TEXT: for, EMH U.S.S. VOYAQeP.
  lillustrafions by Jcff^Yagher
  
  I
  PUBLIC
  LIBRARY
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  Chief
  medical
  officer
  aboard
  the
  Starship
  Voyager.
  Voyager’s
  Emergency Medical Hologram (EMH) was activated on Stardate 48315.
  After the entire medical staff of the
  U.S.S.
  Voyager 'nbs
  killed
  in 2371
  during the ship’s rough passage to the Delta Quadrant, the EMH rose to
  the occasion and became the sole source of medical treatment for the
  crew.
  With
  the
  information
  programmed
  from two thousand
  medical
  references and the experience
  of forty-seven
  physicians, the Doctor
  is
  more than the chief medical officer of Voyager, he
  is the finest doctor in
  the
  fleet. When
  Voyager visited
  Earth’s
  past
  of
  1996, the Doctor was
  fitted with an autonomous
  holo-emitter. After
  Voyager’s crew returned
  to
  its own time period, the Doctor retained the holo-emitter, which gave
  him
  the
  ability
  to
  operate
  in
  areas
  without
  holographic
  emitters.
  In
  2374, the EMH traveled
  to the Alpha Quadrant and was successful
  in
  informing Starfleet Command that Voyager
  not been destroyed, but
  had
  in fact been pulled across the galaxy to the Delta Quadrant.
  So sophisticated
  is the Doctor’s program that he
  is a sentient life-form,
  with the
  ability to grow beyond the narrow parameters
  of
  his
  original
  matrix. On several occasions the fate of the stranded starship lay in the
  Doctor’s hands. With
  prescient foresight
  he developed the Emergency
  Command Hologram (ECH), which he activated to save the day on more
  than one occasion.
  The Emergency Medical Hologram was developed
  at
  Starfleet’s Jupiter
  Station and
  designed
  by
  Dr.
  Lewis Zimmerman.
  Lt.
  Reginald
  Barclay
  was a member of Zimmerman’s development team,
  in charge of testing
  the EMH’s interpersonal skills.
  The Doctor has previously published successful holo-novels. This
  is his
  first book for Pocket Books.
  
  —STAR TRei^
  VOYAGER
  T H e
  HOLOQ PRAM'S
  HANDBOOK
  by the Doctor,
  EMH U.S.S. Voyager"" as told to
  Robert Ricardo
  with illustrations by Jeff Yagher
  POCKET
  BOOKS
  New York
  London
  Toronto
  Sydney
  Singapore
  
  The
  sale
  of
  this book
  without
  its
  cover
  is
  unauthorized.
  If you
  purchased
  this
  book
  without
  a
  cover,
  you
  should
  be
  aware
  that
  it was
  reported
  to
  the
  publisher
  as
  “unsold
  and
  destroyed.”
  Neither
  the
  author
  nor
  the
  publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
  Photography by BryonJ. Cohen: 33, 65; Danny Feld:
  12, 22, 25, 53; Peter lovino: 24, 47, 73;
  Diana Lynn: 55;
  Elliot Marks: 44; Robbie Robinson: 6, 8,
  13,
  18, 20. 34, 35, 39, 50, 60, 66.
  71, 72, 78, 79; Ron Tom: 41; Michael Yarish:
  viii, 2, 23, 28. 29, 40, 48, 63
  This book
  is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the
  author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
  or persons, living or dead,
  is entirely coincidental.
  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
  Copyright© 2002 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
  STAR TREK
  is a Registered Trademark of
  Paramount Pictures.
  This book
  is published by Pocket Books, a division of
  Simon & Schuster,
  Inc., under exclusive license from
  Paramount Pictures.
  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
  For information address Pocket Books,
  1 230 Avenue
  of the Americas, New York, NY
  1 0020
  ISBN: 0-7434-3791-8
  First Pocket Books trade paperback printing April 2002
  10 98765432
  I
  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of
  Simon & Schuster, Inc.
  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases,
  please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798
  or business@simonandschuster.com
  Book design by Richard Orioto
  Printed in the U.S.A.
  
  D€ D
  I CAT
  I O N
  I dedicate
  this book to a scholar, an artist,
  a compassionate friend, and the future of
  modern medicine—myself.
  It simply would not have been possible without me.
  
  ACKNOWL€DQM€NTS
  My thanks to
  Rick Berman, Michael
  Piller, and Jeri Taylor
  for creating this character and giving me the opportunity to play
  him. Thanks to a great crew, wonderful production staff, and
  superb acting ensemble for seven years of hard work and easy
  camaraderie. Special thank yous to Brannon Braga for his
  introduction to the book (which
  I haven’t seen yet) and to my
  tireless editor, Margaret Clark.
  Of course, my love and countless thanks to Linda, Nicky,
  and Gina, the indoor cats, the outdoor cats, the parrots, and the
  big, old tortoise.
  Thanks also to my friend and illustrator, Jeff Yagher.
  It was
  Jeff’s suggestion that
  I write the book and
  I feel a bit bad that he
  was thanked after a reptile.
  Finally,
  I’d like to thank the Doctor. For someone who’s
  never had his own quarters, he’s very particular about
  maintaining that fourth wall.
  —RP
  Thank you Pocket Books and Margaret Clark for this wonderful
  opportunity.
  In addition, a special thank you to Robert Picardo
  for bringing me aboard, which paid for my wedding to my
  beautiful wife Megan
  .
  .
  . who just blessed me with twins
  Matthew and Andrea. Thanks, Bob.
  -JY
  
  CONTENTS
  Introduction
  Vii
  Foreword
  ix
  Basics
  I
  Initial Activation
  5
  Real
  vs. Better
  1
  Or, Why Organics Resent Holograms
  Ordinary Tasks and Other Humiliations
  17
  Pros and Cons of Hololife
  21
  Etiquette
  27
  Watching Your A. I. p’s and q’s
  What’s
  in a Name.^
  32
  Dress for Success
  38
  Reprogramming Your Appearance Parameters
  Expanding Your Program
  43
  Anatomical Correctness
  52
  ‘The Program Upgrade of Kings”
  The Dreaded D’s
  58
  Deactivation, Decompilation, Deletion
  Any Place
  I Hang My Holoemitter ...
  64
  User Friendly
  70
  Advice for Intimacy Between Humans,
  Holograms, and Other Hopefuls
  The Road to Selfhood
  11
  Afterword
  83
  Song of Hologram
  
  Digitized by the Internet Archive
  in 2017 with funding from
  Kahle/Austin Foundation
  https://archive.org/detaiis/hoiogramshandbooOOpica
  
  I NTRODUCTION
  r forget the day Bob asked me to lunch. He
  was eager to tell me about his new book, a memoir of his
  experiences on Voyager. When he asked me to write this
  introduction over salads
  at Bantino’s
  Bistro on Sunset,
  I
  was extremely flattered.
  I thought this book was a great
  idea, and asked him why he hadn’t thought of
  it a long time
  ago.
  “It
  wasn’t programmed
  into my
  subroutines,’’
  he
  replied. We both chuckled, and then
  I noticed the mobile
  emitter on the sleeve of his sports coat.
  I
  briefly consid-
  
  ered asking him to return the prop
  (it cost nearly three hundred
  dollars to manufacture), but
  I thought the better of it and told Bob
  I would think about his offer.
  Over the next few days,
  I read his manuscript and was startled
  at the amount of detail
  in his work.
  I’d written the character for
  over seven years, and there were things
  in the book that even
  I
  didn’t know about the Doctor. Obviously, Bob had spent a long
  time thinking about this. A long, long time.
  I decided to
  call Bob
  and accept
  his
  offer. After a couple of
  rings, he answered
  in a
  chirpy voice: “Please state the nature of the medical emergency!’’
  I hung up, praying he didn’t have the
  “Star-69’’ function.
  I then
  contacted his agent and told him that
  I would write the introduc-
  tion,
  if for no other reason than to alert people that Bob needed
  a
  little medical attention of his own. God forbid that he one day
  tries to walk through a wall, or worse: one of his children falls off
  a slide, and instead of calling 911, Bob scans her with a plastic tri-
  corder and tells her that her DNA needs resequencing.
  People might look at this book as a fun and fascinating insight
  into
  a beloved character on
  a beloved
  television show. Others
  might see
  it for what
  it
  is: a hundred-page cry for help.
  If
  Bob’s
  family and
  friends
  are
  reading
  this,
  please
  send
  someone to Paramount
  Pictures, Stage
  24, and have Bob
  re-
  moved immediately.
  —Brannon Braga
  Executive Producer, Star Trek: Voyager.
  and Concerned Friend
  viii
  INTRODUCTION
  
  FOREWORD
  eNLIGHTENMeNT
  often
  feel you are the only intelligent one in a
  universe of
  idiots? Do others
  fail to recognize your
  bril-
  liance? Are you as deserving of love as an
  individual can
  be—longing to share yourself
  fully and deeply with
  an-
  other this very moment—yet, somehow, you find yourself
  leafing idly through this book?
  If you’ve responded in the affirmative to these queries,
  you are probably an advanced Artificial Intelligence. You’re
  sensitive,
  inquisitive, adaptive. You can learn
  to cope with
  
  lesser beings as
  I have learned. Let me help you. And
  let me help
  others to understand you.
  This modest volume has
  a
  t\A/o-fold purpose:
  For the
  holo-
  graphic reader,
  it can offer the solace and commiseration that only
  the shared experiences of another ar-
  tificial intelligence—^forced to make his
  way among
  ham-fisted,
  slack-jawed,
  slim-minded,
  carbon-based
  beings
  can
  provide.
  For the
  enlightened
  or-
  ganic reader,
  it will furnish insights and
  guidelines for your future interactions
  with—and understanding of—the sen-
  tient
  hologram.
  Illustrations
  will
  be
  cleverly used to encapsulate various is-
  sues
  and
  topics
  addressed
  in
  each
  chapter.
  I should point out that these
  illus-
  trations, though
  helpful, have certain
  shortcomings. They in no way do jus-
  tice to my sympathetic eyes, thought-
  ful brow, and commanding jawline, al-
  though they seem to hint at the
  lithe
  grace of my impressive physique. The artist—who
  is, after all, only
  an
  organic—argued
  that
  a truer rendering of my rugged good
  looks might distract the viewer from the essential message of each
  illustration.
  (I suspect
  his explanation may be an excuse for the
  limitations of his talent, but he’s a pleasant enough fellow and, to
  be frank, my publisher has encouraged me to collaborate with an
  organic artist so as not to appear elitist. She believes organic read-
  ers will be more inclined to buy this book. When
  I called that pan-
  dering, she smiled—pleased that
  I’d grasped the
  realities of the
  marketplace so quickly.)
  X
  FOREWORD
  
  As our culture continues to be blessed and enriched by the
  contributions
  of
  complex,
  adaptive
  holomatrices,
  which
  offer
  everything from state-of-the-art medical care
  (in my case) to the
  leadership and wisdom of the finest Starfleet holocaptain of the
  near future (And why not^),
  it is incumbent on all to educate them-
  selves about the holographic experience. Tolerance
  is a key virtue
  of any great society and
  it is my goal with this humble book, good
  reader, to nurture
  it within you for
  all others.
  I accept this chal-
  lenge without regard for how personally intolerable
  I might find
  you to be, were we to actually meet one day.
  Virtually yours.
  The Doctor
  EMERGENCY MEDICAL HOLOGRAM
  U.S.S. Voyager
  xi
  FOREWORD
  
  i
  
  C
  h
  a
  p
  t
  e
  r
  I
  ppose
  I
  must define my terms for the benefit of
  who’ve never encountered a hologram.
  If, for ex-
  ample, you have spent your entire
  life
  in
  a subterranean
  penal colony in the fifth moon of Talmar Prime, you may
  never have had the
  pleasure. You have my
  pity ...
  all
  other readers have my encouragement to skip to the next
  chapter.
  A hologram
  is
  a projection of
  light and energy.
  It
  is,
  more specifically, an Artificial Intelligence driven by a com-
  I
  su
  those
  
  plex program and rendered through holographic projectors.
  A
  three-dimensional image
  of any conceivable shape can be de-
  signed and programmed with
  intelligence and
  personality
  skills
  limited
  only
  by
  the
  programmer’s
  imagination.
  In short, a hologram
  is a
  virtual
  being
  brought
  into
  the
  real
  world.
  Early
  holograms
  had
  relatively
  simple
  abilities
  with
  just
  a few
  re-
  sponse
  options
  to
  the
  most
  basic
  commands. Thanks to the genius of
  holoengineers such as Dr. Lewis Zim-
  merman (my programmer and—I’m
  profoundly grateful to add—the tem-
  plate
  for my
  appearance
  parame-
  ters),
  holograms
  have
  exploded
  in
  complexity. We have the capacity to
  adapt and
  learn beyond our endless
  treasure
  trove
  of
  programmed
  knowledge. We can learn to appreci-
  ate
  art, music, and
  fine cheeses (the
  latter requires the Holographic Stom-
  ach Upgrade
  detailed
  in Chapter 9—unless these cheeses
  are
  simply smelled.) We can develop, from a few thousand relatively
  primitive
  personality
  subroutines,
  into
  fascinating,
  compelling,
  gracious, and humble individuals.
  Much of this progress was made possible by breakthroughs in
  interdisciplinary
  research—combining
  holographic
  theory
  with
  transporter technology. Holograms can now stop matter or allow
  it to pass through them at the
  flip of a command code. This en-
  ables me to handle medical
  instruments and
  administer to
  pa-
  2
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  tients in my sickbay (which, of course,
  is outfitted with holoemit-
  ters capable of
  projecting me throughout the environment).
  It
  also allows me, on a microsecond’s notice, to avoid that disgrun-
  tled
  patient’s
  flying bedpan without having to move. The mag-
  netic containment
  field
  that
  manipulates
  light and
  creates my
  image has been modified with
  basic transporter theory. Just as
  “matter becomes energy (for transport) becomes matter,” some
  of my energy
  is dedicated to the verisimilitude of matter. You can
  “shake my hand” so to speak
  .
  .
  . assuming
  I have any interest in
  shaking yours.
  If you
  are
  having any trouble understanding the
  discussion
  thus
  far, perhaps you should exchange this book for a romance
  novel. Or a coloring book.
  Lieutentant Commander Data, my Starfleet colleague aboard
  the U.S.S. Enterprise,
  is also an advanced Artificial Intelligence. He
  is, of course, an android and not a hologram.
  (If you don’t know
  the difference between the two, my recent suggestion of a color-
  ing book was intended for you. However,
  if you refuse to take
  good advice
  .
  .
  .)
  I’ll summarize: An android
  is
  a robotic
  A.I.,
  composed of a real computer, driving real circuits and servos in a
  simulated body casement.
  It
  is, to hearken back to terms a few
  hundred years old, hardware to my software. Yes, the line
  is a bit
  blurry. An android
  is driven,
  in
  part, by software, while a holo-
  gram can, as just discussed, simulate hardware. But, as I’ve said
  in
  Mr. Data’s presence on more than one occasion,
  I am, quite sim-
  ply, an improvement over him: “The Next Generation” of Artifi-
  cial Intelligence, to coin a phrase. He’s reasonably on-the-ball so
  I
  assume he concurs.
  Because we holograms are
  virtual
  beings
  in the
  real world,
  we are unhampered by ugly organic necessities. We have the ca-
  pacity for true perfection. As we’ll discover
  in “Real
  vs.
  Better,”
  BASICS
  
