There’s an arrogance to the Star Trek universe that lives awfully close to the surface. People began realizing this back during the days of Kirk and company, as they saw the pattern of the Enterprise crew zipping over to an alien planet, monologuing about how humans used to be so backwards and clucking their tongue in disapproval before flying away. Roddenberry’s vision portrayed humans as having overcome want, need, greed, selfishness, and all of the other characteristics that he disapproved of, and these crews strode forth into the universe with the assurance that they were evolved enough to meet any challenge they might face. Sure, the occasional crewman might be killed, and wasn’t it a tragedy when a ship was lost, but the Federation would adapt and overcome, and continue to spread its vision of utopia across the galaxy. 

At this point in TNG, we’re seeing the writers be more aware of this pattern. They’ve begun to push back against the “humanity is perfect” ideal, and explore the flaws and mistakes that could be made by a group like Starfleet. However, we still look at Picard, Riker, Data, and the rest as the cream of the crop. They may make mistakes, and they have lost crew and suffered for those mistakes. But if their voyage of exploration requires the worst case scenario - that is, if it requires the sacrifice of the Enterprise and everyone aboard - that’s an acceptable loss in the journey of discovery. After all, that’s the worst that could happen. Right?

As I watched “Q-Who”, one of the best episodes of the Star Trek franchise that has ever been produced, I kept thinking of HP Lovecraft. I looked up some quotes by the legendary horror writer, and one jumped out at me. “We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.” What if the destruction of the Enterprise isn’t actually the worst-case scenario? What if, in this zeal for exploration and expansion, these men and women who we’ve spent nearly two seasons admiring catch the attention of something old, unknowable, and hungry?

The opening of this episode is almost painfully cute, with a junior engineer accidentally spilling hot chocolate on Picard while she chatters about her eagerness to explore. She’s so excited to learn about this ship and crew, and be a part of this mission, that she neglects to look where she’s going. (Holy shit, this scene is SO MUCH BETTER when viewed in the context of the larger episode. It’s a really solid summation of the theme.) Picard heads to his quarters to change, steps out of the turbolift, and into a shuttle, which currently sits light years away from the Enterprise. He barks at the pilot, who turns around and reveals himself as Q.

Q promised in his last appearance that he would never trouble the Enterprise again, which is why he spirited Picard away to the middle of nowhere. Picard demands that Q send him back to the Enterprise, and Q agrees, on the condition that Picard gives a request by Q a fair hearing. Picard nods, and without fanfare, they’re sitting in Ten-Forward. There’s a short squabble between Q and Guinan, who apparently have a fairly bitter history, but Picard insists they get down to business. Q agrees, and presents his request. He wants to be a member of the crew. He offers to forsake his powers if they insist on it, but claims that the crew of the Enterprise needs him, and that they aren’t ready for what’s out there waiting for them. Picard refuses. He doesn’t trust Q, and while he recognizes that they can’t possibly be prepared for the unknown, their determination and resourcefulness means that they are ready to face that unknown.

It’s to the writer’s credit that they craft a scene that places the viewer so firmly on Picard’s side, considering that as I wrote that last sentence, I realized how arrogant and contradictory that statement is. Picard genuinely believes what he’s saying. He’s a man that has committed his professional life to the discovery of the unknown, and he sees that discovery as something to strive for, to pursue, no matter the risk or the cost. Q smiles, says, “We’ll see about that,” and with a snap of his fingers, hurls the Enterprise to the other side of the galaxy. 

Guinan realizes where they are. Her people are from this part of space. Her only advice to Picard is to begin the multi-year journey back to Federation space as fast as possible, without looking back. Even with this advice from an old and trusted friend, Picard still decides to take a look around, survey a few planets, collect some data. It’s a stupid, stupid choice that is completely in keeping with what we know of Picard. They find a planet, devoid and lifeless, with giant chunks ripped from the surface where cities used to be, and as they scan, Worf announces that there’s another ship on an intercept course. They put in on the viewscreen, and it’s a simple, perfect cube.

Perhaps the greatest sin of many committed by the writers and producers of Star Trek: Voyager (which wouldn’t air for seven years) was their effort to make the Borg a more comprehensible threat. It’s easy to forget that this first glimpse of what would become the deadliest enemy in the franchise was so utterly alien. That seems like a strange word for a science fiction show, but it’s worth noting that up until this point, every alien race encountered on this show was recognizable, in that they tend to be a manifestation of an aspect of humanity. Klingons are aggressive. Vulcans are logical. Ferengi are Gordon Gekkos. This show managed to make aliens extremely relatable and human.

Considering this portrayal of aliens as humanlike, it’s astonishing how completely ill-equipped the crew of the Enterprise actually is to deal with this threat. Picard hails them. No response. He asks if they’ve charged weapons or shields, which they haven’t. Guinan tells him that the Borg annihilated her people, scattering the few survivors to the ends of the galaxy, and Picard raises the shields, but the Borg ship is just sitting there, motionless. When a Borg soldier materializes in engineering, they respond with a security team, but Picard doesn’t attack. He tries to communicate, to ask the Borg what they want. It doesn’t react, but continues to examine the engine room, ignoring them completely. It’s only when the Borg soldier tries to take control of the computer that Picard finally, and reluctantly, orders Worf to attack. Worf shoots it, and when stun doesn’t work, he raises the power level of his phaser and kills the intruder. Moments later, a second Borg materializes and silently resumes the work its fallen comrade was doing. Worf shoots it, but this time a force field pops up and blocks the phaser blast. When the Borg is finished scanning the computer, it grabs a few hunks of equipment off of the downed Borg, and both vanish.

