Today I read Redshirts by John Scalzi.
Away missions for the Universal Union are dangerous, everybody knows that. Especially when you serve on the flagship of the Union, the Intrepid, under Captain Lucius Abernathy. But newly transferred Ensign Andrew Dahl and his friends are starting to notice that they’re only dangerous for certain people. Some people– the captain and his favourite officers–never seem to die, no matter how often or how badly they get hurt. But the lowest ranked crewmen, the ones that nobody ever seems to know the same of, they can die. They die a lot. The only ones who seem safe are the ones who stay as far away from the main five’s notice as they possibly can.
But then Dahl and his friends start to behave in strange ways. They know things that they never learn, they do stupid things that they shouldn’t survive. And there’s a furry monster living in the walls of the ship with the most outlandish conspiracy theory, which just might be crazy enough to be true. Is there any way to survive wearing the red shirt of death? Or are they doomed to die solely to advance the plot…I mean, to save their superior officers and the mission?
I’ve seen Redshirts around the bookstore, and I thought it was about something Star Trek-ish, and I love his blog. I decided to read it on a whim, though I hadn’t read the description and I didn’t really know what it was about.
Holy hilarious satire, Batman!
This is one of the funniest books that I’ve read in a long time. It reminded me of Galaxy Quest or Night of the Living Trekkies–clearly written by someone with a genuine love and respect for Star Trek while understanding that it does have some rather prominent flaws that make it easy to make fun of. It’s that love that makes all the difference. Redshirts works quite well just as a funny book to anyone who’s caught the odd episode and knows basic pop culture, but its true magic is saved for those who get all the in-jokes and references. Fans, particularly science fiction fans, can be the most devoted people in the world, but they can also be the most critical of the thing they love. But for some, there’s a level of fandom you can reach where acknowledging the problems in your fandom doesn’t take away from your love or enjoyment.
I’ve loved Star Trek since I first watched it in grade three, as research for the school play my class was putting on. Mr. Coverdale wrote the play every year–that year it was Star Trek: The Generation After the Next Generation. I played Dr. Beverly Flusher on the starship Enterforaprize under the command of Captain Pickacardanycard (what, it was grade three, we thought it was funny). There was something magical about Star Trek–the idea that humanity would survive, would prosper, would reach out and visit the stars. To seek out strange new worlds, and new civilizations…to boldly go where no one has gone before. I loved it. I always loved reading, and I had a strong fantasy bent even then, but this introduced me to science fiction. Eventually it led me to the fandom life, to conventions, and to fans. It led me to my tribe. Even when I grew up, and started noticing all the problems (reverse the polarity? That’s what passes for science? and why the hell were military officers wearing mini skirts on a space ship?), the love stayed. It always will.
Scalzi is a part of that tribe. His love shines through, even while he picks apart the lazy writing and the terrible science and the deliberately generic characters and the demands of making a television show and he makes them all real. He takes the redshirts and he gives them names, and stories, and he makes them more than just their shirt. And he makes them want to be more than just the colour of their shirt. Redshirts is what happens when the extra breaks out of the chorus line, stands center stage, and takes aim at the director and the producer and the star and especially the writer and lets them have it.
From the top of the large boulder he sat on, Ensign Tom Davis looked across the expanse of the cave toward Captain Lucius Abernathy, Science Officer Q’eeng and Chief Engineer Paul West perched on a second, larger boulder, and thought, Well, this sucks.
“Borgovian Land Worms!” Captain Abernathy said, and smacked his boulder with an open palm. “I should have known.”
You should have known? How the hell could you not have known? thought Ensign Davis, and looked at the vast dirt floor of the cave, its powdery surface moving here and there with the shadowy humps that marked the movement of the massive, carnivorous worms.
“I don’t think we should just be waltzing in there,” Davis had said to Chen, the other crew member on the away team, upon encountering the cave. Abernathy, Q’eeng and West had already entered, despite the fact that Davis and Chen were technically their security detail.
