The Possibilities of Wesley Crusher in The Next Generation

This summer I rewatched Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes. TNG is my type of sci-fi: an established setting in which endless "what if" stories can be played out. 

What I noticed this time surprised me: Wesley Crusher had potential. 

Like many people, I have always remembered Wesley Crusher as a Mary Sue, the kid with unexplainable and inexplicable (even geniuses need context) abilities, running about the Enterprise unsupervised. 

What I noted this time was that (at least) he has a story arc!

I'm not sure what it says about the current state of art in the world that at least Wesley Crusher has a story arc. But he does! 

Moreover, I got the definite impression that two story arcs were warring with each other. 

On the one hand is the Mary Sue arc: Wesley is brilliant, people should make allowances, etc. That arc is eventually paid off several seasons later when the Traveler returns. And apparently it is the arc that more recent shows have used.

The other is the arc of a ordinary, high-energy teen who wants to go into Starfleet. This arc begins to take precedence at the end of Season 1, almost as if a writer wrested control of Wesley's storyline from another writer.

For one, though I always remembered Wil Wheaton as being about 12 (that baby face!), the character was 16 by the end of Season 1 and nearly the same height as Patrick Stewart (growing boys!). In "Coming of Age" (Season 1), when he heads off to take the Starfleet exam, it is made absolutely clear that other teens on-board were also up for the exam.

In other words, the possibility of internships is written into the script...it never really takes off. I guess the future's child labor laws reared their head. But the possibility was a decent one.

Wesley is TOO noble in "Coming of Age"

but has an arc. (He could have struggled

more with the decision to help his peer.)

That is, Wesley could have come aboard as a teen with a mom who, for obvious reasons, is wary of encouraging his interests. But he is enamored with ship life and placed into the Enterprise's "learn about Starfleet by working in different departments of the ship" program. However, he can't continue unless he takes an exam, which is NOT to determine whether he gets into Starfleet but to verify that he can keep doing what he has been doing (so he is initially placed in the internship program as a favor by Picard to Wesley's mother but Picard has determined that now Wesley needs to go through the same procedure as everyone else). 

It doesn't make total sense that he would be on the bridge during seriously dangerous/high-risk/high-stakes missions. But it makes his presence slightly less weird. 

And I think this arc could lead to a fascinating issue that isn't truly addressed until Deep Space Nine--the fact that Miles O'Brien is a non-commissioned officer. Wesley could struggle with continuing on the ship he loves or going to the Academy (see Jamie's arc in Blue Bloods: his desire to remain a "beat cop" versus his personal ambitions and the expectations of his father and grandfather).  

I'm a big fan of improving a work with the material at hand. And the material is there. For all his faults with science-fiction--essentialism; the aliens are actually nice; it's only a misunderstanding; boy genius can do everything--Roddenberry was trained in classic sci-fi. There's a story there...even if the story could be tweaked.

Lessons from Fan Fiction: How Useful Star Trek Is In Creating Satire

There's Galaxy Quest, of course, though that is part spoof/part tribute. 

To be more particular, Star Trek is useful for elucidating current issues. In one of the more heavy-handed episodes of  The Original Series, fighting members of a planet come onboard. One is portrayed as passionate yet willing to bully others through incendiary rhetoric. The other is portrayed as a kind of Javert character (they are both played by strong actors). The issue? One member of the race is dark on the one side, light on the other and vice versa.

The message is--well, just try to duck it! (you can't). But the end where the two arrive at their planet to find it utterly destroy...yet are still willing to keep fighting...carries a depth of pathos that is relatively unusual for Star Trek (though not for the 3rd season). 

The point is: sci-fi allows such issues to be explored in a way that political commentary--so busy focusing on the rhetoric and "us versus them" competition--sometimes misses. 

In my Voyager fan-fic, I have a coterie of self-righteous complainers, led by Crewmembers Piyus and Malyce. They aren't consistent in their complaints since they use the rhetoric of so-called diversity to complain about, well, everything: people who are too diverse; people who aren't diverse enough; people who don't behave how they ought; people who get supposedly special privileges; people who don't give them what they want/expect. The complainers disguise bullying with proclamations of sensitivity.

Here's an excerpt I wrote (with its own element of heavy-handedness). Ben, one member of a couple that Piyus and Malyce and their clique have taken to bullying, recently got married (Ben is his human name): 

Crewmember Piyus approached Ben in the Mess Hall.

“I understand you got married. Congratulations, I guess. But you know, there’s so much ignorance about other crewmembers’ rituals and customs, you really should have invited more people.”

“It was a private ceremony,” Ben said.

“But people can never learn about others unless they have more opportunities—”

“I don’t consider my marriage an educational opportunity.”

Crewmember Malyce, who was listening in, said contemptuously, “So much for Starfleet openness.”

Ben set down his fork.

"I think that Starfleet’s education can be useful. I was taken from Gemine when I was under six years old. I didn’t know anything about my planet or its customs—I had nothing more than a few vague memories and some lullabies. Starfleet helped me learn more.” 