This show has drawn inspiration from a lot of sources, but most are fairly rooted in the science fiction genre. “Q-Who”, however, seems to draw the bulk of its inspiration from horror films. Describing the Borg as cold or emotionless isn’t quite right. They just feel viscerally wrong, and the crew has no clue how to deal with them. When the Borg contact the Enterprise, they don’t communicate with a captain or a spokesman. Instead, a chorus of flat voices announce that the Enterprise can’t do shit to stop the Borg from doing whatever they want, and if they try, they’ll be punished. It’s not a threat; it’s a notification. When the Borg lock onto the ship with a tractor beam that drains the shields in seconds, the Enterprise can’t sustain its defenses. When the Borg fire a laser and carve a perfectly round core sample out of the saucer section, killing 18 crew members, Picard is finally forced to fire, and manages to destroy a significant chunk of the Borg ship. There’s no blustering, no demands, no pleading from the Borg. They just sit there, silent. 

There’s a lot of debate among giant nerds like me about Picard’s choice to send an away team over to the Borg ship. Considering that they’ve seen how ineffectual their hand weapons are against the Borg soldiers, it does come across initially as a foolish choice. I think, however, that at this point, it makes sense based on what we know of Picard. He still is trying to fit the Borg into the universe he knows and understands, still basing his actions off of his experiences and reactions. He doesn’t yet understand that this is unlike anything else they’ve encountered, and that they simply lack the fundamental comprehension of the situation to even comprehend how dangerous the Borg actually are. Riker, Data, and Worf beam over, and realize that the Borg are a hive mind, a collective consciousness that has the ability to adapt to threats instantaneously. Picard listens to their voices from the other ship, and Stewart does a masterful job of showing the growing sense of unease as his people prowl around the Borg cube, with the Borg completely ignoring them. 

There is a moment, though, when the realization of what they’re facing hits Picard. Riker calls over and says that they’ve discovered that the Borg ship is regenerating, repairing the damage sustained at a rapid rate. Picard doesn’t hesitate, springing to his feet and barking for the away team to be beamed back aboard. As soon as Riker’s feet hit the deck, the Enterprise turns and warps away as fast as possible. The time for scans, diplomacy, and scientific curiosity is over. This ship and crew, which we’ve seen face all kinds of threats and challenges, is fleeing. Picard realizes, in this moment, that the Borg didn’t consider the death of their soldier or the damage to their ship a loss. This, in a nutshell, is what the Borg are. They take the damage, they adapt, and they regenerate. When the Borg ship leaps into pursuit, it slowly, methodically gains on the Enterprise, wasting no more energy than needed. Picard fires back at it, and this time, the weapons do absolutely nothing. As the cube draws closer and closer, Q appears. He speaks as the Borg casually rip the Enterprise’s shields away, and creep ever closer to snatching them back up in the tractor beam.

“You can't outrun them. You can't destroy them. If you damage them, the essence of what they are remains. They regenerate and keep coming. Eventually, you will weaken. Your reserves will be gone. They are relentless.”

As brilliant and tense as this episode is, this moment is what cements it as iconic. Picard hears Q speak, and realizes the truth of the situation. For all of his arrogance, his bluster, his obnoxious tips and tricks, Q was right. They aren’t ready, and they aren’t prepared. There is nothing in Picard’s arsenal of technology or training that provides any options. The Borg are a storm, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Wesley isn’t going to pull a technological ace from his sleeve. Riker’s not going to propose a bold maneuver to win the day. Picard looks at his crew, who are staring at the encroaching Borg ship with bald terror, and he does the only thing he can.

Jean-Luc Picard begs.

This is the last gasp of Gene Roddenberry’s idyllic vision of what Star Trek should be. Picard is the iconic captain, the manifestation of humanity’s journey towards this utopic future. But none of that matters. Humanity is insignificant next to this threat. He begs Q to save them, and Q does. With a snap of his fingers, they’re back where they started. But the damage has been done. The real cost isn’t the catastrophic damage to the ship, or the 18 dead crewmembers. I mentioned Lovecraft earlier, and I stand by that comparison. Lovecraft wrote of threats that existed so beyond our comprehension and power that the only way we could hope to survive was to never catch their attention in the first place. 

“It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.”

The Borg know who and where they are. And they will be coming. 

