12.1.3 The Oxbridge Academical Companion To Starfleet Academy, Chapter 3 (Academy Life)

Vitus Reflux

3. Academy Life

It is difficult to examine Starfleet Academy without thinking about the future. This is not simply because the show takes place a thousand years hence. Telling stories of young people learning what they need for their lives going forward makes the shape and texture of the impending future impossible to ignore.

The process of preparing for that future is complicated by many factors. One of them is the fact that, for many students - we should not fear to say most students - where they may be heading is often a consideration coming a distant second to where they currently are. Away from home for the first time, surrounded by wholly unfamiliar people their own age, in a new phase of life where one’s responsibilities and freedoms have wholly altered. The question of how one might build for the next paradigm shift in their life tends to take a back seat to figuring out how to survive the current one.

Tertiary education institutions are, or should be, wholly aware of this. It is their job not just to help their students work towards their future, but to thrive in their present. Campus life cannot and should not be seen as merely a conveyer belt to a career.

And yet the yet to come will always come. Somehow, the constant pressure of the present, and the mounting pressure of the future, must be addressed simultaneously. This is already a difficult enough task in itself. It gets harder when the shadow of the past falls across them as well. As we see in “Vitus Reflux”, our primary focus for this chapter, the concept of "school pride" is one that has survived into the 32nd century. There are many interesting discussions to be had on the consequences of inculcated tribalism, but the relevant point here is that it appears impossible – if not in theory, then certainly in practice – to separate pride in what your institution is, from what it was. No justification is given for the newly-reopened Starfleet Academy taking the lapling as its mascot, beyond the fact that it was what they had used before. One of the very first fixtures in the academy we see during the series is the Wall of Heroes; a long list of graduates stretching back for almost a millennium. Our students must find a way to live in the present while also constantly contending with both the onrushing future or the ever-mounting past.

In this chapter, we shall explore that meeting of past, present and future, as it relates to our characters, the show’s audience, and tertiary education in the real world. In doing so, we shall attempt to answer the question: what is life like at Starfleet Academy, and why?

3.1 The University: Past, Present and Future

Starfleet Academy is, for many of us, immediately recognisable. Not in the sense of it being a location Trek has visited multiple times before, or even just in how it is clearly steeped in the visual language of the broader franchise. The Academy very clearly resembles a contemporary seat of tertiary education.

The intended audience for this book will almost certainly already be aware of this. The Academy’s dorms, eating places, and classes/lectures surely feel familiar. So too must at least some of the importance of team sports displayed in “Vitus Reflux”, whether or not the reader chooses to partake in such activities themselves.

A question you may be asked to ponder is this: why? Why is the college life of teenagers in the 32nd century so similar to that of the 21st? Imagine we travelled through time for an equivalent distance, but in the other direction, bringing us to the early 900s. It is not just that university life would be unrecognisable to us. At that point in history, the university as we conceive of it simply did not exist.

There were forebears, yes - institutions of adult learning, commonly but not invariably religious in nature, dotted the Medieval world 1. The concept of “the academy” itself can be traced back 1400 years further still, and the search for philosophical, biological and astronomical enlightenment embarked upon by Plato 2, in the shade of olive trees dedicated to the goddess of wisdom 3.

While the Old Academy might be (fittingly enough) a Platonic ideal of the university as a centre for scholarship, though, the process of education within it was wholly different 4.

Likewise for the al-Qarawiyyin mosque in Fez, Morocco, known as the world's oldest still-running higher learning institution 5 (though no evidence exists of teaching taking place there before the 12th century). The first institution considered a university in the modern conception of the term, the University of Bologna, is less than a millennium old 6, meaning we are closer in chronological terms to its earliest graduates than we are the first matriculating Starfleet Academy class post-Burn.

Why then, given that events of Starfleet Academy are further from our own experiences than the very birth of higher education as a concept, does this view of the future look so very much like our present?

There are several approaches to this question. The first, and most immediate, is that – as we have covered – this is a show designed to appeal to young adults, and as such, it should reflect those same young adults’ experiences of the world. This, though, is an unsatisfactory hypothesis. No previous iteration of Trek felt the need to reflect the living circumstances of its audience; indeed much of its appeal was that it did not. Yes, Trek has always claimed a focus upon exploring the human condition, but it was the very distance (however defined) between the social contexts of its setting and its production which permitted that centring. The vision of the future disguised the repackaging of the present. It's always easier to hold a mirror up to society when people are busy admiring the frame.

