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"The Child" -- Air date: 11/21/1988. Written by Jaron Summers & Jon Povill and Maurice Hurley. Directed by Robert Bowman.

As the Enterprise embarks on yet another humanitarian mission to stop yet another deadly plague, a strange and unexpected thing happens in mid-journey: Counselor Troi announces she's pregnant. "Who's the father?" Riker asks accusingly. "There is none," Troi responds.

The height of this episode's wit comes with a funny-in-its-savageness remark by Worf, whose utterly pragmatic Klingon-security-officer response to this mysterious, alien-influenced immaculate conception is simply that it must be terminated at once in order to wall off all possible risk. (Just think of how this could've been the ultimate launching-off point for an abortion-debate episode. Never mind.) The story's sci-fi gimmick is that the pregnancy proceeds at a vastly accelerated rate, such that Troi is giving birth to a son named Ian by the second act. The baby's accelerated growth proceeds from there, and Ian is an eight-year-old boy within 24 hours.

The problem with this story is that it has far too little curiosity in Ian or Troi (for most of the episode, their mother/son scenes meander with precious little original insight or interest), and far too much curiosity in the technobabble subplot, involving a deadly substance sealed in a container for transport to another facility. Some mysterious radiation is causing the seal to crack; if the substance gets out, everyone on the ship will die. The tedious tech details of the radiation, the leak, and the resulting threat drag on needlessly long, causing all interest to drain from the story.

And what about Ian? The story doesn't deal with him nearly enough, until the closing scenes where we learn he's the source of the mysterious radiation, and that he was born to Troi to learn about the human life cycle. Ian's self-sacrifice (or a reversion to his true energy state, if that's the same thing) makes for a good emotional scene that Marina Sirtis delivers on, but the sci-fi themes are familiar.

The episode's serviceable supporting material surrounds Wesley's question of whether to join his recently reassigned mother at Starfleet Medical, the introduction of the abrasive new McCoy-wannabe Dr. Katherine Pulaski (Diana Muldaur), and Guinan (Whoopi Goldberg) as the bartender of Ten-Forward, the Enterprise's new (or at least previously unseen) refreshment lounge.

Rating:

"Where Silence Has Lease" -- Air date: 11/28/1988. Written by Jack B. Sowards. Directed by Winrich Kolbe.

The Enterprise is swallowed into a mysterious void, and every likely means of escape turns out to be a hopeless cause. It's surprisingly intriguing and entertaining, much more so than I remembered. The early stages might best be described as "sci-fi procedural," where the story elements are played for their mystery value and overall atmosphere. The episode doesn't get overly worked up about the strange things going on, but simply observes the Enterprise crew as they try to solve the dilemma. This laid-back approach (with danger implied rather than explicit) somehow makes the episode more effective.

All the usual solutions fail: They deploy a beacon, travel away from it as far as they can, only to arrive upon it again, as if they were running in circles. When holes in the void appear and offer an escape, they then suddenly seal at just the last moment, as if on purpose. When the Enterprise's sister ship, the USS Yamato, appears, Riker and Worf beam over to investigate, but find an empty vessel and a variety of funhouse tricks and illusions. This leads to a humorous sequence where Worf gets fed up and goes on a rampage: "This ship has one bridge! One bridge! One Commander Riker! One bridge!" And Riker has had it too: "Let's put all this technology to work and get the hell out of here!" It's fun to see the TNG characters lose their cool.

Ultimately, the Enterprise crew realizes they're being toyed with ("Rats in a maze," Pulaski observes) in an experiment by a superior intelligent being that calls itself Nagilum (Earl Boen, obscured by visual effects). What doesn't work, alas, is Nagilum himself; as alien designs go he's an exercise in stunning hokiness. Furthermore, his revealed agenda -- to understand human death by killing half the crew -- strikes me as manufactured for the sake of jeopardy. If Nagilum is so smart, why does he need to kill half the crew to understand death? Nagilum's first victim would've been Wesley -- if not for the fact that Wesley is conveniently away from his post during only the scene where someone needs to die. Standing in for him is a Black Guy in a Thankless Role, whose sole purpose is to be killed. This red-shirt death is so blatantly transparent that it possibly outdoes every red-shirt death on the original series.

Not willing to be killed one by one, Picard and Riker arm the self-destruct sequence. Awaiting The End, Picard has a fascinating speech on the philosophies of death that's an example of Trekkian dialog at its finest. It's enough to convince Nagilum to release the ship, which only fuels my belief that his whole death experiment was a pointless enterprise.

Rating:

"Elementary, Dear Data" -- Air date: 12/5/1988. Written by Brian Alan Lane. Directed by Robert Bowman.

Dr. Pulaski, ever the Bones clone looking for a Bones/Spock dynamic, challenges Data to an exercise in human improvisation: solve a Sherlock Holmes-style mystery that was not covered in the original source material. Is he capable of human insight beyond the Boolean logic of computer hardware? Geordi instructs the holodeck computer to create an original mystery with an adversary capable of defeating Data in a duel of wits.

Again we venture into the world of the period costume piece, a la first season's "The Big Goodbye," and like that episode, this one takes its time getting up to speed. I could've done with a little bit less of the Sherlock Holmes material and more of the sci-fi stuff. I think the story also makes a mountain of a molehill where Geordi's "slip of the tongue" is concerned. (Who cares if he instructed the computer to create an adversary that could "beat Data" as opposed to the fictional Holmes? The computer's sentient capability is the issue, not whether misspeaking one word can, or even does, cause it.)

