Sometimes a show’s central metaphors are obvious to its creators. Other times, they’re so embedded in the show that they pass unquestioned. With Star Trek, you can’t get away from the sense that what you’re watching is American foreign policy in outer space. Uniformed men patrolling the frontiers in a heavily armed vessel claiming a non-interventionist stance but forever imposing their values on the foreigners they encounter — yeah, that feels about right.

So powerful is that notion of space as a military domain that it affects other science fiction shows too: it’s a rubric that also shapes Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, Battlestar Galactica and Babylon 5. Which is fine as far as it goes. Interesting that British tv science fiction, coming from a country that’s through with its imperial past and questioning that legacy, is more sceptical — Dr Who is a maverick pacifist, and the heroes of Blake’s 7 were political radicals fighting against the state rather than on its behalf.

After the success of Buffy, Joss Whedon wanted to make a science fiction show, and it’s typical of his scale of vision that he looked beyond predecessor shows and came up with his own rough and ready version of a universe to have adventures in for Firefly. The protagonist is Malcolm Reynolds, who is established in the pilot episode as a soldier on the wrong side of a war, now turning his hand to shifting cargo round the cosmos to make ends meet. He does so in an outdated Firefly class spaceship with the assistance of a crew of misfits. Their roles — pilot, engineer, medic — are familiar from Star Trek, but without a uniform or code of conduct to bind them together, the captain relies on leadership skills and an understanding of the bigger picture to guide his crew. Tension about where the ship goes, and how, is an important part of the fabric of the show.

I suspect that the way Firefly works is in large part a function of Whedon’s experience in delivering episode after episode and season after season of Buffy , the captain of his own ship for sure — and up against powers that be in the form of networks, advertisers, actors growing in popularity, and audience expectations. On the basis of the pilot episode at least, Malcolm Reynolds has more responsibilities than the other members of the ship Serenity, and isn’t as readily open to identification as teenagers would have found high school girl Buffy. Which may be one reason for the show having been cancelled after 14 episodes — though the network opening the series with an episode several stories in, rather than the intended pilot, may have a part to play too.

The central metaphor that Firefly uses is that of the western. It’s not hammered home too heavily, other than in the country-tinged theme song, and there are interesting detours from that central notion — such as the occasional use of phrases in Chinese by the characters. But the design aesthetic of the spaceport they visit, and later of a planet where they hope to turn a profit, is one very much drawn from notions of the Wild West. One of the more interesting parallels is the presence on Firefly of a woman described as a ‘companion’, but who Mal charmlessly refers to as a whore. She rents the spaceship’s shuttle vehicle and operates from there, itself a fascinating notion: whoever heard of subletting a spaceship before?

There’s a city slicker on board too, and it’s with his presence that the future of the series lies — the rich boy doctor came aboard, disguising his sister as cargo, and trouble lies ahead: her mind is the subject of experimentation, and she’s an asset that the bad guys want to recoup. It all makes for a healthily eclectic mix, though perhaps too varied for an audience that historically likes its science fiction shows a bit more cut and dried. But the vitality of the concept, and some typically sparkling Whedon dialogue, make for a highly appealing premiere, and a show I’ve got another 13 episodes of to hopefully enjoy.