This is a scheduled post, because I got a bottle of champagne and a bottle of draino, so I’ll be ready to toast either way. Anyway, I haven’t been writing much as you can tell, but it’s because I’ve been putting a lot of time into my art. I finally built up the nerve to start working with resin. Results are mixed.
Good luck and god speed.
Last week, my daughter performed in a production of The Wizard of Oz. She was a member of the Lollipop Guild. Also the lead apple tree. Also a denizen of the Emerald City. Also a Winkie. I get the impression that as an actress, she is “good, for a little kid”
Anyway, for some reason, she asked me to AI-enhance a photo I took during the performance, and what came out was kinda wild, like some sort of surrealist interpretation of The Lion King, so I thought I’d share it with you.
And yeah, I am so happy that they’re leaving Calypso in the canon. Yes, we don’t know what could possibly justify them retrofitting Discovery back to its 23rd century configuration, but it was hilarious to watch them scrubbing the “-A” off the hull.
(Just off the top of my head, Craft appears to come from a time when the Federation has degenerated into an imperialistic state. Perhaps Kovitch anticipates that a symbol not of the 32nd century but of “The Long Ago” would be required)
Also, now that we know that Discovery’s state is a cover, it’s possible that Zora’s claim to have been abandoned for a thousand years is also not entirely honest – that she was ordered to claim to have been left there in the 23rd century. Better still, “Calypso” ended on the sad notion that Zora would probably remain alone forever, but now we know that she isn’t lost: they put her there deliberately, and made plans to retrieve her. Might not pay off, but it seems a lot more plausible now to imagine that she’s recovered not long after those events, given that we now know that it was Craft she was waiting for all along.
Anyway, here’s me being angry about the new Taco Bell architecture.
So I finally start writing again after the strikes, and boom, my web host goes down for like a day and a half last Wednesday, and then again for about six hours this past Tuesday. Plus, I’m currently working a modified schedule, so I only have so much time available.
And what with the holiday, I feel like maybe it would be okay for me to be a bit lackadaisical before addressing the triumphant appearance of everyone’s favorite I Can’t Believe It’s Not Twilight vampire.
See you next week.
I’m not sure if writing a weekly essay about Star Trek counts as crossing a picket line or promoting a work by striking union members, but I think maybe it would be best if I waited until either they sort this out or I am more confident in the answer before posting more of my long-form analysis.
So I’ll just say: Spock/Kirk good, Spock/Christine eh.
My email’s been down for the past two days, which means I can’t get to the draft of the article I wrote about “Charades”. I’ll post when I can.
Spoilers: Crinkly cellophane interdimensional space good; Spock eating bacon bad.
I asked Dall-E 2 and Nightcafe to show me a promotional poster for Peter Falk as Columbo on the USS Enterprise.
Neither of them seemed to quite know who Peter Falk is, but were kind of consistent about him being some form of James Garner?
Happy Veteran’s Day. Thank you for your service.
Since it’s Halloween soon, I’ll do a thematic one.
As you all know by now, the latest incarnation of Scooby-Doo is outing Velma. This has made exactly who you’d expect to be angry very angry. Apparently this is the first time in fifty years that the show about a group of itinerant hippies, one of whom is perpetually stoned, who travel the country in a psychedelic van with their dog, proving that the only true monsters in the world are old white men who are willing to screw over the little people in the pursuit of money has aligned itself with the cultural left.
Whatever. When they tried to make a female-led Ghostbusters, there was rioting in the streets and it had to be immediately “corrected” with a direct sequel to the original films that was kind of mediocre and cruised without putting in much effort on a diet of pure memberberries.
So I got a little help from Nightcafe and came up with this:
Previously, on A Mind Occasionally Voyaging…
Now, the pacing of this story is not quite perfect. But this is not because of my shortcomings as a writer, no: this is a subtle hint that we are in a universe slightly askew of the proper causality. Yes. We’ll go with that…
Prisoner 5398 sat quietly on her bunk in the high-isolation facility on Salius VI, as she did for almost every hour of every day for thirty years now. Though she had never given any indication that of resistance or that she was anything other than utterly resigned to her fate, she was treated by the handful of people she interacted with like an existential threat.
Existential.
Her existence was a crime. It was illegal for her to exist. There was only one possible resolution to that, and some days she lamented that the Federation had so far remained unwilling to take the last step.
She was permitted the most basic comforts. Her cell was comfortable. She could read anything she liked so long as it was a physical, printed form. She could request things be shown to her, though her viewscreen was strictly playback-only; they could not risk she might hack the system. She was not permitted writing materials: any wisdom she cared to pass on might taint humanity. At least, for most of her incarceration, that had been the case.
She was not normally provided with news of the outside world, but she knew, in broad terms, that there was a war on. It was not going well, she concluded, from the fact that yesterday, she had been permitted a visitor for the first time. A gruff, bitter admiral, who had offered her far more than he was actually going to give her in return for her input on the design of a new dreadnought. She had… Expressed disapproval of the whole idea. She expected she would be left here to rot forever.
