Star Trek Universe: Franchising the Final Frontier 1442249854, 9781442249851

Table of contents :
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction: Gene Roddenberry’s Creation as an Abiding Pop Culture Phenomenon • Douglas Brode
1 Supernatural Trek?: Star Trek and the Re-Enchantment of the World • Murray Leeder
2 Holodeck History: Past, Present, and Future on the Final Frontier • Cynthia J. Miller and A. Bowdoin Van Riper
3 Star Trek and the Information Age: How the Franchise Imagined/Inspired Future Technologies • Anthony Rotolo
4 Forward to the Past: Miscegenation Constructs in the Star Trek Mythos • Denise Alessandria Hurd
5 Science Fiction as Social Consciousness: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Star Trek: The Next Generation • Brian L. Ott and Eric Aoki
6 Radically Performing the Borg?: Gender Identity and Narratology in Star Trek • Tama Leaver
7 Manifest Destiny to the Stars: New Frontiers, Old Colonialism, and Borg Assimilation • Lynette Russell and Nathan Wolski
8 Resistance Is Futile: Cyborgs, Humanism, and the Borg • David J. Gunkel
9 Shakespeare in Space: A Trek toward Plurality • Melanie Lörke
10 Toward a Non-Dystopian Future: Romance and Realism in Star Trek: The Next Generation • Rebecca Barrilleaux
11 Enjoying an “Original Relation to the Universe”: Star Trek: The Next Generation and Emersonian Transcendentalism • April Selley
12 Adaptive Harmonics: Star Trek’s Universe and Galaxy of Games • Douglas Brown
13 The Making of a Star Trek Video Game: Voyager—Elite Force and Creative Collaboration • Brian Pelletier
14 Plastic Bodies and Lost Accessories: The Next Generation Action Figures in Relation to their TV Origins • Jonathan Alexandratos
15 Fantastic Licensing: The Ongoing Mission of Trek Comic Books • Stefan Hall
16 Help When Times Are Hard: Bereavement and Star Trek Fan Letters • Lincoln Geraghty
17 Rebooting Utopia: Reimagining Star Trek in post-9/11 America • Norma Jones
Index
About the Editors
About the Contributors

Citation preview

The Star Trek Universe

The Star Trek Universe Franchising the Final Frontier Edited by Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode

ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Rowman & Littlefield A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB Copyright © 2015 by Rowman & Littlefield All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Star Trek universe : franchising the final frontier / [edited by] Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4422-4985-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-4422-4986-8 (ebook) 1. Star Trek television programs—History and criticism. 2. Star Trek films—History and criticism. I. Brode, Douglas, 1943–, editor. II. Brode, Shea T., 1984–, editor. PN1992.8.S75S727 2008 791.45’75—dc23 2014049068 TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Printed in the United States of America

For Sue Anne Johnson Brode, wife and mother.

Contents

Acknowledgments

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Introduction: Gene Roddenberry’s Creation as an Abiding Pop Culture Phenomenon Douglas Brode

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1 Supernatural Trek?: Star Trek and the Re-Enchantment of the World Murray Leeder 2 Holodeck History: Past, Present, and Future on the Final Frontier Cynthia J. Miller and A. Bowdoin Van Riper 3 Star Trek and the Information Age: How the Franchise Imagined/Inspired Future Technologies Anthony Rotolo 4 Forward to the Past: Miscegenation Constructs in the Star Trek Mythos Denise Alessandria Hurd 5 Science Fiction as Social Consciousness: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Star Trek: The Next Generation Brian L. Ott and Eric Aoki 6 Radically Performing the Borg?: Gender Identity and Narratology in Star Trek Tama Leaver 7 Manifest Destiny to the Stars: New Frontiers, Old Colonialism, and Borg Assimilation Lynette Russell and Nathan Wolski

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8 Resistance Is Futile: Cyborgs, Humanism, and the Borg David J. Gunkel 9 Shakespeare in Space: A Trek toward Plurality Melanie Lörke 10 Toward a Non-Dystopian Future: Romance and Realism in Star Trek: The Next Generation Rebecca Barrilleaux 11 Enjoying an “Original Relation to the Universe”: Star Trek: The Next Generation and Emersonian Transcendentalism April Selley 12 Adaptive Harmonics: Star Trek’s Universe and Galaxy of Games Douglas Brown 13 The Making of a Star Trek Video Game: Voyager—Elite Force and Creative Collaboration Brian Pelletier 14 Plastic Bodies and Lost Accessories: The Next Generation Action Figures in Relation to their TV Origins Jonathan Alexandratos 15 Fantastic Licensing: The Ongoing Mission of Trek Comic Books Stefan Hall 16 Help When Times Are Hard: Bereavement and Star Trek Fan Letters Lincoln Geraghty 17 Rebooting Utopia: Reimagining Star Trek in post-9/11 America Norma Jones

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Index

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About the Editors

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About the Contributors

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Shane J. Brode, for his endless time and efforts, coupled with his inherent genius as a computer expert in creating the technical means to organize this book and then to properly convey it to the publisher. And to the remarkable array of talented writers who not only contributed fascinating chapters, but who were willing to also rewrite, again and again, in hopes of achieving something as close to perfection as possible.

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Introduction Gene Roddenberry’s Creation as an Abiding Pop Culture Phenomenon Douglas Brode

In God’s good time, as the late Gene Roddenberry (1921–1991) might have put it on one of his more spiritually inclined days (the avatar at the heart— and soul—of this study was far more spiritual than many realize, despite his disdain for organized religion), 1 we will move on in this introduction to an initial discussion of Star Trek’s many incarnations following the original cast adventures. But as the object here will be to discuss the extension of what humbly yet ambitiously began as a TV series (1966–1969), in time moving into films and other media forms, these accompanied by a successful return to the small screen, it’s important to first establish certain ground rules about television. That is, after all, where of course the Trek universe began. TV, first and foremost, exists as a distinctly identifiable form. For a long time (indeed, a very long time), television was considered nothing more than a commercialized product providing pap for popular consumption in order to sell corporate goods. 2 By the early years of the twenty-first century, however, TV had at last begun to follow motion pictures in terms of serious acceptance. Introduced to the public at the turn of the century, cinema had likewise been dismissed as ephemeral entertainment rather than as an art form until the revolutionary era of the 1960s, not coincidentally parallel to the period when Trek first appeared on TV. Understandably, then, if film did not receive academic respect as a fully legitimate area for study at the college level until the early 1970s, TV’s own acceptance would occur approximately a decade later 3—and not merely in terms of the technical aspects of production (on the order of a trade school xi

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for future media professionals) but serious, in-due-time scholarly analysis of the medium in and of itself. Immediately, this opened university doors to a discussion of the manner in which TV relates to those other possible avenues in which Trek has been, and will continue to be, conveyed to the most highly devoted fans (Trekkies) and somewhat more casual aficionados (Trekkers). 4 Again like movies, to which TV is related as a medium of mass communication (though as will be shortly discussed, the two are far from identical), television is (whether viewed as commerce, entertainment, and/or art) essentially a collaborative undertaking. This basic reality qualifies both TV and film as existing within a single encompassing framework that also includes symphony, opera, and live theater. Those three rank among the most traditional venues, while pantomime troupes, improvisational performances, and street theater qualify as perhaps edgier aspects of collaborative work. At the outset of this journey into the multitude of meaning(s) that can be derived from Trek, it’s imperative to emphasize that each of the above forms, however interrelated, exists unto itself. That is, each boasts at least one unique characteristic that qualifies this medium as unlike any other. Opera, to randomly pick an example, may share the concept of a staged drama-cum-music with Broadway spectacles. But in opera, every word is sung. This, then, is what defines opera as opera; to borrow from Rudolf Arnheim, an original art form, 5 distinct unto itself, despite any obvious similarities to other forms. Opera, then, is not some sidelight of any preexisting (or postexisting) stage musical form, but an entity unto itself. To appreciate opera, it must be understood as opera. This holds true for film and television, both of which have proven hospitable to Trek specifically, science-fiction franchises, some of which will be cited later in more general terms. Both venues offer filmed and now—in our “future shock” world wherein technology alters so rapidly that we can barely keep up with the changes 6—digital productions. A key distinction is that with the movie medium, film/digital drama (or comedy) does not appear as one of many possibilities but essentially is (with rare exceptions, such as private broadcast of some live sports or musical event) the be-all and end-all. TV, on the other hand, includes but is less limited to film/digital presentation. Videotaped talk shows, live sporting events (on a regular rather than “special” basis), and twenty-four-hour news services that combine live as well as pre-taped elements appear daily. Here, then, we encounter something of a paradox. For despite such distinctions, always there remains that great constant: collaborative forms like movies and TV (of course, including Trek in movies and/or on TV) literally demand a group effort for any production. And this creates an extreme contrast to individual artistic enterprises. Works that belong to the latter group more or less automatically express a single personal voice, doing so whether the creator is aware of it or not. These forms include most (though

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surely not all) examples of print literature, ranging from novels to poems, as well as many graphic arts, such as painting and sculpture. Today, a singersongwriter, performing alone, neatly fits into such a paradigm. If there should be accompanying band members, individually and/or communally contributing to create an end result, then the issue of authorship is confounded, clouded, confused. And confusion always creates problems, notably in terms of determining the “voice” behind any work clearly intended to transcend obvious/shallow entertainment and, if successful, to achieve status as true and lasting art—something that Trek’s ardent fans absolutely do insist occurs with continually expanding offshoots of Roddenberry’s original TV series. In the graphic arts, such collaboration can be traced back to grand undertakings that include massive murals from the high Renaissance: that is, visual epics adorning the great European cathedrals. 7 These enterprises almost always called for a collaborative effort, though mostly (the exception might be more recent examples of Soviet art from the 1920s) such work takes place under the conscious control of a single visionary. It is that person, likely the head or master of a studio of talented apprentices, who ultimately “signs” the piece. In most such cases, though, a Da Vinci or a Buonarroti did not labor alone but served as overseer—not so very different from a television producer on the order of Gene Roddenberry with his personally and publicly beloved Trek. Still, the work is today identified by the name of that one visionary who more or less ran the show. Similarly, theater from the Elizabethan age represents this same situation in what are now considered the classical performing arts. At a time when the concept of a stage director did not yet exist, the primary author (though others in the company could and did contribute to an ever-in-embryo production) would likely be cited as the ultimate artist; that is, the person in control. It’s hardly necessary to point out that William Shakespeare fit this bill perfectly, particularly since that process has been beautifully recaptured (if to a degree romanticized) in the Oscar-winning film Shakespeare in Love (John Madden, 1998). For more than 400 years, various directors have mounted reinterpretations of the Bard’s plays—a situation that might, in our own context, be mirrored in the J. J. Abrams (1966– ) reboots of Roddenberry’s Enterprise tales. The abiding though difficult question raised then must be: are such people only journeymen?—that is, talented, even gifted, yet always secondary talents, while Shakespeare then, and Roddenberry today, still remain the work’s true/essential author, no matter how “original” or “unique” any such individual productions may be? Or are these latecomers artists, perhaps primary ones at that? After all, they do draw on preexisting material, even as Shakespeare almost always did, while making earlier tales over so completely in terms of style and substance that they now are inseparable from that scribe’s name.

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This issue is not limited to Shakespeare or Star Trek. Should Abrams’s Star Wars films, the first premiering in the summer of 2015, be evaluated only as spin-offs of preexisting work by George Lucas (1945– )? Or should Abrams, depending on how completely he remakes that concept over in his own image, be thought of as primary? Is what we experience on contemporary theater screens George Lucas’s Star Wars, reinterpreted by J. J. Abrams, or J. J. Abrams’s Star Wars, necessarily derived from Lucas’s now long-ago body of work? If the latter, then we must consider those movies as imposing, successfully or not, Abrams’s worldview on Star Wars or Star Trek as an idea (if considered art) or as a franchise (for those who continue to insist on perceiving it as commerce). Certainly, as was earlier obvious with Shakespeare, cinematic adaptations prove more problematic than stage productions. Movies, as compared to live theater, do not close up and then disappear, as is the case when a theater season has concluded. Is, then, Falstaff: The Chimes at Midnight (1965), a compression of five Shakespearean plays involving the title character, as mounted by Orson Welles—or should it be thought of as a visual work of art by Welles that includes shards of the Bard’s preexisting verbal element as a starting point for this director’s own personal vision? 8 Similarly, it’s not for nothing that the 1973 film of Shakespeare’s Scottish tragedy was titled Roman Polanski’s Macbeth. In the opening credits, Shakespeare is cited as the “source” from which this notably cinematic piece was fashioned. The pessimistic note on which that film decidedly ends is precisely the reverse of the optimistic sensibility clearly intended by Shakespeare. 9 Though the words are all Shakespeare’s—and most of Shakespeare’s words were indeed retained—the end result offers an expression of the work’s director, or auteur. Yes, yes, yes, you may be asking. But when are you going to get around to Trek? And what does all of this have to do with that ongoing multimedia phenomenon that serves as the focus of this volume? The answer to the second question is, in one word, everything! As to the first, stick with me, please, a moment longer. For as promised at the outset, that’s where we are slowly but steadily headed. Meanwhile, it’s impossible to consider Trek on the intellectual level that the following essays demand if we do not first establish a set of working ground rules. So! When we deal with an example of single-person art, it’s easy enough to determine the authorial voice. This sets us free to evaluate any specific piece in terms of aesthetic merit. Since we know at once who is speaking, critical focus must automatically shift to issues of quality. The other category of art forms, however, proves more difficult in terms of such rigid analysis. Is a symphony conductor merely an interpretive (and as such, secondary) talent who offers up a temporary “reading” of some (primary) composer’s lasting/ ongoing creation? If so, that conductor is better understood as a craftsperson than as a true artist. Or might we instead argue that, at least since the inven-

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tion of records and contemporary CDs (similar to the films discussed above), any single arrangement of a work may well dominate for decades? If so, then perhaps it ought to be thought of as an autonomous piece, in and of itself. Naturally, such an altered perception reestablishes the conductor as a primary voice rather than as a talented conduit or go-between. Likewise, a theatrical film or a filmed TV series calls upon numerous talents for completion, much less success. Which brings us ever closer to our subject, Trek, now also existing in such varied forms as comic books, graphic novels, video games, trading and collecting cards, and a nearly endless array of toys, to name but a few. Again, to restate the obvious, whenever Trek is viewed strictly as entertainment, none of this matters. In such a context, all anyone cares about is: was this a strong episode of The Next Generation, an engaging video game, a successful movie? However, the moment that claims are forwarded arguing that Trek represents something more and greater than simply that—as such, art, therefore worthy of the in-depth study the following essays offer—the issue of authorship becomes significant. The temptation is to draw on auteur theory, 10 developed in France during the 1950s (with André Bazin as its leading proponent) as a means for more fully understanding cinema and to qualify that predecessor to TV as an original art form. Such young Turks as Jean-Luc Godard, Francoise Truffaut, and Claude Chabrol—each to emerge as a major Nouvelle Vague film artist in the 1960s—argued that the script, no matter how talented any writer might be, ordinarily gets lost along the way. 11 Indeed, that may be a relatively gracious fate! Sam Peckinpah (1925–1984), whose films include The Wild Bunch (1969) and Straw Dogs (1971), once claimed “the script is what I must destroy during the process of making a movie.” 12 Although most directors prove considerably less brutal (in every sense of that term), there remains a certain truth to his statement. For instance, John Ford (who greatly respected screenwriters) abruptly changed, even reversed, elements in Frank S. Nugent’s script for The Searchers (1956) while on location, transforming it into a truer John Ford film and a true classic on a level that it would not have been had the script been scrupulously shot as written. 13 The exception would be those rare cases when a screenplay’s quality is honored via publication in book form, the case with Citizen Kane (1941). Yet few people, even university professors who teach courses on film, could, off the top of one’s head, recall who collaborated on that film with co-screenwriter/director Welles. Or who wrote My Darling Clementine (1946), one of Ford’s greatest westerns. But anyone with a more than casual interest in film knows the latter was directed by Ford, the former by Welles. Even in the case of Kane, wherein gifted collaborators like Herman Mankiewicz may have contributed more to the script than did Welles, 14 a general consensus remains: the visual style, the essence of that film’s historical importance and ongoing greatness, remains the true source of Kane’s power, then and now.

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And this is most often attributed to Welles, if always in the remarkable company of cinematographer Gregg Toland, perhaps chiefly responsible for the innovatively noir ambience. Despite naysayers, Kane has come down to us as a film by Orson Welles. 15 And so, then: whereas live theater is ordinary considered to be a writer’s and/or actor’s medium (they, not the director, receive accolades at the end of a successful premiere), cinema more truly belongs to the director and cinematographer. However related, stage is essentially verbal while films are visual. It has been argued that a blind man at a play or a deaf man attending a film would each miss only 10 to 20 percent of what’s essential. 16 But TV, while sharing the ability of live theater and cinema to convey drama and comedy, is not identical to either. Who then is the primary artist involved? Who is, as auteurists would say, the person who establishes the essential substantive meaning and basic stylistic approach that defines any TV series? In the case of Trek, that would be Gene Roddenberry, at least according to most observers. 17 Truth be told, though, Roddenberry wrote only a precious few episodes of the original series and directed none of them. 18 Even when he is listed as a producer, evidence exists that suggests Roddenberry left most of the grunt (or, as they say in “the business,” line) work to carefully chosen underlings. Still, Roddenberry continues to be perceived as the singular driving force behind Trek. And most fans, ardent or casual, are comfortable with that perception—at least as far as the original series and (perhaps) the first wave of movies are concerned. But that is all history now, which can hardly be claimed about Trek. The excitement attending the release of reboot films in the second decade of the twenty-first century ascertains that everything Roddenberry accomplished, once considered to be only Trek, may have been but the prologue. Today, franchising knows no bounds. As an old showbusiness axiom left over from Vaudeville but still apt puts it, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! A sharp contrast can be drawn here between Trek and another great favorite of televised science fiction, The Twilight Zone (1959–1965). First, however, it would be wise to summarize similarities that allowed the two series to, in sequence, appeal to the same moderately sized but intelligent and loyal audience. Even though Roddenberry had not been associated with sci-fi or imaginative fantasy before Trek, concentrating instead on realistic police dramas, so too did Serling (1924–1975) make his reputation with such golden age live/realistic dramas as “The Velvet Alley” (January 22, 1959), about Hollywood’s attempts to seduce writers of integrity into selling out for big bucks, “Patterns” (February 9, 1955), concerning the wheelings and dealings of those in control of major corporations, and “Requiem for a Heavyweight” (October 11, 1956), about the tragic fate of a sorely manipulated boxer. One student of Trek states that Gene’s 1966–1969 show “was unique among television series for using . . . main issues of the sixties as themes in a science

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fiction format,” 19 most notably those key episodes that indirectly commented on the war in Southeast Asia. Such a claim fails to take into account that Serling’s Zone had already employed the genre to comment on everything then happening in our world, from fear of nuclear holocaust to stress caused by contemporary life and its superficial values. The first drama to ever depict the escalating “situation” in Vietnam on television (doing so not by implication but directly addressing it) was “In Praise of Pip” (September 27, 1963), a Zone episode written by Serling himself. Here, the issue of authorship (not in the auteur sense that this essay addresses but simply in regard to who actually wrote what and when) serves as a difference between the two. Laura Sweeney points out numerous “inconsistencies in Star Trek’s social commentary,” 20 a complaint that could never be leveled against Zone. As to Vietnam, Roddenberry’s early personal position on Vietnam was hawkish; initial Trek episodes that obliquely addressed such a conflict (these not written by Gene) reset in futuristic space defended what from today’s perspective would be labeled an imperialist attitude toward global/intergalactic politics. 21 Serling had been a dove from day one, opposing the war in person as well as on his TV show. Further, in terms of sheer numbers, Serling’s contribution to Zone’s scripts included twenty-eight season one episodes, nineteen for season two, twenty-one during season three, seven for the abbreviated hour-long season four, and fifteen for season five, totaling ninety episodes—without counting “The Time Factor” (November 24, 1958), the unofficial pilot that had aired on Desilu Playhouse. Here exists a sharp contrast with Roddenberry and Trek. Gene did write “The Cage” (the pilot, which did not officially air until October 4, 1988), segments from this initial venture appearing in “The Menagerie,” parts one and two (November 17, 1966 and November 25, 1966), both written by Roddenberry. His only other contribution as sole scribe was “The Omega Glory” (March 1, 1968); Roddenberry did collaborate on “Bread and Circuses” (March 15, 1968) with Gene Coon and “The Savage Curtain” (March 9, 1969) with Arthur W. Heinemann. But that was it. Also in question: how closely Roddenberry supervised scripts contributed by others, again in comparison to Serling, who carefully considered (in some cases rewriting without credit) other people’s scenarios. 22 Ultimately, as to any old-fashioned literary sense of authorship, Serling’s influence over Zone is obviously less in doubt that Roddenberry’s over Trek. Then again, the purpose of this piece is to raise the issue of authorship in the auteurist sense, adjusting it to the television medium in general and to Trek specifically. Here Roddenberry has the edge, if for no other reason than following its cancellation on NBC, Gene refused to let Trek go. Whereas Serling swiftly moved on to assorted other projects, including imaginative fantasy movies (Planet of the Apes, 1968) and TV (The New People, 1969), he was anxious to shift away from his association with the genre. Rod created

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and wrote many episodes of The Loner (1965–1966) for CBS, employing the western genre—as he already had with sci-fi—to offer comments on the present masked as stories set in a mythic past instead of our possible future. Many of Serling’s later TV plays (“A Storm in Summer,” February 6, 1970, about Jewish identity) and films (The Man, 1972, a projection of America’s first African American president), like his aforementioned earlier ones, were devoid of fantastical elements. He did host (and lend his name to) Rod Serling’s Night Gallery (NBC, 1970–1973) but has always insisted that he did so for the same reason that he hawked everything from beer to cigarettes on TV: “they” offered him so much money that he couldn’t bring himself to turn it down. 23 Roddenberry, on the other hand, set out to revive Trek the very moment after he received his walking papers. A Saturday-morning cartoon version (1973–1974) came to fruition only because Gene would not take “no” for an answer. 24 During the next several years, he tried in vain to get a theatrical version of Trek green-lighted, this finally occurring after the success of Star Wars (1977) convinced Hollywood that big-budget sci-fi was now the way to go, with Trek an obviously attractive option. Roddenberry involved himself as deeply as possible in the subsequent movies, though the degree of his participation has always been questioned; some insist that Roddenberry had a primary role, others argue that his name was included in such cinematic projects mainly out of respect to his earlier contribution as the “initiator,” with the various filmmaking teams actually wanted to move in notably different directions with these projects. 25 Paradoxically, then, Serling may have “been” Zone but though he loved the show and appreciated all that it did for him financially and in terms of celebrity, Zone was not Serling, at least not in his own mind. 26 Additionally, the greatness of Zone has always rested with the original series; most attempts at film (Twilight Zone: The Movie, 1983) or TV revivals (1985 and 2002) fizzled. The only successful attempt to create a Zone franchise, The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror at several Walt Disney theme parks, draws entirely on Serling himself and the original show for its appeal. Trek, on the other hand, rivals Star Wars (and Disney) as one of the most enduringly popular franchises in the history of commercial media. Likewise, Roddenberry was always glad to be thought of as inseparable from his concept. This suggests to some that Gene’s dedication to Trek ran deep and pure, in the sense of a unconditional love that can touch us still. Other (less kind) observers would argue that, unlike Rod Serling, Gene Roddenberry had no other great ideas and, in order to maintain any footing in the “industry,” could not let go of the only iron he held over the fire. That argument is at least partially belied by Gene Roddenberry’s Earth: Final Conflict (1997–2002), a later series derived from a pilot not previously produced. Whatever one believes, Roddenberry did succeed in fusing his name and talent with Trek in such an

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ongoing and uncompromising manner that, however little he may have had to do with the original series as an author, Roddenberry was the auteur. Or was he? More recently, Laura J. Sweeney dared to argue otherwise, insisting: “it was not Roddenberry’s visionary take on the future, but other creative contributors that initially infused the series with some liberal humanist concepts.” 27 The most glaring example to support such a thesis involves the brilliant sci-fi writer Harlan Ellison (1934– ), whose script for “The City on the Edge of Forever” (April 6, 1967) is often cited as the greatest single episode of the original series. If an ongoing notion of Trek at its best derives from this, the most memorable original series entry, might not Ellison’s influence be a proper source for any study? As to the films, we must recall that Star Trek: The Motion Picture (Robert Wise, 1979), first in the series and, according to several sources, the film Roddenberry had the most influence on, did not prove as successful with viewers (the public at large or diehard Trek fans) or critics as hoped for. 28 “Dissidents” 29 is the dismissive term that Roddenberry’s widow, Marj, uses to describe those who dare to even suggest that her late husband may have been anything less than Trek’s true and full auteur, at least during his lifetime. Still, it was not until Nicholas Meyer (1945– ) arrived on the scene that the initial theatrical series fully exerted its intended impact. Retained, of course, were those by then classic characters, as well as the essential “situation” aboard the Enterprise. These were unquestionably created by Gene Roddenberry. It’s well worth noting, though, as Lincoln Garraghty and others have done, 30 that Trek’s conception drew liberally from a long, rich tradition of twentieth-century science fiction, most notably the 1956 film Forbidden Planet. Roddenberry’s own variations—if the original series was indeed his own baby, and although this has not been disproven, doubts have indeed been raised—on such preexisting themes gave way to Meyer’s. Clearly, the mode and manner in which Kirk, Spock, and all the other original cast members are presented in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (Meyer, 1982) are not precisely as Roddenberry might have wished for. In the Wise film, which met with dubious acceptance, all of Trek was represented at face value; that is, doing what Roddenberry (and his collaborators) had initiated on a bigger budget. Meyer, contrarily, had other tricks up his sleeve, which may well have derived from his sophisticated New York upbringing and radical ideas encountered during a progressive education. 31 Roddenberry, of course, hailed from a humbler starting point in El Paso, Texas. Any “schooling” came from required texts in public institutions and popular culture such as film and, in due time, television. This is not to suggest that Gene’s grassroots populism was displaced by elitism on Meyer’s behalf. Each talent was too complex and too diverse in terms of ongoing interests to be streamlined into some small, easily definable compartment as to personality and artistry. Yet as Ryan Britt noted about Meyer, he’s “a

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highly literate multi-talented guy that recognized the things that made Star Trek great, and made them better. And he did it with literature.” 32 The phrasing here is particularly apt: if a certain Shakespearean sensibility always ran through the original series (33), Meyer extended that. Further, Meyer achieved something that likely would not have occurred to Roddenberry in making Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991), written as well as directed by Meyer, not only referential as to the Bard, but totally self-aware about this, as the Hamlet-derived title makes clear. If Roddenberry stood at the heart of mid-twentieth-century modernism, Meyer brought a then-still-inembryo sense of postmodernism to the proceedings, without which the filmed series might not have worked, as Star Trek: The Motion Picture’s quasi-success makes clear. In his initial Trek venture, The Wrath of Khan (1982), Meyer did not receive writing credits, though he contributed much to the script as well as helming the project as director. As the auteur of at least this one film, then, in the French sense of that term, Meyer brought back the most beloved of all original series villains, again played by Ricardo Montalban. This suggests to some that Meyer, as a gifted interpreter, remained under the abiding influence of Roddenberry. In truth, though, and however disappointing this may be to Roddenberry loyalists, Gene had had little if anything to do with the creation of fabled Khan Noonien Singh. This iconic character, who first appeared in the original series’ “Space Seed” (February 16, 1967), derived from a story concept developed by Carey Wilbur (that included Khan) and then was further developed by Trek stalwart Gene L. Coon (1924–1973). Coon’s work, prodigious and impressive, has given some observers cause to wonder if perhaps he had been the true (to borrow from Lucas) and abiding “force” behind the original series. Certainly, he was the primary author, again employing the old-fashioned (that is, pre-auteurism) sense of the term. As to the Meyer movies, these are clearly defined as Meyer’s alterations of the Roddenberry paradigm by varied and unique narrative tropes. They recall, if anything, the time tunnel notion that Harlan Ellison originally added to Trek. In The Wrath of Khan, a seemingly controlled simulation threatens to become an out-of-control actual occurrence; in The Voyage Home, interference with the past (as is often the case in Meyer scripts, this being the audience’s present) is necessary to save the world of the future via movement through a wrinkle in time; in The Undiscovered Country, a great Shakespearean actor (Christopher Plummer) knowingly quotes the Bard. Appropriately so, as in Meyer’s own Khan story, the character passes beyond memorable villain (as he existed in the original series), approaching the dimensions of one of Shakespeare’s true tragic heroes. Here we encounter a truly great man who does bad things, surrendering to the dark side, even though, like figures ranging from the Macbeth of Shakespeare’s imagination to Darth Vader in Lucas’s epic space opera, he might have gone the other way and instead done

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the right thing. Had Khan embraced the light rather than surrender to the dark side, this character would not, like George Lucas’s Darth Vader or Shakespeare’s Macbeth, proven tragic, rather emerging as an epic hero on the order of Shakespeare’s Henry V or Lucas’s Luke Skywalker. Clearly, then, the Meyer influence cuts deep, broad, and wide into what we now think of as Trek. In The Undiscovered Country, Valeris (Kim Cattrall playing a dark doppelgänger of the heroic Saavik from previous films) combines elements of the femme fatale and the Greek goddess. This recalls the title characters in Meyer’s earlier script for Invasion of the Bee Girls (1973, directed by Denis Sanders). Elements involving personal identity are present, in which objective reality, as postmodernists would have it, likely doesn’t exist. Or, if it does exist, it cannot be perceived by us limited humans. Which leads to the conclusion, in Bee Girls and Meyer’s Trek films, that individual personality, like reality itself, is but a subjective construction that exists within any one human being’s mind. This less echoes anything ever written by Gene Roddenberry but does recall Meyer’s The Seven-Percent Solution (novel, 1974; film, 1976, directed by Herb Ross) in which Sigmund Freud meets Sherlock Holmes to diagnose the great detective’s mental illness and cocaine addiction. The great revelation here is that Professor Moriarty was never a villain anywhere other than in the deeply disturbed recesses of Holmes’s highly logical but emotionally vulnerable brain. Time after Time (1979, directed by Meyer) has H. G. Wells beaming into the thenpresent to catch and capture Jack the Ripper. Other than Ellison’s sole Trek contribution, this inclusion of the time-space continuum as a key recurring element has less to do with anything that previously appeared in the original series—or, for that matter, the odd-numbered (and notably less worthy of study) motion pictures in which Meyer did not participate—than in the body of Meyer’s own work. As Britt points out, the Spock of J. J. Abrams’s reboots states that “when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth”; the Vulcan here sounds more like Meyer’s incarnation of Holmes or the re-created Spock of Meyer’s imagination than Roddenberry’s simplistically logic-driven character. 33 The significance of Meyer’s influence also includes narrative tropes. In Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, he drew more heavily on the essential ground rules of the mystery genre, crystalized several generations earlier by Holmes’s creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, than what might be expected in a work defined as science fiction. In so doing, Meyer temporarily transformed Trek from Roddenberry’s imaginative fantasy epic into a more traditional and intimate mystery genre piece that just happens to be set in space. Meyer’s own writings about his involvement with Trek 34 suggest that more than merely a creative collaborator, he in effect made Trek over in his own image.

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As stated earlier, if we consider the ever-amassing, ever-evolving Trek closely, we’ll note that as J. J. Abrams moved on to his incarnations, he (perhaps necessarily) drew on Meyer as much as (and perhaps more) than from Roddenberry. It’s reasonable to guess that at some future point, a perhaps still-unborn person of talent will take Abrams’s contributions into account while reinventing Trek once again. The point is, Trek—unlike Zone though similar to Star Wars—has become, in commercial terms, a franchise. Or, if we choose to consider this a mythic rather than capitalistic undertaking, the Star Trek universe: a body of work that, like ancient stories of the Greek, Norse, and other peoples and nations, were ever in a state of flux—the originators at some point along the way becoming lost as the characters took on a life all their own. Lest we forget, the story of Oedipus Rex—be it history, legend, or pure myth—was told and retold long and often before Sophocles used it for his own special and specific purposes during the Greek golden age. That’s true, too, of Hamlet, a popular play in Elizabethan London before Shakespeare chose to turn the tale into one more expression of his own unique sensibility. The sticky issue of authorship would be raised again when Rick Berman (1945– ) assumed temporary control of the seemingly unending franchise once Trek returned to its television roots. The former independent producer, personally picked by Gene Roddenberry to help develop The Next Generation (1989–1994), gradually assumed ever-greater control. This situation continued as he served as executive producer for Deep Space Nine (1993–1999), Voyager (1995–2001), and Enterprise (2001–2005). Berman’s stewardship has always been a source of controversy. Some insist that he was the savior figure who kept Roddenberry’s vision alive. 35 Others argue that Berman transformed Trek into something else altogether and, for them, something lesser. 36 This only furthers the debate regarding authorship. No wonder there was so much heated anticipation of the Abrams reboot, which has largely met with critical success, as well as appreciation from the hardcore fan base and good-natured enthusiasm from the public at large—which has, over the past half-century, clearly become Trekified, as what was once a cult phenomenon has gone mainstream. Clearly, though, as Abrams dared to alter as well as add to the piece (already comprised of many pieces, as is the very nature of a franchise or universe), the question of authorship grew even more difficult. Note, then, that although this introduction began with an attempt to determine the issue of authorship in terms of television as a medium, the organic development of a larger, greater franchise raises another question altogether: can there indeed even be such a thing as franchise authorship? Or, if such an idea has become untenable, might franchise authorship belong to the receivers? Francesca Coppa has offered a most convincing argument that, due to vidding (unofficial Trek creations by non-Hollywood types in which preex-

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isting texts are altered for the purpose of personal expression in film, video, DVD, and digital productions displayed at conventions and on the Internet) Trek—again, like those ancient myths—belongs to everybody and anybody who wants to take his or her turn at reimagining what has become a public commodity. 37 Although vidding may be a time-consuming process, one that demands intense dedication on the part of any individual who wishes to collaborate with Roddenberry, Meyer, Abrams, or any other significant (if temporary) auteur, more casual methods are open and available. By simply slipping into a self-created (rather than mass-produced and commercially purchased) costume for several hours at a pop culture convention, such a fan not only participates in the franchise but, albeit briefly, becomes at one with it. And, for many, such a moment may be more significant than all one’s other waking hours. As a result, the critical apparatus by which artistic endeavors are approached has necessarily changed. The pioneer here is Henry Jenkins, who, in contrast to earlier intellectual viewpoints, articulated in 1992 that Trek implied that the best critic of all was not the objective observer who maintained a cool and detached attitude toward whatever might be considered, but the enthusiast. The diehard/unapologetic fan has emerged, in the Internet age, as the proper person to analyze and interpret Trek. 38 Thanks to such paradigm-altering developments as the World Wide Web, criticism has transformed from an elitist to a populist endeavor. Once claims of critical heresy were raised and then passed, Jenkins’s seemingly radical viewpoint quickly became the “new mainstream,” not only for Trek, but for other—and, to a degree, all—pop culture institutions (James Bond, vampires, Star Wars, Marvel and DC Comics, etc.) that inspire conventions attended by devotees as well as “ordinary” fans and panels and intellectually oriented seminars at colleges and universities. All retro twentieth-century notions of a distinction between high, low, and middlebrow culture have dissolved. There is, simply, culture: those objects of art/entertainment that define us by providing a funhouse mirror that reflects who and what we are—and then, in retrospect, were—at any specific moment in time. Here then is the spirit in which this book is submitted for—as Roddenberry’s colleague Rod Serling might have put it—your consideration. The abiding hope, desire, and ambition has been to present Trek without tears through chapters that remain respectful though never naively worshipful, admiring if not uncritically so, appreciative yet devoid of naivete. Each takes a unique point of view on some specific aspect of the Trek universe or franchise. Think of the chapters as moons circling around and down to Planet Trek in various orbits, each a self-contained (and in many cases contrarian) avenue of approach to something so large that no one, single vision can make this amorphous, organic being easily understood—even as no one single person, however influential or creative, can claim to be Trek’s auteur—at least not

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now, after what began almost fifty years ago as, at best, a moderately successful TV series has, due to its inherent quality and audience appreciation, emerged as arguably the greatest of all international franchises. NOTES 1. David Alexander, Star Trek Creator (New York: Penguin, 1995), xiv–xvi. 2. Albert Abramson, The History of Television, 1942–2000 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2007), 34–56. 3. Charlotte Brusdon and Lynn Spigel, eds., Feminist Film Criticism (Maidenhead, Berkshire, England: Open University Press, 2007), 2–11. 4. Patricia Byrd, “Star Trek Lives: Trekker Slang,” American Speech 53, no. 1 (spring 1978): 52–58. 5. Rudolf Arnheim, Film As Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1957), 12–17. 6. Alvin Toffler, Future Shock (New York: Random House, 1970), 86–87. 7. S. J. Freedburg, Painting of the High Renaissance in Rome and Florence (New York: Harper & Row, 1972), 42–67. 8. Michael Anderegg, Orson Welles, Shakespeare, and Popular Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 21–27. 9. David Ehrenstein, Masters of Cinema: Roman Polanski (New York: Phaidon Press, 2012), 127–29. 10. Barry Grant, Auteurs and Authorship: A Film Reader (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008), 2–18. 11. Jean-Luc Godard and Tom Milne, Godard on Godard (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo, 1986), 71–79. 12. David Weddle, If They Move . . . Kill Em! The Life and Times of Sam Peckinpah (New York: Grove Press, 2001), 58. 13. Arthur Eckstein, “Darkening Ethan: John Ford’s The Searchers (1956) from Novel to Screenplay to Screen,” Cinema Journal 38, no. 1 (fall 1998): 4–16. 14. Pauline Kael, “Raising Kane,” originally published in The New Yorker, February 20, 1971. 15. Peter Bogdanovich, “The Kane Mutiny,” a widely reprinted magazine article rebutting everything that the anti-auteurist Kael had to say about the film; ideas about a director’s vision included in this piece reappeared in Orson Welles and Peter Bogdanovich, This Is Orson Welles (New York: HarperCollins, 1972). 16. Louis Giannetti, Understanding Movies, 11th ed. (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson, 2004), 1210. 17. E. J. Wilson, Star Trek: Exploring the Original Series (Self-published, 2013), 69–61. 18. Laura Sweeney, The Origins of the Star Trek Phenomenon: Gene Roddenberry, the Original Series, and Science Fiction Fandom in the 1960s (San Marcos: California State University, 2012), 5. 19. Sweeney, Exploring the Original Series, 1. 20. Sweeney, Exploring the Original Series, 6. 21. H. Bruce Franklin, “Of Television and the 1960s: Star Trek, Vietnam, and the Transformation of the United States,” in Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek: The Original Cast Adventures, ed. Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 22. Conversations/interviews between the author and Rod Serling, 1971–1976. 23. Conversations/interviews between the author and Rod Serling, 1971–1976. 24. See David S. Silverman’s “Always Bring Phasers to an Animated Canon Fight: Saturday Morning’s Animated Trek Adventures,” in Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek: The Original Cast Adventures, ed. Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 25. Nicholas Meyer, The View from the Bridge: Memories of Star Trek and a Life in Hollywood (New York: Plume/Penguin, 2009).

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26. Conversations/interviews between the author and Rod Serling, 1971–1976. 27. Sweeney, Exploring the Original Series, 2–3. 28. David Gerrold, “Rumblings: The Bottom Line,” Starlog (1980), 37, 63. 29. Quoted in Alexander, Star Trek Creator, xi. 30. Lincoln Geraghty, Living with Star Trek: American Culture and the Star Trek Universe (New York: Tauris, 2007), 1–4. 31. Meyer, The View from the Bridge, 5–7. 32. Ryan Britt, “How Nicholas Meyer’s Literary Love Saved Star Trek,” Tor.com, posted May 6, 2011. 33. See Melanie Lörke’s “Shakespeare in Space: Bardolatry in Star Trek,” in this volume. 34. Meyer, The View from the Bridge, 39–57. 35. David Weddle, quoted in Maureen Ryan, “A Season 1 ‘Battlestar’ Chat with Weddle and Thompson,” Chicago Tribune, April 2005. 36. Robert Wilonsky, “The Trouble with Trek,” Salon.com, October 29, 1999. 37. See Francesca Coppa, “The Audience As Auteur: Women, Star Trek, and Vidding,” in Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek: The Original Cast Adventures, ed. Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 38. Henry Jenkins, Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture (New York: Routledge, 1992).

Chapter One

Supernatural Trek? Star Trek and the Re-Enchantment of the World Murray Leeder

In the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Rightful Heir,” the senior crew of the USS Enterprise debate the status of the man who recently appeared before Lieutenant Worf (Michael Dorn) in a lava cave beneath a monastery, claiming to be the second coming of the mythical Klingon leader, Kahless (Kevin Conway). They propose scientific—that is, science-fiction— explanations of various sorts: a coalescent being, a shapeshifter, or a surgically altered Klingon fraud. Worf, himself facing a crisis of faith, suggests that he may be exactly what he says he is, earning Commander Riker’s (Jonathan Frakes) rebuke, “Worf, no offense, but I have trouble believing that the man I escorted to deck eight is supernatural.” 1 As is so often the case in modern Western culture, belief in the supernatural is consigned to those on the margins: women, “savages,” the rural, the superstitious lower classes, children, and in this case, aliens. Of course, Riker proves correct: this version of Kahless is a clone of the original created by Klingon monks who speculate that their scientific method is how the prophecy was intended to be fulfilled. As is most always the case on Star Trek, what appears supernatural ultimately has a rational, technological explanation. A stock plotline in the original series, especially, shows Starfleet rationalism triumphing over alien superstition and religiosity 2 or reveals that beings thought of as supernatural (in the older, religious sense of the word or the later, more secularized association with ghosts, psychic powers, etc. 3) are in fact alien. If Star Trek often evokes Sherlock Holmes as a presiding authority, it also adheres to his famous dictum, “No ghosts need apply.” 4 Superficially, Star Trek seems to depict the triumph of Max Weber’s “disenchantment of the world.” As Weber wrote in 1917, the “mysterious 1

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incalculable forces” once present in the world have been chased away by a slowly evolving “intellectualist rationalization, created by science and by scientifically oriented technology.” Modern rationalism and science were now understood as sufficient to explain features of the world that were once mysterious, so belief in the supernatural was no longer required: “It is no longer necessary, as it was for the savage who believed in such forces, to resort to magic in order to control or supplicate the spirits. Instead, technical devices and calculation perform that function. This means that the world is disenchanted.” 5 Star Trek seems to depict a world where Weber’s “iron cage” of rationalism and efficiency has been embraced and accepted as the apotheosis of human ingenuity and accomplishment. Humanity’s heavily militarized future is shown to be a (mostly) benevolent bureaucracy: “something Starfleet” is synonymous with “some concrete reason, something solid” 6 and miracle working is now the province of the engineer. 7 Beneath the superficial endorsement of scientific rationality, however, Star Trek is often working in more subtle ways to re-enchant the world, in no small part through the reconfiguration of science and technology as magical. 8 Indeed, frequently Star Trek seems to not only depict a future utopia for humankind, but (at least in the minds of many Star Trek fans and in the show’s own official mythology) is working to make one, too. MAGICAL MODERNITY . . . IN SPACE My identification of Star Trek with the modern may raise some eyebrows, and I am certainly not denying that elements of Star Trek can be considered postmodern. Indeed, the nostalgia the franchise often evinces for Earth’s “age of exploration” or “age of discovery” 9 easily could be understood within the framework of Jamesonian pastiche: Star Trek imagines the age of exploration reborn without the colonialism, mercantilism, and imperialism with which it was intimately enmeshed. Nonetheless, Star Trek’s manifest investment in ideals of progress and innovation, scientific and otherwise, leads me to label it a modernist project with little difficulty, and modernity and modernism are intricately linked to disenchantment. Alex Owen says of Weber’s disenchantment paradigm: According to Weber, gods and spirits had faded before the divining rod of the rationalizing human intellect. Modernity spelled the end of the possibility of “living in union with the divine” . . . [A] modern rational perspective characterized by a lack of belief in the external forces of the supernatural makes it impossible to invest the world with certain kinds of meaning—both in terms of existential existence and the unifying ethical values traditionally established by the great world religions. 10

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When wonder and magic are chased from the world, rationalism, bureaucracy, and the scientific mentality rush in to fill the void. As Richard Jenkins writes, “Disenchantment has two distinct aspects, each utterly implicated in the other. On the one hand, there is secularization and the decline of magic; on the other hand, there is the increasing scale, scope, and power of the formal means–ends rationalities of science, bureaucracy, the law, and policymaking.” 11 The future of Star Trek suits both criteria, seemingly depicting a post-religious and superstition-free future for humanity in which science and bureaucracy have created a peaceable and near-idyllic society. Weber did not originate the modernity-as-disenchantment paradigm nor was he the first to ascribe a melancholy sentiment to the loss of wonder from the world now seemingly dominated by rationality, materialism, and science, but he provided a trenchant vocabulary for describing it. But as numerous scholars have argued, Weber was only half right at best, and disenchantment has a dialectical and inextricable relationship with reenchantment. As Joshua Landy and Michael Saler state, “the progressive disenchantment of the world was thus accompanied, from the start and continually, by its progressive re-enchantment.” 12 Science, even as it serves as an agent of the disenchantment of the world, also contributes to its re-enchantment: “modern science is just as likely to restore mystery as to extirpate it from the natural world. Science . . . now becomes, paradoxically enough, the single most powerful generator of the marvelous.” 13 And the period of the purported disenchantment of the world failed to dispel the supernatural: rather, interest in it increased sharply. Writes Marina Warner, modernity did not by any means put an end to the quest for spirit and the desire to explain its mystery: curiosity about spirits of every sort . . . and the ideas and imagery that communicate their nature have flourished more vigorously than ever . . . when the modern fusion of scientific inquiry, psychology, and metaphysics began. 14

In fact, the nineteenth century sees less of science deployed against the supernatural than a persistent “scientification of the supernatural.” 15 Gothic literature presented science and the supernatural as close cousins, spiritualism emerged as a new “scientific” religion, 16 and the first wave of psychical researchers, including the founders of the Society for Psychical Research, hunted for concrete evidence for those phenomena deemed supernatural. 17 Likewise, stage magic emerged as a major form of middle-class entertainment in the latter half of the nineteenth century through a re-affiliation with science: the tricks were called “experiments” (expériences), the performers “physicists” (physiciens) and the performances “scientific amusements” (physique amusante). This terminology was adopted by conjurors who had no particular

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Chapter 1 interest in recent discoveries in physics and whose acquaintance with science went no further than a practical psychology of deception. 18

In his history of magic, Simon During writes that, “insofar as modern culture has been built upon the seductions of secular magic it is oriented toward illusions understood as illusions.” 19 Magic, then, should be presented as a mysterious modern wonder but not as legitimately supernatural; it is this mode of presentation that separates the tasteful modern magician from the mountebank or the sorcerer. 20 In Star Trek, our heroes often seem to inherit the role of policing that distinction. They fill the role of the debunker of the supernatural that emerged in the nineteenth century—a favorite role for many professional magicians, from Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin and Harry Houdini to James Randi and Derren Brown. Star Trek has presented illusion negatively since the first pilot, “The Cage,” in which we learn that the Talosians’s mastery of illusion led to their downfall, 21 and, as Gregory Peterson writes: the viewer repeatedly sees the intrepid crew of the Enterprise using the twin beacons of science and reason to break others free from the dark thrall of ignorance and superstition. Those who pretend to hold the keys to the supernatural are, time after time, revealed to hold nothing more than, as Jean-Luc Picard would say, “a magician’s bag of tricks.” 22

Peterson’s Picard (Patrick Stewart) quote comes from The Next Generation episode “Devil’s Due,” in which Ardra (Marta Dubois), an ancient, demonic figure who apparently emerged to conquer Ventax II, turns out to be a technologically advanced con artist. 23 Among her “bag of tricks” are transporter technology, which allows her to appear and disappear at will, and holographic technology, which allows her to change appearance. Standard Federation technologies can allow an unscrupulous person to pose as a supernatural being to superstitious, “less advanced” civilizations. This colonial fantasy is evoked numerous times; on one occasion, Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelly) even jokes, “Once, just once, I’d like to be able to land someplace and say, ‘Behold, I am the Archangel Gabriel!’” 24 Aliens posing as gods or prophets in order to rule planets is a stock plotline. It is even established in “Who Mourns for Adonais?” that the Greek gods themselves were merely advanced aliens who left Earth after humans outgrew the need for them. 25 Even though Starfleet technologies are occasionally used to mislead “primitive” peoples, albeit for putatively benign intentions, they are principally to be appreciated as amazing accomplishments of science and engineering. Holodeck technology, especially, seems the ultimate incarnation of During’s “illusions understood as illusions,” and it is used to benevolently deceive “primitives” in episodes like “Who Watches the Watchers” and “Homeward.” 26

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A cynic might say that on Star Trek science has replaced God in storytelling terms: the deus ex machina of Greek tragedy becomes scientia ex machina. 27 Weak Star Trek episodes often substitute human solutions to problems with semi-miraculous technological ones, often delivered in strings of “technobabble” with slight resemblance to actual scientific terminology. This tendency has been mocked in fandom (see Phil Farrand’s “Trek Technobabble Generator” 28) and even within Star Trek itself (when Riker confuses villainous Ferengi with an endless stream of meaningless jargon in “Rascals” 29). In latter-day Star Trek, writers inserted the word “tech” into scripts as a placeholder to be then turned into technobabble by the science advisers. Despite employing said advisers and publishing official technical manuals that purport to fill in all the scientific details, Star Trek has always been more interested in a verisimilitudinous depiction of a science-dominated world than in fidelity to actual science. At times, Star Trek’s writers have employed technobabble as spells or magic words—incantations to solve story problems through vague and mysterious workings. “Abracadabra” and “hocus-pocus” are replaced by “resonance burst” and “remodulate the shields,” and real-life technical terms like tachyons, gravitons, polarons, thorons, and many more get dropped ad nauseum, with as much legitimate connection to real-world science as the magicians’ “scientific amusements.” At the ostensible epitome of its technological sophistication, Star Trek reveals a thinly veiled trace of mysticism. Certain episodes of Star Trek essentially tell stories about supernatural beings with a thin sheen of science-fiction justification. Take, for example, the uneasy attempt at Gothic romance that is the Next Generation episode “Sub Rosa.” 30 Returning to a faux-Scottish colony for her grandmother’s funeral, Dr. Crusher (Gates McFadden) meets her grandmother’s much younger lover, Ronin (Duncan Regehr), who claims to be a ghost who has been tied to Crusher’s family for eight centuries. Though temporarily under his devious influence, Crusher ultimately comes to reject supernatural explanations from Ronin, insisting, “You are not a ghost! You are some kind of anaphasic life-form.” This is one of the more absurd lines of an absurd episode, since for all intents and purposes, Ronin is a ghost. The presence of a ghost would rock Star Trek’s rationalist worldview, while something that can be labeled an “anaphasic life-form” supports it. The word “anaphasic” is technobabble nonsense, of course, but within the show’s verisimilitude, it is supposed to make the difference between a supernatural being and a putatively scientifically justifiable one. The line “You are not a ghost! You are some kind of anaphasic life-form,” is risible because it reveals the thinness of this distinction too clearly. Other episodes, like “Imaginary Friend,” “The Muse,” “The Thaw” and “Coda,” 31 also provide supernatural foes thinly redrawn for science fiction, and even Star Trek’s first aired episode, “The Man Trap,” 32 is a science-fiction vampire story reminiscent of C. L. Moore’s classic genre-

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bender “Shambleau.” Likewise, Deep Space Nine’s malevolent Pah-wraiths not only closely parallel Judeo-Christian demons (rebellious, incorporeal beings exiled from the Celestial Temple to a fiery subterranean prison), but generally act like them. They even possess humanoids and cause their eyes to turn red for some reason, borrowing egregiously from stock imagery associated with demonic possession. Other episodes more directly acknowledge the uncertain lines between the scientific and the supernatural. The original series episode “Catspaw” 33 has a pair of extragalactic aliens toy with the Enterprise crew while posing as a medieval wizard and witch. They trap Kirk (William Shatner), Spock (Leonard Nimoy), and McCoy in an environment of Halloween kitsch, including castles, dungeons, skeletons, black cats, and magic wands (the episode aired just before Halloween in 1967). The explanation for this setup is that the aliens have accidentally reproduced a landscape out of the human “racial subconscious” and are surprised to find that it has little effect on their captives (humans having since grown beyond conscious fear of these trappings). It suits Weber’s disenchantment paradigm, where belief in the supernatural is necessarily consigned to being an atavistic trace of an earlier order. But draped in anachronistic garb though they may be, the aliens’ powers are real and still fitfully terrifying. Kirk’s statement, “You call it magic, you call it science. It seems unrelated to both of them,” discloses something of science’s covert history in alchemy and magic, and the promise of their future reunification. In “The Magicks of Megas-Tu,” a Halloween episode from Star Trek’s animated series, the Enterprise is swept into a parallel universe where magic functions and science does not. 34 There, the crew encounters a satanic-looking character named Lucien (James Doohan) who describes having visited Earth in the ancient past with other members of his race, the Megans. “Wherever we went, we became advisers to mankind,” says Lucien. “To help your ancestors, we drew on the power left behind in our own universe and made it work in your world.” In a variation on fantasy literature’s commonplace “decline of magic” or “thinning” narrative, 35 it seems that magic once existed on Earth thanks to the Megans, but it has long since vanished. The crew finds that they can work magic in Lucien’s universe (“It must work,” says Spock, drawing a pentagram on the deck of the Enterprise. “It is logical, here”), because thought and belief are, as Kirk puts it, “as potent a force in this world as matter and energy are in our own.” The Megans put the humans on trial, replicating their own persecution at Salem. Though certainly hampered by the low budget and breathless running time that hobbles most of the animated series, “The Magicks of Megas-Tu” nonetheless gives us the memorable spectacle of Kirk engaged in a magic duel with Asmodeus (Ed Bishop) over the fate of Lucien (apparently the model for Satan, but Kirk insists, “We’re not interested in legend”). It even fills in some interesting details

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about Megan society—every individual is a specialist in a different form of magic, including the “sorcerer-contractor” who makes houses. Never has Arthur C. Clarke’s third law, “Sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic,” applied more clearly—or even Larry Niven’s corollary, “Sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from science.” Even shorn of his technology, Kirk can still fight Asmodeus to a standstill because his bottomless commitment to Federation principles allows him to wield powerful magic through force of will. 36 TREKKING INTO A NEW AGE? In Star Trek we are repeatedly told that we can look forward to a future in which humans have evolved beyond the problems that afflict us today. What’s more, twenty-third- and twenty-fourth-century humans are not only better than us, but are themselves destined to take on mythical, even godlike dimensions. A useful example is “The Return of the Archons,” in which the Enterprise is searching for a lost starship around Beta III, a planet is ruled by an unseen tyrant named Landru. 37 When the transparent specter of Landru appears before Kirk and Spock, they entertain no more thoughts that it might legitimately be supernatural than Sherlock Holmes would have. Spock scans it and declares, “Projection, Captain. Unreal.” Kirk replies with, “But beautiful, Mr. Spock, with no apparatus on this end.” Disenchanted rejection of the supernatural coexists with an aesthetic admiration for “magical” technology. Landru is revealed to actually be a computer program that has controlled the planet Beta III for centuries; once again, Starfleet plays the debunker, a privileged role in disenchanted society, and liberates the Betans from the tyranny of illusion in favor of the light of truth and science. Yet there is a counter-thread running through the episode, too, the one represented in the title. The crew of the USS Archon sowed revolution during its visit to Beta III a century before and the “Archons” were prophesized to come again. The Enterprise crew fulfill that prophesy. Our protagonists become genuine heroes of legend precisely by overthrowing a false, technological deity—a perfect example of the ultimate alliance of de-enchantment and re-enchantment processes. Intriguingly, Planet of the Titans, a Star Trek film briefly in production in the mid-1970s, would have played this narrative even more literally, with the Enterprise crew being thrown back in time into ancient Earth, teaching primitive humans how to make fire and so forth, becoming the mythical Titans. 38 Gods are false, Star Trek tells us—but in time, we humans shall become (secular) gods. 39 Star Trek’s seemingly bottomless faith in humanity’s future is represented nowhere better than in “Hide and Q,” where Q (John de Lancie), himself a godlike, if not godly, advanced being whose feats are astonishing but never-

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theless not presumed to be supernatural, 40 tells Riker that humanity has a unique compulsion to learn and explore. Humans are advancing quickly and, says Q, “Perhaps in a future that you cannot yet conceive, even [may advance] beyond us.” 41 Of course, there’s a dimension of chauvinism to such claims: for all Star Trek’s seeming egalitarianism, there is a persistent sense that humanity is just plain better than other species and that its social and technological developments and even biological evolution take on the dimensions of destiny. Tempering such grandiose proclamations, however, we can find examples from Lwaxana Troi (Majel Barrett) in “Haven.” 42 Responding to the situation of Wyatt Miller (Robert Knepper) having had visions all of his life of a beautiful woman, whom they have now discovered aboard a Tarellian plague ship, Lwaxana states, “The answer to the puzzle of Ariana and you is so simple, it’s too simple for most humans to understand. . . . It’s something they all know instinctively but go to great effort to reject or to build complicated superstitions about. All life, Wyatt, is consciousness, is indissolvably bound together. Indeed, it’s all part of the same thing.” If this explanation seems wanting, the episode seems to be saying it is because the viewers are bound by similar human limitations (while presumably flattering those whose belief systems resemble Lwaxana’s). The merger of spiritual and scientific discourses is a feature of New Age spirituality, 43 itself often described as re-enchanting the world, 44 and Star Trek has had its share of dabblings into New Age rhetoric over the years. Darcee L. MacLaren and Jennifer E. Porter outline the New Age leanings of Star Trek: Voyager in particular, many of them attached to the Native American character Commander Chakotay (Robert Beltran). 45 But this influence is palpable in earlier iterations of Star Trek, too. One of Star Trek’s most clearly New Age–inflected characters is the Traveler (Eric Menyuk), a mysterious alien with the ability to influence warp fields with his mind. 46 He appears in three episodes of The Next Generation, each time closely linked with Wesley Crusher (Wil Wheaton), whom he identifies as a kind of prodigy with a preternatural understanding of “the lovely intricacies of time, energy, propulsion and the instruments of this vessel” 47—a kind of Mozart of the machine. Later, he poses as a Native American (Tom Jackson) who takes Wesley on a vision quest. 48 Ultimately revealing his true identity, the Traveller tells Wesley that he has “evolved to a new level. You’re ready to explore places where thought and energy combine in ways you can’t even imagine. And I will be your guide, if you would like.” The Traveller ultimately promises Wesley transcendence into a higher, enlightened being, fulfills the New Age–tinged blurring of mysticism and science associated with him from the beginning. 49 In his first episode, “Where No One Has Gone Before,” the crew needs to focus its thoughts on the Traveller to help him recover the accidentally stranded ship in a distant part of the galaxy:

