In the first case, that of interaction among the virtual characters, Star Trek does a good job of using virtual reality programming as it’s perceived today. The typical holodeck characters really don’t communicate much with each other beyond preprogrammed gestures and relationships. Perhaps they pass information to each other via their data structures. If one flinches, the flinch probably is an event picked up by the other virtual characters.
We’ll return to the possibilities of other, more interesting relationships among virtual holodeck characters. But first let’s turn our attention to the interactions between holodeck characters and humans.
Think about Minuet and Riker in the French bar (“11001001,” TNG). She seems to react realistically to Riker’s remarks, moods, and expressions. She acts completely human.
How does this happen?
Most likely, the holodeck computer has sensors that pick up information about the human, in this case, Riker. The holodeck sensors (microscopic and in the walls, as we described in Chapter 2) follow Riker as he moves across the room, detect all of his body movements, and take note of his facial expressions.
If Riker wants to kiss Minuet, the holodeck can detect increased pressure from his lips (as with the treadmill), and then apply force from the virtual Minuet to Riker’s lips using a feedback loop of sorts. Though again, it seems that Riker would need microscopic computers embedded in his body, or some other sort of computer mechanism, to receive the feedback sensations and communicate information to his biological components. In other words, the holodeck computer needs a way to communicate Minuet’s lip pressure back to Riker’s lips. Since it must take considerably more energy to generate molecule-sized magnetic bubbles than a simple visual image, perhaps the computer only creates those parts of Minuet’s body that Riker is “touching” at any moment. But it would require extraordinary processing power to create the required textures (both surface and “internal”) in real time. And what about smells? Does the computer also create magnetic-bubble perfume?
Minuet may react to Riker simply based on his facial and body expressions. The holodeck computer not only senses but also interprets changes in Riker’s expressions. If he smiles and his eyes glow with intense passion, the holodeck computer might interpret his expression as lust. Minuet reacts accordingly. If Riker frowns, glares, bangs his fist on the bar, sinks to the bar top, moans ... then perhaps the holodeck computer interprets his expressions and actions as depression or anger. If Minuet has just said something that made him sad, then the computer might now have Minuet apologize and cheer him up.
So while Minuet seems almost human, her responses are merely a combination of advanced programming and artificial intelligence. She’s not alive, just code.
To be absolutely believable, virtual humans would need to possess many features already built into Data. And this would create new scenarios and adventures, some of which might cause problems.
For example, virtual characters would have to be free to follow their instincts and make their own choices. They’d have to believe that they’re real, as opposed to acting as the holodeck computer’s puppets. They’d have to learn and grow in their abilities and skills, in their behaviors and personalities. Perhaps they could program new holodeck adventures for themselves, so they could increase their knowledge base. To be artificially intelligent, as defined in Chapter 5, the holodeck characters require a lot of attributes they don’t currently have (barring a few exceptions, such as Dr. Moriarty).
If the characters achieve this new level of artificial intelligence, then the holodeck adventures would become much more dangerous. Perhaps this is why they operate exclusively as puppets for the humans.
For example, they might start bickering amongst themselves. They might pursue personal goals. They might form alliances, start wars or become insane.
If Dr. Moriarty can achieve true sentience, why doesn’t this happen to lots of holodeck characters?* As with Data, it seems bizarre that only one such creature exists in the entire universe.
In all cases other than Moriarty, we’re forced to conclude that characters on the holodeck are not true artificially intelligent virtual reality beings. They lack the required attributes. They’re preprogrammed. Only when the ship’s computer breaks down in certain episodes do these marionettes ever seem to take on life of their own. Which, we must point out, is pretty unbelievable. Why would preprogrammed actors suddenly be gifted with free will by an energy anomaly?