He met Malyce's eyes steadily. “But I agree that Starfleet training isn’t quite the same as indoctrination. It can’t force understanding. It’s a resource. To benefit from it, a person already needs generosity of spirit, a desire to accept rather than belittle. It’s easy to use IDIC language to bully others rather than to let them be.”

“Here, here,” another crewmember, Quin, said while Malyce grumbled about IDIC being "Vulcan parochialism" and Piyus looked abashed.

Malyce and Piyus, I found, were bad guys I loved to hate--and spoof. I also realized how shallow so-called progressive arguments can be. I mean, I knew that anyway... 

But when you go to write the arguments (and try to rely on logic rather than labels in order to create strong antagonists), it is hard to defend the incessant name-calling and constant interference. I also discovered how easily such rhetoric can be used to justify any position or viewpoint. The arguers profess to be in favor of recognizing others' differences. In the end, they come across as more preoccupied with a high school-like desire to have all the "cool people" be "just like us." 

Here are Piyus and Malyce again, complaining to Captain Janeway. Note how what really bothers Malyce is that he doesn't have the type of relationship he wants. I think a lot of supposedly inclusive arguments come down to this fundamental human flaw (call it "original sin" or "the natural man"): I don't have the life that I should have had; I will be destructive until I get it. 

Crewmember Piyus began, “We realize that Starfleet is committed to distinctiveness. We all are. It is unfortunate when distinctiveness is used to justify damaging behavior.”

“Such as?” Captain Janeway said levelly. 

“There is the issue with the clone—”

“Clone? You mean Crewmember Allec.”

"There is the Anthro and Teuran.”

“Also Voyager crewmembers. I suggest you use their names.”

“Teurans have been keeping Anthros in captivity for generations.”

“That matter had not been resolved when Voyager left the Alpha Quadrant. I can assure you that proper protocols are being followed. I've received no complaints from the actual crewmembers. What else?” Captain Janeway said before Piyus could argue that nobody other than Piyus and her cohorts were capable of even voicing complaints.

If she only knew.

Not that it would matter if she did. In Piyus and Malyce's minds, a failure to agree with them obviously represented undue subservience to Starfleet. Consequently, only their complaints mattered.

Piyus said, “The Gemine are—dating, I guess they call it. There’s even talk of marriage.”

“I understand that this is entirely acceptable behavior for their species. It is how they mate and reproduce.” 

Malyce broke in, “And if this was the Alpha Quadrant, of course we would all go about our own business. But on a ship as small as Voyager, denigrating behaviors that promote power imbalances, gender absolutism, and advocacy of the status quo should be avoided.”

“And their relationship promotes all these things because—?”

Malyce was practically seething. Captain Janeway eyed him like he was a bristling bug.

He said, “It is offensive how Starfleet encourages duo-couple power expression. Out of phobia and stigma towards experimentation, Starfleet encourages unnatural and exploitative bonds. All for the sake of so-called individualism.”

“That sounds like an excuse to force others to behave as you wish. That isn’t going to happen, Crewmember Malyce. Others do not exist for your gratification.”

Malyce sat back with an offended air. “I am not the only one who finds current so-called pairings on this ship toxic. Others have told me how unhappy they are—”

He was likely referring to his coterie of five or six crewmembers. They huddled in corners and egged each other on. Captain Janeway turned her gaze on Piyus, who was clinging to “I'm so sad when others are unhappy--and I'm sure I'm part of the problem” self-congratulation.

Piyus said, “Captain, we want Voyager to remain a community as much as you—not break apart like the Varro. Shouldn’t a community have common values and ethics?”

“Common morality, you mean? Let's not split hairs. The common morality with this crew is respect for other customs and rituals. I will grant that not all customs and rituals are easily understood. I will also grant that Federation protocol often takes precedence over those customs—we don’t allow Klingon crewmembers to duel each other when they come on-board Federation ships, for instance. Outside of those protocols, Starfleet is not going to violate basic individual—individual—rights because of your personal feelings of offense. You are dismissed.”

I think Janeway would make these arguments. Throughout the series, she promotes Federation protocols (think Western civilization) but she also works to promote the individual, including Seven, the Doctor, Neelix, Chakotay's cultural beliefs, and so on. 

Unfortunately, I also think Voyager would suffer these types of complainers--it is one of the dangers of the closed environment. Consider that Shackleton was reluctant to award all members of the Antarctica expedition. There was that one guy who just wouldn't shut up... (The other crew-members persuaded Shackleton to change his mind.)

But the temptation to dump that one guy on a planet/ice flow must be great!--especially when the relentless complaints are negative and unproductive as opposed to useful and constructive. Does the mindset add or detract? 

Lessons from Fan Fiction & Star Trek: The Motion Picture: There's Nothing There

Over the summer, I decided to watch (most) of the original Star Trek films (okay, I skipped VI--sorry, Shatner).

I started with The Motion Picture. I saw it years ago and remembered it as sort of a waste of time, but hey, sometimes, my memory plays tricks on me.

It didn't.

That is one incredibly boring film.