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TRAVELLER: You do understand, don’t you, that thought is the basis of all reality? The energy of thought, to put it in your terms, is very powerful. KOSINSKI: That’s not an explanation. TRAVELLER: I have the ability to act like a lens, which focuses thought. KOSINSKI: That’s just so much nonsense. You’re asking us to believe in magic. TRAVELLER: Well . . . yes, I guess this would seem like magic to you. There is a touch of bemusement in the Traveller’s tone. In him we find a neat double articulation of the fact that officially there is no magic, just reaches of science as yet unexplored—but these realms are frequently characterized in terms of wonder, beauty, and transcendence so heavily tinged with the supernatural that “magic” may be the most appropriate word. MORE THAN JUST A SHOW It is often said that Star Trek is “more than just a show.” This does not mean that it is a massive multimedia franchise, though it is; it means that Star Trek takes on dimensions of a lifestyle, a myth, or even a religion. 50 A persistent discourse is that Star Trek essentially creates the kind of future it depicts, that it works in the service of antiracism, liberal social change, pacifism, secularization, and the embrace of technology as benevolent and liberating. In particular, we are regularly told that Star Trek not only predicted numerous technological developments that have either arrived or are hopefully forthcoming, but inspired them to happen. One commentator in the documentary Trek Nation (2010) says, “These children who watched Star Trek became astrophysicists, scientists, astronomers . . . the devices and the concepts and ideas on the show are now part of science. It’s art creating life.” If Star Trek fans are often derided for a supposed inability to tell fiction from reality, it is more the case that Star Trek marshals “faith” and “belief” from its viewers in a set of values and a better tomorrow (shades of the Traveller’s explanation that thought is constitutive of reality). Star Trek, we are told, is not only prophetic, but it plays a role in fulfilling its prophecies, in making the very future it predicts. The sacralization of Gene Roddenberry himself is a strong part of this process. Roddenberry claimed for himself the biblical title “creator” and in later years vociferously promoted himself as the sine qua non of Star Trek. Writes Yvonne Fern: “He never spoke of the future in the future tense. . . . It

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was always ‘the future is,’ not ‘the future will be.’ He saw it. It was present, within him. This is perhaps what it is meant by the word ‘visionary,’ a word that was attached to him so often it became a credential: Gene Roddenberry, Visionary.” 51 His apotheosis displays the continued importance of “charismatic authority,” another feature of Weber’s enchanted word: “There is the authority of the extraordinary and personal gift of grace (charisma), the absolutely personal devotion and personal confidence in revelation, heroism, or other qualities of individual leadership. This is ‘charismatic’ domination, as exercised by the prophet.” 52 If Roddenberry ultimately did a rather poor job of commanding authority over those working on Star Trek, he has been deified by fans, charismatic authority melding with Foucault’s “author function,” which works to limit “the great peril, the great danger with which fiction threatens the world” 53 by pinning it to a single person. Indeed, Roddenberry’s systematic marginalization of his collaborators’ contributions suggests an instinctive awareness of the author function and a need to preserve that singular “visionary” or “prophet” label for himself. 54 Roddenberry’s transcendent authorship anchored and gave fixity to Star Trek’s reenchanting discourses, even when reduced to a figurehead, and persists decades after his death. CONCLUSION: “MYSTERIOUS, INCALCULABLE FORCES” Although Kathryn Cramer surely did not have Star Trek in mind when she characterized science fiction as “the religious art of science,” 55 the phrase suits Star Trek’s general sense of technological utopianism and its spiritual dimensions perfectly. Two moments of interaction between Captain Picard and Q on The Next Generation—between Star Trek’s epitome of human rationality and the unworthy supreme being—illustrate this. One is in “Hide and Q,” when Picard taunts Q with lines from Hamlet: “What he might said with irony, I say with conviction: ‘What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an Angel! In apprehension, how like a god!’” Appalled, Q replies, “Surely you don’t really see your species like that, do you?” and Picard says, “I see us one day becoming that.” Optimism about human potential and the promise of a godlike tomorrow are forces of such strength that they can even faze the nigh-omnipotent Q. The other example is in The Next Generation’s finale, “All Good Things,” as Q momentously tells Picard, his mind expanded by contemplating a temporal paradox, “For that one fraction of a second, you were open to options you had never considered. That is the exploration that awaits you. Not mapping stars and studying nebulae, but charting the unknown possibilities of existence.” 56 Q promises Picard, and the audience, that the spirit of

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exploration will ultimately lead humanity beyond the trappings of what is now called “science” into transcendent new terrain. Star Trek’s New Age tendencies are evident in Q’s implication that the explorations for which humanity is ultimately destined are not exterior, but interior. 57 One of Star Trek’s most consistent and most powerful messages is that a scientific, rational, and bureaucratic future need not mean the end of the Weber’s “mysterious, incalculable forces.” It promises to place humanity on the edge of new and greater forces represent a key part of its lasting appeal. NOTES Thanks to Dr. Daniel Sheridan (Carleton University) and Dr. Ira Wells (University of Toronto) for their comments. 1. “Rightful Heir,” Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6, episode 23, first broadcast May 17, 1993. 2. Much has been written about Star Trek’s complex relationship with religion, and though the present discussion inevitably abuts it, this essay favors the secular dimensions of the supernatural and enchantment. This unfortunately precludes much discussion of Deep Space Nine, the Star Trek series that dealt with issues of faith and religion most consistently and with the most sophistication. 3. The secular sense of the complex word “supernatural” emerges around the beginning of the nineteenth century, and it is those associations I am harnessing in using it as a blanket term that encompasses magic, occult, paranormal, mystical, sorcery, and so on. 4. Arthur Conan Doyle, “The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire,” in The Complete Sherlock Holmes (New York: Race Point, 2013), 1079. For the re-enchanting properties of the Holmes canon with some remarks on its status as predecessor to Star Trek, see Michael Saler, “‘Clap If You Believe in Sherlock Holmes’: Mass Culture and the Re-Enchantment of Modernity, c. 1890–c. 1940,” The Historical Journal 46, no. 3 (September 2003): 599–622. 5. Max Weber, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, ed. H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, 129–58 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), 139. As Patrick Sherry notes, Weber’s own use of the term evolved and it later took on other meanings, “giving the misleading impression that Weber was nostalgic for the old world. But [he] thought that the process was inevitable, and on the whole beneficial: insofar as it is a loss, it is primarily the loss of an illusion” (“Disenchantment, Re-Enchantment and Enchantment,” Modern Theology 25, no. 3 [July 2009]: 369–70). 6. “Destiny,” Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, season 3, episode 15, first broadcast February 13, 1995. 7. Star Trek is largely consistent with the “engineer paradigm” Roger Luckhurst finds in American print science fiction, in which “the mechanical inventor or engineer was elevated to the level of cultural hero” (Science Fiction [Cambridge: Polity, 2005], 51). 8. Braine, “Technological Utopias: The Future of the Next Generation,” Film & History: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Film and Television Studies 24, nos. 1–2 (1994): 2–20. For more on the relationship of magic and science fiction, see Vivian Sobchack, Screening Space: The American Science Fiction Film (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1987), esp. 55–63. 9. This nostalgia is occasionally expressed dietetically by characters, as by Picard in Star Trek: Generations (1994): “Just imagine what it was like. No engines. No computers. Just the wind and the sea and the stars to guide you.” 10. Alex Owen, The Place of Enchantment: British Occultism and the Culture of the Modern (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 10–11. 11. Richard Jenkins, “Disenchantment, Enchantment and Re-Enchantment: Max Weber at the Millennium” Max Weber Studies 1 (2003): 12. Jenkins closes his intricate discussion of

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disenchantment by offering the possibility that the world has never been fully disenchanted and can never be: “The history record suggests that disenchantment . . . provoked resistance in the shape of enchantment and (re)enchantment. It is thus sensible to ask, is a disenchanted world even a possibility?” (29). 12. Joshua Landy and Michael Saler, “Introduction,” in The Re-Enchantment of the World: Secular Magic in a Rational World, ed. Joshua Landy and Michael Saler, 1–14 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 1–2. 13. Landy and Saler, “Introduction,” 7. 14. Marina Warner, Phantasmagoria: Spirit Visions, Metaphors and Media into the TwentyFirst Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 10. 15. Elana Gomel, “‘Spirits in the Material World’: Spiritualism and Identity in the Fin de Siècle,” Victorian Literature and Culture 35 (2007): 198. 16. Jeffrey Sconce, Haunted Media: Electronic Presence from Telegraphy to Television (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), esp. 21–58. 17. They would be pleased to find Star Trek depicting a time when telepathy (a term coined by SPR cofounder F. W. H. Meyers in 1882) is scientifically recognized phenomenon, even in humans (see “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” season 1, episode 3, first broadcast September 22, 1966, and “Is There No Truth in Beauty?” season 3, episode 7, first broadcast October 18, 1968)—human telepathy seems to disappear by the Next Generation era, curiously enough). 18. Paul Metzner, Crescendo of the Virtuoso: Spectacle, Skill and Self-Promotion in Paris during the Age of Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 199. 19. Simon During, Modern Enchantments: The Cultural Power of Secular Magic (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002). 20. For a treatment of modern stage magic as re-enchanting, see Joshua Landy, “Modern Magic: Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin and Stéphane Mallarmé,” in The Re-Enchantment of the World: Secular Magic in a Rational World, ed. Joshua Landy and Michael Saler, 102–29 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009). 21. “The Cage” was completed in early 1966 but went unseen by the public until a 1986 VHS release. 22. Gregory Peterson, “Religion and Science in Star Trek: The Next Generation: God, Q and Evolutionary Eschatology on the Final Frontier,” in Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture, ed. Darcee L. McLaren and Jennifer E. Porter, 61–78 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 61. 23. “Devil’s Due,” The Next Generation, season 4, episode 13, first broadcast February 4, 1991. 24. “Bread and Circuses,” season 2, episode 14, first broadcast March 15, 1968. 25. “Who Mourns for Adonais?” season 2, episode 4, first broadcast September 22, 1967. 26. “Who Watches the Watchers,” The Next Generation, season 3, episode four, first broadcast October 16, 1989; “Homeward,” The Next Generation, season 7, episode 13, first broadcast January 17, 1994). 27. “Sacrifice of Angels” (Deep Space Nine, season 6, episode 6, first broadcast November 3, 1997) is an especially pertinent case, in which the mysterious prophets/“wormhole aliens” obliterate a Dominion fleet, but one need not look far for more modest examples. Take “Final Mission” (The Next Generation, season 4, episode 9, first broadcast November 19, 1990): in both the B plot (the Enterprise needs to throw a radioactive garbage barge into a star) and the A plot (the stranded Picard and Wesley need to overcome a force field protecting a spring of water), technical solutions win the day. 28. Phil Farrand, The Nitpicker’s Guide for “Next Generation” Trekkers, vol. 2 (New York: Dell, 1995), 370. 29. “Rascals,” The Next Generation, season 6, episode 7, first broadcast November 2, 1992. 30. “Sub Rosa,” The Next Generation, season 7, episode 14, first broadcast January 31, 1994. 31. “Imaginary Friend,” The Next Generation, season 5, episode 22, first broadcast May 4, 1992; “The Muse,” Deep Space Nine, season 4, episode 21, first broadcast April 29, 1996; “The Thaw,” Voyager, season 2, episode 23, first broadcast April 29, 1996; “Coda,” Voyager, season 3, episode 15, first broadcast January 29, 1997.

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32. “The Man Trap,” season 1, episode 5, first broadcast September 8, 1966. 33. “Catspaw,” season 2, episode 1, first broadcast October 27, 1967. 34. “The Magicks of Megas-Tu,” Star Trek (animated series), season 1, episode 8, first broadcast October 27, 1973. 35. John Clute and John Grant, eds., The Encyclopedia of Fantasy 2nd ed. (London: Orbit, 1999), s.v. “Thinning,” 942–43. 36. This is an interesting inversion to the fact that Captain Pike (Jeffrey Hunter) in “The Cage” can break the Talosian’s illusions with his will. 37. “The Return of the Archons,” season 1, episode 22, first broadcast February 9, 1967. 38. Gene Roddenberry and Susan Sackett, The Making of Star Trek: The Motion Picture (New York: Pocket Books, 1980), 32–33. 39. Peterson comes to a similar conclusion from different examples (“Religion and Science,” 74). 40. “Godlike” beings are a stock-in-trade of Star Trek (the Organians, Apollo, Vaal, the Metrons, Trelane, Nagilum the Douwd, the prophets, the Nacene, the Sphere Builders, the false god of Star Trek V [1989], etc.), with Q perhaps the exemplary example. His claim to actually be God earns a laugh from Picard in “Tapestry.” 41. “Hide and Q,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode, 10, first broadcast November 23, 1987. 42. “Haven,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode 11, first broadcast November 30, 1987. 43. James R. Lewis, “Science and the New Age,” in Handbook of New Age, ed. Darren Kemp and James R. Lewis, 207–29 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). 44. Douglas Ezzy, “New Age Witchcraft? Popular Spell Books and the Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life,” Culture and Religion: An Interdisciplinary Journal 4, no. 1 (2003): 47–65. 45. Darcee L. McLaren and Jennifer E. Porter, “(Re)Covering Sacred Ground: New Age Spirituality in Star Trek: Voyager,” in Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture, ed. Darcee L. McLaren and Jennifer E. Porter, 101–15 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). 46. One can also make a strong case for Guinan (Whoopi Goldberg), a wise and seer-like ancient being who has conceptual links with the “magical negro” archetype, as well as the Ba’ku in Star Trek: Insurrection (1998). 47. “Where No One Has Gone Before,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode 6, first broadcast October 26, 1987. 48. “Journey’s End,” along with certain Voyager episodes, notably “Tattoo” (season 2, episode 9, first broadcast November 6, 1996), has been critiqued for misrepresenting, simplifying, and “making alien” elements of First Nations’ spirituality, in parallel to appropriationist tendencies within New Age movements. See Sierra S. Adare, Indian Stereotypes in TV Science Fiction: First Nations’ Voices Speak Out (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005), esp. 80, and Amy H. Sturgis, “If This Is the (Final) Frontier, Where Are the Natives?” in Star Trek and History, ed. Nancy R. Reagin, 125–42 (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley, 2013), esp. 132–35. 49. “Journey’s End,” The Next Generation, season 7, episode 20, first broadcast March 28, 1994. 50. A non-exhaustive list includes: Michael Jindra, “It’s about Faith in Our Future: Star Trek Fandom as Cultural Religion,” in Religion and Popular Culture in America, ed. Bruce David Forbes and Jeffrey H. Mahan, 159–73 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Chris Gregory, Star Trek: Parallel Narratives (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 105–41; Jeffery Sconce, “Television Cult: Star Trek, Heaven’s Gate, and Textual Transcendence,” in Cult Television, ed. Sara G. Jones and Roberta Pearson, 199–222 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2004); Lincoln Geraghty, Living with Star Trek (London: I. B. Tauris, 2007); John W. Morehead, “‘A World without Rules and Controls, without Borders or Boundaries’: Matrixism, New Mythologies, and Symbolic Pilgrimages,” in Handbook of Hyper-Real Religions, ed. Adam Possamai, 111–28 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 51. Yvonne Fern, Gene Roddenberry: The Last Conversation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 2.

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52. Weber, Essays in Sociology, 79. It is beyond the scope of this essay, but one could construct an argument about the importance of charismatic authority in Star Trek relative to its captains. 53. Michel Foucault, “What Is an Author?” in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice, ed. Donald Bouchard, 113–38 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), 118. 54. See David Hipple, “The Accidental Apotheosis of Gene Roddenberry, or, ‘I Had to Get Some Money from Somewhere,’” in The Influence of Star Trek” on Television, Film and Culture, ed. Lincoln Geraghty, 22–40 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2008); Michael Kmet, “Star Trek and Gene Roddenberry’s ‘Vision of the Future.’: The Creation of an Early Television Auteur,” Networking Knowledge 5, no. 2 (2012): 55–74. 55. Kathryn Cramer, “On Science and Science Fiction,” in The Ascent of Wonder: The Evolution of Hard SF, ed. David Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer, 24–29 (New York: Tor, 1994), 25. 56. “All Good Things,” The Next Generation, season 7, episodes 25 and 26, first broadcast May 23, 1994. 57. Compare another Picard line in “Hide and Q” spoken to Data (Brent Spiner): “Perhaps someday we will discover that space and time are simpler than the human equation.”

Chapter Two

Holodeck History Past, Present, and Future on the Final Frontier Cynthia J. Miller and A. Bowdoin Van Riper

In Star Trek’s twenty-fourth century, individuals routinely break barriers not only of space, but of time. Lifelike three-dimensional holographic simulations of reality—created by alien technology in the original series, Federation technology thereafter—allow characters to immerse themselves in re-creations of past events or to converse freely with avatars of historical figures, both indistinguishable from the real thing. These encounters with the holographic past, unlike Trek characters’ time-traveling journeys into the actual past, are always purposeful and never accidental. These simulations first appear in the original series, where advanced races employ them to study the Enterprise crew’s interactions with, among others, Abraham Lincoln, Wyatt Earp, and Surak of Vulcan. Beginning with The Next Generation, however, the availability of the holodeck allows any Federation citizen to step—at any time and for myriad purposes—into computergenerated re-creations of the past. The most intelligent, contemplative characters in The Next Generation and its sequels routinely use holodeck simulations to better understand pivotal events and significant individuals from history. Data convenes Earth’s greatest physicists for a poker game, Bashir immerses himself in famous last stands from Thermopylae to the Alamo, and Janeway seeks refuge from the pressures of command in conversation with Leonardo da Vinci. In so doing, these characters develop a deeper, richer grasp of history than written records and artifacts alone could provide. Holographic encounters with the past give Trek characters an experience of the past unavailable to Trek audiences. They transform history from a polished, codified product created and controlled by professionals into a lived experience, allowing characters to engage with the past emotionally as 15

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well as intellectually. This ability to close the gap between past and present gives historical events an immediacy—and an intimacy—undreamt of in our own century. These encounters allow Trek characters not merely to observe the past, but to experiment with it and function as a critique of long-standing notions about history: that it exists objectively, independent of any observer; that it is formed deliberately, not randomly; and that historical figures can be usefully engaged as sources of inspiration for observers from the present. Embedded within Trek’s thirty television seasons and eleven feature films, we find teachings not only about events from the past, but about our critical engagement with them. Trek’s range of complex, deeply personal relationships with history interrogates our basic assumptions about history— how it is constructed, understood, transmitted, and used—and our taken-forgranted notions about the appropriate stance of the individual to history writ large. THE PAST IS A FOREIGN COUNTRY: HOW WE’RE TAUGHT TO EXPERIENCE HISTORY History, by its very nature, is distant, mediated, and impersonal. The historical record consists of a body of received, canonized knowledge of past events and processes that, as Alun Munslow notes, are “turned by the historian into that narrative we call history.” 1 From the time our educations begin, history is presented as immutable fact, carved anew for each generation into textbooks and narrated as part of cultural heritage. However, one of the key characteristics of history, as distinct from other forms of transmitted heritage, is its status as the product of a “discipline”—a practice firmly founded in “disinterested investigation.” 2 Those who study history seek out primary sources and other evidence to write “the truth” about the past, pursuing what Theodore Clark Smith viewed as a “noble dream”—a higher calling to objectively render the past visible. 3 This characterization of history as objective, impartial, and monolithic— an unflinching entity offering the same irrefutable information to every seeker—creates an air of the sacrosanct, suggesting that the set of knowledge we call “history” is not to be interrogated, doubted, or revised, but rather revered and guarded as a touchstone of independent, universal truth. Thus history and the experience of history has, for generations, been codified, regulated, and carefully monitored under the watchful eyes of “professionals.” Scholars whose thoughts provided the building blocks for the study of history have emphasized, from the discipline’s earliest days, the broad universality of its lessons across cultures and eras. Thucydides, the ancient Athenian historian of the Peloponnesian War whose work is often considered a model for historical writing, has long been paraphrased by historians, philosophers, and poli-

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ticians in support of the notion of history repeating itself: “I shall be content if those shall pronounce my history useful who desire to have a clear view both of the events which have happened, and of those which will some day, in all human probability, happen again in a same or similar way.” 4 Or, as early-twentieth-century philosopher George Santayana proclaimed: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” 5 Mainstream notions of history promoted by institutions of learning, while acknowledging history to be processual rather than static, present it as streamlined, linear, and orderly. Historical events are typically narrated as a logical progression of cause-and-effect relationships—action and reaction— rather than encompassing the inconsistencies and randomness of individuals and societies. Arab historian Ibn Khaldun, often considered the “father of historiography” 6 introduced a scientific methodology to the study of history, referring to it as his “new science.” 7 Similarly, French historians associated with the Annales School emphasized quantitative methods. 8 History is thus periodized, thematized, and quantified, in line with long-standing categorizations of knowledge. These narratives assume that the history of cultures and societies follows an industrially biased, goal-oriented model, where thoughts and deeds of “great men” create progress toward political and philosophical enlightenment, material prosperity, and individual autonomy. History’s traditional “stories,” then, are narratives related by a voice of invisible authority. Inevitably crafted as institutional discourses, they are designed to be consumed uncritically as “authentic” and to be presented as the only valid accounts of past events. This stance concurrently negates all competing claims to truth—identifying which sources most usefully contribute to our knowledge of the past and deeming false those that contradict the existing accepted body of knowledge. Until recently, “small” histories—such as those now often gathered under the auspices of “public history”—have traditionally been deemed insignificant and as such not worthy of recording. Subaltern histories are perceived as divisive, and revisionist histories condemned as dangerous fictions. 9 Though more contemporary, nuanced approaches focus less on epic narratives than on social, intellectual, and economic forces, historians still struggle against the imaginative elements of historical narratives and the random influences that may alter the decisions of individuals, the timing of events, and the sentiments that drive collective action. The past continues to be held at a distance, seldom bleeding into the present. So the debate between history as science and history as “act of faith” 10 continues—the relationship between the imaginative processes of the individual and the experience of history still contested. The discipline’s privileging of objectivity and distanciation marginalizes the role of the individual in constructing history, often setting to one side stories those roles produce and casting the narratives that still bear the discernible smudge of individual fingerprints as “legends,” “lore,” or

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“vernacular”—not so much discarding as diminishing them through labels such as “informal” and “subjective.” This is particularly true of history transmitted through oral traditions, where both the narrator and exact narration shift and change over time. Stories not told the same way twice do not make for good chronicles of history, even if they are the best tutors of history. The message thus conveyed is that visible participation in or authorship of history, in action or word, taints history. To be considered “authentic” and valuable, history must be experienced at a remove—gazed at from a safe distance. The events and individuals of history, then, are “others”—foreign and unknown—to the typical consumer of chronicles of the past. Great men and women ruling, warring, writing, painting, inventing, and exploring appear far removed from the lives of those who read about their deeds, with the inspiration or caution they might provide often dampened by what seems like lightyears of cultural, social, and technological differences. History’s challenge— bringing those individuals and events to life—is rendered greater by the discipline’s self-imposed formality and insistence on objectivity. The drama, creativity, and imagination that breathe life into human events is often lost in favor of accuracy—of “getting history right.” MAKING HISTORY: WHAT, EXACTLY, DOES THE HOLODECK DO? “Any sufficiently advanced technology,” Arthur C. Clarke famously observed, “is indistinguishable from magic.” 11 So it is with the transporters, warp engines, and holodecks of the Trek universe. Even magic has underlying laws, 12 however, and observers can deduce what they are without understanding why they are. The holodeck is among the easiest of Trek’s quasimagical technologies for which to do this, since episodes featuring it routinely hinge on those underlying laws. So it is possible to understand its normal behavior even if its technology remains a mystery. 13 The holodeck, as its first appearances in The Next Generation’s “Encounter at Farpoint” and “The Big Goodbye” illustrate, creates a fully immersive virtual reality. 14 Users, having activated the program of their choice from a panel outside the entrance, merge seamlessly into the midst of a fully functional world. Unencumbered by goggles, gloves, or any paraphernalia, users interact with this simulated world as they would with the real one and its holographic inhabitants as they would with flesh-and-blood friends. Holographic characters, in turn, perceive the virtual world they inhabit as real and the user as a participant in their own ongoing lives. 15 The reality created by the holodeck is multisensory—wine has a bouquet, falling in the water makes you wet, and sex brings physical (if not emotional) satisfaction—and rendered in complete and perfect detail

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even at the edges of the users’ perception. Because they perceive themselves and the world around them as real, holographic characters respond fluidly and naturally to the flesh-and-blood characters walking among them. Users do not simply observe the worlds they enter, but inhabit and participate in them. Precisely because they are simulations, however, worlds created on the holodeck are also infinitely malleable. Users can—by directly addressing the computer—add or remove objects, introduce new characters, or alter the scenario’s parameters. This flexibility is generally used for pranks and other forms of comic relief, but there are occasional references to more elaborate uses. Tom Paris of Voyager has a program that allows him and a companion to watch the sunset on Mars—from the front seat of a 1957 Chevy convertible. 16 On Deep Space Nine, Jake Sisko heads for one of the station’s holosuites to watch the 1961 Yankees playing the 1978 Red Sox. 17 The powerful computers that loom behind the scenes of Trek’s universe fill in the details of these counterfactual scenarios. Once Paris has specified the make, model, and year of his dream car, the computer can reproduce with perfect fidelity the shape of the hood, the width of the front seat, and the position of the gearshift. After the author of Jake’s baseball program specifies the teams’ identities, the computer supplies performance statistics for the relevant players in the correct years and simulates the outcome of a game between them. 18 Baseball lends itself to statistical abstraction. Extrapolating the future performance of specific players from statistics of their past performance is possible even with twentieth-century computers. 19 Starfleet computers, several centuries more advanced, are vastly more capable. Their databanks contain the accumulated cultural, historical, sociological, and scientific knowledge of all the worlds that make up the Federation, and their processors are capable of simulating the behavior of complex systems with extraordinary fidelity. 20 They can pass the Turing test 21 with ease and create holographic manifestations of themselves—Vic Fontaine in Deep Space Nine, the Doctor in Star Trek: Voyager—that flesh-and-blood characters treat as colleagues, counselors, and friends. 22 It naturally follows that those same computers are capable of re-creating the past—settings, events, individuals—with extraordinary fidelity. Their command of what humans have recorded about the past—no matter how obscure the subject or how deeply buried the data—is total. What is known about a given historical period, event, or person, they know. What is unknown, they can infer in the same way that they calculate the chances of Red Sox slugger Jim Rice getting a hit off ace Yankees pitcher Whitey Ford: using sophisticated algorithms to extrapolate from facts that are known and documented. The computers’ ability to create believable virtual beings—combined with their capacity for compilation, synthesis, and extrapolation of factual

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data—implies their ability to create simulations of historical figures as “real” and as “human” as Vic Fontaine and the Doctor. This is evident in The Next Generation’s “Booby Trap,” when Geordi LaForge creates a holodeck version of Starfleet propulsion expert Leah Brahms. She is not a public figure, so LaForge can give the computer only the thinnest of source materials to work with: her “Starfleet personality profile,” recordings of her appearances at the “Chaya VII Intergalactic Caucuses,” and texts of a dozen technical manuals she wrote. The virtual Brahms is, nonetheless, as technically brilliant as the real one and lifelike enough that LaForge develops a romantic attraction to her. 23 The modest differences between the virtual Brahms and the real one, who appears in a subsequent episode, reflect the limitations of the source material rather than the computer’s ability to simulate reality. 24 The holographic version of a well-known, richly documented historical figure would presumably be even more realistic, sophisticated, and “human.” Although historical simulations created on the holodeck are not the objective past Trek characters encounter via time travel, they closely resemble it. Beside them, the best immersive simulations available in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries—whether tourist destinations like Colonial Williamsburg or television reality series like 1900 House—are, by contrast, crude and inflexible. FORAYS INTO THE COUNTERFACTUAL Across all three Trek series that incorporate the holodeck, users engage with its historical simulations not as passive observers but as participant-investigators. They employ its malleability to experiment with counterfactual scenarios, its immersiveness to examine the details of historical events from the inside, and its interactivity to engage with historical figures on their own terms. The holodeck is, for them, not an elaborate textbook but a living historical laboratory. Counterfactual history, as practiced by twentieth-century historians and novelists, tends toward the epic and the abstract, exploring repercussions that might have followed if the outcome of a pivotal battle or actions of a key figure had been different than they were. 25 Counterfactual histories explored on the holodeck take place on a more intimate scale, bringing together historical figures who—for reasons of chance or chronology—never actually met. Data deepens his knowledge of physics by playing poker with Newton, Einstein, and Stephen Hawking; Voyager’s Doctor— himself a hologram—grapples with the unfamiliar concept of pleasure by mediating a debate between Mahatma Gandhi and Lord Byron. 26 The original series’ “The Savage Curtain” takes such encounters far beyond salonstyle conversation by pitting Kirk and Spock—along with holographic versions of Lincoln and the Vulcan lawgiver Surak—against holographic repre-

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sentations of Genghis Khan and three other notoriously brutal conquerors. The simulation, created by the rock-like Excalbians, is an experiment probing the nature of good and evil. When Kirk demands to know “by what right” the Excalbians have involved them, the aliens’ response is telling: “The same right that brought you here: the need to know new things.” 27 Trek characters’ hologram-assisted attempts to understand the interplay of historical forces are typically more subtle. Chief O’Brien and Doctor Bashir make a hobby of such investigations on Deep Space Nine, inserting themselves into famous battles—from Thermopylae (480 BC) and Clontarf (1014) to the defense of the Alamo (1836) and the Battle of Britain (1940)—in order to experience them and understand the tactics involved from the inside. These encounters with history take place offscreen, discussed but never shown, but the depth of the pair’s interest and level of commitment is evident. “Homefront” shows them in Quark’s bar after a Battle of Britain simulation, wearing meticulously detailed Royal Air Force uniforms and—in O’Brien’s case—speaking with an English accent rather than his customary Irish one. There, as they toast a fallen pilot named Clive with whiskey and beer, it becomes clear that their immersion in Britain’s historic stand against Germany is mental preparation for the Federation’s coming war with the Dominion. 28 The pair’s investigation of centuries-old battles continues in a half dozen subsequent episodes, spread over Deep Space Nine’s final three seasons, in which they study the Battle of the Alamo. The pair’s focus, in their virtual version of Texas, is less on the psychology of soldiers defending their homeland than on tactics. Using a scale model of the mission and surrounding terrain that they keep in O’Brien’s quarters, they plot battle plans that (dialogue implies) they later test in the holosuites. 29 The central question in their investigation is whether, with better generalship and more innovative tactics, the Texans could have held the Alamo against General Santa Anna’s army. At one point, Bashir proposes digging a dry moat around the mission, subtly highlighting the ease of experimenting with history in the context of a holographic simulation. Bashir and O’Brien’s willingness to second-guess the decisions made by Texan commander Colonel William Travis reflects their briskly analytical approach to the myth-shrouded event. Their open-mindedness is highlighted in the teaser for “Once More unto the Breach,” where O’Brien argues that Davy Crockett was executed by Santa Anna while Bashir contends that— tired of the burden of being a “living legend”—he quietly surrendered. 30 The roles are reversed in the series’ finale, with Bashir inviting Ezri Dax to participate in his holographic simulation of the Battle of Thermopylae. This time, it’s Bashir who embraces the legendary reading of the battle—seeing the last stand of King Leonidas and three hundred Spartan foot soldiers as an example of “glorious” self-sacrifice for a cause—and Dax who becomes

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skeptical and critical. 31 Her reaction to his enthusiasm (“Have you ever talked to a counselor about these annihilation fantasies?”) is played for laughs but embodies an alternate reading of the battle: that the stoic acceptance of death merely signals a lack of imagination. Kirk, who sets the Federation standard for refusal to accept death, takes historical skepticism to its logical conclusion in the original series’ “Spectre of the Gun.” Condemned to death by a mysterious alien race, he is “sentenced” (along with Spock, McCoy, Scott, and Chekov) to die as members of the Clanton-McLaury gang: outlaws “destined” to be gunned down by holographic versions of the Earp Brothers and Doc Holliday in a re-creation of the 1881 gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Kirk thwarts the aliens and cheats death by believing and imploring his shipmates to believe that what they “know” to be true about the historical outcome of the gunfight need not be true in the simulation. 32 Interestingly, the episode’s framing invites the audience to participate in a similar rejection of what they know about the gunfight. It presents the Earps and Holliday—heroes of a dozen films and a successful 1950s television series—as menacing, black-clad angels of death. 33 The skeptical attitude Trek characters exhibit toward history extends to their encounters with historical figures. When the Doctor summons Gandhi, Byron, and others from the past for advice in “Darkling,” he actively engages with them, asking questions and pressing for clarification of their positions. 34 Data, in his famous poker game, challenges Newton’s claim that a falling apple gave him the idea for gravity, pointing out that modern historians have judged it a fabrication. Counselor Troi, upon learning that Data consulted a holographic Sigmund Freud about a disturbing series of dreams, brushes aside Freud’s conclusions, gently admonishing Data: “Next time, see me before you see Sigmund.” 35 Occasionally, disagreements escalate: Chief O’Brien insults the King of Leinster at the Battle of Clontarf, and on a visit to King Arthur’s court, Major Kira expresses her displeasure with an (unspecified, but presumably sexual) overture from Sir Lancelot by knocking him unconscious. 36 Encounters between Trek characters and the holographic figures they summon are not, however, uniformly adversarial. Janeway’s relationship with a holographic da Vinci, played out in Voyager’s fourth season, is characterized throughout by warmth and mutual respect. Janeway first appears in “Scorpion” as an aspiring sculptor negotiating with the prickly maestro over a proposal to sublet space in his studio. 37 Over time, however, the two become closer, developing a relationship that is part master/journeyman, part uncle/niece, and part friendship among equals. The relationship reaches a climax in “Concerning Flight” when Leonardo—kidnapped by a gang of spacefaring pirates who want him to design weapons for them—temporarily leaves his holographic workshop for an alien planet he believes to be “America,” becoming Janeway’s partner in adventure. 38

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The appeal of the relationship lies, for both characters, in the opportunity to spend unguarded time with one another. Together in Leonardo’s workshop, the artist-inventor can set aside obligations to patrons even as the starship captain can step away from her responsibilities to her crew. They are able—in an artificial, computer-generated world where past and twentyfourth-century present meet—to be just two kindred spirits, talking. GETTING PERSONAL WITH THE PAST In an early Next Generation episode, Picard observes that “The holodeck has given us woodlands and ski slopes . . . figures that fight . . . and fictional characters with whom we can interact.” 39 If that were all the holodeck provided, it would be remarkable enough. However, for both the crew and the audience, the holodeck does so much more. Through its technology, the Trek universe dramatically revises the relationship between the individual and history—modeling a range of new ways of thinking about and experiencing history. The holodeck allows characters to construct and participate in an intimate relationship with history—and historical figures—that not only alters their understanding of the past but imparts a sense of personal agency in regard to the construction and transmission of historical knowledge. Traditional conceptualizations of history as objective, distant, and sacred are discarded in favor of vibrant new models. These not only allow, but insist on interaction and interrogation—and, by their very nature, bring quirks, randomness, emotions, and unpredictability into focus as history’s unacknowledged building blocks. For Trek characters, the holodeck makes history personal and immediate: O’Brien and Bashir experience the British struggle against the Luftwaffe from the cockpit of an RAF fighter plane; Beverly Crusher returns to the golden age of luxury travel aboard the Orient Express; Data discusses the apocryphal nature of the “apple story” with Sir Isaac Newton. This shift away from the traditional, professionally mediated consumption of history alters the relationships not only between the user and the past, but between present and future. Out of what once was foreign and removed emerges an interconnectedness of human and temporal elements reminiscent of Weber’s Gemeinshaft, where personal interactions, values, and beliefs serve as the foundation for transactions while creating a sense of interdependence and responsibility. When in “Homefront” O’Brien and Bashir raise their glasses “to Clive” in Quark’s bar, O’Brien observes that the pair are participating not only in a time-honored tradition, but in an act symbolizing shared love of homeland, loyalty, and resistance in the face of danger and oppression; the essence of history rather than merely its details. When Spock encounters Surak in “The Savage Curtain,” he experiences firsthand the great lawgiver’s

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quiet charisma and unshakable commitment to nonviolence. The idea that one man could transform the culture of an entire world is, in that encounter, transformed from abstraction to lived experience. Fidelity in detail is not diminished but enhanced, as it is framed in the context of human emotion and shifting social and cultural contexts. Through experiences such as these, history’s events, processes, and lessons are no longer the purview of professional researchers and archivists; rather, they belong to all who choose to engage with them. From that engagement—with the private thoughts of Da Vinci, the doubts of Lincoln, the secret longings of Leah Brahms—comes a responsibility to more fully consider individuals and events of the past and a deeper, richer engagement with events yet to come as insights from the past are brought forward to inform the present. History, as experienced via the holodeck, may be seen as playing a significant role in the construction of a sense of community that extends backward and forward in time. Holodeck history also introduces a complex position into the debate as to the nature of history. Although its format is based on the operator’s subjective experiences, it in fact offers a fine example of “history as scientific method.” In his writings on historiography, the “founder of the science of history,” Leopold von Ranke argued that if a researcher gathered sufficient primary sources, logically determined those materials’ interrelationships, then objectively interpreted the resulting picture, it would be possible to accurately re-create the events of the past. 40 Trek implicitly promotes this vision of rational historiography. Holodecks (and the computers behind them) work much like Ranke’s idealized historian, gathering all available relevant data for analysis, processing it in ways innately logical, producing historical scenarios faithful to fact and incapable of subjectivity. The “pasts” they offer are intricate, accurate possible outcomes of historical moments and urges: outgrowths of the results of all available data on a given individual or event; series of interconnected mathematically valid probabilities of responses and reactions to given stimuli. Trek’s original mission—“to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before” 41—is founded in the long-venerated “noble” search for primary data: first contact. Federation explorers, whose ethical research behavior is shaped by the Prime Directive, amass and record valuable primary knowledge in ways that reflect and build on the chronicling mandates of historians and anthropologists of centuries past. Such continual interrogation of the existing base of knowledge is a core theme in Trek, and its characters continually model practices of critical analysis of social and historical truths as well as the pitfalls and consequences of accepting received knowledge at face value. The holodeck, in keeping with imperatives set by both Ranke and the Federation, serves as a tool for knowledge seeking and critical analysis, immersing its operators in history as it was lived, not merely as it was written. Historically linked

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programming in the holosuites—even when not created or accessed for specifically historical purposes—supports this critical mandate by placing the responsibility for building a rich base of knowledge of the past squarely on the individual as part of an organizational mandate to “seek.” The technology, conceived by Starfleet as a tool for entertainment, training, and investigation, 42 plays an unanticipated role as both interactive history tutor and historiographer. CONCLUSION: “TO BOLDLY GO . . . ” The history taught in schools, printed in textbooks, and invoked by leaders is of necessity broad and shallow. It exists to orient readers and listeners to their place in the world by providing them with a shared frame of reference—to impose order, clarity, and meaning on what seems, at first glance, to be a jumble of individuals and events. The narratives that emerge from it are also, of necessity, sleek and streamlined: every hole is filled, every loose end tied off, every rough edge rendered smooth. 43 This is “big picture” history, offering up the past like a landscape seen from 30,000 feet: distant, abstract, and devoid of the messy emotions of everyday human lives. This history still exists in Trek’s twenty-third-century universe, but it is met—thanks to holographic technology—by another, more vibrant, more imaginative version of the past. Holographic simulations complicate and contest the time-honored narratives of “big picture” history, reinvesting them with the emotion, color, contradiction, and randomness of human existence. They reinvigorate history—life as it was lived—with all the messiness of life as it is lived. Less polished and high-minded than more traditional history books suggest, this history is also infinitely more interesting. Encountering face-to-face the men and women who shaped the path of humanity allows Trek’s characters an intimate understanding of the past that no history book or lecture can match. The big-picture history of schoolbooks and speeches achieves its power by deletion. It is created by paring away every fact that does not fit the desired narrative arc and by glossing over every act that does not lead to the predetermined endpoint. Holographic simulations, by contrast, achieve their power by inclusion. They integrate—to a degree Ranke could never have dreamed of—all individuals, acts, and ideas that make up the historical record of a particular event. Rather than present the judgments of historians and other interpreters-after-the-fact about what was or was not important, they present everything, allowing users to decide for themselves what actually matters. That different Trek characters regularly draw different conclusions from the same holographic simulation illustrates this process at work. Consistently, the franchise’s greatest heroes were characters who refused to

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accept received knowledge, their greatest successes the result of asking “why?” The verbs in its famous opening narration—to explore, to seek, to go—underscored that point. As the crews’ voyages illustrated, not only space, but time presented challenges and opportunities for knowledge on the “final frontier.” Trek’s holographic histories, true to the Federation’s worldview, offer users a uniquely individual opportunity: to boldly go into the unknown past, seeking firsthand knowledge to carry forward into their own futures. NOTES 1. Alun Munslow, “Book Review (Reappraisal): What Is History?” History in Focus 2 (October 2001), www.history.ac.uk/ihr/Focus/Whatishistory/carr1.html. 2. Peter Seixas, “Schweigen! die Kinder!” in Knowing, Teaching, and Learning History: National and International Perspectives, ed. by Peter N. Stearns, Peter Seixas, and Sam Wineburg (New York: New York University Press, 2000), 24. David Lowenthal, “Dilemmas and Delights of Learning History,” in Knowing, Teaching, and Learning History: National and International Perspectives, ed. Peter N. Stearns, Peter Seixas, and Sam Wineburg (New York: New York University Press, 2000), 63. 3. Theodore Clark Smith, “The Writing of American History in America, from 1884 to 1934,” American Historical Review 40 (1935): 439–49. 4. Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, book 1, chapter 22. 5. George Santayana, Life of Reason, Reason in Common Sense (New York: Scribner’s, 1905), 284. 6. Muhammed Abdullah Enan, Ibn Khaldun: His Life and Works (New York: The Other Press, 2007), v. 7. Ibn Khaldun, Franz Rosenthal, and N. J. Dawood, The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1967), x. 8. André Burguiere, The Annales School: An Intellectual History (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009). 9. The backlash was particularly apparent in the 1990s, during debates over national history standards and a Smithsonian Institution exhibit on the atomic bombing of Japan. See, respectively, Gary B. Nash, Charlotte Crabtree, and Ross E. Dunn, History on Trial: Culture Wars and the Teaching of the American Past (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997), and Edward Linenthal and Tom Englehardt, eds., History Wars: The Enola Gay and Other Battles for the American Past (New York: Henry Holt, 1996). 10. Charles A. Beard, “Written History As an Act of Faith,” American Historical Review 39 (1934): 219–29. 11. Arthur C. Clarke, “Hazards of Prophecy: The Failure of Imagination,” in Profiles of the Future, rev. ed. (1962; New York: Harper and Row, 1973), 21n1. 12. “Laws” in the sense of “Boyle’s law,” which describes the inverse relationship between pressure and volume in gases, formulated centuries before the underlying physical principles were understood. The laws believed to govern natural magic were vigorously studied by European scholars until the end of the seventeenth century (see Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic [1972; New York: Penguin, 2012]). 13. The underlying technological “reality” of the holodeck is explored at length in Laurence Krauss, The Physics of Star Trek, rev. ed. (New York: Basic Books, 2007), 129–40. 14. “The Big Goodbye,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode 12, first broadcast January 11, 1988. 15. The possibility of holographic characters having an independent existence was first raised by Professor Moriarty in “Elementary, Dear Data” (The Next Generation, season 2,

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episode 3, first broadcast December 5, 1988), further developed in The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and especially Star Trek: Voyager. 16. “Lifesigns,” Star Trek: Voyager, season 2, episode 19, first broadcast February 26, 1996. 17. “For the Cause,” Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, season 4, episode 22, first broadcast May 6, 1996. 18. Jake acquires the program from his friend Nog, but the author is implied to be an unnamed third person. The ’61 Yankees—including Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, and Whitey Ford—beat the ’78 Red Sox of Jim Rice, Carlton Fisk, and Dennis Eckersley by a score of 7–3. 19. On the application of such thinking see Michael Lewis, Moneyball: The Art of Winning in an Unfair Game (New York: Norton, 2003), and Buzz Bissinger, Three Nights in August: Heartbreak, Strategy, and Joy in the Mind of a Manager (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2005). 20. Joshua Cuneo, “‘Hello, Computer’: The Interplay of Star Trek and Modern Computing,” in Science Fiction and Computing: Essays on Interlinked Domains, ed. David L. Ferro and Eric G. Swedin, 131–47 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2011), 140–43; see also Lois Gresh and Robert Weinberg, The Computers of Star Trek (New York: Basic Books, 1999), 127–44. 21. Pioneer computer scientist Alan Turing proposed, in a 1950 paper, an experiment in which a human subject would carry on text-based conversations with two unseen correspondents: one a human and one a computer. The computer could be said to “think,” Turing argued, if the human subject could not reliably distinguish its responses from those of a fellow human. 22. Michéle Barrett and Duncan Barrett, Star Trek: The Human Frontier (London: Routledge, 2000), 88, 173–74; Judith Barad and Ed Robinson, The Ethics of Star Trek (New York: Harper, 2000), 312–16. 23. “Booby Trap,” The Next Generation, season 3, episode 6, first broadcast October 30, 1989. 24. In “Galaxy’s Child” (The Next Generation, season 4, episode 16, first broadcast March 11, 1990), LaForge is surprised to find that the real Brahms is prickly and initially contemptuous of his field modifications to her engine designs—qualities unlikely to be revealed in “best behavior” situations like conference presentations or personality evaluations. 25. Niall Ferguson, “Virtual History: Toward a ‘Chaotic’ Theory of the Past,” in Virtual History, ed. Niall Ferguson, 1–90 (New York: Basic Books, 1999) is a comprehensive survey of the idea. 26. “Descent,” part 1, The Next Generation, season 6, episode 26, first broadcast June 21, 1993; “Darkling,” Voyager, season 3, episode 18, first broadcast February 19, 1997. 27. “The Savage Curtain,” Star Trek, season 3, episode 22, first broadcast March 7, 1969. 28. “Homefront,” Deep Space Nine, season 4, episode 11, first broadcast January 1, 1996. 29. The Alamo simulation is first mentioned in “Wrongs Darker Than Death or Night” (Deep Space Nine, season 6, episode 17, first broadcast March 28, 1998). It appears another eight times in the seventh season: “Afterimage” (episode 3), “Once More unto the Breach” (episode 7), “It’s Only a Paper Moon” (episode 10), “Prodigal Daughter” (episode 11), “Badda Bing, Badda Bang” (episode 15), “The Changing Face of Evil” (episode 20), “Extreme Measures” (episode 23), and “What You Leave Behind” (episode 25). 30. “Once More unto the Breach,” Deep Space Nine, season 7, episode 7, first broadcast January 11, 1998. 31. “What You Leave Behind,” Deep Space Nine, season 7, episode 25, first broadcast June 2, 1999. 32. “Spectre of the Gun,” Star Trek, season 3, episode 1, first broadcast October 25, 1968. 33. The flat, affectless portrayals of the Earps and Holliday in the “Spectre of the Gun” anticipate the robot gunslinger in the film Westworld (1972) and, more loosely, the cyborg assassin in The Terminator (1984). On the history of Earp’s public image, see Allen Barra, Inventing Wyatt Earp: His Life and Many Legends (New York: Carroll & Graf, 1998). 34. “Darkling,” Star Trek Voyager, season 3, episode 18, first broadcast February 19, 1997. 35. “Phantasms,” The Next Generation, season 7, episode 6, first broadcast October 25, 1993. 36. “Accession,” Deep Space Nine, season 4, episode 17, first broadcast February 24, 1996; “The Way of the Warrior,” Deep Space Nine, season 4, episode 1, first broadcast October 2, 1995.

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37. “Scorpion,” Star Trek Voyager, season 3, episode 26, first broadcast May 21, 1997. 38. “Concerning Flight,” Star Trek Voyager, season 4, episode 11, first broadcast November 26, 1997. 39. “11001001,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode 15, first broadcast February 1, 1988. 40. Leopold von Ranke, The Theory and Practice of History, ed. Georg G. Iggers (1973; London: Routledge, 2011). 41. Opening narration, Star Trek, first broadcast September 8, 1966. 42. “Holodeck,” Memory Alpha, http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Holodeck. 43. See Francis FitzGerald, America Revised: History Schoolbooks in the Twentieth Century (Boston: Little, Brown, 1979), and James Loewen, Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong, rev. ed. (New York: Touchstone, 2007).

Chapter Three

Star Trek and the Information Age How the Franchise Imagined/Inspired Future Technologies Anthony Rotolo

Star Trek has earned a reputation for predicting future technologies with remarkable accuracy. Though the original series was written during the infancy of the computer age, the show’s imagined concepts inspired generations of scientists to eventually create similar inventions. A handheld communicator or electronic tablet may be familiar, even commonplace, by twenty-first-century standards. To 1960s viewers, such ideas existed in a faraway time. Trek’s vision of the twenty-third century turns out to have been not so distant after all, with many of the potential devices encountered in its stories rooted in “real science,” then still awaiting real-life exploration. Our world began to resemble the final frontier a few decades following Star Trek’s initial run. By the time the franchise returned with The Next Generation, many iconic Trek technologies had already been realized, some available as consumer products. Once enormous machines employed mostly by academics, computers had become commonplace in offices, schools, and eventually homes by the late 1980s. If not as intelligent as those witnessed aboard either Enterprise, desktop models evolved along the same lines in appearance and functionality. In due time, the computer age brought us closer still to our Federation counterparts with further development of the integrated circuit. Replacing bulky vacuum tubes, these tiny chips were capable of considerably more computing power in a notably smaller package, allowing for portable and handheld devices; some scientists turned to Trek for inspiration as they designed the next wave. Martin Cooper, inventor of the first mobile phone, has 29

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credited Kirk’s handheld communicator as his source of inspiration. Cooper’s original cellular phone was not nearly as compact as Kirk’s and most consumers could not then afford one. In a few years, though, mobile devices would become ubiquitous in our world, possibly even more prevalent than on Trek. The smartphones and tablets of today are comparably magical to those of Federation design; some, like the iPad, appear not only transported from the future but named for PADDs (personal access display devices) employed by Starfleet officers. Like Trek’s systems, our devices are controlled by touching or speaking to them, and they allow us to communicate with each other “onscreen” through live video. Some recent handhelds feature sensors able to capture data about the environment or apps capable of analyzing the properties of an object or substance, much like tricorders and scanners employed on TV to survey a planet or diagnose a patient. Though the technological wonders of the twenty-third and twenty-fourth centuries may not seem so impossible now, the closing gap between our realities highlights another side of Star Trek even more significant, perhaps, than its record of inspiring breakthroughs: a tradition of imagining future technologies not merely as sciencefiction fantasy but as a means of exploring our relationship with science and each other. In so doing, Trek transcended shortsighted discussions and technical details to create future scenarios that aid us in questioning the impact of new technologies on the people who use them. This keeps Trek’s stories relevant and relatable still, often raising new questions to consider as our real-world technologies further resemble those future devices. Roddenberry understood that our human story is one of conflict followed by growth and also that the duality of our species is often visible in the ways we choose to wield a new invention. By setting Trek in our corner of the universe, Roddenberry created a history of our future through which he could play out the cultural and technological challenges of his era rather than the struggles of an unknown people in a galaxy far, far away. At its core, Trek offers a saga of unity and enlightenment born out of the moral and technological disaster of a third world war on Earth. In a time when the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union brought scientific breakthroughs but threatened global Armageddon, it comes as no surprise that technologies imagined in Trek demonstrate a more benevolent approach. Ideas such as passive weapons (“set to stun”) stemmed from Roddenberry’s humanist philosophies to form a hopeful vision of the future so central to Trek’s mythos. This initiated a tradition of transporting our greatest challenges and concerns into an era of new possibilities, resulting in more than a few potential answers. For nearly fifty years, Trek has performed this type of intellectual time travel, allowing the franchise to perform as a lens through which we may examine our world.

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For example, in “The Ultimate Computer” (1968), Kirk receives orders from Starfleet that the Enterprise will host a scientific experiment by Dr. Richard Daystrom, the Federation’s leading mind in the field of artificial intelligence. Daystrom has developed a supercomputer reportedly capable of assuming total control of a starship. Kirk and his crew are to assist with the M5’s installation, the Enterprise afterward participating in tactical simulations to test the computer’s ability to replace humans in making command decisions. If successful, the M5 may be installed throughout the fleet. When viewed from a twenty-first-century perspective, this assignment seems routine in terms of our imaginings about future life. Yet Kirk and his crew are deeply troubled, expressing concerns, even fears, about the experiment. Only Spock reveals interest in the new technology, which he finds “fascinating” from a purely logical point of view. As the crew wrestles with surrendering control to the M5, Kirk confides in McCoy that the notion of being replaced by a computer has put him on “red alert.” McCoy agrees: “We’re all sorry for the other guy when he loses his job to a machine. When it comes to your job? That’s different! And it always will be different.” McCoy’s words are unusual for a man of twenty-third-century science, though certainly familiar enough to us. Essentially, Kirk and McCoy exist in the future but speak from the past. Their dialogue was written at a time when many citizens had heard about the promise of computers but were unsure as to how artificial intelligence might impact their lives. Today, this discussion seems quaint. In our world, jobs ranging from the manufacture of goods to the exploration of Mars are accomplished with the help of intelligent systems. Indeed, life in our time is shaped by the steady progress of computerization; we look forward to new devices. Our modern perspective does not, however, spoil this story. To the contrary, our expanded understanding of intelligent technologies allows us to today see things more like Spock than Kirk and McCoy when viewing this episode. In this context, “The Ultimate Computer” becomes less a cautionary fable about the automation of human jobs and more an opportunity to weigh our existing dependence on technology, considering the value of human intelligence in a world increasingly run by machines. 21ST-CENTURY LESSONS FROM THE FINAL FRONTIER For many, living in the “information age” involves a state of constant connectivity. Our mobile devices and social networks create an always-on atmosphere: a culture defined by real-time information sharing. These advancements have tremendous benefits that include connecting with friends and family or facilitating collaboration over great distances. In some cases, they help spread social change around the world. Yet this constant flood of

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information has produced a feeling of “overload,” some claiming that they experience fatigue or anxiety regarding the speed and volume of information we process each day. While many people prefer a connected lifestyle to its unplugged alternative, others appear unable to flip off the power switch even for a moment. As we evolved into a closer relationship with technology, a similar change in attitude occurred for upcoming Starfleet officers. Concerns about being replaced by computers were reduced to ancient history. Picard has chosen Data, an android, as a senior staff member, considering him a friend, defending Data’s individual rights before a tribunal. Even after this newfound embrace of technology, no one in Trek’s twenty-fourth century appears to have a problem handling the daily flow of information. Surrounded by touch-screen displays and holographic projections, there is little evidence of information overload aboard the Enterprise-D, Deep Space Nine, or Voyager. Initially, searching for answers to information age problems within Trek may seem a stretch. There is no Federation equivalent to Facebook competing for anyone’s attention. No one tweets or posts Instagram photos from a PADD while vacationing on Risa. Beyond our mutual affinity for smart devices, it appears that Trek may have overlooked the challenges of this digital decade, ignoring the advent of the Internet entirely or jumping ahead to a time long after such issues have faded from memory. Yet it would be uncharacteristic for Trek to be so shortsighted. We must recalibrate our sensors to explore remote hiding places. The Borg exists as the ultimate social network: a race of technologically enhanced beings created through the assimilation of once-independent individuals and countless alien technologies. In the Borg, we find a dangerous enemy crafted not from the fear of being replaced by technology, but rather an all-too-familiar twenty-first-century nightmare of actually becoming technology ourselves. This makes the Borg the perfect villain for Trek in the information age, as well as a vital source of commentary and debate about our own contemporary way of life. The Borg may be a connected lifestyle taken to the extreme, but functionally it resembles our own computer networks. With each Borg drone acting as a “node” in a vast network of ships and systems, Borg posit the equivalent of our computers and smartphones, feeding the network with new data to be processed and acted upon. Much like the Internet, originally a military project designed to function even when damaged, Starfleet engineers estimate that a Borg cube can operate with up to 78 percent of its systems rendered inoperable. The Borg offers a living embodiment of technology equivalent to the information age. As such, it reflects our own desires to assimilate information, acquire new technologies, even become part of the network. The only difference: resisting participation in the Borg collective is futile.

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Fortunately, our own online activities remain a voluntary experience, though some find them difficult to resist. Much work and personal life now revolves around such connectivity. We resemble Borg drones as we slowly drift about, consumed by the information on our screens or listening to voices through blinking earpieces. With the help of social networks (Facebook, Twitter) we share our thoughts and ideas in real time, follow trends, even make decisions based on the combined wisdom of others—a practice known today as “crowdsourcing.” Whether tweeting and texting will ultimately lead to total assimilation is impossible to say. Many Trek examples aid us in considering the potential value of at least occasionally removing ourselves from “the connected life.” After assimilation into the Borg collective, Picard experienced what we might describe as information overload. As a Borg drone, Picard (or Locutus of Borg, as he was then called) was forced to process a continuous torrent of messages not unlike the daily onslaught of emails, texts, and social media notifications that daily demand our attention. These feelings persisted after his rescue, as Picard struggled to return to life aboard the Enterprise. Even the friendly, voluntary collective of his starship became difficult. To recover, Picard returns home to his family vineyard in France, a location free of technology, where he clears his head. However, choosing to disconnect may not always be so easy. Seven of Nine, a former Borg drone rescued by Janeway, experienced trauma and medical complications when her link to the collective was severed. Assimilated as a child, Seven had only known a life of constant chatter and communication, making it more difficult for her to adapt to life as an individual. Unsure how to act without feedback from the collective, Seven struggles to rely on her own instincts and abilities, calling to mind questions about the effects of Internet technologies on our children, born as “digital natives.” Fortunately, few of us will suffer such severe effects, though we may feel anxious, distracted, or helpless when disconnected. This may be caused by a fear of missing important information or, conversely, from dreading the number of waiting messages. Seven’s example helps us consider our participation in a digital collective and the importance of maintaining individual identities. Also at issue here: the role of friendship beyond our virtual connections in shaping who we are. Janeway and the crew provide the support and guidance needed for Seven to acknowledge and understand what it means to be human and unique. Although it remains important to balance our relationship with the digital, the use of connected technologies will doubtless continue to be a driving force in this world. As we expand technologies, access to the Internet has shifted from a modern convenience to a fundamental necessity—even a right. The openness and availability of the Internet has fostered tremendous innovation while lowering barriers to entry for new businesses and independent actors. As a result, considerably more voices participate in global discourse.

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This democratization of information exists in stark contrast to the platforms that earlier dominated communication. From the printing press to radio and television, mass media has long been the domain of “gatekeepers” who decide which information will be shared and at what cost. This shift has sparked a modern debate, commonly called “net neutrality”—the belief that the Internet should remain open and unrestrained by corporate interests. Contrarily, Internet service providers who have invested in developing the infrastructure argue for the right to decide who might utilize these pathways and whether to restrict speed or charge higher access fees for some businesses and users. Those who argue against this type of “pay-to-play” approach warn against a future wherein special interests and the well-resourced benefit from the Internet, others relegated to the position of second-class digital citizens. A related Trek scenario appears in the backdrop of Deep Space Nine’s “Past Tense” (1995). Sisko, Bashir, and Dax are caught in a transporter malfunction that causes them to materialize in San Francisco in the year 2020 AD. In Trek lore, this time (only a few years into our future) is one of division and conflict on Earth. With a third world war looming, cities around the world struggle to address widespread economic disruptions and public health issues. Attempts to solve these problems have led to the formation of “sanctuary districts,” or twenty-first-century concentration camps for the unemployed, homeless, and mentally ill. When Sisko and Bashir find themselves wards of “Sanctuary District A,” they are cut off from the outside world, which remains ignorant of the cruel conditions inside. With control of the global communications network (referred to as “the net”) in the hands of government and corporate interests, those who occupy sanctuary districts are unable to find a platform for their concerns and pleas for help. In contrast, we find a different scenario in our own world as net neutrality continues to be debated. The current openness of our “net” has been credited with supporting significant social change. These include demonstrations and revolutions known as the “Arab Spring,” which resulted in the removal of dictatorial leaders in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya. Such protests, and others including those in response to the contested Iranian presidential election of 2009, benefited from open access to social media and online resources. Protesters were enabled to organize and communicate with the outside world even when repressive governments attempted to silence them. Protests and civil action have been similarly supported by a free/open Internet throughout the Western world, including economically focused demonstrations referred to as “Occupy Wall Street” in the United States. In each case, views existing in opposition to established governments or corporate interests found an audience online. Similarly, the “Bell Riots” within San Francisco’s sanctuary districts were settled only after Sisko and other leaders accessed “the net” to share their pleas for justice with the world.