Furthermore, far from it being necessary for a teenage audience to see their living conditions reflected on the screen to take interest, we know historically that their preference was frequently to see as few people around their age as possible. Neither Wesley Crusher nor Jake Sisko were generally well-received by those of a similar age at the time that their respective shows were airing (there are of course additional considerations to take into account regarding Jake, of course, which we shall discuss in detail in Section 5). It would be a mistake to misrepresent the teenage/young adult experience, but keeping it out of frame entirely has never stopped a science-fiction show from being popular with the under twenty-fives.

We should dig deeper, then. An alternative hypothesis would be that the post-secondary education of the 32nd century is portrayed as being almost indistinguishable from that of the 21 century simply because it is assumed that this will, or even should, prove the case.

Reflect upon the decision for cadets to be billeted two or even three to a room. Shared living space aboard a starship seems entirely sensible, given the many other factors to be taken into account when designing an exploration vessel/warship resistant to the vacuum of space. Those are limits we leave in orbit. There is no indication that the Earth of the 3100s struggles for living space any more than it did in 2399, a year when population density was so low a retiree could live alone in a French chateau (save for whatever staff he chose to employ). Even if local planning issues meant the campus itself could not be as large as desired, the cadets can be teleported to literally anywhere on the planet in the space of moments. Just as the fact replicators render communal eating wholly unnecessary, there’s no obvious reason to require cadets remain on campus at all, let alone sharing rooms with people they’ve known for only a few hours at most.

Starfleet Academy doesn’t just see roommates and caffeine at the cafeteria as important elements of contemporary tertiary education. It sees them as virtuous and desirable.

This is defensible with regards to shared recreational spaces – officers with their own replicators have found a place to share food and drink valuable going all the way back to Ten Forward (the implication that replicator rations are in effect, given the offer in "Beta Test" of a "complimentary espresso drink", is less easily justified). The intrinsic value of not having a room of your own is harder to immediately recognise, and it's worth noting many institutions outside the US minimise the time they expect students to spend in shared rooms, or have even done away with the idea altogether.

We shall return to these considerations at the end of the chapter. At this point, though, it will be of use to return to our positionality statement. This is a book written by an academic. It is intended for those enrolled upon an academic programme which at least intersects with, and is potentially centred on, the study of science-fiction texts. It is also written by an educator, one who has been teaching in one form or another for a quarter of a century.

It is in this context that I will argue that science-fiction rarely – perhaps never – considers education as something which changes over time. Or, more correctly, that pedagogical theory changes over time. Education can be considered as mutable, in the sense of new material needing to be taught, and new technologies allowing for new methods of knowledge transmission (plenty of texts posit learning without teaching, via direct download, hypnosis sessions, and so on). But the central idea that educating means transmitting knowledge is never interrogated. This author has seen it commented upon in multiple places that it is strange Starfleet Academy employs Jet Reno to teach a subject she has nine centuries of progress to catch up on. The fact she has just as many years of development in pedagogical theory to internalise does not appear to have generated a similar level of consternation.

This is, in the opinion of the author, somewhat short-sighted. The study and development of pedagogy is an academic discipline, and like all academic disciplines, it exists in a constant state of motion. We are endlessly working to become better teachers, in ways often small, but on occasion much larger. It is true that change comes slowly, and perhaps nowhere is it truer than in universities, but the river never stops rolling. It can be dammed (and the number of academics determined to spend their careers building those dams would astonish many people, though not perhaps the students this book has been written for), but sooner or later, the levy always breaks.

Fiction almost always misses this fact. The classrooms of the future - where they are considered at all - look broadly equivalent to those of the present. Or, more accurately, the imagined present, which is to say the recent past. This subsection began asking why the Academy looks so similar to the modern university. In truth, however, higher education has already moved beyond the model we see here. The traditional mode of transmissive teaching, where are lecturer stands in front of their students to deliver an extended monologue, is dying out. In it's place is the flipped classroom, where theory is delivered asynchronously, and class sessions focus on discussion and practice 7. The aim here is to minimise the amount of contact time in which the educator is simply talking at the students, as opposed to being in dialogue with them (ironically, learning through dialogue was central to the philosophy of Plato's academy, some twenty-four centuries ago). Despite this shift, and others, Starfleet Academy shows us a vision of future education no different to that of Deep Space Nine, more than thirty years earlier.

