Emissary (S01E01 & S01E02)
Airdate: 3 January 1993
Written by: Michael Piller
Directed by: David Carson
Running Time: 86 minutes
By the time 1993 arrived, Star Trek: The Next Generation had, by most critical and popular criteria, decisively surpassed the cultural footprint of The Original Series. It had succeeded in many endeavours its predecessor could not, not least launching a successful, long-running spin-off—a feat TOS failed to achieve with the abortive Assignment: Earth backdoor pilot. TNG’s own spin-off, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, would itself run for seven seasons and, for a significant contingent of Trekkies, ultimately become regarded as the finest series in the franchise’s history. Its feature-length premiere, Emissary, therefore carried a monumental burden: to establish a new corner of the Star Trek universe that was both recognisably part of Gene Roddenberry’s vision and boldly distinct from the starship-based adventures of its forebears. In this, it succeeded with remarkable confidence, crafting a pilot that is less a simple introduction and more a profound statement of intent.
The episode’s most masterful stroke is its immediate and unflinching connection to the legacy of The Next Generation. The cold open begins amidst the fiery wreckage of the Battle of Wolf 359, the catastrophic event depicted in TNG’s celebrated two-parter The Best of Both Worlds. The decision not to depict the battle directly was a masterstroke that made the threat palpably real through the horrified aftermath. Emissary’takes this a step further, forcing the audience to experience the battle’s visceral, personal cost through the eyes of Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Sisko (Avery Brooks). As the executive officer of the USS Saratoga, he witnesses the Borg cube—speaking through the assimilated Captain Picard, now Locutus—demand the Federation’s surrender. The Saratoga is destroyed; Sisko escapes with his young son, Jake, but his wife, Jennifer (Felecia M. Bell), perishes. This opening is a brutal, efficient piece of character genesis. In mere minutes, it establishes the foundational trauma that defines Sisko: a man of duty hollowed by grief, whose heroism is born from survival and the grim responsibility of parenthood.
Three years later, Commander Sisko arrives at Deep Space Nine, a battered Cardassian ore-processing station orbiting the recently liberated planet Bajor. Accompanied by his now-teenage son Jake (Cirroc Lofton), his mandate is to help the Bajorans rebuild and steer them towards Federation membership. His reception is icy. His Bajoran first officer, Major Kira Nerys (Nina Visitor), is fiercely resentful, viewing the Federation as just another colonial power to replace the Cardassians. The episode cleverly underscores this tension by having the USS Enterprise-D itself arrive, bringing Captain Picard (Patrick Stewart). The confrontation between Sisko and Picard is one of the pilot’s most electrifying scenes. Sisko’s barely contained hostility, blaming Picard for Jennifer’s death, immediately fractures the image of Starfleet as a monolithic, harmonious entity. It introduces moral ambiguity and personal conflict at the command level, a radical departure from TNG’s more decorous bridge dynamics. Picard, embodying the detached professionalism of his series, nevertheless gives Sisko his orders and leaves him with a key asset: Transporter Chief Miles O’Brien (Colm Meaney), whose transfer provides a tangible link to the Enterprise and a reliable everyman for the new ensemble.
Sisko’s initial attempts to normalise life on the station reveal the series’ grittier, more pragmatic worldview. He is immediately pragmatic about the station’s seedy underbelly, personified by Quark (Armin Shimerman), the Ferengi barkeeper. In a scene that sets the tone for the series’ complex morality, Sisko doesn’t eject Quark; he blackmails him into staying, using the arrest of Quark’s nephew, Nog (Aron Eisenberg), by the station’s mysterious shapeshifting security chief, Odo (René Auberjonois), as leverage. This is not the utopian diplomacy of Picard; it is the realpolitik of a man managing a broken frontier outpost. The crew is rounded out by the eager, somewhat gauche Dr. Julian Bashir (Alexander Siddig) and the serene science officer, Jadzia Dax (Terry Farrell), a Trill symbiont host whose centuries of accumulated experience provide wisdom and a immediate, intriguing connection to Sisko.
Sisko’s diplomatic mission is complicated by Bajor’s destabilising political landscape. With the common Cardassian enemy gone, factionalism threatens to consume the planet. Seeking a unifying figure, Sisko visits the spiritual leader, Kai Opaka (Camille Saviola). This moment is pivotal, marking Deep Space Nine’s first major thematic departure from Roddenberry’s secular humanism. Opaka gives Sisko a mysterious “orb,” an artefact she believes was sent by the “Prophets” residing in the Celestial Temple. This introduction of religion as a central, sincere plot force—not an alien misconception to be corrected, but a potent cultural and narrative driver—was a genuinely radical step for the franchise.
The orb’s properties trigger visions of Sisko’s past, leading Dax to theorise its origin lies in the nearby Denorios Belt. Investigating in a runabout—the sturdy, workhorse vessel class that would become a staple of the series—Sisko and Dax discover a stable wormhole. This monumental find, a gateway to the distant Gamma Quadrant 70,000 light-years away, transforms DS9 from a backwater administrative post into the most strategically crucial location in the Alpha Quadrant. Their exploration is interrupted by Gul Dukat (Marc Alaimo), the former Cardassian prefect of Bajor, who arrives to investigate. In the ensuing confrontation, both Sisko’s runabout and Dukat’s ship are pulled into the wormhole. Dax is mysteriously returned to the station, while Sisko finds himself in a realm of non-corporeal beings.