The major problem, of course, is that it is trying so hard to be 2001 and what became Dune (which went through several hands before 1984), it doesn't settle for being its campy self. I've mentioned elsewhere that I'm a big fan of work in a genre/franchise being the best it can be in that genre/franchise. Frankly, 2001 is boring too, but it's good boring--that is, it does what it is supposed to do as itself (I can't speak for Dune since the book and the movies enter Highlander territory, as in they have followers--okay, I try to here).

Because The Motion Picture is trying so hard to be something else, it doesn't invite a celebration of that universe. In sum, it fails to have fun. The costumes are boring. The ship is boring. The many, many shots of the ship going places or people approaching the ship or people approaching the entity or characters watching all this happen are boring.

Ultimately, there's nothing there.

None of this nothingness is helped by The Motion Picture's plot. It is based around a classic Star Trek/sci-fi trope (object in space has supposedly mysterious origins and a mission of death) but the problem seems almost entirely disconnected from the characters. The plot relies instead on unnecessary complications to lend the trope profundity it doesn't deserve ("The Doomsday Machine" is not one of my favorite original episodes; it is still better than The Motion Picture).

 

When I tried to give my TOS fan-fiction characters things to do during The Motion Picture mission, I couldn't come up with much. I finally put one of my characters to work performing autopsies on the officers who get killed in the transporter accident--uh, I guess the tissue got rebeamed to the Enterprise. Not technically, but I had to give the folks in the medical bay some work as opposed to them staring at the instruments in awe: Look at the color scheme!

 

In comparison, my characters had TONS to do in Wrath of Khan: investigating possible sabotage of the Genesis Project, search and rescue attempts, triage, duties on the bridge.  

My characters had so much to do in Wrath of Khan, not because Wrath is complicated. Its plot is quite simple, being neither strained nor complex. One could even argue that it is less complex than The Motion Picture. Guy known to the crew wants revenge. He quotes great lines from the nineteenth century while starships behave like sea ships from the nineteenth century  (with the additional three-dimensional stuff, so I guess Das Boot crept in there). Crafty maneuvers. Heroic sacrifices. Hey, where's Ioan Gruffudd!? 

 

Yet despite its deceptive simplicity, Wrath of Khan--unlike The Motion Picture--is fully invested in its universe. My characters had things to do because Starfleet and its friends and enemies were no longer observers but participants.

Thank you, Nicholas Meyer.

The lesson: stories do best when they are written by people who love the genre/series/franchise/world AS CREATIVE FANS, not as star-struck overly awed sycophants. --I added the last phrase based on comments :)

Great Researcher's Moment: Star Trek TOS

Mc

Love the 19th century title in 60's lava lamp design!

Coy, Spock and Kirk are stuck on an spaceship masquerading as an asteroid. They have to figure out how to correct the ship/asteroid's course. The multi-generational ship has kept its inhabitants compliant with a religion of obedience. Eventually, at McCoy's direction, Kirk and Spock break into a chamber and locate the religion's sacred text.

"Is it indexed?" Kirk says.

"Yes, it is," Spock replies.

Gotta love those fundamentalists with their indexed religious instructional manuals!*

But you know, I appreciate that the writers didn't make Spock able to instantly read the whole thing in 2 seconds. An index was more  believable. 

 

*It is the manual for the ship--which of course begs the question, Wouldn't it be more interesting if all technical writing was like this?

 

Trekmovie calls this a "cram session."

Spock Turns Into Bones (Temperance)

In the season 3 episode "That Which Survives" Spock suddenly turns into Bones, meaning forensic anthropologist, Temperance Brennan.

Of course, he always was rather like her (or she was always rather like him). But in "That Which Survives" he becomes not only dry and logical but the foil for a number of humorous and sarcastic exchanges.

When Scotty exclaims, "That's impossible! Nothing can do that!" about the ship being flung away from the planet, Spock replies, "Mr. Scott, since we are here, your statement is not only illogical but unworthy of refutation." That last line is pure Temperance.

When Scotty tries to tell Spock that the ship "feels" wrong, Spock replies with an apparent lack of interest. However, he immediately begins to perform scans of his own. Like Temperance, he uses a "non-scientific" statement to inspire future research. Spock does reiterate later, "I suggest you refrain from any further subjective descriptions."

Because of course, like Temperance, Spock also continually corrects people's imprecise data. He always has done this but he seems to do it more than usual in this episode--it could be a coping mechanism regarding a stressful situation. It certainly is a coping mechanism for Temperance! (Of course, Spock would never admit it.)

And Spock--like Temperance--becomes quite literal, which he actually isn't so much in earlier seasons. When the ship bounces around on its special effects string, Uhuru asks Spock, "Are you alright? What happened?" He replies, "I'm alright. The occipital area of my head seems to have impacted with the arm of the chair." She gives him a curious stare.

In addition, Spock--like Temperance--is awarded the ultimate compliment of being a standard bearer: "A planet even Spock can't explain!"  

Actually, throughout all of Season 3, Spock gets more and more geeky: he goes off on explanatory expositions of scientific phenomenon, eschews "supernatural explanations," and expresses his "fascination" more often. I felt like I was watching the birth of geek-dom! Fascinating!

Of course, fans will know that Spock does turn into Bones (McCoy) eventually.

