As other posters have pointed out to you, blithely dismissing OP’s question because they are asking about the meaning of “nonsense words made up by writers” is completely missing the point of this community. We all know Star Trek is fiction constructed by writers; pointing that out while adding nothing else of interest is both pointless and boring.

We don’t expect or require all answers to be from an in-universe perspective, but we do expect everyone to engage in discussion politely and seriously. If this is all you have to say on the subject, don’t comment.

Varitek?

If you have something substantive to share about the episode, please feel free!

I feel compelled to note that being promoted from Ensign (O1) to Lieutenant Commander (O4) would be a triple promotion, skipping both Lieutenant Jr. Grade and Lieutenant.

There are relatively few direct references to Discovery in Lower Decks. More importantly, you’ll enjoy Lower Decks even if you don’t notice or “get” a handful of references.

Lower Decks isn’t good because it references older shows, it’s good because it’s funny and you care about the characters. There are people out there watching it and loving it with minimal or no prior Trek knowledge.

Grief is complicated, and two years is no time at all to recover from the death of a parent. It makes complete sense that watching something you associate with him would still be painful, and there’s nothing to be gained by forcing it.

Eventually you’ll reach the point where reminders of your father bring up happy feelings, with the pain of losing him still present, but not overwhelming. That won’t happen fast, but you will get there. That’s the time to give TNG another go, and see how it makes you feel.

Hang in there, friend.

I feel compelled to recommend this guide by a long time Daystrom Institute contributor. It does an excellent job identifying episodes as essential, unnecessary but fun, mediocre, or outright bad. A good place to work from if you want a more flexible recommendation of what to try and what not to.

Hello,

Daystrom Institute is a place for serious, in-depth discussion about Star Trek. One-liner jokes and other shallow content are not appropriate here.

First off, it’s clear that the metaphor the writers initially had in mind was a computer storing data. The TNG tech manual is just vague enough to be ambiguous on this point, but very heavily implies a “scan and save a pattern -> destroy the original -> rebuild from the pattern” process. Terminology like “pattern buffer” no doubt comes out of that conception.

It’s also clear that by the end of 90s Trek at least some people with decision making power felt it was really important to explicitly shoot down a lot of the “kill and clone machine” theories about how transporters work, which is why Enterprise in particular is full of counter-evidence. Of course, TNG Realm of Fear was clearly not written by someone with “kill and clone” in mind, and stands as another very strong bit of evidence against that theory. The conflicting intentions make things confusing, but they are not irreconcilable.

My preferred explanation is as follows: When they shift something into subspace, they still need to keep an accurate track of exactly where in subspace everything is (the “pattern”), in addition to preventing whatever extradimensional subspace interference whosamawhatsit from damaging the matter itself. (If you’re familiar with computer programming, the pattern is functionally a huge set of “pointers”, not pointing to a specific piece of computer memory, but a specific point within the non-euclidian topology of subspace.) This pattern is stored in the “pattern buffer”, a computer memory storage unit with an extremely high capacity but which only retains data for a limited time. The transporter then uses this pattern to find the dematerialized transportee in subspace and rematerialize them at the target coordinates, taking great care to ensure that all these trillions of pieces are moved to the correct locations in realspace. These steps can be (and often are) accelerated, with a person beginning to materialize at the target coordinates while still dematerializing on the transporter pad (see TNG Darmok for an example off the top of my head).

The reason you can’t just tell the transporter to make another copy of what’s in the buffer is that although you have a lot of information about whatever you just dematerialized, you only have one copy of the matter in the buffer. If you try to materialize another one you’ll be trying to pull matter from subspace where none exists: the transporter equivalent of a Segmentation Fault, to use another computer science term. If you tried to use that pattern to convert an appropriate quantity of base matter into a copy of whatever was in the buffer, you’ll still be missing any information about the transported material which can’t be gleamed exclusively from a mapping of where each piece was: you won’t necessarily know exactly what every piece was, at a precision necessary to recreate it. Especially if the diffusion of material into subspace is sufficiently predictable that the pattern doesn’t need a pointer for every individual subatomic particle, but can capture a a cluster of particles with each one.