While the holodeck bars and lounges might be fun, a steady diet of the programs would most likely become boring, predictable, and unreal. Despite Riker’s fascination with Minuet, we suspect he’d quickly find her less interesting than Deanna Troi. Captain Janeway’s interaction with Leonardo da Vinci is based at least in part on her fascination with his work and life. Interacting with such characters can’t offer unpredictability and surprises that only can be provided by real humans (or truly artificially intelligent creatures such as Data).
While the holodeck characters are good for a quick boost, a pulse of sexual arousal, they would be as bland, in the long run, as today’s two-dimensional fantasy and pornographic images. Sure, certain people would be hooked on the holodecks for escapism. Those filled with self doubt, for example, might turn to fantasy lives and retreat from reality; might prefer relationships with fake holodeck characters who offer predictable and nonthreatening responses. But most people, especially those who qualify to enter the ranks of Starfleet, would use holodecks for diversion in the same way that most people today use film and magazines. Despite the availability of holosuite fantasy sex, we suspect that the best erotic uses of the holodeck are shared ones.
The ways in which Picard and crew use the holodeck are acceptable, not damaging to their careers, and simply bland amusement. The holodeck novels would be entertaining during their initial run-through, much like the interactive video and computer games available now. Fighting your way through Beowulf and slaying monsters definitely could be exciting, even knowing you can’t be harmed (“Heroes and Demons,” VGR). So would be trying to stop a mutiny with the lives of your friends at stake (“Worst Case Scenario,” VGR).
But, as with games today, we suspect that once the game was complete, the Trek user wouldn’t bother playing again. For all their exotic backgrounds, holodeck novels are still only stories, not real life.
Dr. Moriarty complains about this very fact—that his life in storage is deadly sterile and boring. He wants freedom.
8
Missing Bits
As we’ve noted, Star Trek in all its incarnations is much less an extrapolation of advanced science than a projection of today’s culture three hundred years into the future. Thus the computers on the ship are merely faster versions of what we have today. Weapons like photon torpedoes are more destructive renditions of today’s technology. Each Star Trek series is a product of its times.
So far, we’ve concentrated on the areas where Star Trek and reality intersect. But not all of our future is in Star Trek. Much is neglected or ignored. It’s time to take a look at where our world and the universe of television diverge. The stuff that’s missing or just plain wrong.
The Borg
If Vaal and Landru, the giant supercomputers of the original series, symbolize the 1960s’ fear of automation, then the Borg are the ultimate late twentieth-century bogeymen. They’re an updated Frankenstein’s monster, computer technology gone berserk, the sentient machine overwhelming its outdated master. Like Vaal, the Borg give voice to our concern about our growing dependence on computers in our daily lives. Instead of humanity becoming a slave to the machine as in the original series, we’re faced with the horrifying possibility of mankind becoming the machine.
The Collective isn’t user friendly. The Borg consider humans “irrelevant.” We’re face to face with the relentless, cold logic of the computer. The Borg are so frightening not for what they are but for what they predict about us and where society is going.
One of the best exampl
es of Borg as Frankenstein monsters is in the movie First Contact. The Borg are banging on the sick bay door, trying to hammer it down. Dr. Crusher activates the Emergency Medical Holograph program. When the holographic doctor appears, Crusher tells him to create a diversion. In true Trek doctor form, he protests, “I’m a doctor, not a doorstop.” But then, noting that implants can cause skin irritations, he asks the twenty Borg who bang into sick bay: “Perhaps you’d like an analgesic cream?” The monsters stagger around like Halloween ghouls while the humans race for their lives. It’s a marvelous scene.
The Borg are the perfect villains for our computer age. Unlike the Dominion in Deep Space Nine, they don’t seek to rule other worlds, forge alliances for conquest, or negotiate treaties. Instead, they have only one goal: to assimilate other species into the Collective, to transform all they meet into Borg. There’s no compromise with the Borg. They’re quite clear when they state, “We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.” Again, the underlying fear is that people must deal with a computerized society whether they like it or not.