Chen, who was new, snorted. “Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a cave. What could possibly be in there?”
“Bears?” Davis had suggested. “Wolves? Any number of large predators who see a cave as shelter from the elements? Have you never been camping?”
“There are no bears on this planet,” Chen had said, willfully missing Davis’ point. “And anyway we have pulse guns. Now come on. This is my first away mission. I don’t want the captain wondering where I am.” He ran in after the officers.
From his boulder, Davis looked down at the dusty smear on the cave floor that was all that remained of Chen. The land worms, called by the sound of the humans walking in the cave, had tunneled up under him and dragged him down, leaving nothing but echoing screams and the smear.
Well, that’s not quite true, Davis thought, peering farther into the cave and seeing the hand that lay there, still clutching the pulse gun Chen had carried, and which as it turned out had done him absolutely no good whatsoever.
The ground stirred and the hand suddenly disappeared.
Okay, now it’s true, Davis thought.
“Davis!” Captain Abernathy called. “Stay where you are! Any movement across that ground will call to the worms! You’ll be eaten instantly!”
Thanks for the useless and obvious update, you jackass, Davis thought, but did not say, because he was an ensign, and Abernathy was the captain. Instead, what he said was, “Aye, Captain.”
“Good,” Abernathy said. “I don’t want you trying to make a break for it and getting caught by those worms. Your father would never forgive me.”
What? Davis thought, and suddenly he remembered that Captain Abernathy had served under his father on the Benjamin Franklin. The ill-fated Benjamin Franklin. And in fact, Davis’ father had saved the then-Ensign Abernathy by tossing his unconscious body into the escape pod before diving in himself and launching the pod just as the Franklin blew up spectacularly around them. They had drifted in space for three days and had almost run out of breathable air in that pod before they were rescued.
Davis shook his head. It was very odd that all that detail about Abernathy popped into his head, especially considering the circumstances.
As if on cue, Abernathy said, “Your father once saved my life, you know.”
“I know—” Davis began, and then nearly toppled off the top of his boulder as the land worms suddenly launched themselves into it, making it wobble.
“Davis!” Abernathy said.
Davis hunched down, flattening himself toward the boulder to keep his center of gravity low. He glanced over to Abernathy, who was now conferring with Q’eeng and West. Without being able to hear them, Davis knew that they were reviewing what they knew about Borgovian Land Worms and trying to devise a plan to neutralize the creatures, so they could cross the cave in safety and reach the chamber that housed the ancient Central Computer of the Borgovians, which could give them a clue about the disappearance of that wise and mysterious race.
You really need to start focusing on your current situation, some part of Davis’ brain said to him, and he shook his head again. Davis couldn’t disagree with this assessment; his brain had picked a funny time to start spouting a whole bunch of extraneous information that served him no purpose at this time.
The worms rocked his boulder again. Davis gripped it as hard as he could and saw Abernathy, Q’eeng and West become more animated in their attempted problem solving.
A thought suddenly came to Davis. You’re part of the security detail, it said. You have a pulse gun. You could just vaporize these things.
Davis would have smacked his head if the worms weren’t already doing that by driving it into the boulder. Of course! The pulse gun! He reached down to his belt to unclasp the gun from its holster. As he did so another part of his brain wondered why, if in fact the solution was as simple as just vaporizing the worms, Captain Abernathy or one of the other officers hadn’t just ordered him to do it already.
I seem to have a lot of voices in my brain today, said a third part of Davis’ brain. He ignored that particular voice in his brain and aimed at a moving hump of dirt coming toward his boulder.
Abernathy’s cry of “Davis! No!” arrived at the exact instant Davis fired, sending a pulsed beam of coherent, disruptive particles into the dirt mound. A screech emanated from the mound, followed by violent thrashing, followed by a sinister rumbling, followed by the ground of the cave erupting as dozens of worms suddenly burst from the dirt.