We know from the existence of “transporter traces” that the transport process does leave behind some persistent information about a person who was transported. We also know that it is possible for the transporter operator to identify and deactivate weapons mid-transport. It makes sense that a mapping of pointers could be extrapolated out to get a lot of data about the matter being transported (such as detailed information on a subject’s cellular makeup, or if there’s a device capable of discharging a dangerous amount of energy) while still falling far short of the data required to make an exact copy.

Doctor McCoy used the transporter very frequently with minimal complaining; the only complaint I can recall is from TMP and followed a horrific and unexpected transporter accident.

As for transporters in Enterprise, two things are especially noteworthy: one, they explicitly refuted the idea that the transporter creates a “some sort of weird copy” of the person or object transported, and two, those human-safe transporters were contemporary with very primitive replicator equivalents called protein resequencers. Clearly transporters aren’t building humans atom-by-atom from data alone if they can’t figure out how to do more than resequence protein molecules in any other context.

Transporters don’t do anything to affect the matter they are transporting unless explicitly intended to: by the 24th century they are programmed to filter out recognizeable pathogens, and can be used to deactivate weapons or occasionally monkey with the genes of a person in mid-transport, but things routinely pass through the transporter without issue which are either totally unknown or explicitly non-replicatable. None of this makes sense if the sequence is scan -> destroy -> rebuild, but makes total sense if the transporter is shifting the transportee into subspace (with some tweaks to allow them to exist there) and then back out of subspace at the destination.

Thomas Riker (and now William Boimler) is the one big exception. Both occured under a very specific and extremely rare weather condition, and the first time this happened the Chief Engineer on the flagship of the Enterprise was shocked that such a thing was even possible. I’m much more inclined to believe that the “transporter duplicates” are actually the result of the phenomenon that duplicated Voyager in Deadlock, not the transporter actually constructing two people from the pattern and matter of only one.

A transporter is a device which takes matter, shifts it into subspace, and can do some manipulation of that matter in the process, but can’t reconstruct it arbitrary. Once the transported object has been rematerialized, all the transporter has left is a record of what that matter was at a far lesser precision than what would be needed to replicate it.

A replicator is a transporter designed to shift inert matter into subspace and modify it extensively from that state. A typical replicator is less precise than a transporter and is simultaneously limited by the complexity of its recipes. It cannot produce functional living things, for example.

Transporters and replicators are frequently referred to as matter-energy conversion devices. This is technically true but somewhat deceptive. It’s also a common misconception that a transporter is an advanced replicator, instead of the other way round, but we know this isn’t true: a safe-for-humans Transporter was invented and used in the 22nd century, while the contemporary replicator equivalents were primitive protein resequencers.

That happened at least once, when Quark’s employees formed a union and went on strike. I believe Sisko went to that well a number of times when Quark crossed a line or refused to do something important.

Really, it makes sense. Quark is profiting hugely from the Federation’s willingness to not only give him a bunch of business but also not collect on some key expenses. That’s a great business arrangement, but also gives the Federation leverage over someone they wouldn’t otherwise have any trust in.

why restore the transporter patterns to their components rather than their Tuvix’d counterparts?

Counterpoint: why would you restore the transporter merges? The Tuvix’d contingent occupies the exact same state as the original individuals: “dead”, destroyed in the process of recreating another, larger being. Reverting to those obviously unstable and dangerous merged beings instead of the individuals who had been merged to create them would be absurd.

That suggestion actually makes sense: a standard procedure that doesn’t apply for the vast majority of officers beaming over.

The phrasing maybe a little awkward, but it works. Nice one!

That scene is a triumph of Federation ideology.

Finding the wormhole was a lucky accident, but everything else which lead to that apparent deus ex machina came about from Starfleet doing exactly what was needed to get the Prophets on their side: not with the intention or expectation of that ultimate result, but because it slotted right in with what the Federation wants to do anyway.

Sicko and his crew communicate with these strange life forms in they find, and make an effort to not only understand them but respect their wishes. They offer enormous practical support to Bajor and attempt to encourage them to join the Federation formally, but they respect the wishes of the Bajorans even when highly inconvenient (such as the abrupt pivot away from Federation membership that preceded the Dominion War). In short, Sisko and the government backing him legitimately earned the trust of both Bajor and the Prophets by being explorers, diplomats, and excellent allies. The military payoff they got is hardly the point, but they earned it.

