Let’s assume the Enterprise is in constant communication with Starfleet headquarters, and that all information recorded on the ship’s computer—including every log entry, every medical note made by Dr. Crusher, every promotion, every new species encountered, every new planet surveyed—is instantly transmitted to the computers at headquarters. Before this information can be sent to other starships (assuming they too are in constant instantaneous contact with Starfleet command), it must be sorted, studied, and processed by Starfleet personnel. Otherwise, on every Federation starship, we’d have a duplicate Dr. Moriarty trying to take over from the holodeck (“Ship in a Bottle,” TNG).
It’s evident from a number of episodes that this constant exchange of information doesn’t take place. Otherwise, Data’s experiment with Lal (“The Offspring,” TNG) would never occur. Nor would the crew be able to promise the Paxans that their existence would be kept secret (“Clues,” TNG). It’s most likely that at specific intervals, a subspace transmission of data is sent from Federation starships to fleet headquarters. And that similar transmissions are made from headquarters to all ships, updating computer records and databases.
Distributed Processing Network
The final component of the Enterprise’s computer system is the distributed processing network (DPN). This is supposedly a network of “dedicated optical links” distributed all over the ship “to augment the main cores.” The DPN does not use the FTL core elements. It “improves overall system response” and also provides redundancy for emergency situations.
Each quadritronic optical subprocessor (QOS) accesses from one to three main processing cores via a dedicated optical link (as shown in Figure 2.7). The technical manual doesn’t explain anything about the QOS nor the overall DPN architecture.
Frankly, neither the QOS nor DPN makes sense.
The manual states that if the main computer system crashes, some QOS/DPN backup mechanism keeps the ship running. Let’s assume that the main computer system does crash. It happens to fuel the optical data network—that is, without the main computer system, the ODN crashes, too. This architecture offers no redundancy for emergency situations. The manual states that the quadritronic optical subprocessors are part of the optical data network. If the ODN dies, then all the quadritronic optical subprocessors die. Who cares if there are dedicated optical links from each QOS to the main computer? The whole system is down.
And if the main processing cores are all dead, perhaps the LCARS is dead as well.
FIGURE 2.7 Distributed Processing Network (DPN)
Further, if the DPN isn’t running at FTL, for whatever that’s worth, how does it “improve overall system response”?
To determine if any of this makes sense, we’ll merge Figure 2.1 with Figure 2.7. The result is Figure 2.8.
The LCARS is hooked directly to the main computer system and the dedicated optical links. The dedicated optical links, in turn, hook directly to the ODN. If the main computer system crashes, the ODN crashes. (Face it, folks: if the system dies, there’s nothing left to run the network. Where’s the operating system? In the main computer.) There is no point to the dedicated optical links. If the main computer system and the ODN crash, then the optical links also die. The LCARS may function as standalone processors, providing some small amount of backup data. Neither the technical manual nor the actual TV shows indicate that this occurs.
We see no point to the DPN. It is illogical.
Personal Access Display Devices
In chapter 1 we discussed communicators and what appear to be laptop computers on TNG, VGR, and DS9. We’ll close with a brief look at PADDs.
In the original series, PADDs were the size of clipboards and appeared to serve a similar purpose. Their resemblance to portable computers was minimal. In The Next Generation, PADDs had shrunk in size and gained in power to become handheld computers directly linked to the ship’s computer. A PADD serves not only as a personal computer but also as a communication device and even a lock-on node from the starship’s transporter. According to the Technical Manual, a PADD has a dimension of 10 X 15 X 1 centimeter and a total memory capacity of 4.3 kiloquads (that is, 4.3 times the total information now stored on Earth). In theory, a crewmember using a PADD with the proper access codes could navigate the starship from his quarters.
FIGURE 2.8 DPN and ODN
Again we find science overtaking science fiction. The past few years have seen the rise of handheld computers only slightly bigger than a PADD and with many of the same features. These devices continue to shrink, and computers the size of watches are already available. Life imitates art, then surpasses it. Why carry around a PADD when molecular implants will allow you to converse with invisible computers in the wall? It’s in the future, and not three hundred years from now.
Yesterday’s Technology, and Tomorrow’s
Our tour of the Star Trek computer has shown us an architecture that is already several decades old. The Enterprise computer in the original series is a 1960s computer blown up to gigantic speed and power. The computers of The Next Generation, Voyager, and Deep Space Nine are configurations from the 1970s and 1980s blown up to gigantic speed and power. None of these computers even reflect today’s technical realities, much less what we expect tomorrow. Here are some aspects we expect will be quite different.
Size
Our computers are not getting bigger, they’re shrinking. If you need to fix circuits in your PC, a wrench and a screwdriver won’t get you very far. You can’t fix your processor chip’s circuitry with tools from your garage. The isolinear optical storage chip is too big, as well. Today’s microprocessor chip is the size of a sugar packet. There’s no way that a nanoprocessor chip of the future will be the size of a floppy disk.