Fortunately, the destination of "Elementary, Dear Data" is well worth the wait, and builds on the one moment of inspiration that "The Big Goodbye" had going for it: the idea that a computer program could become self-aware and grow beyond what it was designed to do. In this case, the intellect of Professor Moriarty (Daniel Davis) grows beyond the holodeck's parameters and is able to witness and participate in events outside its programming. The scene where he calls for the arch is an intriguing moment: We find ourselves asking, what does this mean? When he eventually is able to tie into the Enterprise's computer system and start shaking the ship, he gets Picard's attention.

What I like about this episode is its TNG sensibility. I could see Star Trek today using this as a gimmick solely for an action plot, but in 1988, the story exhibits a genuine curiosity about who Moriarty is now that he knows he's not part of the world he was created for. Picard and Moriarty have an exchange of dialog that's also an exchange of ideas, and they reach a peaceful resolution. It says a lot that Moriarty is willing to put his fate entirely in the hands of someone who could simply order his destruction in the interests of safety. But TNG was really about seeking out new forms of life, and this story highlights the series practicing what it preaches.

Rating:

"The Outrageous Okona" -- Air date: 12/12/1988. Teleplay by Burton Armus. Story by Les Menchen & Lance Dickson and David Landsberg. Directed by Robert Becker.

I'll start with the good part, which earns the episode its points: The B-story involving Data following Guinan's advice to learn humor and taking lessons from a holographic stand-up comic (Joe Piscopo) ends up working reasonably well. Joe Piscopo isn't funny in these scenes, but Data is by definition an inspired straight man to a (would-be) comic persona. The scene where he gives his performance to an audience that laughs no matter what he does is both funny and sad; Data simply doesn't understand humor and maybe never will.

As for the main story, it's one of the most hoary and forgettable things in TNG's run. The Enterprise rescues Captain Okona (William O. Campbell; where's Bruce Campbell when you need him?) from his disabled ship. Okona spends his time aboard the Enterprise making high-spirited jokes, hitting on women, and in general being the type of Personality that requires a capital letter. (Wesley idolizes him ... which makes Wesley an even bigger nerd than I thought.) I suppose nothing says "swashbuckling scoundrel" like a ponytail and a three-day beard. One woman taken by Okona's charms is Teri Hatcher -- yes, Teri Hatcher -- whom Okona beds in record time.

The plot is a pedantic bore masquerading as light comedy. Okona is either in the middle of or the cause of a dispute between two feuding families. Is he the father of the pregnant girl whose father is really mad? Did he steal the crown jewel from the other family? Or is there something else here going on involving hopeless rehashed scraps of Romeo and Juliet? The episode makes it impossible for us to care, particularly in the awful climactic scene where all the parties are aboard the Enterprise and the air is finally cleared -- in one of the worst-acted and worst-directed scenes I can remember on this series.

Rating:

"Loud as a Whisper" -- Air date: 1/9/1989. Written by Jacqueline Zambrano. Directed by Larry Shaw.

The Enterprise is assigned to transport renowned mediator Riva (Howie Seago) to a war-torn planet so he can broker a peace between two warring factions trying to overcome 15 centuries of bitter conflict. Riva turns out to be deaf, and he communicates through a "chorus" of three telepaths who speak for him, each one representing a specific facet of his personality.

This is an episode that seems like it was sold on a promising concept that ultimately no one could build enough of a story for. The early scenes set up the story in what by now comes across as formula TNG: lots of exposition, some of it interesting, some of it not, all of it taking up screen time in a very slow-moving story. Then we get back to the Enterprise where we have to sit through another round of introductions to the crew. Given that Riva is so well-known, I don't understand why everyone is surprised to find out he's deaf. (Maybe because if they already knew, the story would have no excuse for its exposition.)

Riva is very confident in his abilities to broker a peace agreement. So confident, indeed, that when a member of one faction tries to sabotage the talks by killing Riva's chorus, Riva's confidence is shattered almost beyond repair. We then get a series of scenes (too many, in my opinion) where the Enterprise crew tries to coax Riva back to the peace process he's supposed to be brokering. Only Counselor Troi is able to get through to him, in part because of their previous romantic overtures.

I'm sorry, but the solution just doesn't work. Riva's argument is that starting from zero and teaching sign language to both sides will become the common ground that will allow the communication and negotiations to flourish. Call me cynical, but I find it more likely that someone's going to pull out a gun and shoot up the place out of sheer frustration during such an arduous process. If these people have been fighting for 15 centuries (shouldn't they all be dead by now?), how is Riva and his simplistic solution honestly going to make a dent? I'm all for TNG optimism, but this is pushing it.

Rating:

"The Schizoid Man" -- Air date: 1/23/1989. Teleplay by Tracy Torme. Story by Richard Manning & Hans Beimler. Directed by Les Landau.

The Enterprise comes to the aid of terminally ill scientist Dr. Ira Graves (W. Morgan Sheppard), in the hopes of documenting his as-yet-unrevealed scientific discoveries before he dies. Graves, however, takes a very specific interest in Data and spends his final hours with the android. Data subsequently begins exhibiting strange behavior, the most amusing of which is the delivery of a ridiculous and indulgent eulogy for the recently departed Graves ("To know him was to love him, and to love him was to know him").

The plot is obvious to us, but not to the Enterprise crew: Graves, utilizing his own scientific breakthrough of combining the human brain and computer data storage, has transferred his consciousness and knowledge into Data and is vying for total control of Data's mind. The crew slowly begins to realize that Graves has somehow hijacked Data's personality. One major clue might be Graves'/Data's verbally expressed jealousy concerning Graves' assistant Kareen (Barbara Alyn Woods), and the ever-increasing size of Data's ego, which, by definition, should be nonexistent. I was amused by much of the Data/Picard interaction: Watching Data's sly insubordination and condescension toward Picard is a source of much of the episode's fun.

