FOREWORD

November 5th, 1999:

It was a combination of my love for Star Trek and dissatisfaction with the direction of the later projects in the franchise, especially Voyager, that motivated me past the stage of procrastination (in which I've lived the overwhelming majority of my life) and into real preparations to begin a website devoted to a new Trek series.

Certainly I believe that Star Trek has become, at least for certain members of the intelligentsia, one of the root myths of our culture. Thus I find myself appalled when watching the latest series, for the following reasons:

1) The captain is a shrewish, hypocritical despot;

2) The first officer is about as effectual as Gumby;

3) The main draw of the series has a rack that could easily be used as a floatation device.

I could go on for some time, but I trust the point has been made.

Please do not interpret this to mean that I think ill of either Jeri Ryan or Kate Mulgrew. Both are fine actresses (and the fact that you can even notice Ms. Ryan's performance while she's in that catsuit is especially impressive); it's the writing that's been most disappointing. The telling part of this is the tendency for many to now use the phrase "Star Trek franchise" [I found myself simultaneously appalled and amused to realize that when editing this essay I'd utilized it myself above]. Once, during Deep Space Nine's early tenure, this was meant as "a series of successful, thought-provoking science fiction series."

Now, unfortunately, it makes me think of a McDonald's.

I'm an editor and proofreader by trade, and have been writing professionally, off and on, for some time. While I think the overwhelming majority of Star Trek fiction on the net is simple literary masturbation, there are enough notable exceptions that I didn't despair of the undertaking altogether. By the same token, I happen not to share the opinion of the late, lamented sci-fi writer Marion Zimmer Bradley, who often sniffed disdainfully at people who dared call themselves "writers" if they hadn't yet been published.

Though I'm not much of a fence-sitter, I come down clearly in the middle on this subject. Write and post if you wish, I say, and call yourself an author if that's what you feel you are. However, at least attempt to hone your craft. Edit. Proofread, or find someone to do it for you. Don't inflict your prose on those of us who wander the smoldering labyrinth that is the Internet looking for the proverbial "diamond in the rough." It makes our eyes bleed.

As far as my own work is concerned, I hope only to share my love of Star Trek, and to entertain.

Wish me luck.

My … wasn’t that cynical. Well, let’s see if my attitude’s improved:

January 23, 2006:

Wow. I’d like to say, “What a difference six years makes,” but that particular phrase has too many positive connotations; and, insofar as Star Trek is concerned, in my opinion it’s been one long downward spiral, occasionally punctuated by faint stirrings of renewed vitality that invariably dissipated … and disappointed.

Voyager managed to get through a seven-year run, granted. Enterprise wasn’t nearly so lucky, though—nor did it deserve to be. By the ignominious final episode, “These Are the Voyages,” its core audience had decreased to approximately two million per first-run viewing. Even when the relative smorgasbord of science fiction television during this millennium is factored in, such ratings are positively disgraceful when compared with the other series’ in their prime.

Somewhere along the line, Star Trek devolved from avant-garde to establishment. Like the owners of a championship team that forget titles must not only be won, but aggressively defended, the Powers-that-Be have instead stood pat, relying on a once-innovative formula that I must concede might very well still work—if supported by crisp, daring scripts, that is. By playing not to lose what they had, the shirts at Star Trek allowed the franchise to become a pop-culture irrelevancy. Think about it: If someone had told you ten years ago that Battlestar Galactica would be the leading science fiction series on television, and Stargate the preeminent franchise, well … you’d have laughed in their face, what with Deep Space Nine and Voyager just beginning their runs.

And yet, here we are.

I guess I’ll say, “What a difference ten years makes.” Unfortunately, in context, we all know what that means.

As to Liberty itself, well … I’m not so deluded as to think it’s going to change the world, the face of Star Trek or even the weight of my wallet.

I do, however, assert that it’s better than the alternative.

[Note: Look for the nascent FAQ to debut and expand over the next few weeks. If you have any questions you’d like answered herein, email me and I’ll make certain to address them herein.]

FAQ

Q: Isn’t NCC-1776 rather on the low side for a starship commissioned in the latter half of the 24th century—especially considering the original Enterprise bore NCC-1701? I’m not buying that there’ve only been 75 starships commissioned since then, dude. Heck, we’ve seen more destroyed between commercial breaks on Deep Space Nine.

A: The short response to this one would be a succinct “yes” … but what fun is there in that?

The somewhat more convoluted (and admittedly contrived) answer: There are a number of possibilities as to why Liberty would have such a distinctively low registry number. Some of these are listed below:

• Highly recognizable numerals like 1776 (along with others that correspond to historically-significant dates), are intentionally set aside during the day-to-day process of designation; these are instead preserved for inspirational purposes and employed only with specific intent. Perhaps Liberty received 1776 because she was launched just as war with a seemingly unbeatable foe threatened—a parallel that would not go unnoticed by certain historically-savvy officers. I’d not be at all surprised to learn that, say, USS Shran, for example, has a registry number that’s utterly meaningless to humans, but resonates with Andorians, and that more than a few of the numbers we’ve seen on starship hulls mean something somewhere in the Federation.
• Someone (perchance someone born in what was once the United States?) made a clerical ‘error’ in 2265, and skipped it. The oversight went unnoticed until 2371—just time for Liberty to receive NCC-1776. In other words, it could have been either accidental or purposeful. [Oh, and, by the way … if you don’t think a mistake like this is possible, than you’ve never shuffled papers or databases for a living.]
• The author thought NCC-1776 was wicked cool, wanted it, and simply ignored the acknowledged convention, since poetic license trumps bureaucratic minutia—at least in a more idealized universe like that of Star Trek.

Take your pick [or synthesize one of your own]. These are my various stories, and I’m stickin’ to whatever one works best for you.