There are similar issues with the manner in which the show considers (or chooses not to consider) how its student support systems function. This is perhaps most clear in "The Life Of The Stars", in which the principle that students be partners in their own support provisions is tossed aside, with Tarima learning she is being transferred to the Academy against her express wishes. A more prosaic issue - and perhaps in some way a larger problem, precisely because it is so much more common - is that we see no sign of the ways in which the modern university works to ensure students can engage in education when circumstances prevent their physically presence in class. One of the very few positive outcomes of the COVID pandemic was the way in which it forced academia to accept the feasibility of remote learning. This should be vastly more common in the era of Starfleet Academy, which posits hologrammatic hybrid meetings as an everyday occurrence.

So why do we never see the telltale flicker of remote engagement in an Academy classroom? Why, when Caleb realised he was running late for the explanation of the rules of Calica, wasn’t he able to access the session from elsewhere on campus, so as not to have to interrupt proceedings? For that matter, why should he be made to feel that he was interrupting?  Singling out a student for lateness in front of their peers is astonishingly poor pedagogic practice, as any educator who learned their craft in the last few decades at least could tell you.

Starfleet Academy is not a vision of education’s future. It is a remix of its writers’ past experience of education, given a thin coat of programmable matter. As a result, the vision of campus life provided here is in many ways a surprisingly conservative one. This can be interpreted as a disappointment, in the context of the progressive nature of the Trek franchise, a legacy this show otherwise takes extremely seriously. The common assumption that universities are "left-wing bastions" is overstated and reductive, but it is not wholly false 8. An argument can be made that the show has failed to live up to its own setting in taking a retrograde approach to educational evolution.

But then with all that said, we’re not dealing with a university at all. Starfleet Academy, per its name, is a show about an academy. More specifically, at least in some sense, and bearing in mind decades of debate on the precise parameters of this, Starfleet Academy is a show about a military academy. The ways in which this matters for those that study there, and for the audience at home, are considered in the next subsection.

3.2 Military Academies and War Colleges

Canonically, it has been the case from the start that Starfleet recruits are trained in a military academy. This is made clear through the mandatory uniforms, the compulsory physical activity, the manner in which its various academic programmes encourage majors that will be of direct use to the service, and the progressing through the years confers increasing authority over those in lower years (though that last one is not exclusively the preserve of military schools). All of these are formal aspects of, say, the United States Naval Academy 9. They even call their incoming cadets "plebes", the contemptuous nickname Finnegan uses for lower classmates like Kirk. 10

It seems plausible that Roddenberry had the Naval Academy in mind when imagining how Starfleet might train his officers. Roddenberry was a former military man himself, though he trained through the Air Corps' Civilian Pilot Training Programme 11, around a decade before the US Air Force Academy was even founded. With so much of his "Space Force" (as it was originally known) based on the ranks and traditions of the US Navy (right down to the "USS" prefix on the ships), why wouldn't he seek inspiration from the real-world method by which American warships gain new officers?

While the USNA was a perfect fit as an educational model in the earliest days of Trek, though, what became known as Starfleet had already drifted from its original concept as a space navy by the time the first season ended. Starfleet was quite prepared to take on a military roll whenever necessary, but first and foremost, the Enterprise was in the business of helping people. As a result, we might look to a slightly different school as our present-day analogue to Ake's school: the United States Coast Guard Military Academy. They call their recruits “swabs” rather than “plebes”, and they have a rather narrower range of majors, but the Coast Guard is a rather stronger philosophical fit for Starfleet. The Guard are responsible for marine environmental protection, and focus far more upon search & rescue and disaster relief than the Navy. They also act as a reserve fighting force, called upon only when necessary, which broadly matches up with Starfleet's role as seeing military action as a situational necessity, rather than a raison d'etre.

Even one of the less combat-focussed US uniformed services could still be said to be a problematic model for a primarily diplomatic, scientific, and exploratory organisation in a post-scarcity near-utopia - particularly now the Coast Guard sits within the Department of Homeland Security. It is perhaps for this reason that Starfleet Academy introduces us to the War College. The aim here seems clear: by contrasting the two institutions, the show offers an upper bound on how militaristic the Academy will allow itself to become.

