Wow! I'm blown away with the response to this story being posted. Up until now, I have only posted Kolchak: The Night Stalker stories, and we are... mmm... a *small* community. This Star Trek story had as many hits –in 7 hours– as I get on all 11 of my K:TNS stories in a month!
Thanks to those reviewing and favorite-ing, it really encourages.
The story is all written, I just need to get it from my yellowing hard-copy of The Fourth Millennium and onto the computer. So stay tuned :-)
A Paramount Predicament
By SpunSilk
Chapter 4
McCoy had started out following Spock, but had taken a wrong turn at the briefing room and found himself in Engineering. Confound it! Hopelessly lost, he sought out a woman standing near a wall. She seemed to be observing all the activity; maybe she could help him.
"Excuse me, please," McCoy started. "I'm looking for... Leonard."
"Yeah, so is Mr. McEveety form what I've heard," nodding to a loud-speaker hanging form the ceiling. She smiled good-naturedly. "I don't know where he is, sorry."
"Well, thank you anyway." He started down the wall, scanning the crowd for his Vulcan friend.
A man exited from a small room to the side. As he passed McCoy, he nodded and smiled. McCoy did the same, trying to look casual. "De!" McCoy turned, surprised. It seemed he was addressing the doctor. The man was coming back, frowning and studying McCoy carefully.
"Uh, yes?" McCoy asked. The man continued to study his face, frowning.
"What happened to you?" he asked. Uneasy, McCoy shrugged. "You don't have a grain of make-up on your face! Did you come off your last take like that? What happened? Surely Gene didn't let you on film!"
Make-up? "No... of course not," McCoy said. He fished blindly for more, but nothing came.
"You did put it on this morning – I saw you. You scrubbed up?"
"I... guess so."
"Are you crazy? You're not done today. I'm sure you've got another shot before six, don't you?"
McCoy's mind was blank. He stood stupidly waiting.
"Come on in, I'll powder you quick. You can put it on when there's more time. This time I'll pancake you; you've got to get out there."
Spock was not much better off, himself. Having finally arrived, he was first roundly scolded, and then told they were about to take a "master shot"; that first they would "pan" an "interior corridor" and end on a "very close angle" of the intercom following to the turbolift, and that they wanted it – please – in no more than three "takes". After this had been explained to Spock, he understood no more (indeed less) than he had before.
Everyone hurried to their places for the rehearsal walkthrough.
Spock stood still.
"Action!" came the call. Instantaneously the corridor was filled with crewmen and women moving purposefully from one end of the part-corridor to the other.
Spock stood still.
"WALK MAN!" the voice bellowed.
Spock jerked into motion, watching the activity around him in fascination. A blue-uniformed crew-woman swiftly approached a cabin door. A voice from outside the corridor called "Door!" and almost simultaneously the cabin door opened silently without the familiar swish he was used to. The young woman never fell out of step, but strode through the threshold. Another call of "Door!" again slid the doors shut in silence.
Spock stopped in spite of himself. "Fascinating," he muttered, "but totally logical."
A young engineering lieutenant that had been passing him heard the comment and grinned at him. Spock raised his eyebrow quizzically and quickly continued on his way, leaving the lieutenant to frown in thought.
By now Spock had almost reached the end of the corridor, but as he did one man standing among the lights with a head set and clipboard called out "Intercom bleep. 'Mr. Spock.'"
Spock frowned slightly then glanced to the bulkhead. He was near an intercom speaker. Of course! He was being hailed. He strode to the unit and with familiar ease punched the intercom switch.
A pause.
The man beneath the lights waited impatiently then began to motion for Spock to speak.
"I beg your pardon?" the Vulcan asked.
"Cut!" Crewmen stopped walking instantly. "For Pete's sake Leonard – Acknowledge yourself!"
"I just did," he answered truthfully, motioning to the intercom switch.
His comment went unnoticed. "Damn – Will someone please show Mr. Nimoy this scene? Set it up again."
From somewhere in the moving crowd, a large book was shoved into Spock's hands, open to show its light blue pages covered in lines and cues. Totally absorbed in fascination, Spock walked unseeingly out of the corridor and sat down on a bench nearby, still studying the book intently.
A small group of 'bit' crewmen gathered farther back in the corridor to chuckle and whisper, but one particular young man in a red tunic instead frowned in concern as he studied the Vulcan.