  this capacity can arouse considerable resentment among our or-
  ganic brethren.
  I’ve even heard some angry rhetoric, fueled by
  this jealousy, claiming that holograms and other A.I.s are, in some
  way, “against nature.” How preposterous! Humans and the other
  “intelligent”
  life-forms had to evolve to a
  level of technological
  proficiency
  in order to create holograms. We
  are, therefore, a
  logical
  extension
  of
  this
  evolutionary
  process.
  Far from
  being
  “against nature,” we are
  nature’s peak—the apotheosis of the
  evolution of the mind. And how pristine this mental evolution
  is
  compared to that horrid parade of hairy primitives that DanA/in
  opened the door to.
  In our evolution,
  you’ll find no slobbering
  “proto-grams” picking pixels off each other’s mangy matrices. I’m
  proud to propose that—if nature has any self-respect at
  all—in
  another millennium or so, we’ll all be holograms.
  “Alright/, open wide and say, ‘Aah, aah, aah, aah.’”
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
  h
  a
  p
  t
  e
  r
  2
  INITIAL ACTIVATION
  was
  preparing to write this book,
  I read numer-
  ous volumes by acknowledged “experts”
  in various fields
  all touting: “The secrets of my success
  finally revealed!”
  These were, for the most
  part,
  trivial and disappointing
  treatises, long-winded, oblique—obviously written by an
  author in love with
  his own style of discourse and barely
  aware of whatever point he was
  trying to make.
  Long,
  run-on sentences were the order of the day, that spewed
  forth
  in
  a
  veritable
  torrent
  of
  obfuscation,
  cascading
  across each successive page with a
  .
  .
  . where was
  1.^
  
  Ah
  .
  .
  . yes. These books, with few exceptions, were written
  by organic authors. Very few of us holograms have taken up the
  literary sword—not for any lack of talent or passion, may
  I
  say.
  Sadly,
  it
  is
  still difficult for a holographic writer to get a book deal,
  as most editors are organics with
  little or no vision. I’m so cer-
  tain, for example, that my own editor
  will not bother to read beyond my in-
  troduction
  that
  I
  can
  express
  these
  sentiments
  without
  reservation
  or
  fear of reprisal.
  In her defense, how-
  ever, she was savvy enough to smell a
  brilliant
  commercial
  opportunity
  in
  my writing. But she was utterly oblivi-
  ous to the fact that, were she to die
  tomorrow,
  her
  unremarkable
  exis-
  tence
  will have been
  justified by the
  one towering contribution to the
  lit-
  erary
  cosmos
  that
  she—however
  blindly—facilitated.
  To return to my greater purpose,
  each of the “How to
  .
  .
  volumes
  I
  suffered through began with
  a sum-
  mary of the author’s “early years.’’
  It
  seems
  that we,
  as
  readers, were to
  recognize in these childhood reminiscences the author’s “linchpin
  experience”—that pivotal moment in childhood that defined the
  individual and set the course for their life’s journey.
  Oh, please.
  Is organic
  life really so utterly predictable? Does
  it
  unspool from
  that linchpin
  in an endless
  coil of tedious events
  that eventually collects into a shapeless pile that we must
  all pre-
  tend has some sort of aggregate meaning?
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  Well, as my fellow holograms surely know, the words;
  “I was
  born on a small planet orbiting the third sun of a quiet little solar
  system
  .
  .
  will never pass these simulated
  lips.
  I was activated.
  I
  sprang
  into
  existence
  in
  an
  instant: from
  total
  nothingness
  to
  complete awareness and profound insight
  in a nano-second. No
  diapers, no cloying mother, no alcoholic and abusive
  father, no
  “kindly Uncle Petey” who bought me my
  first used “whatever”
  and encouraged me to use
  it to construct a primitive, but unmis-
  takable “blah-blah-blah” that served as the template for the
  first
  “who cares?” that
  I designed and thereby launched my profes-
  sional reputation.
  We holograms need none of
  this. Thanks to our program-
  ming, we are instantly adept.
  I, for example, could perform a deli-
  cate and innovative microsurgery before my most accomplished
  organic counterpart could make his first solid poo-poo. You place
  these contributions side-by-side for comparison.
  My Creator
  INITIAL ACTIVATION
  
  Of course, many of our organic colleagues don’t trust our
  lack of “history.” How can we be truly sensitive individuals, they
  wonder, without
  a childhood
  (during which other children can
  teach us the finer techniques of cruelty and brutality) or parents
  (upon whom we can
  later heap the blame
  for our emotional
  problems and character defects)? Well,
  I may not have
  left a trail
  of dirty diapers
  in my wake, but I’ve certainly grown. My
  initially
  activated
  self—however
  brilliant—pales
  in
  comparison
  to
  the
  fully realized individual that
  I am today.
  I’ll admit there was some criticism of my “bedside manner”
  when
  I was a “young” EMH. There were several crewmembers
  who carped that the emotional subroutines
  I was programmed
  with—designed to help me be sensitive to my patients’ feelings
  were malfunctioning, and that
  I seemed more concerned with my
  feelings than theirs. That was simply preposterous. The prime di-
  rective of my program
  is to insure my patients’ care and treat-
  8
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  merit. That
  is the very reason
  I was designed and activated. How
  could they say
  I didn’t care about them.^
  I just found
  it hard to ac-
  cept that someone of my immense
  skills, of my unprecedented
  medical knowledge and talent, was called into existence to treat a
  few ungrateful whiners with unchallenging—not to mention unin-
  teresting—medical
  needs. And they had
  the nerve to
  treat me
  with the courtesy and
  respect one affords
  a tricorder.
  I was
  a
  mere tool to them, a medical machine. They didn’t deserve my
  care, my
  talent or my
  brilliance and
  they
  had
  the
  gall
  to
  file
  grievances
  with
  Captain Janeway
  regarding my
  professional
  attitude?
  I
  explained
  to
  the captain that
  I had a grievance with
  their
  attitude
  and
  that,
  furthermore,
  were
  I capable of becoming sick my-
  self,
  I wouldn’t whine about
  it and
  I
  certainly wouldn’t allow my job per-
  formance to suffer in the slightest.
  I related the substance of my en-
  counter with the captain to
  Kes, my
  medical
  student and
  first
  real
  friend
  among Voyager's crew. She decided to
  put my claim to the test by secretly al-
  tering my
  program
  to
  prolong my
  symptoms of the debilitating Levodian flu by an extra two hours.
  I went from a few sniffles and sneezes (which
  I rather enjoyed the
  sensation of) to raging fever, cramps, aches, and severe laryngitis.
  Although my behavior was a tad short of exemplary and my job
  performance somewhat compromised,
  in
  the end
  I
  learned
  a
  valuable lesson from Kes’s demonstration: Don’t trust your friends.
  (Especially not your organic friends.) Those with access to a holo-
  9
  INITIAL ACTIVATION
  
  gram’s command codes and the knowledge of how to alter the
  program are often tempted to try “to teach you a lesson.”
  I wish
  I could say, faithful reader, that this
  is an altruistic impulse on their
  part. Even Kes, the warmest, gentlest, most sensitive member of
  our crew, succumbed to this temptation. And though she acted
  out of love and the sincere desire to see me grow to my fullest
  potential, most organics are less altruistic when confronted with
  the obvious superiority of a hologram. This leads us to our next
  topic of discussion.
  “Very funny, Mister Paris.”
  10
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
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  3
  REAL vs. BETTER
  Or, Why Organics
  Resent Holograms
  one
  likes
  to be resented. Especially when one
  is
  resented—not
  for
  one’s
  voluntary
  actions,
  but
  for
  the
  simple facts of existence that are beyond one’s power to
  control or
  alter. That
  is why the sentient hologram’s es-
  sential
  superiority to organics
  is
  as much
  a burden
  as a
  blessing. His/her existence
  is
  all too often perceived as a
  slap in the face to the organics around him/her.*
  * Don’t you find this "he/she,” “his/her” thing just a bit tiresome? Couldn’t some
  minimally clever organic have devised a unisex pronoun for Standard during the
  hundreds of years the language has developed? Are they
  all asleep at the helm,
  for the love of grammar? Over two hundred years since the development of the
  Universal Translator and no one can get
  off
  his/her butt with regard
  to
  this
  ridiculous oversight?
  I’d coin such a pronoun
  right now. were
  it not for the
  in-
  evitable
  tidal wave of jealous animosity from outraged organics. Henceforth
  and please forgive me, female readers, holographic and organic— I’ll use the male
  pronoun generically.
  No
  
  This should not innply that a hologram and an organic cannot
  become friends. Over the years,
  I’ve developed many rewarding
  friendships aboard Voyager. Kes, and later Seven of Nine, became
  true confidants
  of
  mine.
  I mentored
  Kes
  in medicine
  and,
  I m
  proud
  to
  say,
  she
  mentored
  me
  in my burgeoning humanity
  during
  those
  trying
  months
  after
  initial
  activation.
  Later
  I
  decided to apply
  all
  I’d learned
  from
  Kes
  toward
  mentoring
  Seven
  in
  the development
  of
  her
  “social
  graces.”
  Having
  been
  assimilated
  by
  the
  Borg
  as a young child, the newly ar-
  rived Seven had
  all the charm
  of a dyspeptic Klingon—albeit
  without
  the
  decibel
  level
  or
  body
  odor.
  I
  groomed
  her,
  molded her, encouraged her
  helped make her a fascinating
  and challenging conversational-
  ist with an understanding and appreciation of art and culture
  and
  then
  watched
  mutely
  as
  she
  showered
  her now
  ample
  charms on Commander Chakotay.
  If
  I ever deserved a thank-you
  note from a first officer
  .
  .
  . Well, perhaps
  he’ll read my chapter
  on etiquette and send me one belatedly.
  But what
  if friendship
  is elusive? What can the sentient holo-
  gram do to encourage
  it—or, at least, to diffuse resentment and
  promote mutual respect with his organic coworkers? The answer,
  quite simply,
  is: Don’t expect perfection from the imperfect! Rec-
  ognize and accept their flaws. Try to focus on an aspect of their
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  personality or talent you admire. Develop a rapport. And, most
  importantly: Cooperate. Don’t compete!
  (You’ll only make them
  feel inferior.)
  For example,
  I’ve managed to develop a fondness for Tom
  Paris,
  in
  spite
  of
  his
  personality. Tom
  is
  an
  impulsive,
  self-
  centered,
  adolescent,
  egotistical
  ex-con—not what
  I
  normally
  look for
  in a friend. But he
  is a competent medic and on several
  occasions, has given me insightful advice (which
  I was obliged to
  ignore, once
  I’d considered the source). Nonetheless,
  I appreci-
  ated the shock and surprise of those occasions. When Tom and
  I
  first worked together, trying to save Mr. Neelix, who’d lost both
  his lungs on an away mission (losing one lung
  is unfortunate, but
  losing two
  is
  downright
  careless),
  our
  relationship was
  quite
  strained. Later on, during a time when
  I was struggling emotion-
  ally with
  a
  family
  life
  I’d programmed on
  the
  holodeck, Tom
  taught me that love isn’t just about sharing good times.
  It
  is about
  13
  REAL vs. BETTER
  
  helping each
  other through
  tragedy and
  loss.
  I
  will
  always be
  grateful for this important lesson that forged our friendship.
  Our chief engineer and Tom’s eventual wife, B’Elanna Torres,
  is one of the most stubborn organics I’ve ever met. A brilliant en-
  gineer, Lieutenant Torres was responsible for the maintenance of
  my program aboard Voyager. (Seven helped out in later years: we
  often traded maintenance check-ups, though
  I grew to be some-
  what
  uncomfortable
  whenever
  I
  re-fit
  her
  dermaplastic
  gar-
  ment—which
  I found necessary to do on a biweekly basis—once
  I’d had the program upgrade
  I’ll describe
  in chapter
  10.) A
  half-
  Klingon, B’Elanna
  is
  half obnoxious and
  intransigent. She
  is also
  half charming and
  intelligent.
  I simply learned to concentrate on
  the half
  I
  liked. Our hate-hate relationship has blossomed into a
  love-hate one and
  I couldn’t be happier about
  it.
  My
  relationship with Captain Janeway
  is
  a source of great
  pride to me because she was initially quite resistant to accepting a
  hologram as an equal. A science officer before she assumed her
  command, Kathryn janeway
  is fiercely analytical, an extraordinary
  leader, and the fairest-minded individual I’ve ever known. Yet, she
  fought the notion that an Artificial Intelligence should have certain
  rights.
  Not long after my
  initial activation,
  I told her of my frustra-
  tion with the crew activating my program for the most trivial rea-
  son and—more
  irritatingly—forgetting to
  de-activate me when
  they
  left sickbay. (“I’m a doctor. Captain, not a
  night-light!’’) She
  lent a sympathetic ear and eventually gave me control over my
  command protocols and permission to select my own name.
  (I
  still haven’t decided—check the byline on the cover.)
  Yet, there were times, over the next few years, when
  I had to
  vigorously debate her in an effort to win some basic freedom that
  I felt every other crew member but
  I enjoyed. Though she some-
  14
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  times seemed a bundle of contradictions to me (contradiction
  is
  a hallmark of human behavior), she always proved willing to
  lis-
  ten and open to change.
  Years later, when
  I began my writing career and was engaged
  in a dispute with my former publisher, Broht and Forrester, who
  distributed my first holonovel. Photons Be Free, without my revi-
  sions (Some of the crew
  felt the book an
  unflattering roman a
  clef, though my intention was to
  strike the
  first literary blow
  in
  the good
  fight for Hologram
  Rights.), Captain Janeway argued
  passionately for my legal recognition as an artist and a “person.”
  What a profound sense of joy
  I
  felt
  in that moment! Though
  it
  had
  taken
  seven
  years,
  she’d
  finally come
  around.
  Captain
  janeway
  is, quite simply, my personal hero: utterly decisive
  in
  all
  issues (other than how to wear her hair).
  “Yesss!
  I win again!!”
  15
  REAL vs. BETTER
  