“The pulse gun is ineffective against Borgovian Land Worms!” Davis heard Science Officer Q’eeng say over the unspeakable noise of the thrashing worms. “The frequency of the pulse sends them into a frenzy. Ensign Davis has just called every worm in the area!”
You couldn’t have told me this before I fired? Davis wanted to scream. You couldn’t have said, Oh, by the way, don’t fire a pulse gun at a Borgovian Land Worm at our mission briefing? On the ship? At which we discussed landing on Borgovia? Which has fucking land worms?
Davis didn’t scream this at Q’eeng because he knew there was no way Q’eeng would hear him, and besides it was already too late. He’d fired. The worms were in a frenzy. Somebody now was likely to die.
It was likely to be Ensign Davis.
Through the rumble and dust, Davis looked over at Abernathy, who was gazing back at him, concern furrowed into his brow. And then Davis was wondering when, if ever, Abernathy had ever spoken to him before this mission.
Oh, Abernathy must have—he and Davis’ father had been tight ever since the destruction of the Franklin. They were friends. Good friends. It was even likely that Abernathy had known Davis himself as a boy, and may have even pulled a few strings to get his friend’s son a choice berth on the Intrepid, the flagship of the Universal Union. The captain wouldn’t have been able to spend any real time with Davis—it wouldn’t have done for the captain to show favoritism in the ranks—but surely they would have spoken. A few words here and there. Abernathy asking after Davis’ father, perhaps. Or on other away missions.
Davis was coming up with a blank.
Suddenly, the rumbling stopped. The worms, as quickly as they had gone into a frenzy, appeared to sidle back under the dirt. The dust settled.
“They’re gone!” Davis heard himself say.
“No,” Abernathy said. “They’re smarter than that.”
“I can make it to the mouth of the cave!” Davis heard himself say.
“Stay where you are, Ensign!” Abernathy said. “That’s an order!”
But Davis was already off his boulder and running toward the mouth of the cave. Some part of Davis’ brain howled at the irrationality of the action, but the rest of Davis didn’t care. He knew he had to move. It was almost a compulsion. As if he had no choice.
Abernathy screamed “No!” very nearly in slow motion, and Davis covered half of the distance he needed to go. Then the ground erupted as land worms, arrayed in a semicircle, launched themselves up and toward Davis.
And it was then, as he skidded backward, and while his face showed surprise, in fact, that Ensign Davis had an epiphany.
This was the defining moment of his life. The reason he existed. Everything he’d ever done before, everything he’d ever been, said or wanted, had led him to this exact moment, to be skidding backward while Borgovian Land Worms bored through dirt and air to get him. This was his fate. His destiny.
In a flash, and as he gazed upon the needle-sharp teeth spasming in the rather evolutionarily suspect rotating jaw of the land worm, Ensign Tom Davis saw the future. None of this was really about the mysterious disappearance of the Borgovians. After this moment, no one would ever speak of the Borgovians again.
It was about him—or rather, what his impending death would do to his father, now an admiral. Or even more to the point, what his death would do to the relationship between Admiral Davis and Captain Abernathy. Davis saw the scene in which Abernathy told Admiral Davis of his son’s death. Saw the shock turn to anger, saw the friendship between the two men dissolve. He saw the scene where the Universal Union MPs placed the captain under arrest for trumped-up charges of murder by negligence, planted by the admiral.
He saw the court-martial and Science Officer Q’eeng, acting as Abernathy’s counsel, dramatically breaking down the admiral on the witness stand, getting him to admit this was all about him losing his son. Davis saw his father dramatically reach out and ask forgiveness from the man he had falsely accused and had arrested, and saw Captain Abernathy give it in a heartrending reconciliation right there in the courtroom.
It was a great story. It was great drama.
And it all rested upon him. And this moment. And this fate. This destiny of Ensign Davis.
Ensign Davis thought, Screw this, I want to live, and swerved to avoid the land worms.
But then he tripped and one of the land worms ate his face and he died anyway.