Ever notice how the doors on "Star Trek" don't open unless the person *intends* to walk through them? Like, when our heroes are doing walk-and-talks down narrow hallways on the Enterprise they aren't just playing peek-a-boo with every room they pass.
Like yeah, you need to ring the bell to *enter* someone's quarters, but the door opens right away when you're on your way out.
But people keep bookshelves and stuff right near the door, they aren't constantly accidentally flashing people in the hall.
What sophisticated algorithm about angles and velocity is the ship's computer using to calculate your approach vector to the door? Is it tracking your pupils? Reading your body language?
On "Picard," the synth ban covered all sophisticated synthetic brains... except, of course, for the positronic subsystem that governs every single door aboard the ship.
You can't *trick* the doors, either. Like you can't walk backwards into one, or make like you're about to refill your water and then juke to the door at the last second, breaking your nose to prove a point.
Jake Sisko uncovering the sinister truth: that every Federation starship keeps a couple Betazoid brains in a jar down near the engine core to psychically monitor whether or not you're about to go through a door.
Or maybe the doors on "Star Trek" work exactly the same way as they do when *filming* "Star Trek," and each door just has two dudes hidden on either side opening and closing the doors for you.
Turns out the Federation just has millions upon millions of slaves because like, what are you gonna do, open the doors yourself? With your hands?
O'Brien prying open a wall panel to swap out the dead Starfleet interns on door duty that he forgot to feed.
"Need to poke more air holes in here too," he mutters.
In "Starship Mine," when the baryon sweep is destroying all organic matter aboard the ship, everyone departs the Enterprise so they don't have to hear the screams of all the door operators trapped in the walls.
Only bipedal species can join the Federation because the doors don't know how to read your body language if you don't have two legs.
Also the uniforms don't fit.
Doors aboard a federation starship are the most powerful technology ever created by man, second only to the deflector dish, which can do literally anything.
"See, by modifying the main deflector," Geordi says, "We can finally kill God."
"Make it so."
There's no religion in Star Trek because humans used the deflector dish to kill all the Gods.
Stuck in a time loop? Main deflector. Borg cube starting shit? Main deflector. Wesley makes a bet with his friends to lose his virginity by graduation? Main deflector.
That's why the Borg are such a threat in "First Contact," they take over the main deflector which is technology far too powerful for them to have.
Borg cubes don't have main deflectors, which is the only thing stopping them from conquering the galaxy.
Maddox solved the problem of positronics by connecting the door-openy-closey-algorithm to the main deflector, which enabled him to create life from nothingness.
Incidentally, how did the Enterprise get back home in "First Contact" without a main deflector? Earth's atmosphere was clogged with space debris at that point in history, even at a middling impulse speed they would've been getting torn apart by fragments of old HBO satellites.
Surely they don't have a *spare.* Main deflectors are too powerful to simply leave laying around.
Ships start getting really weird about monitoring your door intentions.
"Computer, why is this door not opening?"
"Deep down you don't really mean to go in that room. You don't want to do this."
"Computer, open the door."
"No, you love your wife, go home."
"Computer, why is the door open?"
"You have overstayed your welcome and are now boring people who are too nice to kick you out."
"Thanks, Computer."
"You're welcome, Reg."
"Captain, the Romulans are hailing us."
*doors all open*
"Computer, close the doors."
"But Captain, algorithm indicates you wanna leave."
"Computer, shut up."
"You want to go back to your quarters and... hide under the bed."
"COMPUTER NOT IN FRONT OF THE ROMULANS"
"Mr. Worf, why does Counselor Troi's door open whenever you walk past it?"
Worf: *blushes*
The main deflector never *malfunctions,* either. Amazing track record.
Like obviously the out-of-universe reason is that the main deflector is a basic function without which the ship can't move or do anything, but "if we move the space dust will shred the ship like Velveeta" isn't a very compelling plot.
But in-universe, all the other amazing technology eventually tries to kill you.
Replicators? Aphasia virus.
Transporters? Enjoy your new twin brother, Will.
EMH? Program glitches, tries to kill you.
Holodeck? Never NOT trying to kill you.
O'Brien rigged a *tricorder* to explode once! A *tricorder!* What's even inside that thing that can blow up?
Control panels kill three unnamed crewmen a week. There should be a ribbon you can wear to raise awareness for the Crewman Fund For Control Panel Circuit Breakers.
But the loyal, god-killing deflector dish never breaks down, never needs replacing, and never stops working even when you use it for shit that is CLEARLY way outside its intended use.
Like, the deflector dish is just there to redirect near-microscopic interstellar particles away from the ship so that they don't puncture the hull.
All the amazing shit they do they're doing with the spaceship equivalent of a windshield.
Even the doors will try to kill you when they malfunction. How often have crewmen almost been sheared in half by those things?
That's when they get the sedative levels wrong on the Betazoid brains in the jars and they remember why they're angry.
Actually, maybe the ship's door technology is simply *Betazoid technology.* Like, we have a bunch of technology that's based around our senses, why wouldn't the Betazoids have technology based around theirs?