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“Past Tense” is not the only episode to display such remarkable foresight. In Star Trek Voyager’s “Scientific Method,” the crew encounters a race of aliens possessing advanced technology, allowing them to shift “out of phase”—to slightly change their position in time to become essentially invisible. This advantage allows them to conduct secret experiments on the crew, reduced to test subjects for research and observation. Although continuing characters experience effects ranging from discomfort to deadly complications, they remain unaware that invisible scientists perform medical experiments as they go about daily routines. Janeway becomes the subject of a gruesome experiment; rods are inserted into her brain, affecting her emotional responses, causing her to behave erratically. While phase-shifting technology is not yet available, we can imagine how this alien advancement provides a high-tech form of anonymity similar to what we already experience online. As the Internet allows us to interact with other people regardless of time or distance, it’s hardly uncommon for people to act differently toward one another when comfortably hidden behind a screen. Sometimes this allows a conversation to become more honest or deceptive or an argument to become more hurtful. In some cases, this digital distance may lead to bullying and other cruelty, particularly for young people, with the painful results of words and actions kept out of sight. Such an analogy becomes more powerful in light of one controversial experiment recently conducted by Facebook. 1 Attempting to study how social media content impacts on a person’s emotions, researchers used their own technological anonymity to conduct invisible experiments. For one week in 2012, they altered the number of positive and negative posts displayed in the news feeds of more than 650,000 Facebook users to observe how increased positivity or negativity would affect that person’s emotional status. The experiment did indeed discover a connection. Users exposed to mostly positive posts from friends in turn posted more positive updates themselves. Conversely, those shown mostly negative posts began to post about their negative emotions. According to their report published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, the researchers found “the first experimental evidence for massive-scale emotional contagion via social networks.” 2 Criticism proved harsh. Many partakers were as unhappy as Janeway to discover they were used as test subjects. Even as alien scientists claimed their experiments were appropriate (i.e., “well intentioned”), Facebook researchers insist their tests are allowed by the terms and conditions of their social network, so no harm was done. At the heart of both stories exists a critical question about the nature of privacy in a time when these rights are easily and often compromised by technology. “Scientific Method” asks us to consider what we are willing to sacrifice in the name of science, especially as new technologies make it easier to hide from the consequences of our ac-

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tions. For Facebook, there may be another lesson. As the alien scientists discover, an emotionally unbalanced Janeway wasn’t bluffing when she threatened to destroy Voyager if the experiments were not ended, and Facebook may find its users serious in their threats to socially network elsewhere. A CONTINUING MISSION OF EXPLORATION Beyond the trends and quirks of Internet culture, Trek continues to find relevance as its most incredible technological ideas emerge as real-world possibilities. This includes several that were once considered pure fiction (i.e., fantasy), including the holodeck, the replicator, and the transporter. Like many information age technologies, the holodeck is a Trek invention that performs double duty as a tool for productivity and recreation. Because it can vividly simulate any person or environment, the holodeck proves useful for running a diagnostic exercise or a training simulation or for taking a vacation without leaving the ship. Starfleet members take advantage of both, using the holodeck to help strategize before a Borg encounter or to find relaxation (and even romance) in a holographic novel. Though the holodeck can be incredibly useful, this technology causes even our twenty-fourth-century Federation counterparts to grow uneasy. Several episodes reference the holodeck’s impact on productivity and interpersonal relationships, even its addictive properties—concerns often heard in our time regarding the use of the Internet, video games, and mobile devices. Lieutenant Reginald Barclay finds himself at the center of this debate throughout his career. The socially awkward engineer is said to have a holodeck addiction, struggling to find a healthy balance with the virtual environments and characters he finds more comfortable than those of his “reality.” This becomes a significant challenge as Barclay is eventually restricted from accessing the holodeck by senior officers. Today, similar scenarios occur in offices and schools worldwide. Many work environments restrict the use of established virtual communities like Facebook or YouTube due to productivity concerns. However, as a generation of new workers emerges with a different skill set and new ways of accessing information, many find it difficult to be effective while blocked from their go-to networks. Some companies discover their employees routinely access social networks and other forbidden sites from their phones, both for personal and professional purposes. The same holds true for Barclay, who circumvents Starfleet’s holodeck restrictions in a desperate attempt to apply the tool to rescue the missing Voyager. As virtual reality technologies are refined, like Barclay, we may soon face challenges. Emerging devices like Oculus Rift make it possible to experience lifelike environments all but identical to holodeck programs and without the dizziness or discomfort once associated with virtual reality. 3 Perhaps antici-

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pating the appeal of these experiences, Facebook recently purchased Oculus for a staggering $2 billion. 4 We could all be spending a great deal more time in a virtual reality soon, further increasing the possibility of widespread tech addiction. As we strive to achieve a balance, some clues can be found in the advice of Counselor Troi and others who seek to help Barclay. Although we recognize the value in many of our technologies, their advantages are diminished if we focus only on the virtual. It may not be necessary to block access to our technology of choice—Facebook, Oculus Rift, the holodeck—as long as we remember that what we do in these virtual spaces should always be for the betterment of ourselves, our work, and our relationships in the offline world. Only after Barclay realizes this was he able to apply what he learned inside the holodeck to complete his real-world mission. The replicator is another Trek invention that recently became a possibility, at least at a basic level. In the franchise, this machine synthesizes materials at the molecular level to instantly produce nearly any object, food, or chemical compound on demand. Obviously, a replicator would alter our world, dramatically reducing, even eliminating, the cost of products. Hunger and poverty would be stamped out; much of the time and energy spent working for a living could be used for pursuits of education, exploration, and advancement of society. This hopeful view of tomorrow is perhaps the reason so many have long dreamed of inventing real-life versions of the replicator. Today, a process called “additive manufacturing,” popularly nicknamed “3D printing,” has captured the tech industry’s imagination. The machines work much like the two-dimensional paper printers on office desks. Instead of printing a single layer of ink, a 3D printer extrudes many layers of melted plastic to form a physical object. Visualize this as similar to a hot glue gun, the heated glue stick carefully extruded from the nozzle. In the case of a 3D printer, that nozzle is controlled by software and digital design files that instruct it how to form a shape. Some compare 3D printers to Trek replicators. Watching one in action is a wondrous experience. Objects that until recently had to be produced on a factory line are fabricated in minutes by a machine not much larger than a microwave. Even complex pieces with moving parts can be designed and created at home or in the workshop. It’s hardly a coincidence that one of the more popular 3D printer models is named “Replicator.” But comparisons between 3D printing and Trek’s replicator don’t end with plastic. Other materials—wood, metal, even foods—are now being extruded in similar ways to make on-demand creations. This has led to excited speculation that we may witness the beginning of a new era of manufacturing with small-scale production possible at low costs. We may actually in time “print” biotechnologies and human organs. 5

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The possibilities and challenges introduced by even our most basic versions of the holodeck and replicator may seem small in comparison to the most significant breakthrough of Treknology—the transporter. Although “beaming” something through space has long been considered a scientific impossibility, news of an important discovery raises hope that a real-life transporter might eventually be created. In an experiment conducted at Delft University in the Netherlands, scientists successfully transported a few particles of matter across a distance of three meters. 6 This achievement expands our knowledge of quantum teleportation, opening the door to someday transporting larger objects, even people, as in Trek. Just how close does the discovery bring us to unlocking the holy grail of Trek tech? Is the day when we can travel in a transporter beam nearly upon us? In general terms, in order to “beam” something to another point, we must be able to measure precise information about the building blocks of that object and convert those calculations into information that can be transferred over some distance. This resembles scanning a photograph, a process that converts the physical characteristics of the image into bits and bytes that can be sent to another place over the Internet. In transporting matter, more complex details about the atoms inside must be exactly measured at the same point in time. In Trek, this occurs when the order to “energize” is given, causing the transporter to collect precise calculations about every particle in the person on the transporter platform. Unlike a photograph, this data will produce the same configuration of atoms at the destination point. As on the original series, one tiny mistake could lead to nasty results: clones, strange mash-ups, even death. One real-world challenge in achieving transport, especially a proper one, is in capturing the precise subatomic calculations required. Such measurements were once considered impossible according to theoretical physicist Werner Heisenberg, who nearly a century ago insisted that the laws of physics would not allow us to quantify every variable about a particle simultaneously. 7 Heisenberg concluded that even if we could calculate the position of a particle or its movement, it would be impossible to capture a complete snapshot at a single precise moment. This theory became known as the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, a rule that rendered real-world transporters scientifically impossible. To address this limitation, Trek’s transporters are said to contain a component called a Heisenberg compensator. Beyond that, it remains unknown how Federation scientists managed to circumnavigate this issue. Some scientists, including Albert Einstein, believed Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle to be untrue and worked to disprove him. However, Einstein did believe that transporting matter would be impossible due to a number of other theories, even if Heisenberg were wrong about his own. Einstein believed the transfer of quantum bits between particles was simply not possible.

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According to the father of modern physics, a transporter could never exist. He went so far as to call the idea “spooky action at a distance.” 8 Fortunately for those still dreaming of “beaming,” Delft team members are among those contemporary scientists attempting to prove Einstein and other naysayers wrong. As researchers race to expand on this recent achievement, they attempt to send particles across greater distances and could one day prove that transporting more complex arrangements of atoms, including people, is indeed possible. What remains unclear is whether this process would transport the whole person—body and mind—or instead deliver some sort of quantum clone. Modern science has a limited understanding of human consciousness; there is yet no way of knowing whether the first person to be “beamed up” would actually emerge as the same sentient individual that stepped inside. Much work remains—as well as decades of further study—before these questions will be answered. However, the discovery made by the Delft team demonstrates that our knowledge and abilities will expand in regard to sending matter as information can be. However impossible it is to know what breakthroughs will follow, the potential implications are enormous. Trek’s vision of the future is based in no small part on the idea that humans may someday learn to manipulate our physical environment and, in the process, discover the means to tackle its biggest challenges: wars and human suffering that result from limited resources and limited access to them. As we take the smallest steps forward in this new century, Trek continues to provide insights and thoughtful commentary that guide our journey. Through the lens of this franchise, we were privy to one possible path forward and have already realized many of these ideas in our world. Our story will continue to unfold, perhaps quite differently. Yet Star Trek reminds us of an important truth: the “final frontier” is not the planets and stars or the machines that will bring us to them. The greatest discoveries are those we learn about ourselves as we continue to explore. NOTES 1. Michelle Meyer, “Everything You Need to Know about Facebook’s Controversial Emotion Experiment,” Wired, June 30, 2014. 2. Adam Kramer, Jamie Guillory, and Jeffrey Hancock, “Experimental Evidence of Massive-Scale Emotional Contagion through Social Networks,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 111, no. 24 (2014): 8788–8790. 3. Peter Rubin, “The Inside Story of Oculus Rift and How Virtual Reality Became Reality,” Wired, May 20, 2014. 4. Brian Solomon, “Facebook Buys Oculus, Virtual Reality Gaming Startup, for $2 Billion,” Forbes, March 25, 2014. 5. Alyssa J. Reiffel, Concepcion Kafka, Karina A. Hernandez, Samantha Popa, Justin L. Perez, Sherry Zhou, Satadru Pramanik, Bryan N. Brown, Won Seuk Ryu, Lawrence J. Bonassar, and Jason A. Spector, “High-Fidelity Tissue Engineering of Patient-Specific Auricles for

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Reconstruction of Pediatric Microtia and Other Auricular Deformities,” PLoS ONE 8, no. 2 (2013): e56506, doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0056506. 6. Wolfgang Pfaff, Bas J. Hensen, Hannes Bernien, Suzanne B. van Dam, Machiel S. Blok, Tim H. Taminiau, Marijn J. Tiggelman, Raymond N. Schouten, Matthew Markham, Daniel J. Twitchen, and Ronald Hanson, “Unconditional Quantum Teleportation between Distant SolidState Quantum Bits,” Science 345, no. 6196 (2014): 532–35. 7. Werner Heisenberg, “Über Den Anschaulichen Inhalt Der Quantentheoretischen Kinematik Und Mechanik” [About the intuitive content of quantum theoretical kinematics and mechanics], Zeitschrift Für Physik [Journal of Physics] 43, nos. 3–4 (1927): 172–98. 8. J. S. Bell, Speakable and Unspeakable in Quantum Mechanics: Collected Papers on Quantum Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

Chapter Four

Forward to the Past Miscegenation Constructs in the Star Trek Mythos Denise Alessandria Hurd

That is the ineffaceable curse of Cain. Of the blood that feeds my heart, one drop in eight is black—bright red as the rest may be, that one drop poisons all the flood. Those seven bright drops give me love like yours, hope like yours— ambition like yours . . . but the one black drop gives me despair, for I am an unclean thing—forbidden by the laws—I’m an Octoroon!—Zoe, The Octoroon, 1859 Myself, I think I got the worst of each . . . that [my Klingon side] I keep under tight control . . . sometimes I feel there’s a monster inside of me, fighting to get out.—K’Ehleyr, Star Trek: Next Generation, 1989

Judging from the above quotes, not much changed during 130 years of racial image management. The language may be less poetic in Trek’s era, the “Other” less specifically marked as an existing ethnic group, but the construction of the Other—especially the hybrid Other, down to the implication of an inevitable atavistic biological essentialism when two races mix—remains the same. As envisioned in Trek, society of the future appears a pattern card of egalitarian homogeneity. Prejudice is gone and brotherhood reigns supreme, at least theoretically. It is just those pesky “alien” cultures that repeat outmoded cultural conflicts. The franchise, part of whose original intent was to explore and disprove encoded prejudices of contemporary society by displacing this debate onto a future (presumably utopian) society, still tends to reify a particularly loaded image from nineteenth-century psychology and anthropology in the United States: the tragic mulatto. Beginning with Spock in the original series and continuing to B’Elanna Torres in Star Trek Voyager, 1 the following recurring crisis is ritualistically 41

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enacted: hybrid characters live with personal angst stemming from their difficulty living with the “pull” of their different bloods. Their characters are based on which race they have chosen to “play.” They remain celibate (or at least do not procreate), adhering to the theatrical tradition wherein a mulatto character only becomes a threat to society when it produces children. If they do reproduce, the child or parent dies or the child disappears from the Trek universe. But why is this such a popular motif? And how does this stereotype still resonate in the modern world? The stereotypical construct of the mulatto was used in various ways and in numerous venues during the nineteenth century—referenced in theater, literature, philosophy, anthropology, physiology, and the emergent field of psychology. The term “mulatto” is itself “derived from the Spanish word for mule, mulo.” It referred to “a person of mixed Caucasian and AfricanAmerican ancestry” or specifically to a “first generation offspring of such a union.” 2 The stereotype was used to explain the economic condition of freedmen in the United States, the evils of miscegenation, or, conversely, to underscore the evils of slavery. The mulatto’s entire personality was thought to be biologically determined. The common supposition was that as a result of conjoining two species (black and white), mulattoes likely inherited the worst traits of both; destined to become monsters in human form, too politically ambitious for their “natural” station in life, or frightened/despondent creatures, never belonging to any one world, therefore prone to depression, suicide, or madness. Neither education, political or economic achievements, nor social status could change that the mulatto was “a degenerate, unnatural offspring, doomed by nature to work out its own destruction.” 3 Sander L. Gilman, in his study of stereotypes entitled Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness, links the creation of stereotypes to the identification of pathology in the mutable self or the pathologizing of such identifying characteristics as race and gender. The material reality of the mulatto is the embodiment of the mutable self: if half one group and half another, then, after all—what are they? This mutability created an anxiety evident in contradictions within the stereotype. Nineteenthcentury scientists asserted that, like their equine namesake, mulattos must be sterile or have a diminished capacity to procreate, this coupled with an unfortunate voracious sexual appetite. 4 This notion of inherent sterility belied the obvious ongoing cataloging of mixed races such as quadroon, octoroon, sentaroon, and so on. When the mulatto stereotype was evoked scientifically, the concept was employed to explain basic personality traits. Evoked theatrically, the onstage mulatto dramatized those traits. In 1859’s The Octoroon, playwright Dion Boucicault created a character who embodied the culmination of these traits and arguably became the model for the theatrical tragic mulatto stereotype. Boucicault counted on his audience’s expectations of this stereotype when he

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created the title character, Zoe. In her, the playwright created an image that so connected with national prejudices that it remains with us today with little change. All Zoe needed to do was to cry: “I’m an Octoroon.” By implication, a mulatto’s complete character, including his or her likely fate in the narrative, was thus explained. Whereas other characters’ personalities were defined by their deeds, the mulattoes’ liminal racial status determined not only their characters but also their plotlines. According to the stereotype, a mulatto’s racial status is itself the central obsession of such a person’s life. This obsession explains, justifies, and influences any actions the character may take. There were two variations on the mulatto stereotype; one for males, one for females. Although the female was destined to wallow in depression and degradation, the male would likely “revert to type,” becoming a bestial savage, more dangerous than the “pure” black because he also possessed the cunning of his white blood. This trait caused the male mulatto to resemble the “savage, renegade, half-breed Indian” stereotype also popular then onstage and in literature. Yet compared to the popularity of the “ignoble savage,” the enraged “light-skinned buck” remained rare. Most theatrical mulattoes were doomed women or disenfranchised children rendered palatable to the largely white audience by their meekness. They were always played by white actors with minimal “brownface.” Many of the plots revolved around the mulattoes’ doomed efforts to “pass” for white. With rare exception— these usually in abolitionist plays—all ended badly due to their desire to deny their darker, more savage blood. 5 This casting bias is repeated in Trek. Only two hybrid characters out of the ten 6 depicted in the original series and in Star Trek: Voyager have been played by an obviously non-Caucasian actor; these disappeared soon after their introductions. A half-Klingon, half-Romulan woman (traditional enemies in the Trek world), named Ba’el, played by an African American actress, had an “unusual sense of tolerance toward both cultures.” Eventually, she chose to withdraw from the universe to live in exile because of the “racial intolerance she would experience in either the Klingon or Romulan Empire.” 7 The other, the half-human, half-Napean (a previously unknown species with telepathic abilities) Lieutenant Kwan, played by an Asian American actor, only existed in the prologue of The Next Generation’s “The Eye of the Beholder.” Kwan commits suicide, a rare action in Trek, if a common one for dramatized mulattoes. The only other hybrid onboard, the half-human, halfBetazoid Deanna Troi, almost commits suicide. Apparently, the fact that each possessed only the limited telepathic ability of a hybrid without the full control of a pure alien or the lack of telepathic ability of a pure human made both susceptible to psychic suicidal impulses. If they had been born “pure,” there would have been no plot. Again, the hybrid’s blood dictated its plot function.

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The “passing for Other” scenario has also been employed on Trek. In The Next Generation’s “The Drumhead,” a part-Romulan character tries to pass himself off as part Vulcan. In the Trek universe, other races are clearly and visually marked (pointed ears and so on); even so, the hybrid possesses the ability to subvert those markers, a trait posited as perfidious. The character Tarses is arrested for his willful deceit. Since Trek has a commitment to episode-contained resolutions, he is freed. On closer examination, this resolution proves problematic, not occurring because Tarses has been absolved of the crime of lying about his forebears, but rather, his case is thrown out when the prosecutor is exposed as a zealot. This awkwardly leaves open the question of whether Tarses’s concealment of his racial background inevitably rendered him “unclean.” The implication: he necessarily concealed his race to become a viable member of society but such dishonesty tormented him even as it did the nineteenth-century stage mulatto. Gilman says of the term “stereotype” that “its origin is in the manufacturing of texts.” 8 A stereotype’s use in theatrical texts serves as a shorthand for the audience, well-steeped in the conventions outlined by those texts. In the nineteenth century, such stereotypes provided a dramatic shorthand. As such, they were crude in their presumptions and repetitive in their use. In the twentieth century, stereotypes are still created and used. Gilman points out that Stereotypes are a crude set of mental representations of the world. They are palimpsests on which the initial bipolar representations are still vaguely legible. They perpetuate a needed sense of difference between the “self” and the “object,” which becomes the “Other.” Because there is no real line between self and Other, an imaginary line must be drawn; and so that the illusion of an absolute difference between self and Other is never troubled, this line is as dynamic in its ability to alter itself as is the self. 9

Modern viewers/receivers are more diverse, more sophisticated. As audiences have changed, so have encoded stereotypes in our popular drama. Ethnic groups have more access to means of advocating for positive images so television networks try to please as many potential consumers as they can. Such circumstances make Trek’s almost brazen evocation of the mulatto stereotype all the more curious. But as Gilman notes, “stereotypes can also be perpetuated, resurrected, and shaped through texts containing the fantasy life of the culture, quite independent of the existence or absence of the group in a given society.” 10 As Trek examples reveal, a stereotype can also be perpetuated through its displacement onto groups who have resonance in the fantasy life of a culture but who never actually exist in any given society. Trek first aired in the United States in 1966, a time of racial, social, and cultural turbulence. It confused its network, NBC, which had expected “Wagon Train in space” and didn’t know what to do with this odd science-

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fiction show whose characters’ stated purpose was “to explore new worlds; to seek out new life, new civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before.” 11 The subsequent phenomenon has spawned eight movies (to date) plus three spin-offs of the original. 12 Trek has its own published encyclopedias, technical manuals, chronologies, and magazines, the source materials of which are episodes as aired and movies as filmed; if it wasn’t aired or filmed (discounting the animated series, which producing company Paramount eschews), it did not happen in the official Trek canon. 13 Therefore, all racial constructs are what one sees in the show, not what one reads in speculative fiction and “fanzines,” which are sometimes far more politically sensitive. Gene Roddenberry, who helped create three of the shows, was committed to using the science-fiction format to examine current social tensions. He insisted on having women, ethnic minorities, and a genuine alien (Spock) as permanent crewmembers. Spock, however, was not just an alien, but a human/Vulcan hybrid, continually at odds with the distasteful emotionality of his human half, continually denying it. Spock was designed to be read as a positive variant on the mulatto stereotype. Contrary to the convention, the hybrid here didn’t desire to be us (read: white), but more completely the Other. Spock’s great desire was to be wholly Vulcan, a coldly logical/unemotional species. The series established that Vulcan logic was a philosophy, not a biological necessity, yet this did not change Spock’s fear of betraying his bloodlines through actions. Other Vulcans saw him as flawed, with the implication that he would “revert” to human excesses. Spock’s one attempt at marriage was thwarted by his intended for this reason; Spock was never allowed to express his sexuality or have that expression reciprocated. As his character moved through the original series, the films, and into The Next Generation, he was rewarded for his lifelong DNA-based psychological struggle by becoming an increasingly messianic figure. At one point, he died and was resurrected. Later, he chooses to devote the rest of his life to healing a centuries-old rift between the people of his planet and their distant, more violent cousins, the Romulan Empire. In a Next Generation two-parter, “Unification,” Spock served as the focus of an underground quasi-religious cult intent on undermining the Romulan Empire’s political rigidity, incorporating the relatively more peaceful Vulcan philosophy of logic into the Romulan philosophy of pragmatic totalitarianism. It’s hardly a stretch to claim that Spock took on Christ-like proportions; he achieved this due to his biological struggle. Spock could negotiate his way through two different cultures because he had, from day one, been continually at war within himself. Spock set the pattern for a host of other alien hybrids in the late eighties and early nineties beginning with The Next Generation. These differed from Spock in significant ways; almost all were female (with three exceptions). Most preferred their human or more “civilized” half (with two notable exceptions), 14 and they were not alone. They could exchange views on what it was

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like to be a hybrid; such exchanges tended to support an essentialist notion of race. Expressions such as “I got the best of both cultures,” “I got the worst of both cultures,” “sometimes I can’t control my _____ blood,” “I hate my _____ half, even though it gives me strength,” and so on are peppered throughout, substituting for a psychological explanation of character. Presumably since the hard-core Trek audience had already witnessed how this DNA-based struggle expressed itself in the character of Spock, no other demonstration of character was necessary; that is, it was apparently enough for a character to announce that he or she is half-human and half “fill-in-theblank” to provide the audience an expectation of behavior that was almost always fulfilled. Hybrid characters adhere to the behavior of the non-human Other, even when they wish not to. Usually, their behavior is representative of the cruder, less civilized race. They tend to revert to whichever is more savage. This consistency the later hybrid characters share with Spock since, in his case, his human side was the less civilized. Hybrids also emerge as leaders, though only in the alien culture. For example, Sela, a half-human, half-Romulan hybrid introduced in The Next Generation, soundly rejects her human half, betrays her human mother to death, and becomes one of the most ruthless and tactically brilliant military leaders of the Romulan Empire. She is hated by humans, not wholly trusted by Romulans, and has neither an extended family nor immediate family. She has only “work.” In another example from The Next Generation, K’Ehleyer, a half-human and half-Klingon hybrid, is a trusted ambassador and aide to the Klingon emperor, the closest a woman can come to ruling in their phallocentric world. Disastrously for her, K’Ehleyer commits the ultimate hybrid crime. She is content to be liminal in her racial identification (though constantly trying to suppress her Klingon side) and has a child. She is brutally murdered in the same episode in which she introduces that child, Alexander—technically one quarter human, destined to become a great spiritual leader of his people. In The Next Generation’s “Firstborn,” an adult Alexander travels back in time to kill himself as a child if he can’t fully embrace Klingon culture and eschew human culture. Though he has become a legendary hero (or soon will), he resents the burden of being even partially human. Alexander wants to kill himself to prevent himself from not becoming a true Klingon, inadvertently causing his father’s death. A complicated motivation for what amounts to temporal suicide; again, this has been grounded in his psychological struggles as a hybrid. Racial composition determines personality. When The Next Generation premiered in 1987, the series introduced the first of several new hybrid human/alien characters. The presence of Deanna Troi, the half-human, half-Betazoid ship’s counselor, may have been intended as a tribute to Spock, hinting that this wouldn’t be a “real” Trek show without a hybrid on the bridge. Voyager also featured a hybrid from the beginning. Deep Space Nine took four years to introduce one. “Indiscretion”

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focused on a former Cardassian leader, Gul Ducat, searching for his halfBajorian, half-Cardassian daughter, Ziyal, to kill her, as her existence would prove problematic for him. Ducat eventually chose to return with her to his home planet and deal with the inevitable political and cultural acceptance problems, a rare instance in which the maladjusted psychology of the hybrid was not the central storyline and can be seen as a positive development. However, the episode did evoke the classic stereotype as an expositional shortcut; the daughter herself had no real personality, serving merely as a plot device. She did return to Deep Space Nine, yet her character was rarely seen and had hardly any storyline. 15 Interestingly, according to most fans, Deep Space Nine was the least “authentic” Trek show. 16 Its format was different, set on a fixed space station rather than a moving starship. In the beginning, there was no captain. Also, it’s the only Trek show to feature a classic biracial child (female, naturally), the half-Japanese, half-Irish offspring of one of the main characters, Miles O’Brien. Still, the child and her mother were rarely seen. Although The Next Generation and the others were set a hundred years further in the future from the original series, the stereotype had not much changed from Spock’s prototype. Troi’s hybridity defined her. She did not have a true function on the ship until later in the second season, when she was established as a psychologist. This position is significant since its presence represents an emphasis on “psychology stable personalities” in Trek, an ease of mind denied the hybrid by nature. On the other hand, their biological personality conflict is never noted as being pathological. Troi has empathetic abilities from her Betazoid half, if no real psychological resources of her own. On those episodes where Troi lost her empathetic ability or lost control of it, she would fall apart; logically, Troi should have simply become a “normal” human. Without the Betazoid half of her to define the human half, Troi was left by the scriptwriters with only one option— excessive neurotic behavior. Of course, mental instability stemming from conflict in the blood is the material condition of the mulatto stereotype and likewise the case in Trek. In a Voyager episode called, significantly, “Faces” (the face determines race, perhaps), the hybrid human/Klingon B’Elanna Torres was split into two beings, one “pure-blooded” Klingon, the other “pure” human. By episode’s end, her Klingon DNA has to be reincorporated with her human DNA for her to survive. Before this is achieved, the wholly human Torres remarks, “right now, the way I am, I’m more at peace with myself than I’ve ever been before . . . and that’s a good feeling. . . . I guess I’ll just have to accept the fact that I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting with her [her Klingon half].” She cries. Characters gaze on sympathetically; the scene is constructed so as to make the audience recognize the horror of her subcellular civil war.

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Outside the Trek universe, such division of the self into several selves would be symptomatic of dissociative identity disorder. With any other Trek character (or in our own) universe, such a statement as B’Elanna’s regarding fighting with “her” (meaning herself) would be taken as a sign of mental instability. In a hybrid, such mental instability is accepted as stable. Like Troi before her, B’Elanna is established as a hybrid merely to give the audience insight into her. Unlike other Voyager characters whose personalities are established by what they have done or what has been done to them, the sum total of B’Elanna’s personality is that she’s hybrid. B’Elanna physically lashes out at people; her only explanation, accepted as reasonable, is that sometimes her Klingon blood becomes difficult to control. This statement is contradictory to scientific facts established in the Trek universe: the DNA of all humanoid species in the galaxy derives from a single race. Partially to explain why so many aliens were humanoid and perhaps to explain why alien species could produce mixed children, The Next Generation’s “The Chase” established that all such species were the result of a cosmic seeding project by a primeval sentient humanoid race (a form of genetic imperialism, perhaps). Therefore, at the most basic level, all alien races are the same. This would mean, logically, that any behavioral differences from species to species could not be essential; they must be either environmental or philosophical. Trek boasts a tradition of explaining its facts after establishing them, rarely considering the implications of their own brand of science from episode to episode. Still, the perniciousness of the mulatto stereotype is reflected in the fact that it took nearly thirty years for fan questions as to why alien species could procreate to register. Even then and with the above explanation, there remains a basic acceptance that character is biologically determined, belying the show’s internal logic. The stereotype remains more understandable to an audience on a visceral level because it remains so familiar within our culture. When Paramount launched Voyager in 1995, the series was touted as a return to classic Trek. Paramount was careful to feature a broad spectrum of ethnic minorities and staged a celebrated search for “the first reoccurring female captain.” They also included a hybrid, B’Elanna Torres, whose every thought and action is determined by her struggle to reconcile her internal biological conflict. Torres’s personality adhered to a thirty-year-old pattern. She was estranged from her family. She was persecuted by both of her hereditary cultures for being a hybrid. She hated the more savage “Other” side of herself and feared her own tendency toward atavistic behavior. Initially, she was the only main character who had had no romantic liaisons, at present or referred to from the past. 17 The culmination of this use of the mulatto stereotype occurred in “Faces” when Torres was split into two people, one Human, one Klingon. As if to underscore that the hybrid stereotype was directly based on the tragic mulatto

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stereotype, in itself derived from the persistence of Anglo stereotypes concerning black people, the two “selves” were behaviorally and figuratively marked as stereotypical black and white. The Klingon Torres had darker skin and kinkier hair; she was savage, instinctual, anti-intellectual, and possessed of a voracious sexual appetite (referred to, not demonstrated). Though she possessed the same store of knowledge as the human Torres, she didn’t know how to do anything but fight, hunt, kill. In the end, she dies saving the human Torres, continuing the tradition of a black character sacrificing oneself to save a white one. The human Torres, on the other hand, appeared to be the poster child for the cult of white womanhood. More delicate and weaker, she used her intellect and eschewed savagery. In the end, she makes the tearful admission that her life is destined to be a struggle because she will always be fighting her blood. This episode left practically no aspect of the stereotype undramatized. The only missing element was an attempt to “pass” for the “more civilized” race; that is, human. Trek attempts to project a liberal and positive outlook. In many ways, its depictions of conventional ethnic groups are encouraging for the future of race relations. How many other shows contained Asians, Native Americans, African Americans, Arabs, and other ethnic groups as lead characters all living together harmoniously? Trek was rewarded for its ethnic diversity in casting, yet in terms of racial equality, the franchise strives to have its cake and eat it, too. By constantly returning to the tragic mulatto stereotype to define different species, Trek’s world perpetuates the ideas that character is biologically essential, race is immutable, and people of different colors and habits are indeed different species. Trek preaches tolerance for others; for that it is justly praised. Ironically, though, the franchise does so by simultaneously existing as oddly retro and intolerant in regard to its interracial offspring. ADDENDUM When I wrote this chapter, Star Trek: Enterprise (2001) had not yet begun airing. Such prequels often offer the opportunity to examine the origins of standard behavior in the original series. In the case of hybrid characters in Enterprise, the result was to find ways to erase them from the narrative soon after they appeared. Interestingly, almost all the hybrid characters in Enterprise had the same human parent, Commander “Trip” Tucker. The first hybrid was created when Trip accidentally became pregnant from an alien woman (“the first recorded instance of an interspecies pregnancy with a human”). The child is taken away by the mother and never seen again. The second hybrid appeared in an episode in which the crew met their descendants on a future Enterprise, and Trip encounters his and T’Pol’s (a Vulcan)

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son. By episode’s end, the son disappears from the world—whether dead or erased from the time line is left up in the air. The third was an artificially created female child using DNA from Trip and T’Pol. The child is used as a tool to undermine human/alien relations and is called “the most dangerous enemy humanity has ever faced.” The characters employing the child are villains; still, it is disturbing that Enterprise’s writers chose to evoke the tragic/savage mulatto trope and supposed evils of miscegenation as a “logical” means of destabilization. The Federation is saved, but the child dies. Given Commander Tucker’s central position in the creation of hybrid characters in the early Trek universe, it isn’t such a surprise that one of the final acts of Enterprise is to kill off Trip. NOTES 1. This chapter was first written in 1996. Voyager (1996–2001) had just started, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993–1999) hadn’t ended, and Star Trek Enterprise (2001–2005) hadn’t yet begun. 2. The New Merriam-Webster Dictionary, 4th ed. 3. Dr. Josiah Nott, 1844, quoted in William Stanton, The Leopard’s Spots: Scientific Attitudes toward Race in America 1815–59 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 68. 4. Stanton, Leopard’s Spots, 54–72. 5. For more on the stereotype of the mulatto in America, see Judith R. Berzon’s book Neither White nor Black: The Mulatto Character in American Fiction (New York: New York University Press, 1978). 6. Voyager introduced a child hybrid, Naomi Wildman, also played by a Caucasian actress. She is only seen as an adult once, briefly, in a time-slipping episode. In another time-slipping episode from Enterprise, “E2,” there is a hybrid descendant of Captain Archer who was played by an Asian actress. She is never seen again after that episode. 7. Michael Okuda, Denise Okuda, and Debbie Mirek, The Star Trek Encyclopedia: A Reference Guide to the Future (New York: Pocket Books, 1994), 19. 8. Sander L. Gilman, Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race, and Madness (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985), 16. 9. Gilman, Difference and Pathology, 17–18. 10. Gilman, Difference and Pathology, 20. 11. In Star Trek: The Next Generation, the mission became “to boldly go where no one has gone before.” 12. Since the initial writing of this article, there have been four more movies and another spin-off, Star Trek: Enterprise. 13. Okuda, Okuda, and Mirek, Star Trek Encyclopedia, iii. 14. Except for two characters—Ba’el, who is half-Romulan and half-Klingon and yearned to be more civilized, and Ziyal, who is half-Cardassian and half-Bajorian and tried to straddle both races, neither of which completely accepted her—all the other hybrid characters are halfhuman and another race. This inadvertently brings up two intriguing implications: either humans are universally attractive or humans will sleep with anything. Or both. 15. In subsequent episodes, Ziyal is rejected by both species. Eventually, she develops a relationship with a Cardassian who is an exile on the space station (and therefore also an outcast). Her character appears in only four more episodes after that and is eventually murdered in the episode “Sacrifice of Angels,” reinforcing the hybrids-must-not breed trope. 16. According to various letter columns in Star Trek magazines. 17. During the last season of Voyager, the writers seemed to make an effort to address this stereotypical paradigm, but it was hard to shake. B’Elanna Torres started a relationship with

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Tom Paris (human) and eventually married him. However, when she found herself pregnant in an episode entitled “Lineage,” she was struck by an almost pathological hatred of the visible markers of her mixed heritage when she learned that her daughter also would carry such markers. She tried to have the child’s Klingon DNA eradicated in utero to change her face so she could “pass,” yet another behavior attributable to the tragic mulatto trope. In a later episode, “Prophecy,” renegade Klingons regarded her unborn child as a foretold messianic figure, fulfilling the Star Trek track for the hybrid character.

Chapter Five

Science Fiction as Social Consciousness Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Star Trek: The Next Generation Brian L. Ott and Eric Aoki

As a genre, science fiction operates according to the principle of distortion. 1 Its countless literary, cinematic, and televisual texts fabulate new worlds that, while not entirely unfamiliar, necessarily distort aspects of present-day society. The distortions intrinsic to science fiction—cultural, political, economic, ecological, religious, historical, and so on—are commonly articulated as utopian or dystopian. Utopian fictions depict a world thought to be better than our own in some key capacity, while dystopian fictions narrate one far worse. Through this process, science fiction fosters perspective by incongruity, which allows us to see our existing social world more clearly. In so doing, the genre frames our ideas and attitudes about technology, governance, commerce, and social relations, among others. Perhaps no science-fiction (inter)text has done this more aggressively or successfully than Star Trek. The franchise’s live-action TV series, featurelength films, comic books, novels, toys, and other merchandising ventures impact everything from public policy and moral philosophy to academic research and everyday speech. The scope and depth of Trek’s cultural influence is due in large measure to its populist appeal, which McLaren describes as “a positive view of the future of humanity in which there is no poverty or crime and everyone lives together in peace.” 2 As a utopian future fiction, Trek fashions a world supposedly free of the social injustices (racism, sexism, heteronormativity) that plague contemporary society. But if Trek’s imagined world is to be held up as a utopian vision, it is crucial that we carefully interrogate the ideological biases and blinders of the franchise’s vision. 53

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Star Trek: The Next Generation, which aired from September 1987 to May 1994, affords a particularly fascinating, popular, and influential element of the larger Trek franchise to explore matters of cultural difference and the politics of identity. Based on an analysis of its depictions of race, gender, and sexuality, we argue that The Next Generation appeals to a collective vision that reaffirms our current cultural hegemony with regard to identity politics and thereby constrains our ability to imagine and actualize a more progressive future. CONSTRUCTING “OTHERNESS” THROUGH SPECIEALITY In The Next Generation’s twenty-fourth-century world, racial and ethnic prejudices have supposedly been eliminated within the Federation. Racial minorities hold positions of authority while persons of diverse ethnic and racial backgrounds live and work together in harmony. That racial differences are never mentioned aboard the Enterprise seemingly suggests that race has become a nonissue. Closer examination, however, indicates that racial prejudices in The Next Generation have been displaced, not erased, by projecting racial difference onto alien species. 3 Since the crew is comprised almost entirely of humans, played predominantly by white actors and whose culture (customs, habits, food, and attire) is eminently European, humanity (the dominant culture) is coded principally as white. In turn, minority actors who play humans are stripped of their cultured identities and absorbed into the dominant (white) culture. If the representation of “whiteness” is invisible to itself, this remains the norm by which everything else is measured. To the extent that humans provide the locus (center) of action, alien species are constructed as “Others,” and whiteness is recentered. To better understand the ways The Next Generation “others” racial difference, it proves helpful to examine one alien species in depth as an example. Klingons are among the most frequently depicted species, appearing in each series. In the original series, humans and Klingons were bitter enemies; on The Next Generation, the species lives peacefully, if uneasily, alongside one another. Despite a seventy-year Federation-Klingon alliance, only one Klingon, Lieutenant Worf, has achieved the “honor” of serving as an Enterprise officer. Though Klingon, Worf was raised by humans. Given the absence of other Klingons in Starfleet, Worf’s background functions as the chief signifier for the permissibility of his “difference.” His preferred status is closely tied to “proper” upbringing, to his assimilation into the dominant culture, and to his rejection of his cultural heritage. In instances depicting Worf’s decision to explore his “Klingon-ness,” he leaves the Enterprise. Worf’s presence, then, serves to value difference only at the level of display, promoting intolerance for cultural difference (pluralism) at the level of sub-

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jectivity. By inviting viewers to read his “specieal” difference as “cultural” difference, Worf perpetuates racial stereotypes. Worf, as with the other Klingons, is depicted as physically powerful, instinctively violent, overtly sexual. He is, writes Salamon, “a white man’s nightmare of black masculinity,” 4 an amalgamation of the coarsest black stereotypes. Worf’s position as chief of security as well as his aggressive behavior becomes complicit with a warrior motif. While other bridge officers rely on rationality and communication to solve conflict, Worf’s response is uniformly characterized by anger and violence. As Gibbs explains, “Black males are portrayed by the mass media in a limited number of roles, most of them deviant, dangerous, and dysfunctional.” 5 Instinctual violence is not the only damaging black male stereotype perpetuated through Worf. When invited to swim in “Conspiracy,” Worf declines: “I do not like swimming. It is too much like bathing.” His remark legitimizes racist jokes about hygiene. Moreover, Worf’s sexuality is constructed around what Byrd calls “the black buck mythic type.” 6 One archetypal media image of black men is as sexual superhumans, “violent and frenzied as they lust for white flesh.” 7 In the episode “Haven,” Worf claims he cannot have sexual relations with human (white) women because, “Human women are too fragile. I would have to restrain myself too much.” This affirms racist jokes about the black phallus, exposing the link between black male sexuality, violence, and racism in the United States. The cultural fallout is that unless such representations are contextualized within the frame of a “white [patriarchy] . . . we risk making it appear that the problems of misogyny, sexism, and all the behaviors this thinking supports and condones, including rape, male violence against women, is a black male thing.” 8 Though Worf is The Next Generation’s only “regular” Klingon, several episodes focus on Klingon culture. These episodes create potentially progressive spaces for viewing race by constructing honor and duty as guiding Klingon principles. Yet on balance, these episodes portray Klingons in a way that dangerously essentializes and polarizes black and white cultures. The first, “Heart of Glory,” has Worf assigned to oversee two Klingons whom the Enterprise rescues from a Ferengi attack. Proclaiming their dislike for the Federation-Klingon alliance, the Klingons implore Worf to reclaim the “true Klingon warrior spirit . . . and give up his life with the humans.” 9 Drawing on the stereotype of black males as inherently violent and driven by savage/ tribal instinct, 10 this episode establishes the “warrior spirit” as an innate, “natural” quality of Klingons—also implying that Klingon (black) and human (white) cultures are mutually exclusive. Such a binarism serves to marginalize black culture and to recenter white culture. That Worf is unable to be truly Klingon while amid humans invites viewers to see his “Klingon-ness” as too disruptive and threatening to the Enterprise’s privileged and “civilized” space.

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In “A Matter of Honor,” First Officer Riker serves aboard the Klingon battlecruiser Pagh as part of a cultural exchange program. Soon after arrival, the Klingon captain accuses Riker of spreading dangerous bacteria, ordering the Enterprise’s destruction. Though Riker is ultimately vindicated and the Enterprise spared, the characterization of Klingons as a race easily provoked to violence is rehearsed yet again. Riker is accepted on the Klingon cruiser only after appropriating Klingon culture, which he rapidly sheds upon his return. As with “Heart of Glory,” black and white are here structured as a “bifurcated system of representation” 11 in which one concept is privileged over the other. In The Next Generation’s third season, viewers received their first glance of the Klingon home world in “Sins of the Father,” significant visually, aurally, and narratively for racializing place. The dreary backgrounds and dramatic soundtrack used to depict the capital city are dark and foreboding, suggesting an underlying savagery and barbarism that draws on stereotypes of “native” Africa and depressed inner cities. This view is confirmed early on when Worf’s brother Kurn is jumped and knifed in a dimly lit passageway. Later, two unnamed Klingons emerge from the shadows and attack Picard at night. The scene captures vividly what Hall terms a “base-image of the ‘native’” with “the isolated white figure, alone ‘out there,’ confronting his Destiny or shouldering his Burden in the ‘heart of darkness.’” 12 By tapping into stereotypical depictions of “the hood” and black gang violence, the episode constructs an “imagined homogenous community” 13 of coded criminality and threat. Such localization of crime, notes Goldberg, “magnifies the image of racialized criminality, confining the overwhelming proportion of crimes involving the racially marginalized to racially marginal space.” 14 It depoliticizes the problems of contemporary inner cities, suggesting they are inherently “black” problems. The Next Generation’s spatial racialization is all the more evident in the stark contrast between the Klingon home world and the Enterprise. Not only is the starship well illuminated, but it offers a space where persons have faces, feel safe, and experience community. In the context of utopian imagination, The Next Generation invites viewers to idealize the humans’ homogenous space while allowing them to feel socially progressive by superficially cloaking that space in the guise of diversity. So, too, are the images of Klingon females constructed around stereotypes for black women. In the first five seasons, only three Klingon women appear as primary characters. The first to occupy a principal role was Ambassador K’Ehleyr in “The Emissary.” She was sent to assist the Enterprise in thwarting a Klingon battlecruiser from attacking a defenseless world. Throughout the mission, K’Ehleyr makes repeated aggressive sexual advances toward Worf. At one point she attempts to seduce him, saying, “I don’t bite. Well, actually I do.” These actions function to perpetuate the

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image of black women as hypersexual and sexually deviant. 15 Though Worf struggles to resist K’Ehleyr’s explicit advances, he ultimately succumbs. In accordance with Klingon custom, Worf proposes to K’Ehleyr; she rejects his marriage proposal, reinforcing her depiction as a harlot, reproducing what Sims-Wood calls “the image of the black woman as impure and loose.” 16 B’Etor and Lursa Duras are The Next Generation’s only other major female Klingon characters. The sisters appear in “Redemption,” season four’s finale and “Redemption II,” season five’s premiere. The underlying story involves the Enterprise crew trying to prevent a Klingon civil war. B’Etor and Lursa betray the Klingon Supreme Council by forming a pact with the Romulans, longtime blood enemies. To conceal their traitorous alliance, the Duras attempt to gain Worf’s allegiance by seducing him. Hoping to manipulate Worf with their bodies, their actions further code black female sexuality as deviant/stereotypical “hos” and “bitches.” 17 Though Worf resists their advances, B’Etor and Lursa’s alliance with the Romulans ultimately plunges the Klingon Empire into civil war. The intersection of racist and sexist coding of Klingon females is further evident in the sisters’ attire and their revealing bustlines, which are widely known in Trek circles as “Klingon klevage.” 18 The danger of such representations resides in complicity with historically oppressive images and objectification of the black female form. As hooks explains, “Representations of black female bodies in contemporary popular culture rarely subvert or critique images of black female sexuality which were part of the cultural apparatus of the 19th-century racism . . . [The black female is] objectified in a manner similar to that of black female slaves who stood on the auction blocks.” 19 B’Etor and Lursa’s overt sexualization privileges a future where racial and gender commodification of Otherness is acceptable; their lying, scheming, and traitorous behavior implies those who define their subjectivities in relation to humanity (white culture) occupy a higher ethical ground. The Next Generation’s depictions suggest several important implications for identity politics. That race is constructed as “alien” and literally located at the border of the Federation sustains the dominant center/margin social structure. Unlike the “marginality one chooses as a site of resistance . . . [in] critical response to domination,” the marginality we witness is “imposed by oppressive structures” 20 that separate and alienate in the form of the Other. By turning race into something “encountered” only by travel to foreign lands (worlds), The Next Generation exoticizes the racialized Other, transforming it into an object of cultural tourism. Since those many species the Enterprise encounters disappear after each episode, the decontextualized and dehistoricized aliens are reduced to crude racial/ethnic stereotypes. In contrast, human characters return to the screen each week. Viewers learn about them and their (white) culture—all in the Enterpise’s utopian context. The Next Generation

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invites viewers to participate in a collective vision of the future that seems socially progressive because it appears diverse, even as it renders diversity comfortable by driving out and alienating cultural difference. GENDER CONSTRUCTION AND THE RECENTERING OF MASCULINITY Charges of gender bias in Trek’s futuristic world have been leveled ever since the original series. During The Next Generation’s development process, producers pledged to eliminate previous gender biases and, as a show of good faith, the original series prologue “to go where no man has gone before” was changed to “go where no one has gone before.” Executives committed themselves to producing several episodes expressly concerned with gender inequities. Captain Picard offers an interesting contrast to the original’s Kirk. Whereas the latter embodies traditional tough, rugged spacecowboy cliches, Picard emerges as sensitive, refined. His favorite activities include listening to classical music, reading Shakespeare, and sipping Earl Grey tea in his quarters, which are not stereotypically masculine. The series further deconstructs gender stereotypes by featuring two strong females, Deanna Troi and Dr. Beverly Crusher. Troi serves as psychological counselor, and Crusher as the chief medical doctor. By expanding traditional notions of masculinity and femininity, The Next Generation broadened its appeal. However, the series continues to define genders as relative to one another. The juxtaposition of male roles of captain, first officer, chief of security, and chief engineer with female roles of counselor and doctor suggests men act while women take care of the men acting. Masculinity is constructed as autonomous, authoritative, and active; femininity contrived as supportive, responsive, and passive. The consequence of conceptualizing masculinity and femininity as a mutually exclusive duality is that this implies a social hierarchy in which “masculinity” is regarded as the preferred set of human norms and behaviors. However, there exist several instances wherein this hierarchy is turned on its head. The classic two-part “The Best of Both Worlds,” in which the Enterprise and humanity must battle the Borg’s cybernetic collective, provides a prime example. Nearly every idea and action favoring the Enterprise originates with a female—Crusher, Troi, Guinan, or Shelby. When Picard is abducted, first officer Riker is quickly feminized in relation to the ambitious, quick-witted, hypermasculine Shelby, Starfleet’s “best tactician.” 21 Riker’s more “feminine” approach, involving collaboration, proves more productive than Shelby’s competitive attitude. Though The Next Generation here appears to equivocate, traditional gender roles are reversed, not ruptured. When

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the “feminine” category is finally acknowledged as the more valued, a male character enacts it. In addition, narratively The Next Generation “represents wom[e]n as the object of a phallocentric gaze.” 22 Nowhere is this more evident than in “The Perfect Mate,” in which Briam presents Alrik with a “priceless gift” intended to cease years of conflict between their peoples: Kamala, a woman prepared since birth to bond with Alrik. In true Trek fashion, she—an empathic mesomorph—can read the thoughts of her mate, then transform herself into whatever he desires. Kamala’s identity, then, is defined entirely in terms of male sexual desire. At one point, Dr. Crusher objects to this “gift” as it prostitutes Kamala. Picard quickly dismisses this complaint, citing the Federation’s Prime Directive—the principle of noninterference in the natural development of alien cultures. Picard’s suggestion that gifting women is “natural” in some recesses obscures the constructedness of all cultural practices. Further, since Picard has violated the Prime Directive on numerous occasions when it suited him, his inaction in this instance symbolically sanctions Kamala’s prostitution. In addition to narrative objectification of women, The Next Generation visually treats women as objects of a “controlling and curious gaze” 23—a process Freud termed scopophilia. Mulvey states: “[women’s] appearance [is] coded for strong visual and erotic impact so that they can be said to connote to-be-looked-at-ness.” 24 When The Next Generation launched, all officers aboard the Enterprise appeared in standard Starfleet uniforms, except for Deanna Troi, clad in a miniskirt for the pilot. In response to viewer complaints that this made her appear “loose” and “cheerleaderlike,” 25 her uniform was lengthened but her neckline lowered. By dressing women in scanty apparel, The Next Generation reinforces their status as (passive) objects to be owned and controlled. Asserts LeMoncheck, “An important feature of our characterization of sex objectification is that the sex object’s ability to attract or excite her objectifier sexually is the vehicle . . . of her dehumanization.” 26 By inscribing the “male gaze” within a utopian appeal to collective imagination, The Next Generation structurally limits the ability of the uncritical viewer to envision a set of social relations where women are valued beyond their ability to arouse desire. The Next Generation episode that most explicitly addresses gender equity issues is “Angel One.” As part of a search to find survivors from a freighter missing for several years, the crew stumbles upon the matriarchal planet Angel One. There, contemporary gender stereotypes are reversed. Men are portrayed as sexual objects, not allowed to participate in government because they are too emotional. Women on Angel One control the government and work to support men. When the crew locates the freighter, they learn that the survivors are rebelling against the planet’s social and political power structure. Upon capturing these rebels, their government sentences them to death.

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Outraged by this decision, commander William Riker appeals to the government to set the rebels free. Initially ignored because he is a man, Riker manages to use his body as an object of desire to seduce Angel One’s leader Beata, persuading her to forgo the death penalty in favor of exile. Riker’s acceptance of the sanction suggests that segregating the minority reflects an “acceptable” solution to gender inequality. In failing to rupture or even challenge hierarchies of gender and stereotypes that create inequities, The Next Generation reproduces them. HOMOSEXUALITY STILL ALIEN IN THE FUTURE In this final section of analysis, our aim is to disrupt heterosexuality as a normalized category by inquiring into the construction of sexuality on The Next Generation. Adopting Plummer’s definition of heterosexism as “a diverse set of social practices . . . in which the homo/hetero binary distinction is at work whereby heterosexuality is privileged,” 27 we contend that The Next Generation envisions and fosters a heterosexist future. Among the most common plot devices on The Next Generation is the exploration of romantic relationships. Nearly all the principal characters have been involved in multiple romantic couplings. The frequency with which the series employs this device suggests that loving, caring relationships remain a vital part of the future. Though the couplings are often interspecieal (racial), they have never been same sex. In seven seasons of exploring unknown worlds and species, The Next Generation never depicted an openly gay character. The absence of same-sex couples invites viewers to imagine a future in which homosexuality is nonexistent. The “symbolic annihilation” 28 of gay men and women in the self-proclaimed utopian world of the twenty-fourth century can be interpreted in numerous ways. Perhaps homosexuality is simply considered unnatural or has been “cured” by advanced medical technology. If these readings seem drastic, consider the narrative development of two episodes that explicitly address sexual orientation. In “The Host,” Dr. Crusher falls in love with Odan, a member of the Trill race sent to settle a dispute between Peliar’s Alpha and Beta moons. At their courtship’s outset, Beverly is unaware that Trill are comprised of a symbiont being and a host body. The symbiont carries the emotions, memories, and beliefs of the Trill—the Trill’s soul. When Odan’s host body is mortally wounded, the symbiont is then placed into a woman’s host body. Unable to accept her lover in female form, Dr. Crusher ends the relationship, noting that her culture is uncomfortable with these changes. Though Dr. Crusher may have been referring to dramatic physical changes in general (her lover in a new body), that those changes are sex(ually)-coded cannot be ignored. As the crew waited for the female host body to arrive, the symbiont being was

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temporarily placed inside Will Riker’s body to keep it alive. During this time, Beverly continued her romantic involvement with the Trill being. The relationship was then “stigmatized” only when it became a same-sex coupling. Goffman explains, “the Greeks . . . originated the term stigma to refer to bodily signs designed to expose something unusual and bad about the moral status of the signifier.” 29 In this case, the bodily sign marked as “impure” is the shared sex of the romantic partners. Important to how this episode functions are the unspoken assumptions embedded in the piece regarding sexuality. Since Odan’s soul never dies (it is simply placed in a new body), Dr. Crusher’s decision to end the relationship defines sexuality as a binaristic choice concerning male or female sexual partners rather than a range of experiences involving passion, love, and connection. This establishes a framework in which, Dyer explains, “we are led to treat heterosexuality and homosexuality as sharply opposed categories of persons when in reality both heterosexual and homosexual responses and behavior are to some extent experienced by everybody in their life.” 30 A deeper examination of the episode’s construction of a “structure of feeling” supports a related conclusion. Viewers are invited to “care” about the relationship and, when it ends, disappointment and sadness are evoked. But the episode does not encourage viewers to be critical of Dr. Crusher’s actions, which are framed as “understandable” since she is, after all, not gay. The audience’s acceptance of her “choice” reaffirms the taken-for-granted notion that homosexuality and heterosexuality are mutually exclusive categories. The second episode directly to address sexual orientation, “The Outcast,” aired during the fifth season. The J’naii, an androgynous race, summon the Enterprise to help locate a missing shuttlecraft. While searching, Riker is assigned to work with a J’naii pilot named Soren. The two quickly develop a romantic relationship. Given Soren’s sexual ambiguity, the relationship has, at least at the level of display, homosexual overtones. But any progressive possibilities are undercut as viewers are repeatedly reminded Will is not “really” gay. First, his status as a “normal” man is consistently affirmed through his traditional masculine coding as strong, rugged, self-confident, authoritative, and active. Historically, the depiction of male homosexuality as abnormal, explains Chauncey, has been closely tied to femininity: The abnormality (or queerness) of the “fairy,” that is, was defined as much by his “woman-like” character or “effeminacy” as his solicitation of male sexual partners; the “man” who responded to solicitations—no matter how often— was not considered abnormal, a “homosexual,” so long as he abided by masculine gender conventions. Indeed, the centrality of effeminacy to the representation of the “fairy” allowed many conventionally masculine men . . . to engage in extensive sexual activity with other men without risking stigmatization and the loss of their status as “normal men.” 31

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Though Soren is “without sex,” she confides to Will that she’s always possessed female tendencies. Despite her androgynous appearance, the relationship is thereby framed in heterosexual terms. Soren’s feelings of “femaleness” prove central to the narrative’s structure. On Soren’s planet, sexual preference is banned; all nonconformists are diagnosed as mentally ill and relegated to therapy. When Soren’s family and friends discover her female tendencies, she is taken into custody and put on trial. Despite pleas for acceptance and Riker’s attempt to defend her, Soren is deemed ill and sentenced to treatment. When Riker attempts a rescue, he learns that the therapy has “worked,” and Soren is now convinced her feelings were inappropriate. Though the audience is invited to feel upset that Soren has been robbed of her “true” feelings, her feelings concerned her sex, not her sexuality. That it “feels like” Soren has been denied her sexuality serves to reinforce the framing of sexuality as a choice between two possible and opposite-sex pairings. Set five hundred years in the future, the episode does nothing to challenge the heteronormative present, at best articulating an ambivalence toward the political preference it ought to convey. CONCLUSION Given the capacity of science fiction to shape our vision of and attitudes about the future; for example, what to strive for (utopian fictions) and what to assiduously avoid (dystopian fictions), we must pay careful attention to the meanings and ideologies communicated by key texts. We have undertaken an analysis of representations of race, gender, and sexuality in The Next Generation, concluding that the series (re)produces a wide array of cultural stereotypes and hegemonic codes that undercut efforts aimed at a more progressive and just identity politics. That The Next Generation does so in the context of a futuristic world, one which viewers are told has moved beyond such practices, is deeply troubling, for it naturalizes those prejudices, thereby impeding social change. NOTES Portions of this chapter were republished with permission from Brian L. Ott and Eric Aoki, “Popular Imagination and Identity Politics: Reading the Future in Star Trek: The Next Generation,” Western Journal of Communication 65, no. 4 (2001): 392–415. 1. Brian L. Ott, “(Re)Framing Fear: Equipment for Living in a Post-9/11 World,” in Cylons in America: Critical Studies in “Battlestar Galactica,” ed. Tiffany Potter and C. W. Marshall (New York: Continuum, 2008), 13–26. 2. Darcee L. McLaren, “On the Edge of Forever: Understanding the Star Trek Phenomenon As Myth,” in Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American

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Culture, ed. Jennifer E. Porter and Darcee L. McLaren (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 233. 3. Leah Vande Berg, “Liminality: Worf as Metonymic Signifier of Racial, Cultural, and National Differences,” in Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek, ed. Taylor Harrison, Susan Projansky, Kent Ono, and Elyce Rae Helford (Boulder: Westview Press, 1996), 55. 4. Jeff Salamon, “Race Men and Space Men,” Village Voice, February 23, 1992, 47. 5. Jewelle Taylor Gibbs, ed., Young, Black, and Male in America: An Endangered Species (Dover, MA: Auburn House, 1988), 2. 6. Marquita L. Byrd, Multicultural Communication and Popular Culture: Racial and Ethnic Images in Star Trek (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1998), 77. 7. Nagueyalti Warren, “From Uncle Tom to Cliff Huxtable, Aunt Jemima to Aunt Nell: Images of Blacks in Film and Television Industry,” in Images of Blacks in American Culture, ed. Jessie Carney Smith (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988), 57. 8. bell hooks, Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations (New York: Routledge, 1994), 115–16. 9. Larry Nemecek, The Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion (New York: Pocket Books, 1992), 52. 10. Stuart Hall, “Racist Ideologies and the Media,” in Media Studies: A Reader, 2nd ed., ed. Paul Marris and Sue Thornham (New York: New York University Press, 1999), 271–82. 11. Jun Xing, Asian America through the Lens: History, Representations and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 74. 12. Hall, “Racist Ideologies,” 276. 13. Michael Keith and Malcolm Cross, “Racism and the Postmodern City,” in Racism, the City and State, ed. Malcolm Cross and Michael Keith (New York: Routledge, 1993), 8. 14. David Theo Goldberg, “Polluting the Body Politic: Racist Discourse and Urban Location,” in Racism, the City and the State, ed. Malcolm Cross and Michael Keith (New York: Routledge, 1993), 52. 15. bell hooks, Black Looks: Race and Representation (Boston: South End Press, 1992), 62. 16. Janet Sims-Wood, “The Black Female: Mammy, Jemima, Sapphire, and Other Images,” in Images of Blacks in American Culture: A Reference Guide to Information Sources, ed. Jessie Carnie Smith (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988), 240. 17. hooks, Outlaw Culture, 57. 18. Nemecek, The Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion, 169. 19. hooks, Black Looks, 62. 20. bell hooks, Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics (Boston: South End Press, 1990), 153. 21. Nemecek, The Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion, 130. 22. hooks, Black Looks, 126. 23. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” in Feminism and Film Theory, ed. Constance Penley (New York: Routledge, 1988), 59. 24. Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” 62. 25. Nemecek, The Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion, 27. 26. Linda LeMoncheck, Dehumanizing Women: Treating Persons As Sex Objects (New Jersey: Rowman & Allanheld Publishers, 1985), 44. 27. Ken Plummer, “Speaking Its Name: Inventing a Gay and Lesbian Studies,” in Modern Homosexualities: Fragments of Lesbian and Gay Experience, ed. Ken Plummer (London: Routledge, 1992), 19. 28. Larry Gross, “What Is Wrong with This Picture? Lesbian Women and Gay Men on Television,” in Queer Words, Queer Images: Communication and the Construction of Homosexuality, ed. R. Jeffrey Ringer (New York: New York University Press, 1994), 143. 29. Erving Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963), 1. 30. Richard Dyer, “The Role of Stereotypes,” in Media Studies: A Reader, 2nd ed., ed. Paul Marris and Sue Thornham (New York: New York University Press, 1999), 250. 31. George Chauncey, Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World, 1890–1940 (New York: Basic Books, 1994), 13.