A few other thoughts:

• The design of the Borg ship is wonderfully surreal. Early, Data comments that there’s no command center, no crew quarters, and no engine room. The ship is homogenous, with no central point of activity. When they beam aboard, the fusion of technological and biological draws a huge amount of inspiration from HR Giger, and evokes a lot of the sounds and muffled creaks of the Alien films.
• I’m not always sold on Q, and there are definitely some Q episodes in the future that flop pretty badly, but GODDAMN does John De Lancie chew up the scenery whenever he’s on screen in this episode. Some of his dialogue should be cheesy, but he knocks it straight out of the park.
• Between the writing and Patrick Stewart’s performance, this show does a wonderful job communicating the reason that Q did this: that he saw it as a necessary lesson to teach the Enterprise crew the dangers of pushing too far. It’s also insinuated that the Borg were already beginning to sniff around Federation space, so this could definitely be interpreted as a warning of some sort.
• This episode was written by Maurice Hurley, who apparently argued constantly that Roddenberry’s rule of “no conflict between the crew” was hamstringing the writers. “Q-Who” seems to be a direct shot at Roddenberry’s vision, and reinforces that the further the show got from what Roddenberry wanted, the better it was.

Next week, we learn why you shouldn’t loan your chief engineer to someone who smiles too much, and we get to the dreaded “Space Irish” episode. Blah.

- ​Dietrich Stogner

“The Icarus Factor” is nowhere near as bad as some of this show’s episodes. “Code of Honor” still holds my bottom spot of the series to date, and the intro of this season was truly abysmal (“The Child”). But there’s now a difference. We’ve seen this cast and crew start to come into their own with the stories they’re telling. “Loud as a Whisper” and “A Matter of Honor” are wonderful, entertaining episodes, and “Measure of a Man” demonstrates that this show has the tools necessary to produce genuinely outstanding hours of television. That’s why I despised “The Icarus Factor” as much as I did. At this point, we know these people can do better. I’m okay with an episode not working because the writers swing and miss at an ambitious goal. I’m not okay with lazy, amateurish writing.

The foul taste in my mouth began with the episode's opening, in which Picard gets to give Riker some good news. The captain of the USS Aries is retiring, and Starfleet has selected Riker to take his place. Here’s the problem right off the bat: We know Riker won’t take the posting. He’s a main character, the season still has a dozen episodes in it, and if the show wanted to get rid of him, they’d most likely go for a more ambitious method. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. TV writers all the time have to introduce conflicts with a known outcome, but it means that the journey from point A to point B has to justify the conflict, because the resolution is a foregone conclusion. But “The Icarus Factor” uses this never-going-to-happen promotion as a MacGuffin, a pointless tool whose only purpose is to get Riker’s dad on board the Enterprise.

Riker’s father arrives as a civilian advisor, there ostensibly to brief his son on the mission of the USS Aries. Kyle Riker is confident, easygoing, and apparently has a romantic history with Pulaski. It’s not made clear why he and his son don’t get along (although the show wastes no time demonstrating Riker’s distaste for being around his father), but it’s not out of nowhere; earlier episodes have hinted at Riker’s difficult upbringing. So far, so good. Family strife can work fairly well in shows like this, illustrating that this universe exists as a place in which people have lives and histories that stretch outside the limited scope of the episodes.

But this is just bad. The dialogue between Riker and his father reads like a middle school skit about parents who just don’t understand, and neither of them come across looking particularly impressive. The episode is full of characters shoving their way into this conflict, then offering nothing but dime-store platitudes and empty advice. Troi thinks Kyle needs to listen to his son, which is not exactly the kind of vibrant insight you’d expect from a PhD psychologist with psychic abilities. Pulaski tries to convince Riker that his dad is cool because he was at a base that got attacked, and didn’t die because he had too much strength of will. Ummm… okay? Does that mean that the others who died were just spineless cowards?

There really isn’t any one particular failure in this episode that breaks it. I think we’re too far into this series for that. We’re (hopefully) past the days where a show doesn’t work because the fundamental idea is racist, sexist, or otherwise untenable. Instead, we have lazy writing, a meandering plot that never raises any significant stakes, and the bulk of the episode relies on two actors that don’t seem that invested in the entire thing. Jonathan Frakes spends the entire episode acting like a sullen child, but of course forgives everything before the credits roll. Kyle Riker (played by Mitchell Ryan, the sneering villain from Lethal Weapon) spends the entire episode slinking around the ship, flirting shamelessly with every woman that crosses his field of vision, and being a condescending ass to everyone else. The two circle each other like snarling dogs until the chest thumping reaches its crescendo, and they decide to meet out back by the merry-go-round for a fight.

The concept of using pugilism to let characters express and vent their anger and frustration, either at each other or at the world, is not necessarily a bad idea. It’s the foundation of every good Rocky movie, and the episode “Unfinished Business” of the Battlestar Galactica reboot is one of the highlights of the series in which the crew sets up boxing matches to let people vent their anger and frustration at each other. But “The Icarus Factor” eschews any interesting dynamic in the Anbo Jitsu ring in favor of something childish and silly. Anbo Jitsu, which Kyle bombastically proclaims is “the ultimate evolution of martial arts”, involves the two Rikers strapping on garishly colored hockey pads, covering their eyes with a plastic helmet that blinds them, and waving giant Q-tips at each other while occasionally bellowing Japanese words. It’s absurd, and even if there was any meaningful dialogue or character interaction during this “fight”, it would be lost against the background of this idiotic match.