The episode's Serious Human Theme is whether this man Graves can retain his humanity now that he has superior android strength and mental abilities. And can he plausibly love Kareen, whom he previously admired without revealing his feelings on the account of their age difference? The other question is about Data's rights as a person, which Graves has usurped by hijacking his body. I like that the episode ends with a battle of reasoning between Graves and Picard, and that Graves proves Picard's point and is smart enough to fully realize that what he's doing won't work. But overall this is sort of an obvious storyline, and one that doesn't exploit its themes for what they're worth.

Rating:

"Unnatural Selection" -- Air date: 1/30/1989. Written by John Mason & Mike Gray. Directed by Paul Lynch.

In another episode of TNG to feature a deadly disease and the Enterprise warping in to the rescue (a reliable Trek cliche not avoided in the first two seasons of TNG, to be sure), Dr. Pulaski attempts to find a cure to a disease that is causing rapid aging on a Federation space station that's perhaps too ironically named Darwin Station. (The disease has already killed the crew of an entire starship.)

In terms of character, I did appreciate the way the story establishes Pulaski as a strong-willed personality willing to go to the mat for her point of view and for her patients, even if she must risk herself. She stands up to Picard and argues the merits, even if it means Picard doesn't get to finish a sentence. Picard, always the final authority, but ever the diplomat and patient listener, calls her on her penchant for interrupting without making a big deal about it.

Pulaski's medical safeguards fail, and in attempting to find the cure in the station's genetically engineered children, she ends up infected herself. (The children are actually the cause of the disease because of their genetically manipulated immune systems, which create the disease without being susceptible to it.)

I find it very hard to be moved by an episode like "Unnatural Selection," mainly because the episode is too mired in procedure and arbitrary pseudoscientific details rather than characters or plot. Also, diseases that make people prematurely old are not very interesting. In terms of its sci-fi procedural approach, I suppose it's worth noting that the episode makes sense for most of the way and the pieces fit together to make a workable puzzle -- that is, until the end, where the transporter is used to magically restore Pulaski's DNA (and cure the rest of the station's residents). This is a perfect example of the tech solving the plot arbitrarily rather than any sort of legitimate dramatic payoff. But then that's often the problem with tech medical shows like these.

Rating:

"A Matter of Honor" -- Air date: 2/6/1989. Teleplay by Burton Armus. Story by Wanda M. Haight & Gregory Amos and Burton Armus. Directed by Robert Bowman.

Commander Riker is selected to participate in an officer exchange program that allows him to be the first Starfleet officer to serve aboard a Klingon vessel. Logically, you would think this would mean a Klingon officer would serve aboard the Enterprise, but since we already have Worf I guess that would be a redundancy. Instead, we get Ensign Mendon (John Putch), a Benzite who is very anxious to please. Mendon's arrogant-seeming personality is initially an annoyance before the story demonstrates that it truly understands him and allows us to sympathize with his different way of looking at things.

"A Matter of Honor" is TNG at its pro-diversity best. It's a perfect vehicle for Riker, providing an opportunity for him to exhibit both cerebral and testosterone-driven attributes. Consider the scene in Ten-Forward where he samples what seems like the entire Klingon menu: Here's a guy with a strong stomach and a completely genuine desire to learn about and immerse himself in an alien culture. Riker does his homework.

The scenes aboard the Klingon ship give us the first of the series' first-person perspectives into the workings and mindset of the TNG-era Klingons (which is to say the Klingons as allies rather than enemies). The story makes no mistake about the fact that the Klingons are a very different culture with very different values, as in the scene where Riker and first officer Klag (Brian Thompson) discuss Klag's father, whom Klag has essentially disowned because the father was unable to die in battle during his prime. The beauty of "A Matter of Honor" is its ability to find common ground between these divergent characters through universal qualities like food, humor, and self-integrity.

The plot throws a complication into this theme when the Klingon crew finds a substance eating away at the ship's hull and believes the Enterprise is to blame (for reasons that the plot is able to almost make plausible). The only thing holding this episode back somewhat is the stubborn, unlikely obstinacy of Captain Kargan (Christopher Collins), who seems way too determined to attack the Enterprise in retaliation rather than waiting to examine all the facts. But I enjoyed Riker's clever response to Kargan's unwillingness to listen, and his ability to play by the Klingons' rules in staging his power play. Riker's demand for Picard's surrender is classic.

Rating:

"The Measure of a Man" -- Air date: 2/13/1989. Written by Melinda M. Snodgrass. Directed by Robert Scheerer.

In TNG's first bona fide classic, the nature of Data's existence becomes a fascinating philosophical debate and a basis for a crucial legal argument and Federation precedent. Commander Bruce Maddox (Brian Brophy), on behalf of Starfleet, orders Data to be reassigned and dismantled for scientific research in the hopes of finding a way to manufacture more androids with his physical and mental abilities. When Data says he would rather resign from Starfleet, Maddox insists that Data has no rights and takes it up with the region's newly created JAG office, headed by Capain Philipa Louvois (Amanda McBroom), who serves as judge. Picard takes on the role of Data's defender.

This episode plays like a rebuke to "The Schizoid Man," taking the themes that were intriguing in that episode and expanding upon them to much better effect. What rights does Data have under the law, and is that the same as what's morally right to grant him as a sentient machine? Of course, one of Maddox's arguments is that Data doesn't have sentience, but merely the appearance of such. The episode cleverly pits Riker against Picard; because the new JAG office has no staff yet, the role of prosecution is forced upon the first officer. Riker finds himself arguing a case he doesn't even believe in -- but nevertheless ends up arguing it very well, including with a devastating theatrical courtroom maneuver where he turns Data off on the stand.

