture and black market develop around discovering and re-selling those artifacts. As an example, they found eternal accumulators (called “so-so” or “«этак»” in the original) that people would procure to power their cars and houses. Yet, they didn’t understand how they worked.
“A picnic. Picture a forest, a country road, a meadow. A car drives off the country road into the meadow, a group of young people get out of the car carrying bottles, baskets of food, transistor radios, and cameras. They light fires, pitch tents, turn on the music. In the morning they leave. The animals, birds, and insects that watched in horror through the long night creep out from their hiding places. And what do they see? Gas and oil spilled on the grass. Old spark plugs and old filters strewn around. Rags, burnt-out bulbs, and a monkey wrench left behind. Oil slicks on the pond. And of course, the usual mess—apple cores, candy wrappers, charred remains of the campfire, cans, bottles, somebody’s handkerchief, somebody’s penknife, torn newspapers, coins, faded flowers picked in another meadow.”
