David R. George, III

I wasn't going to bother with Spock's story in David R. George's Crucible series, because the Kirk and McCoy instalments hardly set the world alight and I didn't know if I could stand a whole novel about Vulcan philosophies and rituals. Turns out I was right on the first count - I wouldn't have missed much - but find myself strangely cheated on the second: this story is more a rehash of the Kirk and McCoy narratives, with a second stab at Spock's Kohlinar thrown in for good measure. Mr show more George could have saved himself a lot of time by just writing one book.

In order of grievances, Spock's story is lacking three key details: action, originality and t'hy'la. Spock's life seems stuck in a loop: he leaves Starfleet because working closely with humans is throwing his Vulcan reserve out of whack, journeys to Vulcan to cleanse himself of all emotion, realises that he can no more deny his human half than his Vulcan heritage, returns to Starfleet. Lather, rinse, repeat. The only trouble is, for those who have seen Star Trek: the Motion Picture, George's rehash of all this is rather redundant. In fact, the whole novel adds little to the original series or the films. We also get a summary of season one episode 'The City on the Edge of Forever' - strangely, for a novel about Spock, from Kirk's perspective - which goes nowhere, and is also used in McCoy's narrative. Basically, Spock feels guilty - both about interfering in time and not interfering enough - and tries again to achieve Kohlinar. He is successful this time, but decides - completely randomly - that he made a mistake, and undoes the rigorous training in a paragraph of dialogue with McCoy. That's the story in a nutshell.

Then we have Spock and Kirk. Now, your mileage may vary, but there is no denying how close these two were during the series and the films - even Roddenberry admitted that the Captain and his Vulcan First Officer love each other, whether physically or purely emotionally. The Vulcan word for this is t'hy'la, meaning friend, brother and/or lover. Jim Kirk was Spock's t'hy'la - only not in David R. George's view, oh no sir. Spock might have lead a lonely life, and Kirk might have had a 'solitary nature', but these two were just friends looking for the right heterosexual life partners. Nothing to see here, move on. Even though George can't explain what prompted Spock to try for Kohlinar in the first place, immediately after the end of the five year mission with Kirk, he is certain that Spock's feelings for the Captain have nothing to do with anything. Denial doesn't begin to cover George's canon blindness. He even throws in a beautiful, intelligent female ambassador - who looks a lot like Droxine from The Cloud Minders, an awkward Spock flirtation from the series - and has the usually solitary and reserved Vulcan fall instantly head over heels in love with her to emphasise his point.

The only trouble is, denying the depth and nature of Spock's love for Kirk, then having him forge an instant relationship with Ambassador Mary Sue, doesn't work with the Spock we know from the original series and the films. Neither does Spock's overwhelming 'guilt' about various past events during his time aboard the Enterprise - Spock would have made the correct logical decision at the time, and would hardly have cause to doubt his actions years down the line. The word I think the author was looking for is 'grief' not 'guilt', only he painted himself into a corner by denying Spock his t'hy'la and had to embroider an introspective, platonic alternative. Needless to say, the ending is ridiculously implausible - neat, but unlikely, and hardly satisfying.

I think I shall have to look elsewhere for a more honest appraisal of Mr Spock's true character! show less

As much as I have often been critical of Destiny-era fiction, I would say that it has all reached a basic level of competence: they are all stories about people trying to accomplish things against obstacles placed in their way. Now, this might seem like damning with faint praise... but it's praise one cannot bring to Revelation and Dust, a book where almost nothing happens for the first 250 pages

No one is trying to accomplish anything and encountering obstacles; rather, we just get a series show more of dull scenes intended to establish what all the Deep Space Nine characters have been up to since they were last seen in Raise the Dawn. Sisko thinks a lot while Yates makes dinner in a replicator. Ro thinks a lot while looking at a park. Quark thinks a lot while looking at his bar. O'Brien thinks a lot while putting on his dress uniform. Nan Bacco has meetings that don't really go anywhere, but I assume are meant to set up things that will happen in later installments of The Fall. There seem to be an interminable number of scenes where people go to memorials or other ceremonies. But nothing actually happens.

A lot of the book seems to be there to set up the new Deep Space 9. There are paragraphs about things like turbolift design and the layout of Ops and what the new hospital is like and what the names of every counselor assigned to the station are. Quite frankly, I don't care what it all looks like if there's not a story it's all in support of. In any case, as long as the station gets rebuilt and replaced, there's no way destroying it could really change the fundamentals of DS9 storytelling in a meaningful way. It's like when a comic book crossover kills off a minor-but-beloved character to prove the situation is serious... it doesn't prove anything at all, because you know that the next time a writer wants to use, say, Firestorm, he'll be back, and he'll be fine. DS9 is back, and it doesn't matter if "Ops" is now called "the Hub," everything was fine.

The one exception to this is the Kira subplot. Kira was on a runabout that exploded in the wormhole in Raise the Dawn (I guess? I actually totally forgot about this), and we find out what happened to her here. First she spends her time observing a, I shit you not, 25-page line-by-line recap of every single wormhole scene from "Emissary." It is so boring. I have seen "Emissary," and whatever new spin one might gain on it is quickly drained away by the fact that Kira is way behind the reader in terms of what is happening. I have no idea what this was supposed to be in aid of.

I should have counted my blessings, because soon Kira is in the ancient past of Bajor, inhabiting the existence of someone named "Keev," and it is 100% people you don't care about with space names interacting with other people you don't care about with space names. The novel never gives you a reason to want Keev to succeed, and I quickly turned to skimming these chapters when they appeared. This is actually the third time in the DS9 relaunch there's been an extended sequence of Kira in Bajor's past (it also happened in "Horn and Ivory" and Warpath), so this is a well that's been gone to a bit too much at this point. As my friend Brendan pointed out, "all they ever feel like is a thematic crutch. Why not have Kira evolve and learn lessons based on events in her actual life?"