Impressive TOS Episode: Plato's Stepchildren

The amazing thing about "Plato's Stepchildren" is how Michael Dunn as Alexander inspires everyone to perform at their best.

And it is a good reminder that television, like theater, does involve others. In an interview, Judi Dench comments that she has a hard time watching herself on television and in movies because the film performance is finished/done. In theater, every night is different. For the actors, performance is something that happens in the moment as part of a team/crew/cast. 

Yet in a particular Numb3rs episode commentary, Rob Morrow mutters a caustic remark about not-so-great directors who arrive on set and simply phone in the job. It's hard to get inspiration when a director doesn't care. And Christian Bale notoriously felt he wasn't being supported on set when he yelled at a disruptive crew member.

Although the result of film is a seemingly frozen moment in time, the actual process of creation involves interactive performances: actors with crew; actors with directors; actors with each other.

In "Plato's Stepchildren," Shatner comes into his own as Kirk: he is diplomatic, gentle, wise, direct and never patronizing with Alexander. In one scene, he slumps beside Alexander on a bench and presents his case. It is quite effective.

Nimoy as Spock is a tightly wound mass of fury at his humiliation. Kelley combines McCoy's know-how with his inherent tenderheartedness.

The episode is also tightly scripted--and quite painful to watch. The "antics" of Spock, Kirk, and McCoy are not funny, in large part because of Alexander's horror. The audience takes its cues from him--

Because Michael Dunn does dominate that episode. And the others meet him more than half-way.

And Then There's the Problem of Superheroes

It is a fantastic scene.

In the third season of Star Trek: The Original Series, the writers got incredibly lazy.

I don't just mean "Spock's Brain," which is totally giggle-worthy. I mean how often the writers solve a problem by having Spock step in.

He is the superhero of the third season.

If I were Shatner, I would have been understandably annoyed.

Someone needs to get the ship back from the far reaches of space--oh, Spock will mind meld with Kollos and make it happen; someone needs to figure out how to use the anti-asteroid machine on the planet--Spock will make a series of unbelievably intuitive leaps to fix the problem; someone needs to calm everybody's nerves so they don't get shot up by bullets--oooh, mind meld again!

In The Nitpicker's Guides, Phil Farrand begins to end summaries in Season 3 with the phrase "Thankfully, Spock..."

It's a great example of how giving viewers too much of what they think they want is not necessarily a good idea. People loved Spock--okay, in this episode Spock single-handedly saves Mrs. Jones's kitten from a tree while simultaneously mind-melding with terrorists during Pon Farr.

After a while, it loses its appeal--and makes one appreciate the willingness of Patrick Stewart to appear weak. "Q Who?" is often commended as one of the most powerful TNG episodes of all time, precisely because Captain Picard begs for help when he realizes the Enterprise is utterly out of its depth.

Give our heroes weaknesses--we will love them a little more.

Shatner as Kirk Deserves Applause

I'm not going to discuss which captain is best. Hey, I like them all!

I do think William Shatner as Kirk doesn't always get the recognition he deserves.

I'm not referring to the type of captain he represents. So many arguments about the "best captain" seem to revolve around Picard's diplomatic style versus Kirk's in-the-action style. Again, I feel no need to rank them.

I'm referring, rather, to Shatner's understanding of Kirk. There is a great scene in "Mirror, Mirror," The Original Series, Season 2. Kirk and several members of the original Enterprise have transported onto an alternate "mirror" Enterprise. This mirror Enterprise is about to eradicate the population of a planet. The course of action is, of course, repulsive to Kirk, but he can't simply declare his disgust. He has to protect himself and his fellow crew members--to get them back to their Enterprise.

He goes to the bridge. Mirror Sulu asks if he wants to fire on the planet. Mirror Spock, looking very dapper in a Van Dyke, is standing nearby.

"No," Kirk says very, very quietly.

It is such an impressive choice. He doesn't bellow or strut his stuff. He doesn't wave his arms about. In terms of sheer angry bombast, he can't really win; this is a practically piratical crew that will take him to pieces at the slightest hint of weakness.

"No," he says, and his emphatic quiet tone carries far more weight than any argument. In the context, it is very nearly a threat.

Shatner as Kirk made a lot of choices along these lines. He deserves credit for all of them. 

Star Trek Themes From Original Series to Voyager

The interesting thing about watching lots of episodes in a show at once is a particular theme begins to emerge--that is, particular plots or ideas come up over and over again.

Star Trek: The Original Series

The Vietnam War is a far more constant presence than I originally appreciated. The show is inherently conservative in some ways, yet way ahead of its time in many others. The issue of "Should we interfere? When is interference right or wrong?" constantly crops up. It is, to borrow a word, fascinating since the writers are obviously highly conflicted, which washes over into the show. It is a more honest appraisal of how Americans felt at the time than "historical" narratives about the Vietnam War now.

The Prime Directive is more than just this thing that Roddenberry invented so Kirk could violate it every week. It's a loaded question that the writers gladly took on from "A Private Little War" to "City on the Edge of Forever." When is interference okay? Or not okay? When does one actually do nothing?

Star Trek: The Next Generation

Again, the easy answer is "Peace! They talk about peace!" But actually, the theme I noted is a constant reference, again and again, to disappearance.