Chapter Six

Radically Performing the Borg? Gender Identity and Narratology in Star Trek Tama Leaver

According to feminist critic Anne Cranny-Francis, the genre of science fiction divides into two distinct types. The first, “hard” science fiction, utilizes science and technology simply as a “prop” for “conventional stories of adventure and heroism” while adhering in an unproblematic manner to dominant, conservative constructions of meaning; the second, “soft” science fiction, problematizes aspects of the “everyday, from common sense,” using scientific discourse to disrupt the “normal,” as such potentially creating a conflict with dominant meaning systems. 1 The former has traditionally been patriarchal and, as such, invariably presents a “boys with their toys” scenario. 2 Utilizing Cranny-Francis’s hard/soft dichotomy as boundary points for an analytical spectrum, the popular American science-fiction television franchise Star Trek ostensibly falls toward the harder side. Often, installments present a latent ideology of “optimistic imperialism” in the guise of exploration and multiculturalism, this completely in keeping with the dominant political and military discourses of the United States. 3 One of the high-tech “toys” encountered by the crews of the USS Enterprise and later by the USS Voyager is the Borg: cybernetically enhanced humanoids, linked together with a single collective “hive” mind. In the initial skirmishes with the Borg in The Next Generation, the Borg were represented as androgynous. Later encounters, specifically in the film Star Trek: First Contact and the television series Star Trek: Voyager, dealt with cyborgs that were explicitly and purposefully gendered. 4 Whereas a textual or genre reading of the Trek franchise primarily focuses on the meanings and ideology “intended” by producers and writers, a more nuanced analysis can be constructed if audiences are, in some manner, accounted for in terms of meaning creation. In those cases in which 65

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“female” Borg are encountered, the commercially constructed science fiction of Trek, though usually positioned at the spectrum’s harder end, can at times be read by audiences in a softer manner. In terms of gender, the audience may construct meanings from the text that challenge the dominant patriarchal hegemony rather than allying with it. This is especially the case with episodic television; the serialized nature of the narrative allows audiences to alter their reading(s) and engagement of the narrative as it unfolds, unlike the largely self-contained/cohesive feature-film format. Although Trek remains a complicated, often contradictory narrative universe, it is possible to situate and contain particular moments of engagement. This chapter engages with First Contact and Voyager but not the latter three seasons of that series, which contradict and/or undermine the strong reading of Seven of Nine in terms of her relationship with Captain Janeway (the once absent and rediscovered mother figure) and Chakotay (the normalizing heterosexual male love interest). Up to that point, Seven can be read as a radical figure. The way in which Seven’s performativity was addressed and eventually closed off in the following seasons is worthy of future analysis, but it’s equally important to acknowledge that viewers at the beginning of season five could experience and engage with Seven’s story in a way not yet spoiled or challenged. Alice Krige’s character, the Borg Queen, was the first notable “female” Borg in Trek’s meta-narrative. The characterization was driven by the constraints on cinematic production. Transference of the Borg from the small to large screen necessitated that the disembodied collective of the Borg be focused into a single character or group to allow a direct, immediate, resolvable conflict. So the Borg Queen was created. The first image of her presents a challenge to traditional ideas of embodied gender (and embodiment per se): she appears as only a torso and head with cybernetic implants and a metallic spine, suspended from thick black cables. The torso is lowered onto a waiting headless “body” with which the Queen’s upper section interconnects. 5 As Robert Wilson has argued, the replacement of biological elements with cybernetic implants “evoke[s] a consciousness of dis-integration,” implicitly challenging the coherence and borders of the human body. 6 The Borg Queen represents a more potent challenge than a simple implant or prosthesis, since her entire body is modularized and fragmented. Moreover, the Queen’s lack of stability contrasts with the ostensibly coherent and protected white male bodies of the “great men”—Picard and Data—that the movie glorifies. 7 The combination of her physically fragmented body and overtly sexualized performance “code” her character as representatively seductive and threatening, in keeping with the manner in which technologies are deployed in First Contact.

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What the Queen lacks, however, matters less than what her character has metaphorically appropriated in terms of creating the predominant psychological tension between the Borg and the mandatory “hero,” Picard. In First Contact’s opening scene, Picard recalls when he (in an episode of The Next Generation) was “assimilated”—essentially becoming part of the Borg collective. 8 The traumatic image that simultaneously infuriates and terrifies Picard is the memory of the Borg penetrating him as they augmented Picard with long cylindrical cybernetic implants. In psychoanalytic terms, the flashback reveals an appropriated phallus traumatically invading a white heterosexual male body. However, the trauma Picard experiences is not solely sexual in nature. Picard’s coherence as an individual in humanist terms is thrown into flux in the flashback, since he is intricately and intimately linked to technology; his subjectivity can no longer even purport to maintain a dichotomy between organic and technological. This challenges the very humanist ontology that Picard as captain relies upon. Later, when the captain again confronts the Borg Queen, he is overwhelmed by a jump-cut flashback of her taunting him as a phallic drill penetrates his eye. Likewise, when Data, the android attempting to attain the (traditional) humanist ideal of a white male existence (often described in the series simply as “being human”), is captured by the Borg, the Queen again appropriates threatening phallic imagery, “invading” Data’s body with two penetrative drills, the double phallus. For Data, who is a technological creation, an android, the threat proves more complex. He is ostensibly already a hybrid of technological and organic, 9 but the biological and emotional play a smaller part than he would prefer. However, when the Borg Queen’s new technologies reify Data’s interface between the biological and technological, Data is overwhelmed, at times appearing to completely subsume his usual rationality in the face of experiencing the heightened “pleasures of the flesh” that the Borg Queen offers. So understood, the Queen’s threat is neither exclusively technologically nor organically driven, rather, the menace derives from her explicit challenges to the normalized boundaries between technology and humanity, as well as to the relations between those boundaries and the subjectivity of Data and Picard. In Gender Trouble, Judith Butler argues that neither “gender” nor “sex” is an essential property of identity. Alternately, gender is a performative category, which through its repeated, stylized performances constitutes the idea of an ostensibly prediscursive sex. However controversial, Butler’s argument that “gender identity might be reconceived as a personal/cultural history of received meanings” through which the various performances of gender construct ideas of biological sex is a powerful analytical framework. 10 Moreover, Butler’s model of performativity is particularly empowering for cultural studies due to the implication that radical gender performances not only challenge normalized gender identity but are a means to make visible the

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processes through which both gender and notions of biological sex are constituted. The Queen’s disruptive performativity not only challenges Data and Captain Picard’s traditionally patriarchal perspective, but also edges toward illuminating the artificiality of any essentialist (or humanist) conceptualization of identity. Not only does the Borg Queen metaphorically wield phallic power, she is also the leader, or representative head, of a powerful collective and the Borg “drones,” which she seemingly commands, are almost all male (in terms of actors in the film, at least). Though she can be read as temporarily allowing “softer” readings of science fiction, challenging traditional notions of gender roles and embodiment within the film’s “harder” surrounding narrative, Trek’s pervasive ideological conservatism is ultimately maintained at a narratological level in that the Queen is not only defeated but is also executed in a particularly gruesome manner, with her skin and body being ripped away by powerful corrosives. Significantly, her defeat is engineered by an alliance between those two males she most consistently threatened— Data and Picard—and their success reinforces the ideological status quo, the male characters conquering the technological seductress. The labored symbolism is explicit after the Queen’s death as Picard reasserts his masculinity, picking up the twitching metallic spine and head of the deceased Borg Queen and snapping the spine in two, metaphorically destroying both the appropriated phallus and threat of technological hybridity. The Queen’s radical performativity here is ideologically contained by the conservatism of the Enterprise crew; the cinematic revenge plot is neatly completed. However, the conventions of episodic television mean that later “female” Borg in the Trek universe do not have to be destroyed to resolve the narrative and so can offer a more sustained radical performativity. Trek’s second “female” Borg character initially appeared in a double episode of the Voyager series titled “Scorpion.” Captain Janeway of Voyager is negotiating with the Borg en masse, and a single drone is needed to facilitate communication. At first glance, the drone selected appears similar to the other androgynous Borg, covered in cybernetic implants, protruding appendages, wrapped in bulbous black latex. The first discussion between the captain and the chosen Borg is revealing: DRONE: I speak for the Borg. . . . I am Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct to unimatrix zero one, but you may call me Seven of Nine. JANEWAY: You’re human, aren’t you? DRONE: This body was assimilated eighteen years ago, it ceased to be human at that time. 11

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To Borg characters, “being human” refers not to biological origin, but rather to a discursive construction of social identity. The way identity is constructed within the Borg collective does not differentiate between race or gender, with every member ostensibly working harmoniously toward the “greater good” of the whole. Although the Borg was not added to Trek until the early 1990s, the analogy with a reactionary McCarthyist portrait of Marxist ideals is hard to miss. The Borg then operate as a site of “radical performativity,” conflicting with dominant, normative, American ideals of how race, class, and gender should operate. The Voyager crew respond by trying to direct the Borg to perform “expected” gender roles: Commander Chakotay is the first to assign a gender to Seven of Nine, ordering his subordinate to “bring that female drone to the ready room.” 12 Despite his attempts, Seven of Nine remains a site contesting the normative gender performances of those around her. The “hard” ideological position of the larger/greater Trek meta-narrative shifts at times, or is thrown into flux, by the Borg’s “softening,” challenging, destabilizing radical performativity. Valerie Fulton has observed that any ostensibly resistant or radical character that becomes part of the ongoing crew (and cast) in Trek is invariably reconstructed and normalized to accept and propagate the ideology of conservative “Federation” over and above all others, including that character’s previous culture. 13 In keeping with the meta-narrative’s normalizing demands, during Seven’s first episode, her allegiance and connection to the Borg are challenged before she can be appropriated and become part of Voyager’s crew. As Seven attempts to pilot Voyager back to the Borg collective, Chakotay “links” to her mind in an effort to distract her: CHAKOTAY: You are a human, a human individual. You remember being human. SEVEN: We are Borg. CHAKOTAY: I see a young girl, a family. SEVEN: Irrelevant. Your appeal to my humanity is pointless. CHAKOTAY: Listen to your human side, to yourself, to the little girl. 14 The scene described has male Commander Chakotay trying to convince Seven of her intrinsic “humanity” and also that her humanity is the inescapable and essential core of her identity. Trek’s ideological conservatism is apparent as Chakotay’s attempts to establish essentialism involve a strong appeal to both gender roles, the “little girl” and the “normative” heterosexual nuclear unit, “a family.” When Chakotay’s appeal to Seven’s essential humanity fails, the crew render her unconscious with a powerful electrical

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shock. The means of discipline not only serves to punish Seven’s resistance to normalizing tendencies while severing her communications link to the Borg collective, but proves all the more disturbing in the metaphoric similarity to the way patients labelled as mentally disturbed have been treated by the medical profession at times during the twentieth century (medical institutions being another [re]enforcer of normalizing tendencies). 15 “The Gift” focuses on Seven of Nine’s integration into the crew and opens with the captain asking in a possessive and patronizing tone often reserved for children, “So, how’s the newest addition to our family?” 16 Seven of Nine is immediately positioned by the captain as a wayward child, needing to be brought into line with the “family’s” goals and beliefs. During the episode’s first confrontation between Janeway and Seven, Seven realizes she has been disconnected and removed from the Borg collective and demands to be returned. Janeway refuses, “explaining” to Seven that she is free of the collective and should be pleased. Seven, agitated, is sedated by Voyager’s doctor. A powerful framework for reading Seven of Nine is provided by feminist critic Donna Haraway, who has argued that the image of the cyborg metaphorically reminds viewers that there “is no fundamental, ontological separation in our formal knowledge of machine and organism, of technical and organic.” 17 Although Haraway’s idea of who constitutes a cyborg is more encompassing than the cyborg collective in Trek, the argument remains that as technology becomes part of (previously exclusively organic) subjectivity, many traditional binary divisions in Western humanist thought are challenged, especially the dichotomy of nature and culture, as well as the related male/female dualism. To perpetuate Trek’s conservative ideology, challenges to normalized meaning systems as described by Haraway must be hidden as convincingly as possible. As a result, Seven’s dominant visual image—the black latex cybernetic body covered in prostheses and implants—must be obscured as quickly as possible. Thus, when Captain Janeway is presented with the choice of removing Seven’s implants to ostensibly save her life or to respect her wishes to die with them intact, Janeway states: “This is no ordinary patient. She may have been raised by the Borg, to think like a Borg, but she’s with us now and underneath all that technology she’s a human being whether she’s ready to accept it or not. Until she is ready, someone has to make those decisions for her.” The crew immediately attempts to place Seven in a more traditional humanist framework, trying to reconstruct the Borg into a more “recognizable” female role, in so doing completely denying or at least camouflaging her cyborg existence. 18 To some extent, the normalizing medical discourse within Trek allows an aesthetic obscuring of Seven’s Borg origins. At the conclusion, the doctor says he has removed “82 percent of the Borg hardware” and has reconstructed Seven’s body into an aesthetically “pleasing enough” image. Seven is clothed in a silver, body-hugging catsuit designed to heighten her visual “femininity.” 19

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Despite her new appearance, Seven of Nine continues to confront the “normal” social relations and gender performances of the crew, retaining a sense of radical performativity. When Janeway first decides to have Seven join the crew, she is assigned to and overseen by Harry Kim. 20 He views her in a stereotypically gendered manner and in a cliched performance attempts to seduce her during their work shift: SEVEN: The light is insufficient. HARRY: But it’s relaxing, don’t you think? Afterhours, quiet, Voyager isn’t all Jeffries tubes and cargo bays, y’know. Tell you what, when we’re done here I’ll take you to the holodeck, we’ll run the Katarian moonrise simulation, it’s beautiful. SEVEN: Beauty is irrelevant. Unless you are trying to change the nature of our affiliation. HARRY: What do you mean? SEVEN: I may be new to individuality, but I am not ignorant of human behavior. I’ve noticed your attempts to engage me in idle conversation and I see the ways your pupils dilate when you look at my body. . . . Are you in love with me ensign? HARRY: Well, er, no. SEVEN: Then you wish to copulate? Harry Kim continues to fluster in the face of Seven’s directness as she states that she wishes to “explore her humanity” and human sexuality, commanding Harry to undress. He is embarrassed and uncomfortable with her directness and, after an awkward refusal, leaves. Anne Cranny-Francis suggests that a standard method in the science-fiction genre is to employ an “alien” perspective to societal norms to confront the dominant, usually “invisible” or naturalized ideology, thereby making its operations visible. 21 Seven’s encounter with Harry offers an effective example. Seven makes audible the usually unspoken, such as Harry’s gaze directed at her body and the normalized gendered codes of “seduction.” Further, Seven is a sexually direct and (self-)empowered female figure, antagonistic to the conservative gender performances of other members of the crew. Therefore, Seven’s refusal to operate within the accepted ideological parameters of the dominant crew allows her, despite aesthetic changes, to retain a disruptive—at least in part—radical performativity.

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Over the course of the first Voyager season in which Seven of Nine is a character, she does on some levels bow to the crew’s normalizing discourse and dominant ideology. Seven ceases attempting to return to the Borg collective and begins privileging the crew’s survival over her own return to the Borg. 22 However, an episode one year into her character’s tenure, “Night,” reveals that she does not relinquish her radical, disruptive performativity, at least in terms of gender. 23 Tom Paris, the rebellious male “playboy” and ship’s pilot, is running a “holodeck simulation” of an imagined 1930s science-fiction series called “Captain Proton,” in which he plays the hero. Initially, he takes Harry Kim along as his male sidekick, but the simulation is paused during a crisis. When it resumes, Harry is required elsewhere, so Paris drags a reluctant Seven along. However, instead of offering her the role of the sidekick, he assigns her a different role: SEVEN: My designation? PARIS: Ah, right. You’re Constance Goodheart. You’re my secretary. SEVEN: Secretary? PARIS: Yeah, you tag along on all the missions. Now, I want you to keep the robot occupied while I save the Earth. Paris expects Seven to play a “traditional” female role, screaming and running, leading the menacing robot away. However, Seven’s response to the robot is not to scream and run as Tom (and conservative expectations in general) would dictate. She instead glares at the robot, raises an eyebrow as it approaches, and emphatically declares, “I am Borg” before proceeding to rip out the robot’s mechanical innards. Paris looks dismayed, lamenting that Seven could at least “give it a chance.” The Captain Proton scene is symbolic of Seven’s continued resistance to the performative expectations of those around her. Even when Seven is positioned by them into the relatively disempowered role of the secretary, she responds in a decidedly disruptive manner, retaining her Borg identity, refusing to be socialized into passivity. Seven retains elements of radical performativity and remains disruptive to Trek’s patriarchal normalizing tendencies. In terms of the spectrum derived from Cranny-Francis’s terms, the meta-narrative’s “hard” position at times shifts or experiences flux during those challengingly “soft” cyborg performances, specifically for viewers who empathize with or champion Seven’s ongoing modes of resistance (which, read at the episodes level, is far from futile). Within the vast multimedia franchise, constructions of identity and gender are usually conservative, reflecting the broader ideological imperialism and conservatism normally associated with the American government and military. Moreover, these constructions of identity are normalized to the

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point that they are represented as intrinsic, essential, even undeniable. However, the “female” Borg characters Seven and the Borg Queen serve as sites wherein “hard” science fiction is challenged and they can be read in a “soft” (or, at least, a “softer”) manner, disrupting the ideological and performative “status quo” the other characters generally perpetuate and reinforce. Though the Borg Queen is ultimately defeated, her appropriated phallus severed, Seven of Nine presents a more consistent and ongoing challenge. Seven’s performance, as well as her cyborg status, challenges the patriarchal norm aboard Voyager, despite her being aesthetically reconfigured by the crew in their attempts to normalize her. 24 Seven’s refusal to accept a submissive “female” role and simply “be human” in a traditional manner is exemplified in antagonistic responses to Harry Kim, Tom Paris, and the crew. In Seven’s case, despite the conservative production values and representations that Paramount imbues in Trek, the Borg character allows viewers moments of “softer” critical reading within an otherwise predominantly normalized conservative series. Viewers are as a result empowered to read against the grain. Such “softer” possibilities within ostensibly closed, “hard” science-fiction context reinforce the reductiveness of any analytical system that relies on stable and rigid dichotomies, implicitly calling for more complex and dynamic means of analysis in textual, generic, and broader theoretical terms. NOTES An earlier version of this paper appeared as T. Leaver, “‘Your Appeal to My Humanity Is Pointless’: The Borg and Radical Performativity in Star Trek,” Outskirts: Feminism along the Edge, 9 (2002), www.outskirts.arts.uwa.edu.au/volumes/volume-9/leaver. 1. Anne Cranny-Francis, “Feminist Futures: A Generic Study,” in Alien Zone: Cultural Theory and Contemporary Science Fiction Cinema, ed. Annette Kuhn (London: Verso, 1990), 220–21. It is important to note that Cranny-Francis’s hard/soft distinction differs from conventional science-fiction criticism in genre terms. Traditionally, “hard” science fiction refers to stories scientifically and rationally conceivable given the science and technology used in the story, whereas “soft” science fiction refers to stories that are not technologically extrapolative or where science and technology play little or no importance. 2. Cranny-Francis, “Feminist Futures,” 221. 3. Cynthia J. Fuchs, “‘Death Is Irrelevant’: Cyborgs, Reproduction, and the Future of Male Hysteria,” Genders 19 (winter 1994): 113. 4. The first “individual” Borg appears in “I, Borg,” Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 5, episode 23, where “he” is rescued by the crew of the Enterprise and is socialized into perpetuating their performances of identity. 5. Star Trek: First Contact, directed by Jonathan Frakes, Paramount Pictures, 1996. 6. Robert Rawdon Wilson, “Cyber(body)parts: Prosthetic Consciousness,” in Cyberspace, Cyberbodies, Cyberpunk: Cultures of Technological Embodiment, ed. Mike Featherstone and Roger Burrows (London: Sage, 1995), 251. 7. Another notable contrast between film versions of Star Trek and the TV series is the focus on characters. In First Contact, a much stronger focus on Picard and Data emerges. The episodic nature of Star Trek: The Next Generation (from which these characters originate) means that the focus is shared between all regular cast members in different episodes. In the

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episodes the African American characters Geordi and Worf share the focus, as do female characters Dr. Beverly Crusher and Deanna Troi. It’s also worth noting that Commander Riker, who within the metanarrative of Star Trek outranks Data, is not focused on so heavily in the film for a pragmatic production-side reason: he was busy directing the film. 8. “The Best of Both Worlds,” parts 1 and 2, Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 3, episode 26 and season 4, episode 1. 9. Data’s skin and a few parts of his body are “organic” in some senses. However, they do not operate in the way “normal” human skin does. One of the Borg Queen’s “temptations” of Data is grafting on “real” skin with the real sensations that entails for human beings. 10. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (1990; New York: Routledge, 1999), 173–76. 11. “Scorpion,” part 2, Star Trek: Voyager, season 4, episode 1. 12. Emphasis added. 13. Valerie Fulton, “An Other Frontier: Voyaging West with Mark Twain and Star Trek’s Imperial Subject,” Postmodern Culture 4, no. 3 (1994), http://jefferson.village.virginia.edu/ pmc/text-only/issue.594/fulton-v.594 (accessed October 14, 1999). Another example can be seen in Worf who, in both The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine, allies himself with the Federation against his indigenous Klingon culture. Worf can similarly be metaphorically read as an African American working-class identity being normalized into (and giving way to) the idealized middle-class identity of the Federation. 14. “Scorpion,” part 2. 15. Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilisation: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (London: Routledge, 1993). Judith Butler’s model of performativity is partially derived from Foucault’s model of inscription (which in turn is based on ideas from Nietzche). 16. “The Gift,” Star Trek: Voyager, season 4, episode 2. 17. Donna Haraway, “A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s,” Australian Feminist Studies 4 (1987): 33. 18. Ironically, Seven’s remaining cybernetic implants and the inherent skills they offer, which the “normal” human crew around her lack, are one of the most overused plot devices in the remainder of the Voyager series. 19. The “sex appeal” of Seven of Nine became a major selling point for the series. Actor Jeri Ryan (who plays Seven) landed a number of photo shoots in high-profile magazines on the basis of her character’s visual appeal. 20. “Revulsion,” Star Trek: Voyager, season 4, episode 3. 21. Cranny-Francis, “Feminist Futures,” 222. 22. “Drone,” Star Trek: Voyager, season 5, episode 2. 23. “Night,” Star Trek: Voyager, season 5, episode 1. 24. Although having a female captain in Voyager may ostensibly challenge the patriarchal norms of Star Trek, the role of captain overrides most nonpatriarchal facets of Janeway’s identity. The lineage of captains (in terms of when the shows were aired, not narratologically dated) from Kirk, to Picard, to Sisko, to Janeway, and (for now) resting on Jonathon Archer (in Enterprise), reinforces the patriarchal norms, particularly since the captain’s role within the metanarrative of Star Trek is inescapably linked to and derived from the oh-so-traditionallymasculine (and predominantly sexist) character of James T. Kirk.

Chapter Seven

Manifest Destiny to the Stars New Frontiers, Old Colonialism, and Borg Assimilation Lynette Russell and Nathan Wolski

Since the 1960s, Star Trek has become, to use Bernardi’s term, a “megatext.” 1 In the early days, Trek could be read as a response to the cold war, a plea for peace and utopianism, or a treatise on the importance of science and space exploration. At a time when popular debate criticized the massive cost of the space program or expressed concerns about poverty, Trek depicted an optimistic vision of the future in which, as Deanna Troi noted in Star Trek: First Contact, it only took fifty years and “poverty, disease, war . . . [were] all gone.” 2 Considering that it premiered in 1966, it’s unsurprising that Trek’s premise of space exploration served as a thinly disguised metaphor for colonialism—a position that has since been extensively debated. 3 In the original television series and in Star Trek: The Next Generation, exploration and, by extension, colonization and colonialism can be read as key themes. One might argue that Trek provided a logical extension of nineteenth-century visions of American “manifest destiny.” “OTHERS” IN SPACE Much has been written about the role of the alien. Womack notes: “Science fiction provides a rich source of metaphors for the depiction of otherness and the ‘alien’ is one of the most familiar: it enables difference to be constructed in terms of binary oppositions which reinforce relations of domination and subordination.” 4 The alien as a site of “otherness” must be subject to the kinds of critiques that postcolonial critics apply to texts. A key insight of the postcolonial program has been the simple yet profound realization that the 75

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other does not possess some clear, definable, unproblematic ontological status. The Other exists only insofar as it is a projection of the self; or, at least, they represent the space in which questions of what constitutes the self and what constitutes the Other might be raised and explored. In his classic study Orientalism, Edward Said demonstrated how Western knowledge of the Other is not a neutral accumulation of knowledge about some passive object with a secure ontological status. He notes: “texts can create not only knowledge but also the very reality that they appear to describe.” 5 Western knowledge of the Orient reveals a great deal more about the West than about the East. The same holds true of depictions of aliens in science fiction. As sites of otherness, fictional alien races provide projections of our selves and expressions of the tensions concerning the question of what constitutes self and what is posited as other. POSTCOLONIAL SPACES: SELF-REFLECTION AND THE BORG In her “Cyborgs in Utopia,” Boyd argues that The Next Generation draws on nineteenth-century colonial ideals. 6 She cites representations of characters and clothing drawn from this era in several episodes as evidence that this period holds particular fascination for the writers. However, it is less the nineteenth century that informs colonial discourse within The Next Generation than the values, ideology, and iconography of those periods of great exploration. The central theme of Trek has always been the exploration of uncharted territory: the frontier that the United Federation of Planets is committed to mapping. The process of making the unknown known exists as a fundamental component of any colonial project. The Federation, with its mission “to seek out new life and new civilizations,” has parallels with the European exploration and colonizing missions of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. Space, uncharted and unknown, does not exist until the Federation charts, maps, names, and ultimately controls it. Once colonized, the unfamiliar becomes familiar, assimilated into the social structure that is the United Federation of Planets. Although the Federation remains committed to a colonialist project, a self-critique and reflection on this develops through The Next Generation’s seven seasons. In particular, the Borg serve as a “postcolonial” mirror held up to reflect the nature of colonization and assimilation. Episodes involving the Borg function as a postcolonial space within which writers review the foundation narratives and limits of their own perspectives. The colonizing and assimilation functions of the Federation and the colonizing and assimilating functions of the Borg are inverse reflections of one another. In so reading the Borg, we disagree with Weinstock’s conclusion that The Next Generation’s “progressive thinking never reached the level of questioning its own

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authority.” 7 In fact, the Borg become the chief vehicle through which ideas of self and Other, difference, and sameness are explored and critiqued. The Borg function as the prism through which the colonial gaze of the Federation is reflected and intensified. The Borg, as introduced in “Q Who?” are presented as wholly Other, beyond the realm of familiar experience. This first encounter is organized by the malevolent and omnipotent being “Q” in response to Picard’s ambitious claim that the Enterprise and her crew are ready to encounter whatever was out there. Q demonstrates via the Borg encounter that there exist things of which the Federation has no conception. The Borg vessel does not resemble anything previously met, offering no evidence of a command center, of crew quarters, or even of a crew. Scanning the ship for life signs proves fruitless as the Borg fail to register as individuals. The Borg collective is a unified whole rather than a collection of individual minds. The many are one. Each Borg is precisely like another; they are entirely homogenous. This homogeneity of the collective extends to the very form of the Borg vessel. Whereas Federation ships (the Enterprise in particular) are “markedly feminine—smooth, circular, . . . fetishizable, . . . bright clean and comfortable,” Borg vessels are dark, cold, metallic cubes; functional rather than aesthetic objects, lacking differentiation. 8 All Borg cubes, and by extension all Borg, look alike. A contrived view of the homogenous Other is a phenomenon familiar to the postcolonial scholar. The Borg are experienced as Other to the Federation even as the native is experienced as Other to the colonizer. All-powerful Q observes the perceived sense of absolute difference: “Interesting isn’t it? Not a he, not a she, not like anything you’ve ever seen before.” As Other, the Borg can only ever be encountered as enemy. The mutual unintelligibility of their languages, nuances, and meanings ensures no other relationship can be possible. Hoping for diplomacy, Picard asks: “How do you reason with them?” Q responds: “You don’t. . . . I’ve never known anyone who did.” The Borg stand beyond reason, communication, understanding. They are presented to us and experienced by the crew as irrational beings. The Borg’s Otherness shifts subtly (“I, Borg,” season 5, episode 23), the Enterprise’s mission revealed as similar to the Borg’s. An injured Borg is held captive; while studying the mechanics of Borg implants, Three of Five asks why they examine him. Engineer LaForge responds: “Because you are different to us. Part of what we do is learn more about Other species.” The Borg recognizes these sentiments, noting: “We assimilate Other species. Then we know everything about them. Is that not easier?” An explicit acknowledgment has been established that the Borg and Federation share the same goal: to know the Other. 9 Any boundary between Borg and Federation that initially appeared distinct melts away. At first glance, the Borg appeared completely Other to the Enterprise; now, the Borg is its mirror image. The colonial gaze of the

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Federation is returned and intensified. On several occasions, members of Starfleet reflect on such similarities. In Voyager’s “Scorpion,” Janeway and her crew enter into an alliance with the Borg. In exchange for safe passage through Borg territory, the captain agrees to reveal how to assimilate another species, known only as species 8472. Janeway acknowledges she is forging a pact “with the devil” but remains unrepentant. Others suggest this pact blurs the line between the Federation and the Borg. Commander Chakotay, second in command, notes, “The Borg have assimilated thousands of species. By enabling them to assimilate 8472 we [the Federation] would be guilty of colonization.” The Borg are no longer beyond communication, no more wholly Other. As Janeway comments, the Borg “are no different to us—they are just trying to survive.” The arrival of still more alien Others in the form of species 8472 enables the Borg to be reclassified by the Federation. Trek has achieved a moment of self-realization as meta-narratives of colonialism and exploration are questioned. 10 Methods and motivations of the Borg and the Federation may differ, but an acknowledgment remains as to their similarities. SELF, OTHER, AND HYBRID: THE THIRD SPACE The Borg constitute one of popular culture’s more sophisticated explorations of ideas on self and Otherness, at once Other and of the recognizable self. Within The Next Generation, the Borg offer a means of reflecting on the nature of this self/Other dynamic and, through the discursive space of the hybrid, a venue for challenging and collapsing an apparently rigid separation between self and Other. “One cannot depict the totally alien” since alien others are projections of ourselves. 11 In “Q Who?” the Borg are described as “the ultimate user[s] . . . not interested in political conquest, wealth or power as you know it. They’re simply interested in your ship, its technology.” For the Borg, callous gatherers of technology, the Enterprise represents “raw material.” The colonial meta-narrative of the Borg mission is clarified in the crew’s next encounter (“The Best of Both Worlds,” part 1). The Borg vessel announces: “Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours.” Parallels with the Enterprise’s mission are ironically played out. This time, Picard—who has been assimilated by the Borg collective—speaks the words, his Borg-self coldly announcing: “We will begin assimilating your culture and technology. . . . We only wish to raise the quality of life for all species.” The Borg attempt to “raise the quality of life” is, as Wilcox observes, “A harsh parody of white assimilationist and colonialist practices.” 12 Strunken notes: “The other is not an unidentified, foreign element, but an

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aspect of oneself. The terrorist represents the colonialist’s fear of the perfect invader, the invader so much ourselves that we must fear his mimetic excellence, our body turning on itself for the purpose of self-destruction.” 13 Interestingly, the Borg colonize from within by injecting microscopic nanoprobes into the body of their prey. Thus, the liminal space occupied by the Borg questions notions of self/Otherness and difference/sameness. Recent postcolonial theory focuses on the ambivalence and fractures, which characterize the colonial relationship. The old paradigm of dominating colonizer/passive native has been called into question. 14 In place of this unproblematic colonial relationship, wherein self and Other are understood as stable and unitary terms and the authority of the self is unchallenged, appears an understanding that ambiguity and fracture exist at the very source of colonial power. For Bhabha, mimicry and the role of the hybrid disrupt colonial power, fracturing the colonial relationship. In reading the Borg as a postcolonial rupture, “I, Borg” proves pivotal. In this episode, the unambiguous relationship of colonial self and Other becomes torn when one of the Borg collective is individuated. This Borg becomes neither wholly Other nor wholly self. The eruption of the hybrid space into the colonial relationship fractures that relationship, serving as the basis for disruption of colonial authority. The hybrid’s emergence functions as a displacing space, challenging the previously clear self/other divide. Here, the Enterprise encounters a single Borg separated from the collective. Badly hurt, the Borg is brought to the ship for treatment, during which the crew devises a plan to rid themselves of the Borg forever. This involves infecting the single Borg with a virus, then returning him to the collective. The aim is nothing less than the annihilation of an entire race: genocide. Initially, no moral objections are raised. However, in the course of his stay, the solitary Borg experiences an identity crisis. Separated from the collective, this Borg no longer relates as a “we” but begins developing a sense of individuality— of being an “I.” Hugh (the name given to him) is no longer entirely Other; his status becomes more ambiguous. Though Hugh has not become a human, he has ceased being a Borg, now occupying a hybrid space between Borg and human, between collective consciousness and individuality. Rigid barriers of self and Other collapse as new possibilities emerge. The relationship between crew and Borg alters, the plan to destroy the Borg abandoned. This shift from “we” to “I” rates as important, paralleling Emile Benveniste’s thesis that it is the distinction between “I” and “you” that creates subjectivity: 15 “Consciousness of the self is only possible if it is experienced by contrast. I use ‘I’ only when I am speaking to someone who will be a ‘you’ in my address.” 16 In the Voyager episode “Scorpion” (part 2), a Borg becomes stranded on Voyager. Seven of Nine was once human, assimilated into the Borg collective as a child. The crew seek to reverse her Borg assimilation, returning her to a human state. Seven resists and rejects being human, unwilling to make

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the shift. “We do not wish to become who you are,” she defiantly tells Janeway. The crew holds her captive, preventing Seven from returning to the collective; she will become human, even if it requires force to achieve this objective. Denied the choices given to Hugh, Seven will be made to conform to the wishes of the captain as representative of the Federation. Importantly, she rejects her human name, so the captain simply calls her Seven. Janeway reflects that “Seven of Nine” is “too much of a mouthful.” This renaming is reminiscent of European colonizers paternally bestowing names on “childlike” natives. Seven recognizes the similarity between the Federation’s actions and those of the Borg: “Then you are no different from the Borg,” she says, understanding that Voyager’s attempts to make her human are no different from Borg assimilation. The Other has been unmasked and revealed to be the self. COLONIAL LANGUAGE OF THE NEXT GENERATION Trek’s colonialist ideology is conveyed in many ways. One significant component is the use of colonialist terms. Colonial discourse is made up of references to new worlds, frontiers, assimilation, and resistance, among other things. Beyond the frontier of both historical European colonial expansion and that of the United Federation of Planets reside swarming hordes of homogenous, essentialist representations of aliens. Humanity always resides on the closest side of the frontier. Within Trek, even if recently encountered Others are technologically advanced, they invariably lack key characteristics of humanity: compassion, understanding, and civilization. Two examples are the alien Cardassians and Ferrengi species. The Cardassians are warlike, exploitative, untrustworthy; the Ferrengi, traders and merchants who pursue financial gain at the expense of all else. The Ferrengi are considered a reminder of an earlier period of Federation history. As often noted by Starfleet officers, the Federation no longer has need for money, having left such concerns far in its past. The frontier within Trek, as within colonialism, posits a boundary between space and place. Place exists where names are known, features are recorded, and maps have been drawn. Space exists where these remain unknown. The known world is a place, the unknown world space. When the Federation has mapped and recorded attributes of areas of space, this region is designated with a name. That previously unrecorded space now exists no longer as an unknowable domain but as a Federation territory. DISCUSSION Recent trends in postcolonial theory have rethought Said’s view of the colonial relationship. In particular, Said has been criticized for homogenizing and

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totalizing the operations of colonial discourse. 17 In Orientalism, Said developed a model of colonial political relations wherein power lay with the colonizer. The colonized Other is an “effect” of the dominant discourse, with no agency able to operate oppositionally. Resistance within the colonial relationship received little critical attention. Diasporic and subaltern scholars developed and extended Said’s original critique. Bhabha redresses this, focusing on the ambivalence and ambiguities of the colonial relationship. Bhabha demonstrates that the colonial relationship is not simply an extension of the dominant-self/submissive-other. Colonial-self and native-other are connected in complex, ambiguous, confused ways. Bhabha claims that the Other is constructed out of a fundamental contradiction that allows for the possibility of a fracture from within the colonial relationship. 18 The Borg offer a prime illustration of this ambivalence. While being Other, they are undoubtedly recognizable as constructed out of the archive of self. Otherness can thus be produced only by a continual process of what Bhabha calls “repetition and displacement” and this instigates an ambivalence at the very site of imperial authority and control. 19 There exists, therefore, an ambiguity or contradiction emerging at the moment of the construction of the colonial relationship. This ambivalence is highlighted to the colonialist by the presence of hybridization or mimicry in the colonial subject. The returned gaze of the hybrid serves as reminder of the contradiction at the heart of the colonial relationship, which challenges and ultimately fractures rigid boundaries of colonial self and native Other. Individual Borg return the colonial gaze, oftentimes intensifying it. Hybridity refers to the moment when the discourse of colonial authority loses its univocal grip on meaning, finding itself open to the trace of the language of the Other. Drawn from linguistics, where hybridization refers to “a mixture of two social languages within the limits of a single utterance,” Bhabha’s hybridity refers to an expression “that belongs, by its grammatical and compositional markers to a single speaker, but that actually contains mixed within it, two utterances, two speech manners, two styles, two languages.” 20 Hybridity then designates language’s fundamental ability “to be simultaneously the same but different.” 21 Colonial discourse or colonial authority usually understands itself as single voiced, as monologic. For Said, colonial power establishes a dominating discourse that totally annihilates the voice of the Other. 22 Bhabha argues, however, that colonial authority is the product of hybridization. Colonial discourse is double-voiced and within itself contains the voice of the Other. According to Bhabha, the authoritative discourse must be singular. As Bhabha notes: “It is by its very nature incapable of being double-voiced; it cannot enter into hybrid constructions.” 23 When authoritative discourse encounters itself as hybrid, this single-voiced authority is undermined. Hybridity is “a problematic of colonial representation . . . that reverses the effect of the colonialist disavowal, so that other denied knowl-

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edge enter upon the dominant discourse and estrange the basis of its authority.” 24 This describes a process in which the single voice of colonial authority is revealed as double-voiced in that it contains within itself the trace of the Other. So a “hybrid displacing space” develops in the interaction between indigenous and colonial culture, depriving the “imperialist culture, not only of the authority that it has for so long imposed politically . . . but even of its own claims to authenticity.” 25 Colonial power is the product of hybridization. The colonial self is produced out of the interaction with the native Other. Following Bhabha, we can see that colonial power and the colonial self are not secure, sovereign entities. The colonial self carries within itself the trace of the native Other. This self exists as a function of the Other. The colonial self, like colonial discourse, is not monologic. Colonial authority is built on these very tensions, contradictions, and ambivalences; “What such authority least likes and what presents it with its greatest threat, is any reminder of such ambivalence. This ambivalence at the very heart of authority is exposed by the presence in the colonial subject of hybridization or colonial mimicry.” 26 The Borg Hugh represents this encounter with the hybrid, offering a challenge to its conceptions of what is self and what is Other. Initially presented as Other, the Borg were always a mirror image of the self. Through the experience of Hugh the hybrid, the relationship changes; during the hybrid moment, the authority of the self is disrupted because it recognizes its dependence on the other for the very constitution of the self. Inevitably, the self realizes that its self-understanding is far from clear. At this moment, the self realizes that it is not some sovereign or fixed entity that exists in isolation of the other. Boundaries between self and Other collapse. The moment of self-reflection represented by the Borg allows for a questioning of the Federation and its foundation narratives. When the Borg state: “Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated,” the Enterprise and its crew hear the echo of the Federation. Through the voice of the Borg, we hear an ironic comment about the possibilities of cultural survival in the face of the Federation’s expansion. Resistance to the colonialist nature of the Enterprise’s mission and the Federation is, we are now informed by the Borg, “futile.” It is impossible to withstand the force of colonial expansion: “You will be assimilated.” All cultures (the Prime Directive notwithstanding) will be drawn into the Federation. To this dark and hopeless view, we are, however, presented with an alternative. In “I, Borg,” the recently individuated Hugh, attempting to determine who he is and what he should do, speaks to bartender Guinan, an El-Aurain, a race of long-lived humanoids that experienced extensive contact with the Borg. Borg attacks and subsequent assimilation are responsible for the diasporic existence of Guinan and her people. Not surprisingly, Guinan harbors a deep and pervading hatred of the Borg. When Hugh tells Guinan that

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“resistance is futile,” she replies: “It isn’t. My people resisted when the Borg came to assimilate us. Some of us survived.” No colonizing action can be complete; there will always be some that survivors. Hugh, with a tilt of his head, perplexedly counters: “Resistance is not futile?” He is lost amid that half-question, half-statement. The raison d’être for the colonizing Borg is challenged by survivors. Resistance can save the native Other while challenging the colonial self. What is the nature of this resistance? Guinan and her people did not fight the Borg; they escaped, choosing a dislocated life away from their home world. In “The Best of Both Worlds,” part 2, Guinan tells Picard that resistance against the Borg should not be considered in terms of physical resistance. Resistance exists in the continuity of human spirit through remnant groups. This conceptualization of resistance follows recent trends in contact and postcolonial historiography. Said, for example, argues that resistance should be understood as referring to “efforts . . . made to reconstitute a shattered community, to save or restore the sense and fact of community against all the pressures of the colonial system.” 27 One may not be able to resist the Borg or the Federation physically; still, they can be resisted. Assimilation by the colonial self isn’t inevitable nor is it ever complete. An intrinsic part of the assimilation process is the adoption of a false consciousness by those being assimilated. Within Starfleet, many races come together, working as part of the Federation. Although cultural difference is mostly accepted, it is subverted to allow the dominant human culture to prevail. To exist within the Federation, alien cultures must be assimilated. Over The Next Generation’s seven seasons, numerous episodes revolve around Lieutenant Commander Worf, a Klingon raised by humans, now fully integrated into Starfleet society. Worf struggles with his Klingon instincts, invariably choosing to remain within the Federation, forgoing much of his own culture. Within the Trek archive there are no more comprehensive examples of assimilation than that offered by Worf. The native is asked not merely to change but also to accept the degraded view of their previous culture as offered by the colonizer. Worf does for the most part accept the culture of the Federation; however, it remains clear that he never fully relinquishes his own origins. Worf’s dialectical relationship within these two cultures shapes his character. He personifies resistance and assimilation, highlighting the ambiguities of both states. The most profound form of resistance to the colonialist machine is a refusal to adopt such a false consciousness. Resistance is best understood as referring to those acts that resist the logic of the colonialist enterprise. The colonialist mission seeks to make the native question the value of his or her way of life, ultimately abandoning it. Refusal to accept this point of view perhaps constitutes the deepest kind of resistance. Like Pecheux’s “bad subjects” 28 who refuse the image offered of them and turn it back to those who

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offer it, whereby the native refuses to satisfy the colonizer’s demand for recognition, the most profound resistance is that attempt to “elude the subject positions to which the dominant order seeks to confine the other in order to confirm itself as dominant.” 29 Trek has become increasingly self-reflexive, this apparent in episodes focusing on the Borg and on Federation citizens who reject Starfleet’s colonial ideology. The Federation’s foundational charter “to explore strange new worlds, to seek new life and new civilizations” is revealed as inadequate. In “All Good Things,” the final episode, Q informs Picard that the real journey that awaits is not further exploration of the stars, but the exploration of uncharted paths of existence—of different ways of seeing and of different ways of knowing. The final frontier does not involve traveling at warp speed through the stars, but rather an exploration of the strange new worlds of the postcolonial Other. NOTES This chapter is an evolution of “Beyond the Final Frontier: Star Trek, the Borg and the PostColonial,” which appeared in Intensities: The Journal of Cult Media 1 (2001). We are grateful to the editors for agreeing to allow this reworking of the original. 1. D. L. Bernardi, Star Trek and History: Race-ing toward a White Future (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998), 11. 2. R. D. Launius, “Public Opinion Polls and Perceptions of U.S. Human Spaceflight,” Space Policy 19 (2003): 163–75. 3. Bernardi, Star Trek and History. Also A. Hastie, “A Fabricated Space: Assimilating the Individual on Star Trek: The Next Generation,” in Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek, ed. T. Harrison, S. Projansky, K. Ono, and E. R. Helford (New York: Westview Press, 1996), 115–36 and K. Ono, “Domesticating Terrorism: A Neocolonial Economy of Difference,” in Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek, ed. T. Harrison, S. Projansky, K. Ono, and E. R. Helford (New York: Westview Press, 1996), 157–88. See also T. Richards, The Meaning of Star Trek (New York: Doubleday, 1998). 4. J. Womack, Aliens and Others: Science Fiction, Feminism and Postmodernism (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1994). 5. E. W. Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptalisations of the Orient (London: Routledge, Keagan and Paul, 1998), 94. 6. K. G. Boyd, “Cyborgs in Utopia: The Problem of Racial Difference in Star Trek,” in Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek, ed. T. Harrison, S. Projansky, K. Ono, and E. R. Helford (New York: Westview Press, 1996), 95–114. 7. J. Weinstock, “Freaks in Space: ‘Extra-Terrestrialism’ and ‘Deep-Space Multiculturalism’” in Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body, ed. R. G. Thompson (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 327–37. 8. Bernardi, Star Trek and History, 95. 9. See also M. Beehler, “Border Patrols,” in Aliens: The Anthropology of Science Fiction, ed. G. Slusser and E. S. Rabkin (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1987), 26–35. 10. Cf. Weinstock, “Freaks in Space,” 335. 11. G. Benford, “Effing the Ineffable,” in Aliens: The Anthropology of Science Fiction, ed. G. Slusser and E. S. Rabkin (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1987), 23–34.

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12. R. Wilcox, Miscegenation in Star Trek: The Next Generation, in Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek, ed. T. Harrison, S. Projansky, K. Ono, and E. R. Helford (New York: Westview Press, 1996), 69–94. 13. Strunken, cited in Ono and Helford, Enterprise Zones, 175. 14. H. K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London: Routledge, 1994). 15. See also Ono, “Domesticating Terrorism,” 171. 16. E. Benveniste, Problems of General Linguistics, trans. M. E. Meek (Miami, FL: University of Miami Press, 1971), 224–25. 17. B. Moore-Gilbert, Postcolonial Theory: Contexts, Practices, Politics (London: Verso, 1997), 53. See also N. Thomas, Colonialism’s Culture (London: Polity Press, 1994). 18. Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 66–84. 19. B. Ashcroft, G. Griffiths, and H. Tiffin, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (London: Routledge, 1989), 103. 20. Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 102–22. 21. R. J. C. Young, Colonial Desire: Hybridity in Theory, Culture and Race (London: Routledge, 1995), 20. 22. Said, Orientalism. 23. Bhabha, cited in Young, Colonial Desire, 22. 24. Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 114. 25. Bhabha, “The Postcolonial Critic,” Arena 96 (1991): 48. 26. Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, The Empire, 103. 27. E. W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Chatto and Windus, 1994), 252. 28. M. Pecheux, Language, Semantics and Ideology, trans. H. Nagpal (New York: St. Martins, 1975), 157. 29. Moore-Gilbert, Postcolonial Theory, 132.

Chapter Eight

Resistance Is Futile Cyborgs, Humanism, and the Borg David J. Gunkel

Of all villains populating Trek’s universe, none rates as more terrifying and threatening than the Borg. First introduced in “Q Who?” Star Trek: The Next Generation’s sixteenth episode of the second season, this collective of cybernetic organisms quickly became “the signature villains for The Next Generation and Voyager eras of Star Trek.” 1 Unlike any previous or subsequent antagonist—the cold war era Klingons and Romulans, the various evil geniuses like Khan Noonien Singh, Lore, and Shinzon, or the differing alien empires such as the Cardassians, the Dominion, and Xindi—nothing comes close to the threat represented by the Borg. What makes the Borg so dangerous is well illustrated at the end of The Next Generation’s famous season-three cliffhanger, “The Best of Both Worlds” (episodes 74 and 75). Picard is kidnapped by the Borg, who transform him into the cybernetic organism Locutus. This has been done, as the Borg explain, because “it has been decided that a human voice will speak for us in all communication. You have been chosen to be that voice.” In part 1’s cliffhanger conclusion, a visibly transformed Picard confronts his former crew. The entity we once knew as Picard walks slowly into view, no longer an individual human with thoughts and actions of his own. Instead, he is little more than a “mouthpiece,” quite literally the locus of locution, for an ominous, posthuman future. And what this monstrous figure has to say is disturbing: “Resistance is futile. Your life, as it has been, is over. From this time forward, you will service us.” I argue that Locutus of Borg is absolutely correct. Life as we have known it is over and resistance is, in fact, futile. Further, cyborg assimilation isn’t an impending event. It is here. It is now. Like all good science fiction, the Trek’s 87

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Borg are not a prediction of what might happen in the not-too-distant future. Rather, they help us visualize, examine, and understand the present. Or as Cory Doctorow explained, “science fiction writers don’t predict the future (except accidentally), but if they’re very good, they may manage to predict the present” 2 The Borg predict the present. We are already Borg. The true threat comes not from these hybrid cybernetic organisms but from the Enlightenment humanist ideology that underlies and powers the entire Trek enterprise. WE ARE ALREADY BORG The Borg are, in name and appearance, a cyborg or cybernetic organism. That they hail from the outer reaches of the galaxy is not a coincidence. The neologism cyborg actually originated in space, specifically in an article about manned spaceflight written by Manfred Clynes and Nathan Kline, published in the September 1960 edition of Astronautics, a leading “space age” scientific journal. In “Cyborgs and Space,” Clynes and Kline innovatively propose that as humans are not capable of surviving in space’s vacuum, astronauts need to be enclosed in a capsule that contains everything necessary to sustain life (oxygen, water, food, etc.). This not only adds considerable weight to a launch vehicle but is, according to Clynes and Kline, dangerously unsustainable: “Artificial atmospheres encapsulated in some sort of enclosure constitute only temporalizing, and dangerous temporalizing at that, since we place ourselves in the same position as a fish taking small amounts of water along with him to live on land. The bubble all too easily bursts.” 3 As an alternative, Clynes and Kline argued that “altering man’s bodily functions to meet the requirements of extraterrestrial environments would be more logical than providing an earthy environment for him in space.” 4 They invented the word cyborg to name such corporeal augmentation or “for the exogeneously extended organizational complex functioning as an integrated homeostatic system unconsciously we propose the term cyborg.” 5 Since then, the word has come to be employed more generally to name any integrated synthesis of organism and technology into a hybrid, homeostatic system. 6 When so characterized, there are at least three venues in which cybernetic organisms like the Borg already appear among us and occupy a place in contemporary culture. Technical Cyborgs Although traditionally a figure of dystopian science fiction, cyborgs already live among us and can be seen in recent innovations in medical prostheses and other forms of corporeal augmentation. Wired UK recently profiled what they called “five living cyborgs,” including Jesse Sullivan, equipped with

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robotic arms; Kevin Warwick, who at one time implanted an RFID chip under his forearm’s skin; and Rob Spence, the so-called eyeborg who replaced a missing eye with an eyeball-sized video camera. 7 Such a list also includes individuals with cochlear implants or other forms of augmentation designed either to replace or enhance corporeal functions (i.e., dialysis machines, pacemakers, or artificial joints). N. Katherine Hayles, author of How We Became Posthuman, estimated that approximately 10 percent of the current U.S. population are, technically speaking, cyborgs. 8 But cyborg augmentation may actually encompass a larger percentage of the current world’s population. Anyone with an artificial organ, limb or supplement (like a pacemaker), anyone programmed to resist disease (immunized) or drugged to think/behave/feel better (psychopharmacology) is technically a cyborg. . . . It’s just not Robocop, it is our grandmother with a pacemaker. Not just Geordi [la Forge] but also our colleague with the myloelectric prosthetic arm. Not just the cyberwarrior of a hundred militaristic science fiction stories, but arguably anyone whose immune system has been reprogrammed through vaccination to recognize and kill the polio virus. 9

Characterized in this fashion, “cyborg” applies not only to those individuals with easily recognizable forms of corporeal augmentation (artificial limbs, prosthetics), but also to chemical modifications via psychopharmacology and even immunizations. Clynes and Kline had included this order of pharmacological enhancement as part of their initial proposal. Consequently, if cyborization—a term initially used by Stanisław Lem in his 1964 book Summa Technologica 10—includes immunization and other forms of pharmacology, Hayles’s estimate of 10 percent will need to be significantly revised upward. For this reason, the assimilation ominously announced by Locutus is not some impending event situated in the future. The Borg are here and, in the present, live among us—or (more precisely) are us. Metaphoric Cyborgs “A much higher percentage,” Hayles continues, “participate in occupations that make them into metaphoric cyborgs, including the computer keyboarder joined in a cybernetic circuit to the screen, the neurosurgeon guided by fiber optic microscopy during an operation, and the adolescent game player in the local video-game arcade.” 11 Hayles writes not about prostheses or invasive forms of corporeal augmentation, but rather various types of technological codependency. Amber Case, the self-proclaimed cyborg anthropologist, argues in a TED talk from December 2010 that “technology is evolving us as we become a screen-staring, button-clicking new version of Homo sapiens. We now rely on ‘external brains’ (cell phones and computers) to communi-

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cate, remember, even live out secondary lives.” 12 As human beings come to rely increasingly on various technological devices (i.e., smartphones, cloud storage, Google Glass, etc.) to help organize increasingly complicated lives, to access large amounts of data for work and entertainment, or to interact and collaborate with each other, they develop a symbiotic relationship with their technology that stretches beyond mere tool use. The tool apparently has an impact on us, evolving us, as Case argues, into a new version of homo sapiens—a kind of humanity 2.0. For this reason, Kevin Warwick argues that the Borg invasion has already taken place: The earth is dominated by cyborgs—upgraded human/machine combinations that have managed to harness the new-found super intelligence of machines and use it for their own ends. The cyborgs were formed not by direct physical enhancements, such as powerful arms and legs, but by mental hook-ups. Their brains are linked, by radio, directly with the global computer network. They can tap into it, call on its intellectual power, its memory, merely by thinking to it. In return, the global network calls on the cyborg nodes for information to carry out a task. The network operates as an entire system. 13

One may take this argument further. It isn’t only with the recent proliferation of networks and mobile devices that we have been assimilated. We—we who had, perhaps incorrectly, called ourselves human beings—have always been engaged in efforts to extend our natural capabilities by technological means. As Marshall McLuhan famously described it, “media are the extensions of man.” 14 His examples are iconic: the wheel as the extension of the foot, the telephone as the extension of the ear, and global information networks as extensions of the human nervous system. Consequently, it can be argued that it is the activity of technological extension that defines the human being, specifically what Hannah Arendt and others called Homo faber. 15 We are, as Andy Clark describes it, “natural born cyborgs.” 16 From this perspective, assimilation as announced by Locutus would be definitive of the human species. Consequently, resistance is futile not because the Borg are stronger than the human, but because the term “cyborg” already describes who and what we are from the beginning. Ontological Cyborgs There is, however, an even more profound and fundamental way that we are (already) cyborg. This “cultural cyborg,” as Brenda Brasher 17 calls it, constitutes simultaneously an extension of the concept developed by Clynes and Kline and the ontological ground upon which their work became possible. This formulation was introduced and developed in Donna Haraway’s “A Cyborg Manifesto,” an influential essay first published in 1985 and reprinted (in an expanded form) in 1991. “By the late twentieth century,” Haraway

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argues, “we are all chimeras, theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism.” 18 According to Haraway, however, this assimilation has little or nothing to do with technical augmentation or even metaphoric forms of technological dependency. A cyborg exists when at least two kinds of boundaries are simultaneously problematic: (1) that between animals (or other organisms) and humans, and (2) that between self-controlled, self-governing machines and organisms, especially humans. 19 These boundary breakdowns are, as Haraway illustrates, particularly evident in contemporary/postmodern culture: • By the late twentieth century . . . the last beachheads of uniqueness have been polluted, if not turned into amusement parks—language, tool use, social behavior, mental events. Nothing really convincingly settles the separation of human and animal. 20 • Late twentieth century machines have made thoroughly ambiguous the difference between natural and artificial, mind and body, self-developing and externally designed, and many other distinctions that used to apply to organisms and machines. Our machines are disturbingly lively, and we ourselves frighteningly inert. 21 For Haraway, the cyborg names a dual-faceted breakdown in the ontological category of “human.” Its impact is highly evident in the Human Genome Project (HGP), a multinational effort of the late twentieth century to decode and map the totality of genetic information comprising the species. The project takes deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) as its primary object of investigation. DNA, on one hand, is considered to be the fundamental and universal element determining all organic entities, human or otherwise. So understood, the difference between human being and any other life-form is merely a matter of the number and sequence of DNA strings. Geneticists now estimate there is a mere 2 percent variation in the chimpanzee and human genomes. 22 Consequently, HGP’s emphasis on DNA, the “building blocks” of all organic life, effectively dissolves rigid boundaries that had once categorically distinguished the human from the animal. Yet HGP, following a paradigm that has been central to modern biology, considers DNA to be nothing more than a string of information, a biologically encoded program to be decoded, manipulated, run on a specific information-processing device. This allows for animal bodies to be theorized, understood, and manipulated as mechanisms of information, an approach already theorized and developed by Norbert Wiener in his postwar efforts with the science of cybernetics. 23 Haraway concludes: “biological organisms have become biotic systems, communications devices like others. There is no fundamental, ontological separation in our formal knowledge of machine and organism, of technical and organic.” 24