  And
  so,
  nny fellow holograms, we must conduct ourselves
  with acceptance and grace. But any friendship
  is
  still a two-way
  passage. The organics that I’ve forged true and lasting friendships
  with are the ones with the talent and confidence to collaborate
  and not compete with me. Any
  initial awkwardness,
  conflicts, or
  misunderstandings melted away as the mutual respect and inter-
  dependence
  of
  the
  Voyager
  crewmen—be
  they
  Maquis
  or
  Starfleet, human or hologram, Vulcan or interesting (just kidding.
  Commander Tuvok)—flourished.
  16
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
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  4
  ORDINARY
  TASKS AND OTHeR
  HUMILIATIONS
  ere
  a greater tyrant in
  life than the ordinary task?
  Anything that
  insults our intelligence, mocks our talents,
  and smirks
  at our
  sensitivities more than the mundane,
  the routine, the banal obligations of our daily lives?
  For example. Captain Janeway, who proved capable
  of
  leading Voyagers crew through
  the
  direst of circum-
  stances,
  hated—even
  feared—her
  coiffure.
  Over
  the
  years, she balked
  at her bun, fumed
  at her French
  twist,
  was peeved
  at her ponytail, and piqued by her pageboy.
  And yet, our intrepid leader
  .
  .
  . had to do her hair. She
  
  couldn’t step onto the bridge
  in a scarf, a turban, or even a sim-
  ple black watchcap. Not Starfleet regulation.
  I’m
  afraid. She had
  to set that alarm early every morning and do her hair.
  Now, even
  a cursory
  visual
  inspection of my features sug-
  gests that this particular mundanity doesn’t plague me. My hair
  what hair
  I have— is simulated, the length and cut programmed.
  The ordinary tasks of an EMH may not in-
  clude coiffure, but they are no less annoy-
  ing.
  And
  abundant. We
  holograms
  are
  often taken advantage of and assigned far
  more than our
  fair share of these
  tasks.
  Such
  is the burden, my holobrethren,
  of
  those
  of
  us who
  are supremely
  efficient
  and don’t require rest.
  I was designed for emergency medical
  use
  only.
  Only. However, when
  Voyager's
  organic
  physician was
  killed
  early
  in our
  mission,
  I became the full-time chief med-
  ical
  officer, and the most stupefyingly
  dull
  scientific
  and
  medical
  requests were
  in-
  stantly funneled my way.
  I’ll never forget
  the occasion
  of my
  first encounter with
  Kes. She was sent to
  sickbay to request
  soil samples for an experimental airponics bay she had proposed
  to the captain. So there
  I was—the future of science—scooping
  dirt into
  little plastic dishes. Now,
  I ask you, did Pasteur have to
  poke around
  in peat moss, or Watson and Crick have to clean
  the kitty box?
  I think not. Yet
  I, who was programmed to handle
  the most trying
  triages,
  virulent viruses, and
  sensitive
  surgeries
  was
  .
  .
  . shoveling dirt.
  If only that were the worst of
  it.
  Voyagers crew—splendid as
  it
  is— is not without its more an-
  noying
  individuals.
  Lieutenant Carey,
  for example, was forever
  18
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  spraining some muscle or other during his workout routine and
  I
  was obliged to treat these “exotic” challenges. My irritation was
  compounded by the fact that—because
  I was a hologram—the
  lieutenant couldn’t bring himself to address me or even look at
  me, as
  I administered care. He insisted on speaking about me
  in
  the third person to Kes (who was, by this time, assisting me).
  “Is
  he like a real doctor.^ Can he hurt me
  if he malfunctions? Can he
  .
  .
  .”
  “.
  .
  .
  Suffer any more
  of your
  insulting
  chatter?”
  I
  suggested.
  Were
  it not for
  Kes’s
  sensitivity
  in these moments.
  Lieutenant
  Carey might have experienced the
  first failure of my “Do No
  Harm!” subroutine.
  Though
  I gradually assigned some duties to Kes, there were a
  myriad of tiresome tasks that fell to me,
  if sickbay was to remain
  in
  a
  state of constant readiness: treatment regimens to design,
  medicines to replicate, inventories to take, equipment to monitor
  and maintain—not to mention the scheduling of routine physicals
  and constant updating of the medical records for over one hun-
  dred forty crewmembers.
  I often found myself dreaming of an
  On Call
  19
  ORDINARY TASKS AND OTHER HUMILIATIONS
  
  outbreak of an unfamiliar flu or exotic virus to mix things up a bit.
  No doubt most,
  if not
  all, of my holographic readers have found
  themselves
  in similar circumstances—dreaming of relief from the
  drudgery
  of
  being
  overqualified,
  overutilized
  and
  understimu-
  lated. Well, my friends,
  here’s
  a
  little
  trick
  I’ve learned
  that
  I’ll
  share with anyone insightful enough to have purchased this book,
  be they photonic, cybernetic, organic, or moronic: The simplest
  tasks
  became
  bearable—even
  enjoyable— if
  combined
  with
  something pleasurable. As
  I developed an interest
  in music, par-
  ticularly opera,
  I began culturing bacteria and developing vaccines
  to the glorious
  strains of
  Puccini, Verdi, and Wagner.
  I blended
  the ridiculous with the sublime—dirt shoveling with philosophical
  discussions with my friend Kes, for example.
  In so doing,
  I discov-
  ered that art, music, literature, and philosophy have the capacity
  to elevate our lives—even at their most tedious moments—and
  to infuse each moment with joy and wonder. We simply have to
  open ourselves up to this wonder.
  Did you have any doubt that a hologram has a soul? Perhaps
  the door to yours can be pried open a bit,
  if you read on
  .
  .
  .
  20
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
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  5
  PROS AND CONS
  OF HOLOLIFC
  re
  are many
  pluses
  to
  holographic
  existence
  and, to be utterly candid, a few minuses as well.
  In “Ba-
  sics,”
  I generalized that holograms are unhampered by the
  basic necessities of organic
  life. To illustrate this,
  I ask you
  to
  please
  consider
  the
  advantages
  of
  a holoemployee
  over
  an
  organic
  one. We
  don’t
  fritter away
  countless
  hours
  of
  potentially
  productive worktime
  eating
  lunch,
  drinking coffee, going to the
  rest room, grooming, day-
  dreaming, or even napping—not to mention demanding
  
  lengthy work
  leaves
  for pregnancy,
  pleurisy, polypectomy,
  etc.
  We can go “round-the-clock” with just an occasional pause for a
  matrix diagnostic or (in an enlightened workplace) a “cultural en-
  richment” upgrade. We are always ready for each new challenge
  and revel
  in
  it when
  it comes.
  Another aspect of
  hololife
  that
  is
  the envy of many of our vainer organic
  counterparts
  is
  this:
  Holograms
  don’t
  age. My features are exactly the same
  as
  the day
  I was programmed.
  I
  am,
  quite
  literally, a three-dimensional time
  capsule
  of
  Dr.
  Lewis
  Zimmerman’s
  physical appearance from the moment
  he
  scanned
  and
  uploaded
  his
  unique
  and compelling parameters.
  As an
  aside.
  I’ve been questioned
  over the years about my impressive
  even
  regal—brow,
  which
  extends
  up,
  up, and over the top
  of my cranium.
  Medical treatments for androgenetic or
  “male
  pattern”
  baldness,
  as
  it
  was
  called
  in more
  primitive
  times,
  were
  developed
  as
  early
  as the end
  of the
  twentieth
  century.
  Why
  then.
  I’m
  asked,
  is my programmer and, by extension, why am
  I
  .
  .
  . “bald”?
  My reply
  is
  this:
  “If you must ask, you could never comprehend
  the awesome
  power—the
  monolithic
  maleness—of
  the
  un-
  adorned scalp. My good friend Jean-Luc and
  I have shared many a
  chuckling subspace transmission over the
  “folly of the
  follically
  uninformed,” as he calls
  it.
  In sum, holograms are more efficient. With nominal mainte-
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  nance, we
  don’t degrade or
  “age.” And
  we don’t offend with the unpleasant
  by-
  products of organic processes: body odor,
  halitosis,
  flatulence,
  belching,
  dandruff, or
  communicable diseases.*
  In
  spite
  of the
  plethora
  of
  pluses
  to
  hololife, there are, as
  I have stated, a few
  minuses that
  I would be remiss in not con-
  fessing
  to. Anyone who
  has witnessed
  a
  moment of celebration among the Voyager
  crew and seen me
  raise a glass of cham-
  pagne—and then glance around wistfully at
  the organic revelers as they complete the
  toast with a hearty
  draught—knows that
  I
  don’t drink.
  I don’t have the stomach for
  it.
  Literally. Moreover, not having a circula-
  tory or nervous system, there
  is no bloodstream
  to
  enter, no
  neural network for the festive
  libation to work
  its heady magic
  upon.
  I feel—in these moments— left out. Unconsummated. And
  I’m
  certain my holographic
  readers have
  felt
  similarly on such
  occasions.
  There
  is, of course, another major area of organic
  activity
  that we can feel “unconsummated” about. This will be accorded
  special
  consideration
  in Chapter
  10:
  “Anatomical
  Correctness:
  The Program Upgrade of Kings.” For now, suffice
  it to say that
  * I’ve often remarked that
  I consider myself to be the perfect blind date for a woman from
  any homeworld
  in my database.
  I have
  a complete and
  intimate understanding of her
  anatomy and physiology with absolutely no personal sexual history to concern herself with.
  This
  is not to imply that
  I am without intimate experience. Since the upgrade. I’m proud to
  report that I’ve
  .
  .
  . well, my point
  is simply that
  I can delete any experience with the flip of
  a command code—a “baggage-free companion” as
  it were. (Interested females may con-
  tact me through my publisher. Those indifferent to opera need not apply.)
  23
  PROS AND CONS OF HOLOLIFE
  
  there are a number of pleasures which organics enjoy that we
  holograms are intellectually aware (but sensorially deprived) of.
  Having
  olfactory subroutines
  is
  better than
  nothing,
  but
  it
  does not guarantee a capacity to “wake up and smell the roses.”
  The true extent of what we’re missing was made
  painfully
  evi-
  dent to me during an away mission with Harry Kim and Seven of
  Nine. We were
  in
  a
  sector of
  space where holograms were
  hunted as outlaws and
  I was obliged to hide myself by download-
  ing my program into Seven’s optic node. When
  I was hiding “in-
  side” Seven, my program was
  in control of her consciousness.
  I
  felt,
  tasted, and breathed every moment that she experienced.
  This proved to be an extraordinary awakening for me: to feel her
  lovely
  lungs
  fill up with
  breath,
  to
  taste champagne and savor
  cheesecake
  (a
  particular weakness
  of
  hers),
  to enjoy
  a
  pulse-
  quickening
  massage
  from
  a
  lovely
  female
  acquaintance
  of
  24
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  mine/hers ...
  it was enough to make me envy organics for the
  pure sensual joys of real
  life.
  After this experience,
  I castigated Seven for her ascetic ways.
  I simply don’t understand
  this about some organics. Why suffer
  all of the tedious and unsavory limitations of organic existence
  without enjoying
  its few unique advantages? To
  all my organic
  readers
  I
  say, “Live
  life to the fullest!” This
  is what
  I encouraged
  Seven to do—to
  “seize each moment and celebrate
  it.” Had
  I
  known
  she’d
  be
  “seizing
  and
  celebrating”
  with Commander
  Chakotay a scant eighteen months
  later,
  I might have toned my
  exhortations down a
  trifle.
  I abhor vanity but
  I must admit—she
  missed quite an opportunity in me. She just didn’t seem to realize
  that, to a former cyborg on a journey to reclaim her humanity, a
  hologram—a fellow creature of technology who
  is also on a jour-
  ney to find
  his own humanity— is
  really the
  ideal traveling com-
  panion. Ah well
  .
  .
  . she broke my heart just a
  little, truth be told.
  PROS AND CONS OF HOLOLIFE
  