Two thirds of the way into this book, Federation president Nan Bacco is assassinated. You might thing this would kick the book into high gear, but instead, people sit around and think about how sad they are. The investigation has little sense of urgency, and not all the actions Ro and Blackmer take make a lot of sense. (Ro announces Bacco is dead, and it doesn't occur to her that all the other heads of state might have security concerns until they contact her.)

The lack of urgency is exacerbated by the fact that at this point the Keev chapters increase in frequency, now alternating with present-day events, so every time something does happen, you're promptly jerked to something you don't care about.

I like David R. George III as a writer-- Twilight and Serpents among the Ruins rank among my favorite Star Trek books-- but his Destiny-era stuff started out feeling misguided, and seems to keep getting worse

Continuity Notes:

• The O'Brien family moved to Cardassia in 2376, if I recall correctly; O'Brien was then assigned to build the new Deep Space 9 in 2383. That means he lived on Cardassia for seven years... as long as he lived on the original Deep Space 9! To be honest, I just don't feel it, and I don't know if I ever will.
• Also, why has Nog essentially been demoted in responsibility? Before his assignment to the Challenger in Indistinguishable from Magic he was chief engineer of Deep Space 9; now that he's returned, he's assistant chief engineer! And he's assistant to a guy he considerably outranks.

Other Notes:

• Copy editing is a bit poor. On p. 45, for example, we're told Kira "didn't care much for the sport [of baseball]-- or really even understand it," and then two paragraphs later that Kira "[a]lthough she had eventually learned the rules of the sport, she had never really understood it." Yes, I got it the first time!
• There's also some very clunky dialogue, such as a sequence where O'Brien, Nog, Bashir, and Sarina discuss how many heads of state are on the station: "'I'm not talking about worlds,' O'Brien said, 'I'm talking about empires and unions and hegemonies.' 'Don't forget alliances,' Nog said, doubtless speaking about his Ferengi origins" (p. 239).
• To be honest, I feel like it's hard to justify Ro and Blackmer keeping their jobs. They had one station sabotaged out from under them, and then on the day the next one opened, the president of the Federation was killed! What kind of operation are they running?

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Wow! George has always been one of my favorite Star Trek authors but this blew me away.

The book begins seconds before the previous novel ended. U.S.S. Robinson exits the worm whole to find explosions galore and Sisko may never be the same again.

It's certainly an odd story though. 400 pages, only 24 chapters, but a prologue and an epilogue that make up 100 of those pages.

The Romulan praetor is committed to peace even when everything the Romulans have been doing leads the rest of the show more universe to believe otherwise, but she goes to great lengths to make it reality.

The leaps between the real world, the past, the wormhole are written so amazingly that something that should be incredibly confusing is even easier to follow than if it was in front of your face, and I have never had so may out loud physical emotional responses to ANY book, let alone any Star Trek book. show less

Armin Shimerman and David R. George III’s novel, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The 34th Rule takes place during the fourth season of DS9 and puts the Ferengi Alliance at odds with the Bajoran Provisional Government. Following the events of the third season episode “Prophet Motive,” Grand Nagus Zek plans to auction off the Orb of the Prophets he purchased from the Cardiassians, who had looted it when they departed Bajor following the occupation. Bajor places a bid, but does not make it to show more the final round of the auction. The Provisional Government believes that they have a legal right to the Orb as it was looted from them, so they demand that the Nagus allow them to continue in the auction or they will bar all Ferengi from Bajoran space, including the wormhole. The Nagus refuses, the Bajoran Provisional Government expels the Ferengi, and Quark and his brother Rom find themselves in uncertain waters on Deep Space Nine. The Bajorans arrest them, but put them in an interment camp when the Ferengi blockade the Bajoran system, denying access to food, medicine, and other trade goods. In their plot, Shimerman and George drew inspiration from the U.S. government’s internment of Japanese and Japanese-Americans during World War II. Shimerman further used this novel to deepen the portrayal of the Ferengi, an effort he began in his role as Quark to counter their portrayal in the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, “The Last Outpost.”

Shimerman portrays Captain Benjamin Sisko and others, both in Starfleet and the Bajorian militia, examining their motives. For example, Sisko discusses his reticence to do more to resist the Bajoran edict and questions if he is motivated by conscious or unconscious biases (pg. 113). Jake responds, “It’s only natural to draw inferences from the compilation of your life experiences. It’s only when somebody does that without thinking, or to adversely affect another person, that it’s a bad thing… The fact that you’re now questioning yourself about the Federation’s role – and your own role – in this affair between the Bajorans and the Ferengi is an indication of that” (pg. 114, further examples on pg. 360-361). The Ferengi themselves continue to serve as an example of the perils of capitalism. As Jake says, “As far as the Ferengi are concerned, I think it’s important for you to realize that it’s because you believe so deeply in your own philosophy – including the Federation Constitution, Starfleet regulations, and the Prime Directive – that it’s difficult for you to credit not only a foreign notion of right and wrong, but something that was previously considered wrong in Earth’s past. Capitalism and greed almost destroyed our world” (pg. 115). Shimerman and George’s novel thus gets to the very heart of the humanistic morality that underpins every entry in the Star Trek franchise. A worthy entry in the Deep Space Nine series of novels from one of the people who best knows the characters. show less