Picard's rebuttal is classic TNG ideology as put in a courtroom setting. The concept of manufacturing a race of artificial but sentient people has disturbing possibilities -- "an entire generation of disposable people," as Guinan puts it. Picard's demand of an answer from Maddox, "What is he?" strips the situation down to its bare basics, and Picard answers Starfleet's mantra of seeking out new life by suggesting Data as the perfect example: "THERE IT SITS." Great stuff.

Still, what I perhaps love most about this episode is the way Data initially reacts to being told he has no rights. He takes what would for any man be a reason for outrage and instead approaches the situation purely with logic. He has strong opinions on the matter, but he doesn't get upset, because that's outside the scope of his ability to react. His reaction is based solely on the logical argument for his self-protection and his uniqueness. And at the end, after he has won, he holds no ill will toward Maddox. Indeed, he can sort of see where Maddox is coming from.

Trivia footnote: This is also the first episode of TNG to feature the poker game.

Rating:

"The Dauphin" -- Air date: 2/20/1989. Written by Scott Rubenstein & Leonard Mlodinow. Directed by Robert Bowman.

In what might've been the most inevitable story concept in early TNG annals, the overly naive Wesley Crusher falls in love with the lovely Salia (Jaime Hubbard), a 16-year-old girl who has been raised from a very young age to rule the planet where the Enterprise is now transporting her. Salia is accompanied by her grandmotherly-like guardian Anya (Paddi Edwards), whose insistence that Salia stay focused on her destined duty (rather than on boys) plays like a mission of monomania.

I could take obvious potshots at the much-targeted Wesley Crusher for the sake of cheap entertainment value, but the fact of the matter is that I need to accord the character a certain level of fairness. So I'll start with the (surprisingly tempered and fair) potshot and then move on to the positive: Wesley is too obviously painted as a naïve boy, with that overly anxious Wil Wheaton smile and wonderment. (Yes, Wesley is young; does it need to be hammered over our heads with zero subtlety? I don't think it does.)

On the other hand, Wesley's naïvete does make for relevant story material and a different point of view vis-à-vis the rest of the bridge crew. The Wesley-falls-in-love story is handled with tact and innocence, which I will note as being to the episode's credit even as I admit my own personal impatience as a more cynical television viewer. I liked a scene where he seeks Riker's and Guinan's help, and they end up in a role-playing game that ultimately ignores Wesley's questions ("Shut up, kid").

What I really could've done without, however, is Anya's overprotectiveness, which takes on a ludicrous zeal that borders on the laughable. When Anya finds out a patient in sickbay has a disease that has an infinitesimal chance to infect Salia (on the order of nearly zero percent), she orders Pulaski to kill the patient and then turns into a bug-eyed monster that looks like it crawled out of a 1950s serial. Way too goofy. And one wonders why the Enterprise would even grant passage to such gross, arrogant presumption.

But there are some good character moments here, like Worf's grudging respect for Anya as a warrior/opponent, and especially the plight of Salia herself, who must forgo the pleasures of living her own life in favor of fulfilling her destined responsibilities. (That Salia herself is a shapeshifter is almost beside the point in terms of her character's arc.) Guinan's closing dialog with Wesley about the mutable nature of love is also fairly palatable.

Rating:

"Contagion" -- Air date: 3/20/1989. Written by Steve Gerber & Beth Woods. Directed by Joseph L. Scanlan.

Opening with a great hook, "Contagion" has the Enterprise rendezvousing in the Romulan Neutral Zone with its sister ship, the Yamato (established in "Where Silence Has Lease"), only to have the Yamato suddenly explode, killing everyone aboard. A Romulan Warbird subsequently, and ominously, arrives on the scene.

What happened here? Were the Romulans responsible? And why was the Yamato in the Neutral Zone? Yamato Captain Varley's (Thalmus Rasulala) mission was an urgent archeological chase, looking for the homeworld of the legendary Iconians, an advanced society that went extinct thousands of years ago after being besieged by its many enemies. Varley ventured into the Neutral Zone to find the Iconian world and their surviving technology, lest it fall into Romulan hands. Widespread malfunctions aboard the Yamato, however, made the ship virtually inoperable and, ultimately, doomed it to its destruction. Varley said he suspected possible design flaws, which leads the Enterprise on a hunt through its systems to find its own possible problem. The answer: a computer virus infected the Yamato when it was scanned by an Iconian probe. The Enterprise itself becomes infected when it downloads the Yamato logs.

As TNG procedural tech stories go, "Contagion" is a fairly entertaining one, with its blend of ancient archeological mysteries, ominous Romulan threats (this marks their first real appearance since season one's finale), computer tech talk, and sometimes-amusing system malfunctions (the Enterprise as well as the Romulan ship become unmanageable messes). The notion of the Iconian "gateway" technology is fascinating, even though I found myself wondering how an Iconian automated launching bay manages to continue functioning (not to mention being so dust-free for the away team) rather than falling into ruin after all these centuries.

What doesn't hold up is the plot advancement surrounding the computer virus and the Enterprise's solution, which is to essentially wipe the affected hard drives and restore them from backup. In a word: Duh. Shouldn't that have been the first course of action? And doesn't the Enterprise computer have virus-protection software? I also find it doubtful that the Yamato crew wouldn't be able to figure out what was going on when they had just as much information as the Enterprise crew. But I quibble on a basically solid show.

Rating:

"The Royale" -- Air date: 3/27/1989. Written by Keith Mills. Directed by Cliff Bole.