Mainframe Configuration
There are still computer systems in use today that have configurations like the main computer of Star Trek. An old IBM mainframe or a VAX superminicomputer sitting in a cold room, with display terminals networked to it. But these are old systems. Far more prevalent are increasingly powerful PCs distributed around the globe and linked by the Internet. Everyone has local processing power. Nobody relies on a mainframe down at headquarters to prepare his monthly expense report. Star Trek computers have yet to reflect the technology of the 1990s.
Extremely Fast Processors
Processing speed today continues to escalate. In noting increasing processing speeds, as well as today’s research into optical and holographic technology, Star Trek does acknowledge some real computer trends. Sadly, though, it pushes these trends into exaggerated and sometimes meaningless fantasy.
Centralized Storage and Processing
Information today is distributed on PCs all over the world and linked by means of the Internet. The trend is clearly away from centralized data warehouses toward distributed information storage and processing. No computer today stores all information in the known universe. One of the marvels of the 1990s was Intel’s supercomputer with 9,200 processors cranking 1.34 trillion operations per second. Still, such machines are uncommon to say the least. Star Trek reflects trends from an earlier time, the 1970s and 1980s.
What do we expect from real computers in the time of Star Trek? Remember, we’re talking about computers in three to four hundred years. They’ll be nothing like the computers of the 1960s, 70s, or 80s. Nor like anything we have today.
Rather, they’ll be invisible. They’ll be in our walls, our air, our clothing, ourselves. Our bodies will merge flesh and computer technology. This is commonly called nanotechnology. Microscopic computers will dissolve our blood clots, heal our wounds, prolong our age, cure our diseases. Being artificially intelligent, the computers inside our bodies will retrieve information based on our changing interests and needs, draw conclusions for us, write and transmit our reports, help us become better artists, musicians, thinkers. These computers will repair themselves and will communicate with one another, just as computers communicate with each other today. Your body will contain a
distributed processing network of microscopic computers. Your body network will communicate with mine.
Each computer will access information and routines stored in any computer anywhere in the known universe. A computer in your body network will obtain a symphony, play, book, personnel file of an employee, DNA patterns of your child, police records of a suspect—literally anything that you’re authorized to access—from any computer anywhere. No more keyboards. No more voice recognition. Your DNA pattern or a combination of other unique biological stamps will serve as your password. You will think, “Where is Picard?” and your body network will find his body network, even if he’s on another starship in a distant galaxy.
Around us, microscopic robots will fix the structures in which we live and play, mend our clothes, repair our equipment and roads, and manicure the grass. We’ll live in a world of science fiction, except it’ll be everyday stuff to us.
Given sensor capabilities, self maintenance and repair, and artificial intelligence, a real starship of the twenty-fourth century may come so close to being alive and sentient that the difference is more philosophical than practical (as in “Tin Man,” TNG).
Star Trek cannot show us what the future really will be like. If it tried to portray future computer technology more accurately, Trek would fail as a television program. The characters would sit and groan, and rarely move. The threats from aliens would be microscopic and thwarted before a character could part his lips. To be good television—with action, adventure, and plot—Trek needs visual stimuli and entities, alien threats that are not so easily thwarted, and characters that run, scream, pull computer cables from the ceilings, and fix the ship with wrenches in the nick of time. But when we ask if Star Trek is an accurate depiction of what the future holds, we have to answer: Not even close.
3
Security
In the twenty-fourth century, hunger, disease, and poverty no longer exist within the Federation. Nor do racism or sexism or any other type of discrimination. Most people appear to be happy. Crimes of violence have been largely eliminated from daily life, leading to a more trusting and open society. Robbery and theft make little sense in a time of unlimited abundance.
A world without criminals needs little law enforcement. Which unfortunately suggests that the few illegal acts that do occur often go unpunished. For example, we note the following incidents from the original series:• Kodos the Executioner, one-time planetary governor of Tarsus IV who responsible for the deaths of hundreds of civilians, remains at large under an assumed identity, that of the actor, Anton Karidian, for twenty years. (“The Conscience of the King,” TOS)
• Mr. Scott is accused of several brutal killings on the planet Argelius II. Though Scott’s prosecutor knows way too much about the crimes, no one suspects the officer of any wrongdoing. (“Wolf in the Fold,” TOS)
• Captain Garth, a famous Federation Starfleet captain who has gone insane, seizes control of the penal colony on the planet Elba II. (“Whom Gods Destroy,” TOS)
• The Federation starship, Aurora, is stolen by scientist, Dr. Sevrin, and his followers, to hunt for a mythical planet they believe is Eden. (“The Way to Eden,” TOS)
If we jump forward to the time of Picard, Sisko, and Janeway, there’s no appreciable change in crime-fighting techniques or security measures. We note the following crimes, among many:• An extragalactic intelligence gains control over important Starfleet officers. Only after a number of extremely unusual policy decisions and shifts in key personnel is the intruder detected. (“Conspiracy,” TNG)
• Crewman First Class Simon Tarses becomes a member of Starfleet (and gets to serve on the Enterprise) by falsifying his admission application to conceal that his grandfather is a Romulan. This information isn’t discovered until Tarses is accused of sabotage during an investigation on the Enterprise. (“The Drumhead,” TNG)
• The Red Squad, a group of Starfleet cadets, sabotage Earth’s power grid, with the blame for the incident falling on alien shapeshifters. Again, only through coincidence are the true culprits revealed (“Homefront,” DS9).