Needless to say, it came as a surprise when the photon torpedoes took out the facility’s power supply. It came as a further surprise when she felt the sudden rush of nothingness that came with matter transportation.
Prisoner 5398 had been out of the loop long enough that she could not identify the class of ship onto which she had been beamed, though the stylings clearly marked it as Starfleet. Her keen eyes caught a registry marking, though. USS Reliant, NCC-1864. It was not a ship she was familiar with.
Nor did she know the man who now stood in front of her. Clearly not Starfleet, though a Starfleet insignia badge, retooled into a necklace, hung against his muscular chest. In a flamboyant, magnanimous tone, he declared, “Welcome aboard the Reliant, Lieutenant Commander Chin-Riley.”
“Who are you?” she asked, “And why am I here?”
“You are here because I believe we are kindred spirits. I offer you asylum, justice, and revenge. I know your burden. Your pain. I too was rejected by those who lack vision. I too was abandoned and left to rot by Christopher Pike. My name is Khan.”
“I’ve got sickbay ready. What is all of this?” Doctor M’Benga asked as he walked into Pike’s stateroom.
Pike gestured to the couch. The Kirk brothers, La’an, Xon and Doctor McCoy were already seated. “Have a seat, Doctor. We’re about twenty minutes out from Regula One. I’d like you to accompany Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Saavik. We can’t afford to delay any longer than necessary en route to Salius, but we’ll leave you with the Galileo, in case you need to evacuate.”
“Saavik?” Jim asked. “But La’an-”
“Will be staying on the Enterprise,” Pike said. “I hate to pull rank on you, Jim, but in light of where we’re going, Commander Noonien-Singh has some… Relevant experience.”
Jim opened his mouth, but then nodded. “Any idea what we’re in for?”
Pike looked away. “I had to call in a lot of favors to get access to this. Computer, request security procedure and access to Project Genesis Summary.” A full security check with retinal scan was reserved for the most critical data related to the war effort. It took several seconds for the computer to satisfy itself.
The image of a blonde woman in a scientist’s coverall appeared on the screen. “Carol?” Pike asked. Jim nodded.
“Project Genesis. A proposal to the Federation,” the image of Carol said. “What exactly is Genesis? Well, put simply, Genesis is life from lifelessness. It is a process whereby molecular structure is reorganized at he subatomic level into life-generating matter of equal mass. Stage One of our experiments was conducted in the laboratory. Stage Two of the series will be attempted in a lifeless underground. Stage Three will involve the process on a planetary scale. It is our intention to introduce the Genesis device into the pre-selected area of a lifeless space body, such a moon or other dead form. The device is delivered, instantaneously causing what we call the Genesis Effect. Matter is reorganized with life-generating results.”
The screen showed a simulation of a barren planet. Sam recognized it as a recreation of the surface of Mercury, though the exact appearance of the planet was certainly chosen arbitrarily. The Genesis device looked like a photon torpedo as it struck the surface, but instead of an explosion, a wave of fire swept across the surface, leaving in its wake blue oceans and green vegetation. “Instead of a dead moon, a living, breathing planet, capable of sustaining whatever lifeforms we see fit to deposit on it. The reformed moon simulated here represents the merest fraction of the Genesis potential, should the Federation wish to fund these experiments to their logical conclusion. When we consider the current refugee crisis and food supply problems from the ongoing war, the usefulness of this process becomes clear. This concludes our proposal. Thank you for your attention.”
“It literally is Genesis,” Sam said.
“The power of creation,” Jim added.
“Wholesale reorganization of matter at that scale,” Pike said. “What if it were used where life already exists?”
Impassively, Xon said, “It would destroy such life in favor of its new matrix.”
Pike looked away. “A planet creator, or a planet-killer. Doctor Marcus wanted to find a lifeless space-body, but I’m sure you can appreciate the alternatives.”
It was La’an who drew the conclusion. “If you could land this on Romulus. Or Qo’nos. Or…”
“My God,” M’Benga barked. “You’re talking about universal armageddon.”
“It’s always been easier to destroy life than to create it,” McCoy said. “Until now.”
“Jim,” Pike said, “You can not allow Genesis to fall into the wrong hands. Whatever it takes.”
“Understood, Admiral.”
“This is Enterprise calling Space Lab Regula One. Respond please.”
Saavik touched the communication controls. “Commander Uhura, this is Lieutenant Saavik. We’ve arrived safely. No signs of life yet.”
“Understood,” Uhura responded. “Be advised Enterprise will be breaking orbit and proceeding to Salius Six. Enterprise out.”
“Guess we’re on our own,” McCoy mused. “What the hell happened here?” His flashlight caught a rat and he jumped back, startled. Something brushed his head and he looked up…
To Be Continued…