As the young lieutenant watched, Dr. McCoy appeared from between the bulkheads and scanned the crowd. Spying the Vulcan, still absorbed in the big black book, the doctor called "Spo-Leonard!" and joined him on the bench. For a few moments they both whispered together in muffled tones, motioning to the set and other parts of the sound stage. Something was up. He decided to watch.
At one point in their conversation, Spock glanced intently at McCoy's jaw. He reached up and rubbed his fingers over McCoy's cheek, then frowned as he looked at his fingertips and rubbed them together. He said something to the doctor with a raised eyebrow. The latter simply shot back a disgusted look and continued to murmur.
Spock showed McCoy the blue-paged book and the doctor grasped the script excitedly. Both studied it and continued to whisper.
The lights were ready. "Leonard!" came the call. Both heads popped up, McCoy looked down quickly, rather sheepishly. "Are you ready? Shall we try it again?"
"Yes, of course," he responded. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, tasting their flavor as he spoke them, upon entering the corridor again. "I am...I'm...sorry about the walkthrough. It... won't happen again."
The man softened a bit. "OK, but let's walk it once more before we put it on tape. Set? Action!"
McCoy was left alone on the bench, still flipping through the script with great interest. The young engineering lieutenant who had been watching joined him.
"Hi, De!"
"Hi,-uh, how are you?"
"Fine, they say laughter is good for the soul. Have you heard Bill's latest?"
"No actually, I haven't." (Or even who he is, McCoy thought.)
"He told me he was 'Capt. James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise," striking a high pose. Then chuckled, "He's a natural."
"Yeah, he's that, I'll grant." McCoy's head was spinning. Was this guy on the level? Had he talked to the Captain? And if so, had Kirk really told him the truth? It was obvious the young actor thought nothing of it. This 'Bill' didn't have much credibility here.
The lieutenant was watching the walkthrough. "Leonard is acting strange today. Kind of like he's in a daze or something."
"0h," McCoy dismissed it, "it's just... the change of environment, he'll be all right." He tried to speak casually. "What else did... Bill tell you today?"
The young man leaned back in thought. "Let's see... that you three weren't you three, and that he needed my help, or some such fool thing."
There was no doubt in McCoy's mind now. But why had Kirk told the secret? He considered, and as he watched the confusing activity around him, the reason became clear. Of course; someone who spoke this language... McCoy proceeded cautiously, "What... would you say if I told you that he wasn't joking?"
The lieutenant looked back, surprised. "Huh?"
"That we aren't who you think, that we are...what we appear to be." The young man grinned at him, although somewhat uncertain. "Don't smile, son," McCoy continued firmly, "I'm serious!'
The young man stopped smiling.
But the loud speaker interrupted them. "Good walkthrough Nimoy– thanks. OK, let's set up for a take." The lieutenant got up in response to this and headed for the corridor, but he never took his eyes off McCoy.
Almost as the lieutenant left, another took the seat: the familiar Russian navigator.
"De," he smiled the greeting.
"Pav-" McCoy started, but turned his head quickly to cough.
BLAAAAT. McCoy almost jumped from his seat. "What the–" A horn had been blown – loud one, too.
"Cameras rolling."
The call was clear, and only then did McCoy realize why. There was no noise; no sound coming from any part of the building. All talking had stopped and everyone around him had frozen stiff in various positions, some in mid-stride! Even the navigator at his side sat unmoving, staring into the corridor.
"Hey!" McCoy started, "Are you-"
Chekov flashed him a wide-eyed stare – disapproving; no, almost fierce, and put a finger to his lips.
"And – action!"
As if a switch had been hit, crew members began moving up and down the corridor. As McCoy assumed the unmoving silence of the rest of the de-personalized statues around him, he watched a bulky metal wagon-like platform moving through the corridor toward him. On the wagon was a bulky, complex lensescope of some kind that intently watched Spock as he strode through the corridor behind it.
In the silence, it was easy to hear a man on the platform say "Intercom bleep" and another say "Mr. Spock."
Spock responded by approaching a wallcom, punching it, and saying clearly, "Spock here."
The man on the platform continued. "Mr. Scott wishes to see you in Engineering, sir."
"Acknowledged" McCoy's body was tense with silence and stiffness. Spock turned to the turbolift door, the lensescope following him closely. The turbolift swallowed him up and, two beats passed.
"CUT! Print!"
A relieved sigh came from all around. People around the lense-scope began to move again. The silence was gone almost immediately, but McCoy heard the man in charge say to Spock, "Nimoy. We'd all appreciate it if you could get into character with a little less prodding."