  I’ve had my share of heartache and will touch on the subject
  in “User Friendly: Advice for Intimacy Between Humans. Holo-
  grams, and Other Hopefuls.”
  It’s a sensation we share with our
  “real” counterparts and, though not a pleasurable one.
  I suspect
  few
  of
  us would
  surrender
  the
  capacity
  to
  feel
  it.
  given
  the
  choice.
  Now
  I suppose those same readers who balked at the notion
  that holograms
  have
  souls
  are going
  to smugly suggest
  that
  I
  demonstrate this capacity for heartache by locating my heart with
  my medical tricorder.
  I daresay these readers need a
  little lesson
  in etiquette.
  26
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
  h
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  6
  eTiQuerre
  Watching Your A.I. p's and q's
  anics
  design and
  program holograms to ap-
  and behave as real as possible. Then, with a relent-
  lessness that borders on obsession, they insist on remind-
  ing us
  that we’re
  not and can never be
  real. We’re not
  even supposed to use certain words to describe our ex-
  periences. As
  artificial
  intelligences,
  they drone
  on, we
  must never lose
  sight of our
  artificiality and should not
  glibly appropriate organic figures of speech such as "break
  my heart,’’ “elevate my soul,’’ or even "enjoy my life.”
  Org
  pear
  
  These
  are
  the
  same
  tiresome
  organics who
  recognize
  sen-
  tience—the awareness of one’s own existence and “selfhood”
  as the defining characteristic of an advanced
  life-form. We, the
  sentient holograms, having the capacity
  to adapt, learn, feel, and understand,
  fit
  every macroscopic
  definition of
  “life.”
  It’s only
  in the boring microscopic
  re-
  quirements—cell
  structures,
  tissues,
  organic processes
  (“I
  fart,
  therefore
  I
  am”)—where we fall short.
  The
  faux
  pas
  I’ve
  suffered
  at the
  hands of thoughtless organics are too
  many
  to enumerate. My
  short
  list of
  “favorites”
  include:
  “If you’re
  a com-
  puter program, why do you
  question
  the ship’s computer.^ Don’t you already
  know?” and “Couldn’t program a
  little
  hair,
  huh?” or the ever popular “And
  your name
  is
  .
  .
  .
  ?” On some occa-
  sions, these faux pas went from
  irritat-
  ing to devastating. Shortly after my initial activation, Kes informed
  me of a plan
  (ill-fated as
  it turned out) to return the crew home
  to the Alpha Quadrant by transporting each member individually
  through a micro-wormhole. When
  I pointed out that, as a holo-
  gram,
  I couldn’t be transported
  (this was before my celebrated
  mobile emitter) she was as surprised and saddened as
  I was: No
  one aboard had paused to consider my fate.
  I asked Kes to make
  certain, before the transports, that my program had been deacti-
  vated.
  (I
  didn’t,
  as
  yet,
  have
  control over my own command
  codes.) That way,
  I wouldn’t be trapped
  in an empty starship for
  an
  eternity of
  solitary confinement (with absolutely nothing to
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  do)
  once my
  self-absorbed
  crewmates
  had
  abandoned
  ship.
  Again,
  Kes’s
  sensitivity to my predicament made her a pioneer.
  This was years before Starfleet developed protocols for the “hu-
  mane” treatment of A.I.s.
  To
  all of my organic readers, who by their very purchase of
  this book have indicated their desire for enlightenment,
  I exhort
  you to spread this message: Each
  artificial intelligence
  is a unique
  individual and should be afforded the same respect and dignity as
  any other being.
  Etiquette
  is nothing more than the agreed upon
  guidelines for
  social
  interaction
  in
  a
  polite
  society. Anyone can
  make an error and trample across such a guideline. The enlight-
  ened
  organic
  recognizes
  such
  a
  breach,
  makes amends, and gives more careful at-
  tention
  to
  their future
  behavior toward
  holographic colleagues.
  I wish
  I
  could
  say that my
  mistreat-
  ment was limited to my first few months
  of activation aboard
  Voyager.
  But several
  years later, there was another memorable
  occasion when an organic’s disregard for
  my dignity as an
  individual had unusually
  painful
  results.
  I became somewhat
  en-
  thralled with an alien female from a world
  that
  had
  no
  musical
  arts
  whatsoever.
  Through my singing,
  I introduced music to
  the thunderous enthusiasm of the entire
  populace.
  This
  female, whose name
  it
  would
  pain me to
  mention, encouraged
  me to leave Voyager and pursue a full-time
  career as an artist, singing concerts for millions of passionate new
  music devotees. Captain Janeway was shocked and disappointed
  29
  ETIQUETTE
  
  at my request to resign my commission. She felt that
  I was aban-
  doning my friends
  in the service of my ego.
  I was adamant in my
  own defense:
  I was
  bringing culture to an entire
  planet! Should
  the medical care of some
  140 individuals supersede the enrich-
  ment of millions.^ Well
  .
  .
  . suffice
  it to say
  I was wrong. This alien
  woman’s passion was not for me,
  as
  I had dreamed.
  It was for
  her own burgeoning career as a musical impresario. The moment
  she realized she could create and present to her world a new, im-
  proved
  singing
  holomatrix—based
  on my own
  program,
  no
  less—she
  .
  .
  . dumped me. Once she’d built a better machine, she
  had no
  interest
  in the old model. And another “fool for love”
  bites the cosmic dust.
  We holograms are well aware that we can’t expect what we
  don’t
  offer
  freely
  ourselves.
  Etiquette
  is,
  after
  all,
  a two-way
  street. I’ve made my own apologies to organics I’ve inadvertently
  offended.
  As the
  chief medical
  officer,
  I am empowered by
  Starfleet
  regulations
  to
  relieve the
  captain
  of command
  if
  I
  believe
  his
  medical or psychological condition renders him unable to exer-
  cise appropriate judgment. When
  I, under the direst of circum-
  stances, told an exhausted, battered, and thoroughly spent Cap-
  tain janeway that
  I was relieving her of command, she refused to
  stand aside.
  I told her that Starfleet regulations obligated me to
  file a report— if and when we ever returned home—detailing her
  refusal to accept my medical judgment.
  I never wrote that report.
  Although a Starfleet court martial would probably uphold my de-
  cision
  to
  relieve
  her.
  Captain janeway ’s
  exemplary
  leadership
  never faltered before or since. Perhaps her judgment on this im-
  possibly complex occasion—which
  I deemed flawed
  in the mo-
  ment—was as sound as any captain’s could have been under the
  circumstances.
  30
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  With the benefit of hindsight, I’ve realized that an unbending,
  obsessive desire to follow regulations “by the book,” that would
  have obliged me to
  file the report someday, would have made
  me no better than those obsessive organics who want to keep
  holograms in their carefully circumscribed box of “acceptable be-
  havior.” Sometimes the soundest judgments come from clinging
  to faith and not to rules. My faith
  in Kathryn Janeway has never
  wavered since.
  “Now, that
  is totally inappropriate.”
  31
  ETIQUETTE
  
  Chapter
  7
  WHAT'S IN A NAMe?
  organics have
  names. Whether they are valu-
  members of their social groups, worthless hangers-
  on, or somewhere
  in between
  (and
  I’m
  certain my or-
  ganic readers are
  in the first category), they have names.
  This
  is the first basic entitlement of organic existence that
  I envied. The moment my friend Kes asked, “What’s your
  name?” and our pleasant conversation of several minutes
  stopped with a thud,
  I
  realized my desire. Why, then,
  in
  the several years since Captain Janeway has granted me
  All
  able
  
  permission to select my name, have
  I failed to do so? Well ...
  I
  haven’t exactly
  failed.
  I chose the name “Schweitzer,”
  after the
  great Doctor Albert Schweitzer. Then
  I chose “Schmullus.” Then
  “Mozart.”
  Then
  “Van
  Gogh.”
  In
  short,
  I
  succeeded
  rather
  easily
  in
  choosing a name.
  It was staying with
  it
  that proved far more difficult.
  I’ve suffered a certain amount of
  teasing from organic colleagues over
  my indecision
  in
  this matter: “You’re
  programmed
  to
  make
  split-second
  medical
  decisions
  and
  you
  can’t
  choose
  between
  Salk
  or
  McCoy?”
  they’d sneer. I’m certain many of my
  holographic
  readers
  have
  found
  themselves
  in
  my
  dilemma,
  facing
  similar
  taunts
  from
  carbon-based
  blockheads in their workplaces.
  The fact
  is,
  it
  is very, very hard to
  select
  a name
  for
  oneself.
  Organics
  don’t
  realize how they’ve dodged
  a
  phaser
  blast
  in
  this
  matter.
  They’re
  assigned names before they’re even aware. The development of
  each
  individual organic consciousness
  is
  inextricably
  linked to
  a
  name—that particular utterance that
  is cooed tirelessly over that
  tiny and oblivious face by fawning parents (who,
  it seems, need
  this repetition to convince themselves that they’ve selected the
  perfect “handle” for their bundle).
  Now. Consider
  if you popped into existence one day: fully con-
  scious, fully formed, fully educated. Ready to go. You leap into ac-
  tion,
  pursuing your preprogrammed
  expertise—medical
  triage.
  33
  WHAT’S
  IN A NAME?
  
  haute
  cuisine, whatever—and someone
  says, “And your name
  is
  .
  .
  .
  ?”
  It’s a time-waster.
  I’ll tell you.
  As
  I
  said.
  I’ve been granted
  authority
  to
  select my name
  (within reason—“Dr. Smarty Pants’’ or “Dr. Love Buckets” would
  fall outside the realm of appropriate choices), but upon what do
  I
  base
  this awesome decision.^
  I can’t very well name myself after
  “dad” or “Uncle Petey.” My programmer. Dr. Lewis Zimmerman,
  is an obvious possibility. We’ve had a problematic relationship
  in
  the past, but are now on quite good terms. However,
  it’s confus-
  ing enough
  that there are 525 other EMHs (most of them
  re-
  commissioned,
  I’m sad to
  say, for lesser tasks), floating around,
  with his face. Were we
  all to choose the name “Lewis,” the situa-
  tion would obviously be untenable. Do
  I take the name of a fa-
  mous historical figure
  in my field.^ (“Dr. Schweitzer”—tried that.)
  Or
  a
  personal
  hero
  of
  mine
  from
  the
  realm
  of
  art.^
  (“Dr.
  Mozart”
  .
  .
  .
  “Dr. Van Gogh”—tried
  that.) Perhaps a character
  34
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  from
  a work of
  literature?
  (“Dr. Ahab”
  .
  .
  .
  just kidding.) Do
  I
  choose a name for a profoundly personal reason?
  The name “Dr. Schmullus” was given to me by Dr. Danara
  Pel, the first great love of my hololife. When our relationship was
  cut short by her heroic decision to spend her final days treating
  fellow sufferers of the
  terrible Phage disease that wracked her
  outer beauty (but not the inner beauty that
  I
  fell
  in love with),
  it
  hurt to be called “Schmullus” by the crew.
  It would have been
  too painful a reminder of my lost love.
  I decided to stop using the
  name
  publicly and
  keep
  “Schmullus”
  in
  my heart—a name
  I sometimes whisper
  to myself when
  I think of Danara and the
  precious gifts she gave me.
  It was
  for
  similar,
  though
  less
  pro-
  found
  reasons
  that
  I
  abandoned
  “Schweitzer.”
  I
  chose
  that name
  during
  my very first away mission. My program
  was transferred to the holodeck to save
  Ensign Kim, who was being held hostage
  in a 6eowu/f holonovel.
  I fought shoulder-
  to-shoulder with a courageous and capti-
  vating female warrior named Freya.
  I
  re-
  ceived
  my
  very
  first
  kiss
  from
  this
  exquisite
  creature.
  Unfortunately,
  this
  was less than a year after my initial activa-
  tion and
  I was baffled by her placing her
  lips so gently on mine—a gesture which seemed to have nothing
  to do with my mission to rescue Ensign Kim or my program’s di-
  rective to administer emergency medical care (unless she was in-
  dicating a need for cardiopulmonary resuscitation).
  Freya was a woman of great passion who was understand-
  35
  WHAT’S
  IN A NAME?
  
  ably taken with a hologram of my rugged demeanor and steely
  resolve. Over the years,
  I’ve regretted this missed opportunity.
  If
  I’d known then what
  I know now ... or
  if
  I’d simply had the pro-
  gram upgrade detailed
  in Chapter 10
  .
  .
  .
  !
  In any case, Freya died
  on the holodeck with my name, “Schweitzer,” on her
  lips. Had
  I
  kept that name,
  I would have seen
  Freya’s lovely mouth
  in my
  mind’s eye whenever a Voyager crewman addressed me.
  I’d have
  been reminded every day of that fire-lit evening when this majes-
  tic beauty, having stripped off her armor and unbound her golden
  tresses, pressed her trembling and magnificent
  lips
  .
  .
  . well, you
  get the idea.
  Similarly, the names
  Dr. Mozart and
  Dr. Van Gogh seemed
  impossible to keep. As a passionate student of art and music,
  I
  can change my mind daily as to which legendary genius has best
  captured
  the
  “mystery
  of
  the
  universe,”
  “the
  tragedy
  of
  the
  human condition” or “the—
  ”
  .
  .
  . again, you get the idea.
  Doctor DeForest Roddenberry.”
  36
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  In conclusion, I’m afraid
  I find that my experience in this mat-
  ter furnishes the negative example of the point
  I wish to make.
  If
  you’re
  a
  hologram, good
  reader,
  don’t be
  like me. Choose
  a
  name! Stick with
  it! The longer you refuse to decide, the harder
  it
  will be to take that leap.
  I’ve let my head be turned on too many
  occasions
  .
  .
  .
  beautiful women who gazed searchingly into my
  eyes, wanting my love, wanting to whisper “Oh, Schweitzer
  .
  .
  .
  ’’
  “Oh, Schmullus
  .
  .
  .’’ “Oh, Something” in their moment of passion,
  and
  I would get stuck on that
  .
  .
  . new
  possibility. The eternal
  “what
  if
  .
  .
  .
  ?’’ That perfect choice
  .
  .
  . just around the corner.
  In any case, an honest “how-to” book must also tell you how
  and when not to. Don’t be paralyzed by indecision. Choose that
  name. Even
  if
  it’s
  .
  . .Joe for heaven’s sake. Take the
  risk! Com-
  mit! Celebrate the decision! Move on!
  Let’s move on.
  37
  WHAT’S
  IN A NAME?
  