The most interesting aspect of "The Royale" is its math-history footnote concerning Fermat's Last Theorem, still unproved in 1989 when the episode was made, and still allegedly unproved in the 24th century. Who would've guessed then that the theorem, after more than 350 years, would be proved in 1995?

I mention that footnote in an episode that otherwise exhibits almost no interest or merit. After the Enterprise crew finds a piece of NASA space debris from the mid-21st century and traces it to a nearby planet, Riker, Data, and Worf beam down and enter a mysterious building. Inside they find an alien representation of a 20th-century casino hotel as based on a "second-rate novel" owned by the NASA astronaut that had survived, and used as a template by aliens to build him an oasis in the middle of a barren, unlivable environment. It makes for a classic TNG Pointless Period Piece.

The first sentence of the novel was, "It was a dark and stormy night," and the episode makes much of the fact that the novel is a piece of trash with shallow characters and endless cliches. I suppose this is to cover the fact that "The Royale," as an episode of TNG, has shallow characters and endless cliches. Seriously, it must've been a hell of a writers' meeting: "Let's do an episode that's about bad cliches and lame dialog so we don't have to write something that's actually good!" (Apparently, they figured that by pointing out that the storyline is dreck, that somehow excuses it.) The away team becomes trapped in the hotel and can't escape, for no reason except that this is a Twilight Zone-style mystery that has arbitrary rules and no satisfactory explanations.

I suppose I could excuse a fantasy show if it were entertaining, but not this one. There's no mystery or wonder or suspense, but merely bad cliches, pointless guest characters, aimless dialog, and a plodding premise that never comes close to justifying its fantasy elements. (And, no, Data playing craps isn't enough.)

Rating:

"Time Squared" -- Air date: 4/3/1989. Teleplay by Maurice Hurley. Story by Kurt Michael Bensmiller. Directed by Joseph L. Scanlan.

If "The Measure of a Man" plays as a rebuke to "The Schizoid Man" in terms of artificial-intelligence themes, then so "Time Squared" plays as a rebuke to "The Royale" in terms of procedural sci-fi mysteries. The crew is stunned when they discover a duplicate of an Enterprise shuttlecraft adrift in the middle of empty space, and inside the shuttle is a duplicate of Captain Picard.

Strangely, one of the reasons "Time Squared" works so well is because it comes fairly early in the series' run, at a point when the show hasn't been time-traveled to death. Here's an episode of TNG that is not jaded by the fact that a duplicate of Picard has crossed through time and brings with him crucial information about the Enterprise's near future. The story depicts the duplicate Picard as a harbinger; Picard himself is unsettled by the sight of his twin lying in sickbay, to the point that early on he flat-out refuses to accept that the doppelganger is in fact the same person. When the crew discovers the duplicate Picard's shuttle log, they determine the duplicate is from approximately six hours in the Enterprise's future; there's a disturbing video recording that shows the Enterprise being destroyed.

The episode is a triumph of mood and tone, in no small part because of Dennis McCarthy's ominous musical score, but also because the crew reacts with genuine awe and concern to this bizarre situation. The way the mystery is slowly broken down allows us to become fully immersed in the story. The notion that the duplicate Picard has an internal biological clock that is knocked out of whack is intriguing, even if it is the only such example in Trek time-travel annals. The closer to his time we get, the more normal he becomes, and yet we always get the sense that he's trapped in an unalterable loop where his actions have already been preordained.

Best of all, the episode is content to let a mystery be a mystery. The vortex that traps the Enterprise (which resembles an inside-out tornado in space) seems to be governed by some form of intelligence, but the story never spells out exactly how or why. And unlike "The Royale," the episode is able to make unanswered questions part of its appeal, rather than a lumbering mess.

Rating:

"The Icarus Factor" -- Air date: 4/24/1989. Teleplay by David Assael & Robert L. McCullough. Story by David Assael. Directed by Robert Iscove.

When Starfleet offers Riker his own ship and command, they send his father, Kyle Riker (Mitchell Ryan), to brief him on the new mission. The two haven't spoken in 15 years, and Riker has little desire to start now. Meanwhile, Worf's mood is noticeably brooding, even for him.

"The Icarus Factor" has a certain amount of guts because it doesn't have a plot in the traditional sense and instead puts its trust solely in characters getting the job done. It's not a great show, and hardly one of the series' most memorable, but I think it's a good one. Kyle Riker is portrayed here as a well-intended father who is being made to pay by his son for his past mistakes as a parent. Wil Riker has a lot of pent-up anger over his mother, who died when he was a young child. As these sorts of family-turmoil stories go, this is a passable one that tries to see both sides and doesn't make anyone a hero or a villain but simply addresses this as a problem faced by both parties. Pulaski has her own insights, as she once was involved with Riker's father. The episode is perhaps overly optimistic in the way it depicts Riker's forgiveness so quickly at the end (either that, or their problem should've been solved years ago with one talk), but I suppose that's part of the TNG charm. Also worth mention are the Riker/Picard discussions about what it means to command a starship, even if it's not something as high-profile as the Enterprise.

More interesting is the Worf storyline, which gives still more insight into his (sometimes-insane-seeming) Klingon warrior code, and how that code exists in isolation on the Enterprise. Leave it to the Klingons to have something called "pain sticks" as part of a ritual involving the Age of Ascension (of which it's Worf's 10th anniversary). I also want to quickly mention Chief O'Brien (Colm Meaney), whose profile became steadily higher throughout the second season, to the point that he exists here as a supporting character right alongside Geordi, Pulaski, and Wesley.