That the Borg are quite successful is evident by what little has been revealed about them. Located primarily in the Delta Quadrant of the galaxy, they control thousands of solar systems that stretch for several thousand light years. Twice they’ve attacked Federation space, using just one ship, and both times were barely defeated. An attack fleet of hundreds of Borg cubes could undoubtedly wipe out human civilization.
According to Q, the Borg are neither male nor female but enhanced humanoids sharing a collective mind with no single leader. They are the ultimate biological/machine interface (“Q Who?” TNG). Using subspace neural-link transceivers, they instantly transmit information among all minds in the Collective. Thus, all Borg form one communal mind—a mind that controls great forces and is capable of tremendous healing power (“Unity,” VGR).
One glaring inconsistency in this description is the Borg Queen (Star Trek: First Contact). A supreme Borg ruler (or even a group of such rulers) makes no sense. The collective hive intelligence blends the thoughts and knowledge of all minds of the individual members. No one person directs the action of all. The decisions are made by all, for all. That is one of the reasons severe casualties cannot stop the Borg. Their strength resides in the group.
Locutus served as a mouthpiece for the Borg to communicate with humans. So did Seven of Nine. Neither drone controlled the Collective. They were merely extensions of it.
The Borg Queen made good theater. It was a lot easier for viewers to focus on a villain rather than a hive-mind that made decisions based on the input of all its members. But when she claims in First Contact to “bring order to chaos,” she becomes nothing more than an illogical plot device. The Star Trek writers seem to have fallen into the trap of thinking that if the Collective is conscious, that consciousness must be located somewhere within it. But this makes no sense. Consider your brain, which (we hope) is undoubtedly conscious. Is your consciousness located in just one part of your brain? Suppose you start removing cells from that part. The individual cells are not conscious; at some point you arrive at a structure where consciousness is a property of the whole but not of any of its parts. How big is the whole? Perhaps it’s not your brain but your whole body that’s conscious. In the same way, the consciousness of the Collective is much more likely to reside in the whole than in any of its “cells.”
For the Borg, to think is virtually to act. When their ship is damaged by the Enterprise-D photon torpedoes, the Borg regenerate the damage by merely thinking about it (“Q Who?” TNG). As one huge mind, the Collective often ignores small details or events while focusing on performing specific, more important tasks. In many ways, the Borg resemble a network of parallel linked computers.
The Borg begin as biological life forms (as shown in the ship’s nursery in “Q Who?”), but soon after birth, are connected to the Collective through artificially intelligent implants. Humans and other intelligent life forms are assimilated through injections of Borg nanoprobes that convert them into members of the group mind. This process occurs very quickly, as shown by Captain Picard’s conversion into Locutus in The Next Generation episode “The Best of Both Worlds” and the assimilation of various members of the Enterprise-E crew in First Contact. Again, the parallels between our growing dependence on computers, from early childhood onward, is obvious.
In his study of the Borg nanoprobes, the holographic doctor on Voyager comments on the amazing speed at which the nanotech devices attack human blood cells. And he marvels at how the mechanisms used to inject those nanoprobes can pierce any armor (“Scorpion,” VGR). The Borg, like modern technological advances, are seemingly unstoppable.
It’s pretty unbelievable that nanotechnology’s been developed by the Borg and not by the Federation. Nanoprobes are sophisticated scientific devices, not something that a holographic computer program can cook up in a few weeks. There needs to be a huge library of information and background available for Dr. Crusher to propose using nanotechnology against the Borg—or even to estimate that it would take three weeks to develop nanites to fight the invaders. Twenty-one days isn’t enough time to develop an entirely new branch of science.
Still, nanotechnology seems to lurk in the shadows of Federation research. Wesley accidentally creates a nanotech civilization in “Evolution” (TNG). In “Ethics” (TNG), Worf receives neuro-transducers, nano-implants that pick up his brain’s electrical signals and stimulate the appropriate muscles. He also receives an entirely new spinal column, cooked up for him in a vat within a day. If Federation doctors can remove a spinal column and boil up a new one in a kettle, and toss in a few hundred or thousand nano-implants to make it work, then Federation science already knows a heck of a lot about nanotechnology.