These beings are the Prophets. They exist outside linear time, a concept Sisko must painfully teach them by reliving his memories, particularly the trauma of Wolf 359 and Jennifer’s death. This extended sequence is the philosophical and emotional core of Emissary. It is a therapy session writ across spacetime, where Sisko must process his grief to communicate with the aliens, and in doing so, begins his own healing. He succeeds, is released, and returns towing Dukat’s ship. Meanwhile, the Cardassians, using Dukat’s disappearance as a pretext, attack DS9. The station is damaged but holds, and the Cardassians retreat upon Dukat’s return—a somewhat convenient resolution that feels like a plot contrivance to create tension without lasting consequences.
From a production standpoint, Emissary was a statement of ambition. With a then-astronomical budget of $12 million, $2 million of which was spent on sets, the episode looks spectacular. The station interiors feel vast, grimy, and lived-in, a stark contrast to the sleek Enterprise. The special effects, impressive for 1993, are showcased in the wormhole’s shimmering vortex and, most notably, in Odo’s morphing abilities. The use of early 3D graphics to render his liquid transformations, consciously evocative of the T-1000 from Terminator 2: Judgment Day, immediately established the character’s otherworldly nature.
The writers, led by Michael Piller, deliberately used TNG’s own flawed premiere, Encounter at Farpoint, as a structural model. That episode was a necessary, if flawed, first step that performed the crucial, if uneven, task of world-building. Emissary learns from its predecessor’s mistakes. Where Farpoint awkwardly spliced a cosmic trial (Q) with a planetary mystery, ‘Emissary’ integrates its two halves—Sisko’s personal trauma and the geopolitical/religious crisis on Bajor—through the unifying device of the wormhole and the Prophets. The direction by David Carson, who helmed the beloved TNG episode Yesterday’s Enterprise, brings a cinematic gravity and assured pacing that the more scattered Farpoint lacked.
Historically, DS9 was the first Star Trek series not launched by Gene Roddenberry (who had passed away in 1991), and Emissary immediately announces its independence. The most obvious difference is the setting: a stationary outpost, not a starship. This necessitated a fundamental narrative shift. TNG signalled a move away from TOS’s anthology-like structure toward greater continuity. Emissary accelerates this exponentially. A space station cannot fly away from its problems; it must live with them. This mandated a deeper focus on recurring characters, long-term plot arcs, and the consequences of actions—the very pillars upon which DS9’s reputation for sophisticated storytelling was built.
The tone is darker and more realistic. Emissary presents a 24th century with a seedy underside: Quark’s bar hosts gambling, petty crime, and implied prostitution. This is not the sanitised utopia of TNG; it’s a frontier town where ideals are tested daily. The brilliant introduction of Gul Dukat exemplifies this. Marc Alaimo’s performance is a masterpiece of charismatic villainy, presenting Dukat as a complex, narcissistic former ruler who genuinely believes he was a benevolent administrator. He would evolve into the series’ most compelling antagonist.
The episode’s greatest strength, however, is Avery Brooks’s commanding performance as Sisko. While other characters are effectively introduced, they require subsequent episodes to fully develop. Sisko is built complete from the outset: a complex, troubled leader, wrestling with loss but driven by duty. Having Brooks share the screen with Patrick Stewart was an inspired move, visually and thematically accentuating the difference between the two captains and their series. Stewart’s Picard is cerebral, reserved, the philosopher-king. Brooks’s Sisko is visceral, passionate, a builder and a father struggling in the dirt. It is a definitive passing of the torch.
Production was not without its quirks. The original prosthetic makeup for Jadzia Dax was discarded because Terry Farrell was deemed “too beautiful” for it; makeup artist Michael Westmore instead created the elegant, iconic Trill spots. The episode also introduced the versatile runabout class to Trek lore and featured a title theme by Dennis McCarthy that would win an Emmy.
If Emissary has a significant flaw, it is the aforementioned Cardassian attack subplot. It functions as generic action padding, damaging the station just enough for Bashir to heroically patch people up, but not enough to create any lasting stakes or fatalities. This plot convenience feels imported from a more conventional Trek episode and clashes with the pilot’s otherwise grounded emphasis on realism and consequence.
Emissary is a triumphant opening. It achieved the delicate, near-impossible task of firmly anchoring itself within the broader Star Trek universe—through its direct lineage from Wolf 359 and the presence of Picard and O’Brien—while simultaneously and decisively carving its own path. It established a richer, darker, more morally ambiguous world, centred on a uniquely compelling protagonist. It embraced serialisation, political intrigue, and spiritual themes that Roddenberry might have shied away from. While not without minor imperfections, it laid a foundation so strong that it enabled Deep Space Nine to evolve into the most nuanced and dramatically satisfying chapter of the Star Trek saga.
RATING: 8/10 (+++)
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