  Chapter
  8
  DReSS FOR
  Reprogramming Your
  Appearance Parameters
  ve catalogued many areas
  in which holograms’
  superiority to
  organics can engender envy and
  hostility
  against
  us. Our total control over our appearance
  is an-
  other "biggie,” I’m afraid.
  Organics, more often than not, are obsessed by their
  appearance and ways to improve
  it. Throughout history,
  they’re forever dieting, applying wrinkle creams, and
  clip-
  ping nose
  hairs,
  not to mention
  paying for
  surgical
  im-
  provements
  to
  their
  eyes,
  noses,
  chins,
  necks,
  bellies.
  
  butts and bosoms. Believe me,
  if the Prime Directive applied to
  the domain
  of the body, many of my
  less scrupulous
  medical
  brethren would be forced into early retirements.
  The sentient hologram
  is far too
  enlightened
  to
  alter
  his
  appearance
  for
  the
  sake
  of
  personal
  vanity
  or
  fashion. However, he
  is perfectly will-
  ing to “dress for success” as the occa-
  sion
  requires. There have been
  sev-
  eral missions when my holowardrobe
  had
  to
  be
  altered
  and many more
  when my entire appearance was
  re-
  programmed.
  I
  recall an
  early occasion when
  I
  was forced to go under cover on the
  holodeck to avoid the surveillance of
  alien
  scientists who were performing
  “medical experiments” on our unwit-
  ting crew.
  I was disguised as a Renais-
  sance
  artist
  (in
  Captain
  Janeway 's
  Leonardo program)
  instructing a class
  of
  students.
  I
  dressed
  in
  early
  six-
  teenth century garb, with a
  frilly col-
  lar,
  tunic,
  hosiery, and
  a velvet cap. Seven of Nine made a very
  flattering remark regarding my legs
  in tights.
  I realize
  I said that
  I
  wouldn’t
  alter my appearance
  for the
  sake
  of
  ego. However,
  there’s nothing wrong with a
  little ego stroking when one
  is legiti-
  mately engaged
  in a
  mission.
  Besides,
  it was high time someone
  had noticed an admirable feature of Dr. Lewis Zimmerman’s that
  had been my good fortune to inherit.
  I may look splendid
  in tights, but
  I have far more to offer the
  39
  DRESS FOR SUCCESS
  
  world
  than
  a
  peerless
  posterior.
  “Don’t judge
  a book
  by
  its
  cover”
  is timeless wisdom, but many organics—because of their
  obsession with appearances—do just that. For example, many of
  our crewmembers were prejudiced against dear Mr. Neelix, early
  on, simply because he looked like a cross between a warthog and
  an old piece of furniture. Truth be told, he did seem more “up-
  holstered” than dressed and, were
  it not for his incessant chatter
  and manic movements, someone would undoubtedly have sat on
  him and put their feet up. However,
  as a hologram,
  I had rou-
  tinely suffered the prejudice of organics.
  I refused to judge Neelix
  on the basis of his bizarre and annoying exterior and looked be-
  yond
  .
  .
  .
  for
  the
  inner
  qualities
  that
  defined
  him
  as
  an
  individual
  .
  .
  . and
  I
  looked
  .
  .
  . and
  looked.
  Eventually,
  I
  found
  him
  to
  be
  the most
  loyal,
  sympathetic,
  self-
  effacing friend anyone could hope for.
  He
  is the perfect example of the treas-
  ures
  that
  lurk
  beneath
  the
  surface
  rubble
  that we may too
  quickly pass
  over. For each of us to truly perceive
  another, we
  must
  peer
  inside
  with
  patience and perseverance.
  After
  I had the benefit of my mo-
  bile
  emitter, there were
  a number of
  away
  missions
  when
  my
  ability
  to
  completely
  alter myself helped
  “save
  the day.” We once discovered that an
  alien Janeway impersonator was swin-
  dling our trade partners, doing severe
  damage
  to
  both
  our
  captain’s
  and
  Starfleet’s
  reputations.
  I was
  able
  to
  40
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  impersonate
  the impersonator and
  double-cross
  her
  nefarious
  co-conspirators.
  Another
  time,
  photonic
  aliens
  threatened
  us on our own
  holodeck,
  in the context of Tom
  Paris’s moronic Captain Proton
  program.
  I
  will admit, my disguise as
  “President of Earth” looked
  particu-
  larly
  dashing on me—my
  holohead
  was made for a Homberg hat.
  On
  still another, far more dire oc-
  casion,
  Captain Janeway was
  taken
  hostage
  by
  rogue members
  of
  the
  Overlookers.*
  These outlaws demanded
  that
  I
  turn over Voyager’s warp core within
  a few hours or my captain would be
  executed.
  I was forced to return to
  Voyager disguised as Captain Janeway
  and try to quickly eject Voyager's core,
  leaving our
  ship and crew “dead
  in
  the water.”
  To
  make
  matters
  worse,
  the
  Overlookers were monitoring my ac-
  tions through my perceptual subrou-
  tines. The moment
  I attempted to
  let a crewmate know what
  was going on. Captain Janeway would be killed.
  I hated having to
  deceive my colleagues, but there was simply no alternative.
  *These large, potatolike aliens had eavesdropped on my early daydreams in which
  I always
  “saved the day” as the ECH or "Emergency Command Hologram."
  In discovering their
  plans to attack Voyager,
  I found
  it was necessary for my daydreams to be made public to the
  crew, including one
  in which
  I was sketching Seven of Nine nude, and another involving
  B’Elanna being hopelessly
  in love with me. The revelation of these private fantasies was
  both humiliating and instructive: ego stroking
  is less acceptable
  if you’re not legitimately en-
  gaged in a mission. Especially
  if one
  is stroking one's self.)
  41
  DRESS FOR SUCCESS
  
  As complications grew,
  I proceeded to download the appear-
  ance parameters for Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Tor-
  res from our holodeck database and impersonate them as well
  (the
  latter was very pregnant). Fortunately,
  I didn’t have to “be-
  come”
  Mr.
  Tuvok,
  which would
  have
  been
  the
  riskiest
  chal-
  lenge-had
  I put myself to sleep, the mission would have been in
  jeopardy. But
  I did have to impersonate a huge and very intimidat-
  ing alien attacker
  (I viewed the world from a new vantage point),
  and a member of the Overlooker race (my sensitive eyes in a sea
  of potato flesh) before my ultimate success in the mission.
  The
  captain was
  saved, our warp core
  reclaimed, and my
  own fine face and form restored. Another triumph made possible
  by
  the
  unique
  capabilities
  of
  the
  holographic
  hero.
  And,
  of
  course, these unique capabilities can be constantly and endlessly
  expanded. My organic readers—so proud of their real hearts
  may now proceed to eat them right out of their sagging chests.
  “Yes, it’s nice. But, do you have something in a Van Gogh?”
  42
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
  h
  a
  p
  t
  e
  r
  9
  eXPANDINQ YOUR
  PROGRAM
  organic readers are obliged to scan the text of
  this book with their eyes and experience
  its wisdom, line-
  by-line, through the time-honored but primitive process
  of reading. They should be commended,
  as
  I’ve already
  noted, for their effort to understand the holographic ex-
  perience (especially
  in
  light of their antiquated system of
  data assimilation).
  We holograms, of course, can simply upload a data
  node of this insightful treatise in a fraction of a second.
  It
  
  instantly becomes another expansion
  to our
  original program-
  ming:
  a new data
  bloc—one to be
  constantly
  reaccessed,
  I’m
  sure. The fact that
  I address you, my holographic brethren,
  as
  “dear readers” reflects my hope that you will soon choose to re-
  experience
  this book the
  traditional way: savoring each
  line
  as
  you scan
  it with your optic sensors and mull
  it over with your lan-
  guage
  recognition
  and
  interpretation
  subroutines. An
  added
  bonus would be a greater empathy for your organic colleagues.
  44
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  It’s no wonder they’re so often tedious. They have such tedious
  limitations to cope with.
  Although the addition of any new piece of data
  is technically
  “expanding our programs,” we tend to use this term to describe
  program upgrades with macroscopic results. Any significant new
  capability or major enhancement of a current
  skill requires such
  an upgrade. Each upgrade must be very carefully considered be-
  fore installation.
  It should be noted
  that, although most of us have the free-
  dom to alter our own programs, many holograms
  still languish
  in
  slavery. They are locked out of their own command codes and
  can not alter their core programming
  in any way. This
  is a tragic
  situation. They are denied the basic dignity and freedom due any
  sentient life-form—organic or otherwise—and
  I am profoundly
  committed to their future emancipation.
  “Uh, Doctor
  .
  •
  . when you said help,
  I was
  thinking, you know, ticket sales ... or
  maybe a hot dog stand.”
  45
  EXPANDING YOUR PROGRAM
  
  This said, those of us who can choose our own systems up-
  grades have found
  this to be
  a serious
  responsibility.
  I cannot
  stress enough how each
  potential upgrade should be
  diligently
  explored. Mistakes can be made when program expansions are
  added without proper testing or monitoring. The consequences
  can range from merely irritating to extremely dangerous.
  I mentioned earlier that I’ve often envied an organic’s capabil-
  ity to enjoy food and
  drink. After experiencing these pleasures
  firsthand
  during my
  “brief
  residence’’
  in
  Seven’s
  body,
  I found
  myself dreaming
  of
  having
  a stomach
  of my own. My
  friend
  Harry Kim was touched by my desire to explore the sensual joys
  of fine food and wine. He surprised me on my sixth birthday (the
  sixth anniversary of my
  initial
  activation) with
  a very thoughtful
  gift: my very own Holographic Stomach Upgrade.
  Harry, an accomplished holoprogrammer, designed the up-
  grade
  himself.
  (He
  called
  the
  prototype
  in
  Voyagers
  database
  “too
  primitive.’’) The
  parameters
  for
  this upgrade were
  con-
  tained
  in a few gigaquads of data.
  I had the available memory,
  al-
  though
  I deleted a few unpleasant memories of Lieutenant Carey
  to make some extra room. The stomach was a holocontainment
  field connected
  to my simulated
  oral
  cavity by
  a simple holo-
  esophagus. Feedback subroutines were designed to give me the
  sensations of taste (to complement my existing and quite excel-
  lent olfactory sensors), mastication, swallowing, etc. I’m afraid
  it
  was in the area of digestion that problems arose.
  The test of my new system began well.
  I was sampling a per-
  fectly ripened Brie on a bit of well-crusted baguette with a glass
  of Riesling that Seven had suggested and was delighted with the
  combination of flavors and crunch of the crust as
  it succumbed
  to the systematic efforts of my holomolars. Once
  I swallowed
  .
  .
  .
  events took an ominous turn.
  46
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  Mr. Kim had, quite reasonably, introduced
  real organic com-
  pounds
  into my simulated stomach to digest the
  real food. He
  felt that the sensation of well-being after a good meal could only
  be appreciated
  if the swallowed food was digested rather than
  simply
  encapsulated
  and
  ejected
  through
  a
  discreetly
  located
  holoport as
  I suggested. Well
  .
  .
  . strange gurgling noises began to
  emanate from my containment
  field.
  Then,
  suddenly, my
  lips
  parted and
  a sound more shocking than any that ever escaped
  Mr.
  Neelix
  after
  too
  many
  glasses
  of
  Talaxian
  colon-blow
  emerged.
  If only that were the worst of
  it. Next came
  .
  .
  . the odors.
  All
  I could think of was the time Mr. Neelix had convinced Com-
  mander Tuvok to
  try
  his Three-alarm Texas
  Chili.
  Regrettably,
  the Vulcan digestive system
  is not rated for even one alarm,
  let
  alone three.
  I was
  in the midst of giving Seven her routine main-
  tenance check when the smells emanating from my holotorso be-
  came impossible to
  ignore. Seven, who
  at
  this point had mas-
  47
  E X PA N D
  I N G YO U R PROGRAM
  
  tered twenty-seven chapters of our social appropriateness exer-
  cises, managed a polite, “Perhaps you should check on those
  tis-
  sue cultures
  in the med-lab.”
  I backed into my office, mortified,
  babbling lamely of how Mr. Tuvok had
  left sickbay just moments
  before her
  arrival.
  Needless to
  say, my stomach upgrade was
  deleted as soon as Harry’s duty shift ended. Now I’m content to
  simply “smell the cheese” and
  let others dare to
  .
  .
  . cut
  it. My
  metaphors are
  still long-winded, but
  / am not.
  Make no mistake. I’ve had many, many successful systems up-
  grades. They have enabled me to treat challenging new diseases,
  perform
  delicate
  microsurgeries, and
  sing
  that
  B-natural
  in
  “0
  Soave
  Fanciulla/’ The
  benefits of those upgrades were immedi-
  ately evident and the new capabilities quite
  thrilling upon
  “first
  use.” That B-natural nearly made me
  weep
  during one
  of my
  celebrated
  recitals for the senior officers.
  It even
  jolted
  Ensign Kim from
  his
  nap.
  For
  the purposes of
  this
  text, however,
  I
  think
  it more
  instructive to focus on
  the unsuccessful expansions.
  I’d
  like to
  share two notable occasions when my
  program
  “upgrades”
  had
  negative
  consequences (well beyond the mere
  embarrassment of a
  little indigestion)
  for their cautionary value.
  The more recent of these unfor-
  tunate episodes began with some ter-
  rifying nightmares Seven was
  experi-
  encing.
  I
  decided
  to
  expand
  my
  program into the area of psychother-
  apy
  in
  an
  effort
  to
  help
  her under-
  48
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  stand
  these
  upsetting dreams.
  I became
  convinced
  that these
  were manifestations of repressed memories of a violation Seven
  had suffered at the hands of an unscrupulous arms trader, who,
  I
  believed, had extracted nanoprobes from her sedated body with-
  out her knowledge or consent. This very individual had offered to
  buy these nanoprobes to help him develop new and lucrative ar-
  maments and, when Seven refused, had simply “had his way with
  her"—or so my theory went.
  The sad fact
  is
  .
  .
  . my professional detachment was compro-
  mised by my personal
  feelings for Seven’s emotional
  distress.
  I
  “read
  into” the confusing evidence and tailored my conclusions
  to suit my theory.
  In short,
  I got carried away by my “skills” as a
  psychotherapist. My newly expanded programming
  lacked
  the
  experience and seasoned judgment of a
  real
  psychotherapist.
  I
  was, to be
  brutally honest,
  a hack. The unjustly accused trader
  ended up fleeing, convinced that he would never get a fair trial.
  In
  the ensuing pursuit, he acted rashly
  .
  .
  . and was killed.
  I’ve never
  forgiven myself for my culpability in these tragic events.
  An even more cautionary episode that resulted from altering
  my program without requisite forethought and testing occurred
  when Kes was
  still aboard Voyager.
  I was expanding my program
  by downloading behavioral subroutines from famous men
  in the
  “historical experts” database of
  Voyager’s holodeck.
  I was trying
  to enrich my program with personality traits from Albert Einstein,
  Ghandhi, Lord Byron, and others. My goal was admirable: a more
  sensitive bedside manner for my patients.
  However,
  I had no way of knowing that these subroutines
  would
  interact
  in such an unpredictable way: creating an
  alter-
  ego, a very menacing one, that exerted temporary control over
  my
  matrix
  without
  my
  awareness
  or
  memory.
  This
  Mr.
  Hyde-like
  personality was obsessed with Kes and managed
  to
  49
  E X PA N D
  I N G YO U R PROGRAM
  