There are a multitude of extremely creepy episodes where a person's world gets smaller and smaller as the people around them vanish: Crusher watches the Enterprise disappear, Geordi watches friends disappear in one episode and learns that his mother vanished in another. Picard sees his past disappear when Q shows up. Data is left alone again and again--without father or brother. Worf loses his homeworld, then regains it but never entirely. Tasha Yar is lost, then shows up in a way that keeps her still, always, on the outside. The Borg are a negation of humanity.

It's a theme that appears in TOS--"Immunity Syndrome" is a powerful example--but has more  resonance with the individual in The Next Generation. Disappearance is an ongoing threat. The Season 7 finale postulates that we all disappear, all humanity, forever.

But we don't. Picard saves the day!

Star Trek: Voyager

Like Deep Space Nine, Voyager's theme is basically, Life is complicated! However, it has a particular focus: Individuals are complicated! So what constitutes the individual?

Tribute and thematically relevant!

This theme comes into major focus with Seven of Nine, but it is there from the beginning and threads through multiple episodes and story arcs. It is, again, a TOS theme--usually encapsulated in Spock--and one that shows up in The Next Generation--usually encapsulated in Data--but in Voyager it attends more than one or two characters. The Doctor worries about a name. B'Elanna worries about her split identity (much like Spock). Tom worries about his role in the past versus the present. Captain Janeway worries about the identity of her crew: Are they still Starfleet? Brad Dourif as Sutor worries about being a sociopath. A Q wonders what it means to be Q and why one should bother. Neelix and Tuvok get combined but nobody is entirely happy with the "new" perfect being. They want the imperfect individuals back.

What is so interesting here is that these themes possibly reflect--as with the Vietnam War--cultural concerns contemporary to their shows' air dates, but they don't appear to come about because of an overall mandate: We are now concerned about this! Rather, they appear to come about because certain scripts are encouraged, preferred, suggested for the next stage.

Which is, to be honest, the way sci-fi always works. It always reflects us.

The Wild West of Star Trek: The Original Series

Star Trek: The Original Series is all about adventures with insights: lots and lots of "What ifs". I approve.

I confess, I have greater familiarity with The Next Generation, partly because I was a teen when TNG began and partly because I find it slightly more relaxing. However, I've always had great respect for TOS. Some of the most classic episodes in all of television come from TOS. And nothing has ever measured up to the Kirk, Spock, McCoy combination or, I should say, the Shatner-Nimoy-Kelley combination (sorry, Pine-Quinto-Urban).

I'm happy to report that TOS also has its bonuses from the writing perspective. 

To relax between grading papers (as I wait for the next one to come in), I added to my personal Star Trek fan fiction. Lately, that fan fiction tackled The Original Series, and I found that it has one major bonus in comparison to the other series. While TNG supplies the open environment and Voyager the closed environment, TOS supplies grit and a world without rules.

Sure, sure, there are rules. In fact, one could argue that the non-family-occupied Enterprise of TOS would entail far more regulations than the later family-oriented "we're not anything that resembles the military" Enterprise of TNG. But with TNG, I always feel like bureaucrats are breathing down everybody's necks. Bureaucrats can be amusing as Yes, Prime Minister proves. And they can be useful in terms of plots.

They can also often get in the way.  

One thing I really like about "Galileo Seven" is that the

Enterprise gets to the planet where the shuttle crashed but

can't automatically find the away team--cause, ya know,

planets are big and technology isn't perfect.

In my version of TOS, which may or may not be canon but fits my personal view of TOS, the First Contact office that I have fully staffed in TNG--full of Federation diplomats and Starfleet personnel and civilian experts--is so short-staffed during "Shore Leave" that one of my lowly characters can get a job there simply because he got on the Enterprise by accident (a bureaucrat back on Earth gave him VIP travel status to try and impress the character's relations, which put the character on a planet where the only way off was to catch a ride with the Enterprise, along with a bunch of actors, which proves that bureaucrats are still useful plot devices).

That kind of "hey, you folks need help?" approach doesn't fit the other series (even when the writers tried). TOS reminds me of Barney Miller and early Law & Order, back when police stations were actually dirty and busy and things fell through the cracks. There's something so engaging about TOS being on the edges of civilization: out there, out of contact, and willing to improvise.

In TOS, Deep Space truly feels like Deep Space.

This may be why I've never gotten into the more recent series--or even the more recent movies. The desire to "fix" TOS is too strong. Even some Star Trek novel writers can't help but back-fill TOS with current and TNG technology. I admire Diane Duane's novels, but I mostly ignore that she gives TOS holodeck technology--simplistic holodeck technology, granted, but still not my idea of grit and grime and surviving on the edge of nowhere.

TOS is all about clunky machinery that goes beep--and captains who mostly ignore the bureaucrats on the home planet--and characters who actually can do what the writers wanted Wesley to do in TNG, only in TNG it truly made no sense.

In TOS, adventurers and mavericks and outliers may apply.

Remastered TOS is lovingly done and quite impressive in some ways.  

But I regret some changes, like this. TOS is the wires and batteries.