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Importantly, Haraway does not encourage, produce, or invent these boundary breakdowns. She simply traces the contours and consequences of border skirmishes or untenable discontinuities already underway within and constitutive of Western intellectual history. The cyborg, therefore, does not cause this ontological erosion of the human; it merely provides this dissolution with a name. Therefore, “cyborg” refers to not merely an enhanced human being—either technically or metaphorically. It defines the unstable ontological position in which humans already find themselves. We can say, performing something of a remix on Bruno Latour, that we have never really been human. Consequently, the Borg threat, initially visualized in The Next Generation, is not some possible future but the present, if not a characterization of “human” history. Resistance to cyborg assimilation is futile because it is, as Hayles describes it, nothing less than “nostalgic attempts to recover a unity that never was.” 25 From this perspective, it isn’t the Borg but the human that is science fiction. WHAT IT MEANS TO BE BORG Dehumanization No matter what form it takes—technical, metaphoric, ontological—the cyborg constitutes a threat or challenge to what has been traditionally called “human.” For this reason, the cyborg inevitably and unavoidably appears in the form of “dehumanization.” As Haraway points out, following the analysis of Zoe Sofia, “from one perspective, a cyborg world is about the final imposition of a grid of control on the planet, about the final abstraction embodied in a Star Wars apocalypse waged in the name of defense.” 26 Popular visualizations of the cyborg, as deployed in film and literature, generally conform to this apocalyptic/dystopian configuration. From the mythical golem of Jewish legend to RoboCop and the Borg of Star Trek, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein to the Terminator and replicants of Blade Runner, cyborgs have customarily been represented as a catastrophic counterforce to human dignity and survival. What qualifies the Borg as threatening within Trek’s narrative structure is that they announce a challenge not just to individual entities like Picard, and human communities such as planet Earth, but to the very concept of humanism. The Borg, therefore, target and directly challenge the operative assumptions of the human enterprise, understood here as both the philosophical business of enlightenment and the humanist philosophy that powers not only starship Enterprise but the entire Trek franchise. Picard, who Diana Relke characterizes as “a harmonious blend of Renaissance Man and Enlightenment humanist,” 27 provides an accurate account of these values in response to the initial Borg threat: “My culture is based on freedom and self-determination.” These are, whether we explicitly recognize

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it as such, the fundamental principles of Western humanism. The Trek franchise, as many commentators acknowledge, supports, celebrates, and advocates for this philosophical perspective. This renders the Borg terrifying. They are not just another alien culture with plans and aspirations that differ from or are in conflict with those of the Federation. They threaten the most profound and essential values that make Trek what it is. Cyborg science fiction—Trek, the Terminator films, Battlestar Galactica, Dr. Who, and so forth—is about resisting such dehumanization. Although resistance often appears futile, it is necessary to protect the humanist tradition and legacy. What makes these narratives so compelling is that puny humans always, in some surprising and completely unexpected way, win. Transhumanism For others, like Amber Case, who follows Clynes and Kline in her analysis, the cyborg does not threaten humanity but promises vast improvements in human life. In opposition to the prevailing image of dehumanization, Case offers an alternative: “Machines are not taking over. They are helping us to be more human, helping us to connect to each other.” 28 For Case, the cyborg is not a threat to our humanity but a more evolved kind of human entity, “more human” than human. Case’s formulation is more attentive to the scientific concept originally proposed by Clynes and Kline. “This recent film with this Terminator,” Clynes told Chris Hables Gray in an interview from the mid-1990s, “with Schwarzenegger playing this thing—dehumanized the concept completely. This is a travesty of the real scientific concept that we had. It is not even a caricature. It’s worse, creating a monster out of something that wasn’t a monster. A monsterification of something that is a human enlargement of function.” 29 In this light, the Borg, despite their Next Generation depiction, are not some monstrous figure of dehumanization, but what one might call “humanity 2.0” or what the transhumanists refer to as “humantity+.” 30 As James H. Hughes argues, “transhuman technologies, technologies that push the boundaries of humanness, can radically improve our quality of life, and we have a fundamental right to use them to control our bodies and minds.” 31 From such a perspective, Borg assimilation offers an opportunity for upgrading the fragile human species. By becoming Borg, we improve our “human all too human” condition and become, continuing the Nietzschean allusion, das Übermensch. This is, in fact, the explicit goal of the transhumanist movement. The term “transhumanism,” as Nick Bostrom points out, was originally coined by Julian Huxley, brother of novelist Aldous Huxley, in the 1927 book Religion without Revelation: “The human species can, if it wishes, transcend itself—not just sporadically, an individual here in one way, an individual there in another way—but in its entirety, as humanity. We need a

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name for this new belief. Perhaps transhumanism will serve: man remaining man, but transcending himself, by realizing new possibilities of and for his human nature.” 32 Cyborg assimilation then is a natural extension and elaboration of the humanist project: Transhumanism can be viewed as an extension of humanism, from which it is partially derived. Humanists believe that humans matter, that individuals matter. . . . Transhumanists agree with this but also emphasize what we have the potential to become. Just as we use rational means to improve the human condition and the external world, we can also use such means to improve ourselves, the human organism. In doing so, we are not limited to traditional humanistic methods, such as education and cultural development. We can also use technological means that will eventually enable us to move beyond what some would think of as “human.” 33

Posthumanism Dehumanization and transhumanism appear to exist on opposing sides concerning cyborg assimilation. One seeks to defend humanity from this monstrous incursion while the other welcomes it as the means for upgrading and improvement. Most interesting is what these two seemingly oppositional positions necessarily hold in common. Both sides of this debate continue to value and seek to protect the human and what Jean-François Lyotard called “the humanist prejudice.” 34 It is this persistent attachment to the human and to humanist values that Haraway specifically targets in her “A Cyborg Manifesto.” For Haraway, the cyborg is neither a denatured human being nor an improved or upgraded version of humanity. It is simultaneously more and less than what has been traditionally defined as human, the product of an erosion of the ontological category “human.” The cyborg comprises a deliberately monstrous hybrid that, as Haraway explains it, holds incompatible things together without resolving into larger wholes 35 or seeking unitary identity. 36 Locutus, therefore, is neither human nor its opposite but simultaneously neither and both. So the cyborg is neither a dystopian figure of dehumanization nor a utopian promise for human improvement and perfection. Posthuman, Claudia Springer notes, “undermines the very concept of ‘human.’” 37 This effort is crucial insofar as the “human” and the ideology of humanism aren’t entirely neutral or innocent. The term “human” is not some eternal, universal, and immutable Platonic idea. Who is and who is not “human” has been open to considerable ideological negotiations and social pressures. At different times, membership criteria for inclusion in “club anthropos” have been defined to not only exclude, but to justify exclusion of others—barbarians, women, Jews, people of color, and so on. This “sliding scale of humanity,” as Joanna Zylinska 38 calls it, institutes an inconsistent, incoherent, capricious meta-

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physical concept of the human. Justifying employment of the cyborg in an essay on AIDS, Allison Fraiberg argues: “By using the cyborg as a starting point, I’m saying that—and this is by no means an astounding observation— rhetorics of humanism and organicism have produced, are currently producing, and, I dare say, will probably always produce, radical material inequities for the vast majority of people.” 39 For this reason, Haraway introduces the cyborg as a blasphemous figure that can interfere in and even avoid contributing to the logic and legacy of these violent forms of exclusion. “Perhaps,” she suggests, “we can learn from our fusion with animals and machines how not to be Man, the embodiment of Western Logos.” 40 The cyborg is neither opposed to nor an elaboration of the human, but provides a way for thinking outside the box of humanism. Consequently, “the posthuman,” as Hayles characterizes it, “does not really mean the end of humanity. It signals instead the end of a certain conception of the human, a conception that may have applied, at best, to that fraction of humanity who had the wealth, power, and leisure to conceptualize themselves as autonomous beings exercising their will through individual agency and choice.” 41 THE REAL PROBLEM Those last moments of the first installment of the “Best of Both Worlds” represents the point at which Trek achieves its most radical possibilities. With Locutus, Trek opened up and let us peer into a deep but also potentially liberating abyss. In ominous warnings issued by Locutus, we can perceive that we are already Borg and that the cyborg future supposedly threatening us from the outer reaches of time and space is already a fait accompli. We can also see played out for us the significance of this assimilation: the persistent worry about human nature and apparent threat of dehumanization, opportunities offered by technologically enabled enhancement and the project of transhumanism, as well as possibilities for a posthumanist questioning of the assumptions and legacy of the humanist ideology that informs both. Consequently Trek, like all good science fiction, helps us conceptualize and understand the present complexity, technology, and theory already at work challenging and reformulating who and what we think we are. Trek’s enterprise (understood both in the sense of the eponymous starship and the entire undertaking that comprises the franchise) does not and cannot sustain this radical insight, subsequently recoiling in the face of the radicality it initially exposes. The Next Generation takes us to the brink of disaster and then, instead of investigating where that might lead, follows up with considerable efforts to domesticate and reform this terrifying insight. The second part of “The Best of Both Worlds” works to recuperate Picard’s humanity and reaffirm the Federation’s (and the audience’s) essentially humanist val-

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ues. By the time the episode concludes, Picard’s human dignity has been restored, the Borg threat cleverly neutralized, and our faith in humanity, despite fragility and vulnerabilities, again celebrated and affirmed. This assimilation of the Borg threat continues in subsequent Next Generation episodes and the sequel, Voyager. In The Next Generation’s “I, Borg,” episode 23, the crew find and domesticate an abandoned Borg drone Geordi La Forge affectionately names “Hugh.” Though the Enterprise eventually must return this “pet” Borg to the collective, the Voyager crew take the effort of domestication one step further by successfully assimilating Seven of Nine. Seven, as she is called, is a sexy female Borg who can, from her unique position within the family of Janeway’s crew, provide interesting outsider commentary on the human experience in a way that’s substantially similar to what Spock had provided for the original series. Finally, and coming at the issue from opposite side, there is the Borg Queen of Star Trek: First Contact, Star Trek Voyager, and a number of novels including David Mack’s trilogy Star Trek: Destiny. 42 The queen has the effect of condensing the ambiguous and disseminated Borg threat in the figure of a single, easily identifiable antagonist or “bad guy.” Criticism that this effort ruined the ambiguous and decentralized collectivity of the Borg has circulated widely on fan websites. 43 Each subsequent Borg appearance has had the effect of reassimilating radical possibilities initially exposed in the encounter with Locutus and of retrofitting the Borg threat to the humanist project and Trek’s essentially anthropocentric vision. Consequently, the real terrifying aspect of the Borg episodes is not found in the emotionless faces and denatured bodies of these “dehumanized” cybernetic organisms, but in the virtually unquestioned totalitarian ideology of humanism, which assimilates all others into its hegemony and incorporates every conceivable form of opposition as a component serving the success of its own project. It is in the face of this seemingly undefeatable humanist assimilation that strength seems irrelevant and resistance futile. NOTES 1. Wikipedia, “Borg (Star Trek),” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Borg_(Star_Trek) (accessed May 15, 2014). 2. Cory Doctorow, “Radical Presentism,” Tin House 41 (2009), www.tinhouse.com/blog/ 4410/cory-doctorow-radical-presentism.html. 3. Manfred E. Clynes and Nathan S. Kline, “Cyborgs and Space,” in The Cyborg Handbook, ed. Chris Hables Gray (New York: Routledge, 1995), 30. 4. Clynes and Kline, “Cyborgs and Space,” 29. 5. Clynes and Kline, “Cyborgs and Space,” 30–31. 6. For a survey of the development of the cyborg concept, cf. D. S. Halacy’s Cyborg: Evolution of the Superman (New York: Harper and Row, 1965) and David Rorvik’s As Man Becomes Machine: The Evolution of the Cyborg (New York: Doubleday, 1971).

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7. Nick Lanxon, “Practical Transhumanism: Five Living Cyborgs,” Wired UK, September 4, 2012, www.wired.co.uk/news/archive/2012-09/04/cyborgs. 8. N. Katherine Hayles, How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature and Informatics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 115. 9. Chris Hables Gray, Steven Mentor, and Heidi J. Figueroa-Sarriera, “Cyborgology: Constructing the Knowledge of Cybernetic Organisms,” in The Cyborg Handbook, ed. Chris Hables Gray (New York: Routledge, 1995), 2–3. 10. Stanisław Lem, Summa Technologica, trans. Joanna Zylinska (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2013). 11. Hayles, How We Became Posthuman, 115. 12. Amber Case, “We Are All Cyborgs.” TED, December 2010, www.ted.com/talks/amber_case_we_are_all_cyborgs_now. 13. Kevin Warwick, I, Cyborg (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002), 298. 14. Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995). 15. Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958). 16. Andy Clark, Natural Born Cyborgs: Minds, Technologies, and the Future of Human Intelligence (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 17. Brenda E. Brasher, “Thoughts on the Status of the Cyborg: On Technological Socialization and Its Link to the Religious Function of Popular Culture,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 64 (1996): 813. 18. Donna Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (New York: Routledge, 1991), 150. 19. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 151–53. This numbering is in accordance with Haraway’s initial publication from 1985. In the reprinted 1991 version, she adds a third boundary breakdown between the “physical and non-physical.” This third class of boundary breakdown, however, is characterized as “a subset of the second.” 20. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 151–52. 21. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 152. 22. Jonathan Marks, What it Means to Be 98% Chimpanzee: Apes, People, and Their Genes (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 23. Norbert Wiener, Cybernetics: Or Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1961). 24. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 177–78. 25. Hayles, How We Became Posthuman, 117. 26. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 154. 27. Diana M. A. Relke, Drones, Clones and Alpha Babes: Retrofitting Star Trek’s Humanism, Post-9/11 (Alberta, Canada: University of Calgary Press, 2006), 23. 28. Case, “We Are All Cyborgs.” 29. Manfred E. Clynes, “An Interview with Manfred E. Clynes,” in The Cyborg Handbook, ed. Chris Hables Gray (New York: Routledge, 1995), 47. 30. Humanity+, “Transhumanist FAQ,” 1999, http://humanityplus.org/philosophy/transhumanist-faq/#answer_19. 31. James H. Hughes, Citizen Cyborg: Why Democratic Societies Must Respond to the Redesigned Human of the Future (Cambridge, MA: Westview Press, 2004), xii. 32. Nick Bostrom, “A History of Transhumanist Thought,” Journal of Evolution and Technology 14, no. 1 (April 2005): 6, www.jetpress.org/volume14/bostrom.pdf. 33. Humanity+, “Transhumanist FAQ.” 34. Jean-François Lyotard, The Inhuman, trans. Geoffrey Bennington and Rachel Bowlby (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991), 1. 35. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 149. 36. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 180. 37. Claudia Springer, Electronic Eros: Bodies and Desire in the Postindustrial Age (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996), 33. 38. Joanna Zylinska, Bioethics in the Age of New Media (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2009), 12.

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39. Allison Fraiberg, “Of Aids, Cyborgs, and Other Indiscretions: Resurfacing the Body in the Postmodern,” Essays in Postmodern Culture, ed. Eyal Amiran and John Unsworth (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 65. 40. Haraway, Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, 173. 41. Hayles, How We Became Posthuman, 286. 42. David Mack, Star Trek: Destiny (New York: Gallery Books, 2012). 43. Adam Borders, “10 Reasons Why Star Trek: First Contact Ruined the Borg,” 2012, http://whatculture.com/film/10-reasons-why-star-trek-first-contact-ruined-the-borg.php and MegaBearsFan, “How Star Trek: First Contact and Voyager Ruined the Borg,” 2011, www.megabearsfan.net/post/2011/05/02/How-Star-Trek-First-Contact-and-Voyager-ruinedthe-Borg.aspx.

Chapter Nine

Shakespeare in Space A Trek toward Plurality Melanie Lörke

“All the galaxy’s a stage!” 1 This quotation sounds at once familiar and unfamiliar. An altered quotation from Shakespeare’s As You Like It, “world” has been changed to “galaxy” owing to the spatial-temporal location of the speaker, Q, one of the main recurring antagonists acting against Picard, captain of the Enterprise in The Next Generation. From time to time, Q appears to test and annoy humans. The usual weapons of the twenty-fourth century (phasers and photon torpedoes) are ineffectual against Q, who is well versed in Shakespeare and also omnipotent. Who better than a godlike creature to introduce us to both the Bard and Trek—two fictional universes that regularly converge. The opening quotation combines two elements: the stage, which signifies the notion of drama, theater, and the idea that our reality might as well be a play. In this respect, Shakespeare seems in line with poststructuralist ideas. If all the world were a stage, a world outside the stage would consequently not exist. What is the stage but a place where we perform texts? Consequently, the stage could be seen as a space for a plurality of texts. In this sense, there would be no “outside” of the text. On the other hand, we have the galaxy that transports us into a fictional future, opening up the perspective to manifold fictional possibilities, thereby increasing the plurality of possible texts. Both signifiers, stage and galaxy, imply a plurality of possibilities in which Shakespeare’s plays are integrated into Trek’s text. Plurality is a key characteristic of our own time that could be characterized as postmodern and postcolonial. Every day, we encounter ethnic and medial plurality, perhaps even plural realities; postmodernism tries to establish difference and plurality as principles in our world. Peter Zima argues that taken to their extreme, these princi99

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ples can turn into indifference. 2 Though there is a dangerous tendency toward apathy in postmodernism, we still live in a political world in which postcolonial issues counter the effects of this, such a confrontation reflected in the texts discussed here. Science fiction informs us about our world by defamiliarizing our reality. 3 Trek achieves this by transforming our wishes, desires, conflicts, anxieties, even our character traits into an alien world. The heroes of Trek’s world (mostly starship captains) can face any intergalactic challenge because they can rely on the merits of their technological and cultural achievements. Multiple alien races create a colorful mixture of different fictional ethnicities with ostensibly different cultural backgrounds that can easily be deciphered as racial stereotypes or generalized human characteristics. Russians and Japanese are collapsed into a proud warrior race with ridges on their foreheads. Klingon culture can indeed be traced back to the Japanese warrior rituals; the Klingon accent, though, is blatantly Russian. Further, there are logical Vulcans, greedy Ferengi, deceitful Romulans, aggressive Klingons, power-hungry shapeshifters, militant Cardassians, religious Bajorans, and others that represent different aspects of human nature. This ethnic variety hints that Trek mirrors the plurality and complexity of our world. Shakespeare serves well as a guide through the plurality of Trek’s universe, simultaneously functioning as a constraint and enforcer of plurality. To pinpoint this twofold, somewhat contradictory function of Shakespeare, I explore three different aspects of his appropriation. I first describe the intertextual use of Shakespeare in terms of plural meanings before turning to the question of whether or not Shakespeare is used to depict one or plural realities. Both points are implied in the opening quotation that hints at the intertextuality as well as the problem of multiple realities. Third, I analyze Shakespeare with regard to ethnic plurality. This aspect results as a consequence of the general function of Trek as a show that explicitly portrays itself as concerned with ethnic integration. Tension between integration and plurality is yet another topic relating to our postmodern and postcolonial time that can hardly be ignored when analyzing Trek. Shakespeare comprises an important aspect of human culture in the Trek universe. The plays and sonnets have not been forgotten; there remains need for Shakespeare in the twenty-fourth century. From Trek’s beginning, Shakespeare has been integral to the show. The intertextual reference to Shakespeare is evident in the titles of the various episodes: in the original series, “Daggers of the Mind” and “All Our Yesterdays” echo Macbeth; the origin of the movie title The Undiscovered Country is clear as well. In The Next Generation, the title “Sins of the Father” alludes to the Merchant of Venice, while “Remember Me” refers to Hamlet. Deep Space Nine’s “Once More

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unto the Breach” is from Henry V; and a Voyager episode makes use of Hamlet for its title “Mortal Coil.” Shakespeare’s plays are not only present in the paratext, however. There are other dialogical encounters of greater intertextuality: plots allude to the plays, which are quoted, even staged. In the original series, “Catspaw” opens with the chants of three witches: “Winds shall rise / and fog descend / So leave here all / or meet your end.” 4 Spock comments on that “very bad poetry, captain,” and he is correct; the original three witches in Macbeth do not chant in the common iambic meter, rather in the more obscure dactylic rhythm. Macbeth remains a subtext in the episode that revolves around the inversion of gender roles: a masculine (or unsexed) woman and her weak partner. Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, its title an allusion to Hamlet’s famous soliloquy in which he refers to death as the undiscovered country, is full of quotations from Hamlet and other plays. The Next Generation introduces Shakespeare in the first episode when Picard quotes from Henry VI: “Kill all the lawyers.” 5 This appears in an argument with the omnipotent being Q, who is key to understanding the relationship between Shakespeare and Trek. In addition to the quotation from various sonnets in two episodes, and several quotations from Hamlet and The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare is present through the medium of his texts. Picard displays a leather-bound copy of the collected plays in his office. The physical book serves as a source of inspiration in a time dominated by technological gadgets. Picard and Data actually stage Shakespeare’s plays: they perform, or at least rehearse, parts of Henry V, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Tempest. After The Next Generation, the frequency of these intertexts decreases. Shakespeare is mentioned once or twice in Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and Enterprise. Such diminishment might imply the end of Shakespeare as a cultural icon in the future. Earlier in the franchise, Shakespeare shares his space in the continuum with other intertexts by Percy Bysshe Shelley, Herman Melville, Cicero, Freud, and Lewis Carroll, as well as the Bible, all adding to the cultural construction of human civilization. The use of Shakespearean intertexts, however, “is so extensive as to constitute a motif.” 6 Though he may be one voice among many, one text in a plurality of texts, Shakespeare constitutes a particularly strong voice/text. The first aspect supports that Shakespeare enforces plurality, and the second restrains this plurality. As to intertextuality, this theoretical concept was born from postmodernist thinking. At its basis lies the notion that any text is always already constituted by other texts. This ontological concept may be valid though not applicable to the study of concrete examples of intertextuality. If one applies a narrow concept of intertextuality that is descriptive rather than ontological, it is possible to measure the strength of intertextuality within specific texts. 7 A simplified version of Manfred Pfister’s model allows for a study of Shake-

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spearean intertextuality in Trek. Postmodernist intertextuality is, according to Pfister, reflexive, thematized, and theorized as a construction principle. Thus, postmodernist intertextuality should again enforce plurality because of its meta-reflexive capacities. If a text points to its own textual nature, it also refers to its status among a plurality of other texts. In most cases discussed here, we are dealing with examples of high intertextuality. In The Undiscovered Country, Hamlet is not merely mentioned but directly quoted—even in Klingon, “taH pagh taHbe” 8 (“To be or not to be”)—and discussed at the dinner table. In “The Defector,” Data performs part of Henry V, act IV, scene 1. 9 The stage is the holodeck—a room that can simulate matter in a realistic way, appearing as if he was actually in the forest at night. A camp is visible in the background; a fire warms the soldiers. Henry V is not performed onstage by a group of actors (there are such performances in other episodes but not of Shakespeare), but rather in a naturalistic environment. One could then argue that this is no longer an intertextual reference to the play, instead a film version of the play. Data plays the role of king while Picard observes his performance. The play is discussed and interpreted in context after the performance. Data even mentions that he bases his interpretation on the performances of Olivier and Branagh. A curious humor pervades, particularly as Picard (Patrick Stewart) and Riker (Jonathan Frakes) speak the parts of the other two characters. Aside from this meta-textual pun, the play within the show proves crucial to the plot. The play does not serve as a model for the entire episode, which would be an indicator of high intertextuality. Nevertheless, the scene introduces the episode’s main theme: posing as someone else. The king mingles with his troops on the night before the battle, disguised as a common soldier. The Romulan defector, which the Enterprise later takes on board, is also an admiral (i.e., king) in disguise, posing as an ordinary soldier. Additionally, the situation before the battle of Agincourt is transformed into circumstances appropriate to the science-fiction genre. The crew also face a battle: an impending war with the Romulans. Picard must ask Data how the crew feels about his decision to face the Romulans. He shares the dilemma of a military leader’s distance from his troops with King Henry, yet Data is surprised that the captain does not feel the crew’s sentiment. The captain replies: “Data, unlike King Henry, it is not easy for me to disguise myself and walk among my troops.” After Data’s exit, he speaks to himself, quoting: “Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king who led them to it.” Since Picard not only mentions and quotes from the play performed earlier, but also reflects on his allusion, we are again dealing with a case of high intertextuality. Another example of an episode’s theme based on the rehearsal of a Shakespeare play is “Emergence.” Data plays Prospero on the holodeck when his simulation breaks down and the Orient Express suddenly rushes

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through his magic island. This fault in the system makes the juxtaposition of different texts clearly visible and can be understood as a comment on the uncontrollable or uncanny sides of magic and fantasy. The theme of Shakespeare’s scene, the new world, is expanded upon when a new life-form comes into being, born from the holodeck fantasies of the crew. In “The Defector” and in “Emergence,” Shakespeare is not used in a selfreflexive way, but instead as a text might be employed to interpret and explain reality. In these episodes, Shakespeare has a strong intertextual voice that counters a hypothetical plurality of other possible realities by reducing the number of possible interpretations. Knowing the Shakespearean intertext enhances understanding of the episode, one could even say that Shakespeare serves as a kernel of meaning. Finally, in “The Die Is Cast,” Garak, a Cardassian tailor and spy, alludes to Julius Caesar when he explains to his father how they ended up in a hopeless situation: “The fault, dear Tain, is not in our stars but in ourselves. Something I learned from Doctor Bashir.” 10 Again, Shakespeare is used to explain what is perceived as reality. The quotation cannot be identified without knowledge of the pretext, which qualifies this as a case of low intertextuality. The quotation does not have to be traced back to Shakespeare to grasp its meaning. In connection with the title, however, it serves to flesh out Garak’s character. The air of treason evinced by Julius Caesar functions as a theme for the mysterious spy who betrayed his own father while at the same time highlighting his interest in the fine arts. Quotations from and allusions to Shakespeare are often used explicitly, frequently identified and commented on, and sometimes serve as pattern for an entire episode. The intertextual nature of the episodes, however, is seldom reflected upon. Shakespeare is often quoted unnoticed. And the intertextuality of the show is not thematized as a construction principle. Consequently, we are dealing with an essentially classical or modernist kind of intertextuality. A playful element is located on the meta-textual level. Stewart is also an actor of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Many supporting actors and actresses are also Shakespearean trained, while Kirk, whose favorite author happens to be Shakespeare, is killed by a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company. 11 Reality (i.e., the actor’s other roles) enters the fictional text, thereby destroying the text’s ability to create the illusion of reality. The show is revealed to be merely a simulacrum. In that moment when “real reality” destroys “fictional reality,” the audience steps out of the text and into the context. The allusions to the actors’ lives playfully mark the series as fictional or textual. A playful element is introduced by the distortion of the original meaning and its appropriation to other contexts: if Shakespeare actors quote Shakespeare in a science-fiction series, this TV show is clearly playing with its own fictional or textual nature. As to whether Shakespeare is used to depict

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one or many realities, the next question must be: what do these realities look like? There are three possible ways of understanding Shakespeare’s function with regard to reality: First, Shakespeare is used to question reality. Second, he can also have the opposite function: employed as a cultural authority to affirm the progress of human civilization, he represents humanity itself. These perceptive possibilities are based on David Reinheimer’s distinction between ontological and ethical allusion. Shakespeare is human culture (ontological allusion) and represents the values of human culture (ethical allusion). So Shakespeare serves as a symbol of human nature and a model of action. 12 Third, Shakespeare as a random agglomerate of fragmentary quotes and allusions, used as a means of verifying and demonstrating white, male, Anglo-Saxon middle-class supremacy. While the first option would mark the intertextual Shakespeare as an enforcer of plurality, the plurality decreases with the second option. The third hints at one way in which intertextuality can support a colonial world that does not tolerate any kind of multiplicity. As to the first: when Q, as quoted above, declares, “All the galaxy’s a stage,” Picard corrects him instantly: “World, not galaxy; all the world’s a stage.” Q is not discouraged, continuing: “How about this: Life is but a walking shadow.” With his godlike powers, Q considers the galaxy to be a stage, himself the director. In “Hide and Q,” he provides a setting (alien planet), a plot (enemy soldiers attacking), even costumes (uniforms from the Napoleonic wars). Picard realizes this: “I see, how we respond to the game tells you more about us than our real life, this tale told by an idiot.” In “Q Who?” the play is darker: when Q forces the Enterprise’s first encounter with a powerful, merciless race, the Borg, Q comments: “The hall is rented, the orchestra engaged; it is now time to see if you can dance.” 13 When several people are killed, Picard asks Q if this is only one of his games. Q’s answer is: “No, this is as real as your so-called life gets.” For Q, there is not just one reality, but rather a theatrum mundi with many stages. Humans are not able to see the plurality of realities, as they are limited to a three-dimensional thinking that only allows for one reality and one meaning of life and death. Q considers it his duty to teach the postmodern concept of multiple realities. His metaphorical device, however, is not taken from postmodernism but from the early modern era. For him, Shakespeare is useful as a means of theatricalizing human existence, deconstructing reality, and critiquing humanity. Consequently, the high correlation between quotations from Shakespeare and Q’s appearances is not surprising. Here, the series shows traces of postmodern ideas brought forward through the use of Shakespearean quotes. Q renders a world fictional that is of course a fictional TV series, thereby reflecting on Trek as a text. Picard challenges Q’s reasoning, attempting to affirm human existence by appropriating Hamlet for his purpose: “What Hamlet might say with irony, I say with conviction: what a piece of work is man.” Q becomes annoyed, throwing Picard’s

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leather-bound book back at him. This is one of the cases where Shakespeare is used to defend or construct humanity. Another example occurs in “The Defector.” Although we must remember that the scene is performed on the holodeck, which questions reality, it also affirms a certain version of reality. The holodeck itself is a simulation of reality, a simulacrum, leading us to question the nature of reality. Numerous episodes play with this notion by confusing holodeck reality and “real reality.” Characters find themselves in the holodeck only to discover that past events were not authentic. They fall in love with simulated persons and use the holodeck to act out fantasies unfit for true life. The manner in which Shakespeare is used in this scene, however, is not to question reality but to generate meaning and construct reality. After Data’s performance, Picard explains that there is no better way to understand the human condition than to learn about it through Shakespeare. This is why not only Q and Picard but also Data are linked to Shakespeare. Data is an artificial life-form, an android, striving to become more human. To do so, he makes repeated use of Shakespeare: possessing a copy of the plays, quoting him frequently, rehearsing Shakespeare’s dramas. Shakespeare is not only depicted as part of the progress of civilization, as a cultural authority who has survived while other writers pass into oblivion, but also as the epitome of humanity. Shakespeare is used to construct a reality based on a limited view of what is considered high culture in the twentieth century, which excludes many other important works not part of the educational canon, reducing it to a superficial knowledge of a few classics. This interpretation leads to a postmodern concept, since one does not have to go far from here to reach the idea that the original texts are no longer important. The use of particular fragments in the series implies that it is possible to appropriate Shakespeare in any way one wishes. This point has been made regarding the way Shakespeare is used in The Undiscovered Country. The movie is understood as a “thinly veiled allegory of Cold War politics.” The heavy use of quotations, mostly from Hamlet, is irrelevant to the plot and shows the ideological employment, the political appropriation, and the way Shakespeare is used as cultural capital. The Federation as the empire of white, male, Anglo-Saxon protestants claims Shakespeare as their cultural capital that designates them as the better-educated, more highly cultured, therefore supreme power. The Klingons (or Russians), on the other hand, appear to have no right to use Shakespeare. They are dark, barbaric, and inferior. This is an example of a monistic reality constructed by the intertextual use of Shakespeare. Although the random quoting out of context supports the postmodern notion of indifference toward meaning, pointing to the way high culture is (mis)used in popular culture, its content-function can by no means be described as plural. The Undiscovered Country is clearly a case of the racially prejudiced appropriation of Shakespeare. The other ex-

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amples, however, reveal that there are more positive ways of constructing and deconstructing reality via Shakespeare. The two interpretative strands are not mutually exclusive. Shakespeare can deconstruct and generate meaning while also being appropriated for political purposes. The appropriation of Shakespeare in The Undiscovered Country represents an example of a colonial attitude that can be recognized in many of Trek’s spin-offs. 14 Interestingly, the Federation is supposed to have rid itself of ethnic conflicts. The original series featured an Asian and a Russian pilot and contained the first kiss between a white man and an African American woman shown on television. But the fear of the Other prevails, veiled in alien allegories. Although a supposedly real Russian can be an officer on a starship, the actual Russian threat is masked as a Klingon threat. The exploration of space as a sphere of diversity and plurality often ends in a racist dead end. The Federation and its values are undoubtedly superior. If other races want to join to share resources or enjoy trade relations and protection, they have to rid themselves of unwanted internal conflicts, achieve a certain technological standard, and abolish barbaric rituals. Nevertheless, there is hope. Seemingly, colonial attitudes are slowly being replaced by the common denominator of postmodernism and postcolonialism: plurality. In the Undiscovered Country, knowledge of Shakespearean texts is the privilege of the civilized races. Barbaric Klingons attempt to appropriate Shakespeare because they would like to participate in the discourse of the colonizer by using the correct cultural code. Klingons accept Shakespeare as a universal cultural authority. Their extensive quotation from Hamlet, Julius Caesar, Romeo and Juliet, Richard II, and other plays is not marked as unusual. The Klingon warrior most fond of Shakespeare dies with the Bard’s words on his lips. Whether he has succeeded in claiming Shakespeare—whose plays are supposed to be better when performed in Klingon— as a representative of humanity for himself, or whether this implies that he dies an assimilated colonized subject is debatable. The Next Generation’s “The Defector” demonstrates how Shakespearean discourse provides the key to becoming a member of the superior race of human beings. Picard comments on Data’s performance as the disguised King Henry: “Data. You are here to learn about the human condition. And there is no better way of doing that than by embracing Shakespeare.” Data’s, or the colonized subject’s, road to full membership of the human club is paved with Shakespeare. He has to “quote himself in.” There are other examples of Data using Shakespeare to construct himself as human, but the discourse universe is slightly more diverse in The Next Generation. Data does not only rely on Shakespeare in his search to become more lifelike; he draws on other cultures, too. In “In Theory,” he creates a subroutine for romantic interaction with a crewmember that also includes alien references. In “The

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Offspring,” Data lists Klingon child-rearing methods alongside guidelines applied by human parents. Data constructs himself not only through human texts but appropriated texts from other cultures that are implicitly discriminated against by the Federation. Evidently, as the number of intertexts increases, plurality does as well. This development continues in Deep Space Nine. In “The Die Is Cast,” the Cardassian Garak quotes from Julius Caesar and assigns a human origin to this quotation. It is but a small textual fragment in a wide multiplicity of alien texts. Cultural discourses become hybrids when Garak is taught Shakespeare by his friend Bashir, who in turn reads the Cardassian masterpiece The Never-Ending Sacrifice. Shakespeare and other classics including Klingon opera and ancient Bajoran texts are juxtaposed with popular culture (for example swing, baseball, alien games of chance, crime novels). Shakespeare becomes more postmodernist, more postcolonialist, and more pluralist in the 1990s. In the later spin-offs Star Trek Voyager and Star Trek Enterprise, Shakespeare has all but vanished—though not because of plurality. To the contrary, Enterprise represents a strong backlash against postmodern and postcolonial attitudes. Written and produced during the Iraq War, this show portrays a different kind of humanity: one that has shipped out to help the universe become a better place yet receives only hostile responses to its gracious offer. Ultimately, the only way out of the hostilities is open war, so there is hardly time for culture on the decks of the ship. Old westerns are shown at the weekly movie night, but no one thinks of rehearsing a play. Only a few episodes allow for peaceful exchange with other races. On one of these occasions, Macbeth is mentioned. An alien captain claims to have enjoyed Shakespeare and Sophocles and now asks for film recommendations. 15 Human technology dominates human culture and alien culture. The absence of Shakespeare or other classic texts creates a hostile galaxy—no longer a stage but a vacuum where questions of plurality trail off. NOTES The chapter was first published in Wissenschaftliches Seminar Online 7 (2009), http://shakespeare-gesellschaft.de/en/publications/seminar/issue2009.html. 1. “Hide and Q,” Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 1, episode 9, first aired November 23, 1987. 2. Peter Zima, Moderne/Postmoderne: Gesellschaft, Philosophie, Literatur (Tübingen and Basel: Francke, 1997). 3. Craig Dionne, “The Shatnerification of Shakespeare: Star Trek and the Commonplace Tradition,” in Shakespeare after Mass Media, ed. Richard Burt (New York: Palgrave, 2002). 173–94. 4. Mary Buhl Dutta, “‘Very Bad Poetry, Captain’: Shakespeare in Star Trek,” Extrapolation 36, no. 1 (1995): 38–45.

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5. “Encounter at Farpoint,” Star Trek: The Next Generation, part 1, season 1, episode 1, first aired September 28, 1987. 6. Emily Hegarty, “Some Suspect of Ill: Shakespeare’s Sonnets and ‘The Perfect Mate,’” Extrapolation 36, no. 1 (1995): 55–64. 7. Manfred Pfister, “How Postmodern Is Intertextuality,” in Intertextuality, ed. Heinrich F. Plett (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1991), 207–24. 8. Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, directed by Nicholas Meyer, Paramount, 1991. 9. “The Defector,” Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 3, episode 10, first aired January 1, 1990. 10. “The Die Is Cast,” Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, season 3, episode 21, first aired May 1, 1995. 11. Susan C. Hines, “What’s Academic about Trek,” Extrapolation 36, no. 1 (1995): 5–9. 12. David Reinheimer, “Ontological and Ethical Allusion: Shakespeare in The Next Generation,” Extrapolation 36, no. 1 (1995): 46–54. 13. “Q Who?” Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 2, episode 16, first aired May 8, 1989. 14. Taylor Harrison, Sarah Projansky, Kent Ono, and Elyce Rae Helford, eds., Enterprise Zones: Critical Positions on Star Trek (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996). 15. “Cogenitor,” Star Trek: Enterprise, season 2, episode 22, first aired April 30, 2003.

Chapter Ten

Toward a Non-Dystopian Future Romance and Realism in Star Trek: The Next Generation Rebecca Barrilleaux

In an age of virtual worlds, social media, and artificial intelligence, artistic visions of a bioengineered dystopia overwhelmingly outnumber those of idealized utopias. Elysium, Oblivion, and The Hunger Games are among the latest examples of films that depict amoral societies. Yet among these prophesies of repressed humanity stands one notable exception—a humanistic outlook of the future epitomized by the texts of Star Trek. Nowhere in the franchise is this more evident than in The Next Generation; the series’ belief in the future of humanity derives from its ability to reflect a world in which consciousness of human value coexists alongside awareness of technology. This vision relies on two elements: an underlying advocacy of a theory of interrelatedness, which promotes compassion and empathy among all peoples, and a conventional romance narrative. These are in some ways complementary, for both concern issues of identity. Yet the romance structure reflects hierarchical social constructs, directly conflicting with deconstructive tendencies of the interrelatedness theory. This paradox culminates in The Next Generation’s portrayal of the figurehead of humanity as a white EuroAmerican man (Patrick Stewart). Not simply “a romance,” The Next Generation also employs elements of realism that enable the show to present symbolic representations of contemporary culture. Its optimistic vision of the future is not solely dependent on the wish-fulfillment characteristics of romance, therefore, but is also linked to contemporary cultural theory based on systems science, which applies its material interest in feedback loops and cybernetics to the larger concept of 109

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the connection of all things. The Next Generation draws on interrelatedness theory to weave characteristics of present-day technological society into a humanistic future outlook in which humanity is not repressed by proliferation of technology but furthered by it. THE NEXT GENERATION AS ROMANCE NARRATIVE In The Secular Scripture, Northrop Frye states: It is quite true that if there is no sense that the mythological universe is a human creation, man [sic] can never get free of servile anxieties, never surpass himself, in Nietzsche’s phrase. But if there is no sense that it is also something uncreated, something coming from elsewhere, man remains a Narcissus staring at his own reflection, equally unable to surpass himself. Somehow or other, the created scripture and the revealed scripture have to keep fighting each other like Jacob and the Angel, and it is through the maintaining of this struggle, the suspension of belief between the spiritually real and the humanly imaginative, that our own mental evolution grows. 1

The Next Generation creates a mythological universe that relates human creativity to something larger, demonstrated most clearly in the final episode. In “All Good Things . . . ,” Picard grasps the full interconnection between space and time while witnessing and examining a temporal/spatial anomaly. Indeed, Picard creates that very anomaly by opening his mind to its possibility. His “mental evolution grows” by struggling to understand the relationship between his own creativity and something beyond it, the “uncreated.” Frye further argues that the “one principle” we have “to go on with” is recalled by the romance genre: “we are not awake when we have abolished the dream world: we are awake only when we have reabsorbed it again.” 2 The boundaries Frye asserts that romance blurs, between dream and reality, identity and illusion, are concerns that The Next Generation addresses through its use of romance elements. Blurred distinctions between waking and dreaming are depicted in Picard’s confusion as he’s propelled from one time period to the next and in the dreamlike quality of the twenty-firstcentury courtroom to which he is transported. Such blurring is reinforced by Picard beginning and ending his adventure while wearing pajamas. According to Frye, romance narratives constitute an upward journey toward regained identity. Likewise, The Next Generation’s structure follows these characteristics. The show’s premise concerns a quest by the Enterprise to “seek out new life and new civilizations” and “boldly go where no one has gone before.” Arriving at a more complete understanding of the crew’s own identities occurs via their growing realization of interconnectedness, both among themselves and with members of other species. This is best exem-

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plified by “The Chase,” in which Klingons, Romulans, Cardassians, and humans discover their common ancestry; as a result, Picard and the Romulan captain must reevaluate previous beliefs about identity. The Romulan captain, so transformed, admits to Picard, “It would seem we are not so different after all.” 3 Another romance element that allows The Next Generation to project an ideal world is that of wish fulfillment, evident in descriptions given of “present-day” Earth of the twenty-fourth century. In “The Neutral Zone,” Picard explains that twenty-fourth-century humans have “eliminated hunger, want, and the need for possessions,” leaving people with the sole challenge of “improving” and “enriching” themselves. 4 This description of a utopia is tied to what Frye calls “nostalgia for a vanished past”: This recreation of the possible or future or ideal constitutes the wish-fulfillment element in romance. Thus, the recreation of romance brings us into a present where past and future are gathered. Such a union of past and future in a present vision of a pastoral, paradisal, and radically simplified form of life obviously takes on a new kind of urgency in an age of pollution and energy crisis. 5

In promoting the idea of a universal web of interconnections, theorists stress the “oneness” of identity, resulting in “identity” and “reality” becoming simplified rather than variegated. Although such simplification may prove appealing to a society immersed in technological advances that make life more sophisticated, complicated, and ambiguous, it ignores the difficult realities of such a society, degenerating into wish fulfillment. The Next Generation draws on this romantic desire for simplicity. Although life onboard the Enterprise can be complex, especially when the crew must relate to a new culture, for the most part life is “radically simplified.” The crew does not face monetary or serious health concerns; the Enterprise appears remarkably free of interpersonal conflict. They are left to explore their interests unhindered, which they generally do in harmonious fashion. Utopic worlds like that of the Enterprise are, understandably, vastly appealing to contemporary audiences. This wish-fulfillment element relates to romance’s assertion of moral polarizing. The crew is “good”; collectively, they are honest, compassionate, reasonable. Data, the epitome of goodness, states in “Data’s Day,” “There are many human emotions that I do not fully comprehend—anger, hatred, revenge—but I am not mystified by the desire to be loved or the need for friendship. These are things I do understand.” 6 Data does not possess a “dark side.” His resulting lack of moral complexity renders him innocent, naive, too good to be human. The only instances in which Data exhibits negative traits occur when he is not in control of himself, as in “Descent” and “Phantasms.”

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The crew is likewise stylized, as characters are in romance, echoing traditional genre stereotypes: the innocent, wise-beyond-his-years child (Wesley), the resolute warrior (Worf), the “knight in shining armor” (Riker), all allowing for immediate audience identification. Enemies also possess stylized characteristics. The cold, insect-like Borg we instantly recognize as “bad.” Data himself possessed a stereotypical evil twin, Lore. In contrast, Lore does not understand love and friendship but appreciates anger, hatred, and revenge. He possesses emotions technically closer to human than Data. Nonetheless, Lore’s portrayal of this doppelgänger as dark and evil causes Data to appear more closely linked to humanity, since this life-form, represented by the crew, is overwhelmingly “good.” The fixity/reductionism of romance formulas reappears in The Next Generation’s treatment of women. Each female crewmember should represent a mixture of traditionally feminine qualities and traditionally masculine characteristics if they are to reflect interrelatedness, yet The Next Generation’s socially constructed stereotypes undermine this paradigm. Typing of female characters causes The Next Generation to essentialize feminine values, designating compassion, empathy, and intuition as innate for women. Three recurring characters—Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher, and Guinan—are securely posited within traditionally feminine fields. Troi, the ship’s counselor and an empath, stretches female intuition to a new level. Crusher is the nurturing doctor who, though possessing the power to relieve the captain of duty, doesn’t hold any more command than Troi. Guinan embodies the bartender/ wise woman to whom the crew turns for guidance. An androgynous figure, she is not visibly “feminine” like Troi, with her large breasts and low-cut uniform, or Crusher, with her striking make-up and red hair. Although Guinan is allowed more complexity and uniqueness, she represents the spiritual superiority and supportiveness traditionally associated with women. The Next Generation does include some morally ambiguous characters such as Q, who does not easily fit into a “good” or “bad” dichotomization. Though arrogant, mischievous, and vengeful, Q often acts out of concern for others. Perhaps most improbable of all Next Generation characters, Q is also the most realistic, consistently questioning morality and exhibiting conflicting desires. Q’s moral ambiguity and insecurity, perhaps surprising characteristics for a superior, even omnipotent being, reveals The Next Generation’s reliance on realism as well as romance. Yet another Next Generation divergence from simplistic romance narrative is its employment of topical and allegorical references. According to Frye, romance is antirepresentational, but The Next Generation’s symbolism extends to nonliterary affinities, into the life around it that the text reflects. This “symbolic spread” is exemplified by “The Outcast,” in which the bisexual J’naii persecute people who possess a single sexual preference, dramatizing sexual prejudice in present society. In “Symbiosis,” the Ornarans’ chemi-

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cal dependency on a substance provided by the Brekkans translates into a treatise on contemporary drug issues. In Screening Space, Vivian Sobchack outlines how “science fiction has always taken as its distinctive generic task the cognitive mapping and poetic figuration of social relations as they are constituted and changed by technological modes of being-in-the-world.” 7 As such, science fiction is invariably about the present, although indirectly, as it is cordoned off by the text’s placement in a distant future. This characteristic of mirroring problems of one’s own world is, as Horace Newcomb states in TV: The Most Popular Art, also typical of television adventures. The Next Generation examines cultural issues through the interaction of a mixed regular cast that represents differing ages, races, sexes, and (to some degree) personalities. This representational quality, associated with realism, is reinforced by The Next Generation’s reliance on functional probability; all science and technology represented on The Next Generation is based on available knowledge provided by physicists. The primary characteristic of the adventure format is movement. In The Next Generation’s case, this is provided by the central premise: exploration of space. For Newcomb, the problems that arise in television adventures are “solved in terms of the values embodied in the central characters. Values that determine the outcome of various encounters are directly related to attitudes that motivate the movement of the characters in the first place.” 8 Enterprise crewmembers desire to better understand themselves and the universe. By continually expressing empathy and compassion for other life-forms, they discover the solution to any dilemma presented. Newcomb notes that when a problem arises in an adventure series, the first reaction of its characters “is to rely on essentially technological methods. It becomes apparent, however, that such situations are incapable of rectifying the situation, and human abilities, common sense, and human emotions bring about the correction.” 9 These characteristics are evident in “The Best of Both Worlds,” in which the Enterprise’s defense capabilities fail to deter the Borg ship, forcing Riker and Shelby to employ their ingenuity to save the day. By relying on human ability, adventure series promote, if inadvertently, a consciousness of human resourcefulness. Instead of presenting fractured narratives and fragmented images common in TV shows since the birth of MTV, The Next Generation provides a coherence dependent upon formulaic devices and a single controlling viewpoint. The series’ camera-eye offers an “objective” position, conflicting with the range of perspectives represented by the Enterprise. This creates a tension between The Next Generation’s advocacy of heterarchy and maintenance of a dominant perspective. The Next Generation’s attention to camera position and editing creates an unproblematic, “normal,” or “transparent” presentation of reality, as Tony Wilson points out. 10

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ASPECTS OF INTERRELATEDNESS The Federation, like their Borg antithesis, exposes qualities of a dominant culture. White men dominate the Enterprise’s hierarchal structure; patriarchal notions of gender stereotyping occur, positioning men as “subjects,” women as “objects.” The “male gaze” is illustrated in “The Best of Both Worlds,” part 1, when Admiral Hanson tells Picard to “keep an eye” on Commander Shelby, an attractive female expert on the Borg. Picard appreciates her intellectually while admiring her physically, suggesting a dual meaning of Hanson’s phrase. Picard recognizes that the admiral is “quite taken with her”; in response, the admiral replies, “Just an old man’s fantasies.” How Shelby is treated during the episode further demonstrates sexist attitudes within the Federation. Depicted as strong willed and intelligent, Riker, second in command, condescendingly describes Shelby to the chief engineer as “a full head of steam.” In Borg episodes, female characters, as demonstrated by Crusher and Guinan, represent traditional stereotyped qualities associated with nurturing—sensitivity, intuition, compassion, and the ethical responsibility stemming from them. Although these qualities are positive, reflecting an understanding of interrelatedness, their specific assignment to women creates gender distinctions that are supposed to be deconstructed by that very theory of interrelatedness. In “I, Borg,” Crusher finds the injured adolescent Borg and, “for humanitarian reasons,” saves his life. Her maternal/nurturing instincts lead Crusher to act in his best interest before weighing any consequences. In a debate with other officers, Crusher reminds the crew that they are forgetting their ethical and emotional perspectives by treating the Borg from a mechanist standpoint. As others discuss inserting a virus into the Borg that might cause a “total systems failure” for the Borg collective, she insists that they consider it from a personal perspective: CRUSHER: What exactly is total systems failure? DATA: The Borg are extremely computer dependent. A systems failure will destroy them. CRUSHER: I just think we should be clear on that. We’re talking about annihilating an entire race. 11 In “The Best of Both Worlds,” Guinan, the wise counselor, reminds the crew of aspects in their underlying beliefs. In an encounter with Picard, she states that while one human remains alive, humanity and the human spirit will prevail. 12 The second time she offers advice to Riker, instructing him to let go of Picard’s memory (he has by this point been “Borgified”) so as to

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properly fulfill his new role as captain. 13 Her advice in both cases reflects the need for balance between the value of individual perspective and the importance of social cohesion, essential to the Enterprise’s philosophy. Counteracting sexism inherent in such traditional gender roles, The Next Generation’s writers do place women in positions of power (if not command) over Riker in Borg episodes. After Picard has been kidnapped, Deanna Troi reminds Riker it is his place to stay on the bridge rather than lead a mission. Meanwhile, three females—Crusher, Troi, and Shelby—occupy the bridge. Troi’s advice forces Riker to order Shelby to lead the mission; he later makes her second in command, effectively giving his old position to her, sharing command with a woman. Yet these role reversals are mere tokens as men continue to make the big decisions. Picard and Riker, a Frenchman and Canadian respectively, represent the orientation of Enterprise philosophy. Values stressed in Borg episodes—self-determination, liberty, individuality—are precisely the values of Euro-American society. Although the Federation is not racist to the extent of the Borg (who are whiter than white), the Enterprise does possess aspects of a colonialist viewpoint. The Next Generation’s outlook that cultures that are not Eurocentric (in other words, white, intellectual, and cultured, as many races and species in The Next Generation are depicted) are ethically inferior is evident in the series’ treatment of Worf, who is played by an African American actor. The Klingon culture is portrayed as less civilized than the Federation. Klingons are quick to fight, savage when they do, and sexually aggressive— particularly the females. These characteristics, as Ella Shohat and Robert Stam point out in Unthinking Eurocentrism, typify Eurocentric characterization of African cultures as “wild beasts.” 14 Worf’s aggressive warrior instincts continually lose out to Starfleet’s ideas of compassion. In “Redemption,” part 2, Worf refuses to kill a Klingon boy, though ordered to by the High Council, as his Starfleet ethics inspire him to feel sympathy. Similarly, in the appropriately entitled “Ethics,” Worf chooses to have a spine implant after injury rather than kill himself in Klingon tradition. He makes his decision (after pressure from Troi) out of consideration for his son. Klingon ideas of morality—the honor of dying in battle or by ritual—are outweighed by Starfleet’s morality. By asserting its ideas of compassion as superior, The Next Generation refuses to acknowledge the relevance of moral perspectives beyond its own white male European perspective, thus participating in the same colonizing of women and people of color that the Prime Directive is meant to guard against. Tension between advocating a deconstructive theory while retaining a romance narrative is illustrated in the final episode, “All Good Things. . . .” The Next Generation makes its strongest statement in support of interrelatedness here. Still, dominant white male perspective and formulaic constructs

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remain apparent. Picard’s journey represents a typical romantic quest for identity. He confusedly shifts through time periods, attempting to puzzle out relationships among three in particular. His adventure is participated in by three Picards—in the past, in the present, and in the future. The quest’s goal is to end the time shifting and to return to his “true” identity in the present by solving the mystery of spatial anomaly and passing Q’s test of humanity. This adventure retains a spiral structure typical of romance quests in which the end is the beginning transformed. Picard initiates and concludes his journey-quest in a precise point in time and space. In between, a trial occurs, altering Picard and his views. This creates a spiral structure for the series, as this episode returns Picard to the first episode’s setting—on trial in a kangaroo court by Q. Still, the show’s cyclical structure is not closed. As Q reveals, “The trial never ends.” We are led to believe the crew will continue in their adventures, reinforced by Picard’s final utterance, “The sky’s the limit.” 15 In its conclusion, however focalized through Picard, The Next Generation reveals its clearest connection with advocates of interrelatedness. Humanist artificial intelligence theorists like Robert Nadeau and Joseph Weizenbaum, ecologists including Jeremy Rifkin, systems science advocates such as Joanna Macy, and advocates of interrelatedness argue that if we do not change our mechanist attitudes toward science and technology, we will meet our destruction by replacing ourselves in the evolutionary niche with artificial beings, by destroying the Earth’s resources and habitability, by detonating our weapons of mass destruction, or by simply losing our humaneness to the impersonal, “value-free” qualities of technology. The Next Generation argues that survival of humanity depends on changing this attitude. Naturally, then, Q—who put humanity on trial in the first episode— reappears. He states that unless Picard proves that humans can expand their understanding, “mankind” will be “denied existence.” 16 The plot serves as a metaphor: if humans do not achieve a greater degree of interrelatedness, we will be destroyed by our own narrow attitudes (represented by Q, agent of humanity’s potential destruction). The title suggests this quantum leap is possible. The predicate “must come to an end” is left off, implying that the necessary change in attitude can be accomplished, as illustrated by the episode. In “A Mystical Cosmology: Toward a Postmodern Spirituality,” Matthew Fox notes that mechanist science “did not highlight creativity as a moral imperative or as the most important ingredient of a living cosmology. Yet that is what is required in a postmodern era, carrying us beyond the notion that the universe is already completed or is a machine in motion.” 17 The Next Generation agrees; the dynamic property of evolution and consequent need for all things to change and evolve is stressed as a moral imperative. The test Q sets before Picard is a mystery, even as Farpoint Station was. Here,

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though, the mystery involves a temporal/spatial anomaly. Interrelatedness, founded on quantum physics, asserts that every aspect of experience is so qualified. Picard’s test is to reach a greater understanding of this through unraveling the mysterious workings of the anomaly. He realizes that he creates the anomaly in the future by initiating a tachyon pulse. But the anomaly travels backward, growing larger in the past, until it eventually occupies an entire section of the Milky Way, preventing formation of life on Earth. Picard comes to understand that events in the future can impact the past and that time and space are interrelated. To solve the mystery, Picard must, as Q says, open his mind to “options [he] had never considered before,” seeing the universe in an alternative light. 18 This paradox is as important as the expansion of understanding it represents, carrying a broad implication of interrelatedness. The past, present, and future are connected in a relational web and what affects time affects space and vice versa. Positionality is important, for temporal and spatial location affect observation, which in turn affects time and space, which affects observation, and so on. In this episode, Picard must come to understand interrelatedness to a larger extent if humanity is to survive, just as the humanists and theorists of interrelatedness assert present-day humanity must do if we are to survive. Inevitably, Picard decides to change the course of the present and alter what he viewed as a possible future, something he never would have considered before attaining an enlightened perspective on time. He tells the crews in the present what he experienced and places himself “on their level,” instead of separating himself as before. He symbolically accomplishes this again by joining the officers’ poker game. These changes are meant to draw the crew closer together, to prevent them from drifting apart, which he noticed as a potentially dangerous future. Picard thus comes to understand and value interrelatedness (and heterarchy) to a greater degree in the microcosm of the Enterprise. The importance and power of individual perspective within the relational web is emphasized, as is the value of non-sensory perception. Picard’s individual perspective, his achievement of a greater understanding, literally saves humanity. He recognizes on his own what must be done to collapse the anomaly and prevent it from affecting the creation of life on Earth. Yet to perform the procedure, he must convince each of the three Enterprise crews (from past, present, and future) to risk their lives by taking the ships into the anomaly and creating static warp shells. In the present and future, he provides the crews with an explanation of his reasoning. In the past, he cannot, for fear of altering the course of the other time periods. To influence the crew of the “past Enterprise,” Picard must appeal to their non-sensory perception and intuitive trust in him, which he does by asserting his faith in them. He tells them that he knows they are the finest crew in Starfleet and that he

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implicitly trusts them with his life. This enables the crew to extend that faith back to him; they risk their lives; their actions enable the combined efforts of the Enterprise crews to succeed in collapsing the anomaly and save humanity as well as all life on Earth. This episode links compassion with humanity’s ability to survive. Compassion, the “moral imperative” that the crew sees as inherent in the theory of interrelatedness, is what draws Q’s help. Although Q states that compassion is a human weakness, he has admitted it’s what most fascinates him about humans (and Picard, in particular, the figurehead of the Enterprise’s policies of compassion). We are reminded of previous admissions by Q during a discussion during an officers’ meeting in the “present.” Q’s curiosity about compassion suggests that humans possess a level of understanding that Q does not, although he is too arrogant to admit it: Seven years ago I said we’d be watching you and we have been, hoping that your apelike race would demonstrate some growth, would give some indication that your minds had room for expansion, but what have we seen instead? You worrying about Commander Riker’s career, listening to Counselor Troi’s pedantic psychobabble, indulging Data in his witless exploration of humanity. 19

Though Q belittles the importance of compassion, The Next Generation’s emphasis on morality suggests that compassion is a superior power to Q’s physical powers. This is evidenced by the crew’s continual indignation at Q’s actions. The above monologue also contains a subtle reference to a previous episode, “Déjà Q.” There, Q himself indulged Data “in his witless exploration of humanity” by causing Data to experience laughter. Q’s motivation for doing so is similar to Picard’s, stemming from a newfound (although limited) sense of compassion and empathy. Also, Q’s attitude toward compassion is not as clear-cut as his statement suggests. There is more to Q than even Q knows. The connection between these episodes leads to another comparison. In “Déjà Q,” the Q continuum strips Q of his powers, rendering him “human” for his harassment of other species. When Q demonstrates compassion by committing a partially selfless act—sacrificing himself to the Calamarians to save the Enterprise—he is admitted back into the continuum. The final trial of humanity is a directive from the continuum, suggesting that perhaps it hopes to provide Q another lesson in compassion. Here, Q demonstrates more compassion than ever before. He expresses explicit interest in the fate of humanity by helping Picard save it, providing Picard with clues to the mysteries of spatial/temporal anomaly. Picard and the Enterprise make a small leap toward greater understanding of the interrelatedness on a physical, or mechanical level, so too does Q make a small leap toward a greater understanding of interrelatedness on an ethical, nonmechanical level.

