"ORDER on the set!" Sythar boomed through the megaphone he didn't really need. Somewhere, a volcano erupted. "Everyone prepare for the first scene!"
David Sheridan looked up from his bed and scowled. "How come I'm the kid?"
"You are the only child we could think of in connection with Babylon 5 whom everyone would know," Constellation said wearily.
"But I don't even appear in the series!"
"We know, we know, now get ready to snivel and act like a grumpy grandchild who wants to be left alone to play computer games." Montana said.
"Why would I want to play these stupid things?" David asked. "The graphics are terrible!"
"SILENCE on the set!" Sythar yelled. "NO discussing idiotic opinions here or we will set the imperial hounds on you!"
In the distance, a thousand dogs bayed.
"Right," Constellation said in the silence that followed. "Roll 'em."
David coughed, jabbing at the controls of the video game with weary hands. His face was pale and wan, and he looked both sick – thanks to the makeup artists – and grumpy – thanks to Emperor Sythar.
The door opened, and Talia Winters entered, dressed in a business suit, and trying to smile in a motherly way. She reached out to ruffle his hair, and managed not to show how much the fact that she wasn't wearing gloves bothered her.
"You feeling any better?" she asked.
David rolled his eyes at the directors. "A little bit."
"Guess what?" Talia said.
"What?"
"Well, not that!" she pulled back slightly. "For a twelve-year-old, you have some extremely violent thoughts, young man!"
"Stick to the SCRIPT please!" Montana yelled through his megaphone.
Talia muttered something under her breath about the imaginations of today's youth. "Your grandfather is here."
"Moom," David groaned. "Can't you tell him that I'm sick?"
"You are sick," Talia said, adding under her breath, "very sick. That's why he's here."
"He'll pinch my cheek." There was a pause as they both tried to imagine Commander Sinclair pinching anyone's cheek and failing miserably. Sythar cleared his throat. David nodded. "I hate that."
"Maybe he won't," Talia said, fervently.
David tried to look unbelieving, but only managed a glassy stare as the door opens. Commander Jeffrey Sinclair bustled into the room, showing every evidence of enjoying himself. He was dressed in a large overcoat, a hat, a grey wig, glasses, and an over-sized mustache.
He smiled at the room, the comforting smile normally reserved for Minbari and Rangers. He was holding a wrapped package under one arm. Very cheerfully, he leaned over David and pinched his cheek. "Hey. How's the sickie, eh?"
Talia pinched herself. From what she could glean from the Commander's mind, he was having the time of his life and thought that everything was very amusing. He had obviously been on Minbar too long.
David managed to shake off the shock long enough to stare in a moderately accusing way at Talia.
She smiled weakly. "I'll leave you two pals alone." She left quickly, and was transported back to Babylon 5. She spent the rest of the day at the bar drinking heavily and trying to explain to Dr Franklin exactly where all the others were.
Sinclair smiled at David, who was beginning to wish that Talia hadn't left him all alone with the Commander. "I brought you a special present."
"What is it?" David asked, thinking Please don't let it be anything made by Minbari Monks.
"Open it up."
David did so, smiling when he sees an ordinary book. "A book. Thank goodness!"
"LINES!" Constellation flashed a thunderbolt to the side of the bed. "You aren't happy!"
Sinclair stamped out the smoldering carpet casually. That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today, I'm gonna read it to you." He smiles in a beat-that! kind of way.
David looked at the singed patch of carpet and gulped. "Has it got any sports in it?"
"Are you kidding?" Sinclair yelped, flinging his hands into the air. "Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, a dream given form, a place where humans and aliens can work out their differences peacefully, two-thousand tons of spinning metal, our last best hope for peace, ALL ALONE IN THE NIGHT!" His arms flung out wide and he sprang out of his chair, beaming broadly.
"Please, please, please, stick to the script," Montana said in a weary voice.
David and Sinclair stare at each other, and then shrug.
"It doesn't sound too bad, I'll try to stay awake," David said.
"Oh, well thanks very much. It's very kind of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Sinclair sat down again and opened the book gingerly. "Buttercup 5 by S Morgenstern, except it really wasn't it was written by William Goldman, the lying..." he stopped and looked up at the directors. "Who wrote this script?"
They looked at each other innocently.
"Never mind. Chapter One. Ivan-ahem-B-buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin."
"CUT!" Sythar shouted. "That's a wrap!" A rousing military march struck up somewhere in the distance.