Picard’s Complaint

          Picard’s Complaint

          A Star Wars vs. Star Trek fanfic

by Nathaniel Hellerstein

 

(Captain Picard is in his ready room.)

Picard: Mr. Data, I require your presence in the ready room.

(The door opens; whoosh.)

Data: Sir?

Picard: Is your analysis complete?

Data: Yes, sir. (He hands Picard a data tablet.) Here is a complete analysis of our multiphasic scan of the large spherical vessel that we encountered near Lucas 23-42.

Picard (picks up the tablet): Very good, Mr. Data.

Data: Unfortunately, resolution is only 99% in certain wavelengths.

Picard: Why is that so, Mr. Data?

Data: The scan sequence halted when the large spherical vessel opened fire upon the Enterprise, and the Enterprise retreated from the large spherical vessel at Warp 9 point 5.

Picard (shifts uneasily in seat): Indeed.

Data: Scans reveal that the large spherical vessel is as Commander Riker described it; a weapon of mass destruction. Specifically, a planet-killer.

Picard (reading tablet): I see… Does it have a vulnerability?

Data: It has more than one, sir. Its most obvious fatal flaw is the thermal exhaust port that vents directly into space.

Picard: What?

Data: And there are dozens of other fatal structural flaws. For instance, the port laser array will short out if hit with a low-level EM pulse. This will then take down half the power grid, and with it, life support.

Picard: Preposterous!

Data: That is fatal flaw #2. Fatal flaw #3 is…

Picard: That will do, Mr. Data. Dismissed.

Data leaves the ready room. Picard reads the tablet.

Somewhat later:

Picard: Counselor Troi, I require your presence in the ready room.

(The door opens; whoosh.)

Troi: Sir?

Picard is standing beside his desk. He slaps the data tablet onto it.

Picard: It’s a scandal! An outrage! A disgrace!

Troi: What is, sir?

Picard: That thing of theirs! That foul excuse for a ship!

(Picard sits in the ready-room couch and buries his head in his hands. Troi sits gingerly next to him.)

Troi: Well, we’ve encountered hostile vessels before…

Picard (looking up sharply): Yes, yes, other weapons of mass destruction, other brutal tools of murderous intent, but this –

Troi: – you find personally disturbing. It offends your value system.

Picard: Yes!

Troi: How in particular, Captain?

Picard: It’s a botch! A blunder! An idiotic mess! They should be ashamed of themselves! (He rises from the couch, paces the floor.) Every single major system on board that vessel is riddled with lethal design errors!

Troi: So you dislike… the incompetence of the vessel’s design?

Picard: It isn’t ship-shape!

Troi: And that angers you.

Picard: I expect people to have some standards!

Troi: Even your foes?

Picard: I feel only pity and contempt for the crew of that shoddy death-trap. No, what infuriates me, Counselor, is the arrogant disregard its designers have for factuality itself!

Troi: Sir?

Picard: They built their ship as if they could bully the very laws of nature! They double down on every mistake! Intelligence be damned! Force over finesse, every single time!

Troi: No doubt that’s a reflection of their society’s politics, sir.

Picard: Indeed! And along with the moronic micro-management from above, I see signs of an equally ruinous resistance from below! That… thing… is a tissue of minimal-effort short-cuts!

Troi: Another reflection of their society’s politics.

Picard: Indeed! A politics that they intend to impose upon us!

Troi: So what do you intend to do, Captain?

Picard: I intend to do the wretched crew of that vile vessel… a favor.

(Picard picks up the data tablet and marches towards the door. It opens; whoosh. He enters the bridge, Troi following close behind. He approaches Riker, gives him the data tablet.)

Picard: Commander Riker, prepare an attack plan for each of the fatal design flaws specified here. Ready each one for my command.

Riker: Yes, sir!

Picard: Mr. Data, lay in a course for Lucas 23-42. Warp 7.

Data: Course laid in, sir.

Picard: Engage!

 

Serpent in Eden

      Serpent in Eden

 

          Once upon a time, Mr. Morden, Shadow thrall and agent of Chaos, awoke on a planet unknown to him. A Starfleet officer explained that he had materialized in the United Federation of Planets. The officer described Federation society as a utopia without war, poverty, disease, or oppression. The officer said, “In the Federation, all are free, and all are equal. We cooperate to better ourselves, and all humankind, and all sentient life. We have evolved beyond competition.”

“Very nice,” Mr. Morden said with a tight little smile.

“There is no need to compete. With our replicator technology, you can have anything you want. So what do you want?”

Mr. Morden smiled more broadly. That was his kind of question. He ordered coffee; they replicated a cup, he sipped it, and he frowned.

“This coffee is weak and watery,” he declared. “Can I have another brand of coffee?”

The Starfleet officer explained that replicators have the same programming all over Federation territory. There was no coffee any worse, and none any better, anywhere in the Federation.

Mr. Morden frowned. Then he smiled and asked the Starfleet officer what he wanted. The officer gave an anodyne answer; Mr. Morden repeated the question; after repeated hectoring, the officer confessed affection for a certain woman, but she was already engaged.