Fortunately, there’s no need to be concerned. While swinging padded sticks wildly at one another, they hiss accusations from behind their blindfold, revealing the truth of their animosity. Riker’s mom died when he was young, and his dad was super sad and didn’t help him through it enough. That’s it. Oh, and Riker figures out that all the times his dad beat him at Future LARP fighting, he was using a maneuver that is illegal (according to the Anbo Jitsu Tournament rules, I guess?). So his dad’s a cheat. Anyway, that’s enough to make them like each other again. If you’re reading this saying, “Wait, that makes no sense,” you understand what it’s like to watch this episode. The pair hug it out in the transporter room before Kyle Riker beams away, never to be seen or mentioned again, and Riker decides not to take the captain spot on the other ship.

Oh, yeah, there’s a B-plot where Worf is really cranky, Wesley figures out that it’s his birthday and he’s sad because there aren’t other Klingons around to hit him with pain sticks, so they simulate a gauntlet of angry Klingons to jab Worf repeatedly with agony-inducing cattle prods while he yells about how honorable he is. It’s actually pretty good, and has some interesting discussion of respecting and supporting cultural norms even if they seem horrifying to us as humans, but it’s lost among the whiny Riker showcase. So, yeah.

A few other thoughts:

• Pulaski is actually much better in this episode. She doesn’t act like an ass towards Data, she has some of the only interactions with Kyle Riker that are interesting, and she encourages and supports Worf in the Rite of Ascension (the aforementioned birthday party of agony). She’s kind of beginning to grow on me.
• While trying to figure out why Worf is cranky, Data approaches him in Ten-Forward, only to have Worf nearly tear his head off. It’s a bit odd, especially when you consider that Data’s his commanding officer. Maybe Ten-Forward is a “leave rank at the door” kind of place.
• The Enterprise has a dedicated room for Anbo Jitsu. That’s really, really depressing, but thankfully never comes up again.

​So, let’s talk about the Prime Directive.

Ever since the original series, the Prime Directive has been one of the fundamental rules of the Star Trek universe. Considering the years that TOS aired, it’s hard not to look at the Prime Directive as Gene Roddenberry and company’s direct criticism of US foreign policy, particularly in regards to Vietnam. The Prime Directive was spelled out in the TOS episode “The Return of the Archons”, and essentially clarifies that the Federation is not permitted to interfere in the natural development of an alien species. It’s a philosophical argument stating that when a more superior culture interferes with a less developed culture, no matter how well-intended, the results are going to be disastrous.

The Prime Directive has already been the focus of several episodes, most of them fairly terrible (“Code of Honor”, “Justice”), and part of the reason is that it’s still very much an abstract philosophy. Without a concrete example of what kind of damage can be done when it’s violated, we never really have a sense of consequence beyond, “You’ll get in trouble for breaking the rules.” It’s one thing to promise the audience that the Prime Directive is super important, but you have to show why that is. A few episodes have explored this, most notably “Patterns of Force” from TOS (Nazi planet!), and “Too Short A Season” from season one. But in both of these cases, the original interference was malicious (creating a fascist regime, and dealing arms to warring factions, respectively). If the Prime Directive is going to be an absolute, it needs to be shown that even well-intentioned interference is going to be disastrous. The biggest flaw with an episode like “Pen Pals” is that those consequences are never made clear.

The Enterprise is exploring a system of planets that, for some unknown reason, keep being torn apart due to geological instability. Early in the episode, the senior staff get together to discuss the possibility of putting Wesley in charge of the planetary geological surveys. It’s a strange moment, and the decision doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense. If the entire mission is focused on learning why these planets are going kablooie from geological stress, that would place the success or failure of the mission on the shoulders of a pretend ensign. In any event, Wesley’s put in charge of a team of grown, qualified officers (sure), and spends the bulk of the episode seeking command advice from everyone that doesn’t run the other way when they see him coming. It’s not particularly interesting. Fortunately, that is very much the B-plot of this episode.

While the Enterprise is poking around this system, Data picks up a transmission from one of the more stable worlds. A young girl transmits the question, “Is anyone out there?”, and Data responds, “Yes.” As he explains to Picard, Data then spent the next few months conversing with the young girl, named Sarjenka. (It’s a long survey mission, people.) Sarjenka doesn’t know that Data’s from another species, which is a good thing, because Sarjenka’s people think they’re alone in the universe. Their ham radio conversations aren’t technically violating the Prime Directive, but Sarjenka is now telling Data that they’re having earthquakes, and Data has realized that her planet is preparing to tear itself apart. Picard sympathizes, but realizes they’re now in dangerous territory, and orders Data to ghost the girl, cutting off all communication.

After asking for help from everyone, Wesley overcomes a command conflict (he wants a scan, one of his team members whines that it’ll be hard, Wesley whines for a bit and eventually still wants the scan, CHARACTER GROWTH) and figures out what’s causing the planets to go boom. Even better, they figure out a way they might be able to fix it. This coincides with a meeting of the senior staff in Picard’s quarters, in which they debate whether or not they should help Sarjenko. It’s an interesting debate, echoing the ideas of strict interpretation or a fluid reading of the law, but ends with Picard deciding that the Prime Directive stands, and that they have no choice but to let Sarjenko die. He orders Data to delete the frequency, and when Data goes to do so, the entire senior staff gets to hear this adorable girl pleading for Data to come back, that she’s scared. The room goes silent, and Picard changes his mind.