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The Next Generation’s portrayal of Q, an omnipotent being, as imperfect reveals a belief that the universe is dynamic, evolution continual. These ideas are, according to theologian and advocate of interrelatedness Robert Inchausti, “calls to transcend the givens of experience in order to realize certain exquisite possibilities.” 20 This idea is iterated by Q in his final/parting insight to Picard: “That’s the exploration that awaits you. Not mapping stars and charting nebulas, but charting the unknown possibilities of existence.” 21 Q also states that “the trial never ends,” and in putting Star Trek: The Next Generation to the test of humanity upon which the series is premised, it is clear that in many ways The Next Generation fails to pass. 22 By engaging in traditional Eurocentric positioning of identity, the series imposes limits on possibilities of existence, particularly for women and people of color. In its fixed structuring of identity, The Next Generation illustrates the very obstacles that must be overcome if we are to create a utopic world of endless options and limitless potential. Yet The Next Generation does allow us to dream of such a world. It attempts to envision a future for humanity in which our goal is not to dominate and control, but to understand and accept the world around us, acknowledging the interrelatedness, not just of white European men, but of all peoples, cultures, species, ideas, and aspects of experience. In “All Good Things . . . ,” The Next Generation asserts that in order to achieve these potentialities, we must create them for ourselves, and this is by far the most important insight of the series. In order to fulfill these possibilities, we must imagine them, and in imagining them, we must feed on wonder and ambiguity, exploring for ourselves the unknown possibilities of existence. NOTES 1. Northrop Frye, The Secular Scripture: A Study of the Structure of Romance (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), 60–61. 2. Frye, The Secular Scripture, 61. 3. “The Chase,” The Next Generation, season 6, episode 20, first broadcast April 24, 1993. 4. “The Neutral Zone,” The Next Generation, season 1, episode 25, first broadcast May 14, 1988. 5. Frye, The Secular Scripture, 179. 6. “Data’s Day,” The Next Generation, season 4, episode 11, first broadcast January 5, 1991. 7. Vivian Sobchak, Screening Space: The American Science Fiction Film (New York: Ungar, 1987), 224. 8. Horace Newcomb, TV: The Most Popular Art (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1974), 139. 9. Newcomb, TV: The Most Popular Art, 157. 10. Tony Wilson, Watching Television (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993), 111. 11. “I, Borg,” The Next Generation, season 5, episode 23, first broadcast May 9, 1992. 12. “The Best of Both Worlds,” part 1, The Next Generation, season 3, episode 26, first broadcast June 18, 1990.

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13. “The Best of Both Worlds,” part 2, The Next Generation, season 4, episode 1, first broadcast September 22, 1990. 14. Ella Shohat and Robert Stam, Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the Media (London: Routledge, 1994), 137. 15. “All Good Things . . . ,” part 1, The Next Generation, season 7, episode 25, first broadcast May 23, 1994. 16. “All Good Things . . .” 17. Matthew Fox, “A Mystical Cosmology: Toward a Postmodern Spirituality,” in Sacred Interconnections, ed. David Ray Griffin (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), 27. 18. “All Good Things . . .” 19. “All Good Things . . .” 20. Robert Inchausti, The Ignorant Perfection of Ordinary People (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991), 2. 21. “All Good Things . . .” 22. “All Good Things . . .”

Chapter Eleven

Enjoying an “Original Relation to the Universe” Star Trek: The Next Generation and Emersonian Transcendentalism April Selley

“Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?” 1 Ralph Waldo Emerson asks in Nature, the quintessentially American manifesto of Transcendentalism. The Next Generation, which embodies Emerson’s optimistic philosophy, answers: “Why not, indeed?” The Next Generation’s characters—especially Data, Wesley Crusher, and Jean-Luc Picard, as well as advanced aliens such as the Traveler and Anij—are Emersonian figures. Their “original relation to the universe” is based on harmony with the goodness of the cosmos/natural world, as well as imagination and self-reliance/ actualization, not materialism and power. All embrace Emerson’s words: “What noble emotions dilate the mortal as he enters into the councils of the creation, and feels by knowledge the privilege to BE! . . . Here again we are impressed and even daunted by the immense Universe to be explored. What we know is a point to what we do not know.” 2 Several Next Generation episodes, as well as four films, embrace Transcendentalist values. 3 Emersonian philosophy is symbolically represented by the structure of the starship Enterprise D (and, later, Enterprise E), featuring huge windows offering views of space. These suggest Emerson’s transparent eyeball. (In First Contact, Picard notes there is no glass in the bridge’s view screen, only a force field, suggesting that barriers between humans and the universe are breaking down.) Although The Next Generation’s opening narration is nearly identical to that of the original series, many episodes, including “Where No One Has Gone Before” (first broadcast Octo121

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ber 16, 1987) and “Journey’s End” (March 28, 1994), suggest that “space” is not “the final frontier”; the frontiers of time and of current limitations of thought and sensory perception will also be transcended. Again, one recalls words from Nature: “Undoubtedly we have no questions to ask which are unanswerable. We must trust the perfection of the creation so far as to believe that whatever curiosity the order of things has awakened in our minds, the order of things can satisfy.” 4 Stressing “becoming” and an inevitable improvement of the human race—a movement away from violence toward harmony—Emerson and The Next Generation aim to embrace and perfect the present rather than obsess over the past. The “perfection of the creation” suggests that evil is an absence of good rather than a force in itself, as “Skin of Evil” (April 25, 1988) and Nemesis likewise maintain. Although Gene Roddenberry did not necessarily read Emerson and deliberately set out to dramatize those principles, Transcendentalist thought emerges as such an important element in The Next Generation that this thread hardly seems coincidental. “Up the Long Ladder” (May 22, 1989) features a group called Neo-Transcendentalists. Although the episode does not demonstrate Transcendentalist principles to the degree of others, Data informs Picard that the group’s original leader “advocated a return to a simpler life in which one lived in harmony with nature and learned under her gentle tutelage,” 5 a description reminiscent of Emerson. It is appropriate that Data speaks these words embracing Transcendentalism. In “The Divinity School Address,” Emerson exhorts readers to “live with the privilege of the immeasurable mind.” 6 An android, Data literally possesses such a mind, embodying Emerson’s optimistic view of technology. Emerson writes that, “The useful arts are reproductions or new combinations by the wit of man, of the same natural benefactors” (i.e., natural forces), 7 citing steam empowering the boiler of a boat. He never dreamed of circuits that could allow a machine to think, could not imagine the ultimate “combination” of natural elements—that is, a technological achievement capable of performing the actions and feeling the emotions of man. The ultimate technology would be a machine that not merely serves humankind but embodies the best of, and exists in true harmony with, humans. In “Datalore” (January 18, 1988), Picard asks First Officer Riker, “Have you ever considered whether Data is more human or less human than we want?” Riker replies, “I wish we were all as well-balanced.” Data synthesizes the organic and mechanical, the mathematical and scientific; as revealed in the premiere episode, “Encounter at Farpoint” (September 28, 1987), Data took honors at Starfleet Academy in exobiology and probability mechanics. His transparent eyeball absorbs and remembers everything. He incarnates Emerson’s lover of nature “whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood.” 8 Data’s friend Tasha Yar

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notes in “Skin of Evil,” “You see things with the wonder of a child, and that makes you more human than any of us.” In Insurrection, Data tells Artim, a Ba’ku (alien) boy, that he wishes he could be a child. “If you want to know what it’s like to be a child, you need to learn to play,” Artim replies. They play hide-and-seek in a hayfield, and Data must be cajoled to leave this natural setting and return to the Enterprise. Data revels in “This delight we all take in every show of night or day, of field or forest or sea or city,” 9 acknowledging Emerson’s reflection in “The Poet” that children should be exposed to “the plain face and sufficing objects of nature, the sun and moon, the animals, the water and stones.” 10 A clear contrast exists between Data, who aspires to become more of a human individual, and the Borg, a cyborg collective. In Generations, Data aspires so much to be truly human that he has an “emotion” chip embedded into his programming (although previous episodes suggest that he has experienced emotions). In First Contact, the Borg Queen tries unsuccessfully to exploit this chip and to seduce Data into the Borg. The Queen, who functions similarly to a beehive’s queen, attempts to convince Data that individuality causes chaos, whereas losing all sense of self is perfection. She embodies Emerson’s statement in “Self-Reliance” that “This one fact the world hates; that the soul becomes.” 11 Data counters with a characteristically Emersonian desire to remain an individual who maintains free choice: BORG QUEEN: I bring order to chaos. . . . You are in chaos, Data. You are the contradiction, a machine who wishes to be human. DATA: . . . you must be aware that I am programmed to evolve, to better myself. BORG QUEEN: We too are on a quest to better ourselves, evolving toward a state of perfection. DATA: Forgive me, but the Borg do not evolve; they conquer. Later, Picard (who was temporarily assimilated by the Borg in “The Best of Both Worlds,” parts 1 and 2, June 18, 1990 and September 24, 1990) offers to trade himself for Data. Picard realizes what the Borg Queen actually wants—has always wanted—is “a human being with a mind of his own who could bridge the gulf between humanity and the Borg. You wanted a counterpart, but I resisted; I fought you.” She desired a paradox—Emerson’s selfreliant man, although under her control. Ultimately, the Borg Queen is defeated as Data and Picard demonstrate “that a man or a company of men, plastic and permeable to principles, by the law of nature must overpower and ride all cities, nations, kings, rich men, poets, who are not.” 12

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Data’s quest to “become” more human is emphasized in Nemesis. An earlier prototype of Data, B4, is discovered. How far Data has evolved is revealed through this foil. After Data sacrifices himself for his friends, Picard explains to B4 what was best about Data, employing Emersonian terms of continually seeking and becoming: “In his quest to be more like us, he helped us to see what it means to be human. . . . His wonder, his curiosity about every facet of human nature, allowed all of us to see the best parts of ourselves. He evolved, he embraced change, because he always wanted to be better than he was.” B4 then sings snippets of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies,” an optimistic celebration of nature: singing bluebirds, the brightly shining sun, and things “going so right.” The film opened with Data singing this. Because all of Data’s memories had been transferred to (but not yet assimilated by) B4, Nemesis ends with the possibility that B4, like Data, like children, and like human beings, will grow and “become.” The Next Generation features children aboard the Enterprise, including Wesley Crusher, a teenage genius. According to a superior alien, the Traveler, in “Where No One Has Gone Before,” Wesley recalls Mozart: “A genius who made music not only to be heard but seen, and felt beyond the understanding, the ability of others. Wesley is such a person, not with music but with the equally lovely intricacies of time, energy, propulsion.” What Emerson defines as the “charm of one of Plato’s or Aristotle’s definitions” exists also in Wesley’s understanding of the relationships among time, matter, and thought—his ability to synthesize physics and metaphysics: It is . . . that a spiritual life has been imparted to nature; that the solid seeming block of matter has been pervaded and dissolved by a thought; that this feeble human being has penetrated the vast masses of nature with an informing soul, and recognized itself in their harmony. . . . In physics, when this is attained, the memory . . . carries centuries of observation in a single formula. 13

Finding “a single formula” does not, however, imply a final answer or an end to the quest. In “Self-Reliance,” Emerson writes that power “resides in the moment of transition from a past to a new state.” 14 The Traveler informs Picard that Wesley’s intellectual and imaginative abilities will eventually prove superior to the captain’s. In true Emersonian fashion, Picard remains unthreatened, allowing Wesley opportunities for study and observation and inspiring Wesley to become “Man Thinking.” Accordingly, in Nature, Emerson asks, “Who can set bounds to the possibilities of man? Once inhale the upper air, being admitted to behold the absolute natures of justice and truth, and we learn that man has access to the entire mind of the Creator, is himself the creator of the finite.” Emerson’s confidence in the power of the human mind becomes eminently clear in “Where No One Has Gone Before.” The Traveler states that

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“thought is the basis of all reality. . . . I have the ability to act like a lens that focuses thought.” Through his mental lens, the Traveler moves through time, space, and reality, motivated not by the possibility of gain or of power but by Emerson-like curiosity. The Traveler’s description of his mental abilities incarnates a twenty-fourth-century version of Emerson’s transparent eyeball passage in Nature: “Standing on the bare ground,—my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space,—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God.” 15 Even as Emerson’s passage was ridiculed by “bugs” and “spawn” of the mob, so the Traveler’s words are dismissed by alleged propulsion expert Kosinski: “That’s just so much nonsense. You’re asking us to believe in magic.” The Emersonian Picard replies, “No, no, it actually makes sense to me.” The Traveler returns in “Remember Me” (October 22, 1990), when one of Wesley’s scientific experiments accidentally traps his mother Beverly in an alternate universe. Although the Traveler, Wesley, and others must work together to bring Beverly back, each must also remain self-reliant enough to contribute his/her unique imaginative abilities. The Traveler tells Wesley, “The equations are only the first step. We will be going beyond mathematics. . . . You must open yourself to time and space and the intricate threads that bind them. . . . See past the numbers. Trust yourself. . . . Yes, the ability is there inside of you. You do not need to look for it.” This recalls “SelfReliance”: Trust thyself; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands. 16

The last sentence becomes literally true when Wesley and the Traveler manipulate the controls of their computer consoles with their eyes closed. In “Journey’s End,” Wesley returns to the Enterprise from Starfleet Academy. Initially rude and surly due to intense unhappiness as he nears graduation, Wesley gradually discovers his destiny (foreshadowed by the Traveler years before) when prompted to go on a vision quest by Lakanta, a descendent of North American Indians. According to both Native American and Emersonian thought, a strong connection exists between people and nature. 17 A Native American leader tells Wesley, “When I came there twenty years ago, I was welcomed by the mountains, rivers, and sky.” Wesley also has a vision of his deceased father, who tells him, “You’ve reached the end of this journey. . . . Now it’s time to find a path that’s truly yours.” Wesley

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remains unsure of his path until he unwittingly freezes time to stop an altercation between two groups. Lakanta then reveals himself as the Traveler, who says, “You took the first step, Wesley . . . to another plane of existence, another way of thinking. . . . I hoped that you would open your mind to new possibilities, and you did. . . .You’re ready to explore places where thought and energy combine in ways you can’t even imagine.” Although Wesley fears he will disappoint his mother and mentors by leaving the Academy, they all, in Emersonian fashion, support his decision. The audience never learns precisely what happens to Wesley; he appears in a Starfleet dress uniform in Nemesis but his dialogue was cut. The deleted scene is available on YouTube and indicates Wesley will serve aboard the starship Titan. 18 Perhaps Wesley had completed his explorations with the Traveler and wished to return to Starfleet. Emerson would support Wesley’s circuitous journey, saying that “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” 19 Most Emersonian of all, perhaps, is Picard. This is demonstrated in Insurrection via interactions with one of the most Transcendentalist The Next Generation aliens, Anij. A mentor to Data and Wesley, Picard appreciates the need for “becoming” and for embracing nature and the mind’s possibilities. Emerson-like, Picard speaks out against materialism. His encounters with various hostile beings, including Armus in “Skin of Evil” and his own clone Shinzon in Nemesis, demonstrate that evil is indeed the absence of good and that any intelligent being, no matter how horrible his or her circumstances (or nurture), ultimately can choose to embrace a positive nature. The original series includes elements of Emersonian optimism, particularly Kirk’s creative solutions to problems. Still, Kirk remains brash and macho, frequently taking risks and engaging in physical combat. In contrast, Picard is a thinker first, a soldier second; he says of the enemy Romulans in “The Neutral Zone” (May 16, 1988), “I’d rather outthink than outfight them.” However, it is noteworthy that, when Kirk and Picard meet in Generations and are offered an opportunity to live in an eternal illusion of bliss, Kirk proclaims, after Picard’s coaxing, “It isn’t real.” This reflects a clear opposition to static Edens and stagnant utopias in which people no longer “grow” and “become.” Kirk and Picard abandon their fantasy lives to save a heavily populated solar system. Kirk’s dying query to Picard is: “Did . . . we make a difference?” Picard responds, “Oh, yes.” In the strikingly Transcendentalist Insurrection, Picard meets Anij. She epitomizes her people, the Ba’ku, who inhabit a more successful Transcendentalist utopian community than was ever achieved in nineteenth-century America (or afterward). The Ba’ku possess advanced scientific knowledge but employ it only when necessary, living instead a simple life in harmony with nature. Sojef, the Ba’ku leader, and Anij explain:

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SOJEF: Our technological abilities are not apparent because we have chosen not to employ them in our daily lives. We believe that when you create a machine to do the work of a man, you take something away from the man. ANIJ: . . . at one time we explored the galaxy just as you do. . . . But where can warp drive take us except away from here? Anij echoes Emerson in “Self-Reliance”: “The soul is no traveler; the wise man stays at home.” 20 Insurrection presents a mixed message: the pacifist/weaponless Ba’ku are presented as admirable and advanced. Yet they would have been abducted and relocated if Picard and his crew had not intervened with advanced weaponry. The action sequences contrast to quieter scenes in which Anij urges Picard to live in the moment, to “stop reviewing what happened yesterday, stop planning for tomorrow.” She echoes “Self-Reliance”: “man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.” 21 The conversation between Picard and Anij continues: ANIJ: Have you ever experienced a perfect moment in time? PICARD: A perfect moment? ANIJ: When time seemed to stop, and you could almost live in that moment? PICARD: Seeing my home planet from space for the first time. ANIJ: . . . you explore the universe. We’ve discovered that a single moment in time can be a universe in itself, full of powerful forces. Most people aren’t aware enough of the now to even notice. Later, Anij slows down time for Picard. She blows the petals of a flower into the air, where they float slowly. Picard watches as the wings of a hummingbird-like Ba’ku kolibri wave. Picard hears a slow, flapping sound. The scene evokes “Self-Reliance”: For the sense of being which in calm hours rises . . . in the soul, is not diverse from things, from space, from light, from time, from man, but one with them and proceeds obviously from the same source whence their life and being also proceed. . . . We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth. 22

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Before returning to the Enterprise, Picard tells Anij he “has 318 days of shore leave coming, and I intend to use them” to return to her planet. Since the development of the self and appreciation for nature’s beauty— in flowers, birds, sunsets, stars, or nebulae—are what is significant, Picard and his crew are nonmaterialistic. On The Next Generation, the first enemies of the Federation introduced are the Ferengi, a race of profit mongers, greedy and crass to an extreme (although some demonstrate noble qualities in Deep Space Nine). Their lack of culture or dignity reminds one of “Self-Reliance”: And so the reliance on Property . . . is the want of self-reliance. Men . . . measure their esteem of each other by what each has, and not by what each is. But a cultivated man becomes ashamed of his property, out of new respect for his nature . . . that which a man is, does always by necessity acquire; and what the man acquires, is living property. 23

Picard demonstrates his adherence to this philosophy in “The Neutral Zone.” When Ralph Offenhouse, a long-frozen twentieth-century businessman, is revived, he demands the means to contact his law firm to discuss finances. Picard informs him: “A lot has changed in the past three hundred years. People are no longer obsessed with the accumulation of things. We have eliminated hunger, want, the need for possessions. We’ve grown out of our infancy.” Offenhouse insists money means power and the ability to control one’s life and destiny. Picard responds, “That kind of control is an illusion.” Picard realizes (as did Emerson) that the only true control must come from inside the self; in the twenty-fourth century, the challenge is “to improve yourself, to enrich yourself.” Picard echoes this in First Contact when he and his crew go back in time and encounter Lily Sloane, a human scientist from 2063, significantly named for a flower associated with new life. Lily asks Picard how much the Enterprise cost. Picard replies that “money doesn’t exist in the twenty-fourth century. . . . We work to better ourselves and . . . humanity.” Lily has a Transcendentalist bent, telling Picard that, “I envy you, the world you’re going to”—that is, the more peaceful, just, orderly world of the future to which Picard will return. Her Earth is struggling ten years after World War III to recover from the devastation of 600 million dead. But humans will soon encounter Vulcans and usher in a new era of discovery and growth. Picard, realizing that Transcendentalist “becoming” and transformation are essential to the human journey, informs Lily, “I envy you, taking these first steps into a new frontier.” The Next Generation, like all of Trek, acknowledges the wars and slaughters of human history, warning audiences that more horrors are to come before peace on Earth can finally be established. The Next Generation also reiterates Emerson in “The Divinity School Address”: “Evil is merely priva-

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tive, not absolute: it is like cold, which is the privation of heat.” 24 Evil has no power except what sentient beings allow it, as indicated in a confrontation between Picard and Armus in “Skin of Evil.” Armus explains that his race “perfected a means of bringing to the surface all that was evil and negative within.” They discarded this second skin—him. Still, Armus is consumed with rage, hurt, loneliness, and boredom. He does not exult in what he is but mourns for the goodness he has lost. In his anger and insecurity, Armus taunts Picard with the frailty of the human body (Armus kills a major character, Tasha Yar) and with human inferiority in comparison to the dazzling creatures his fellow beings have become. Picard realizes Armus is nothing without goodness, while humans are significant as they try to “become” through self-reliance: ARMUS: You do not understand. I do not serve things evil. I am evil. PICARD: Oh, no, you’re not. ARMUS: I am a skin of evil, left here by a race of Titans who believed if they rid themselves of me, they would free the bonds of destructiveness. PICARD: Yes. So here you are. Feeding on your own loneliness. . . . You say you are true evil. I’ll tell you what true evil is. It is to submit to you. It is when we surrender our freedom, our dignity, instead of defying you. Again, Picard realizes that “becoming” through freedom is the primary human goal; perfection in Armus’s sense (or the Borg Queen’s) does not concern him. Emerson’s view that evil is the lack of goodness is also apparent in Nemesis. Picard meets his clone, Shinzon, created by a previous Romulan government to one day substitute for Picard and infiltrate Starfleet. That plan abandoned, the young Shinzon was sent to work as a miner and not expected to survive. A mentor helped to keep him alive. Despite their different pasts, when Shinzon and Picard meet, they realize they had one thing in common as boys. Shinzon finishes Picard’s sentence: “I’d spent my youth looking up at the stars, dreaming about what was up there, about new worlds.” This recalls a passage in Emerson’s Nature emphasizing the wonder that celestial lights should provoke: “If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore. . . . But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.” 25 In Nemesis, Picard and Shinzon initially feel that they are the same person. Beverly Crusher tries to convince Picard otherwise: DR. CRUSHER: Jean-Luc—whatever you were—right now you’re the man you’ve made yourself. He’s someone else.

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PICARD: I wish I could believe that, Doctor. Picard must work toward seeing himself and Shinzon as separate individuals. But he also urges Shinzon to tap into the morality that Picard believes is in Shinzon. Picard perceives in himself the goodness that Emerson believed was in everyone: PICARD: I’m incapable of such an act [plunging the quadrant into war]. SHINZON: Had you lived my life, you’d be doing exactly as I am. So look in the mirror. See yourself. PICARD: Shinzon, I’m a mirror for you as well. Throughout Nemesis, references are made to eyes and mirrors. Picard quotes 1 Corinthians 13:12 when contemplating his relationship to Shinzon: “Now we see but through a glass, darkly.” Emerson, who in his Journals notes that the Bible is the “most original book in the world,” 26 echoes Corinthians in “Experience”: “we do not see directly but mediately [sic].” 27 “Experience” demonstrates Emerson’s interior struggle to reconcile the dark tragedies of his life, including the recent death of his young son Waldo, with his optimistic convictions. Within Emerson there existed a Picard/Shinzon-like battle, but Emerson’s Picard side won. The end of “Experience” reasserts Emerson’s optimism, even if the essay never presents the absolute conviction and mystical euphoria of Nature’s transparent eyeball passage (which is possibly an optimistic inversion of the 1 Corinthians passage). Verse 13:12 in the King James Bible reads in full: “But now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” Picard and Shinzon stand face-to-face several times. Ever optimistic, Picard tells his embittered, murderous clone, “I see a young man trying desperately to deny who he is.” Ultimately, the two fight to the death; Picard prevails. Shinzon does not appear to have learned any more about himself from their encounters, although Picard learns something about himself through Shinzon. Nemesis, the final Next Generation film, provides an Emersonian ending (or, more accurately, a new beginning) to the crew’s adventures. Three members will be leaving the Enterprise. In a deleted scene, available on YouTube and on DVD, Picard tells Data, “Frankly, I almost envy them [Riker, Troi, and Beverly Crusher]. . . . They made important decisions; there are great challenges lying ahead of them . . . new worlds.” 28 Similarly, The Next Generation series finale, “All Good Things . . .” (May 23, 1994), provides an Emersonian commencement not only for the crew but for humankind. Because he “thinks outside the box,” grasping a paradox about time, Picard is able to save humanity: past, present, and future. Picard finds himself existing

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simultaneously in all three time periods; his three selves must work together. Q, the arrogant, capricious superbeing, unrestricted by time or space (and who appears in the first and last episodes of the series—and several in between), actually helps Picard save mankind. Q’s numerous encounters with Picard apparently have taught Q respect for the human potential for growth. Near the end of “All Good Things . . . ,” Q tells Picard, in words similar to those of the Traveler to Wesley Crusher, “We [the Q continuum, consisting of many superbeings] wanted to see if you had the ability to expand your mind and your horizons. And for one brief moment, you did. . . . That is the exploration that awaits you, not mapping stars and studying nebulae, but charting the unknown possibilities of existence.” The final scene depicts Picard joining his senior staff’s weekly poker game, something he had never done before. As he deals, Picard declares that “the sky’s the limit.” The episode ends with the Enterprise heading toward a brilliant star and a bright nebula—into the seemingly endless reaches of space and time. Since the 2002 release of Nemesis, novels and stories, both by professional writers and members of The Next Generation’s fan community, have continued the adventures of Picard and his crew. “The adventure continues,” fifty years after the original series premiered, allowing The Next Generation crew to continue exploring limitless frontiers with the optimistic vision of America’s greatest philosopher, Ralph Waldo Emerson. NOTES Portions of this essay originally appeared in my article “Transcendentalism in Star Trek: The Next Generation.” That essay dealt exclusively with The Next Generation’s first television season. 1. Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature, in Ralph Waldo Emerson: An Organic Anthology, ed. Stephen E. Whicher (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1957), 21. All subsequent references to Emerson’s works are taken from the Whicher anthology. 2. Emerson, Nature, 38. 3. All Next Generation episodes and films can be streamed from Netflix, with the exception of Insurrection, available only on DVD. 4. Emerson, Nature, 22. 5. In “Up the Long Ladder,” the audience learns that two spaceships had departed from Earth, centuries before, in troubled times. One carried farm animals and equipment, the other computers and technology. It is implied that the groups were supposed to meet on a distant planet but never did. At episode’s end, the earthy, lively, healthy farming group and the effete intellectual group are reunited, presumably in the hopes of establishing a sort of Brook Farm or Fruitlands (i.e., a nineteenth-century Transcendentalist utopian community in which residents were supposed to engage in both intellectual and physical work). According to Memory Alpha, the Star Trek Wiki, Next Generation writer and producer Ronald D. Moore called the episode “embarrassing” in a 1997 AOL chat. 6. Emerson, “Divinity School Address,” 113. 7. Emerson, “Divinity School Address,” 113. 8. Emerson, Nature, 23. 9. Emerson, Journals, 143. 10. Emerson, “The Poet,” 234.

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11. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 158. 12. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 159. 13. Emerson, Nature, 46. 14. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 158. 15. Emerson, Nature, 50. 16. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 148. 17. The extent to which Emerson was influenced by Native American thought has received scant critical attention. That he was interested in the welfare of American Indians is shown in his “Letter to Martin Van Buren President of the United States,” protesting the inhuman treatment of the Cherokees (available at www.cherokee.org). 18. Mikah Woodward, “Star Trek Nemesis—Wesley Crusher deleted scene,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACQqe5-B3TI, January 28, 2006 (accessed August 4, 2014). 19. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 153 20. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 104. 21. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 157. 22. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 156. 23. Emerson, “Self-Reliance,” 167. 24. Emerson, “The Divinity School Address,” 103. 25. Emerson, Nature, 23 26. Emerson, Journals, 139. 27. Emerson, “Experience,” 269. 28. Bethany Hill, “Star Trek: Nemesis Deleted Scene (Chateau Picard 2267),” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxyd7L-2YuQ, May 29, 2012 (accessed August 4, 2014).

Chapter Twelve

Adaptive Harmonics Star Trek’s Universe and Galaxy of Games Douglas Brown

In the rapidly growing academic discipline of games studies, we talk about Trek a lot. This may seem surprising because none of the franchise’s many game adaptations is considered outstanding, much less classic. So we consider the show’s use of games and game-like experiences as emblematic of many of the pleasures, problems, and possibilities with which the modern games industry grapples. The most frequent topic of discussion is immersion, where Janet Murray’s 1 reading of a Voyager 2 scene leads in to her appreciation of the games that Trek characters continually play in the holodeck, which has become an abiding metaphor when we try to define games and how they work. It’s less the show or its games, rather the themes and ideas that the fiction made accessible, which we call upon when analyzing modern video games. Here, I’ll consider the unique challenges and opportunities that the franchise raises for adaptation to the medium of games and examine various attempts at adaptation. The show and its fan community subtly influenced the medium of games by adapting the themes and concepts that Trek introduced to suit the purposes of the medium rather than through the production of outstanding licensed games. This is perhaps best revealed in the sphere of unlicensed/fan-created games inspired by Trek. Trek’s distinctive approach to games was mostly inclusive, certainly ahead of its time, especially considering the prevailing climate of thought regarding and reception of games during the series’ production. Digital games then were perceived as little more than children’s toys or simple distractions. Trek and its holodeck offered up a future where games were allencompassing social and relaxation activities. Simultaneously, the perceived dangers of video game addiction then prevalent were explored in The Next 133

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Generation, 3 wherein aliens use an addictive game to try and take over the Enterprise. Aside from the iconic three-dimensional chess set that appears in several episodes, games featured in the show have not been adapted for play in real life, although the rhetoric of the holodeck is frequently deployed by those trying to sell immersive new gaming technology or the dream of virtual reality gaming. THE GALAXY OF STAR TREK GAMES Trek has been adapted into more than 100 digital games, the earliest licensed adaptations appearing in the 1980s. Within this substantial body of work can be found the best and worst of franchise adaptation. Although many titles merely leverage the branding of the show to increase their reach, some seized the opportunity either to employ Trek as viable inspiration for adaptation or to exploit the additional fan base offered by the license to put an innovative idea in front of a mass audience that otherwise might not have been receptive. That there is no single outstanding licensed Trek title isn’t particularly unusual. Franchise game adaptations are notorious for their generally low quality and short-term content-driven marketing. Even those game adaptations that derive from a franchise built from the ground up to accommodate transmedia storytelling, such as The Matrix, do not produce top-quality games. It’s a rare title indeed that achieves the approval of gaming critics while maintaining the essence of the originator fiction without also alienating fans who are not themselves part of the gaming subculture. Arguably, only one game in the similarly sizable Star Wars franchise is considered a classic—Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. 4 Martin Picard argues that Star Wars “video games have been used for two main purposes: the recreation of the most memorable scenes from the trilogies (to be played by their fans), and the additions of new storylines and fresh approaches.” 5 Like the majority of other critically successful movie/game tie-ins, this game falls into Picard’s latter category, set in the franchise’s expanded universe, not tied to any specific piece of source material. Set prior to the movies, the game features no characters from the films. Crucially, this game aligns elements of the franchise, here the light side and dark side of the force, with game elements enabling effective storytelling that “feels” like a Star Wars experience. Choices that the player makes affect their characters’ position relative to the light side/dark side binary oppositions and allow for many potential consequences. As a result, players feel closely involved simultaneously with game play and with a key theme of the Star Wars universe. This sort of harmonized adaptation proves most rewarding for fans and challenging for game developers.

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APPROACHES TO ADAPTATION In their essay on movie games and game movies, Brown and Krzywinska 6 argue that there exists a fundamental distinction of market between gamers, who want first and foremost a well-designed and suitably challenging game, and source material fans, the latter expecting if not a faithful adaptation, then at least a game that aligns with the same kinds of pleasure offered by the show. Veteran designer Chris Crawford also notes this when encouraging aspiring designers to avoid film tie-in games, since these audiences are so different. “Nobody is going to purchase a [franchise] game for the creativity of the game itself; they are buying it solely because of the brand. Any exertions you make to give them creative design are wasted.” 7 Experiencing the show, if with an added level of depth, would suffice for fans who want to revisit characters they know while experiencing the show in another medium. Often, though, this sort of focus strikes gamers as limiting, and such games run the risk of not selling without well-advertised intellectual property to drive sales, such as a movie release. In the high-stakes and hit-driven world of the late-1990s video game industry, when most licensed Trek games were released, publishers tended to hedge their bets by attempting adaptations of the show to fit popular genres rather than seeking to adapt what the creators of the show would consider its essence. More sophisticated game adaptation seeks to not merely balance the demands of competing audience types, but also to find ways to empower the game-play experience—that is, to harmonize it with the show’s themes. As Jenkins puts it, “in the ideal form of trans-media storytelling, each medium does what it does best.” 8 Games are effective at providing spaces for exploration, interactivity, agency (the possibility and facility to act upon worlds, situations, and characters presented in the game), and feedback. An example of this harmonious design occurs in the Star Trek: Expeditions board game. 9 Players do not compete, but rather cooperate against the game, changing the manner in which a game is approached by aligning it more closely with the show’s action. Such harmony is difficult to create in a digital game, with Trek’s specific themes offering both opportunities and problems for adaptation. Ostensibly action adventure, much of Trek is about individuality, relationships, and overcoming problems with diplomacy and compassion. Particularly for the Federation, violence is the last resort. This, however, can pose an awkward fit with the action-heavy space of video games. Contrarily, the more military side of the show is ripe for adaptation as game elements, with clearly defined roles and skill sets for characters and tensely structured combat sequences, suggesting a system that could be operated or participated in by gamers. TV’s episodic nature offers a good fit for game adaptation, explaining why many licensed games capitalize on this form, offering varied

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levels and compressed story arcs that suit the feedback-driven nature of game play. The self-contained nature of Trek episodes combined with the blank canvas offered by its space exploration setting allows the games to slot into the series’ continuity; many do so explicitly through the use of specific stardates. The show’s enduring themes of individual responsibility, teamwork, and courage in adversity prove more difficult to capture in a singleplayer video game. As Elizabeth Thomas, writing about the franchise’s “soul,” puts it: “Across all of the series and films, the stories of Star Trek stressed teamwork and co-operation, something that America was ready for in the 1960s and that it has yet to grow weary of.” 10 A game must acknowledge these elements—what Jenkins 11 defined as the “Star Trek meta-text”—while providing a fun, convincing simulation to capture the show’s mood. Another feature of video game adaptation isolated by Brown and Krzywinska 12 can be seen in the adaptation of Trek games. Many postmortems or anecdotal accounts of development criticize Paramount as license holders that understand its product but perhaps didn’t understand games. Steve Ritchie’s anecdote about acquiring the rights for The Next Generation’s pinball table 13 proves emblematic: Getting the rights to do Star Trek: The Next Generation was also a challenge. . . . Because they didn’t want us to use any guns in the game. I said “Hey, wait a minute, when the Enterprise is provoked, they use photon torpedoes.” I didn’t set out to make them space pirates from hell; I just wanted to represent the show accurately in my game. I told them that I had been a fan of the series all my life, and I would never violate the Prime Directive . . . and they came around. 14

Understandably, Paramount frequently sought to protect its intellectual property from being watered down with too much violence or a weak, uncertain storyline. This may explain why many of the adventure games and “bridge commander” games suffer from inflexible narratives; even if multiple approaches to a situation can be considered or enacted by players, there is generally only one correct route through the text. Selecting any path other than the closest to the canonical paradigm results in near-instant death. The more successful licensed titles were released mainly in 2000, considerably later in the franchise’s development, when Paramount/CBS were more experienced in liaising with game developers. Paramount’s approach to licensing was unusual in that it offered rights to many companies simultaneously rather than settling upon a coherent/exclusive deal with a single games publisher. This strategy, combined with the multiple different licenses available for different elements of the franchise, 15 destabilized the development process, leading to lawsuits between game publishers Interplay and Activision when both held different elements of the

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same license. By contrast, the Star War games, though developed by different studios, were all published through LucasArts and as such were better able to be kept consistent in terms of how the license was applied. LICENSED STAR TREK GAMES Among those who take the “designed for gamers” approach to the split audience are some of the more critically successful Trek games, including Star Trek Voyager: Elite Force, 16 which holds the highest meta-critic rating of the licensed titles. 17 A first-person shooter game, it casts the player as a new character, Ensign Munro, and approximates an episode rather than a spin-off, using pre-rendered cut-scene material like the Voyager opening credits sequence (with programmers and game designers replacing the usual names). Dialogue recorded by the show’s cast and a graphical user interface designed around the aesthetics of Trek combine with high-quality graphics and game play, resulting in a solid game featuring a Trek plot. It’s easy to see why this product proved successful, since it uses a proven format and adapts the intellectual property to fit the genre. The approach taken to adaptation was always to put the needs of the game before the demands of the franchise when the two conflict. Here, for example, the Borg do adapt to become immune to weapons yet are easily dispatched using an infinity modulator, with which the player begins the game. Though this holds true to Voyager’s plotline, it doesn’t gel with how the Borg are generally portrayed. They lose the fearsomeness generally associated with their appearance. There’s certainly more shooting in this game than even the most action-packed Trek episode or movie. Yet the attention to detail in terms of set and ship design is clear; the game exploits the less action-heavy moments to make the most of the show’s space by having players walk to the transporter room themselves before missions and soak up the ambience rather than simply throwing them into the next tranche of action via a “loading” screen. Several missions are set aboard an invaded Voyager itself to further enhance this sense of belonging, leveraging the crucial element of familiar space described by Brown and Krzywinska when they discuss Lord of the Rings Online’s process of adaptation and reference the map as a transitional artifact facilitating adaptation. 18 A critical and commercial success, Elite Force offered few innovative qualities. A well-executed example of the most popular video game genre, it did its job and effectively adapted the show’s trappings. But harmony of game play and source material remained beyond its scope. This approach is true of many other titles that used the license as a way to distinguish their own take on a popular genre from the competition.

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Another common genre for Trek adaptation is the space strategy game. A rare instance of an outstanding licensed board game that remolded a genre falls into this category. Star Fleet Battles 19 developed mechanics found in naval war games around the Trek ships and weapons technology. In adapting this element of the show, Star Fleet Battles capitalized on the multitude of different variables a starship comprises to deepen and diversify the play of the war game, simultaneously providing fans with substantial amounts of information on the ships. Also provided is a concrete use for all the data and minutiae of the show’s hardware, which devoted followers of Trek collected. Star Fleet Battles also revealed the power of the license to draw in fans to a genre that otherwise might seem somewhat too alien or niche, becoming the inspiration for a whole strategic space simulation video game genre. Its core mechanic was directly adapted from the show’s combat sequences: the rerouting of power to different elements of ships’ weapons, shields, or propulsion. Star Fleet Battles’ eventual adaptation into Star Trek: Starfleet Command 20 saw the inception of the longest-running series of Trek video games and is regarded as a classic within a niche genre. When Jenkins discusses the multiple different potential readings of the show by different types of fans, he notes one grouping as “those that focus primarily on the program hardware or on the military chain of command, readings that are common to male computer net fans or role-playing fans.” 21 These readings, and this audience of readers, can perceive the real appeal of these games and relate most closely to how they harmonize with the show. Although the majority of Trek game adaptations fall into this “designed for gamers” category, others attempted to adapt an episode’s storyline into game form. Simon and Schuster published a series of text adventure franchise games in the late 1980s, as well as a pair of “interactive movie” style games in the late 1990s using this “designed for fans” approach. Attempting to simulate the show through the use of text and simple graphical interface elements, these did a solid job of capturing the show’s feel insofar as technology allowed. The text adventures were limited by lack of visuals, the interactive movie games by the inflexibility of pre-shot footage, which players found their way through by completing simple input tasks. This awkwardness was alleviated by a series of warmly received graphical “point-andclick” adventure games designed by Interplay in the early 1990s. These gradually refined the concept of an “interactive episode” (Star Trek 25th Anniversary, 22 styled as the lost fourth season of the original series). The player controls the show’s cast by selecting dialogue options and using items to solve puzzles. The multiplayer online role-playing game Star Trek Online, 23 developed over the course of six years at great expense, marks this approach’s zenith, providing the most fully realized and open-ended Trek game.

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Several key features of adaptation mark Star Trek Online out. Missions are clumped into groups called “episodes,” and non-player character officers with different specialities are a core feature of the game, although they can be replaced by other players. Game play has been criticized as repetitive and shallow. Although teamwork is placed front and center, the game’s ambitious design did not allow the show’s themes to shine through. However, as an immersive Trek experience, this offers masses of content to amuse and delight fans who derive joy simply by being surrounded by the show’s world. Somewhere between these “designed for gamers” and “designed for fans” games fall the attempts to adapt the show’s most popular elements into its own game. Unique to Trek and at the heart of its TV/film incarnations is the iconic bridge scene, as well as action in which characters fly the ship and respond to situations together. Inspired partly by these sequences as well as the success of Star Fleet Battles and the Starfleet Command series, first Star Trek: Starfleet Academy 24 and then Star Trek: Bridge Commander 25 attempted to personalize the grander scope of space strategy games. They also re-created an angle on the show begun in the early text adventures, particularly Star Trek: The Rebel Universe, 26 which allowed players to jump between the personas of several different bridge officers to operate the ship. Bridge Commander’s tagline, “You are the captain, you have the conn,” displays its attempt at embodying the player within the agentic position of the main character in a show, rather than positioning players inside the skin of Picard or Data—a move that also allows primary characters to star in the game alongside the player. The game possesses a solid awareness of Starfleet protocol, as potential captains who try to fire the weapons without first engaging Red Alert quickly realize. Giving commands to officers rather than taking up the stations personally is necessary to coordinate successful missions. Opportunities for tactical action and difficult or nonviolent decisions from the show also occur in the game. Moments when proving one’s peaceful intentions requires a player to drop the ship’s shields are memorable, the vulnerability this affords is more keenly felt in the context of a game than in the show. There is a balance, if not often a true choice, between action and more peaceful exploration. As such, these games present perhaps the most harmonious licensed adaptation. But although the range of unlicensed Trek games offers fewer titles, it represents a broader range of adaptive approaches. UNLICENSED STAR TREK GAMES Unlicensed adaptations date from long before the earliest licensed titles were produced, offering testament to the strong drive computer-literate fans feel to simulate the show. Early examples on many of the earliest computer systems

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paid homage to Trek. The multiplayer space combat game Netrek, 27 itself an evolution and expansion of arguably the first computer game, Spacewar, 28 lays claim to a host of innovations, many now commonplace features among games today. Arguably the first game to be played as an e-sport, this rates as the first team game to be played remotely over the Internet, allowing for logging in and persistent “character” accounts in both competitive and cooperative multiplayer modes. Without Netrek’s innovations, modern online gaming might look different, in part because it has been cited to break patent disputes. As a Trek-inspired game, Netrek holds an important position in the history of the medium. Compared to other early Trek games, it features a unique angle on adaptation. The show’s shared semiotic space made many of these games popular. To fans working with new technology, it made clear how a Klingon or Romulan ship will behave or be designed. It’s easy to know how shields, phasers, and photon torpedoes will work because their properties are distinct and consistent in the show and can carry over. This shared reference space also enabled opportunities for articulating communication via computer. It’s difficult to imagine a time before the ubiquity of online communication, yet important to give the games that heralded these innovations their due. Netrek used Trek’s semiotics to achieve this, easing players into this new form of online communication via the familiar elements of hails and distress signals. These seemed as “natural” to a Trek fan as the phasers and photon torpedoes. The modern games industry is broad enough to allow scope for “indie” game development by teams with smaller scale budgets, ambitions, and sharper focus than most licensed titles. In this arena, further unlicensed Trek references and inspirations can be found. Award-winning indie game FTL 29 takes visual inspiration from diverse sci-fi, but its game play is geared around the same element of Trek that Star Fleet Battles had taken up forty years before: the rerouting of limited power in relationship to the different systems of a spacecraft. The focus on this mechanic given by FTL’s limited scope created an environment where the sorts of decisions and tactics featured in episodes can emerge organically, simply by allowing the players stark choices that the same system affords in the show. Rerouting power from life support to the shields to protect the ship over its crew or not being able to find power to return an “away team” from an enemy vessel are examples of chaotic, unfolding moments of drama created procedurally. These align closely with the series—much more so than the complex, wide-scale combat of the licensed space strategy games. Another indie Trek-inspired game is unlike any of the licensed games. Redshirt 30 embodies the player not as a command and agency-wielding starship officer, but as one of the anonymous crewmembers whose role is always to die in place of a primary character. Redshirt’s game play is about interacting with other people and living life on a distant space station, achieved

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through a satirical take on social media, “Spacebook.” Its characters include intentionally poorly disguised references to Vulcans and Ferengi, with continual puns and nods to the show during game play. This is the only Trekinspired game that plays on the long-form character relationship angle of the Trek concept, much as Deep Space Nine did in its serial approach to episode design and story arcs, focusing on a different core Trek theme defined by Thomas: “Trek Fans, along with Gene Rodenberry, explored the classic oppositions between individual and society, reason and emotion, common sense and technology, humans and aliens.” 31 In Redshirt, away missions are not enjoyable adventure romps but terrifying situations in which friends are killed. Unlike comic takes on the franchise, such as the Space Quest series published by Sierra in the 1990s, Redshirt makes serious points about fans and social media in its mechanics while also revealing elements of the show that have been ignored by licensed games despite their potential, all the while lovingly sending up the franchise. To return to Jenkins 32 and the different types of fan reading, this game aligns with those who make the personal and relationship elements of the show their touchstone. Other indie games, like FTL and Redshirt, offer testament that a license and the visual trappings of the show is not the only way to successfully adapt Trek and its themes. The most ambitious and unusual Trek-inspired game, also perhaps the most harmonious, was built within this “indie” space, if at a fringe wherein making an actual profit from game designs appears to be an afterthought. Developed by a single fan, Artemis: Spaceship Bridge Simulator 33 does not have a license from CBS. Its ships fire nuclear warheads instead of photon torpedoes and Trek’s formal semiotics are out of bounds. However, by locating such semiotics fully within game play, Artemis functions as a truer adaptation than the high-budget licensed “bridge simulation” games. Eschewing the traditional development model, Artemis arrives from fans. Originally a hobby project by an experienced game designer who solicited donations, it eventually sold online for less than the release price of any licensed game. Feature suggestions are read and acted upon by the designer if the community of players gets behind them, and community members often pitch in to help develop the game if they possess the skills. In this sense it serves as an example of Jenkins’s famous “textual poaching” activity as any of the fan activity he cites, built by a community and maintained in the spirit of fan endeavor. Artemis is at root designed like other “bridge simulation” style games but boasts several distinctions. Most importantly, it occurs in a shared physical space. Made for six players—officers in communications, engineering, science, helm, and tactical, as well as a captain, the game requires seven computers, a projector screen, and a space where all this can be set up to mimic a starship bridge in order to be played correctly. Each officer has his or her own terminal. Another key innovation: the captain has no

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terminal, thus no direct way of effecting agency within the simulation. Instead, the captain’s role is to give commands; he or she is reliant upon the other players. This results in role-play and teamwork in pressurized bridge situations as on the show, with the added social dimension of the other players rather than sterile, computer-controlled characters who directly follow orders, as in Bridge Commander. Robertson explained that “One reason Artemis strikes a chord is that the [Trek] shows have already taught everyone how to play. Not the individual buttons, but the social aspect of working together as a bridge crew.” 34 The harmony between the show’s themes and game-play action in Artemis, lubricated by fans’ desire for immersion, allows for the strengths of the game form to come to the fore. Providing feedback adds a framework of challenge, enforcing some of the show’s themes as rules. The game wouldn’t work without the show’s shared reference space; this level of reliance presents a degree of adaptation no made-for-profit/commercial game could condone. Artemis’s adaptation of the bridge scene allows the game and its requirements to fade into the background, facilitating, rather than dominating, the role-play, which occurs among players. Here, the show’s themes— teamwork, individual responsibility, and reliance on others—are brought to the fore through game play. As a result, Artemis scores as a game by and for fans and is also the purest adaptation yet created of the show’s core themes. More than a novelty, it’s constantly being developed and refined. Artemis embraces the show’s nonviolent diplomatic elements by allowing for dialogue, peaceful encounters, and the surrender, rather than destruction, of enemy ships. These Trek-inspired games without licenses but with substantial fan investment reveal the franchise’s uncanny ability for reaching out to its audience and involving them, as noted by many fan culture/subculture scholars. 35 Artemis represents the current crest of a wave of fan game development and modification, constant alongside the development of licensed franchise games. Games illuminate powerful ways that Trek semiotics can be used within ludic contexts directly to generate understanding of a game or system within a game and instinctually to summon the show’s themes via a game system designed around them. None of the other major extended transmedia franchises has a fan base this devoted to, or so long associated with gaming. Yet overall games still represent a significant unexplored frontier of adaptation for Trek’s ever-voyaging franchise. NOTES 1. Janet Murray, “Hamlet” on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace (Boston: MIT Press, 1998), chap. 1. 2. “Persistence of Vision,” Voyager, season 2, episode 8, first broadcast October 30, 1995.

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3. “The Game,” The Next Generation, season 5, episode 6, first broadcast October 28, 1991. 4. Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, Bioware, Xbox, 2003. 5. Martin Picard, “Video Games and Their Relationship with Other Media,” in The Video Game Explosion: A History from Pong to Playstation and Beyond, ed. Mark Wolf (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2008), 299. 6. Douglas Brown and Tanya Krzywinska, “Movie-Games and Game-Movies: Towards an Aesthetics of Transmediality,” in Film Theory and Contemporary Hollywood Movies, ed. Warren Buckland (New York: Routledge, 2009). 7. Chris Crawford, Chris Crawford on Game Design (Boston: New Riders, 2003), 172. 8. Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide (New York: New York University Press, 2006). 9. Star Trek: Expeditions, Wizkids, board game, 2011. 10. Elizabeth Thomas, “Live Long and Prosper: How Fans Made Star Trek a Cultural Phenomenon,” in Fan Phenomena—Star Trek, ed. Bruce Drushel (Bristol: Intellect Books, 2013), 16. 11. Henry Jenkins, Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture (New York: Routledge, 1992). 12. Brown and Krzywinska, “Movie-Games and Game-Movies.” 13. Star Trek: The Next Generation, Williams Electronics, pinball table, 1993. 14. Danielle Smith, “The Original Pinball Wizard,” Hollister Free Lance, July 19, 2005, http://archive.today/g8TFz (accessed August 8, 2014). 15. As a case in point, the Star Fleet Battles board game series remains reliant on a single license given by the author of the Starfleet Technical Manual (Franz Joseph, Star Fleet Technical Manual [New York: Ballantine Books, 1975]) and technically not allowed to refer to the show’s title, universe, or characters, although this situation was eventually clarified by Paramount. 16. Star Trek: Voyager—Elite Force, Raven Software, PC, 2000. 17. A rating of 86/100, aggregated from twenty-five professional reviews. Available at www.metacritic.com/game/pc/star-trek-voyager-elite-force (accessed August 8, 2014). 18. Douglas Brown and Tanya Krzywinska, “Following in the Footsteps of Fellowship: Text, Translation, Tolkeinisation,” in Ringbearers: “Lord of the Rings” Online As Intertextual Narrative, ed. Tanya Krzywinska, Esther Maccallum-Stewart, and Justin Parsler (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011). 19. Star Fleet Battles, Task Force Games, board game, 1979. 20. Star Trek: Starfleet Command, Interplay, PC, 1999. 21. Jenkins, Textual Poachers, 97. 22. Star Trek 25th Anniversary, Interplay, PC, 1992. 23. Star Trek Online, Cryptic Studios, PC, 2010. 24. Star Trek: Starfleet Academy, Interplay, PC, 1997. 25. Star Trek: Bridge Commander, Totally Games, PC, 2002. 26. Star Trek: The Rebel Universe, Firebird Software, Atari ST, 1987. 27. Netrek, Kevin Smith and Scott Silvey, PC, 1988. 28. Spacewar, Steve Russell, PDP-1, 1962. 29. FTL: Faster Than Light, Subset Games, PC, 2012. 30. Redshirt, The Tiniest Shark, PC, 2013. 31. Thomas, “Live Long and Prosper,” 19. 32. Jenkins, Textual Poachers, 95. 33. Artemis: Spaceship Bridge Simulator, Thomas Robertson, PC, 2010. 34. Alec Meer, “Boldly Going: Artemis’ Thomas,” Rock Paper Shotgun, November 1, 2010, www.rockpapershotgun.com/2010/11/01/boldly-going-artemis-thomas-roberston (accessed August 8, 2014). 35. John Tulloch and Henry Jenkins, Science Fiction Audiences (New York: Routledge, 1995).