Military academies don’t necessarily mean military service – as noted, the Coast Guard has a potential role as a fighting force, but only a potential one. A War College, though, is explicitly about training people to get better at prosecuting a war. It is surely no coincidence that of the five specific US uniformed services that run a military academy – the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, and Merchant Marines (not to be confused with the Marine Corps, whose officers train at the Naval Military Academy), it is only those which are dedicated to armed conflict first and foremost that have a matching War College.

This supposed greater focus on excelling in war, rather than being prepared for it, is admittedly not something the show spends much time on in its first season. This is a sensible decision – ten episodes is barely enough to give us a solid sense of even just one institution. Defining the War College principally as a negative space the Academy has no wish to occupy is certainly sufficient in the short term. The closest we come to a direct indication of how the War College compares is through Tamira's belief, expressed in "Vitus Reflux", that the War College practices greater regimentation, with that being more likely to teach her the “control” she feels she needs.

How the relationship between the two schools will develop remains to be seen. One direction the first season may be gesturing towards is the War College becoming to Starfleet Academy what the Klingon Empire was to the Federation during much of the TNG era: the more militaristic, belligerent ally you’re not always comfortable with, but are happy to have by your side, particularly as opposed to at your throat.

If so, this would be an approach with much to recommend it. This would allow for the popular “good cop/bad cop” and “odd couple” elements of the franchise’s approach to the Klingons to be maintained. while sidestepping the unpleasant moral implications of allying oneself with proudly racist imperial warmongers. Indeed, it may be this thinking that led to the decision to reduce the Klingon Empire itself to ashes, allowing the franchise to finally move past the Klingons as operating as alternately the Federation's problematic friend, and its belligerent enemy.

Whatever the reason for the Klingon's absence, having their role taken up by a fellow institution within Starfleet has obvious advantages. The approach is reminiscent of the use of the Bajoran Militia and the Maquis in DS9 and Voyager respectively, in terms of using another organisation from a different cultural context to critique Starfleet.

The difference here, of course, is that the critique is coming from within. Our rival schools are both convinced they alone can lay claim to the legacy and future of the service they seek to join. In the final subsection in this chapter, we shall explore how the struggle to be seen as the soul of Starfleet unfolds.

3.3 Pranks, Sports, and Lessons

"Vitus Reflux" begins the process of exploring the philosophical differences between Starfleet Academy and the War College. The putative battlegrounds are two more aspects of 21st century university life which have been transferred to the far future - interschool sports rivalries, and the college prank.

Both of these have long been part of Academy life. We have already mentioned Finnegan, Kirk’s upper classman nemesis, who delighted on playing practical “jokes” on his victim. The nature of intercollegiate sports events is a little less clear, but we certainly know that Starfleet Academy had a Parrises squares team during the 24th century, which took place in at least one of multiple organised championships of the game, and that enough interest was generated by these events for there to be favoured teams and upsets, and even infamous controversies 12.

Starfleet Academy does not make use of Parrises squares, however. Instead, it introduces the audience to Calica. This is a game clearly intended to approximate warfare. The specifics of this are difficult to determine, since we never see an actual official game being played. It’s not clear in particular to what extent Lura Thok’s training course is designed to resemble the game itself, and to what extent she is simply indulging her habit of turning encounters with students into tests of physical endurance and/or mental fortitude (the relish with which she yells "Release the drones!" is interpretable as a clue here).

It can be argued, though, that the specifics of the game matter very little. It requires only the properties necessary to function as a suitable metaphor for the themes of the episode, and the show. Calica is imagined as a game where players can dream of glory through their impressive individual exploits, but which in fact requires strong teamwork for victory to be possible. It would be reasonable to note that this is not a wholly successful element to "Vitus Reflux", given that the metaphor somehow manages to lack both subtlety and cohesion. When a gameplan requires both property damage and a player who exists outside the context of the game to succeed, then whether that technically constitutes cheating or not, it is hard to argue that the virtues of teamwork are being displayed.

The more resonant metaphor Calica presents us with isn’t via its rules, or its players, but its mascots. Lappy provides a direct link to the Academy's past ; a reminder that (as mentioned in the introduction to this chapter) our cadets must deal not just with the pressures of present and future, but the past as well. This is then explored further through the rivalry between Darem Reymi and Genesis Lythe, both of whom are driven to excel not through intrinsic motivation, but the fear of disappointing, or at least failing to measure up to, one or both parents.