This is where the episode breaks for me. Either the Prime Directive is an established and proven necessity, a bulwark against well-meaning people causing irreversible damage through good intentions, or it is a flexible policy that captains can disregard at their leisure. If it’s the former, Picard has the duty to ignore Sarjenko, warp off to their next mission, and live with the consequences of this inviolate rule. If it’s the former, the entire debate is cruel and callous, and they shouldn’t be arguing whether or not to save the life of a child. By deciding to cut Sarjenko off, but changing his mind because she sounds really frightened, the decision - and thus, the Prime Directive itself - becomes nebulous and questionable. It doesn’t work.

Data tries to get in touch with Sarjenko to tell her to go to higher ground while Wesley and his team are making the arrangements to fix the planet, but she’s not responding anymore. He asks Picard if he can beam down to find her, and Picard says yes. Again, we’re seeing the Prime Directive being treated as flexible. Data beams down, finds Sarjenko, and when the quakes start up again, he beams them both back to the Enterprise. At this point, the entire argument behind the Prime Directive is unraveling. Pulaski wipes Sarjenko’s memory, they beam her back down, and the episode ends with everyone nodding their head and agreeing that no harm had been done.

“Pen Pals” is not a terrible episode. It’s a marked improvement over the last few episodes, and the debate between the Prime Directive and the crew’s responsibility to help is philosophical Trek at its best. But this show has yet to explore the consequences of their choices in a way that shows them having to make a hard, ugly call for the greater good, and if the Prime Directive is going to carry weight in this world, that has to happen. This crew needs to feel the pain of making the right choice, even when it’s not easy, and we as the audience need to see the agony of their decisions.


A few other thoughts:

• While trying to find an earlier episode of the Star Trek franchise that demonstrated the disaster of good intentions, Juliette Vincent pointed out the brilliant TOS episode, “The City on the Edge of Forever”, written by Harlan Ellison. In this episode, Kirk and Spock go back in time, and when Kirk falls in love with a woman, he’s forced to watch her die, as interfering with the timeline has disastrous consequences for the future. THAT’S the kind of heat I’m talking about. Give me a Prime Directive episode that shows the bloody results of a Starfleet captain trying to do the right thing, and you lay a foundation for every other episode that references that rule.
• Sarjenko is cute. Painfully cute. It gets really annoying. The writers really wanted us to understand why Picard had to save her. If she was fat and annoying, that planet would be in pieces.
• If I was an experienced, commissioned officer, and was told that I had to follow the orders of an acting ensign because it was important for his education, that shit would come up with Human Resources.

Speaking of consequences, next time the crew gets a harsh lesson from an old friend and meets a new enemy in “Q-Who”. I may do this one by itself. It’s one of the great ones.

​- Dietrich Stogner

Okay, this is a weird one.
 
“The Royale” is not a good episode of TNG. But it definitely takes the cake as one of the strangest. Some of the imagery reminds me of David Lynch (well, it reminds me of what little David Lynch I’ve watched. Look, I hate David Lynch. Come at me), the dialogue is straight out of a high-school play about mobsters, and the resolution is just bizarre. But I can’t bring myself to hate it. It may be bad, but it’s unique and it’s fun, and every once in a while, that’s enough.
 
A Klingon ship drops a dime to the Enterprise that they picked up some strange space garbage around a planet, so Picard and company go zipping off to check it out. When they arrive at the planet, there’s a lot of effort made to clarify that this is one of the most inhospitable planets that Geordi’s ever seen. However, a few minutes later, O’Brien beams a hunk of metal aboard emblazoned with the NASA logo, and Wesley finds a building surrounded in a bubble of breathable air on the surface. This is all strange enough that Picard somehow approves Riker, Worf, and Data to head on down to this bubble to find out what’s up.
 
The trio materialize in a black void, with raging ammonia storms a kilometer overhead. The only other thing they can see is a free-standing revolving door, spinning calmly in the midst of nothing. They can’t see the building, or detect anything unusual, but they decide to go through the door. Upon entry, they find themselves in a seedy 20th century hotel-casino, and smoky noir saxophone on the soundtrack immediately sets the tone. Every interaction they have, from the hotel manager to the observed argument about a bellboy being in love with a mobster’s girlfriend, is pulled from a cut-rate soap opera, one that’s jamming in a Mafia storyline to perk up a mid-season ratings slump. After a few minutes, Riker decides that it’s time to dip, but when they try to leave, the revolving door just spits them back into the lobby.
 
After some fruitless efforts to escape, Data detects human DNA on the second floor, and they discover a mummified corpse in a hotel room. In addition, they find a pair of books: A noir novel called Hotel Royale, and a diary packed full of exposition. Apparently, in the 21st century, some aliens decided to pay a visit to a NASA exploratory vessel, and accidentally murdered all but one of the crew while trying to say hello. Feeling guilty, they transported Colonel Ritchey to this world, and created a simulation to make him feel at home. Unfortunately for him, they only had this noir novel to go on, and “Hotel Royale” apparently SUCKS. (In my favorite possible cover blurb for a novel ever, Ritchey’s last entry reads, “I do not bear animosity to my benefactors. But they could not have known that it was such a badly written book… I shall welcome death when it comes.” Zing.)
 