Rating:

"Pen Pals" -- Air date: 5/1/1989. Teleplay by Melinda M. Snodgrass. Story by Hannah Louise Shearer. Directed by Winrich Kolbe.

In what's another somewhat low-key but palatable episode, Data makes radio contact with a young alien girl named Sarjenka (Nikki Cox) on a nearby planet, and they become "pen pals" for eight weeks. Data then learns the girl's planet is facing an ecological catastrophe that will destroy their entire civilization, and now the senior staff must decide whether to break (or at least bend) the Prime Directive to save them.

The subplot involves Wesley being put in charge of a mineral survey team. Considering he isn't even commissioned by Starfleet, I can see his trepidation about not being respected by those on his team. For that matter, I wouldn't necessarily blame those skeptical of his abilities since he hasn't had any training. But I suppose part of being brilliant means you don't necessarily need all the certifications. Riker's advice to Wesley about leadership and authority is surprisingly credible -- even useful -- despite the fact it sounds like the sort of advice dispensed at corporate seminars.

The central point of interest to me is the fact that it's Data -- the emotionless android -- who makes the initial case for Sarjenka's people's survival, and that he formulates his argument based on logic but also -- make no mistake -- based on his own personal feelings. The story paints an intriguing paradox: Data might not have any explicit emotions, but he does have a sense of compassion for Sarjenka. Just what does this paradox mean? How much humanity does Data possess? (It would seem a great deal.)

In true TNG fashion, there's a scene where the senior staff debates the Prime Directive, and this scene is played not as drama or high emotion, but as reasoned, intellectual debate based on opinion. Picard ultimately decides to save the society but erase Sarjenka's memories of Data -- a solution that poses an interesting question (is it right to deny Sarjenka the knowledge of the truth?), but at the same time feels like too neat (and tech-contrived) a way out of the dilemma.

Rating:

"Q Who" -- Air date: 5/8/1989. Written by Maurice Hurley. Directed by Robert Bowman.

Ah, at last, here's the most absolutely necessary episode of TNG's second season. Q forces Picard to hear his request to join the Enterprise crew as a guide. In a wonderful dialog scene that gets to the heart of the human drive for learning by personal experience, Picard refuses on the grounds that Q's presence would defeat the purpose of exploration. (That, and no one likes Q anyway.) To prove his point with a twist of the knife, Q hurls the Enterprise into an unexplored part of the galaxy (two years away from the nearest Federation outpost), bringing the Enterprise into contact with a cybernetic alien species called the Borg. (The episode also implies that the Borg were responsible for the destroyed colonies along the Romulan Neutral Zone.)

The best aspect of "Q Who" is its ability to mix the intellectual with the visceral. In other words, it's the best kind of TNG action show, and should stand as a lesson to sci-fi shows that are action-oriented: Your action works only if it grows from a point of emotion, in this case genuine scariness. The Borg are scary precisely because they cannot be reasoned with and because their technology is vastly superior to the Enterprise's -- and those two avenues are the basis by which nearly all TNG stories are typically solved. The Borg have often been described simply as "implacable," and I agree that that's the best adjective for them. They are an implacable foe, and we learn that very quickly by their behavior in this episode.

The industrial-cube design of the Borg vessel is brilliant in its simplicity: Here's a society that has no regard for style or aesthetics but simply raw function. When they communicate, it's with terse directives; they epitomize the laconic. The episode puts good use to Guinan by revealing that not only has she had past dealings with Q, but that her people's world was destroyed by the Borg, essentially turning them into nomads.

Because this is an episode of TNG, the crew is still genuinely curious about the Borg, as are we. An away team beams over to the Borg ship and we get a chance to see their hive-like society, with imaginative visuals and production design. The "Borg nursery" is an intriguingly chilling detail. Such ominous concepts are all the more interesting to ponder when considering the presence of the young and naïve, evidenced here by the cute and plucky Ensign Sonya Gomez (Lycia Naff), whose infectious drive to do her part as a member of the Enterprise crew is met here only with danger. If the show had truly wanted to punch us in the stomach with its dark ambitions, it would've had Gomez die.

The episode plays by its rules. The Borg are a superior and implacable enemy, period, and the only way out is through Q, to whom Picard makes an urgent plea for help when there are no other options. Q sums it up nicely when he says, "It's not safe out here." Indeed, and it's nice to be reminded of that by an episode that is equally as visceral as it is curious, and all but promises that the Borg will be coming for us. If ever an episode deserved to be saved for a season finale in a season that didn't have an adequate (or even tolerable) finale, it's this one.

Rating:

"Samaritan Snare" -- Air date: 5/15/1989. Written by Robert L. McCullough. Directed by Les Landau.

Wesley must complete his Starfleet Academy entrance exams and is booked by shuttle to travel to a nearby starbase. Picard goes along with him when Pulaski orders him to have heart surgery at the starbase's medical facility, for reasons Picard would like to keep as quiet as possible. With Riker in command, the Enterprise answers the distress call from a disabled ship of Pakleds, a race of humanoids that might best be described as ... slow. Riker agrees to send Geordi to repair their engines.

Our attention is flagged when Worf repeatedly urges caution in answering a call from a race the Enterprise knows nothing about. The Pakleds seem harmless, even stupid, but it might all be a ruse. Then again, maybe not. The fact that they feel confident (as Troi intuits) and not helpless might be beside the point when considering their intelligence. Riker finds himself managing a potentially deadly standoff when the Pakleds take Geordi's phaser and hold him hostage, demanding all of the data in the Enterprise's computer.