Would any of the other races have earned the favor of the Prophets the way the Federation did? The Klingons, Romulans, and obviously the Cardassians would have taken over as brutal occupiers if they felt the need to get involved with Bajor at all. The Ferengi would have ruthlessly exploited Bajoran resources in their own way (which we know the Prophets were no fans of, see their temporary rewiring of Grand Nagus Zek), while the Borg would have simply consumed everything they found useful. Here, it’s the uniquely decent actions and values of the Federation that win out.

This is one of the many things that Strange New Worlds (and Lower Decks as well) have got right. Space battles in SNW are beautifully animated, but they aren’t overwhelmed with excess visual spectacles and they tend to be fundamentally simple: you shoot at us, we shoot back or try to find some helpful obstruction to hide behind, etc.

Even Prodigy’s big space battle in their finale manages the task to some degree, despite it’s scale. I remember watching it felt oddly sluggish, as the ratio of ships on screen to weapons being fired was surprisingly low, but it definitely made it easier to keep track of whatever specific event the camera was focussed on.

The grandparents effect did occur to me, but I’m not sure what exactly these few Gorn who reach adulthood are doing to make their descendants (who they implanted in a host long before they themselves grew to maturity) more likely to survive. Even assuming these adults are in position to assist their offspring, the kids are quite capable hunters and don’t seem to need protection against anything except eachother.

Do they? In the wild, the babies burst out of a host and are immediately capable of running around and spitting on things, which become infected and eventually babies burst out, onwards and onwards.

The Gorn practice of having separate breeding spaces is clearly an artificial construct designed (presumably by the Gorn themselves) to make it possible to have a functional civilization of adult beings. In the wild, anywhere that has viable hosts is a viable breeding area, and these creatures could not possibly have evolved this life cycle without viable hosts commonly available to them.

This is Daystrom Institute, so although we both accept and encourage Doylist answers, “it’s bad writing” is never a sufficiently substantive response.

So we know Gorn capture other species, pit them against the Gorn and each other ala the strongest M&M copypasta, and then send the strongest M&M back to M&M Mars space. La’an was the strongest M&M, for example.

I tried to touch on this in my OP, but the problem with this is that unless Gorn generations are very spread out (unlikely, given the rapid gestation period and rather ad-hoc method of implanting eggs), the odds of a “superior” elder beating out all of it’s slightly younger competition remains quite slim. This is a brawl, not a neatly organized bracket, and random chance will invariably play a big role in who wins and who loses. The top Gorn from generation A suddenly finds itself as merely a slightly advantaged individual in a whole new field of competitors the overwhelming likelihood is that one of them will prove the ultimate winner, and then suffer the same fate. If the “strongest M&M” were thrown into a fresh bracket instead of being mailed to the parent company, it’s almost certain to be toppled. You wind up with a species whose “true” lifespan and adult form is irrelevant, because every individual dies long before they come anywhere near adulthood.

More importantly from an evolutionary perspective, though, the success or lack thereof of an individual Gorn has almost no effect on their ability to reproduce. All the Gorn need, apparently, is to survive long enough to spit on a viable host. Anything that happens after they do that is irrelevant, and thus won’t be selected for evolutionarily. And it strikes me as highly improbable that growing to much greater size and having enormous strength (never mind developing sapience) are unlikely to emerge by pure chance without evolutionary pressures making those traits more likely to be passed on.

The “Strongest M&M” problem is probably mitigated by lower density of baby Gorn in the wild than what we’ve seen on screen so far. If a brood typically manages to winnow itself down to a single individual before any of them can spit on a host, and the hist typically has enough time to travel somewhere else before the next generation hatches, then you have a situation where the strongest of the babies will generally reproduce and then generally have the chance to continue growing into “true” adulthood. Unfortunately that still doesn’t answer my second question of how that adult form evolved at all when it’s very existence has no clear benefit to the animal’s ability to reproduce.