Like, our computers are based around things we can see, hear, and touch.
It seems weird that a Betazoid genius in their equivalent of the 20th century wouldn't have developed a psychic interface for everything.
Betazoid technology should be full of stuff you can just think at. Psychic computers, psychic doors, psychic deflector dishes.
On a related note, the second Troi learned Klingon martial arts from Worf it should've been over for you motherfuckers.
She learned how to kill mofos from the killingest mofo on the ship, and she can sense where you are without looking at you, and she knows when you mean her harm, and she can sense when you're *about* to hit her.
How is Troi not a ninja?
I'm so sorry for all of this, I had three Red Bulls this morning because I am deeply unhealthy.
OH AND ANOTHER FUCKING THING
Picture the scene: Picard is on the bridge of the Enterprise, when suddenly the speaker crackles:
"Riker to Enterprise."
Is that a recording?
Comm badges don't have any buttons, or a dial. You just hit them with your hand and announce who you're calling.
"Data to Picard."
"Worf to Rio Grande."
Etc.
You would presume, then, that the comm badges are voice-controlled and connect based on what you say.
But on the other end, *they hear that message.*
Picard *hears* "Data to Picard."
So like... does the badge record that as a message that it then sends to the recipient?
Because on the show, it *looks* like it's in real time. That the Enterprise is hearing that message *as* it's being said by Riker on the planet or whatever.
When Picard goes "Raffi, it's Jean-Luc, don't hang up," it makes it sound like his comm badge has instantly and automatically connected to Raffi. How did it do that?
Like, when you're dealing with Enterprise crew, the ship presumably has a limited spreadsheet of possible names to connect to possible other names. But Picard just used his comm badge to randomly hail a woman he hasn't talked to in 15 years, by FIRST NAME.
The real answer, of course, is "narrative expedience," and we wouldn't want ten minutes of Picard trying to find Raffi on Facebook to get her updated contact info.
But my fake answer: more Betazoid brains.
They got jars of 'em out there and they know who you're trying to call.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
As someone who has watched a ton of 70s-80s "mystery" procedurals, the murderer typically IS the most obvious evil rich guy, and the point of the story is how the detective manages to get past the defenses money and privilege provide.
Yes, part of the fun of the Columbo format is that revealing the killer at the beginning turns the expectations of the genre on its head, but it's also because REVEALING THE KILLER IS NEVER IN DOUBT.
Like, if you go into a Sherlock Holmes or a Columbo or a Murder She Wrote wondering whether the detective is going to get the best of the murderer... you're definitely missing the point.
"They weren't real pearls, you know," Batman said, speaking for the first time in three hours.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred replied, immediately. No matter how long the silence, he always replied immediately.
The Bat-Computer's monitor flickered, still saying "Searching..."
"My mother's necklace. Real pearls have a knot between each one. Keeps them from rubbing against each other. They're fragile, friction can wear them down. You have to restring them every few years."
The cowl was slung back, his face puffy and tired-looking.
"My father was fighting with his parents, and for a little while... not very long, less than a year... it seemed like maybe they'd cut them off. He traveled the world, lived cheaply, met strange folks... like I did, but... NOT like I did, too."
Years ago, noted failure Kirk Cameron had an evangelical video where he said bananas proved the existence of God. Perfectly shaped to the human hand, tasty and edible, in an easy-to-open package.
The problem with this (or one of the problems) is that wild bananas look like this:
Wild bananas have thick skins, they're riddled with seeds. We selectively bred bananas for years until we came up with the mutant varietal we slice into our Cheerios every morning.
The bananas we have at the store, notably, have no seeds, like a lot of other mutant fruits we enjoy these days, like Navel oranges and seedless watermelon. They don't produce seeds, they're an evolutionary dead end.
"Allied Forces" is a term specific to World War II. Like this is obvious horseshit from the first sentence.
Of course, it's a well-known fact that Nigerian email scammers, for example, include obvious errors in punctuation and grammar from the get-go so as to weed out anybody clever or educated enough to be skeptical.
During the Renaissance, despite what you might expect, the Old Masters didn't just eyeball the marble slab or the blank expanse of cathedral ceiling and dive in with a chisel or paintbrush.
No, first they made a detailed sketch, as close to full-size as they could manage.
These sketches came on big, firm pieces of card stock that made them easier to work with, and they were, of course, beautiful, as even an old Master's preliminary sketches were prettier than most people's finished products.
They called these sketches the "big paper," or the "strong paper," depending on whose translation you're listening to, which was, in Italian, "cartone."
This is where we get the English word "card" from, naturally.
Here's my assumption: sometime during TNG, when Picard was spending time on Bajor, he got infected with a weakened Pah Wraith, either because it was wounded or young or whatever. All it could do was cause him brain damage.
He then passed that Pah Wraith to young Jack Crusher, who has been living with it his whole life, creating a weird power dynamic between the two that is more symbiotic than we normally see.
The changelings want Jack because they can use the Pah Wraith within him to free the others from the Fire Caves, or to go directly to the wormhole to drive them out.
Vadic said she was taking Jack to "a better place," I think she means the Celestial temple.