Look, the reality is that this is effectively a holodeck episode that takes place somewhere other than the holodeck, and that’s not a good thing. In the course of this series, the holodeck was often used for some lazy storytelling, and this skirts dangerously close to that line. What saves it is the really clever choice to make “Hotel Royale” an awful book. “Away team trapped in a world based on a book has to play along to effect their escape,” is a workable plot, but making the book they’re involved with a steaming pile of literary shit makes it a bit more fun. Picard reads the entire thing to help the away team escape, and Stewart’s pained expression when he realizes the book actually starts with, “It was a dark and stormy night,” is a thing of beauty.
 
They figure out that the book refers to foreign investors who come in, buy the hotel, and leave, and so Data hits the craps tables with the handful of comped chips provided to them. He rigs the dice by squeezing them (I know), and wins the millions needed to buy the hotel and escape this strange fantasy world. This scene shouldn’t work (Data, apropos of nothing, announces, “Daddy needs a new pair of shoes,” before hurling the dice), but it’s also the point in the episode where everyone involved shrugs their shoulders, says, “Fuck it,” and starts having way too much fun. Riker’s grinning and buying drinks for everyone, Data keeps doing bizarre little dances as he throws six after six, and Worf… well, it’s Worf. He stands there looking annoyed. Worf keeps his shit in check.
 
The button to the episode has Riker in Picard’s ready room, saying, “None of it makes any sense,” in one of the rare times that this show has ever gone meta. This episode is bizarre, and unlike anything else the show has done so far (or after, as best I can remember). It doesn’t really work, per se, but it’s so different that I found myself laughing and enjoying it despite myself. I don’t think I’d ever watch a show that regularly featured episodes like The Royale, but what the hell. Data got to bankrupt a sexist Texan stereotype. Hell yeah.
 
A few other thoughts:

• I mentioned the Texan at the end, a walking cliche who spends the bulk of the episode trying to hit on a 20-year-old woman who squeaks out dialogue designed to show the viewer that she’s a gorgeous airhead. It starts out lame, but definitely drifts into uncomfortable territory as he keeps touching her and leering at her in a very aggressive manner. Wasn’t a fan of that.
• Pulaski and Geordi’s rescue plan: “We’re going to collapse the bubble and hope we can get you back on board before the -200 degree ammonia storms murder you in seconds.” Riker’s response: “Uh, how about we just cheat our way free, you psychopaths?”
• When the away team realize they’re trapped and can’t get out, Riker and Data both start asking people where another exit might be like normal rational people. Worf shoves over a slot machine and phasers a wall. I prefer Worf’s approach.

There was a lot of surprise when the new Star Trek series Discovery announced that the main character would not be the captain of the ship. After all, these are shows that have been defined by the man or woman sitting in the big chair, and TNG wasted no time setting that expectation. In the pilot episode, Q was putting humanity on trial, but the show eagerly placed Jean-Luc Picard front and center, with the unspoken argument being that he was the personification of this idealized future that Roddenberry espoused. Since then, the show has taken great pains to demonstrate that this man is brilliant, insightful, cultured, kind, and a big fan of Earl Grey, and at this point in the series, Picard is more fleshed out and defined than any other character. “Time Squared” works because we know who Picard is, and that gives the writers the chance to explore his reactions under extremely challenging circumstances.
 
The episode opens with Riker hosting an omelette party in his quarters. It’s a cold open that has nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of the episode, but it’s pretty entertaining. Riker cooks some strange alien bird eggs while espousing the value of cooking manually rather than using the replicator. The eggs are apparently terrible, but Worf digs the hell out of them. Riker’s called away to the bridge by Picard while Worf is scarfing down everyone’s portion, because they’ve picked up a distress signal. It’s from a Federation shuttlecraft, despite the fact that there aren’t any other warp capable ships in the area. That’s strange. They pull it aboard, and discover that it’s one of the shuttles that belongs to the USS Enterprise. That’s stranger. That shuttle, the El-Baz, is still aboard the ship, meaning that they now have two identical copies of this shuttle. This all feeds into a sense of wrongness that provides a great lead up to the reveal of the person passed out in the pilot’s chair: Jean-Luc Picard.
 
Riker immediately calls up and asks Picard if he’s still on the bridge, a confusing question to the captain, who immediately runs down to the shuttlebay to see his unconscious doppleganger. Pulaski quickly confirms that he’s alive, and after taking Picard-2 to sickbay, discovers several odd things. First, it’s definitely, 100% Picard. Identical in every way. Second, when she gives Picard-2 a stimulant to try to wake him, his vitals crash, as if she’s pumped a sedative into his system. She stabilizes him, and starts trying to figure out what’s going on.
 
