My theory is that Pixar’s Cars are essentially Daleks.
The world of Cars was identical to our own up to, say, 1900 or so, when the fanciful scientific speculations of Mr. H.G. Wells suddenly became shocking reality; an extrasolar craft entered orbit around the Earth, carrying intelligent beings from a distant world. These creatures had been forced to leave their own solar system in the wake of some vast tragedy, clinging to the hope that one of our planets might prove capable of sustaining life. Unfortunately, despite the enormous diversity of our solar system, no planet closely mirrored their world of origin. They could survive on Earth, but only by means of intricate life-support technology to protect their shapeless, amoebic bodies from an essentially hostile high-gravity environment. Most of their native technology, a complex fusion of rare elements and organic components, simply failed to operate in Earth’s atmosphere.
They came in peace, orphaned, helpless, begging desperately for aid. Humanity was shocked into wonder by these strange, piteous creatures from beyond the stars. Suddenly our own terrestrial differences seemed ridiculously petty, not worth fighting over. World leaders extended their hands in friendship, while our greatest scientists worked to unravel the mysteries of the alien technology while adapting our own to their needs.
One of the few insights derived from their technology was in materials science-- a new, semi-organic metallic compound with great strength and flexibility. This was used to construct their terrestrial life-support units, at first immobile and cumbersome, but later small enough to allow them to maneuver their gelatinous bulk on wheels, peering at the world through transparent plates of the same flexible material. The aliens’ power sources, however ,were not as adaptable to Earthly use, so human chemists and engineers stepped in to lend a hand. These first ‘automatic mobility aids,’ powered by steam or petroleum, became an increasingly commonplace sight on roads and highways as the creatures rejoiced in the freedom of our world’s expanses. (Eventually petroleum fuel won out, as the alien metabolism was also able to ingest the hydrocarbons directly as food, solving two problems at once). As the creatures matured, they moved from smaller to larger support units, in the manner of hermit crabs; custom units were also created for specialized jobs. They rode on our highways, used our languages, adopted our customs. For a few brief decades, our two peoples existed side by side as one.
But Wells was right after all. As with the colonization of the Americas, these explorers from afar had brought more than just their technology to this New World. No one knew exactly when or how the plague started, but whatever voracious alien pathogen eventually adapted itself to Earth’s environment was far more efficient than their technology ever was. Humanity was cut down like chaff, along with most other animal life on the planet. The aliens could only watch in horror, and ultimately mourn.
They could not bear the grief. The knowledge that the death of humanity was their responsibility, however unintentionally, was too much of a burden to confront. To be sure, there were a few solemn monuments in the cities, silently honoring our passing. But to speak of humanity, to invoke the spectre of our demise, was all but unheard of in casual conversation. During those first dark years, some even allowed their spiritual agony to pass into obsession, creating huge earthen sculptures in the images of their own life-support units in a vain attempt to assert their claim over the land.
All but a few land vertebrates had perished alongside man; the aliens dutifully created replacements, cloned from their own amoebic tissue and given suitable exoskeletons of hybrid technology, to maintain the fractured biosphere. Artificial cows grazed the plains; artificial insects pollinated the flowers. Earth was their world now, their responsibility. The world turned, as it always had. And life went on.