We will discuss Starfleet Academy's use of family in Chapter 4, however. To return to our mascots, let us compare Lappy - a tiny, near-helpless creature once on the verge of extinction - with the War College's mugato, the hyper-aggressive two-metre tall horned and venomous ape that once came within inches of killing James T Kirk. 13

The difference here is so extreme, it cannot be accidental. Each institution has picked a mascot which reflects their philosophy of conflict. The War College has chosen a creature which is tough, dangerous, something one can tell immediately is a formidable threat. They fight simply because it is who they are (again, cf. TNG-era Klingons). It's a statement of intent, but also one of arrogance, even narcissism. We are who we are, and no further justification is necessary. The Academy’s mascot, on the other hand, represents not the players themselves but their motivation: the preservation of life. They fight because sometimes you have to. Because those that can’t protect themselves need and deserve defending.

We have touched upon the issue of school pride already. The comparison between academy and college allows us to extend this consideration to institutional pride, and what elements of the institution - in this case Starfleet - are to be taken pride in. There are two distinct models for the fleet established early in the franchise's history; the space navy of TOS Season 1, and the diplomatically-focussed city state of early TNG. Neither model holds that war is desirable, but the former considers it a fact of life, whereas the latter sees it as the ultimate failure state. While TOS regularly asked the question of how the Enterprise could survive conflicts they looked sure to lose, TNG asked rather how the Enterprise-D could avoid initiating conflict they were almost certain to win. These have effectively been the two poles of the franchise, with subsequent iterations (including the later seasons of both those shows themselves) staking its position on the fleet's military aspect somewhere in-between.

The Trek fandom has debated at great length which of these models, or what mixture between them, should be considered the "best" or "right" approach to Starfleet. Starfleet Academy, via its twin institutions, brings the debate into the text itself. It is no accident that the mascots are a mugato and a lapling instead of, for example, a tribble and an Aldebaran serpent. The animals are chosen from the shows representing each attitude. Chancellor Ake herself makes what is going on explicit. The War College teaches how to fight battles. The Academy teaches how to end wars.

It is here that "Vitus Reflux" blooms, opening itself out to display the themes of the season. Wars are ended, it is claimed, by the strategic application of empathy (a word used ten times in the episode) and patience. These are attitudes to be applied not just to our friends, but our opponents, and even perhaps our enemies, so that they might one day become friends. The episode is so certain that it reclaiming the essence of Trek that it's featured in the title: "Vitus Reflux", meaning (approximately) "The flowing back of life".

In the context of the episode, this attitude means finding an approach that will lead to Kelrec calling off the prank war. It's not about defeating him in the most satisfying way possible for the cadets, it's about working out what angle of attack is most likely to help him conclude he wants to stop fighting. The chosen strategy is two-pronged. First, it beats Kelrec at his own game - he cannot publicly object to the Academy cadets appropriating the same security codes he violated procedure by giving to his own students. Second, it's the most Starfleet form of assault possible. It does not seem unreasonable to assume that, once the War College's security was bypassed, there were any number of ways in which its dormitories could have been rendered temporarily uninhabitable. Turning the College cadets' rooms into an arboretum for endangered plant-life, though? That not only makes a quick clean-up impossible, it stands on its own terms as an act of preservation. In defeating the other team, the Academy ensures a new opportunity for life to flourish. Kelrec’s philosophy, approach, and students are all beaten at precisely the same time, in a manner that’s embarrassing to him if he says nothing, and potentially career-risking if he objects. Like any truly great military leader, he recognises when he is beaten, and commits to making the most of his loss. He chooses to end the war.

When Caleb asks, in the final minutes of "Vitus Reflux", “why does everything have to be a full-on lesson in this place?”, Nahla responds with “‘Cause it’s a school”. This is a characteristically light and fun exchange for the show, of the kind it likes to use to pave the way for somewhat more serious conversations. As such, there is a limit to the load we can place on the line when building an argument. With that said, we might which to explore whether a better answer exists to the question. Could we not say that everything at the Academy is a lesson because everything in life is a lesson?

It was noted in Section 3.1 that Starfleet Academy does not employ a modern philosophy of student support from an operational perspective. While this is true, it does not follow that the show lacks a position on what it should mean to support students morally. One way to conceive of a school is a space where students can make their mistakes. To give young people space to reflect on the lessons of life when they’re first learned, within a system which offers as wide and soft a safety net as can be fashioned.