Fan Fiction Lesson: The Usefulness of Nuttiness

Nanites speaking through Data.

One of my Star Trek: TNG fan fiction characters is a member of the Diplomatic Service, Office of First Contact. This is a Federation office, not a Starfleet office. However, he, along with his boss, are seconded to the Enterprise, which, as Starfleet's flagship finds itself in a great many first contact situations.

My character, Meke, becomes more and more interested in First Contact with non-biological life forms, such as nanites and robots. His boss is an "old-school" diplomat who favors biological life forms. The boss also believes that all aliens are sweet and well-meaning and never at all intent on universal domination.

When the boss entirely misreads the Borg situation, in part because he ignores the resistance-is-futile component of Borg culture, he is replaced.

Meke's new boss is more insightful--but this created a writing problem for me. In real life, Meke would become more and more specialized (see Numb3rs, "First Law" for an excellent example of how two fields can appear superficially similar on the outside--hey, it's cyber-stuff!--yet are in fact quite distinct in terms of specialization).

However, I didn't want my character to become so specialized that he would disappear (not every episode deals with Data and machines). What should I do? 

I gave Meke's boss, Max, a whole host of personality quirks.

Max is competent, even insightful, but occasionally tactless. He develops sudden dislikes for a first contact encounter and refuses to go further. He gets "exhausted" by certain situations and hands everything abruptly over to Meke.

One might ask, "How could someone like this end up on the flagship of the Federation?"

One would answer, "Seriously? Hasn't everybody had bosses like this that got promoted up the food chain way too far and way too fast?"

Max isn't a bad guy, so Meke doesn't try to get him in trouble. In fact, Max lasts right until he fails to pinpoint the true nature of Alkar, the vampire-like diplomat. Nobody else pinpointed Alkar's true nature (until the Enterprise, that is) but somebody has to be the fall-guy and Max is it.

In other words, I ultimately have Max get dismissed for reasons that have nothing to do with his actual tendency to foist his work on his subordinate.

More importantly, I figured out a way for my character to continue to handle first contact situations with species outside his specialization. Consequently, I was able to involve Meke in the episode "First Contact," starring the amazing Bebe Neuwirth. In "Half a Life," Max throws up his hands when Timcin changes his mind (again), leaving Meke to handle the fall-out.

This kind of approach is surprisingly common in series--the writers need to provide reasons for characters to stick around. Giving quirks, oddities, and idiosyncrasies to characters is one approach. Greg's hero-worship of the CSI team plus his manic boredom in the lab explain his decision to go out into the field, lending it a patina of fictional realism. Linda's flightiness coupled with her kind nature explain why she doesn't leave her job with Dr. Becker. Rimmer's constant need to complain to someone explains why he remains Lister's bunk-mate.

Quirks, oddities, and idiosyncrasies can keep characters present in an ongoing series. They can also get taken too far. And they often have a shelf-life. Even I determined that eventually Max would hit a wall and lose support. There's a gap in time when Meke is the only First Contact envoy on-board. And even that won't last forever.

Eventually, Xander goes out and gets himself a job. Kyle finds his calling. Neelix discovers a new community. While Naomi simply grows up. Finding the balance between the static narrative and the organic narrative is a writing challenge--and, one could argue, a life challenge as well. 

There are Aliens and Then There are Aliens

Another re-post (from 2006)--more about aliens

While watching Star Trek: TNG recently, I thought about the ways in which we humans think about aliens or the concept of aliens. There are basically three models:

Star Trek Model: This is also, kind of, the Star Wars model. Aliens are seen as potential friends or at least potential neighbors. Granted the Star Trek model depends on reducing all alien races to a few existential characteristics (so that all Vulcans are logical, all Klingons are warrior-like, etc.). Granted, too, the function of Star Trek aliens is to allow human issues to be discussed that, for reasons of political correctness, can't be discussed about humans. Hence, even though all the humans in Star Trek are ultra-rational and vaguely agnostic, they are still able to discuss religion with Bajorans and with Worf.

Star Wars follows this model in that the Star Wars universe is peopled by aliens working side by side with no one much remarking on the fact. I prefer the Star Trek version, simply because I loathe (as in detest to my heart's core) Ewoks. Star Trek aliens come out of a pattern but at least they aren't cute!

All in all, this model is remarkably inclusive. It is one of the better side-effects of liberal humanism. Aliens, however problematic they prove at first, can be loved and understood in the long run. I admit, the "aliens" in my Star Trek fan fiction are more complicated--because, well, people are so darn complicated--but I understand the writing approach that prefers to keep things simple. And Star Trek characterizations do deliver a framework that can be easily used and complicated by others.

Interestingly enough, however, even in Star Trek, the scariest enemies are bug-like creatures. The Borg is Starfleet's main enemy, but the Borg are still comprehensible. When Star Trek wanted to created a worse enemy than the Borg, what did they do?

They brought in the bugs.

Which leads me to Model 2: Independence Day. In model 2, the aliens are buggy and evil. They can't be reasoned with. They don't seem to have reasons, just superior technology (that can, nevertheless, be brought to a standstill by a mild, little earth-created computer virus. Yeah, right.) And well, thank goodness for Will Smith, I say.