Yet it’s never used in any intelligent way.
In The Next Generation’s “I, Borg,” an analysis of Three of Five’s biochip implants provides a great deal of information about the Borg command structure. An invasive code is developed on the Enterprise that is deemed capable of destroying the entire Borg Collective, but it’s never implemented. Why this code isn’t used when the Borg attack Earth in First Contact isn’t clear.
In First Contact, Picard kills two Borg using a holodeck machine gun from the 1930s. We wonder of course how a holographic gun can kill anyone.* But this objection aside, it’s unlikely that a bullet could kill a Borg. Surely their nanotech devices repair the creatures and regenerate lost tissues. A bullet wound shouldn’t be a big deal to nanotechnology this sophisticated. But most implausible is Picard’s statement that each Borg has a neuroprocessor: “It’s like a memory chip. It’ll contain the record of all the instructions this Borg has been receiving from the Collective.” If it’s so easy to decode the neuroprocessor device, why hasn’t the Federation disabled all Borg neuroprocessors using destruction commands sent over wireless transmissions?
It’s because the Borg are just too much fun to remove them from the show. And so, as fans, we ignore their illogical aspects. Just as we ignore the medical improbabilities that abound in all the Trek adventures.
Medicine
Doctors play an important part in the Star Trek universe. Dr. McCoy, in the original series, Drs. Crusher and Pulaski in The Next Generation, Dr. Bashir in Deep Space Nine, and the holographic doctor in Voyager are all dedicated, hard-working individuals (if sometimes lacking in bedside manner) and superb physicians who perform medical miracles undreamed of in our time.
Or do they? Is the medical technology of Star Trek that advanced? Most pertinent for this book, are computers as integrated into the healing arts as fully as they should be in the world of the future?
Again, we find recycled, outdated concepts pushed ahead three hundred years. Like Landru and its smoking vacuum tubes, what’s true in medicine today won’t necessarily be true centuries from now, just as much of the basic healing lore of three centuries ago is seen as superstitious nonsense today. Too much of Star Trek’s medical t
echnology is merely unimaginative projections of today’s doctoring tossed bodily into the future.
Consider tricorders. They’ve been featured in Star Trek from the very first series. As demonstrated throughout hundreds of episodes, a tricorder is used as a computer, a sensor, and a portable communicator for immediate contact with the starship or other crewmembers. It’s operated by touch but also responds to voice commands. In many ways, they’re like the PADDs discussed in Chapter 2. At the time of the first series, tricorders were quite futuristic, a remarkably accurate guess of what was to come.
The medical tricorder, used by Dr. McCoy and all who followed him, is just a standard tricorder with a number of additional functions. Medical tricorders are primarily used to scan crewmembers for organ system functions, diseases, and other health problems. Tricorders have huge memories (isolinear chips, of course) and so hold huge amounts of information in their medical databases.
Impossible today? At this moment, yes, but medical tricorders aren’t very far in the future. Hospitals are relying more and more on handheld computer devices to measure everything from body temperature (a sensor placed in the patient’s ear for an instant) to blood pressure (done on one finger). Twenty or thirty years from now, we can expect hospital personnel to be carrying medical tricorders, capable of performing numerous medical tasks, as part of their standard equipment.
Biobeds are used routinely in all the Star Trek series. Victims of accidents, disease, and attacks are placed there for recovery. The beds monitor all major life systems and include a variety of surgical support frames. Science fiction? Only in the slightest sense of the word. Check out the Intensive Care Unit of any major hospital. Computers are used to monitor patients’ vital signs. Emergency equipment for dealing with everything from choking to heart attacks is on hand. The only difference between the beds on Star Trek and those today is the absence of the wires used for sensors. While perhaps not as tightly linked with computers, critical-care units are quickly approaching that standard.
The Computers of Star Trek Page 13