• Dr. Julian Bashir’s parents, realizing their young son, Julian, is mentally handicapped, take him off-world to an illegal clinic where his DNA patterns are enhanced, greatly augmenting his intelligence and coordination. The operation is not discovered until years later, and only then through happenstance. (“Dr. Bashir, I Presume?” DS9)
Some of these episodes rank among Star Trek’s finest adventures. Yet, from a strictly logical point of view, these incidents are unbelievable based on the technology of the time. In every instance, the crime was discovered not through investigation but by chance. Worse, most of these incidents involve Starfleet officers, which indicates a shocking lack of internal security in an organization charged with protecting the safety of the Federation.g
Life in the twenty-third and twenty-fourth centuries is obviously much different from today. Clearly, personal freedoms are strictly protected by the government and any attempt to infringe on them (“Paradise Lost,” DS9) is regarded with suspicion. Still, considering the power and scope of Federation computer systems, the lack of effective security in the Star Trek universe is perhaps the most unbelievable aspect of the shows.
It’s quite clear why security is so lax. If it wasn’t, dozens of episodes would disappear from the ships’ logs. Believable security is the bane of all script writers (and most novelists). It stretches credibility that Captains as brilliant and astute as Janeway and Picard wouldn’t impose stricter security measures on their vessels. But the demands of television force us to believe that ship security is one subject not taught at Starfleet Academy.
Though Federation starships are equipped with the most powerful computers ever constructed, this technology isn’t being used to strike an appropriate balance between ship safety and individual privacy and freedom. It’s difficult to believe that in the twenty-third and twenty-fourth centuries, these problems wouldn’t have long ago been solved. Each of the described predicaments could be neutralized using technology displayed in Star Trek—and with computer software in development today.
Too often, onboard security personnel are put at risk, even killed hunting alien intruders or guarding dangerous prisoners. These tasks would be handled better and more safely by the ship’s computer. Keeping the starship secure shouldn’t be difficult for a computer network already programmed to monitor life-support systems, maintain engine stability, and operate the communications array.
On the original Enterprise, carrying over four hundred people, intruders often blend in with the crew or hide in remote sections of the ship. The ship is even invaded by Federation officers from the future (“Trials and Tribblations,” DS9), who interact with the crew and captain without detection.
Once, Captain Kirk is actually framed for murder by a crewmember who fakes his own death then keeps out of sight in the ship’s engineering decks (“Court Martial,” TOS). When Kirk finally realizes what’s happened, he uses the ship’s computer to track down the criminal. It’s obvious from the astonished reactions of the tribunal that such an activity has never been done before. Which makes sense by television logic, because otherwise there would be no plot. With minor modifications, the same programs could be adapted to keep the starship free of any unwanted guests.
The Enterprise computer system is capable of monitoring and recording all conversations taking place on the ship and playing them back for authorized personnel (“Turnabout Intruder,” TOS). Using consoles and communication posts scattered throughout the ship, the computer can even detect the heartbeats of every person on board (“Court Martial,” TOS). Furthermore, it can be programmed to block out specific heartbeats. Kirk proves there’s an unauthorized person on the Enterprise by progressively blocking out the heartbeats of everyone known to be on board. Finally, when there should be silence, one heartbeat remains.
As we’ve noted, all starship crewmembers and visitors wear communicator badges. The computer system can use
this badge to determine the location of anyone anywhere on the ship. These ID badges could easily be linked into the ship’s transportation system, making it impossible to travel from one sector of the vessel to another without proper identification.
A simple combination of these few programs would result in a very basic but quite dependable security system. Here’s how it would operate.
The ship’s computer would constantly oversee all crewmembers’ locations by their badges, matching their locations with a map of the ship. At the same time, the computer would continually monitor heartbeats throughout the vessel. More heartbeats than communicators would indicate intruders on the Enterprise. Any local excess of either heartbeats or communicators would be noted by the computer, and in the event of an intrusion, these areas of mismatch would be sealed off by force fields. As an additional backup, the computer system could immediately check all conversations taking place in that area, identifying all voices logged into the communications network, and sorting out any that aren’t on file.
This program would work for all beings having hearts. Given the sophistication of the Enterprise computer system, it could certainly be modified to detect other, equally distinctive sounds that would betray any alien presence on the ship. This extremely simple system makes only limited use of the ship’s internal sensors, which could easily identify every crewmember and guest by his or her unique chemical signature (as a dog does) or by the “bioelectric field.” The Federation probably would refrain from such intrusive monitoring out of respect for privacy.
The Computers of Star Trek Page 5