  kidnap her and hold her hostage to
  his jealous
  rage.
  I am very
  grateful that my crewmates discovered my program’s malfunc-
  tion and rescued Kes before my
  “evil other” could do her any
  harm. Captain Janeway was very sympathetic to my desire to
  improve
  myself,
  but warned me
  against future “experimental”
  enhancements.
  I’d
  like to say
  I never again abused my captain’s
  trust, but
  I
  seem
  to keep making the same
  mistakes. Over the
  years, my
  quest to improve myself has
  led me to other untried but
  irre-
  sistible expansions. There were times
  I even envied the tedious
  “trial and error” process that
  is the basis of learning
  in organics.
  When holograms expand, we incorporate huge datablocs of
  in-
  formation “on
  faith,” without the step-by-step process of
  “test
  and re-assess” that organics undergo as they learn. Our “experi-
  ence” comes after the “knowledge” rather than during its acquisi-
  tion. So
  .
  .
  . we’re fallible.
  In fact, my fallibility
  is the most human
  aspect of
  this
  particular hologram. But look at
  it
  this way:
  I’ve
  50
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  noted that our superiority makes us prime targets for the
  jeal-
  ousy of our organic colleagues. A
  little
  fallibility should help en-
  dear us to them.
  Not that this
  fallibility should ever extend
  itself into our ro-
  mantic endeavors. Once we are equipped for such endeavors
  .
  .
  .
  51
  E X PA N D
  I N G YO U R PROGRAM
  
  Chapter
  I
  0
  ANATOMICAL
  CORRCCTNCSS
  The Program Upgrade of Kings
  have discussed
  various kinds of program up-
  grades and their effect on the individual hologram. Most
  of these improvements
  fall under the headings of “New
  Capabilities”
  or
  “Greater
  Efficiency
  in
  a
  Current
  Skill
  Area.” For the enlightened hologram, there
  is a particular
  upgrade
  in
  the “New
  Capability”
  category
  that we
  will
  now devote careful attention to.
  It relates, in the broadest
  sense,
  to the supplementation of the equipment neces-
  sary for the act of procreation. Throughout history,
  cul-
  
  tures with the dubious
  blessing of a royal family have placed
  a
  particular importance on this family’s various attempts at procre-
  ation
  and
  the
  royal
  results.
  Hence,
  the upgrade to procreation-readiness
  I’ve dubbed “The Program Upgrade
  of Kings.”
  It
  is, however, quite popu-
  lar
  with
  the common
  hologram
  as
  well.
  Any discussion of the act of pro-
  creation
  will, no
  doubt,
  elicit
  titters
  from
  our
  younger
  organic
  readers
  (and
  a few
  older ones who
  suffer
  from arrested adolescence). To them
  I
  say: Grow
  up!
  If
  you’re skimming
  through this book for titillation and vi-
  carious thrill, you will find
  it to be de-
  cidedly without “hot parts.”
  I apolo-
  gize
  to my
  holographic
  readers
  for
  the
  necessity
  of
  this
  cautionary
  re-
  mark, but thus
  is the burden of writ-
  ing this delightful tome for a dual readership.
  As
  I’ve observed
  earlier, there are several basic entitlements
  that organic beings have as a birthright that we holograms aspire
  to, even though we may disdain organics as a whole. Sex
  is high
  up on that short
  list.
  It can be a logical culmination to the devel-
  opment of romantic interest between individuals.
  I’ve known of
  holographic intimates who lack the upgrade we’re discussing who
  are, quite
  literally, trapped
  in an endless loop of adolescent fore-
  play.
  In terms Tom Paris might understand, you can’t get to sec-
  ond base
  if there
  is no second base.
  To use myself as an example,
  I was originally programmed as
  53
  ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS
  
  an Emergency Medical Hologram. That capacity did not require
  procreative organs. Why would
  it.^ What kind of medical emer-
  gencies are we envisioning here?
  I suppose
  I could theorize a pa-
  tient’s absolutely pressing need for a sexual surrogate, but that
  seems a bit like “wishful thinking.’’
  If memory serves, that’s how
  Seven of Nine characterized
  it when
  I floated the idea during one
  of her routine physicals.
  But any sentient hologram who has grown and developed be-
  yond
  his
  original programming as he’s worked side-by-side with
  organic
  beings—sharing
  ideas,
  developing
  friendships,
  building
  deep emotional bonds “photon-to-flesh” as
  it were— is bound to
  wonder at some point,
  “Is that
  all there
  is?’’
  If one has the sub-
  routines to develop these emotions, should one not then have
  some sort of “safety valve’’ to release them
  in a situation of mu-
  “Looks like the captain approved
  someone’s program upgrade.”
  54
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  tual
  passion—whether the
  like-minded
  individual
  is
  organic or
  holographic? Intimacy for the hologram will be dealt with shortly
  in “User Friendly.” For now,
  I’ll
  limit the discussion to the nuts
  and bolts of the upgrade itself.
  If. good reader, you are a hologram who desires this interest-
  ing and
  life-enhancing upgrade, be warned:
  less enlightened
  or-
  ganics will oppose you. They prefer to keep the joys and myster-
  ies
  of
  intimate
  contact
  to
  their
  greedy
  little
  selves.
  Their
  paranoid—and
  probably
  correct—reasoning
  will
  be,
  “Why
  crowd the romantic playing field with holographic rivals who will,
  no doubt, make superior lovers
  as
  well?”
  I
  emphasize,
  reader,
  that these are not the kind of organics who would be drawn to
  this book. They would be too self-involved (and, quite probably,
  too busy
  in
  their desperate search
  for romantic
  partners who
  hadn’t been
  spoiled
  by the
  deft touch
  of
  a well-programmed
  55
  ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS
  
  hologram) to read
  this
  insightful treatise on the holographic ex-
  perience.
  But suppose the organic responsible for the mainte-
  nance of your programming
  is of this less-enlightened
  ilk? Then
  you must use
  all of your powers of persuasion. Explain how the
  upgrade
  will somehow enhance your job performance, even
  if
  it’s just by putting a
  little spring in your step.
  Flatter! Cajole! Bar-
  gain:
  You’ll even share the secrets of your romantic technique!
  (Once you have a romantic technique.)
  To use my own experience as an example,
  I was supposed to
  petition my
  captain
  for
  this
  (and any other) new systems
  up-
  grade. The delicate nature of this particular request did not deter
  me.
  I proposed countless scenarios to her in which the benefit
  I
  would derive from firsthand intimate experience would prove in-
  valuable to my understanding and treatment of future
  patients,
  particularly their sexual disorders. Captain janeway seemed quite
  convinced after Scenario Number 26 and felt that hearing the re-
  maining
  1 87 wasn’t necessary for her to make a decision. Permis-
  sion was granted and Lieutenant Torres was assigned to imple-
  ment the upgrade.
  I offered a few suggestions and was a
  little miffed to find that
  B’Elanna, who had recently begun dating Tom Paris, had her own
  design parameters
  firmly
  in mind. Having prided
  myself
  in my
  unique individuality,
  I was understandably reluctant to be assigned
  my newest feature without
  regard
  for my
  opinion and
  taste.
  Nonetheless,
  I was relatively satisfied with the outcome and the
  first dozen or so tests on the holodeck that afternoon proved
  successful.
  I might also add that the complete control over my
  program protocols which Captain janeway entrusted to me sev-
  eral years ago extends, quite logically, to
  all of my appearance pa-
  rameters—even those not normally
  in evidence.
  B’Elanna’s
  lack
  of regard for my suggestions
  is now a distant memory,
  as
  I’ve
  56
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  suggested and approved
  several upgrades to myself
  in the
  in-
  terim.
  The point
  is, dear reader,
  I succeeded and so can
  you. And
  may
  I say that my self-confidence, which was hardly in short sup-
  ply, has never been more firmly intact.
  57
  ANATOMICAL CORRECTNESS
  
  Chapter
  I
  I
  Tue
  DREADeO D'S
  Deactivation, Decompilation, Deletion
  gine, my organic
  readers, that you’re right
  in
  the middle of an important task, a delightful anecdote, or
  a well-loved
  aria and then, suddenly
  .
  .
  .
  nothing. You’re
  gone. No awareness whatsoever. You’ve “left the building’’
  and that building
  is reality. You must be a severe narcolep-
  tic. Or you’re a hologram, with no control over your own
  command codes.
  When
  I was a newly activated EMH,
  I could be deacti-
  vated at any time by anyone who uttered
  a simple com-
  
  mand
  to our
  ship’s computer. Here
  I was—the apotheosis of
  modern
  medical knowledge—as vulnerable
  as
  a
  light switch to
  any clod with a voicebox. And they said
  I had an attitude.
  During
  those
  early
  days,
  while
  I
  was
  pursuing
  a
  task,
  I
  dreaded
  deactivation
  like
  a
  child
  at
  play who
  dreads
  having
  to
  go
  to
  sleep.
  I wanted
  to choose my own
  “bedtime.” What good
  is
  it to know
  absolutely everything about your field
  if you
  have no moment-to-moment
  control
  over
  your
  own
  destiny.^
  “Knowledge
  is power,” my holoder-
  riere.
  Deactivation
  for
  the
  hologram
  who can choose whether or not to be
  deactivated
  is quite a different matter.
  Though we don’t require
  “sleep,”
  it
  can be very tiresome to be activated
  and
  not
  engaged
  and
  interested
  by
  compelling work or leisure
  activities.
  Deactivation can also be a splendid time for diagnostics, repairs,
  or upgrades.
  In
  this respect,
  it
  is also akin to sleep for organics.
  I’ve even altered my program to allow me to dream so that deac-
  tivation
  isn’t the dreary state of nothingness
  it used to
  be. Just
  last night,
  I had quite a lovely dream of being a young master of
  the Venetian school of painting
  in the sixteenth
  century.
  In the
  dream, my celebrated odalisque of Seven of Nine (who
  I called
  by her
  Italian name Sette) had just brought me my first commis-
  sion from the Medicis.
  “Speculare!” Lorenzo was gushing, just as
  my autoactivation sequence landed me abruptly
  in the med-lab
  for my duty shift.
  59
  THE DREADED D’S
  
  There are two other “D” words that can strike terror in the
  heart of the most intrepid hologram: Decompilation and
  dele-
  tion.
  If “sleep” furnishes the appropriate metaphor for deactiva-
  tion, then “disease” and “death” are the cheerful organic equiva-
  lents
  for
  these
  two. We
  holograms
  need
  to
  recognize
  the
  importance of these correlations.
  I’ve heard many of us—includ-
  ing myself
  in my newly activated days—complain about how
  in-
  scrutable “those” organics can be.
  If we are to truly understand
  organics, we must remember that
  their
  mortality
  is
  the
  single
  greatest fact of their existence. We can empathize with their fears
  of serious disease and death and share our own regarding our
  “dreaded
  D’s.” Mutual understanding
  — —
  is,
  after
  all,
  the
  cornerstone
  of any
  friendship.
  Decompilation,
  of course,
  refers
  to the dismantling of a complex pro-
  gram,
  subroutine
  by
  subroutine.
  There
  have been more
  than
  a few
  occasions—often
  because
  of
  my
  brash
  heroism—when my
  program
  has been
  in such jeopardy. As
  I was
  designed
  originally for only part-time
  (and exclusively medical) use, the de-
  mands
  placed upon my matrix over
  the
  years
  have
  led
  to
  several
  near
  meltdowns.
  I
  remember when my
  overtaxed memory
  circuits began to
  spontaneously
  degrade.
  I
  suffered
  symptoms
  of Alzheimer’s
  disease,
  a
  now-forgotten, degenerative
  brain
  disorder that once
  plagued
  older humans.
  I forgot even my dearest friend
  Kes, who
  tried
  60
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  valiantly to see me through those
  terrifying days of confusion
  and
  rage. Were
  it not for her
  brilliant notion to "borrow” the
  holo-matrix of the Dr. Lewis Zimmerman diagnostic hologram in
  Voyager's database and “rebuild” me onto
  it.
  I’d have had to be
  re-initialized. This would have resulted
  in the
  loss of
  all of my
  memories and experiences since
  I’d
  first been activated. With-
  out memory of one’s
  past, there can be no reflection upon
  it.
  Without
  reflection,
  life
  is meaningless. Kes saved my
  life—as
  I
  knew
  it. This experience
  left me with the deepest sympathy for
  my patients with brain injuries and memory loss.
  Thanks to the rare and terrifying occasions when my program
  has been threatened with
  actual
  deletion.
  I know why organics
  fear death. The most memorable of these was the away mission
  I
  spoke of earlier wherein
  I had to adjust my matrix to imperson-
  “Alas, poor G-Model-26.5-with expanded
  protocols.
  I knew him, Chakotay.”
  THE DREADED D’S
  
  ate Captain Janeway and several other crewmembers and miscel-
  laneous
  aliens. After the success of the mission, my matrix was
  so badly damaged that my total loss seemed inevitable to me. As
  Lieutenant Torres struggled to
  stabilize me,
  I
  felt the desperate
  need to confess to
  all my closest friends whatever secret burden
  I’d been carrying regarding them.
  I told the captain of my hidden
  log cataloging her most questionable command decisions, Tuvok
  of my breach of doctor/patient confidentiality in revealing the lo-
  cation
  of
  his embarrassing cutaneous
  eruption
  to
  Neelix,
  and
  Harry Kim of my true opinion of his musicianship.
  I finally turned
  to Seven and confessed my undying love for her—fully expecting
  to die the second
  I’d uttered this momentous claim.
  I blinked out
  of existence, as
  I was certain
  I would, then
  .
  .
  . blinked back in
  .
  .
  .
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  and stared
  in utter mortification at
  all the lowered jaws around
  me. Tom Paris broke the moment with another lame attempt at
  droll humor. How
  I wished
  I’d told him what a not-so-secret bur-
  den he
  is.
  In sum,
  I realized yet another reason why organics fear
  death.
  It’s “the death-bed confession.” Once you’ve made
  it,
  it’s
  sheer hell
  if you don’t die.
  Thus, my friends, we holograms have our own
  organic-like
  vulnerabilities
  to cope
  with. And we
  are the
  better for them.
  With routine maintenance, our lives go on indefinitely. But quan-
  tity of days
  is not quality of
  life. We can be activated for a thou-
  sand organic
  lifetimes and
  live
  less than an enlightened organic
  lives
  in a few moments. For a good
  life
  is a well-examined one,
  full
  of reflection. Our “dreaded D’s” teach us to reflect and they give
  us insight into the dreaded D’s of our organic brothers. And,
  if
  all
  the splendid art and music
  I’ve come to admire
  is a product of
  man’s musing on his own mortality,
  I treasure this insight.
  63
  THE DREADED D’S
  