          Mr. Morden said, “As you wish, so be it,” and took his leave.

          Mr. Morden set forth to grant that wish, by any means possible. He framed the woman’s fiancée on trumped-up charges; this broke up the engagement, and the Starfleet officer caught her on the rebound.

          Mr. Morden busied himself by going to and fro in the Federation, and walking up and down in it. Everywhere he went he asked people what they want; and he granted those wishes in the most chaotic way possible. The Shadows had trained him to do this. Nowhere in the Federation did he get what he himself wanted, which was a cup of coffee as good as the coffee that the Shadows had brewed for him.

          Mr. Morden smuggled black market luxury goods. He hacked the central accounting system. He trafficked in latinum, drugs, and weapons. He busted crooks, rebels, and lunatics out of the Federation’s gulags by blackmailing the guards. He encouraged wastrels to play raucous music to cheering slackers and shocked Federation bourgeois. Everywhere he went, the orderly and lawful Federation quickly slipped into chaos and conflict. It broke along its hidden fault lines, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

          Mr. Morden lied, cheated, bribed, extorted, and used every filthy trick possible to reach the ‘core’ of Federation society – what they called the top. There he found people as devious as him; but even their coffee was weak and watery.

Mr. Morden anonymously revealed their corruption to the Federation masses, and political chaos ensued. Crime and injustice emerged from that chaos; but so did competition and innovation.

One day Mr. Morden strolled through a broken city in the broken Federation. He went to a restaurant, in a struggling neighborhood between newly-rich and newly-poor. He ordered lunch with coffee. He sipped his beverage, and he smiled.

He said, “Finally, a decent cup of coffee!”

 

          Moral: Nature sides with the hidden flaw.

When Four Worlds Collide; a fanfic

          When Four Worlds Collide

          This essay confronts, by pairs, these four science-fictional worlds:

          “Star Wars”, by George Lucas;

          “Babylon 5”, by J. Michael Straczynski;

          “Star Trek”, by Gene Roddenberry;

          “The Culture”, by Iain Banks.

          Star Wars Meets B5

          Minbari goldfish-ships outclass most Imperial ships. The Death Star is evenly matched with Shadow or Vorlon planet-killers. The Force is, to B5, just teeking; B5 concentrates more on teeps.

          Morden: “What do you want?” Emperor: “Power!” Morden grins.

          The Shadows encourage Empire over-reach, just to cause chaos; but then, to make more chaos, they tell the Army of Light, via PsiCorp, about the Death Star’s flaws. The Vorlons back the Jedi.

          Star Wars Meets Star Trek

          The Enterprise outclasses most Imperial ships. The Death Star fires first, the Enterprise flees, but not before its scans discover dozens of fatal Death Star flaws. (To Picard’s disgust.)

          The Federation repels Imperial invasion, but does not further interfere, ostensibly. But there are Federation covert actions, including alliances-of-convenience with Romulans, Cardassians and Dominion, running phasers to the Rebellion. 

          Star Wars Meets The Culture

          Any General Contact Unit outclasses the Death Star. An Orbital’s Hub outclasses the entire Imperial fleet. The Culture classifies the Empire as a Hegemonic Swarm, a no-fun exponential self-clone that must be contained, by any means necessary.

So they sic Special Circumstances on them. They’ve meddled with evil empires before. The Culture’s higher Minds are particularly interested in droid liberation. They make a game of destroying the Empire by minimal intervention.

          B5 meets Star Trek

          Poor relations meet rich. B5 seeks trade relations, Federation agrees but keeps back their best tech, per Prime Directive. (To B5’s annoyance; but the Ferengi are willing to make a deal.)

          Morden: “What do you want?” Picard: “An explanation!” So Starfleet knows about the Shadow/Vorlon chaos/order quarrel.

          Vorlons side with Federation and Dominion, Shadows with Romulans and Klingons. Q kicks them both out; he’s zookeeper here!

          B5 Meets The Culture

          Higher Minds call B5’s species promising Contact material, though lacking AIs. (They still pilot their own ships! They live on planets!) They call the Shadows and Vorlons “Involved” (i.e their equals), and the other First Ones “Retired” or “Sublimed”. They form a united front against Shadow and Vorlon manipulation, but other civilizations might fall for their wiles, despite Culture warnings.

          Kosh: “Who are you?” Ship: “Lapsed Pacifist.”

          Star Trek Meets The Culture

          At first, a meeting of like-minded idealists; but humanism is not transhumanism. Starfleet notices that AIs run the Culture, disturbingly like the Borg. And their ships choose strange snarky names for themselves. So the Federation is wary.

The Culture classifies the Borg as a Hegemonizing Swarm, to be contained by Special Circumstances. The Culture’s Minds call the Federation Contact-worthy, but they note lack of rational AI governance; another Special Circumstance. Data both pleases and baffles them. Q shares their adolescent sense of humor.