Even though the episode is always watchable, the problem is that the Pakleds should never have gotten the upper hand in the first place -- not based on what we see of their intelligence. The standoff is created by the Enterprise's own shortsightedness: For example, why would they send Geordi over with a phaser just so it can be used against him? Besides, I find the plausibility of the Pakleds dubious. They're either too smart or too dumb to be behaving this way, and for a long time the episode doesn't know which. How could they have stolen so many others' technology using similar ruses? Somehow, I don't see the Klingons or Romulans caving in to a hostage standoff, or even being Good Samaritans that could become the victim of such a ruse in the first place. The Enterprise's solution to the problem is an elaborate con that proves my point: If the Pakleds are dumb enough to be taken in by such ham-handed trickery, they couldn't possibly be able to travel through space in the first place.

The subplot involving Wesley and Picard is actually pretty good, mostly because of the issue of Picard's image. He doesn't want to have surgery on the Enterprise -- and, for that matter, his whole dilemma involving his artificial heart is established with a wonderfully told piece of backstory that brings a whole new dimension to his character.

Rating:

"Up the Long Ladder" -- Air date: 5/22/1989. Written by Melinda M. Snodgrass. Directed by Winrich Kolbe.

"Sometimes you just have to bow to the absurd," says Picard. Not me. Not for this episode. Here lies a colossal mess of a show, mixing serious (albeit unrealized) science fiction with broad, less-than-funny comedy. The Enterprise comes to the rescue of two long-lost Earth colonies from a single ship that was launched in the early 22nd century. One colony lives on a planet as anachronistic farmers with no technology; the other lives on another planet completely reliant on technology, with cloning having replaced sexual reproduction (which they now find "repugnant").

Let's start with the need to make the primitive colony into broad Irish caricatures: What was the point? It's supposed to be funny, but it ends up providing nothing but annoying stereotypes. The community leader, Danilo O'Dell (Barrie Ingham), is purely a grotesquery of himself. His daughter, Brenna (Rosalyn Landor), is immediately a target and conquest for Riker, for reasons completely unknown to the plot and the characters. Why do they hook up? Okay, it provides a reason for Brenna to start taking off her clothes (which I suppose was fun for me at age 13 when this show originally aired), but that's about it. Some of the Worf Ultimate Straight Man humor works to a degree ("Then you would suffocate and die"), as well as his honor-bonding with Pulaski near the beginning.

At about the midway point the episode pulls a 180 by following the serious story of the modern colony and its cloning procedures. They need a new infusion of DNA to survive and want the Enterprise crew members to volunteer. This leads to some interesting ideas about the nature of individuality amid cloning, and one particularly attention-getting scene where Riker destroys two developing clones of himself and Pulaski that were obtained illegally; in the right writer's hands, this could've been a provocative rape-victim/abortion allegory. As it is, the whole storyline is underdeveloped.

The solution proposed at the end is hammered together as an exercise in convenient TNG ultra-simplicity. Because the hour is over, the problem must be solved using the available variables at hand, with no parts left over.

Rating:

"Manhunt" -- Air date: 6/19/1989. Written by Terry Devereaux. Directed by Robert Bowman.

Lwaxana Troi comes aboard the ship in the midst of a Betazoid phase that's equivalent to a human woman's menopause, with the Betazoid side effect being the quadrupling (or more) of her sex drive. Lwaxana begins romantically pursuing Picard, which forces him to go into hiding in the holodeck novel world of Dixon Hill in order to avoid her, while avoiding offending her.

"Manhunt" has got to be one of the most padded-out, pointless filler episodes in the entire series' run (with the obvious exception of "Shades of Gray," which we'll get to shortly). It wants to be a comedy with no hard plot -- which is fine in concept -- but the comedy scenes aren't funny enough and are padded to embarrassing length with meandering material that simply goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing.

It's starts out reasonably, with Lwaxana being her usual attention-starved self -- and not even in an off-putting way; she's kind of a likable motormouth. Picard becomes her unwitting one-on-one dinner guest in a situation he didn't expect. His solution is to invite Data to fill the awkward pauses. Not a bad comic concept. But the longer the episode goes on, the more tiresome and pointless it grows, until by the end we're positively baffled: What is the point of all this? The answer is: There isn't one. This is an episode about behavior (I'm at a loss to qualify "behavior" with a useful adjective) put to no purpose.

There are scenes in the holodeck that exist simply to fill time and accomplish nothing the least bit important to anything. They aren't nearly interesting or fun enough to distract from the fact they're pointless. This whole episode is utterly inexplicable.

Rating:

"The Emissary" -- Air date: 6/29/1989. Teleplay by Richard Manning & Hans Beimler. Story by Thomas H. Calder. Directed by Cliff Bole.

Starfleet sends the Enterprise on an urgent mission to rendezvous with a special emissary with crucial information, and it turns out the emissary is the half-human, half-Klingon woman K'Ehleyr (Suzie Plakson, appropriately tall and formidable, but also personable), who was involved in some mysterious way with Worf six years earlier. Worf is not pleased to see her.

I gotta say: I wanted to like this episode -- with its Worf character development, Klingon angst that turns to Klingon sex, and, of course, Suzie Plakson -- but ultimately it just doesn't work. K'Ehleyr briefs the Enterprise staff on the situation: A Klingon ship whose crew has been in stasis for the past century (and thus still thinks the Klingons are at war with the Federation) is about to awaken, and the Enterprise may be the only ship close enough to stop them before they unleash a fury of terror on nearby Federation colonies. I find this plot just a little bit ludicrous. The Klingons of the old era are seen as not merely aggressive, but also apparently as mindless drones -- and besides, where would the honor be in destroying colonies with minimal defenses?