Chapter Thirteen

The Making of a Star Trek Video Game Voyager—Elite Force and Creative Collaboration Brian Pelletier

I’m seated in the captain’s chair on the command bridge of the USS Voyager, an Intrepid-class vessel, one of the fastest, most powerful ships built by Starfleet. My eyes are closed; I feel the vibrational hum from warp drive when I hear someone say, “Hurry up! You’re not allowed to sit in the captain’s chair.” It’s October 1999; I’m in Hollywood, California, on a Paramount Pictures studio soundstage where they film Star Trek: Voyager. Activision recently negotiated a ten-year licensing agreement to produce Trek video games so I flew in from Madison, Wisconsin, for a meeting with the liaison for Paramount to discuss the game we were about to produce. As its director, I’d work with the show’s cast and crew, visiting Paramount for meetings and reference materials in order to create a virtual Trek experience. Developing a game based on any aspect of the franchise proved an experience of a lifetime. I grew up in the 1970s playing Trek with my brothers and friends for hours on end. As an eight year old, I vividly re-created the TV show in my surroundings, using the physical space of my home and neighborhood to render Trek “real.” Years later, a collaboration of talented individuals with a passion for the canon would create an immersive virtual world for players to experience a simulated Trek universe, making it real for them. I was employed at Raven Software in Madison when the firm was acquired by Activision in 1997. Raven had made a name for itself via the hit shooter games Heretic, Hexen, and Soldier of Fortune. After finalizing things with Viacom, Activision announced that one of its first three Trek games would be a first-person shooter developed by Raven. This would be our first venture in creating a game for a popular, well-established franchise. We were excited about the creative opportunity to play in a universe that we all knew and 145

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enjoyed. It also didn’t hurt that the game would have instant brand recognition, likely receiving attention in an already saturated marketplace. Preproduction began in the spring of 1998 with a plot using The Next Generation’s setting and an unknown crew on a Defiant-class starship. We spent several months refining the plot and characters while developing test game levels. Having an unknown crew allowed us to explore more actionoriented characters that would lend well to a shooter game in an otherwise cerebral franchise—this is an initial challenge, because we knew Trek fans would question senseless action that didn’t fit the complex storylines they’d come to expect. Our excitement level diminished when the decision was made to base the game on Star Trek: Voyager. Then in its fourth season, Voyager rated as the least popular Trek TV project. Though there was nothing we could do to reverse the decision, it didn’t make sense to us, since The Next Generation remained popular, with a movie to be released in the coming year. Two potential explanations were advanced regarding why Activision decided to make the change. First, Activision was concurrently developing two other Next Generation games and likely hoped to turn out a product that would stand apart. Second, Viacom, which owned Paramount Motion Pictures, urged that a game be made using their current show to help bolster its chances for success with greater awareness through cross-promotion. Any initial disappointment faded after a team lunch featuring Wisconsin deepfried cheese curds. We realized Voyager’s unique plot would allow us to design our game with more creative freedom, proceeding from a less wellknown setting. The floodgates—I mean, shuttle bay doors—opened; we started researching the show. According to Voyager’s storyline, with the ship transported across the galaxy into unexplored space, the crew attempted to make their way back to Earth. Our new game story, revolving around an away team consisting of a diverse group of specialists, must make sense in terms of keeping the captain and higher-ranking crew from unknown dangers. Paramount liked the idea and Elite Force was green-lighted. The development team included many Trek fans. Laird, the game’s executive producer, proved a great source of knowledge. Kim, one of our artists, owned a large collection of Trek collectibles and served as our resident expert. Many on the development team had memories of role-playing Trek as kids, those childhood experiences inspiring ideas that focused not only on action during away missions, but on what occurred between such adventures. The aim: to create a simulation of the whole Trek experience, allowing the willing participant to walk from the bridge after talking to the captain then to take a lift to the sick bay and head to the transporter room to be beamed away. Preliminary design documents were well underway when I made my first visit to Paramount. After a four-hour flight to Los Angeles, I headed to the Activision corporate office in Santa Monica to meet with Laird, who

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drove us up Santa Monica Boulevard to West Hollywood and through the famed Paramount gates. We’d been invited by Harry, director of interactive development, who oversaw all Trek games. A gamer himself, Harry understood what made games fun. This helped when negotiating approvals for some unconventional ideas. After discussions about the game’s planned direction, Laird and I were escorted to the reference library, an unassuming, fairly small room, about ten feet wide by twenty feet long, with a little conference table in the middle. The most notable feature was the floor-to-ceiling shelving on the walls filled with three-ring binders. Labels on these indicated a series’ name with an episode number or actors, characters, aliens, props, locations, and so on. I had lost all sense of time and place when Harry’s voice broke my trance. “Brian, you have about an hour to get what you need. I’ll be back.” Laird and I traded sly smiles like two explorers discovering lost treasure. Our purpose was to get Voyager reference materials but—screw it. We went straight for the binders labeled “the original series,” filled with masterful photography of actors in costumes with close-ups and turn-a-rounds. All the aliens, sets, and props were cataloged and organized, making it easy to find what we were looking for. After getting that out of our system, we proceeded to glance through Voyager binders and tag reference photos that would later be scanned and sent to us. The hour flew by and Harry returned. Sadly, there was no time that day for a Voyager set tour. A few months of development later, a playable working prototype was created for a green-light meeting at Activision. The purpose was to inform the current status of the game’s development while showcasing the progress and appeal. In the room sat the CEO of Activision, some executives, as well as sales, marketing, and public relations representatives. If the evaluation went poorly, the game could be canceled, drastically changed, or turned over to another developer. Knowing that, we had prepared a demo we knew would impress. The prototype was planned to capture the Trek feeling of interacting with crew on a Starfleet ship and of beaming inside a Borg cube for intense drama. I played through the demo, highlighting key moments, showcasing the game experience’s dramatics. Laird explained the direction of the game and discussed our development plans going forward. Built for the prototype were digital versions of the bridge, some hallways, a transporter room, and the inside of a Borg cube. The virtual room and hallway proportions for game characters to move about in are two times larger than the real sets that human actors pass through. Chris, our lead level designer, required seven attempts at the command bridge to get this precisely right. The Borg cube interior environment was easier, as it was rectilinear compared to the curved surfaces of Voyager. The visuals were spot-on,

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thanks to authentic reference and a creative, talented team of artists, programmers, and designers. Our goal was to prove that we could do justice to the franchise. We felt confident in our efforts. After finishing our presentation, the vibe felt electric, our prototype a huge success. The sales and marketing team appeared excited about the ad campaign that they would create and about the potential for breakout sales numbers. Laird called me several days later at Raven. People were flooding into his office, wanting to see the prototype. We were clearly gaining momentum. During another visit to Activision months later, I was told of interest from an Activision publishing partner that was so impressed that they wanted Raven to make a game for them. At the time, Activision was partnered with LucasArts to handle their worldwide distribution. Laird displayed our prototype for some LucasArts executives. I was told they were completely silent the whole time watching the play-through. Afterward, they stepped away and spoke among themselves. When asked if everything was okay, they replied, “Yeah, but that blows away the Star Wars shooter we are making. Is there any way we can get Raven to make one for us? If they can make Trek look that good, imagine what they could do with Star Wars.” Just like that, talks were underway for Raven to develop Star Wars: Jedi Knight 2—Jedi Outcast. We initiated development of the Star Wars game immediately after finishing Elite Force. In January 1999, full production on Elite Force began with a team of fifteen people, that number eventually mushrooming to more than forty developers. Complementing the internal production team were two animation studios, a voice director, casting director, supporting actors, and all eight main Voyager stars. Due to scheduling conflicts, one initially declined but eventually did voice the character, this making for a good story that would unfold late in production. The team was firing up the warp drive for full speed ahead—literally. We worked on the engine room environment and throughout development puns naturally flowed from the team and media. The game design document was completed and used as blueprints for production. Realistically, a design doc is never really finished, since game design continually changes. It’s a full-time job just to keep the document updated throughout production. Virtually everything we created needed to be approved by Harry over at Paramount. There were stories about how protective Paramount was with Trek and that it would be difficult to be creative, adding to or changing established material. Our situation turned out to be exactly the opposite. Maybe it was that Harry understood games or our commitment to remain true to the source with logical explanations for every choice we made. It helped to have an organized process for approving all game assets being developed. The detailed spreadsheets I created listed the items needing approval, with time lines for submitting these to Paramount. Timing was critical, with a

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two-week window for Harry to provide feedback for changes, to ask questions, and to make approvals. Two weeks may not seem like much, but with hundreds of assets that needed approval and an aggressive deadline, this raised concerns about falling behind schedule. Viewing the list, Harry could anticipate what would be submitted and be fully prepared for it. Approval turnaround time was less than two weeks, communication smoother than anticipated. Like the time Harry called me when he saw items on the spreadsheet labeled “classic Trek spaceship,” “Klingon bird-of-prey,” and “Klingon characters.” Although Activision had rights to use them, Harry was concerned about these elements being included in a Voyager story, since they were not previously established in this show. We wanted to give fans a taste of the original series and The Next Generation, as well as for our own satisfaction, believing it important to include some nostalgia, so we found a way to accomplish this. Now all I had to do was convince Harry. Knowing this could be problematic, I mentally prepared the pitch. I explained to Harry how our story revolved around Voyager being transported to a starship graveyard, essentially a Sargasso Sea in space. For years, other starships from across the galaxy had also been transported there. This scenario allowed us the opportunity for using other Trek settings and characters. Aliens in our game called scavengers made a space station by attaching starships together. We replaced these aliens with The Next Generation’s Klingons. It was plausible then that their space station could be made from a bird-of-prey warship and a Constitution-class Federation starship, identical to the original Enterprise. Harry applauded our creativity and approved it. The show’s actors had to okay their game character likenesses. We were worried this might result in rounds of revisions, further delaying our progress. Les, our art director, and Jeff, the lead character artist, nailed the likenesses with approvals on the first try from all but Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway, but even she requested only a few simple touch-ups before approving. Another area of concern was the multiplayer component. We included death-match scenarios and planned to allow players to be able to choose any character from the show as an avatar. That meant Janeway could disintegrate Tuvok with a phaser rifle. We named our death matches the “holomatch,” which took place in Voyager’s holodeck as a simulation. We explain that a participant would play against holographic characters in multiplayer death matches. That satisfied Harry, and our holomatches, allowing customers to play any character or villain in the game, proved a hit among fans. Another green-light meeting at Activision meant another visit to Paramount’s studio. This time, I got a tour of the soundstage where Voyager was filmed. Laird and I arrived at noon. Harry took us to lunch at a restaurant among the soundstages. Harry mentioned that many actors and directors ate there and you could often spot someone recognizable. We didn’t see anybody famous

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but, according to our waitress, Tom Cruise had been there the day before. Thanks for rubbing it in! Entering a large warehouse soundstage, I was surprised to see how small the sets were. Voyager’s hallways were assembled using a series of modular sections easily rearranged for a specific shot. Harry demonstrated how a backdrop of stars on the other side of the window was only a black cloth with tiny holes in it. A bright light aimed from behind made the holes appear to be shining stars. Stagehands manually moved the curtain slowly in one direction to simulate movement of Voyager through space. Half-constructed set pieces were scattered about. Set designers reused old set pieces to create new ones by turning them upside down and repainting. The bridge set was visually impressive but much smaller than it appears on TV. Laird and I took turns sitting in the captain’s chair. I was hit with flashbacks of playing Trek as a kid, occupying the lime green chair in my childhood home that had an uncanny resemblance to Kirk’s captain’s chair—I thought of being Kirk, then Picard, enjoying the moment. I snapped as many photos of set pieces as I could, making sure to get close-up shots of furniture, upholstery, computer panels, walls, ceiling, even the carpet. These would be scanned in the computer (digital cameras weren’t prevalent yet) and used to meticulously create our virtual rooms and hallways in order to remain as accurate as possible. However, much more was needed to create our full Voyager game environments. Next on the tour: a visit to the art department! In addition to employment as a game director, I’m also an artist, so this was a true highlight for me. A wooden staircase among the soundstages provided access to the second-story art studio. The room was fairly small and didn’t appear to have been updated much since the 1950s. Two artists were sitting at drafting tables surrounded by bookshelves, Trek art on the walls alongside props from various shows and movies. Considering the amazing works of art and creativity spawned in this room, I was taken aback by how simple and unassuming it seemed. I own several Trek art books that I’d referenced often for the game. As I recalled the art in those books, feelings of awe swept over me as to just how iconic the visuals of Trek are—and here is where it all had been born. So much of Trek’s memorable look came from one talented and imaginative artist. Rick Sternbach spent years with the franchise as a senior illustrator, designer, scenic artist, technical adviser, and more. He helped to create starships, weapons, props, and so on. He also penned and illustrated several popular Trek manuals and blueprint books. And there he was, standing in front of me, introduced simply as Rick, the Trek artist. Shortly, we got down to business. Rick was easy to talk with and extremely helpful—friendly, open, humble. The simplicity of the room fit the man. My main goal was to discuss and view Voyager’s deck layouts and diagrams. We were building a virtual Voyager, designing experiences for the player that would approximate

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being on the ship. Players would step from crew quarters to the teleporter room or the shuttle bay in a logical layout. I had seen hallway and room layout diagrams for other Trek ships in Rick’s blueprint books. I couldn’t find one for Voyager, not even in the infamous reference library. When asked, Rick explained that they didn’t exist. This confused me, so I mentioned that the show’s characters walk all around the ship. There had to be a layout for putting sets together. The reply was so simple that it blew my mind. Sets are built based on the timing and action described in the script. When two characters talk while heading down a hallway then turn left, sets are built to accommodate that. The hallway’s length is constructed for the timing of the conversation rather than any preestablished layout. As I explained our goals of a virtual Voyager, Rick grew excited, offering to help us design the deck’s layouts. He started sketching curvature of rooms and halls in comparison to the shape of the ship’s hull. Rick admitted to not having given much thought to which decks these different rooms would be on. Those details weren’t often mentioned in the show and, when they were, Rick would make it up as needed. He showed us props, each with its own story. Holding a phaser gun from The Next Generation, I was surprised at how crude it appeared up close, though certainly not as primitive as the wooden props I made as a kid. It wasn’t called a maker space back in the 1970s, but in my basement there had been a room dedicated to building stuff. We had a workbench with wood pieces, tools, electronics, scrap metal, and paint. Two thin blocks of wood, about two inches across and four inches tall, were used for one of my props. Attaching the blocks together with a hinge made for a perfect communicator to flip open and call up to the Enterprise while on away missions. My brothers and I crafted other props such as tricorders, weapons, and a control panel that emitted electronic sound effects. The immersive feelings I remembered when playing with these homemade props is what I hoped others would feel when enjoying the game. Back in the present, I handed the Next Generation phaser gun back to Rick—time to leave Paramount, though I would not be walking away with the diagram of Voyager. As an incredible consolation, I would be working directly with a Trek visionary over the next few months to diagram the layouts for Voyager’s decks. When designing games, we always ask ourselves, “What do we want the player to be feeling right now?” For this game, the emotion we hoped for was to feel like you were in a Trek episode—an exceptionally long one. That required an engaging story with interesting character interactions, smart dialogue, and a dose of action. Because game development is fluid, frequent changes are necessary to get the proper tempo, and we knew the story and dialogue would continually change. The decision was made to keep all the writing in-house at Raven versus hiring a freelance writer. Mike, one of our team’s Trek experts and a programmer, would be our scenarist. Activision

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has a policy to use only Guild writers and actors. It made sense to have inhouse writers, as games were becoming more complex in story and dialogue, so we paid the dues for Mike to become a member of the Screenwriter’s Guild. As the story progressed, we solidified the cast of characters, including Voyager’s entire main cast. Remaining as authentic as possible meant that we wanted the actors to voice their characters. After rounds of negotiations, we secured all, with the exception of Jeri Ryan, who plays the Borg character Seven of Nine. A soundalike actress was hired. The actors proved to be gracious during the voice-recording sessions and some even played early versions of the game. Their response was overwhelmingly positive, helping to energize us heading into the final stretch. Voice recordings are done late in production because all dialogue must be final to avoid bringing actors back for costly retakes. During production, we use temporary dialogue in the game, with team members lending their surprisingly good and comically bad voice talents. Mike flew out to Los Angeles for voice-recording sessions to help instruct the voice director and make writing changes on the fly. Back in Madison, I conference-called the Hollywood sound studio to oversee direction. After reading several lines with few retakes, one actor asked, “Who wrote this?” Mike, on the other side of the glass, chimed in to say that he did. The actor replied that it was better than the dialogue from the show’s writers. I pictured Mike’s face beaming with pride. During the course of production, we had received all of the audio files we needed from Paramount. The theme music, however, was not owned by Paramount, and the cost to license it was far beyond what we were willing to pay. Our budget had already become bloated due to the cost of a Trek license, game technologies, actors, motion capture, cinematic studio, and marketing—all topped off by a forty-person development team. A musical theme was needed for the opening sequence, matching the TV show’s opening. A freelance musician was hired to create a similar-sounding theme that projected the Trek tone without violating the original score’s copyright. When the game was released, the music was rarely noticed as being different from the show and unique to the game. I presented an early version for the first time publicly at the 1999 Electronic Entertainment Expo, known as E3. We were an unexpected hit and earned many E3 awards from the gaming press. In 2000, a team member and natural pitchman named Rob showed a more complete version at that year’s E3, gaining more awareness with our release date later that year. Kate Mulgrew was at the Activision booth signing autographs. She saw the game for the first time and later said in an interview, “I think it really does great justice not only to Voyager but to Star Trek. It’s exactly thematically correct.” Full production was winding down. So was our four months of crunch mode. Brannon Braga, the show’s executive producer, played a near-final build and

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expressed questions and concerns. We had a lengthy phone conversation during which I explained the reasoning for things we had done. I stressed that our choices made sense in the context of the show and were needed for a fun gaming experience. Satisfied, his final question was, “Why didn’t Jeri [Ryan] do voiceover for her Seven of Nine character?” I mentioned that we had asked her agent several times but were told she couldn’t because of scheduling conflicts. Brannon replied, “Let me talk to her.” There were stories that Brannon was dating Jeri Ryan, so I was hopeful he would convince her to do it. The following week I got an e-mail from Laird; Jeri Ryan signed on to voice Seven of Nine. The development was nearly complete and we were preparing for final quality assurance testing. It would be too late to get Ryan’s voiceover in the final game, which was soon to be shipped to stores worldwide. We couldn’t push back the ship date, since Activision spends millions on scheduled marketing, manufacturing, and shipping to major retail stores. There’s no way to fall behind schedule at that point without losing millions, which explains the infamous crunch modes in game development to make deadlines. After the Seven of Nine lines were recorded and prepared, we released a patch for game owners to download and replace the soundalike with the real voice. It was a big deal to have the complete main cast, and an opportunity for Activision to send out a press release. After two years of development, the game was finished and selling well, fueled by high scores and praise from reviewers. We overcame the stigma we heard echoed during early phases of development that Trek games suck and aren’t cool. We changed those perceptions during E3 showings and first-look previews, garnering many magazine covers. A reviewer from a popular gaming website wrote, “This game is a must have for shooter fans. Don’t let the Star Trek name fool you. Buy it and put it in a paper bag if you have to, but play this game, you will be glad you did.” Media coverage was excellent. Marketing included TV commercials that aired during Voyager episodes. The commercial also played in movie theaters before previews. PC games promoted through commercials were rare back then, so this was a big push to target the casual gamer and Trek fan. I remember the green-light meeting during which the marketing team asked for more money to expand coverage and airtime for commercials. The CEO shot down the idea, asking them to be more creative with the more than two million dollars already budgeted for marketing. Creative ideas included a Star Trek: Voyager—Elite Force sweepstakes. The random drawing featured a grand prize, including a trip to Hollywood and a cameo appearance in an upcoming Activision Trek game. Collector’s editions of Elite Force included a comic book adaptation, soundtrack CD, and lapel pins. In Germany, where Trek is popular, collector’s edition boxes were made to resemble Borg cubes—fans responded, spurring more excitement among gamers, increasing that all-important intent to buy.

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In the end, Paramount Pictures turned out to be an excellent collaborative partner, allowing us creative freedom, offering support to help make the game a success. Elite Force earned financial and critical success, winning numerous editors’ choice awards, often praised by reviewers as the first truly successful Trek video game. Popular gaming websites also named Star Trek: Voyager—Elite Force the best Trek game to date. Activision realized its goal of being a publisher able to do gaming justice to a deeply established franchise. Raven Software would go on to make more games for top franchises including two Star Wars: Jedi Knight games, two X-Men Legends games, Marvel Ultimate Alliance, and X-Men Origins: Wolverine (a game based on the movie). For most of these games, I had key roles as game designer, game director, and art director. To date, all reside on numerous gaming websites’ top-ten lists in their respective categories. As Raven’s first game based on a popular franchise, Elite Force paved the way for the rest to follow and boldly go where no other Trek game had gone before. Elite Force continues its reign as the highest-ranking Trek game on Metacritic. I am grateful for the opportunity to realize my childhood fantasies in an engaging virtual world for others to enjoy. As things turned out, I relived my past while also creating my future.

Chapter Fourteen

Plastic Bodies and Lost Accessories The Next Generation Action Figures in Relation to their TV Origins Jonathan Alexandratos

The Galoob and Playmates Next Generation action figures provide a vivid lens for studying the chasm between gender representation on TV and the ways in which official toys fail to fully embody the show’s progressive views. Though hardly perfect, The Next Generation made significant strides in depicting a future that has embraced feminism: women and men existing on equal footing. The original series’ miniskirts have been scrapped for unisex jumpsuits; for part of The Next Generation’s first season, the security chief was female, ranking above the more macho Klingon Worf; the character Dr. Beverly Crusher embodies a strong single mother, assuming command on numerous occasions. Yet examining the action figures derived from The Next Generation’s female characters reveals them to be lacking in important ways. Studying the accessories, production numbers, and variants of key male and female toys reveals a disparity that does a disservice to one of The Next Generation’s most progressive elements. Since its premiere in September of 1966, Trek and its various spin-offs have presented a portrait of the future that rates, in comparison to twentiethand twenty-first-century headlines, as boldly progressive. An important, empowering decision was made when an African American woman took a prominent role on the NCC-1701. Future series would further this strengthening of the female characters through chief of security Tasha Yar, chief medical officer Beverly Crusher, Admiral Satie, Commander Sela, Ambassador K’Ehelyr, Major/Colonel Kira, Commander T’Pol and, eventually, Cap155

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tain Kathryn Janeway. That the aforementioned list of high-ranking Trek women still omits a considerable number of those who have appeared legitimizes that serious consideration was given to egalitarianism of the sexes in this imagined future. Unfortunately, these commanding female characters as represented in plastic reveal women stripped of their might. Phasers are replaced by shoulder bags. Action features are toned down. Some key characters are not presented at all, seemingly in favor of another variant of another male figure. This does a disservice to Trek’s women who, on multiple occasions, display strength, bravery, and overall ability on par with their male counterparts. Trek merchandise has become so vast that only a few prime examples can be studied here—drawn from The Next Generation toys produced by Galoob, Playmates, and Art Asylum—to trace misrepresentation by studying prominence, variants, and accessories. The action figures themselves will be treated as text, “read” as gendered bodies that either do or do not serve their source material. Such a review emphasizes the manner in which The Next Generation’s essential vision was modified to appease the financial needs of toy companies. As Judith Butler states, “When Simone de Beauvoir claims, ‘one is not born, but, rather, becomes a woman,’ she appropriates and reinterprets this doctrine of constituting acts from the phenomenological tradition. In this sense, gender is less a stable identity tenuously constituted in time— an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts.” 1 Butler, through de Beauvoir, indicates that gender is performative, not fixed. If that is so, then any such a performance can be effectively analyzed by considering stereotypical props and costumes of each gender as packaged along with bodies that represent the capital M “Male” and capital F “Female,” these perceived and presented through the lens of a variety of media. When Donna Haraway declares that, “The cyborg is a creature in a post-gender world,” she demonstrates that dualisms are meaningless to the cyborg. 2 There can be no “divide” between man and machine for a being that is, in essence, both. Action figures are also, in a way, “postgender.” Though hardly sentient, the action figure has no concept of “male” or “female,” yet that apparently inspires companies to glaze action figures in the stereotypes of both with even more vigor than before. GALOOB In 1988, Galoob produced two assortments of action figures for then newly launched The Next Generation. Although cast members Beverly Crusher and Deanna Troi were prominently featured in essentially every episode from “Encounter at Farpoint” on, Galoob did not produce action figure representatives or even prototypes for their figures in either its first or second wave.

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That left Lieutenant Natasha Yar as the only Galoob-produced female Next Generation figure. To Galoob’s credit, Yar did come with the same moldedonto-the-hand phaser and attachable tricorder that other Enterprise action figures featured. No attempt was made to “feminize” her accessories, perhaps due to her status as chief of security. (Removing her phaser but giving one to engineer Geordi LaForge would have seemed radically disloyal to the characters’ roles on the show.) Even her informational cut-and-collect card on the back of the action figure’s packaging paints Yar as “physically strong” and an “expert,” words that respectfully support her nongendered character. 3 However, by episode twenty-three, Tasha Yar would have been dead, leaving Galoob with no female action figures to represent The Next Generation’s surviving female characters. Galoob further neglected the female form in its line of alien figures. We must take into account here that (1) The Next Generation’s “generic” aliens were almost always male (i.e., female Romulan extras were rare) and (2) most other toy lines, when producing a generic figure, made that figure male or that at least skewed male (it is hard, after all, to use the term “male” on all alien bodies). A break from this would have qualified Galoob as activist, producing female Romulans and Ferengis, though none existed on the show. Such a thought may be fascinating in theory but less than practical. Nevertheless, it’s worth questioning that nearly all generic alien action figures tend toward the male form when produced and marketed. This toy line was, to be fair, limited by its source material. Are all such franchise lines? No. Yet the trend continues. Therefore, while Galoob’s Natasha Yar action figure marked a positive step forward in terms of representing a strong female character, this was by no means the norm. Other prominent characters weren’t even given a chance to prove their possibility for marketplace success in this company’s two waves of production. PLAYMATES Beginning in 1992, Playmates took over the The Next Generation action figure contract. Their first wave contained one female figure, Deanna Troi, along with nine male figures. Troi was the only crew figure to be packaged without a phaser (and the only one in this wave without any kind of weapon). In truth, Deanna Troi did not actually use a phaser until later in the series. Regardless, giving her action figure such an accessory had the potential to demonstrate to young collectors that Troi can, in fact, fight alongside her male counterparts in imagined scenarios. (A message the series would later reinforce time and again.) Instead, she initiates the trend of assigning female figures more stationary accessories like the desktop viewer. By packaging Troi’s action figure with such terminals implies that her place likewise is

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sedentary. Troi also comes with the purse-like “portable computer gear” bag, an accessory that would become common with the line’s female figures. Such bags were never a common feature on the show and Troi, specifically, certainly never had any use for one. The accessory, then, serves to unfairly gender stereotype the role. Women are traditionally assumed to carry purses; therefore, the action figure duplicates (and reinforces) that expectation. This creates an imbalance by assigning a female figure the more submissive role of receiving data, carrying bags, and being tied to a computer, while the men receive the more dominant duty of fighting with phasers and holding the “serious” equipment. The Playmates assortment of 1993 rates as something of an improvement, though parity was not achieved. This wave must receive credit, however, for releasing the first representation of Dr. Crusher since fans met her five years prior. (Dr. Katherine Pulaski would have to wait a few more years.) Though Crusher, like Troi, came without a phaser (though there were multiple instances when she used one on The Next Generation), Crusher was packaged with a swath of medical accessories, sensible for her character. She was also accessorized with a bag similar to Troi’s (if more medical), raising the question of why a case (similar to the one accompanying Riker in the first wave) couldn’t have been just as suitable. Nevertheless, this Dr. Crusher offered a positive representation of a woman—a single mother!—who not only excelled at science but who saved lives. She continues to be a welcome female figure who presents the antidote to those who ignorantly claim that scientific fields are somehow not for women. This wave of figures also included Guinan, Commander Sela, Ambassador K’Ehleyr, as well as a variant of Troi. Of these, K’Ehleyr may present the most impressive shift away from the stereotypical/traditional female as immortalized in plastic. Not only does her card feature her accurate title, “Ambassador”; better still, the figure arrived in its package with exclusively battle-ready objects: a sword, a combat glove, and protective mask. The series’ Klingon women embodied the precise opposite of the stereotypical/traditional female of Earth’s history, yet that is not viewed, by the figure or the show, as detracting from their femininity in any way. With K’Ehleyr posited as half-human, the traditionally masculine warrior accessories mean all the more for her figure. This is not to suggest that for a female figure to be suitably feminist she must come with objects of violence. However, when the source material depicts a number of women as equally capable in combat situations, a receiver of the text may raise an eyebrow if the action figures do not support that approach. Though 1993 promoted strong figures of female Next Generation characters, the ratio remained five women to nineteen male figures. (The Borg figure is counted as male here, as it seems to present as traditionally male. An attempt at a female/generic Borg figure would have been interesting if not

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supported by common Borg scenes on The Next Generation.) Playmates’ 1994 lineup would prove considerably worse. Among that year’s nineteen figures, two were women, both Starfleet officers. Troi received a new variant, given her final-season uniform change on the show. This figure presents an interesting point about The Next Generation’s female variant figures. Considering the multiple male variant figures, one notices a mission-centric reason for their costume changes: Picard as Dixon Hill, Riker as a Malcorian, LaForge as a Tarchannen III Alien, both Data and Picard as Romulans. Motivation for their variants derives from active participation in missions. Troi has, by this point, received three variants; all of her differing outfits are due to changes in her Starfleet uniform. Lavender/maroon jumpsuits may have been due to personal preference (viewers are never told), though this wave’s standard Starfleet uniform shift was determined by a dress code impressed upon Troi by a male superior. With male variant figures, there is a sense that they control their own destiny, forging ahead on away team missions while wearing the consequences of their masculine endeavors. Troi, the only woman to receive such variants, finds her outfits based on a more submissive vision regarding power, particularly power in the hands of dominant males. Troi, too, dressed as a Romulan for one episode, but that figure was never made, though figures of Data and Picard were. 4 The Next Generation gave Playmates only so much to work with, which raises the question of why so many male variant figures were even needed. Riker as a Malcorian action figure has become one of the most maligned among those produced. That figure might better have been Leah Brahms or another similarly strong female. Other females in this wave included Ensign Ro Laren, first female Starfleet action figure from The Next Generation’s Playmates series to be packaged with a phaser. Though the Laren figure is accompanied by the problematic “duffel bag” and “computer console,” Playmates’ attempt to issue a three-dimensional female Starfleet ensign is admirable. How much more admirable, perhaps, if she hadn’t been surrounded by male characters that already had been released multiple times prior to this 1994 wave. Later in 1994, Playmates released six more figures, achieving full gender parity. Crusher (without her lab coat) and Yar were packaged with phasers as well as other gear. Although Yar rates as the last of the primary cast members to receive a release in the post-Galoob era, this figure does her justice. The Crusher figure offers an excellent revision of the previous, more docile Crusher, lab coat clad and without weaponry. This action figure wave, however, also presented fans with Lwaxana Troi. Although the character herself gave some fans pause, her action figure came with a wineglass, an “intergalactic suitcase,” a “talking gift box,” and a “crystal gong,” which is a tool of “a Betazoid tradition to mark the commencement of a formal meal.” 5 Not even in the imaginary realm of play could consumers create a Lwaxana not

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pigeonholed into the role of vain preparer of food. The TV character was an ambassador. (Interestingly, the figure genders the term to “ambassadress” but does not do so for K’Ehleyr.) Although this set took two steps forward, it also featured one giant leap backward. In 1995, Playmates had considerably more on its plate, producing the Voyager and Deep Space Nine figures. Still, the company did not halt production of The Next Generation characters, instead now packaging them on cards labeled with the more generic Trek title. Said title did produce a series of important Next Generation female variants, notably Troi as Durango and Crusher in 1940s attire. Both came accessorized for action (packaged with at least one weapon). From then through Playmates’ loss of the contract in 1999, the company focused largely on Voyager, Deep Space Nine, and the original series, with several Next Generation characters belatedly released. Reflecting on Playmates’ main run, one notices an attempt to pacify The Next Generation’s female characters, clearly not written as passive. It was only later in the line’s history that an attempt was made to grant the show the progressivism it held so dear. ART ASYLUM In 2001, Art Asylum released highly detailed Trek figures that spanned most series. (Only Voyager characters weren’t included.) In 2006, at least one figure was issued for each long-term Next Generation crewmember, with a few exceptions. Its first wave, entirely male, was limited mainly to Worf and Riker and variants thereof. Wave two included a highly detailed Troi packaged with, among other accessories, a phaser—and also an ice cream sundae, which she did regularly enjoy on the show. This raises concern, but such playfulness is balanced by Picard, released with a cup of Earl Grey tea (hot, presumably). Two other variants of Troi featured her in lavender and maroon jumpsuits, respectively. Here, the Picard variants (with the exception of the exclusive Locutus variant) also featured variations on his Starfleet uniform. 6 Contrary to the Playmates example, consumers here perceive that the changing tides of Starfleet regulations impact men as much as women. The egalitarianism preserved by Art Asylum’s second wave best articulates the series’ attempt to push the toy line in this direction. For the third, Art Asylum shifted back toward male characters, which, one presumes, will happen when a company attempts to produce two characters at a time for a show featuring a mostly male cast. Wave four produced two Crusher figures, the first presenting the character in her Starfleet uniform with a phaser and medical gear, sans lab coat and bag. This time, the trademark Starfleet shoulder bag went to Crusher. Her variant was Beverly Picard from the show’s series finale. This figure too is armed with a phaser, as well

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as a tricorder and PADD (personal access display devices). Both are fair, detailed representations of Crusher in two key roles she held on The Next Generation. Art Asylum’s fifth wave dared something unheard of until that series: putting male characters in the minority. This lineup contained four figures: Crusher (this time in her movie uniform from Nemesis), Nurse Ogawa (a first-time release for a well-known character), Ensign Ro Laren, and Chief O’Brien. All came armed with at least one phaser (Ro Laren armed to the teeth with a phaser and a rifle), with the exception of Ogawa, appropriate as she never employed such an item on The Next Generation. Although an argument can be made for including such accessories for the sake of imagined play, it appears that Art Asylum’s goal was to create show-accurate representations of key characters. Given their multiple attempts at egalitarianism, the omission here feels vastly different from Playmates’ initial across-the-board refusal to include such weapons for women. Also significant: in this wave, the more domestic accessory, a bonsai plant, was assigned to battle-hardened Miles O’Brien, whereas all female figures received jobessential items. Such a change may seem minor but indicates openness to the idea that males can value the domestic and that females can be career minded. Although many take such a statement as a matter of course, recall that, not too long ago, this would be considered a farcical swap of gender roles. This marked a perfect end (or, at least, the end for now) to the production of The Next Generation action figures. Art Asylum’s fifth wave places at the forefront every scrap of The Next Generation’s feminism. It’s a shame that Art Asylum’s production of The Next Generation figurines did not continue. Much like new life and new civilizations, one should seek out new texts. Action figures can be posited and studied in just such a manner. They offer an untapped but fertile ground in which messages of gender, sex, age, and race are planted in many different ways before being handed to the most impressionable minds among us: children. To ignore them would be to disregard a massive mountain blocking the road to heightened feminism and egalitarianism. By studying The Next Generation action figures made by Galoob, Playmates, and Art Asylum, one can better grasp how that mountain was slowly blasted through, potentially linking with the path that Trek had already forged on television. NOTES 1. Judith Butler, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” in Performing Feminisms: Feminist Critical Theory and Theatre, ed. Sue-Ellen Case (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1990), 270–82.

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2. Donna Haraway, “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century,” in Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature (New York: Routledge, 1991) 149–81. 3. “Galoob,” Memory Alpha, http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Galoob (accessed August 25, 2014); Natasha Yar action figure, Galoob, 1989. 4. “Playmates,” Memory Alpha, http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Playmates_Toys (accessed August 25, 2014). 5. Lwaxana Troi action figure, Playmates, 1994. 6. “Art Asylum,” Memory Alpha, http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Art_Asylum (accessed August 25, 2014).

Chapter Fifteen

Fantastic Licensing The Ongoing Mission of Trek Comic Books Stefan Hall

Since the first Gold Key issues of Trek in comic book form in 1967, the franchise has been in a near-continuous state of publication, providing original content—stories that extend plots from the television shows and theatrical films—and official adaptations of both. Comic books and strips based on the original series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager have been produced (with only Enterprise not adapted) by a variety of publishers after Gold Key’s releases, including Marvel, DC, Malibu, Wildstorm, Tokyopop, and IDW. As a bridge between TV and movies (and, later, video games) and Trek’s traditional print-novel venues, comics provide a unique narrative nexus, incorporating signature visuals (as well as notable deviations) while providing an enhanced literary experience. Often, Trek scriptwriters and novelists are employed. Yet for all this pedigree and official licensing, comic book materials remain decidedly noncanonical. This curious positioning of corporate sanctioning to create a product with corporate decision making deeming what is or is not deemed legitimate from a narratological perspective speaks to the power of the licensor to endorse franchise expansion while maintaining a perceived purity of originary property. Part of the issue lies with the complicated evolution of Trek from its corporate beginnings to control by the current holders. At its inception in 1966, Roddenberry’s Norway Productions shared ownership with Desilu. That same year, Gulf and Western Industries acquired Paramount Pictures. The following year, Gulf and Western purchased Desilu, while Paramount created Paramount Television under its film studio. As Paramount had no interest in owning what it perceived as a commercially and financially unsuccessful show, net profit was to be shared among Norway, Desilu/Paramount, 163

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William Shatner, and NBC, where the show originated. Because the original series had lost money, syndication remained doubtful. In 1970, Paramount offered to sell all rights back to Roddenberry, but he could not afford to purchase the franchise. Gulf and Western (rebranding itself as Paramount Communications in 1989) merged with Viacom in 1994; eleven years later, Viacom divided itself into CBS Corporation, its CBS Television Studios subsidiary retaining the Trek brand. Viacom, whose Paramount subsidiary retained the Trek film library, held rights to make additional films and also to distribute the television series on behalf of CBS. 1 Within this licensing miasma, Trek properties were, at the corporate level, set into a canonical hierarchy. The TV shows emerged as the primary source for all plot and lore. The theatrical films rank slightly below such shows in terms of textual legitimacy. All other products were grouped as noncanonical, though even within that hierarchy existed some knowledgeable borrowing from established storylines—a sense of referentiality among properties— even some conjecture as to narrative legitimacy. As to what remains of the spin-offs, the novels tend to be the most frequently cited sources of narrative expansion, followed by comic books, then the video games, with the decidedly noncanonical fan fiction lurking beneath all corporate products. Even in this cursory and contentious sorting, one must consider the function of Star Trek’s animated series (1973–1974), executive produced by Roddenberry and D. C. Fontana; “official” comic adaptations of the movies by Marvel and DC; prequel versions for more recent films like IDW’s 2009 Star Trek: Countdown; and “fotonovels,” released by Mandala Productions/Bantam Books starting in the late 1970s, published in graphic novel form. As to property management, one might be inclined to consider that comic books have been marginalized into subordinate cultural position throughout their publication history. Even in an era of cinematic superheroes, with films such as The Dark Knight (2008) and The Avengers (2012), the financial take from the box office and derivative sales associated with the films (product tie-ins, home video sales) far outperforms sales of the comic books in which these characters have existed for decades. Despite increasing copy sales over the last several years, comics are not as financially lucrative as other media. Even with the shifting market position of the medium and the rise of “geek culture,” comic books still maintain a much lower direct impact on the audience. Even within the world of Trek studies, not much cultural attention has been paid to the comics. Other than excellent Internet fan sites and a smattering of articles, only two book-length treatments of Trek comics have been produced: Star Trek: A Comics History (2009) by Alan J. Porter and New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics (2014) edited by Joseph F. Berenato. Porter’s work is primarily a historical catalogue of the various comics with brief synopses, augmented with some creator interviews. New Life and New Civilizations represents the first attempt at cogent analysis

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of the multitude published. In its introduction, David Gerrold notes that, in addition to the 726 television episodes and twelve films, there are 500 novels, more than 100 nonfiction books, and more than 500 comics, mangas, and graphic novels. 2 Although a fan might happily dive into such a narrative abundance, not to mention the more than 100 video games, it’s not difficult to understand why CBS and Paramount push the primacy of the shows and movies. From a licensing perspective, too much divergence becomes confusing and problematic; too much fidelity to the original makes a comic feel redundant, thus possibly unprofitable. Charting a course between these poles becomes an ongoing mission for licensees, ever under the watchful eye of CBS and Paramount. From the earliest Gold Key publications (1967–1979), the navigation of adaptation and creativity has been contentious. No stranger to licensing existing works for comic treatment, Gold Key produced titles based on The Twilight Zone, among others, so it seemed sensible to offer adaptations of Trek to Gold Key, an imprint of Western Publishing. 3 Not much is known about creative talent at the start of the run, as neither writers nor artists were credited. Although twenty-five of Gold Key’s sixty-one-issue run were apparently illustrated by Alberto Giolitti, evidence suggests that Nevio Zaccara drew the first two issues. This Italian artist had not actually seen the show and was provided with only a small batch of publicity photos for reference (notoriously leaving out James Doohan) for characters and ships. 4 A nine-month gap between publication of the first and second issues allowed TV episodes to reach the creative team, aiding in bringing the overall tone more in alignment with the original series. In terms of visual style and dialogue, the stories remained squarely within the realm of science fiction (in some ways, visually more akin to Gold Key’s Flash Gordon comics), if not precisely the Trek universe, and so diverged from continuity, though the first nine issues featured photo covers with images of Kirk and Spock. As the run progressed, writers such as George Kashdan (Tommy Tomorrow, Mysto, Magician Detective), Arnold Drake (Deadman, Doom Patrol, Guardians of the Galaxy), and Len Wein (Swamp Thing, Wolverine), among others, were brought in. Their experience in the industry, as well as their familiarity with the original series, grounded stories more specifically in the Trek universe. Although the majority of storylines diverged from the original series, later issues did include sequels to episodes. In Kashdan’s first reference to an original series episode, “A Warp in Space” (issue 49, November 1977), Kirk seeks the help of Zefram Cochrane and the Companion (from “Metamorphosis,” season 2, episode 9) in locating missing experimental starships. “No Time Like the Past” (issue 56, October 1978) features the return of the Guardian of Forever (from “The City on the Edge of Forever,” season 1, episode 28) as Kirk, Spock, and McCoy must return history to normal after another errant traveler disrupts it, this time involving Hannibal and the Ro-

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mans. That this episode, frequently lauded as the best of the original series, received comic book treatment should come as no surprise. Although Kashdan wrote several other issues not based on the original series, his final Gold Key entry, the final issue of the series, “Operation Con Game” (issue 61, March 1979), featured the return of Harry Mudd (from “Mudd’s Women,” season 1, episode 6, and “I, Mudd,” season 2, episode 8) involved in shady dealings with dilithium crystals. Although a script for issue sixty-two had been written and some preliminary art rendered, Gold Key lost the license in 1979. Perhaps hoping to avoid just such narrative problems, Marvel’s first Trek publication featured an adaptation of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Meanwhile, the fast food restaurant chain McDonald’s added to the mix with a series of comic strips based on opening scenes from the movie on Happy Meal boxes, the first tiein with a film property. A toy included with some of the meals was a quasi–communicator device featuring one of five strips that could be scrolled on the viewscreen. Additionally, the Los Angeles Times syndicate serialized a daily and weekly Trek newspaper strip, running for more than four years. 5 These initially derived from art for an abandoned project Paramount had licensed from Mandala Productions, which had produced the dozen fotonovels. Unfortunately, newspapers already had plenty of sci-fi material to choose from—Star Wars, Buck Rogers, and Flash Gordon—so distribution proved minimal. Meanwhile, Marvel had been enjoying a profitable run with its Star Wars comic and hoped to expand the Trek universe. The license Marvel was ultimately granted from Paramount, however, included film adaptation rights but specifically prohibited the use of any concepts introduced in the original series. Their Star Trek: The Motion Picture comic initially appeared as Marvel Super Special Magazine issue 15 (December 1979), serialized into the first three issues of their monthly Trek series beginning in April 1980. With the fourth, Marvel began telling new stories situated after events in the film and also running letters from fans requesting adaptation of stories—specifically, extensions or sequels, not panel-by-panel remakes—from TV episodes, along with Marvel’s response that it was prohibited from doing so. 6 In so doing, Marvel made a public issue of its contract limitations with Paramount. Jim Shooter, then Marvel’s editor in chief, has gone on record as saying that Marvel was duped by Paramount, which some find difficult to believe. The contractual details remain obscure. Martin Pasko, who wrote eight issues (the longest stint by any writer), mentioned that part of the Writers Guild of America’s minimum basic agreement might have resulted in writers being paid residuals if their ideas from the original series were recycled for Marvel’s comic. Despite restrictions, Pasko was able to indirectly reference the original series via ideas like the Prime Directive, the Organian Peace Treaty, and the Eugenics War, in part because of the vast nature of

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Trek’s universe. These touchstones flew under the radar of Paramount Licensing while offering subtle nods of kinship with fans of the franchise. After Marvel’s series ended with the eighteenth issue (1982), likely due to diminishing sales, two years passed before a monthly series again graced comic book shelves. While some contention existed regarding adaptation and protection of the original series property, Marvel’s experience would differ from that of DC, the next license recipient. With the first series beginning after the events in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, released four months after Marvel’s series ended, DC spent eight issues depicting events set after that film before jumping forward to place stories following Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984). Unlike Marvel, DC could initially use elements from the original series, as well as the new films. Traveling around the galaxy in the USS Excelsior, Kirk and crew encounter Redjac, from “A Wolf in the Fold” (season 2, episode 14), who appeared for a two-issue arc (issues 22–23, January–February 1986). “Vicious Circle” (issue 33, December 1986) employed a time-travel premise to combine elements from “Tomorrow Is Yesterday” (season 1, episode 19) and “The City on the Edge of Forever.” Harry Mudd returned for “When You Wish upon a Star” (issue 39, June 1987) and “Mudd’s Magic” (issue 40, July 1987) as the ruler of an amusement planet. Final issues of the first DC series drew upon the original series, “The Apple” (season 2, episode 5), “Shore Leave” (season 1, episode 15), and “Whom Gods Destroy” (season 3, episode 14), for locations and characters. Interestingly, this series notably incorporated an eight-part story arc (issues 9–16) involving characters and ideas from the “Mirror, Mirror” parallel universe (season 2, episode 4). This set the DC series in a different continuity, the “New Frontiers” saga. The original series characters still must contend with Empire counterparts who use information from the “Mirror, Mirror” universe’s Dr. Carol Marcus (introduced in Star Trek II) to war against the Federation. Captain Styles (from Star Trek III) rendezvouses with Kirk and the Excelsior. Mixing different characters together results in fascinating action, with shifts between universes, various starships being attacked, seized, and liberated, and a moving emotional interaction between Kirk and the “Mirror, Mirror” universe’s David Marcus, whose Federation counterpart perished in Star Trek III. This arc concluded the run by writer Mike W. Barr, who was present at the inception of DC’s series and who had worked for DC and Marvel on 1980s series, including Mystery in Space (1980–1981), Tales of the Green Lantern Corps (1981), Camelot 3000 (1982–1985), Batman and the Outsiders (1983–1986), and the first Green Arrow limited series (1983). Two annuals produced for this series, written by Barr, featured Christopher Pike and the Talosians (from “The Menagerie,” part 1, season 1, episode 11) and the Klingon Koloth (from “The Trouble with Tribbles,” season 2, episode 15).

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This new narrative direction would ultimately be retconned to bring it back in line with the films, specifically with the release of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986), though several issues after the continuity restoration (issues 34–36) used Star Trek animated series characters Lieutenant Arex and Lieutenant M’Ress. In 1987, DC separately released a two-issue Who’s Who in Star Trek miniseries, featuring characters from the original series and the films. With issue fifty-six (December 1988), DC concluded its first Trek series, launching a second in September 1989, situated after the events in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989). The hiatus reportedly due to Paramount temporarily withdrawing its license following disputes between Richard Arnold—a “Star Trek archivist” beginning with Star Trek IV and research consultant on The Next Generation—and DC over stories scripted by Peter David (who would go on to write many successful Trek novels). Running for eighty issues, this series ignored events from the first series, drawing from the original series with the first fifteen issues written by David, who incorporated characters from “Court Martial” (season 1, episode 20), as well as “A Taste of Armageddon,” “A Piece of the Action” (season 2, episode 17), and “Friday’s Child” (season 2, episode 11), including Commander Maltz and Captain Styles from Star Trek III. Vetting by Arnold would result in David’s departure; Paramount increased restrictions on the books, such as prohibiting the creation of non-original, series-related ongoing characters and the removal of appearances by Arex and M’Ress from Star Trek’s animated series. Howard Weinstein would assume regular writing duties after issue nineteen, David’s last, bringing back Harry Mudd for a three-issue arc (issues 22–24, August–October 1991). Almost two years passed before the original series would again be referenced, in “A Little Man-to-Man Talk” (issue 45, April 1993), featuring Trelane from “The Squire of Gothos” (season 1, episode 17), written by Steven Wilson. He would also bring back Pike (“Door in the Cage,” issue 61, July 1994). Weinstein reinstated Gary Seven and Isis from “Assignment: Earth” (season 2, episode 26) in “The Peacekeeper” (issue 50, July 1993)—returning to one of the most-cited episodes by including the Guardian of Forever in a five-part arc beginning with “Time Crime” (issue 53, October 1993), which also utilized Ambassador Kor from “Errand of Mercy” (season 1, episode 26) and Worf from The Next Generation as time-altering events centered on Klingon history—and had Kirk reminisce about Spock and T’Pring from “Amok Time” (season 2, episode 1). As the last DC series writer, Kevin J. Ryan also utilized the original series characters Lieutenant Gary Mitchell (“Where No Man Has Gone Before,” season 1, episode 3) and Kang (“Day of the Dove,” season 3, episode 7) in two unrelated standalone stories. Simultaneously, DC also held rights to The Next Generation. Publication began with a 1988 miniseries, followed by an ongoing monthly in October 1989. Since the first Next Generation movie would not be released until

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1994, the DC series relied solely on the TV series. Yet it would not be until “The Lesson” (issue 19, May 1991) that Michael Jan Friedman (who also wrote numerous Trek novels) would specifically reference a character or event from the show, in this case Worf’s bond brother Jeremy Aster from “The Bonding” (season 3, episode 5). During the eighty-issue run, Friedman pulled from nearly a dozen further episodes, usually minor characters like Ensign Sonya Gomez (“Q Who?” season 2, episode 16) in “Wet Behind the Ears” (issue 32, June 1992) or Judge Advocate General Phillipa Louvois (“The Measure of a Man,” season 2, episode 9) in “The Rich and the Dead” (issue 52, October 1993). Unlike the Trek series involving the original series cast, The Next Generation’s book did not have the level of licensing notes from Paramount, perhaps indicating a tacit privilege among the growing television empire. Before he left, Peter David also wrote The Modala Imperative (1991), a Next Generation special miniseries featuring Admiral McCoy and Spock on a diplomatic mission complicated by the Ferengi. DC delivered a number of Next Generation one-shots and annuals that occasionally dipped into that show’s character pool (along with an appearance by Koleth from “The Trouble with Tribbles”). With the premiere of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine in 1993, DC published a crossover miniseries with the two shows, in collaboration with Malibu Comics (known for publishing Ultraverse superhero titles, dabbling in the early 1990s video game market), which had been publishing a Deep Space Nine series (1993–1995) that spun off two additional miniseries under Malibu, acquired by Marvel in November 1994. This acquisition situated Marvel in a position to reacquire the Trek license in 1996 when it became available after DC chose not to renew due to declining sales and increased licensing fees from Paramount, which had instituted a Paramount Comics banner. Its monthly series, Star Trek Unlimited (1996–1998), ran only ten bimonthly issues. Each double-sized edition featured one story set in the original series and one in The Next Generation. This became an opportunity for Marvel to cross over between the series, having Q and Trelane play a game where they swap Kirk and Picard between the two Enterprises, Picard and his crew visiting Sigma Iotia II 80 years after the original series crew landed in “A Piece of the Action.” Tapping the rejected original series pilot, “The Cage,” Marvel ran Star Trek: Early Voyages (1997–1998), featuring the adventures of Pike’s Enterprise. Marvel apparently received creative freedom with its second stewardship of the license, not only in Early Voyages and in instituting its own Deep Space Nine (1996–1998) and Voyager (1996–1998), but also in creating a Starfleet Academy monthly (1996–1998), releasing a five-issue Untold Voyages series (1998) set after the events of Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and producing a series of one-shots featuring the TV shows with elements from “The Neutral Zone” in The Next Generation picked up for Operation: Assimilation and the original series directly referenced in “Mirror, Mirror,” billed as the “sequel to

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the legendary television episode.” As evidence that Paramount had relaxed a number of licensing restrictions, Marvel produced two crossovers with one of its existing superhero franchises. The X-Men meet both the original series and The Next Generation’s crews in a pair of separate one-shot issues (much to the consternation of fans). If Marvel retained the license for a mere two years, they did produce a copious number of stories that narratively explored the Trek universe in ways Paramount might have previously balked at. Like DC before them, Marvel eventually decided the cost of the license was too much and did not renew, causing an abrupt cancellation. The license then boomeranged back to DC under its Wildstorm imprint, which published only one-shots and miniseries ranging among the original series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager. This fast-and-loose approach afforded much narrative play, like having a Next Generation one-shot serve as a sequel to both “A Wolf in the Fold” and “Elementary, Dear Data” (season 2, episode 3), as Redjac enters the holodeck and becomes Jack the Ripper again while Data, as Holmes, must defeat him; when the Borg encounter a Horta from the original series “The Devil in the Dark” (season 1, episode 26); or the three-part Planet Killer where the Voyager crew encounters a “berserker” ship that first appeared in “Doomsday Machine” (season 2, episode 6). Voyager also provided an opportunity for a comic to be tied to a video game, in this case Star Trek: Voyager—Elite Force (2000), a firstperson shooter about the newly formed hazard team, an elite group of security personnel. Writers (including Weinstein, David, Christopher Golden, and K. W. Jeter, among others) bounced among various properties. The Next Generation publications primarily were set between Insurrection (1998) and Nemesis (2002); Deep Space Nine stories followed continuity established after season seven but continued in novels; and Voyager titles were set during the show’s run. Much mixing of ideas occurred. The one-shot Star Trek: Enter the Wolves (2001) functioned as a prequel to The Next Generation’s “Sarek” (season 3, episode 23), which brought back the character, played by Mark Lenard, introduced into the franchise with the original series. By this point, although not actively encouraging mixing of properties, Paramount displayed little apprehension regarding what was happening in the books, as TV and films dominated the franchise in terms of audience and sales. When Wildstorm’s license expired in 2002, the properties remained absent from comic books for two years before acquisition by Tokyopop, an American licensor, distributor, and publisher of anime and manga from Japan. In publicity materials, the publisher announced plans for original Next Generation stories presented in the manga style. Two years later, it released its first anthology—Star Trek: The Manga—Shinsei Shinsei (September 2006)—in conjunction with the fortieth anniversary of the original series. Three more original series anthologies were released—Kakan ni Shinkou (September 2007), Uchu (July 2008), and Ultimate Edition (March 2009)—

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before its first and last Next Generation anthology, Star Trek: The Next Generation—The Manga: Boukenshin (April 2009). Ultimate Edition contained the only reference to any of the original series shows. In “Communications Breakdown,” Uhura deals with some aftereffects of her memory erasure courtesy of Nomad in “The Changeling” (season 2, episode 3). Perhaps due to the protracted delay by Tokyopop or the strange aesthetic combination of the Trek universe with Japan’s manga style, on November 9, 2006, IDW Publishing announced that it had been granted publishing rights to Trek from CBS Consumer Products and wasted no time in rolling out its own adaptations, beginning with Star Trek: The Next Generation—The Space Between (2007) to celebrate that show’s twentieth anniversary. Like the first issues of the Gold Key series, this six-issue miniseries shipped with alternate photo covers of principal characters. This was followed by another five-issue miniseries, Star Trek: Klingons—Blood Will Tell (2007), reviving original series stories as well as Star Trek VI, told from the Klingon point of view. Episodes such as “The Trouble with Tribbles” and “The Day of the Dove” were again revisited. In advance of its Star Trek: Year Four miniseries, detailing the fourth year of the Enterprise’s five-year mission, IDW released Focus On: Star Trek (2007), a one-shot set immediately after the events of the final episode of the original series, “Turnabout Intruder” (season 3, episode 24). Instead of producing a monthly series, IDW opted for an intense campaign of miniseries, often releasing multiple sets within the same year, resulting in thirty-one miniseries and one ongoing series, comprising more than 140 issues in the first six years of its license. Some involved The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine; others featured retellings of older theatrical films (Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Star Trek II), the latter marking the first time that a film ever received a comic adaptation), or prequel stories for the newer theatrical films, providing a continuity link between Nemesis and Into Darkness (2013), connecting the different narrative universes, as well as including Robert April, the apocryphal first Enterprise captain introduced in the animated series. 7 Like Marvel, IDW experimented with crossover tales with the Star Trek/Legion of Super-Heroes miniseries (2011–2012), produced in collaboration with DC, and Star Trek: The Next Generation/Doctor Who: Assimilation (2012–2013), intermingling the two properties as heroes of both shows face the combined threat of a BorgCybermen alliance. A crossover event, in partnership with Boom! Studios, featuring Planet of the Apes, has recently been announced. Still, the original series remained the dominant narrative source for IDW. Year Four continued with Year Four—The Enterprise Experiment, a sequel to “The Enterprise Incident” (season 3, episode 2), with legendary writer D. C. Fontana penning the episode and the book. Star Trek: Assignment Earth (2008) showed what might have been, had Roddenberry managed to spin off the original series episode into its own series as proposed. Star Trek: Mirror

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Images (2008) continues the “Mirror, Mirror” universe, not only including the original series crew but also mirror universe counterparts for Picard and Pike; writers Scott and David Tipton frolicked with narrative intersections during the five issues, while the good working relationship between IDW and CBS resulted in interesting interjections into Trek’s narrative universe. Star Trek: Khan—Ruling in Hell (2010–2011) filled in the gap between Khan’s introduction in “Space Seed” (season 1, episode 22) and his appearance in Star Trek II. In September 2011, IDW published new ongoing series set in the continuity of the 2009 film. A number of plots featured retoolings of original series storylines. More than all the previous publishers, IDW appears to understand the Trek license and how to best manage it. Noted comics contributor John Byrne (X-Men, Fantastic Four, Superman, and Hellboy) created “Strange New Worlds,” a fotonovel in Mandala’s well-remembered style, for Star Trek Annual 2013, utilizing frames (or pieces of frames) from the original series, adding word balloons to create new stories. The first instance: a sequel to “Where No Man Has Gone Before” (season 1, episode 1), followed a year later with a new series, Star Trek: New Visions, Byrne using that technique to tell new original series stories. The first issue, The Mirror, Cracked, was situated after events from perennial favorite “Mirror, Mirror.” An upcoming issue is scheduled to revisit “The Doomsday Machine.” In retrospect, even when the licensor labored under tighter editorial control, the television material’s draw remained specific to comic books. Although many episodes were referenced directly or indirectly, favorites emerged. “The City on the Edge of Forever” occupies an interesting position in IDW’s publications. In June 2014, Star Trek: Harlan Ellison’s The City on the Edge of Forever—The Original Teleplay was released as a five-issue miniseries. Its licensing takes the readership full circle, back to the beginning of comic book licensing and sum total of Trek texts that now span decades of origination and adaptation. The ongoing mission of Trek comics supplements the TV series and films, perturbing the notion of a dominant narrative by existing in a licensed but corporate-decreed noncanonical status. For anyone desiring to branch out further, comic books offer “something charming . . . an era of experimentation and fun.” 8 This exploration of strange new worlds and circumvention of authority appropriately seems in line with what Kirk would do, offering a multiplicity of mirrors and universes for adventurous consumption and heated debate. NOTES 1. Máire Messenger Davies and Roberta Pearson, “The Little Program That Could: The Relationship between NBC and Star Trek,” in NBC: America’s Network, ed. Michele Hilmes (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 209–23.

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2. David Gerrold, “Star Trekkin’: A Foreword,” in New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics, ed. Joseph F. Berenato (Moro, IL: Sequart Organization, 2014), 1–5. 3. Scott Tipton, “Gold Key: The First Frontier for Star Trek Comics,” in New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics, ed. Joseph F. Berenato (Moro, IL: Sequart Organization, 2014), 11–22. 4. Mark Martinez, Star Trek comics checklist, www.startrekcomics.info, 2013 (accessed July 28, 2014). 5. Rich Handley, “Faith of the Art: Stripping down the Star Trek Daily Newspaper Serials,” in New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics, ed. Joseph F. Berenato (Moro, IL: Sequart Organization, 2014), 87–102. 6. Jim Beard, “Restricted Areas: Marvel’s First Star Trek,” in New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics, ed. Joseph F. Berenato (Moro, IL: Sequart Organization, 2014), 103–15. 7. Cody Walker, “The Necessity of Star Trek: Countdown and Other Movie Tie-Ins,” in New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics, ed. Joseph F. Berenato (Moro, IL: Sequart Organization, 2014), 235. 8. Ryan Britt, “Non-Non Canon: The Strange Case of the 1980s DC Star Trek Comic Books,” Tor.com, November 14, 2011, www.tor.com/blogs/2011/11/non-non-canon-thestrange-case-of-the-1980s-dc-star-trek-comic-books (accessed November 11, 2014).

Chapter Sixteen

Help When Times Are Hard Bereavement and Star Trek Fan Letters Lincoln Geraghty

How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life, wouldn’t you say?—Kirk to Saavik, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)

Academic scholars and cultural critics attribute the enormous success of the Star Trek franchise to utopian ideals, first espoused by Roddenberry as he pitched his idea to NBC. 1 As a form of political and historical allegory, all five series have been praised for providing social commentary. Despite varied foci and interpretations, all such analyses intimate that Trek has a life outside of the TV set, free from the constraints and changing trends of broadcasting. Although Trek is a product of American network television, the franchise maintains its cult fan status because it has gone beyond the public forum of its medium. Trek’s universe offers fans a unique private and personal experience, separate and apart from any lucrative products. Reflecting on self-confessed experiences, memories, and actions of fans, Trek can be characterized by the necessary function of Matt Hills’s idea of “affective play,” which “deals with the emotional attachment of the fan” and “suggests that play is not always caught up in a pre-established (cultural) ‘boundedness’ . . . but may instead imaginatively create its own set of boundaries and its own auto-‘context.’” 2 Fans’ relationships with the fictional text—created and sustained in the collecting of merchandise, buying of repackaged DVDs, attending conventions, interacting with networks and communities on the Internet—become more important than the texts themselves. The interrelated, constantly expanding Trek universe serves as a playground for testing personal identity, improving social relations, and acquiring subcultural capital. The series, films, and related ephemera are reread and appro175

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priated within contexts of contemporary life as experienced by fans employing old (letter writing) and new (the Internet) communication technologies to connect with fellow enthusiasts. The practice of letter writing reveals the franchise’s impact, particularly when fans experience the emotional trauma of losing someone important. The ability to use the series as a comfort zone when life seems too tough to handle suggests that Trek may add up to more than the sum of its parts. Fans mold Trek into something personal to suit their specific needs and desires. Believing the franchise to be theirs, fans claim ownership, turning to it when they feel the need. FANS, FICTION, AND COPING WITH TRAUMA Henry Jenkins uses Michel de Certeau’s term “textual poaching” to describe how fans rewrite Trek TV shows and movies, producing their own narratives, which they then share with each other in the form of novels and music. 3 Camille Bacon-Smith and Constance Penley have also analyzed fan fiction; Heather Joseph-Witham has considered their costume making. 4 Such studies brought critical attention to what might have seemed an undervalued and marginalized subject by highlighting how important Trek fan culture is to developing fields of media and cultural studies. As a result, fan studies became a legitimate, popular area of inquiry for postgraduate and senior research scholars. Jenkins’s application of “textual poaching” still serves as the paradigmatic model for all types of fan productivity and participation. Yet this early seminal work is limited by its exclusive focus on extreme fans, producers of new texts, rather than “ordinary” fans who enjoy the originals but do expand upon them with things like filk music. 5 As mentioned earlier, some fans draw on their love of Trek in making sense of traumatic and significant life events, such as bereavement, discussing the extent to which the franchise helped them cope with loss, attested to by British and American fan letters printed in the U.K.’s Star Trek Magazine and in edited fan collections published in the United States. Both venues indicate that not only does Trek inspire fans to read about other fans, but it makes them want to write about their own experiences, certain that these will be read. When studying fans through personal correspondence, it is perhaps too easy to attribute their confessions of being comforted by Trek to connections between social and psychological conditions. Joli Jenson, in her work on fandom as pathology, describes how excessive fandom has been seen “as a form of psychological compensation, an attempt to make up for all that modern life lacks.” 6 Fans are posited as a potentially dangerous group of ostracized individuals who have nothing better to do than fantasize about

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their favorite TV show or star, a narrow view of cult fandom. At the least, fandom offers a form of community discourse that not only lends support to individuals through interaction with each other and the focal text, but it also helps maintain people’s own personal relationships with family, friends, and individuals. Fandom does not make up for things lacking in our lives; that would imply we are all lacking important social skills, making us all cultural hermits. Instead, fandom allows for a sense of personal empowerment where investment in Trek provides the necessary tools to help cope with life’s events. As Lawrence Grossberg states, being a fan of a particular text allows people “to gain a certain amount of control over their affective life, which further enables them to invest in new forms of meaning, pleasure and identity in order to cope with new forms of pain, pessimism, frustration, alienation, terror and boredom.” 7 People must regularly deal with stressful events—whether they describe themselves as fans of something or not—and all deal with such things in their own differing ways. How interesting, then, that Grossberg does not specifically mention death as something fans learn to cope with by investing in the text. Perhaps coping with pain and pessimism might include coping with bereavement. However, pain is a topic Bacon-Smith has reviewed in connection with the Trek female fan audience. In her research, Bacon-Smith paid close attention to a form of literature known as “hurt-comfort” fiction, stories in which one hero suffers—most often physical pain but sometimes illness— and the other hero comforts him/her. Such stories “say that one way of dealing with personal pain is to recognize the suffering of those we care about and return their attention and comfort.” 8 Though these stories specifically refer to physical pain experienced by fictional characters, Bacon-Smith’s statement could also apply to letters regarding the pain of bereavement. Fans apparently recognize this unique pain and respond to it by consulting Trek texts and then committing their feelings to paper. This act in itself shares the pain; other fans read the letters, respond, and reply by comforting the suffering person. Bacon-Smith describes how the writing of stories wasn’t primarily for the sheer joy of creating but “fulfilled some of the deepest needs of community life.” 9 Fans experiencing turmoil responded by placing their favorite characters (usually Kirk and Spock) in a situation with one suffering, the other comforting. The literature served as a symbol for the specific discourse of support that fans were sharing. Often, fans would contact each other about the story simply to talk about it before writing anything: “Isolation continues to break down as new readers discuss [the] work. The writer even finds satisfaction in helping others when fans tell [them] that [their] story has affected them and offer stories of their own in turn.” 10 With regard to the letters, Bacon-Smith’s theories about “hurt-comfort” fiction help us to better understand why Trek fans turn to the text in times of need and how writing about a painful experi-

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ence in the form of a letter that will be read by others offers comfort. However, Bacon-Smith was examining a specific form of fan literature with a unique readership, almost entirely produced by women. In fact, such letters have been written by all types of fans—all ages, male and female—ranging from those who never watched Trek before their trauma to those who dress up and take part in organized Trek activities. Trek fan letter writing can be considered part of a larger social movement that not only acknowledges the series as an important factor in fans’ lives, but also recognizes certain intrinsic cultural elements that all people share when dealing with bereavement. Any attempt to conceptualize the affective relationship Trek enjoys with its fans, analyzing how they believe the franchise has helped them in daily life, also provides an understanding of Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska’s affirmation taken from their comprehensive study. Science-fiction cinema, they argue, “offers the pleasures of excitement, fantasy and escape, while also grappling with some of the oldest questions about what it is to be human.” 11 Fans who communicate through writing letters to fan magazines as well as to online chat rooms may do so in an attempt to contact fellow enthusiasts and share their own personal experiences, positive or emotionally traumatic. In this manner, fans reveal private and delicate information, simultaneously realizing that others may have had similar experiences. All such distressed fans describe Trek as integral to the recovery process, suggesting that they perceive its multiple texts as a form of encouragement. When discussing this in letters read by other fans, their affection is passed on through a cohesive fibrous network, allowing for intimate but positive exchanges. Trek fan culture constitutes a collective, multilayered and interwoven with numerous channels of communication—all offering support on many personal levels. A NETWORK OF SUPPORT One of the most prevalent forms is the “help when times are hard” variation. A sender writes about how much Trek has helped him or her overcome some difficult social, emotional, or perhaps physical obstacle in life. Such letters communicate how fans use Trek’s message of peace and harmony as a source of hope and strength, describing Trek as a form of support and counsel. That some perceive Trek as an important part of their lives is not in doubt. However, that fans should turn to Trek to seek comfort rather than to their families, friends, or traditional forms of medical and psychological counseling qualifies as an important aspect of fandom demanding assessment. These letters are connected by a sense of mutual self-improvement and shared life experience.