While Pulaski and Picard are investigating the doppleganger, Geordi and Data are trying to figure out what’s up with this shuttlecraft. It’s completely drained of power, and when they try to recharge it from the Enterprise’s systems, it nearly fries the shuttle’s computer. After some experimenting, they figure out how to recharge the computer, and gain access of the visual records. This exposition dump reveals several things. First, the shuttle and Picard-2 are from six hours in the future. Second, at some point in the next few hours, the Enterprise will become trapped by some spatial rift. Finally, Picard will abandon the Enterprise on the shuttle just in time to watch his ship and over 1000 crew die as the Enterprise explodes.
 
This is a fairly solid sci-fi mystery, but what really sells it is Picard’s reaction. He’s immediately furious, a cold, simmering anger that leaves him spitting out dialogue and seething at Picard-2’s unconscious form. At no point does the show have Troi spell out, “He’s angry because he never thought he’d be the type to abandon his ship when it’s in danger,” because it’s not necessary. We know Picard, we know the type of captain we think he is, and more importantly, the type of captain he thinks he is. But this insensate future Picard puts the lie to that belief. The Enterprise will be in trouble, and he’s going to get on a shuttle and survive when everyone else dies. It’s not a question of if it actually happened, because it will happen.
 
There’s a bit of interesting debate about whether they should change course, come to a full stop, or continue on their course, and the fact that they have no idea whether any of those options will help avoid this fate. However, the plot moves along briskly, and a few hours later, the promised spatial rift appears below them and begins dragging the Enterprise in. They can hold position only by gunning the engines as hard as they can, and Troi begins sensing intent from within the rift. Initially, she says that whatever it is wants the Enterprise, but after a few moments, it focuses. This presence wants Picard.
 
This scene on the bridge is chaotic. Geordi is yelling that they can’t hold the engines much longer, Riker’s trying to debate with Picard, and everything is clicking in place for the captain. If the consciousness within the rift wants him, then leaving the ship might be the only way to save the ship. Pulaski contacts him to tell him that Picard-2 is awake, and when Picard confronts him, his duplicate is disoriented, but obsessed with getting off the ship to save them. The two walk down the passageway, Picard pelting his doppleganger with questions, trying to understand what’s happening as the ship lurches and groans around them. Picard’s argument is simple: Leaving the ship to satisfy the entity makes sense, except for the simple fact that they’ve seen that it won’t work. If Picard leaves the ship, the Enterprise is still destroyed, and the loop happens all over. Picard-2 isn’t listening, though. He’s completely focused on his task of getting away from the Enterprise. When he starts to board the shuttle, Picard realizes that he can’t let him leave. If Picard-2 leaves, he initiates the same reaction they saw on the shuttle log, which resulted in the destruction of the Enterprise, this Enterprise. Upon realizing this, Picard doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a phaser and kills his duplicate. 
 
It’s a stunning moment. There’s no hesitation or regret in Picard’s action. He guns down his copy, and there’s no attempt to stun or wound him. Picard realizes what needs to happen, and does what he has to in order to make sure. He orders Riker to take the Enterprise directly into the rift, and the ship, no longer fighting the pull, passes through and emerges on the other side. The duplicate shuttle and Picard-2’s corpse vanish, and the ship lives to answer distress calls another day.

Look, this ending is a bit abrupt, and a bit too tidy for my taste. We never find out what the spatial rift was, or what it actually wanted. It’s there until the plot doesn’t need it to be there anymore, and then it’s gone. That’s not particularly good storytelling. But this story really isn’t about the mystery of the rift. It’s about this captain, a man who we’ve come to know very well over the season and a half of episodes. When people talk about Picard as a character, they reference his focus, his compassion, the fact that he’s the more cerebral captain of the franchise. This episode isn’t about distress calls, or spatial rifts, or even the fact that Worf likes terrible eggs. This episode is about teaching us one more thing about our captain: When push comes to shove, he’s ruthless.
 
A few other thoughts:

• There’s a brief discussion between Troi and Pulaski about whether Picard is still fit for command, considering the stress of meeting his twin who might be a coward. It’s not a great scene, but does introduce the fact that the chief medical officer apparently has the right to relieve the captain of duty if she thinks he’s not fit. That seems easily abusable.
• Stewart’s performance in this episode is great, but the rest of the cast do a hell of a job reacting to the video logs from the shuttle. There’s a sense of betrayal and confusion that underlies everything they do, and the way Riker in particular talks to Picard after that has a totally different tone.
• I can’t call this a great episode, mostly because of the sloppy structure of the ending. But I think it’s one of the first episodes that shows how much easier it is to write for established characters, and introduces a lot of character elements that will become important later.

- ​Dietrich Stogner

When I was a kid, I really wanted to be liked. Not popular, but liked. More specifically, I wanted to be considered funny. I wanted to be one of those people who always seems to know what to say to make the people around him laugh, to put those I’d just met at ease, and to come across as a clever and charismatic guy. The problem was, I wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t confident, so my attempts usually fell quite flat. So in one of the most misguided moments of my life, I went to the library and borrowed a book about how to be funny. Needless to say, it was a massive failure. And in that regard, the Data subplot in “The Outrageous Okana” felt very familiar to me. It’s just too bad it’s executed so poorly.