The X-Files Model: In the X-Files model, the aliens are big and bad and buggy, BUT they aren't the real enemy. The real enemy is the government that hasn't told us, the American people, about the big, bad, buggy aliens. In fact, in X-Files, the aliens, or rather the existence of aliens, represent for Mulder belief and hope. The problem is the humans who get in the way of that belief and hope. Men in Black is this model turned on its head. (Yes, the government isn't going to tell you, but they aren't going to tell you for your own sake.)

Personally, I think it is possible aliens are out there, although I don't spend a lot of time tidying my apartment for a possible visit. Like any good Star Trek fan, my own sci-fi universe follows the many-aliens-functioning-together-in-the-same-universe scenario (although I leave open the possibility that said aliens might have more nefarious goals than sweet Roddenberry allowed for).

Ultimately, I think Douglas Adams is right. If there are aliens, they don't pay us much mind. They are no more good than the average pompous liberal (such as the Vulcans of Enterprise). And no worse than the average bureaucrat who wants to build a bypass through our galaxy. And if they do make contact, they will be Ferengi wanting to trade. Face it, they won't go looking for the Dalai Lama or George Bush or Al Gore or sincere Hollywood stars or even Queen Elizabeth. They're going to be dialing Donald Trump's number. [I wrote the last line before he was president--and before anyone had any idea that he would become president! I left the line in the post because...they probably still would! Or Rupert Murdoch's number. Or Jeff Bezos's.]

Lessons from Fan Fiction: Closed Versus Open Environments in Sci-Fi

To relax, I write personal Star Trek fan fiction. I use my own invented characters set within Star Trek: TNG, Star Trek: Voyager, and Star Trek: TOS episodes.

The result is a great deal of insight on what works, what doesn't work, and why some episodes (even though I like them) may not be as well-written as others (and vice versa).

It is also provides insight about the differences (negatives and positives) of closed versus open environments.

Star Trek: TNG is an open environment. Enterprise operates within a vast area, the entire Alpha Quadrant, which is chock-full of outside influences: crew members transfer on and off the ship; family members come to visit; the ongoing political and social problems of various systems--the Klingon Empire, for instance--crop up over and over.

Star Trek: Voyager is a closed environment. Although Voyager encounters a few ongoing rivals, and the Borg is a constant problem, Voyager itself remains a fairly small population (150 is stated in a few episodes although naturally that number fluctuates slightly what with births and deaths) with only occasional additions (such as Seven).

Open environment positives:

It is easy to create problems in an open environment. The Enterprise is called in to arbitrate. Or it rescues some druggies and their dealers. Or it is required to transport some dignitary some place or other.

From a writing perspective, open environments present a continual stream of opportunities. If it is a slow day for a character in Engineering, a letter from family or a visit from a homeworld dignitary or some Federation bureaucratic nonsense can literally come on board to complicate that character's life.

Regarding the Federation, I take the position that the constant claim (by characters and producers) that Earth--and by extension, the Federation--is peaceful and wonderful, free of greed and infighting blah blah blah...is self-promotional rhetoric. In reality, people are people. Consequently, I have a number of characters who not only have to deal with Federation paperwork but with the ongoing interference of various groups within and without the Federation who are offended by, oh, anything (name it). Sociological problems abound!

Open environment negatives:

A lot of fans hate this episode about

Worf's parallel lives. I like it but one

can't really build a show around it.

It is hard to keep track of everyone and everything! I'm a fan of the one-plot-per-episode structure of Star Trek, but when one is trying to write fan fiction with ongoing characters whose essential purpose is change and growth, it is difficult to keep in mind every thread of influence: every family member, every co-worker, every captain or boss, every significant other, every decision, every past job, every future choice. People's lives are just so darn complicated. (And why do none of these people leave? Having the Enterprise as Starfleet's flagship helps. Getting to the Enterprise is the ultimate achievement. Still, I have to wonder.)

In addition, the open environment invites soap opera. One reason so many later seasons of so many shows--including Star Trek: TNG--devolve into soap opera is that soap opera is frankly easier to keep going. Much easier to have trauma and angst roll over into several episodes. The writers in the back room breathe a sign of relief: Okay, that cry-me-a-river mass of problems will take care of episodes 12-19!

It is a temptation to be avoided.

Closed environment positives:

Son and father--survival of a planet versus survival of a family.

In contrast, some of Voyager's most fascinating episodes occur in its later seasons as the initial outside rivals fall away. The focus required for a closed environment can lead to creative and varied plots. Granted (luckily) Star Trek: Voyager had the Borg. But it is still impressive how many well-plotted and thoughtful episodes it produced, simply because the closed environment forced the writers to rely on what was happening in this moment right now to these characters.

I find my Voyager fan fiction relying heavily on (1) inner growth; (2) the themes within each episode. Not only do I have to determine what my characters might be doing/thinking at any given time but how they might react to discussions of sentience, death, aging, memory, memory loss, history, the future, child-care, spiritualism, mutability--and so on.