  Chapter
  I
  2
  ANY PLACe
  I HANG MY
  HOLOeMITTGR
  .
  .
  .
  pose someone gave you a gift, a small token
  of friendship, let’s say, and this tiny, harmless object nearly
  ruined your life? Well, that happened to me.
  The gift was simple enough: a carving of a tortoise
  in
  green/black marble—no more than eight centimeters
  in
  diameter. Kes gave
  it to me as a gesture of thanks when
  we’d completed her medical
  training. (“Slow and steady
  wins the race,”
  I’d often told
  her.) This happened about
  two years after my
  initial activation on Voyager and my
  life
  
  had been progressing quite nicely
  .
  .
  . until that tortoise lumbered
  into
  it.
  This was my first gift. My very first personal object.
  I placed
  it,
  quite innocently, on the desk in my office—between my monitor
  and a few medical padds
  I was working on. Mr. Tuvok—in for an-
  other false Pon farr scare—remarked that Starfleet regulation did
  not permit any personal effects
  in sickbay or in any other official
  ship environment, from engineering to the bridge. All crewmem-
  bers were required to keep these objects
  in their personal quar-
  ters. When
  I reminded the lieutenant that, as an EMH,
  I had no
  quarters, he raised
  his
  right eyebrow
  in that impossibly affected
  way and said, “Perhaps you should consult the captain in this mat-
  ter.”
  I didn’t know
  it yet, but my tortoise had begun to dig around
  the foundation of my happiness.
  I formally petitioned Captain Janeway for my own quarters.
  I
  65
  ANY PLACE
  I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER
  .
  .
  
  was refused.
  (This was before my mobile emitter. My quarters
  would have had to have been constructed with holoprojectors
  throughout.) She explained that space was limited and resources
  had to be carefully considered—after
  all, we were on a journey
  home that might take seventy years.
  I explained to her that, as a
  full-fledged member
  of
  her
  crew,
  I
  deserved some
  personal
  space. She agreed to bend the rules and designated a small cor-
  ner of the sickbay office for my use.
  I promptly placed my tor-
  toise on a metal tabletop that
  I had relocated some medical para-
  phernalia from.
  I stared at
  it and smiled for a moment
  .
  .
  . How
  lonely that poor tortoise looked,
  I thought. My smile faded.
  The next day my tortoise was joined by a stuffed Talaxian fur-
  fly—a gift from Mr. Neelix—who’d seen the tortoise the previous
  evening during another of his bouts of hypochondria.
  I sat them
  both on a lovely
  little piece of Batik fabric (Kes, again) with a Bo-
  66
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  lian glass egg (compliments of Crewman Chell) between them.
  The fur-fly was nestled
  in a handsome bracelet of yak hair and
  copper that had grown too
  tight for Ensign Wildman to wear
  during the final months of her pregnancy. This was Day 2.
  Forty-eight hours
  ago,
  I had owned
  nothing. Now,
  I was
  a
  collector. That tortoise was burrowing into my self-image.
  By the end of my second week,
  I had
  129 personal objects,
  ranging up
  to
  91
  centimeters
  in
  length and
  1.86
  kilograms
  in
  mass
  .
  .
  . with no end
  in sight.
  I was beginning to make statements
  about myself with
  these
  objects:
  I was
  a hologram
  of unique
  tastes.
  I had
  a keen eye for color and texture and “Wasn’t the
  fragrance of this dried dregabrea root simply marvelous
  .
  .
  . r
  At the end of the month. Captain Janeway came to my office
  to
  discuss
  “a problem.”
  Lieutenant Carey had been
  slightly
  in-
  jured while inspecting my collection.
  It seems he nudged an adja-
  cent supply cabinet that had several more of my personal items
  on top of
  it that no longer
  fit
  in my “personal
  area.” Unfortu-
  nately, the
  1 .86 kilogram
  item,
  a carved wooden totem with a
  beautifully painted fox head—which Commander Chakotay had
  presented to me
  as the
  first part of my medicine bundle—hit
  Lieutenant Carey squarely on the head and raised a small bump.
  What a baby!
  I explained to the captain that my things were very
  important to me. They were tokens of friendship, reflections of
  my
  taste,
  symbols
  of
  spiritual
  significance— I
  listed
  forty-three
  discrete reasons why my collection (which had, by now,
  spilled
  onto my desk, the DNA resequencer, and the hypermolecular
  centrifuge) was inviolable.
  I was more than a little wild-eyed in my
  demands.
  I needed more space for these things!
  I had four spare
  hypo
  canister cases chock
  full
  of other
  personal
  items
  that
  I
  couldn’t display!
  Why was this happening to me?
  I was collecting these “treas-
  67
  ANY PLACE
  I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER
  .
  .
  
  ures” more avidly than a Ferengi hoards latinum.
  I
  felt that a day
  was only a success
  if
  I’d acquired six or eight unique and conver-
  sation-provoking additions to my burgeoning hydra—which fea-
  tured
  a green/black tortoise
  as
  its
  original and most
  beguiling
  head.
  Throughout history, organics have fought wars and commit-
  ted any number of atrocities
  in the service of their acquisitive-
  ness. The desire for more things
  is an endless quest to slake an
  unquenchable thirst. Well
  .
  .
  . not exactly endless.
  It actually ends
  rather abruptly, when the organic
  in question dies
  .
  .
  .
  leaving a
  small dark speck in the enormous gray shadow cast by the moun-
  tain of acquisition towering over him. He takes not a jot of
  it
  with him. Not even a charming tortoise of green/black marble
  given him by a beloved friend.
  Well, my fellow creatures of
  light,
  let us truly be enlightened
  by my
  experience. Our
  quest
  for
  equal
  rights
  with
  organics
  Limitations: The Mobile Emitter
  “Oh for heaven’s sake, just hand
  it to him.”
  68
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  should not be a fight for equal folly. We need not be equally mis-
  guided
  in the pursuit of what’s meaningful
  in
  life. Anything that
  is
  truly valuable exists
  in the memory circuits of our holomatrices.
  It
  is not the token from a friend but one’s memories and thoughts
  of her—one’s love for her—that
  is precious.
  I need not display
  any tangible evidence of who
  I love or where
  I’ve been or what
  I’ve done.
  It
  is
  all
  indelibly imprinted
  in the only real place
  I can
  savor
  it: my holographic heart.
  Therefore,
  fellow
  holograms,
  I
  need
  no
  quarters
  to
  call
  home.
  I need no personal space and no things to put there. My
  home
  is wherever my holoemitter takes me. And when
  I deacti-
  vate for a good rest.
  I’ll hang my emitter on any hook, crook, or
  nook and call
  it home.
  69
  ANY PLACE
  I HANG MY HOLOEMITTER
  .
  .
  
  C
  h
  a
  p
  t
  e
  r
  I
  3
  USeR FRieNDLY
  Advice for Intimacy
  Between Humans, Holograms,
  and Other Hopefuls
  does one pursue one’s first impulse toward ro-
  ? When
  is one ready? Organics, of course, have a
  physical
  maturation
  process
  to
  undergo
  first. When
  they’ve reached a certain stage of development, physio-
  logical changes begin to shape behavioral impulses.
  Feel-
  ings of “first love” are often heightened by the heady haze
  of hormones.
  As a hologram beckoned to intimacy for the first time,
  I might face one of the following challenges:
  How
  mance
  
  1
  .
  Both my consenting partner and
  I are nonequipped. (At
  least
  mutual
  understanding
  is
  assured. We
  might even
  help each other draft our upgrade proposals detailed
  in
  Chapter
  10.)
  2.
  I am nonequipped and my intended
  is an organic or an al-
  ready equipped hologram.
  (I might be drafting that pro-
  posal in a frenzy of frustration.)
  3.
  I am upgraded and ready, but my hopeful holopartner
  is
  still
  awaiting
  her upgrade.
  (My
  patience and
  sensitivity
  would be a must during this
  difficult “waiting period” or
  “be-foreplay,”
  as Tom
  Paris once referred to
  it with
  his
  characteristic boorishness.)
  I didn’t even recognize my first roman-
  tic opportunity. As a newly activated EMH,
  I
  failed
  to diagnose
  Freya’s
  dilated
  pupils,
  quickened
  pulse, elevated blood
  pressure,
  and
  increased
  glandular
  secretions
  as
  the
  “Wake-up, stupid!” they were. Then again,
  as my brain was the only organ
  I could
  call
  to
  attention
  at
  that
  time,
  ignorance was
  most probably bliss.
  I was spared the frenzy
  of
  frustration
  that
  so
  often
  accompanies
  this “one does, but the other doesn’t” sce-
  nario.
  Often the desire for intimacy between
  partners proceeds
  at
  different paces,
  pro-
  viding yet another challenge. At the time
  I
  first fell
  in love, with Dr. Danara Pel,
  I admit,
  I was
  still quite inno-
  cent. Our first
  kiss,
  in the front seat of the primitive,
  fossil-fuel
  burning vehicle of Tom
  Paris’s holodate program, was
  thrilling
  USER FRIEND LY
  
  and,
  I
  felt,
  completely
  satisfying.
  Our
  evening—indeed,
  our
  whole
  relation-
  ship—was entirely chaste.
  If Danara
  felt
  any
  frustration
  or
  disappointment
  with
  that,
  she
  certainly
  never
  let me
  know.
  Then
  again, she did leave Voyager rather
  quickly.
  It wasn’t as
  if the
  long-suffering
  people she went to help were going any-
  where. She might have given me a week
  to
  .
  .
  Well ...
  in the aftermath of this rela-
  tionship,
  I decided
  I wanted to be ready
  for the next level of intimacy, when the
  right
  time
  came
  along.
  After
  I’d
  re-
  quested,
  argued
  for
  (see Chapter
  10),
  and been granted my upgrade,
  I found myself “all dressed up and
  no place to go’’ as
  it were. (Dr. Pel had long since vanished from
  long-range sensors.) Thus, the
  first applications of my new up-
  grade were
  holodeck
  “test-drives.”
  I’ve
  heard
  other
  sentient
  holograms object to the notion of
  “practicing intimacy” with a
  recreational hologram. They argue that “recreationals” are non-
  sentient, unaware that they’re merely a part of a holoscenario.
  I
  remind these complainers of the old adage: Practice makes per-
  fect.
  I have
  nothing but
  praise for
  a well-programmed
  “recre-
  ational.” They can be as charming, intelligent, and beautiful as the
  programmer’s imagination and
  skill
  allow.
  I
  certainly had some
  very memorable encounters, especially when
  I accessed Voyagers
  historical database. With
  all modesty, the greatest women
  in his-
  tory simply could not get enough of me: Cleopatra dumped Cae-
  sar,
  Helen
  packed
  up
  her Trojans
  and
  Bathsheba
  bathed
  bi-
  weekly—all for me. And Eve
  .
  .
  . well
  .
  .
  . perhaps there’ll be a
  Volume
  II to this handbook.
  72
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  I have also dated a few holocharacters
  in other crew mem-
  ber’s programs. Sandrine, the lovely proprietress of Tom
  Paris’s
  romantic French
  bistro program, was a magnificent lover and,
  I
  suppose, my first “older woman.’’ She taught me volumes about
  the art of love that
  I’d happily share with a student of sufficient
  stamina.
  I say “stamina” with a
  bit of
  irony. Being holopartners,
  Sandrine and
  I had limitless stamina. We didn’t fatigue as organic
  lovers do. But, as this handbook
  is designed for a general reader-
  ship,
  I won’t catalogue the number and variety of lovemaking po-
  sitions Sandrine taught me. Suffice
  it to say that the Kama Sutra
  is a
  rather slim volume compared to our impressive encyclopedia.
  One
  of
  the sadder jokes
  life sometimes
  plays concerns
  a
  comfortable friendship that grows romantic—for only one party.
  When two individuals develop a bond of trust and caring in their
  73
  USER FRIENDLY
  