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Beginning in October of ’73, everything in my life blew up in my face. Within the space of eight weeks, I lost everything. My wallet got lifted in Boston. A week later in New York it was my whole pocketbook—including keys and addressbook [sic]—locking me out of my home, office, car, cutting me off from my friends. The following week, my fiancé was killed in a car accident. The week after that, my new VW bus was stolen (never recovered). Two weeks after that my mother died, and the day after Christmas, my beloved grandmother had a fatal heart attack. I went under. . . . [After watching Star Trek for the first time] I was hopelessly hooked! And that [author’s emphasis] was the point at which I came back to life. . . . Star Trek shoved a whole new set of ideas in front of my nose. And, like the donkey and the carrot on the stick, I started moving forward again. . . . As I began to come alive again, I realized that I could never possess my past anyway. The only thing we ever really have is the future, and the present determines the future. My future will become whatever my present makes it. And all I can really say about my present is that every moment I am trying to make it the very best present it can be. 12

According to social psychologist Colleen Murray, “death may be the last taboo issue in family science and family therapy.” 13 Many individuals still deny the fact that death is an inevitable part of family life and that all families will encounter the varied stresses it brings. Trek’s related ability to provide emotional relief not only helps individuals cope with loss, but it appears to teach a life lesson. The above letter exemplifies Trek’s dual property: after a sustained period of familial loss in which three people close to the writer unexpectedly died, she recounts how she “came back to life” when introduced to Trek. Once the period of mourning ended, Trek taught her that life was too precious to waste on thinking about the past and that “the only thing we ever really have is the future.” Such an epiphany emerges as a common characteristic of letters sent by fans who have suffered such traumatic events. Often, though, those fans had never previously watched Trek. Death and emotional distress, in the case of Virginia Walker, provided a catalyst for her eventual introduction to Trek; after watching several episodes, the author went on to write about how her involvement with organizing a fan club and national conventions offered her a new perspective on life: “Before I wore blinders . . . maybe I’ve grown up.” 14 This intimates that Trek replicates, even replaces, the supportive role of the church, commonly recognized as one of the “positive factors” in emerging from mourning. 15 Creativity, the second recognized factor, also appears to function as part of Trek’s ability to help fans convalesce. The author describes how her “field of interest is now virtually unlimited.” 16 Spiritual development constitutes a significant aspect of fan letters. Many attribute their rehabilitation and conversion to Trek’s “baptism by television.” Susan Sackett likens their need to share such experiences with others to those newly converted to a religion, becoming “its most fervent proselytes,” 17 helping

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them to recover from emotional and physical loss. Finding comparisons between fandom and religion is not a new scholarly pursuit, but such investigations do provide interesting insight. For William B. Tyrrell, Trek not only “offers the comfort of religion,” but for fans it represents a world where they belong. 18 Virginia Walker found that she “came back to life” following introduction. For Michael Jindra, Trek “does not have the thoroughgoing seriousness of established religions, but it is also not mere entertainment.” The combination and interplay of the two facets signals its unique “vitality.” 19 Such “vitality,” linked with a supposed ability to aid in the memorialization of deceased loved ones, characterizes fan letters. This is exemplified in the next three taken from the British Star Trek Monthly Magazine, revealing that the process (and its message) is not an American phenomenon but universal. My husband was the one who got me hooked on Star Trek, especially Star Trek: The Next Generation, but my favourites are Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Star Trek: Voyager. My husband and I, and later our sons, have spent many a memorable and happy hour glued to our favourite Star Trek episodes. When my husband and eldest son died two years ago in a tragic accident, watching certain episodes became more important, more poignant, bringing back special memories for my little boy and I. 20 I have just watched Imperfection and am writing to say how overwhelmed I was by Jeri Ryan’s acting. . . . She reminded me of when my father died three years ago, and what he must have felt when he knew he was dying and there was nothing anyone could do to save him, but his stubbornness kept him with me for seven years. I could not stop crying. Thank you Jeri; you fulfilled your talent and showed us that your character has feelings as well. 21 This is the first time I have had to accept the loss of a friend and I can tell you it is awful. I feel there is something missing inside that I can’t explain. If it wasn’t for the help of my other friends and Star Trek, I don’t feel I would have been able to move on. Over the course of the following days I watched several heart-warming and emotional episodes of Star Trek: Voyager from seasons five and six, and they helped tremendously. . . . This very letter has enabled me to share my experience with others, so I thank you for finding the time to read it. 22

Each fan/letter writer watched Trek to help overcome grief and come to terms with loss. Individually, the authors indicate that different types of episodes helped with their own specific situations. The first writer watched “certain episodes,” thereby “bringing back special memories.” The Voyager episode “Imperfection” (2000) 23 reminded Andrea Dearden about her father’s long-term illness and death. In the third, “heart-warming and emotional episodes” of Voyager helped Philip Arkinstall come to terms with the

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death of four friends. If some fans require an emotional pick-me-up, they might turn to a more dramatic and “heartwarming” episode. Or if they need to be reminded or comforted, they might rewatch specific episodes to recreate a special memory. The reason for varied uses can be attributed to Trek’s offer of an “open” text. All three letters question Daniel Bernardi’s theory that Trek is a constrictive and absolute mega-text, 24 since different fans take different personal meanings from episodes. Often, the emotions fans feel while watching one change when viewed a second or third time under less stressful circumstances. Lawrence Grossberg asserts that fans make the text “mean something that connects to their own lives, experiences, needs and desires. The same text will mean different things to different people.” 25 The mega-text is therefore not fixed and authoritarian, but rather flexible and receptive. I have known and loved many friends I’ve met at conventions who also play Klingon, but the most Klingon of them all was my friend and “Captain,” Chuck. The man lived, breathed, and ate Klingdom; he knew every word to every [author’s emphasis] Klingon song ever sung on Trek, and was totally devoted to Klingon fandom. Sadly, he was killed in a car accident in February ’98, in a fierce El Niño rainstorm. . . . To honor him as a Klingon we would gather around [his coffin] and send him out with a Klingon Death Howl. . . . When our breaths were spent, our shoulders sagged with relief, like a weight had been lifted. We would always miss him, and remember him, but with joy. . . . When people make fun of Trekkers, especially those of us who run around cons dressed as Klingons, and call us geeks and nerds, I shrug it off. Because I know better. Everyone needs something to believe in, to carry on. Everyone needs somewhere to belong. 26

This last letter, written by Avril Storm Bourbon, indicates a strong bond shared between a subset of Trek fans, characterized by playing Klingon at conventions and social gatherings. Her grief over the death of a friend who “lived, breathed, and ate Klingdom” suggests a special sense of community that reacts to death in ways that parallel a single family’s response. Robert Habenstein notes that “death initiates significant responses from those survivors who in some way have personally or vicariously related to the deceased. Inevitably, the collectivities in which the dead person held membership also react.” 27 Therefore, the Trek collective that role-played with the deceased suffered as much as his family; they chose to stay in character and mourn his death in a different way by performing the Klingon death howl first seen on The Next Generation episode “Heart of Glory” (1988). 28 Such use of Trek ritual can best be understood if we refer back to those critics who posit it as a form of secular religion. Bourbon insists that she did not care what people thought of her dressing up as a Klingon because this allowed her freedom within a community: “everyone needs somewhere to

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belong.” William Tyrrell sees such a declaration of devotion as a “ritual cry to a world where [one] belongs, where [one] has it all together.” 29 If Bourbon and her friends wish to live as Klingons—by the code laid out in certain episodes and fleshed out in licensed Trek literature—she would also want to mourn death as a Klingon. The act of role-playing becomes less of a game, rather a way of life (or death). Such a development raises interesting questions: Does this renunciation of traditional religious belief and ritual indicate a breakdown in American society? Has the notion of a traditional spiritual community in the face of death given way to a reliance on fictional methods of emotional security that can be construed as superficial? Perhaps Trek does pose some threat to traditional forms, endangering established methods of caring, such as therapy and attending church. Ultimately, the franchise relies on a select few writers and producers to decide what should be included in their universe. The desire to make entertaining programs dictates the ritual content exemplified by the Klingon death howl. However, Robert Bellah’s concept of a “civil religion” counteracts those critical suppositions. He sees “civil religion” as “an understanding of the American experience in the light of ultimate and universal reality,” 30 precisely how Bourbon, Walker, and others who write about the death of a loved one see Trek’s vision of a better future (a future where the world lives in harmony) helping in their rehabilitation. Trek, then, has taught fans who turn to it in grief to cope with death, to not be frightened or suspicious of it—even when death comes unexpectedly—by drawing on Trek as a source of personal strength. This community of fans serves as a support network; lessons offered by Trek’s vision, as expressed through writing letters, can be shared. Writing about their experiences allows those who read the letters access into the community, expanding it further. Scholars and social critics who lament the global demise of close communities would do well to consider how Trek fans cope with death through the examination and repeated watching of human and “heartwarming” stories. If “bereavement is complex, for it reaches to the heart of what it means to be human and what it means to have a relationship,” 31 then Trek fans appear to have a sound understanding of the emotional and traumatic effects death has on the living. The series would appear to have a humanizing effect on its fans, teaching them the value of relationships and what will make them more human. CONCLUSION: LIVING WITH TREK Community, according to sociologist Zygmunt Bauman, “is a ‘warm’ place, a cosy and comfortable place.” Within a community, we feel safe from dangers posed by the outside world and are able to find common comfort. “In

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short, ‘community’ implies the kind of world which is not, regrettably, available to us” even though it is the one thing we are always trying to achieve. 32 Trek’s vision of a utopian future remains equally unavailable. Still, letters indicate that fans do put faith in the text and are prepared to work for it. Meanwhile, the concept of a Trek fan community is achievable—what Bauman describes as counting on “each other’s good will.” In moments of sadness, he sees the possibility of relying on other people’s good will as intrinsic to the fluid working of an established community: “When we fall on hard times and we are genuinely in need, people won’t ask us for collateral before deciding to bail us out of trouble.” 33 In effect, the “community” is achievable so long as Trek continues to offer something to its fans. NOTES 1. See Lincoln Geraghty, Living with Star Trek: American Culture and the Star Trek Universe (London: I. B. Tauris, 2007) and The Influence of Star Trek on Television, Film and Culture (Jefferson, NC: McFarland Publishers, 2008) 2. Matt Hills, Fan Cultures (London: Routledge, 2002), 112. 3. See Henry Jenkins, “Star Trek Rerun, Reread, Rewritten: Fan Writing As Textual Poaching,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication 5, no. 2 (1988): 85–107 and Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture (New York: Routledge, 1992), also Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984). 4. See Camille Bacon-Smith, Enterprising Women: Television Fandom and the Creation of Popular Myth (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992) and “Suffering and Solace: The Genre of Pain,” in The Audience Studies Reader, ed. Will Brooker and Deborah Jermyn (London: Routledge, 2003), 192–98; Constance Penley, NASA/TREK: Popular Science and Sex in America (New York: Verso, 1997); Heather Joseph-Witham, Star Trek Fans and Costume Art (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1996). 5. Filk music is a term to describe science-fiction folk singing. 6. Joli Jenson, “Fandom As Pathology: The Consequences of Characterization,” in The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, ed. Lisa A. Lewis (New York: Routledge, 1992), 16. 7. Lawrence Grossberg, “Is There a Fan in the House? The Affective Sensibility of Fandom,” in The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, ed. Lisa A. Lewis (New York: Routledge, 1992), 65. 8. Bacon-Smith, Enterprising Women, 261. 9. Bacon-Smith, Enterprising Women, 268. 10. Bacon-Smith, Enterprising Women, 269. 11. Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska, Science Fiction Cinema: From Outerspace to Cyberspace (London: Wallflower Press, 2000), 58. 12. Virginia Walker, letter printed in Letters to Star Trek, ed. Susan Sackett (New York: Ballantine, 1977), 15–17. 13. Colleen I. Murray, “Death, Dying, and Bereavement,” in Families and Change: Coping with Stressful Events, ed. Patrick C. McKenry and Sharon J. Price (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1994), 173. 14. Walker, in Letters to Star Trek, 16. 15. Murray, “Death, Dying, and Bereavement,” 188. 16. Walker, in Letters to Star Trek, 16. 17. Sackett, Letters to Star Trek, 15.

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18. William Blake Tyrrell, “Star Trek As Myth and Television As Mythmaker,” Journal of Popular Culture 10, no. 4 (1977): 717. 19. Michael Jindra, “Star Trek Fandom As a Religious Phenomenon,” Sociology of Religion 55, no. 1 (1994): 50. 20. Sandra Bunner, letter printed in Star Trek Monthly Magazine, January 2002, 64. 21. Andrea Dearden, letter printed in Star Trek Monthly Magazine, summer 2001, 95. 22. Philip Arkinstall, letter printed in Star Trek Monthly Magazine, March 2001, 63. 23. In “Imperfection,” the human half of Seven of Nine dies as Borg implants in her body deteriorate. As she becomes weaker, Seven shares personal moments with crewmates. 24. Daniel L. Bernardi, Star Trek and History: Race-ing toward a White Future (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998), 7. 25. Grossberg, “Is There a Fan in the House?” 52 26. Avril Storm Bourbon, letter printed in Trekkers: True Stories by Fans for Fans, ed. Nikki Stafford (Toronto, ON: ECW Press, 2002), 174–76. 27. Robert W. Habenstein, “The Social Organization of Death,” in International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 4, ed. David L. Sills (New York: Macmillan, 1968), 26. 28. “Heart of Glory” was the first Next Generation episode to address the Klingons in any significant way. Fans of the aggressive but honorable aliens were delighted to see the Worf character given screen time as Klingons became important again. New insights into Klingon culture, the death howl among them, were revealed. 29. Tyrrell, “Star Trek As Myth,” 717. 30. Robert Bellah, “Civil Religion in America,” in American Civil Religion, ed. R. Richey and D. Jones (New York: Harper & Row, 1974), 40. 31. Dennis Klass, “John Bowlby’s Model of Grief and the Problems of Identification,” Omega: The Journal of Death and Dying 18, no. 1 (1987): 31, quoted in Colleen I. Murray, “Death, Dying, and Bereavement,” in Families and Change: Coping with Stressful Events, ed. Patrick C. McKenry and Sharon J. Price (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1994), 188. 32. Zygmunt Bauman, Community: Seeking Safety in an Insecure World (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001), 1. 33. Bauman, Community, 2.

Chapter Seventeen

Rebooting Utopia Reimagining Star Trek in post-9/11 America Norma Jones

Behind the entertainment allure of a space drama, Star Trek featured a social agenda; as such, the Enterprise crew appeared remarkably diverse. Gene Roddenberry explained that he had created the original series “to show humans as we really are. We are capable of extraordinary things. . . . The Enterprise is also a symbol of the vast promise of technology in the service of humankind. On Star Trek, we’ve tried to show technology not as important in itself, but as a tool with which we humans can better reach our dreams.” 1 In his future universe, we (people of Earth) overcame social and material problems including famine, poverty, disease, racism, sexism, and war. Trek might be characterized as a heterotopia—a space, if you will, in which actual social problems are represented differently, without the limiting constraints of hegemonic power. This allows us to consider creative solutions for those problems in our real world. After three seasons on television, James T. Kirk and crew continued their voyages in major motion pictures. 2 During the following decades, across television and film, the captain’s chair has been passed on to Jean-Luc Picard, Benjamin Sisko, Kathryn Janeway, retroactively to Jonathan Archer, then rebooted back to Kirk. Unlike previous schisms that created alternate realities in the Trek universe, the rebooted and separate time line took precedence over the original or “prime” time line. 3 Now, we—the fan base/audience—could no longer “fix” our utopia and return to our lives in it. This occurred in 2009, when Roddenberry’s utopia was destroyed by what could be considered an act of war, revenge, justice, or even terror. Although the rebooted universe closely parallels the prime one, differences suggest and perhaps reflect on a dramatic shift in our own realities following 185

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the 9/11 strikes against the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon. 4 For the first time, Americans suffered terror attacks on our own soil in the continental United States. Previously, we witnessed televised reports or read of attacks taking place in distant countries, but 9/11 hit home, as viewers watched American men and women plummet to their deaths from real-life towering infernos. Afterward, citizens desperately sought to defend themselves by preventing another 9/11. The nation was plagued by fear, anxiety, hopelessness, and a need for revenge. Years later, we continue to live in its aftermath. Understandably, then, key differences demarcate the prime and rebooted Trek universes. Post-9/11 realities are reflected in the franchises’ social structures, which then influence the characters in this reboot of what had long since emerged as an important text within the sphere of American popular culture. STAR TREK IN AMERICAN POPULAR CULTURE Popular culture might be considered the leftovers of refined, official, even proper culture, and as such, the culture of the masses, or lower classes. To be considered truly “cultured” implies elitism; the cultured individual is educated, refined, and possesses a certain level of “good” taste. 5 For example, William Shakespeare’s Hamlet is taught in classrooms across educational levels, whereas Tyler Perry’s play I Know I’ve Been Changed might be relegated to the realm of popular entertainment. However, in his own time, performances of Shakespeare’s plays were relegated to déclassé Southwark, along with the rest of the Elizabethan era’s leftover, not-respectable culture. Popular culture may also be defined as culture most people know about and share. 6 For many, this includes popular fiction such as Superman, Batman, and Kirk. Texts in this sphere may easily be taken for granted and passed over by scholars because, as Ray B. Browne put it, popular culture is “the way of life we inherit, practice and pass on to our descendants; what we do while we are awake, the dreams we dream while asleep. It is the everyday world around us: the mass media, entertainments, diversions, heroes, icons, rituals, psychology, religion—our total life picture. 7 In this sense, popular culture is ubiquitous; therefore (if a touch ironically) we may not notice it. However, popular culture occasionally becomes intrusive, demanding attention. Every other year, for instance, it’s difficult to escape the omnipresent Olympic Games. Also, with the rapid development of technology, some individuals outside elite power structures may have access to create (and, more importantly, contest) popular culture. In this sense, Bob Batchelor redefines popular culture as a verb, in that we fully immerse in interaction within this sphere. 8 However, as these texts are highly influential, popular culture be-

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comes the site in which we struggle for meaning, as well as for power and control over those meanings. As such, popular culture is important to examine as sites of meaning creation, meaning re-creation, and meaning struggle. Trek surpasses other American popular culture phenomena because of the franchise’s longevity, market saturation, and easily recognizable iconic status in other popular culture texts. 9 Additionally, the franchise has “traversed the boundary of ‘mere entertainment’ toward a zone of significant cultural influence” since American government agencies have adopted Trek symbols into official programs. 10 For example, in 1976, National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) named its first space prototype shuttle Enterprise to validate real-life space exploration by appropriating symbols from “America’s most popular science fiction.” 11 Essentially, NASA borrowed the popularity of fictional Trek to justify building space shuttles for space exploration. The franchise’s reach must be considered broad and “by any measure of cultural iconicity-innovation, scope, resilience, recognizability, representativeness, Trek rates as a touchstone within U.S. culture.” 12 Also, Trek has become remarkably significant due to the franchise’s broad reach. 13 With the release of the rebooted films, fandom is no longer limited to Trekkies (those who live and breathe Trek) and Trekkers (“normal” folks who are also fans). A simple means of measuring popularity is by using box office figures; the reboot films have significantly outgrossed previous movies. 14 The first new film boasted higher box office returns than Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979) and Star Trek: Generations (1994) combined. 15 Worldwide, the second reboot (Star Trek: Into Darkness, 2013) generated higher box office figures than all four The Next Generation films. This qualifies the reboots as worthy of close examination, not only in comparison to texts from the prime universe, but also as standalone works. ABOUT STAR TREK AND STAR TREK: INTO DARKNESS The first reboot opens with an alien (Romulan) attack on the day Kirk was born, obliterating the original time line. 16 During that attack, the USS Kelvin is destroyed by an overwhelmingly powerful ship, Narada, captained by Nero. Kirk’s father chooses to sacrifice himself to save his crew, his wife, and yet-unborn son. Years later, on the losing end of a nasty bar fight, the belligerent twenty-two-year-old Kirk meets Christopher Pike, a Starfleet officer. Pike convinces Kirk to enlist. 17 After three years in Starfleet Academy, Kirk, as a cadet, helps defeat Nero and foils the time-traveling Romulan’s plan to destroy Earth. At the end of the film, Kirk assumes command of the Enterprise, Pike now serving as the young captain’s mentor and father figure. Along the way, Kirk is engaged in continual conflict with Spock (Pike’s

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first officer), though the two become friends by movie’s end. Also, Kirk and Spock meet Spock Prime from the original time line. 18 In reboot two, we catch up with Kirk and his crew one year later when Earth is threatened by a greater, more dangerous adversary, John Harrison. 19 Kirk pursues Harrison into hostile alien (Klingon) territory. After capturing him, Kirk learns Harrison is actually Khan, a genetically engineered “superior human” from the twentieth century, thawed from cryogenically frozen stasis. 20 While attempting to repair his sabotaged ship in Klingon territory, Kirk realizes that he was betrayed by the head of Starfleet, Admiral Alexander Marcus, who set up the Enterprise as a sacrifice to ignite a war between Starfleet and the Klingons. By film’s end, Kirk defeats Marcus and Khan to again save Earth. A NEW AND DISRUPTED TIME CONTINUUM AND STARFLEET, STARSHIPS, AND THE ENEMIES Nero creates a split in the time continuum. The Narada travels more than a hundred years back in time to attack the USS Kelvin in an attempt to find Spock Prime. More than forty-seven starships (similar to the Enterprise) were reportedly destroyed by the Narada in a single battle. Additionally, the Narada had advanced weaponry capable of imploding entire planets and Vulcan, Spock’s home planet, was targeted and obliterated. 21 After witnessing the decimation of fellow Starfleet ships and Vulcan, the Enterprise command crew argues strategy. Spock starts by describing the impact of Nero’s disruption on the time line: SPOCK: Nero’s very presence has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, cumulating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party. UHURA: An alternate reality. SPOCK: Precisely. Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed. 22 As a result, we see differences between the prime and rebooted/alternate time lines. One telling difference is a larger organizational structure. The United Federation of Planets (UFP) is founded in 2161, modeled on our own United Nations, “an alliance of approximately 150 planetary governments, united for mutual trade, exploratory, scientific, cultural, diplomatic and defensive endeavors.” 23 Starfleet, as the UFP’s so-called military branch, was also estab-

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lished that year under the charter “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” 24 I employ the terminology “so-called military” to refer to Starfleet because it is not simply the armed forces that we normally associate with popular modern conceptualizations of the military, as Starfleet was founded on the principles of peaceful scientific exploration. Let me demonstrate this difference by taking a brief historical tracing of our own seagoing military as the origins of Starfleet’s lineage. 25 In today’s navy, large flotilla groups are arranged around aircraft carriers or battleships, escorted by a fleet of smaller ships. The latter are tasked with protecting some larger vessels that are more important. Individual pilots in fighter planes can be launched from carriers to carry out missions and protect the flotilla. This legacy is reflected in other science-fiction franchises such as Battlestar Galactica and Star Wars, in that the individual pilots in fighter vehicles are more at risk than the larger crafts. However, in Trek, that legacy of war and privileging certain lives over others is challenged. Larger ships travel alone, not escorted by a fleet, and individual fighter craft do not exist. Therefore, the concept of individual sacrifice is not necessarily normal or taken for granted, as Kirk Prime and Spock Prime have debated the merits of the needs of the many taking precedence over the needs of the few. 26 Also, the environment marked by a lack of danger and armed conflict is so pervasive that by 2363, the Galaxy-class flagship of Starfleet has the capacity to carry 5,000 non-crew personnel. This includes families of those serving onboard. 27 The Trek universe was so benign and nonviolent that the UFP’s so-called military carries out regular missions in starships that include schools. Compare, then, this sense of peaceful exploration to how Pike describes the UFP in the reboot. While trying to convince young James Kirk to join Starfleet, Pike says: “You understand what the Federation is, don’t you? It’s important, it’s a peace-keeping and humanitarian armada.” 28 The word choice “armada” does not readily conjure images of peaceful exploration. In contrast, one of the most prevalent historical references when using that term is the feared Spanish Armada, which threatened England during the reign of Elizabeth I. The word may also be traced to the concept of being armed. Pike’s description might be reflective of the reboot’s reality, in which Marcus, as head of Starfleet, was not preparing the organizations for peaceful and scientific exploration. Instead, he sought war, for as he told Kirk: All-out war with the Klingons is inevitable, Mr. Kirk. If you ask me, it’s already begun. Since we first learned of their existence, the Klingon Empire has conquered and occupied two planets that we know of and fired on our ship half a dozen times. They are coming our way, . . . a top-secret branch of Starfleet designated section 31. They were developing defense technology and

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Pike’s choice of “armada,” then, reflects the rebooted reality: this Starfleet is more concerned with war than peaceful exploration. In the prime universe, war with the Xindi was our version of World War II, as Starfleet’s victory established Earth as a universal power in the early twenty-second century. From that power base, the seeds of UFP were planted, similar to that of the United Nations. 30 However, the threat of Nero and the Narada prove greater than anything or anyone the UFP and Starfleet faced. Nero illustrates this new danger-filled reality that forces a break from utopian thinking. After destroying Vulcan, Nero captures Pike and has the human captain strapped to an interrogation table. Nero reveals his threat and plans: NERO: You must have a lot of questions for me. I only have one for you. I need the subspace frequencies of Starfleet border protection grids, specifically those surrounding Earth. Christopher [Pike], answer my question. PIKE: No, you answer for the genocide you just committed against the peaceful planet [Vulcan]. NERO: No, I prevented genocide. In my time, where I come from, this is a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of honest labor. To provide for myself and the wife who was expecting my child [he projects a hologram of beautiful and pregnant Romulan woman]. I was off planet doing my job, the larger Federation did nothing, and allowed my people to burn. . . . PIKE: No, you’re confused. Romulus hasn’t been destroyed, it’s out there right now. You’re blaming the Federation for something that hasn’t happened yet. NERO [screaming in Pike’s face]: It has happened! I watched it happen! I saw it happen! Don’t tell me it didn’t happen! And when I lost her, I promised myself retribution. And for twenty-five years I plan my revenge against the Federation and forgot what it was like to live a normal life. But I did not forget the pain. It’s a pain that every surviving Vulcan now shares. My purpose, Christopher, is not simply avoid the destruction of the home that I love, but to create a Romulus that exists free of the Federation. You see, only then will she truly be saved. That is why I will destroy all remaining Federation planets, starting with yours. 31 On a nearby planet, Spock Prime provides additional details about Nero:

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One hundred twenty-nine years from now, a star will explode and threaten to destroy the galaxy [We hear Spock narrate as Kirk sees the images from the mind meld]. That is where I’m from, Jim, the future. The star went supernova, consuming everything in its path. I promised the Romulans I would save their planet. We outfitted our fastest ship. Using red matter, I would create a black hole which would absorb the exploding star. When the unthinkable happened. The supernova destroyed Romulus. I had little time. I had to extract the red matter and shoot it into the supernova. As I began my return trip, I was intercepted. He called himself Nero, last of the Romulan Empire. In my attempt to escape, both of us were pulled into the black hole. Nero went through first. He was first to arrive. [We see Narada attack the Kelvin] Nero and his crew spent the next twenty-five years awaiting my arrival. But what was years for Nero was only seconds for me. I went to the black hole. Nero was waiting for me. He held me responsible for the loss of his world. He captured my vessel and spared my life, for one reason. So that I would know his pain. 32 KIRK: Going back in time, you changed all our lives. In essence, we created our own “undefeatable” enemy. Additionally, while trying to defend against future versions of Nero, we created an even greater threat in Khan. Khan reveals this after Kirk captures him: KIRK: Who the hell are you? KHAN: A remnant of a time long past. Genetic engineered to be superior so as to lead others to peace in a world at war. But we were condemned as criminals, forced into exile. For centuries we slept, hoping when we awoke, things would be different. . . . KIRK: I looked up John Harrison. Until a year ago, he didn’t exist. KHAN: John Harrison was a fiction created the moment I was awoken by your Admiral Marcus to help him advance his cause. A smokescreen to conceal my true identity. My name is . . . Khan. KIRK: Why would a Starfleet admiral ask a 300-year-old frozen man for help? KHAN: Because I am better. KIRK: At what?

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KHAN: Everything. Alexander Marcus needed to respond to uncivilized threat in the civilized time and for that he needed warrior’s mind. My mind. To design weapons and warships. SPOCK: You are suggesting the admiral violated every regulation he vowed to uphold simply because he wanted to exploit your intellect. KHAN: He wanted to exploit my savagery. Intellect alone is useless in a fight, Mister Spock. You . . . you can’t even break a rule. How would you be expected to break bone? Marcus used me to design weapons. To help him realize his vision of a militarized Starfleet. . . . KHAN: He used my friends to control me. I tried to smuggle them to safety by concealing them in the very weapons I had designed, but I was discovered. I had no choice but to escape alone. And when I did, I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every single one of the people I hold most dear. So I responded in kind. My crew is my family, Kirk. Is there anything you would not do for your family? 33 In both instances, unlike other prime universe adversaries (including the Xindi, Borg, Klingons, and the Dominion), the two greatest threats (Nero and Khan) against the Federation are in fact created by the Federation. This might be thought of as reflective of our own realities, in that some of the greatest threats against the United States were made by those who were allegedly and previously supported by our own government. REBOOTING UTOPIA In the 1966 series, we meet Kirk Prime after he has been promoted to the captain of the Enterprise in 2264. 34 In the rebooted universe, we meet Kirk at birth and follow him as he stumbles into the captain’s chair in 2258. This sixyear difference proves important, illustrating that he, like many after 9/11, had to grow up faster following such a devastating loss. He was forced to live in a less secure, more ambiguous world. After his father’s death, Kirk found a father figure/mentor in Pike, who is killed by Khan. Then Marcus slides into that father/mentor role, but betrays Kirk, 35 who learns to navigate in a more morally ambiguous world without the safety net his father(s) provided. This situation reflects our own post-9/11 reality as we grapple with issues surrounding incarceration at Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib, as well as our ongoing debates regarding national security and personal privacy. Despite his losses and betrayals, Kirk—as a character created and situated within the surrounding rebooted Trek universe—remains an ideal model. Despite the argument that Trek offers unrealistic idealism and that such a

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science-fiction text may be more problematic than beneficial, recall that other individuals have been inspired to work harder and help realize those idealistic dreams for humanity. 36 In other words, “Star Trek provides a philosophy of tolerance, understanding, and appreciation of diversity, and it provides models for conduct that will recover the human capacity to live in peace and prosperity.” 37 This continued optimism and faith in humanity is reflected, clearly, in the concluding minutes of Into Darkness. Kirk reminds us of those humanistic ideals, especially in uncertain times: There will always be those that mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that’s not who we are. We are here today to rechristen the USS Enterprise and to honor those who have lost their lives nearly one year ago. When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship, he had me recite the captain’s oath. Words I didn’t appreciate at the time. Now I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were and who we must be again. 38

Trek offers hope in a time when many still live in fear. As a popular culture text, the reboots provide a reimagined utopia even as we continue to be surrounded by real-world rhetoric calling for revenge, war, less individual freedoms, and other infractions that run against the grain of our values. In essence, Trek depicts a better imagined future, suggesting that we ought to strive toward precisely this ideal, as Rodenberry once noted: We must remember that the promise of tomorrow will not be fulfilled easily. The collective commitment of our nations, as well as the vision, wisdom, and hard work of many, many individuals will be required to bring our dreams to fruition. In a way, the Enterprise and the optimistic future in which it exists might be thought of as a reminder of what we can achieve when we really try. . . . I think our future is worth it. 39

NOTES 1. Gene Roddenberry, “Introduction by Gene Roddenberry,” in Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual, ed. Rick Sternbach and Michael Okuda (New York: Pocket Books, 1991), v. 2. The last film (Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country) featuring the original series cast was released in 1991. However, in 1994, Star Trek: Generations was a symbolic passing of the torch from the original cast to the cast of The Next Generation. 3. Alternate realities appeared in episodes from all five television shows including “In a Mirror, Darkly,” “Mirror, Mirror,” “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” “Timeless,” and “The Visitor.” Note that I use “prime” to refer to the larger body texts in the original Star Trek time line. 4. Although the crews across the various television shows also fought against galactic enemies, Star Trek: Enterprise was the only series in production during and after 9/11. With this in mind, Archer’s fight against the Xindi was influenced by the real-world events surround-

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ing the terror attacks. Additionally, one might suggest that the Picard-cloned antagonist, Shinzon, in Star Trek: Nemesis (2002) was created in reaction to 9/11. 5. Ray B. Browne, “Popular Culture: Notes toward a Definition,” in Popular Culture Theory and Methodology: A Basic Introduction, ed. Harold E. Hinds, Marilyn Ferris Motz, and Angela M. S. Nelson (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 21. 6. Barry Brummett, Rhetoric in Popular Culture, 2nd ed. (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2006), 27. 7. Ray B. Browne, “Popular Culture as the New Humanities,” in Popular Culture Theory and Methodology: A Basic Introduction, ed. Harold E. Hinds, Marilyn Ferris Motz, and Angela M. S. Nelson (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 75. 8. Bob Batchelor, “Introduction,” in Cult Pop Culture: How the Fringe Became Mainstream, vol. 1, ed. Bob Batchelor (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio, 2012), xv. 9. Michael Jindra, “Star Trek to Me Is a Way of Life: Fan Expressions of Star Trek Philosophy,” in Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture, ed. Jennifer E. Porter and Darcee L. McLaren (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 218. 10. John Shelton Lawrence and Robert Jewett, The Myth of the American Superhero (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002), 227. 11. Lawrence and Jewett, American Superhero. Newer interstellar ships are being developed under the name Enterprise, and original series cast member Nichelle Nichols is part of NASA’s efforts to recruit minorities and females. NASA’s first female and African American astronauts point to Nichols as their inspiration to join NASA. 12. Brian L. Ott and Eric Aoki, “Popular Imagination and Identity Politics: Reading the Future in Star Trek: The Next Generation,” Western Journal of Communication 65 (2001): 392, doi: 10.1080/10570310109374718. 13. Jindra, “Way of Life,” 228; Lawrence and Jewett, American Superhero, 224. 14. See Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com) for box office gross receipts. 15. The first films of the original and Next Generation cast. 16. Star Trek, directed by J. J. Abrams, Paramount Home Entertainment, 2009, Blu-ray. 17. A more detailed explanation of Starfleet will be offered in the following sections. 18. From this point on, I use the character’s names to refer to those in the rebooted universe. Characters from the original universe are designated by their name plus “Prime,” for example, Spock Prime. 19. Star Trek: Into Darkness, directed by J. J. Abrams, Paramount Home Entertainment, Blu-ray. 20. A callback to the Khan Noonien Singh, a villain, in the original time line. 21. Spock and Spock Prime’s home world. 22. Star Trek. 23. Michael Okuda, Denise Okuda, and Debbie Mirek, The Star Trek Encyclopedia: A Reference Guide to the Future (New York: Pocket Books, 1994), 358. 24. Michael Okuda and Denise Okuda, Star Trek Chronology: The History of the Future (New York: Pocket Books, 1993), 23. 25. In fact, in the opening credits of Star Trek: Enterprise, we can see that Starfleet’s lineage traces back to oceangoing ships. 26. Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, directed by Nicholas Meyer, Paramount Home Entertainment, 2009, DVD. This debate is also reflected in some Starfleet officer tests (Star Trek: The Next Generation). 27. Rick Sternbach and Michael Okuda, Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual (New York: Pocket Books, 1991), 3. 28. Star Trek. 29. Star Trek: Into Darkness. 30. “These Are the Voyages,” Star Trek: Enterprise, season 4, episode 22, first aired May 13, 2005. 31. Star Trek. 32. Star Trek. 33. Star Trek: Into Darkness.

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34. Okuda and Okuda, Star Trek Chronology, 38. 35. In Star Trek: Into Darkness, Marcus refers to Kirk as “son” several times. 36. Jindra, “Way of Life,” 228; Lawrence and Jewett, American Superhero, 246. 37. Darcee L. McLaren, “On the Edge of Forever: Understanding the Star Trek Phenomenon As Myth,” in Star Trek and Sacred Ground: Explorations of Star Trek, Religion, and American Culture, ed. Jennifer E. Porter and Darcee L. McLaren (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 242. 38. Star Trek: Into Darkness 39. Roddenberry, “Introduction,” vi.

Index

Abrams, J. J., xii, xvii, xxi, xxii action figures/toys, 155, 161 Activision (software), 146, 147, 148 “All Good Things” (TNG), 10, 118, 130–131 “All Our Yesterdays” (TOS), 100 “Angel One” (TNG), 59 “The Apple” (TOS), 167 Art Asylum (toy manufacturer), 156, 160–161 Artemis: Spaceship Bridge Simulator (game), 141–142 The Avengers (2012), 164 Barrett, Majel, 7 Battlestar Gallactica (TV), 92 Berman, Rick, xxii “The Best of Both Worlds” (TNG), 58, 87, 95, 113, 114, 123 “The Big Goodbye” (TNG), 18 Blade Runner (1982), 92 “Booby Trap” (TNG), 19 “The Bonding” (TNG), 168 the Borg, 32, 33, 65–72, 75–84, 114, 147 “Bread and Circuses” (TOS), xvii “The Cage” (TOS), xvii, 4, 169 “Catspaw (TOS), 6, 101 “The Chase” (TNG), 48, 110 “The City on the Edge of Forever” (TOS), xix, 165, 167, 172

Clarke, Arthur C., 6, 18 “Coda” (STV), 5 comic books/graphic novels, 163–172 “Conceiving Flight” (STV), 22 Coon, Gene L., xvii, xix “Court Martial” (TOS), 168 “Dagger of the Mind” (TOS), 96 “Darkling” (STV), 22 The Dark Knight (2008), 164 “Datalore” (TNG), 122 “Data’s Day” (TNG), 111 “The Day of the Dove (TOS), 168, 171 DC, aka D.C. (comics publisher), 164, 167, 168, 170 “The Defector”, 102, 103, 105 “Deja Q” (TNG), 118 “Descent” (TNG), 111 Desilu, 163 “Devil in the Dark” (TOS), 170 “Devil’s Due” (TNG), 4 “The Die Is Cast” (DS9), 103, 107 Disney, Walt, xviii “The Doomsday Machine” (TOS), 170, 172 Doyle, (Sir) Arthur Conan, xxi “The Drumhead” (TNG), 44 Dr. Who (TV), 92 Early Voyages (comic series), 169 Einstein, Albert, 38 197

198

Index

“Elementary, Dear Data” (TNG), 170 Ellison, Harlan, xix, xx “Emergence” (TNG), 102–103 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 121–131 “The Emissary” (TNG), 56 “Encounter at Fairpoint” (TNG), 18, 122 “The Enterprise Incident” (TOS), 171 “Ethics” (TNG), 115 “Eye of the Beholder” (TNG), 43 “Faces” (STV), 47, 48 fandom/fan letters, 175–182 “Firstborn” (TNG), 46 Focus On: Star Trek (comic), 171 Fontana, D.C. (Doris), 164, 171 Forbidden Planet (1956), xix Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus (novel, 1818), 92 “Friday’s Child” (TOS), 168 Galoob (toy manufacturer), 156–157 game studies/gaming, 133–154 Gene Roddenberry’s Earth: Final Conflict (1997-2002), xviii “The Gift” (STV), 70–71 Gold Key (comics publisher), 163, 165 graphic novels. See comic books/graphic novels “Haven” (TNG), 7 “Heart of Glory” (TNG), 55–56, 181 “Hide and Q” (TNG), 7, 10 “Homefront” (DS9), 23 “The Host” (TNG), 60 The Hunger Games (2012), 109 Huxley, Aldous, 93 “I, Borg” (TNG), 114 “I, Mudd” (TOS), 165 IDW (comics publisher), 163, 164, 171–172 “Imperfection” (STV), 180 Invasion of the Bee Girls (1973), xxii Jenkins, Henry, xxiii, 176 “Journey’s End” (TNG), 121, 123 Kakan ni Shinkou (comic), 170

Lucas, George, xiv, xix–xx “The Magicks of Megas-Tu” (TAS), 6 Malibu (comics publisher), 163, 168 Manga, 170 “The Man Trap” (TOS), 5 Marvel (comics publisher), 163, 164, 166–167, 170, 171 “A Matter of Honor” (TNG), 56 “The Measure of a Man” (TNG), 168 “The Menagerie” (TOS), 167 “Metamorphosis” (TOS), 165 Meyer, Nicholas, xix, xix–xxi, xxii McLuhan, Marshall, 90 “Mirror, Mirror” (TOS), 167, 169, 171, 172 “Mortal Coil” (DS9), 100 “Mudd’s Women” (TOS), 165 “Nemesis” (STV), 129–130, 171 Netrek (game), 139 “The Neutral Zone” (TNG), 111, 126, 128, 169 New Frontiers (DC comic series), 167 New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics (book, 2014), 164 “Night” (STV), 72 “No Time Like the Past” (TOS), 165 Norway Productions, 163 “Omega Glory” (TOS), xvii “Once More into the Breach” (DS9), 21, 100 “The Outcast” (TNG), 61, 112 Paramount Comics, 169 “Past Tense” (DS9), 34, 35 “The Perfect Mate” (TNG), 59 “Phantasms” (TNG), 111 “A Piece of the Action” (TOS), 168 Playmates (toy manufacturer), 156, 157–160 Planet of the Apes (1968), xvii “Q Who?” (TNG), 77, 78, 168 Raven (software), 145, 148 “Redemption” (TNG), 57 “Redemption II” (TNG), 57

Index Redshirt (game), 140–141 “Remember Me” (TNG), 100, 125 “Return of the Archons” (TOS), 7 RoboCop (1987), 92 Roddenberry, Gene (boyhood/ background), xix Roddenberry, Gene (innovator/continuing influence), xi–xiii, xvi, xvii–xix, xxi, xxii, 9, 30, 45, 122, 163–164 Rod Serling’s Night Gallery (1970–1973), xvii Ryan, Jeri, 152–153 “Sarek” (TNG), 170 “The Savage Curtain” (TOS), 20, 23 “Scientific Method” (STV), 35 “Scorpion” (STV), 22, 68 Serling, Rod, xvi–xviii, xxiii Shakespeare, William, xix–xx, xxii, 10, 99–107, 186 Shatner, William, 163 Shelley, Mary Wolstonecraft, 92 “Shore Leave” (TOS), 128, 167 “Sins of the Father” (TNG), 53, 101, 102 “Skin of Evil” (TNG), 122, 128–129 Sophocles, xxii “Space Seed” (TOS), xix, 171 Spacewar (game), 139 “Spectre of the Gun” (TOS), 22 Starfleet Academy (comic series), 169 Star Fleet Battle (game), 138, 139, 140 Star Trek (2009), xiii–xiv, xxii, 185–193 Star Trek: A Comics History (book, 2009), 164 Star Trek Annual 2013 (comic), 172 Star Trek: Bridge Commander (game), 139 Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993-1999), xxii, 5, 19, 21, 32, 34, 46, 100, 101, 107, 128, 140, 163, 168, 170, 177 Star Trek: Destiny (novel), 96 Star Trek: Enterprise, aka Enterprise (2001–2005), xxii, 32, 49, 99, 107, 163 Star Trek: Expeditions (board game), 135 Star Trek: First Contact (1996), 65–67, 75, 96, 121, 123, 128 Star Trek: Generations (1994), 123, 126, 187 Star Trek: Harlan Ellison’s The City on the Edge of Forever—The Original

199

Teleplay (comic/series), 172 Star Trek: Insurrection (1998), 126–128, 170 Star Trek: Into Darkness (2013), xxi, xxii, 171, 187–193 Star Trek: Khan—Ruling in Hell (comic), 171 Star Trek: Klingons—Blood Will Tell (comic/series), 171 Star Trek/Legion of Superheroes comic/ series), 171 Star Trek Magazine (monthly, UK), 176 Star Trek: Mirror Image (comic), 171 Star Trek: Nemesis (2002), 170 Star Trek: New Visions (comic), 172 Star Trek: Starfleet Academy (game), 139 Star Trek: Starfleet Command (game series), 139 Star Trek: The Animated Series (1973–1974), xvii, 6, 164 Star Trek: The Manga Shinsei/Shinesi, 170 Star Trek (I): The Motion Picture (1979), xix, 166, 187 Star Trek: The Mirror Crack’d (comic), 172 Star Trek (I): The Motion Picture (comic), 169 Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), xix–xx, 167, 171 Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984), 166, 167 Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986), xx Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991), xxi, 100, 101, 105–106 Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987–1994), xv, xxii, 1, 4–5, 8, 10, 15, 18, 19, 23, 29, 43–44, 45–47, 48, 53–62, 65, 67, 75, 76, 87, 92, 93, 95–96, 100, 106, 109–119, 121–131, 133, 136, 146, 148–149, 151, 155–161, 163, 168–170, 177 Star Trek: The Next Generation/Doctor Who: Assimilation (comic), 171 Star Trek: The Next Generation—The Manga (Boukenshin) (comic), 170 Star Trek: The Next Generation—The Space Between (comic), 171 Star Trek: The Original Series (19661969), xii–xiii, xvi, xix, xx–xxi, 5–6, 7,

200

Index

29, 30, 31, 41, 126, 170, 177 Star Trek Unlimited (comic series), 169 Star Trek: Voyager (1995–2001), xxii, 8, 18–19, 20, 22, 32, 35, 41, 43, 46–48, 48, 68–72, 87, 96, 107, 133, 135, 145–147, 149–152, 163, 170, 180 Star Trek: Voyager—Elite Force (game), 137, 145–152, 146 Star Trek: Year Four (comic/series), 171 Star Wars (films/franchise), xiv, xvii–xviii, xx, xxii, xxiii, 65, 66, 134, 136, 148, 166 Stewart, Patrick, 4, 102 “Sub Rosa” (TNG), 4 “Symbiosis” (TNG), 112 “A Taste of Armageddon” (TOS), 168 television (narrative medium), xii, xvi The Terminator (1984), 92 Time after Time, xxi Tokyopop (comics publisher), 163, 170–171 “Tomorrow Is Yesterday” (TOS), 167 Transcendentalism (philosophy), 121–131 Trek Nation (2010), 9 “The Trouble with Tribbles” (TOS), 167, 168, 171 “Turnabout Introducer” (TOS), 171

The Twilight Zone (1959–1964), xvi, xvii–xviii, xxii, 164–165 Uchu (comic), 170 “The Ultimate Competition” (TOS), 31 Ultimate Edition (comic), 170 “Up the Long Ladder” (TNG), 122 Viacom, 163 VIDDING (process), xxii Wagon Train (TV series), 41 “A Warp in Space” (TOS), 165 Wells, H.G., xxi “Where No Man Has Gone Before” (TOS), 168, 172 “Where No One Has Gone Before” (TNG), 8–9, 121, 122 “Whom Gods Destroy” (TOS), 167 Wildstorm (comics publisher), 163, 170 Wise, Robert, xix “A Wolf in the Fold” (TOS), 170 Year Four—The Enterprise Experiment (comic), 171

About the Editors

Douglas Brode is a screenwriter, playwright, novelist, graphic novelist, film historian, and award-winning journalist. He developed and offered diverse courses in cinema studies for decades at Syracuse University’s Newhouse School of Public Communications in the Department of Television, Radio, and Film. Many of his more than forty books on movies and media are of the science-fiction and imaginative fantasy genres. Brode and Carol Serling (widow of Rod) collaborated on Rod Serling and The Twilight Zone: The Official 50th Anniversary Tribute (2009). Brode coedited (with Leah Deyneka) the anthologies Sex, Politics, and Religion in Star Wars and Myth, Media, and Culture in Star Wars for Scarecrow Press. His science-fiction short story “Ides of Texas” appears in More Stories from the Twilight Zone, edited by Carol Serling. His book, Fantastic Planets, Forbidden Zones, and Lost Continents: The 100 Greatest Science-Fiction Films, is scheduled for publication in fall 2015. Shea T. Brode graduated from Buffalo State College, part of the State University of New York, in 2007 with a BA in humanities. While a student, he contributed numerous articles on theater, film, and other cultural happenings, both classical and popular, to various campus publications. Following that, he relocated to Madrid as a member of the Saint Louis University students abroad program from 2009 to 2012. In spring 2012 he received an MA in literature and cultural studies from the University Autonoma in Madrid.

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About the Contributors

Jonathan Alexandratos teaches English at Queensborough Community College in New York City. A playwright, his work has been performed throughout the United States. Eric Aoki (University of Washington) is professor of communication studies at Colorado State University. An award-winning teacher and scholar, Dr. Aoki publishes in the areas of critical/cultural studies, media studies, auto/ ethnography, and cultural space and memory studies. Rebecca Barrilleaux received her MA from the University of Colorado, Denver, in English literature. Perhaps surprisingly, this well prepared her for a career in software engineering. When not actively aiding her son with the invention of warp drive, she writes software for the broadcast industry in Denver, Colorado. Douglas Brown, PhD, is a games studies researcher who teaches digital games courses at Falmouth University in Cornwall, in the United Kingdom. His main area of interest is the manner in which games tell stories. He has previously published work about games in the Lord of the Rings franchise, movie-game spin-offs, and the unique ways in which the concept of suspension of disbelief functions in video games. Lincoln Geraghty is reader in popular media cultures in the School of Media and Performing Arts at the University of Portsmouth. His research interests include science-fiction film and television, fandom, and merchandising and collecting in popular culture. He is author and editor of several books including Living with Star Trek: American Culture and the Star Trek Uni203

204

About the Contributors

verse (2007), Cult Collectors: Nostalgia, Fandom and Collecting Popular Culture (2014), The Influence of Star Trek on Television, Film and Culture (2008), Channeling the Future: Essays on Science Fiction and Fantasy Television (2009), and The Smallville Chronicles: Critical Essays on the Television Series (2011). David J. Gunkel is Presidential Teaching Professor of Communication at Northern Illinois University. He is the author of Hacking Cyberspace (2001), Thinking Otherwise: Philosophy, Communication, Technology (2007), The Machine Question: Critical Perspectives on AI, Robots and Ethics (2012), and Heidegger and the Media (2014). Gunkel has also published more than forty scholarly articles and is the founding coeditor of the International Journal of Žižek Studies. More information is available at http://gunkelweb.com. Stefan Hall is an associate professor of communication at High Point University where he teaches courses primarily in games and interactive media design. In addition to his teaching, he also is the chair of the Department of Media Production and Studies in the Nido R. Qubein School of Communication. His research interests include video games, film, comic books and sequential art, and science fiction studies. Denise Alessandria Hurd teaches an assortment of theater classes at City College of New York and at the Harlem School of the Arts. Previously, Hurd has taught at Nassau Community College and developed a series of advanced theater workshops for New Jersey City University. She graduated from Yale University and attended City University of New York Graduate School. She is an actor and a fight choreographer for the stage. Norma Jones is a David B. Smith Award and University Fellowship recipient, as well as a doctoral candidate in the College of Communication and Information at Kent State University. In addition to authoring or coauthoring several book chapters, Jones has coedited two companion volumes for Rowman & Littlefield: Heroines of Comic Books and Literature: Portrayals in Popular Culture and Heroines of Film and Television: Portrayals in Popular Culture (both 2014). She is also an associate editor for The Popular Culture Studies Journal, the official publication of the Midwest Popular Culture/ American Culture Association. Earlier in her career, Norma spent more than a decade working in the media as well as in consulting for international companies in a variety of fields, including public relations, marketing, sales, high-end jewelry, and international telecommunications. Tama Leaver, PhD, is a senior lecturer in the Department of Internet Studies at Curtin University in Perth, Western Australia. His research interests in-

About the Contributors

205

clude social media, online identity, digital death, casual gaming, and media distribution. Artificial Culture: Identity, Technology and Bodies was published in 2012. Dr. Leaver is coeditor of An Education in Facebook? Higher Education and the World’s Largest Social Network (2014). His work has been published in a range of journals including Popular Communication, Comparative Literature Studies, Media International Australia, and Fibreculture. Find him on Twitter (@tamaleaver) and the web (www.tamaleaver.net). Murray Leeder, PhD (Carleton University, 2011), teaches film studies at the University of Calgary. He is the author of a book about John Carpenter’s Halloween (2013) and editor of Cinematic Ghosts: Haunting and Spectrality from Silent Cinema to the Digital Era (2015). He has also published more than a dozen articles on the supernatural in cinema and other media. Melanie Lörke studied English and German language and literature and political science in Heidelberg and Athens, Georgia, and gained her doctorate at Freie Universitaet Berlin. Her research interests include contemporary and postmodernist literature and culture (television series), literary theory, Shakespeare, semiotics, and Romanticism. Loerke’s PhD thesis Liminal Semiotics: Boundary Phenomena in Romanticism, published in 2013, constructs a model for the analysis of boundaries. Cynthia J. Miller is the editor of Too Bold for the Box Office: The Mockumentary, from Big Screen to Small (2012) and coeditor of Undead in the West: Vampires, Zombies, Mummies, and Ghosts on the Cinematic Frontier (with A. Bowdoin Van Riper, 2012), Undead in the West II: They Just Keep Coming (with A. Bowdoin Van Riper, 2013), 1950s Rocketman TV Series and their Fans: Cadets, Rangers, and Junior Space Men (with A. Bowdoin Van Riper, 2012), Steaming into a Victorian Future (with Julie Anne Taddeo, 2012), and Border Visions: Identity and Diaspora in Film (with Jakub Kazecki and Karen A. Ritzenhoff, 2013). She is also film review editor for the journal Film & History and series editor for Rowman & Littlefield’s Film and History book series. Brian L. Ott, PhD (The Pennsylvania State University), is professor and chair of communication studies at Texas Tech University. His books include Critical Media Studies: An Introduction (2014), It’s Not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-Television Era (2008), and The Small Screen: How Television Equips Us to Live in the Information Age (2007). Brian Pelletier has been making video games since 1992, with eighteen years spent at Raven Software/Activision. His love of pop culture TV shows,

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About the Contributors

movies, and comic books fueled his passion and creativity while in leadership roles, developing games of beloved franchises, including Star Trek, Star Wars, and X-Men, as well as a Wolverine movie game considered better than the movie. Pelletier lives in Wisconsin with his wife and family, creating transformative games that entertain and help learners of all ages acquire new knowledge and complex skills. Anthony Rotolo is a technologist, futurist, author, and professor at the S. I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. His course on Star Trek, known as #TrekClass, explores the iconic sci-fi franchise as it relates to modern-day issues of science, technology, and culture. Rotolo has presented special sessions of TrekClass at the Star Trek convention in Las Vegas, NASA’s Johnson Space Center, and the South by Southwest festival. Rotolo’s work and research focus is on emergent media and digital technologies, including social networking and 3D Printing. Lynette Russell is an Australian Research Council Professorial Fellow at Monash University. Her work is interdisciplinary, with an emphasis on history. She has a passion for popular culture, especially science fiction, and seeks to find ways to engage with this in her intellectual work. In 2015 she will serve as a visiting fellow of All Souls, Oxford. Russell proudly wears the title of “nerd.” April Selley teaches American literature and fiction writing in the English department at Union College in Schenectady, New York. She has been interviewed about Star Trek for both the Amazing America and American Passages television series. Selley has delivered six papers on Star Trek at regional, national, and international popular culture conferences. Her published articles on Star Trek include: “‘I Have Been, and Ever Shall Be, Your Friend’: Star Trek, The Deerslayer and the American Romance”; “The Final Farce: Demythologizing the Hero and the Quest in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier” (with Louise Grieco); and the entry on Star Trek in The Guide to United States Popular Culture. A. Bowdoin Van Riper is the author of Science in Popular Culture: A Reference Guide (2002), Imagining Flight: Aviation and the Popular Culture (2003), Rockets and Missiles: The Life Story of a Technology (2004; rpt. 2007), and A Biographical Encyclopedia of Scientists and Inventors in American Film and Television (2011). Nathan Wolski is lecturer in Jewish Studies at the Australian Centre for Jewish Civilisation, Monash University. He is the author of A Journey into

About the Contributors

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the Zohar (2010) and is currently working on volumes ten and twelve of the Zohar: Pritzker Edition, a critical edition, translation, and commentary.