The Enterprise comes across a ship that’s having some engine trouble. Picard hails the ship, and they meet the single crew member: Okana, an affable and roguish captain that quickly charms the hell out of everyone on the bridge. A part of Okana’s ship is busted, and as part of their mission to spread happiness and joy across the galaxy, Picard and company offer to beam Okana aboard while they fix his shit. Okana is an instant hit, not least with the female members of the crew (including a guest starring Teri Hatcher, who’s sporting some truly baffling 80s hair). At one point, there’s a suggestion that Okana has fucked at least three crew members, and Worf has to nearly physically drag him from one female officer’s cabin.

Okana is played by William O. Campbell, who was in the running to play William Riker. Apparently, the show's crew loved his personality, but worried that he didn’t have enough of a hard edge to play Riker. Campbell has a lot of fun in this part, creating a strange yet entertaining blend of Han Solo and Barney Stinson, and it’s certainly never indicated that anyone begrudges his attentions.

Unfortunately, two ships from nearby rival planets soon arrive, and each is demanding Okana’s head. The first ship is commanded by Debin from the planet Atlec, who is furious that Okana apparently knocked up his daughter. The second ship is commanded by Kushell from the planet Straleb, who is accompanied by his son and wants Okana turned over for stealing their version of the crown jewels. They both puff their chests and make a lot of loud bombastic demands, but neither of their ships is a threat to the Enterprise, and Picard has a lot of fun rolling his eyes and giving them a Shakespearean-level “eat shit” look.

Eventually, Picard brings Debin and his daughter, as well as Kushell and his son, over to the Enterprise to sort the whole mess out. As it turns out, Okana’s only crime was acting as a pilot bringing Kushell’s son to romance Debin’s daughter. Kushell’s son proposes using the jewels he entrusted to Okana’s care, and everyone is happy. Okana goes on his merry way with a wink and a charming quip, and the Enterprise warps away, off to the next adventure.

Oh, and Data decides he wants to learn to be funny, and the writers promptly try to make every viewer commit suicide by having Joe Piscopo teach Data to do a Jerry Lewis impression.

Look, this makes sense in a lot of ways. Okana is so instantly likable and charming that Data, who is on a never-ending quest to discover his own humanity, immediately recognizes the ease in which the man makes people around him laugh. He decides to talk to Guinan about humor, and she offers him some guidance, suggesting he utilize the holodeck to practice telling jokes. He goes to the holodeck, practices with a recreation of a comic that the computer insists is one of the funniest in history (we’ll get back to that), but still bombs when he tells one of the jokes for Guinan. In the end, she reassures him that being able to make people laugh is not the be-all, end-all of being human, and that’s it.

 That’s not a terrible idea for this subplot. Humor is one of the defining traits of humanity, and the concept of Data exploring that is worthwhile. But it’s handled so fucking badly. Guinan tells a joke to Data, and when he doesn’t laugh, tells him he was wrong not to do so, and that the joke was funny. It wasn’t. (“You’re a droid, and I’m a noid!” Yup, that’s the joke that proves Data’s humor is broken when he doesn’t bust a goddamn gut at that gem.) The holodeck insists that Joe Piscopo is one of the funniest comedians in history, which makes me want to blow up the holodeck. Even if Piscopo was funny (he isn’t), the cast has access to Whoopi Goldberg, who, at the time this was produced, was one of the most popular stand-up comedians in the world. But instead, they go for the bro version of Jay Leno, who tells Data that a briefcase shaped like a fish is funny, has him put in a set of rubber buck teeth, and stomps around on stage with Data doing a fucking Jerry Lewis impression. It’s painful on so many levels, and wrecks the episode.

Honestly, though, I’m starting to realize something. In the course of its run, TNG did a lot of things well. But I don’t believe the writers, producers, directors, or anyone else ever figured out one simple truth, a truth I learned when the book I got from the library didn’t transform me overnight into the slapstick king of Mount Logan Middle School. The harder you try to be funny, the less funny you actually are. TNG was great at drama, action, suspense, and philosophy at various moments throughout its run, but it wasn’t a funny show, and every time it insisted that it was, I want to beat the show up and take its lunch money.

A few other things:

• Again, the episode glosses over the fact that the holodeck can apparently create a self-aware, intelligent consciousness with one misspoken verbal command. That’s kind of a terrifying concept. Are the other characters self-aware? Do they realize that they’ve been brought into existence for the sole purpose of being the playthings of the crew, until they are dismissed into oblivion with a casual verbal command? Yeah, the holodeck is kind of fucked up.
  
• There’s an amazing moment where Picard sends Worf to drag Okana to the bridge, and Okana, not happy about being interrupted in flagrante dilecto steps to Worf, silently challenging him. Worf’s response is to snarl, and quietly say, “I would love to, but I have my orders.” Cool scene, but I did have a moment where I thought Worf was saying that he’d totally like to bone down with Okana. I’m not sure which version I like better.
  

Next time, I take a look at two episodes, “Loud As A Whisper” and “The Schizoid Man,” which I have no recollection of whatsoever. Zero. I read the summary on Amazon Video, and still don’t recognize either. Juliette Vincent gave me a quick rundown as well, and still nothing. Hmmm. That might be a bad sign.

- ​Dietrich Stogner