And with this definition, we can see how the ways in which the show offers an outdated conception of post-secondary education do at least carry thematic weight. Why does the Academy require you to take a roommate? Why does it still have cafeteria? Why does it so strongly push presenteeism? It's because the Academy recognises that you learn your lessons not just from your teachers, but also - perhaps especially - from your peers. Learning as soon as possible about how to live alongside as many different people as possible is wholly in keeping with the Federation's philosophy. These living arrangements and social expectations are all, ultimately, opportunities to practically apply the concept of empathy, in a context where the importance of that application can be regularly reiterated, and lapses of judgement can be addressed where needed.

The argument presented by "Vitus Reflux" is that this approach will bear fruit. While the victory over the War College is the dramatic resolution to the episode, the true claim over the validity of the Academy's approach comes when Darim, prompted into reflection by one of his teachers, reaches out to Genesis to apologise for his behaviour. Because Genesis is right to say that she can’t expect her opponents to play fair out in the real world, but Darim is also right to say that they should be able to expect it at the Academy.

There are those who argue it is a mistake to aim to produce the most level playing field we can at university, whether that be via regulation, support, or philosophy. To these people - a group that may well include Chancellor Kelrec - an educational structure which prioritises fairness and empathy fails to prepare students for what is vaguely defined as "the real world". Starfleet Academy argues that this argument is wholly backward. The Academy - and by extension any school - does not need to dilute a philosophy of empathy and patience in order to prepare cadets for a hostile future. It is by refusing to dilute that philosophy that our students will ultimately help to make the future less hostile.

Darim learns the truth of this, and so he reaches out. He commits to the practice of empathy, just as he has been taught. He considers the pressures of past, present and future not just on himself, but on his opponent.

He too chooses to end the war.

This, then, is life at the Academy. A jumbled, sometimes even contradictory, combination of past and present, mixed with visions of the future alternatively laudatory and deflating. It is, like any other educational institution, a continual work in progress. Sometimes the confusion, and even the hurt, may be part of the lesson, but sometimes they're just what happens when thousands of people are in the same place trying to get through the day. Either way, there is no lesson hurt can teach us more important than our responsibility to lessen hurt where we can. We cannot promise to never make mistakes. We can commit to atoning for them.

This is what the Academy teaches. It is also what the Academy tires to be. It will not - cannot - always succeed. It can only recognise the need to be better.

Everything in life is a lesson.

Notes

1. Wikipedia lists twenty-five institutions of higher education that existed at some point before 926 CE.

2. Plato: The Academy, The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Part 1) 3. This was, of course, Athena.

4. Plato: The Academy, The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Part 3b)

5, www.guinnessworldrecords.com

6. Though the early days of that institution had little in common with the university as we now conceive of it. Differences compared to the modern university include the fact the students determined their own curricula and hired their professors directly.

7. Abeysekera, L & Dawson, P, Motivation and cognitive load in the flipped classroom: definition, rationale and a call for research, Higher Education Research & Development 34 (1) 1-14., 2015 8. Van de Werfhorst, HG, Are universities left-wing bastions? The political orientation of professors, professionals, and managers in Europe, British Journal of Sociology 7 (1) 47-73, 2020 Mathematics, general science, and even English are all majors the USNA offers its applicants. 9. USNA Viewbook

10. Star Trek: The Original Series, Season 1, "Shore Leave". 11. Alexander, D, Star Trek Creator: The Authorized Biography of Gene Roddenberry (1995), New York. 12. Parrises squares, Memory Alpha

13. Star Trek: The Original Series, Season 2, "A Private Little War".

Episode Ordering

1. A Man Alone  2. Dream Catcher

3. Strange New World

4. Where No Man Has Gone Before 

5..Ghosts Of Illyria 6. Context Is For Kings

7. One Of Our Planets Is Missing 

8. Temporal Edict 9. Vitus Reflux

10. The End Is The Beginning 

11. Time And Again

12. Code Of Honor 

Series Ordering

1. Deep Space Nine

2. Starfleet Academy

=3. Prodigy =3. Strange New Worlds

=5. Discovery

=5. Lower Decks

6. The Animated Series 7. Enterprise 8. Picard

9. The Next Generation 10. The Original Series 11. Voyager