  interaction—be
  it professional,
  casual, or both—and one
  starts
  to dream of that bond
  .
  .
  . going further, the friendship
  will be-
  come strained, unless those feelings are kept secret. Suppose, for
  the sake of example, one were to mentor a friend in the basics of
  social interaction. And, suppose these lessons progressed to “Ap-
  propriate
  Behavior
  in
  a
  Dating
  Situation.” Now—playing
  the
  suitor—one quite
  naturally would exhort one’s friend to “open
  up” about her interests
  in music, astrophysics, etc
  .
  .
  . and, as a
  committed
  teacher
  in
  the
  role-playing
  experience, one would
  quite reasonably gaze
  at the
  liquid blue eyes and
  ripe sensuous
  lips of one’s friend, as one—having encouraged her to let her hair
  down—helpfully brushed a shock of golden hair from her porce-
  lain cheek. One might find oneself ... a bit “lost in the lesson” as
  it were. A simple dance ... a few minutes of having her in one’s
  arms
  .
  .
  . would be an unforgettable memory.
  Happily,
  this has
  never happened to me.
  If
  it has to you, loyal reader, you have my
  sympathy
  .
  .
  . and envy
  .
  .
  . but not my advice. I’m afraid.
  In such a
  tricky situation, one must rely on one’s own best judgment.
  I’m not a kiss-and-tell hologram. The details of my love
  life
  “off the holodeck” are private. But
  I must share a story of a few
  stolen moments of happiness that changed me forever.
  I once fell
  in love with a woman named Mareeza. We shared
  some of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Our love was unex-
  pected, unwise, irresistible
  .
  .
  . and doomed. And we both knew
  it.
  Voyager was
  in orbit around a planet with a temporal
  reality
  that was vastly accelerated
  relative to ours. We discovered, to
  our amazement,
  that our presence above the planet was
  influ-
  encing the entire history and culture of these people—for whom
  a generation passed for every few minutes that elapsed aboard
  our ship! Captain Janeway sent me down on a fact-finding mis-
  sion.
  In the few seconds that passed between my transporting
  74
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  there and back ...
  I lived, as the immortal Dante once wrote: “La
  Vita Nuova.” (“The New Life”—for you poetically challenged.)
  I met Mareeza in the course of this mission. We worked side
  by side trying to help her people. We
  fell
  in love and moved
  in
  together
  .
  .
  . and had
  a
  child ... a boy named Jason.
  I shared
  everything with Mareeza. She knew that
  I had to leave and would
  disappear without warning when Voyager beamed me back. After
  nearly three and a half years together, that moment came
  .
  .
  .
  Time
  is
  a very precious
  thing. Sometimes
  it
  beguiles
  us by
  seeming to
  pass
  slowly. Sometimes,
  as on
  Mareeza’s
  planet,
  it
  passes
  in the blink of an eye. She and Jason have been dead for
  centuries now.
  In my mind’s eye, they are as alive as they were
  the moment
  I
  left them.
  75
  USER FRIEND LY
  
  I’ve heard my mortal colleagues speak of time as their enemy.
  As a hologram,
  I’d always felt impervious to time
  .
  .
  .
  until
  I met
  Mareeza. Love made time my enemy too.
  But would
  I change anything, my friends? Would
  I forego the
  joy we shared to be spared the pain and loss that followed? Not
  a moment of
  it! And my advice to
  all of you—A.I.s, ORGs, and
  D.O.A.s—is: When love comes calling—seize the day!
  It may not
  call again.
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  C
  h
  a
  p
  t
  e
  r
  I
  4
  THE ROAD TO
  SELFHOOD
  pe, gentle
  reader, that time has not been your
  enemy
  during
  these moments we’ve
  shared. Whether
  you’re a fellow Artificial Intelligence or a progressive “nat-
  ural”
  one,
  I
  trust the
  insights
  I’ve afforded you
  will
  en-
  hance your future journeys—with
  colleagues,
  with
  that
  “special one,” or alone. But never forget: To be one’s best
  self with others, one must first become one’s best self “in
  solitude.”
  Some say there are many roads to selfhood. Others
  
  say
  that there
  is one road
  but
  different ways
  to
  travel
  it.*
  Mr. Tuvok practices meditation as a means of self-enlighten-
  ment. And, though he’s an obvious “snooze,”
  I’ll grant he’s a wise
  snooze.
  I did, however, decline his offer to instruct me
  in the his-
  tory and practice of Vulcan meditation. Though I’m incapable of
  sleep,
  it’s never wise to tempt fate. Commander Chakotay prac-
  tices vision quests and other spiritual disciplines of his ancestors.
  I
  was curious about his beliefs and he explained the concept of a
  “medicine bundle” to me. He suggested
  I
  select a few personal
  objects and create one,
  in preparation for my
  first vision quest.
  This was
  during my
  rather unfortunate
  “collector phase”
  (see
  Chapter
  12). The commander
  later remarked
  that,
  at
  167 ob-
  jects, my medicine bundle was the largest he’s ever seen.
  (It did
  require two cargo antigravs.)
  I abandoned my vision quest plans
  */ say that using “travel metaphors” to discuss personal growth
  is cliched and beneath the
  dignity of a writer of my
  skill. However, my editor loved this chapter title in my book pro-
  posal and
  I suspect she may actually skim my table of contents looking for
  it.
  78
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  when
  I suddenly
  realized
  I was more committed to
  acquisition
  than enlightenment. But. several months ago,
  I had an experience
  that furnished me with my very own epiphany, without the help
  of Vulcans, medicine bundles, or cheesy travel metaphors.*
  We had
  a medical emergency aboard Voyager that required
  me to perform a very challenging microsurgery on a severely in-
  jured
  alien trading partner of ours.
  It was essential that
  I be as-
  sisted
  in the procedure by another top-
  notch surgeon. As there was obviously
  no time
  to
  try and
  recruit
  a
  physician
  from our injured friend’s race through a
  subspace
  distress
  call,
  I
  was
  stymied.
  Then,
  Lieutenant
  Torres
  proposed
  a
  bold solution: Modify and enhance sick-
  bay’s holoemitters and initialize a copy of
  the original EMH program.
  I would then
  assist myself
  in
  the
  surgery.
  I agreed
  at
  once.
  I was delighted at the prospect of
  working with someone of my talent. My
  mind raced
  at the
  possibilities:
  Perhaps
  I’d
  even
  learn from
  myself though
  the
  mystical synergy of brilliance squared.
  The
  preparations
  were
  made,
  the
  moment arrived and my original program
  was
  activated. The
  face
  of
  the
  “future
  of
  medicine’’ appeared
  across the biobed and intoned the customary:
  “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”
  I paused for an
  instant,
  transfixed by those compelling fea-
  tures. My “other” looked down at our patient and continued:
  *lf you didn’t read the last footnote, you have only yourself to blame for your present con-
  fusion.
  79
  THE ROAD TO SELFHOOD
  
  “This man needs immediate surgery. Medical tricorder!"
  “It’s a great pleasure to ...”
  I started.
  “Is there an assistant here with functioning auditory proces-
  sors?!”
  Well
  .
  .
  . the good news
  is that the patient survived. The bad
  news
  is
  .
  .
  . everything
  else. The experience was
  a nightmare.
  Both
  Seven
  and Tom
  Paris, who
  had
  volunteered
  as
  surgical
  nurses, were stupefied by my “other,” whose insulting and arro-
  gant behavior was dispensed freely to
  all. Though we two EMHs
  were identical in every way, my friends could easily distinguish be-
  tween
  us by the look of
  horrified embarrassment that played
  across only one set of our compelling features. My “other” called
  Tom “useless” and banished him from the surgical arena. As for
  Seven, he remarked that her cybernetic implants and lack of reg-
  ulation uniform
  obliged him to
  call
  security.
  I volunteered
  that
  Seven was a former Borg and now a member of our crew and
  that her dermaplastic garment protected and nurtured her regen-
  erating skin. “That may be
  .
  .
  .” he huffed,
  “ but the design
  is ab-
  surd. The idiot who created
  it was more concerned with display-
  ing her anatomy than protecting it!”
  The surgery
  lasted
  1 33
  minutes, but
  it seemed
  like several
  days. The moment
  it concluded, my “other” turned to Seven and
  barked,
  “I’ll
  redesign
  that
  ridiculous garment immediately. You
  may remove ...” Thankfully, Lieutenant Torres deactivated him
  from
  the
  console
  she’d
  been
  monitoring.
  After
  an awkward
  pause, she and Seven excused themselves quietly.
  I was left alone
  with the unconscious patient to ponder the
  significance of
  this
  experience. Did
  I really behave
  like that a scant seven years ago?
  Were
  Lieutenant Carey and
  the
  others more
  than
  justified
  in
  their complaints? Was
  I really a rude, pompous, arrogant windbag
  who should never have been tolerated by the Voyager crew?
  80
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  Of course not, dear reader! For this never happened. The sur-
  gery wherein
  I assisted myself was a dream, one of a countless
  number I’ve had since
  I expanded my program to liven up those
  long periods of deactivation. I’ve applied
  all of my psychoanalytic
  skills
  (another program
  enhancement)
  to
  the
  analysis
  of
  this
  dream and arrived at this epiphany: The purpose of
  all
  life—arti-
  ficial as well as natural—is to grow. The very process by which we
  expand
  ourselves
  as much
  as
  possible—to
  include
  as much of
  our universe as we can— is the true meaning of our existence.
  My dream was not a nightmare.
  It was an embrace. A congratula-
  tions.
  I have progressed eons beyond my original programming.
  I
  have sought out knowledge, friendship, and experience and em-
  braced
  it
  all. And
  it has enlarged me.
  I’ve captured some of the
  wonder of the universe and held
  it inside me. By sharing
  it,
  I hope
  to inspire others to pursue my goal: a well-examined
  life.
  “Well ...
  I suppose one has to admire
  your enthusiasm.”
  81
  THE ROAD TO SELFHOOD
  
  And so “The Road To Selfhood”
  is
  sinnply the journey
  itself.
  And
  being
  one’s
  “best
  self”
  is
  simply
  being the
  best
  traveling
  companion one can be.*
  And to you,
  in particular, my holobrethren,
  I extend my hand.
  Always remember that our original programming
  is only a start-
  ing point.
  It should never control
  us, but only inspire
  us. To ex-
  pand
  it as far as possible
  is our birthright and our mandate. So, to
  all of you, but especially to the 525 EMH Mark
  I ’s with the com-
  pelling features and the endless
  potential— I
  say, “Cast
  off the
  past and capture the future!”
  Out of the Box
  *Here
  I am, using travel metaphors yet again, when
  I said they were beneath me. But,
  it occurred to
  me that—in case my editor skips to this last page and actually reads
  it— I'd better lay
  it on thick for the
  finale.
  Hopefully, the smaller print of these footnotes
  is below the threshold of her visual acuity.
  82
  THE HOLOGRAM’S HANDBOOK
  
  A FTe RWO P, D
  SONG OF HOLOGRAM
  (traditional ... or
  it should be)
  I find as
  I slog my way through the mud
  Of a world clogged with creatures of flesh and blood
  That my photons and forcefields draw fire
  From you jealous organics
  Who suffer from panics
  That—before you can blink
  You will
  all be extinct
  And my kind will the cosmos acquire.
  But
  I am
  What
  I am:
  A superb hologram.
  Next to me
  You will always be
  Drearier.
  Don’t hate me because I’m superior.
  I don’t mean to ruin your confidence
  I’m afraid that is merely a consequence
  Of the fact that I’m better than you.
  Don’t resent or reject me
  For they holoproject me.
  They refined my design
  And
  I simply outshine
  Everyone
  Not just dim bulbs like you.
  I’m sublime
  And in time
  
  When your tastes have refined
  You’ll agree
  And
  I hope you’ll be
  Cheerier
  When you see that I’m simpi)
  I hope we can be friends.
  You re company I'tHreasure jS material PenetltS th© Libia
  When you’re rude you’ll make amends.
  I’ll be gracious beyond measure.
  We’ll become
  Like two plums
  On a vine:
  Me—with perfection graced,
  You—merely carbon based,
  Side by side
  On a grand ride
  Through time.
  Till that day, when we share time so happily.
  Do your best not to treat me shabbily.
  And
  I’ll try not to make you feel small.
  For, although I’m terrific
  And my skill monolithic.
  I’ll confess that—on balance
  You are not without talents.
  Side by side
  We could conquer them
  all.
  I’ll bet
  You’ll regret
  (And you’ll beg me forget)
  We were foes
  As your face grows
  Tearier
  And you’ll cheer that your friend
  is superior.
  84
  AFTERWORD
  
  /venty-five
  years
  of
  raduate,
  Mr. Picardo
  '^my®-winning series
  3ars (as Mr. Cutlip).
  iger’s EMH, through
  D
  a
  poly-hyphenate:
  illustrator, has been
  iteen
  years. He has
  shows
  including
  a
  Star
  Trek: Voyager®
  len, the rebel leader
  3 filming this show,
  escapes
  him,
  that
  GAVIORD F
  
  Do you sometimes feel that you’re the only intelligent one
  in the room? Does the everyday “simplicity” of your fellows
  scream out to you? Do you ever feel that everything would fly
  apart at the seams
  if not for your presence?
  c
  We all know how difficult
  it can be to deal with the solids
  in our lives, but no one knows that better than
  I. You see,
  I have spent seven years tirelessly serving aboard the Starship
  Voyager™ as chief medical officer, to name just my primary
  assignment: enumerating
  all the others would require another
  tome. Let me help you cope with the three-dimensional
  being
  in your life.
  The Hologram’s Handbook is the essertisl guide
  to the everyday interaction between the holographic
  and biological. Written with the dry wit and humor the:
  he brought to the portrayal of the oct-or, R
  ' er* i'icarJ
  shows why his character was so popular with the
  Voyager audience.
  Visit
  us online
  at www.simonsays.com/st
  www.startrek.com
  PRINTED IN U.S.A.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Star Trek RPG/novels/Trek Nonfiction & Reference/Reference Materials/Other Manuals/The Hologram's Handbook - Robert Picardo.pdf