In 1997, Patrick Stewart took me on a voyage through the stars from the comfort of the family computer room. An interactive expansion of a 1993 video cassette, Nine Worlds allowed you to travel the solar system, pick up gift shop postcards, scientific and cultural history of each neighboring planet, all accompanied by bombastic (and slightly compressed) renditions of Gustav Holst’s famous celestial suites. And of course, with the guided audio tour from Stewart himself, whose impassioned chronology of Mars only netted me a C+ on my homework.

“To the Romans and Greeks, it was the god of war,” orates computer Stewart, “to others IT WAS THE RED EYE OF THE DEVIL HIMSELF!”

In the days since his shocking passing, fans have found themselves with so much to parse from the multifaceted thespian. Of course, to most, he was the eloquent, insightful Captain Jean-Luc Picard, whose fascinations of the cosmos led the crew on Star Trek: The Next Generation. To others he was the fatherly Professor X across the sprawling X-Men films. He was also a master of stagecraft, an outspoken advocate, a baker of erotic cakes, and a Beavis and Butt-Head superfan.

To those of a certain age, he was also an educator. Or, more specifically, an edutainer . Following Myst ’s bank-making showcase of what CD-ROMs were capable of, classrooms and home computers experienced a surge of educational software. There had long existed Math Blasters and illustrious typing teachers , but with the assistance of compressed video and tinny audio, publishers sought to bring the classroom experience home.

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