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Star Trek Diplomacy
by Lee H Goldberg
Now that the US elections are over, it’s time for everyone to pull together as a single nation to face the economic, social and environmental challenges that our differences have distracted us from for so long. Fortunately, there are so many things that even the most steadfast Blue-Stater and Red-Stater have in common that we will be able to find the common ground we need to help make the country strong, proud and a beacon of hope again. For my money, one of the best common touchstones we have is science fiction. While not everyone’s cup of tea, my experiences back in 1989 when I was building Mars Observer, an unmanned interplanetary space probe, taught me that a love for stories that predict an exciting, hopeful future can transcend much bigger differences than the ones we face today.
As the payload accommodations officer on the Mars Observer program, I was invited to Washington to review the initial data returned by the Soviet Union's Phobos 2 Probe shortly after it had made its first approach to Mars’ tiny moon. The official reason for my presence was that the data from the Phobos gamma ray spectrometer would provide some useful information about how a similar instrument I was responsible for integrating on my spacecraft would perform but the real reason I was invited was that Dr. Trombka, the principal investigator on Mars Observer’s gamma spectrometer, knew I loved anything to do with space exploration, especially Mars.
It took a little finagling to justify the two days I’d be away from the GE plant in New Jersey where I usually worked on the Mars Observer program, but the official-sounding letter that Dr. T sent me worked its magic and I got my first, and only, chance to get a peek inside the Soviet space program. Rather than risk driving my aging Honda 200 miles to Goddard Spaceflight Center where the review was being held, I took the train to Washington and rented a car. Tucked in a shiny new ’89 Pontiac Grand Prix, I headed over to Goddard for the meeting. Dr. Trombka introduced me to the half-dozen scientists who’d come over from the soon-to-be former Soviet Union.
While Premier Mikhail Gorbachev’s Glasnost policies had warmed official relations between our two countries, our guests still maintained the polite but restrained and quietly paranoid demeanor that had been essential for their political survival until then. Unfortunately, my presence did not help warm up the situation. As an unannounced guest, claiming to be from some big company they’d never heard of with a very flimsy reason for attending the meeting, it was clear that they’d pegged me as a CIA agent or other political operative. Needless to say, whenever I made any attempt at small talk or compare notes about our respective space programs, the Soviet guests’ English skills suddenly seemed to vanish. Things only got a little worse when they learned that, by some odd coincidence, I just happened to be staying at the same hotel that they were.
The situation took a funny turn later that day when the leader of the Soviet delegation switched the agenda around, leaving the afternoon with no formal activities. Dr. Trombka did not seem very surprised at this development, explaining that this was a favorite tactic of Russian visitors to get some slack in their tightly-scheduled itineraries to do some much-needed shopping in Western stores. With the afternoon in flux, Dr. T asked me if I might act as a taxi service for some of the scientists to get them to a nearby shopping center and possibly do some sightseeing afterwards. I was not sure how our guests would react to being chauffeured around by a guy they believed to be a CIA minder but jumped at the chance to help out.
Since the high-ranking delegate had made his own arrangements, the shopping party I hosted consisted of two junior delegation members (scientist, and an engineer), and a short, grandmotherly-looking lady who I learned held multiple doctoral degrees and was the gamma spectrometer program’s principal scientist. As we drove to the shopping mall, one of the engineers was impressed with the Pontiac’s digital dashboard and asked me if it was my car. I explained that it was rented and that the car I owned was over 10 years old but I’m not sure he believed me. His sudden lack of English skills reappeared when I asked how the new Glasnost policy was affecting Soviet science, dampening any further attempts at small talk. I dropped everyone off in front of the mall with instructions to meet me back there in two hours. I drove off, being very careful to take a route that let my guests watch me depart the parking lot and get back on the highway.
When I met my passengers a couple of hours later it took a bit of doing to get all their purchases tucked safely into the trunk but after a bit of creative juggling I was able to close the lid. This accomplished, I asked the lead scientist if there was anywhere else she wanted to go. After some mumbled exchanges in Russian with her colleagues, she announced that they’d like to drive by the White House and then visit the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. Since that hallowed repository of aerospace hardware is something close to a house of worship for me, I was delighted.
My guests reaction to the Air and Space was fascinating. The unofficial tour I conducted was punctuated by extremely un-Soviet oohs, ahs, and smiles at regular intervals as we wandered from one marvel to another. They were especially taken by the display of the Apollo-Soyez docking and the Milestones of Flight timeline which documents both American and Soviet achievements side-by-side. “Thees eez remarkable!” exclaimed the senior scientist, “een our museums, vee only show zee Russian accomplishments.” A bit further down the timeline, she stopped short and stared quietly at a small entry with a look I usually only see on a mother’s face when she sees a picture of their child after a long absence. “Oh my, eet iss Venera, my spacecraft!” she blurted out. “You mean Venera the Venus probe?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied, “I verk zee Venera mission, I put spectrometer on Lander!” her face full of pride, joy and fond memories. It was my turn to be awed and humbled. I did my best to explain how I’d followed that mission in college and stood in awe of the scientists and engineers who’d managed to land a probe on an 800-degree landscape and get it to relay back images and data for a few precious hours.
Further on, we entered the Science Fiction to Science Fact exhibit which showed how the imaginations of authors like Vasily Levshin, Jules Verne, and Arthur Clarke predicted, or even lit the way for space travel. For a few minutes, the Iron Curtain was lifted as we discussed our favorite Fantastic Stories (the Russian expression for Sci-Fi) by renowned Soviet author Stanislaw Lem. As we turned the corner, we were met by a large model of the Starship Enterprise, and a video screen playing one of the episodes of the first Star Trek series from 1966. “Oooh my, eet izz Keptin Kirk and Meester Spock” exclaimed the diminutive scientist as her face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You know of Star Trek and Captain Kirk? Do you get the program in Russia?” I blurted out, more surprised than if she’d quoted me the Yankee’s season record.
As it turns out, my companion was a frequent visitor to installations near Russia’s Western borders where Finnish television signals carrying reruns of the entire series were easily intercepted. Apparently, the show had quite a following wherever the Finnish signals reached. We both agreed that Lt. Chekov was more handsome than Kirk and marveled at how the show had managed to allow us both to imagine a day when Russians, Americans, Chinese and Negroes (the proper term at the time) would all share in the adventure of space peaceful exploration.
The rest of the conference concluded successfully the following day and I bid goodbye to the Soviet delegation, giving them each a commemorative t-shirt from the Mars Observer program. Solemn handshakes were exchanged, as we bid a farewell that was slightly less frosty than the greeting we’d exchanged the day before. I sadly turned in my sleek Pontiac and took the northbound evening train home, marveling at all that had happened in a little less than 48 hours. I’m still not sure if I ever convinced any of my guests that I wasn’t a government minder, or CIA spy, but we did have a great time together. As for me, Russia never seemed quite as monolithic or uniformly hostile after I discovered that there were fellow Trekkies living among their midst.
If Star Trek could help bridge the divide between us and the Evil Empire, surely it can help us find some guidance and inspiration to create a nation worthy of voyaging to the stars.
Let’s make it so.
Comments? Questions? Tales of sci-fi détente or ideas on how to make Gene Roddenberry’s birthday a national holiday?
Write me at lhg at en-genius dot net or post your comments on our blog.
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