Closed environment negatives:

For writers, there is the difficult need to generate a full season of specific adventures for a specific group of characters. I made my writing problems even more difficult since my characters are not members of the Bridge crew. Consequently, I've had to acknowledge that most of the time for most of the episodes, they aren't doing very much at all--well, except for their jobs, of course. But no grand adventures (half of them don't even go on away missions).

Consequently, one interesting side-effect is how long to wait to resolve issues: wait too long for a big resolve and the viewer (or in this case, the reader/writer) ceases to care. It took J and S seven YEARS to resolve this issue? Seriously? Insert eye-roll.

In one case, I put one of my characters in a coma for about four years simply because I love the 2-part episode "Work Force" and wanted the relationship problem resolved during that episode. I also moved the episode to the beginning rather than the middle of Season 7.

In conclusion

The writing issues of both closed and open environments have given me some sympathy for those writers in the back room. What do you do when the studio is clamoring for more ideas? Invent another outside enemy (call in the make-up team!)? Give Robert Picardo more episodes because the Doctor is just so much fun? Throw in more time travel plots in order to bring back older characters (this applies to both environments)? Have Troi date EVERYBODY in the crew? Have more family members come to visit (and complain)? Give the Klingon Empire even more problems to deal with--as if Lursa and B'Etor weren't enough trouble?

The Borg--you can always, always bring back the Borg.

Or Q!

Best Voyager Episode Ever: In the Blink of An Eye

My absolute favorite Star Trek: Voyager episode is "In the Blink of An Eye."

It falls into the category of "soft" science-fiction since the historical, sociological, and political effects of the Voyager's current plot problem are more important than the gadgetry of the current plot problem. 

The plot problem? Voyager gets stuck in a planet's gravitational pull (something like that). The planet  operates at a different space-time, much faster than the rest of the universe. In the one day that Voyager is stuck in orbit, the planet goes through 1,000+ years of history. (An opening line of dialog establishes that 1 second = 1 day.)

Stuck at one of the planet's poles, the Voyager starship becomes woven into the planet's theology and mythology. Opinions of it by the planet's inhabitants change. The older mythology is debunked but then, later, applauded for pinpointing some truths about the "star." Its existence--rather like our moon--gets woven into literature and song. Space travel is revered. The inhabitants' complicated reactions to the "star"--friend or foe or victim?--are alluded to. The fundamental goodness behind the final decision is presented naturally. 

All in all, a wonderful episode.

Several episodes in Star Trek: Voyager delve into the personal, yet manage to make a larger point about evolutionary psychology. "In the Blink of an Eye" delves into history, yet manages to make it personal, an impressive feat.

Excellent Voyager Episodes

Two themes run through Star Trek: Voyager's seasons: praise for space programs and a concentration on "soft" science-fiction.

Praise for Space Programs

Praise for space programs crops up in several episodes. These episodes often tell a separate story rather than presenting Voyager characters/alien species/ship & shuttle craft/weaponry alongside space phenomenon, battle scenes, crew bonding, the holodeck, visits to planets, and the Borg.

Of course, these plot points are important! People turning on the TV (or buying the DVD) to watch Star Trek, expect, well, Star Trek.

But a little change is also nice. Both of the following episodes are quite good:

"11:59" showcases Kate Mulgrew as one of Captain Janeway's ancestors.
"One Small Step" showcases Phil Morris as the astronaut whose sacrifices impress (even) Seven of Nine.  

Both concentrate on the efforts--both mental and physical--that make the dream of space travel possible. Without being maudlin, they demonstrate a love for space, "out there," which is touching to watch. After all, what inspired the creation of Star Trek in the first place!?

"Soft" Science-Fiction

Due to its confined setting and, I would argue, its female captain (because differences between the sexes do exist and that's okay), Voyager has fewer "gadget" episodes than other Star Trek series.  I must admit: when characters on Next Generation--which show I adore--start throwing around sentences about "dilithium crystals in the space-time continuum that operate on the warp core at something-something speed for something-something effect due to something-something plasma injector thingies blah blah blah," I tune out.

Machine-sci-fi kind of bores me, which likely explains why I can never get into Arthur C. Clarke and why my interest in Asimov is split right down the middle of his creations.

Voyager can do the gadget talk, but the series supplies a healthy amount of "soft" sci-fi: sociological, psychological, historical, archaeological. The episodes vary considerably but the best are very good.

"Survival Instinct" addresses a decision that Seven-of-Nine made while still a Borg to link a trio of Borgs under her command. She was terrified by their growing independence, by their memories of "self." Unlike the three--who were assimilated as adults--Seven was assimilated as a child. She reacts to her surfacing memories with knee-jerk fear, demonstrating the very human (but dangerous) desire for group identity. Someone tell me what to do!

In one of the most extraordinarily thoughtful scenes within sci-fi, Seven later informs Captain Janeway that for all its faults, the steadiness she received from the Borg through adolescence is still a strength to her. She doesn't excuse the Borg or offer it as a way of controlling nutty teens. But she acknowledges the complex effects of her prior existence, which becomes more complicated with Unimatrix Zero. A sociological truth: even the Borg is riddled with differences, mutability, and entropy.

Star Trek: Voyager often comes in for criticism; at its best, its episodes rival even the classics.