I just had the most fascinating discussion.
I was checking out at the local Barnes & Noble (which had, uncharacteristically, been sitting on Purgatory's Key since last weekend), and the fellow ahead of me in line was blind. After I checked out, he was having a bit of difficulty navigating to the exit. When I advised him that he was about eight feet short of the turn, he asked me if I'd mind guiding him to the place where he was scheduled to be picked up.
He asked me what I'd bought, and I explained that it was the latest ST novel, the conclusion of the 50th Anniversary trilogy, and he remarked that he was himself a long-time ST fan. This led to a conversation in which he expressed an interest in a book on starship architecture, something that, so far as either of us know, has never been published, even as a fanzine. We agreed that in real-world terms, it 's a matter of what looks good on screen, while in-universe, it's at least partially a matter of the dynamics of FTL travel, and yet different cultures' approaches to starship design produce such differences of appearance from one culture to another. He thought it would be very interesting if somebody could come up with a published in-universe reference explaining what drives the starship architecture of different cultures, and I tend to agree with him.
Consider something a bit closer to home: the differences between American and Russian manned spacecraft. The U.S. was, in the late 1950s, way ahead of Russia in terms of miniaturization, but Russia had much bigger rockets available. U.S. culture, additionally, had much greater emphasis on the individual. So Mercury ended up as a very sophisticated spacecraft that, because of the limited lifting capacity of the Redstone and the Atlas, had to have the heat-shielded pressure vessel double as nosecone. Vostok, by contrast, was a sphere and an external instrument bay, both of which were launched inside the nosecone of a significantly larger rocket. Gemini was essentially a slightly enlarged Mercury, gaining a second seat by moving everything that wasn't needed for reentry outside the pressure vessel, and the Russian Voskhod was a similarly updated (but significantly less safe) variant of Vostok. While Apollo was an entirely new design, and carried a tight-fitting "Boost Protective Cover" until the first stage and escape tower were jettisoned, it still stuck with a conical pressure vessel for the Command Module, whereas Soyuz, although clearly more advanced than Vostok and Voskhod, and designed to be part of an abortive lunar program, bears much more of a family resemblance to its predecessors than to Apollo.
I was checking out at the local Barnes & Noble (which had, uncharacteristically, been sitting on Purgatory's Key since last weekend), and the fellow ahead of me in line was blind. After I checked out, he was having a bit of difficulty navigating to the exit. When I advised him that he was about eight feet short of the turn, he asked me if I'd mind guiding him to the place where he was scheduled to be picked up.
He asked me what I'd bought, and I explained that it was the latest ST novel, the conclusion of the 50th Anniversary trilogy, and he remarked that he was himself a long-time ST fan. This led to a conversation in which he expressed an interest in a book on starship architecture, something that, so far as either of us know, has never been published, even as a fanzine. We agreed that in real-world terms, it 's a matter of what looks good on screen, while in-universe, it's at least partially a matter of the dynamics of FTL travel, and yet different cultures' approaches to starship design produce such differences of appearance from one culture to another. He thought it would be very interesting if somebody could come up with a published in-universe reference explaining what drives the starship architecture of different cultures, and I tend to agree with him.
Consider something a bit closer to home: the differences between American and Russian manned spacecraft. The U.S. was, in the late 1950s, way ahead of Russia in terms of miniaturization, but Russia had much bigger rockets available. U.S. culture, additionally, had much greater emphasis on the individual. So Mercury ended up as a very sophisticated spacecraft that, because of the limited lifting capacity of the Redstone and the Atlas, had to have the heat-shielded pressure vessel double as nosecone. Vostok, by contrast, was a sphere and an external instrument bay, both of which were launched inside the nosecone of a significantly larger rocket. Gemini was essentially a slightly enlarged Mercury, gaining a second seat by moving everything that wasn't needed for reentry outside the pressure vessel, and the Russian Voskhod was a similarly updated (but significantly less safe) variant of Vostok. While Apollo was an entirely new design, and carried a tight-fitting "Boost Protective Cover" until the first stage and escape tower were jettisoned, it still stuck with a conical pressure vessel for the Command Module, whereas Soyuz, although clearly more advanced than Vostok and Voskhod, and designed to be part of an abortive lunar program, bears much more of a family resemblance to its predecessors than to Apollo.