More interesting is the backstory that surrounds Worf and K'Ehleyr; they had an unconsummated relationship six years ago, and they haven't spoken since the relationship ended. This episode establishes Worf's attitude on relationships, which is that they must be taken seriously -- as seriously as, say, a heart attack. K'Ehleyr, unlike Worf, has an outward sense of humor, but pursuant to all Trekkian characters who are trapped between cultures, she struggles with her Klingon temper. Unfortunately, the Worf/K'Ehleyr bickering is not performed well enough to transcend cliche.

The high point of the episode comes when K'Ehleyr uses Worf's holodeck exercise program and Worf joins her in a battle that turns to (apparent) heated sex. I guess one of my problems with the episode is that the sex and its aftereffects are kept so far off the screen that it's something of a letdown. The episode tiptoes around the word "sex" so carefully that it doesn't seem like the characters actually had it. Worf's attitudes on sex are the same as everything else -- he takes it as a deadly serious enterprise that must end in marriage (which K'Ehleyr doesn't want) and doesn't seem to know what fun is. You've got to admire his personal code.

Worf also gets his "first command" in a scene of trickery that persuades the Klingon ship to stand down. Unfortunately, like a lot of the episode, the concept is better than the execution, which feels forced.

Rating:

"Peak Performance" -- Air date: 7/10/1989. Written by David Kemper. Directed by Robert Scheerer.

As a result of the Borg threat (a nice little nod to continuity, that), Starfleet orders Picard and Riker to go head-to-head in a simulated battle as part of a new program to develop tactical skills among Starfleet crews, which Picard notes "is not a military organization." Along to observe is brilliant war strategist Kolrami (Roy Brocksmith), from a race of strategy masterminds that no one has dared challenge for centuries. In an observant detail of one sizing up someone else, Worf says the lack of any direct challenge essentially invalidates the reputation. (The theme of the show is sizing up people and situations.) Riker takes command of the derelict USS Hathaway to oversee a crew of 40, hand-picked from the Enterprise. He and his crew must improvise a way to compete in a battle where they are outmanned, outgunned, and, well, out-everythinged.

I enjoy stories about tactics and cunning, and this is a good one from TNG. One tactic involves Wesley playing the innocence routine "to shut down a science project" in order to steal some antimatter from the Enterprise. Another involves Worf creating an illusion that looks like something real (a Romulan Warbird) in an environment that's supposed to be all simulated.

There's also a subplot where Pulaski sets up a match of Strategema between Data and the arrogant Kolrami (Pulaski hopes to deflate Kolrami's ego), and Data ends up losing. This sends Data on an over-analytical search through his systems to find the "problem." The scene where Picard sets him straight is classic Picard -- thoughtful, firm, reassuring.

The show's plot twist is that a real Ferengi ship shows up in the middle of the simulation and opens fire on the Enterprise, leading to a real test of improvised tactics. Armin Shimerman makes another appearance here as yet another Ferengi. (Another cameo I found amusing was by Glenn Morshower -- the always reliable Aaron Pierce on 24 -- as Ensign Burke.) Honestly, I could've done without the Ferengi altogether. The episode cunningly distracts us: By having the Ferengi interrupt the war games between Picard and Riker, the story doesn't have to offer up a resolution in which one of them actually wins. I for one am curious: Who would've won this battle simulation, and what would that have meant?

Perhaps the only satisfactory outcome would've been a draw. The story saves that for the Strategema rematch between Data and Kolrami. The payoff has Data saying, "I busted him up," which goes down (or at least should) as a classic Data line.

Rating:

"Shades of Gray" -- Air date: 7/17/1989. Teleplay by Maurice Hurley and Richard Manning & Hans Beimler. Story by Maurice Hurley. Directed by Robert Bowman.

Worst. Finale. Ever. I might as well get it out of the way and call it the most pointless episode of TNG ever made. Honestly, was this episode even meant to be taken seriously, or were the creators as hopelessly desperate to fill the hour as it looks? Part of me thinks it's unfair to even assign a star rating to a clip show, but I'm going to do it anyway and assign it, let's see, no stars. (I suppose every Trek series has to have one.)

Not only are the choices of clips mostly bad (not that they had much to choose from at this point), the framing device is terrible: Riker is infected with parasites on an away mission, and the only way to keep them from destroying his brain are to combat them with endorphins by triggering his memory. His memories, of course, are all clips from previous first- and second-season episodes of the show. How convenient. Or, for us, inconvenient.

One nice aspect of this episode is that it took me about 25 minutes to watch on DVD because of the fast-forward button and the fact that I've seen all these other episodes in the last few months and don't feel obligated to watch excerpts again. (I can't imagine watching this episode again without a fast-forward button.) But, for the record, the clips are from the following episodes, in this order: "The Last Outpost," "Encounter at Farpoint," "The Dauphin," "The Icarus Factor," "Justice," "11001001," "Angel One," "Up the Long Ladder," "Skin of Evil," "The Child," "A Matter of Honor," "Conspiracy," "Symbiosis," "The Last Outpost" again, "Skin of Evil" again, "11001001" again, and "Heart of Glory." And, of course, a montage where lots of stuff blows up (including Remmick's head from "Conspiracy," which is almost worth a free half-star by itself, but I'll resist).

While there are clips from a few good shows, many of the clips are from some of the series' worst episodes, and there's no reason to be repeating them. The episode's "original material" depicts how happy memories strengthen the parasites while painful ones ward them off. The scenes in sickbay with Troi and Pulaski employ much unendurable medical babble that seems to be repeating on an endless loop. I seem to remember there was a writers' strike either before or during this season of TNG. Based on this episode, they should've taken more time off.

Rating: zero stars

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