Creative Differences, part 2

Originally published June 26, 1998, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1284

I was speaking last week of my favorite gags.  These were concepts, notions, dialogue, or whatever that I came up with which, for whatever reasons, were overruled and tossed.

Favorite Lost Star Trek Subplot: I do a series called New Frontier for Pocket Books.  We launched it last summer, and Paramount let the first four books sail through with virtually no changes.  The books did very well.  Naturally, that meant that when books #5 and #6 showed up, it was time to start gutting stuff.

At one point First Officer Elizabeth Shelby—even though she’s suffering from a blow to the head—takes command of the starship Excalibur in an emergency situation while Captain Calhoun’s gone and the vessel’s under attack.  She’s barely conscious, yet she manages to defeat their attackers with ingenuity and daredevil stunts.  With the danger past, she suddenly points wide-eyed and says, “Look!”

“What?” asks the science officer.

“Bunnies!” says a gleeful Shelby, and she passes out.

This was an in-joke reference to Space Cases, actually, but Paramount didn’t realize that.  It just wouldn’t let us do it.  No reason.  It just wouldn’t.  And, since the book was on an extremely tight deadline, entire sequences were changed or cut without my input.  In this case, Shelby’s delirious comment of “Bunnies!” was changed to “Colors!”—which isn’t especially funny.

It also meant that the entire following sequence was lost.  To set it up: with things back to normal, Shelby is now released from sickbay.  She is expecting the crew to rib her a bit about the “bunnies” comment.  But when she gets to the bridge, her presence is acknowledged in a casual, but not particularly emotional, way.  She realizes that she’s actually disappointed.  Picking up on the deleted material:

And yet… she was lonely.

She hated to admit it, but there it was.  She had chosen a certain way in which she desired to be regarded, and the fact was, her return to the bridge had been the test of that.  If they’d teased her or lampooned her, it would have been roundly insulting, and she would have been well within her rights to light into anyone who treated her in such a disrespectful manner.  But instead they treated her with the esteem to which she was entitled.  It should have made her feel good about herself, but instead she couldn’t help but feel as if it just underscored her outsider status… the status that she had been boasting to Lefler of just a little earlier.

At that moment, Kebron suddenly said, “Captain… vessel approaching, 229 mark 3.”

“Identification on it?”

“No known configuration.”

“Bridge to Si Cwan,” Calhoun said promptly. “Ambassador, your presence is requested, as soon as possible if not sooner.”

“Got them on screen, sir,” Lefler reported.

“Full magnification.”

Even with the screens on full power, it was difficult to discern much.  The ship was still too far away for full details to be made out. “Mr. Kebron,” Shelby now spoke up, “put long range sensor results up on the screen as well.”

Immediately an outline of the unknown vessel appeared in the upper left hand of the screen.  It was constructed with elaborate sweeps and curves, and it had an almost organic look to it. “I may be way off base on this,” Shelby said slowly, “but it looks like some sort of creature of prey, poised to spring.”

“I was just noticing the same thing,” Calhoun said grimly. “Not exactly a positive sign when it comes to hoping for a peaceful first contact.”

The turbolift opened and Si Cwan emerged.  Immediately discerning the situation, he studied the screen.  He frowned in a way that Shelby had never seen before. “I don’t know them,” he said finally.

Shelby half turned in her chair as she looked around at him.  Calhoun did likewise. “You don’t know them?” said a surprised Shelby. “You don’t?  I thought you knew everyone in all of Thallonian space.  That is why you’re aboard this vessel, is it not?”

“I feel the barb of your devastating sting, Commander,” Si Cwan said dryly. “I simply told you that no one knows Thallonian space better than I.  That remains true.  But I never said there was nothing I do not know.  Merely that I knew more than you.”

“We can sort this out later,” said a terse Calhoun. “Kebron, energy readings off her?”

“They appear to be running with shields down.  No indication of weapons targeted, locked, or hot.”

“That’s something, at least,” observed Shelby.

“Mr. McHenry,” said Calhoun, “take us out of orbit, move to intercept.  Mr. Lefler, take us to yellow alert.  Kebron, shields up.  Do not bring weapons on line.  Let’s appear cautious but not belligerent.”

His orders were immediately carried out, and Shelby tensed in her chair.  Was this the Redeemers once more, coming back for another round after their war vessel had been destroyed?  Was it some new, unknown opponent?

“Commander, would you care to hail them?”

She turned to Calhoun. “Me?”

“I will if you don’t desire to,” he said easily. “However, this is a first contact scenario.  Thought I’d let you do the honors.  As far as I’m concerned, you did write the book on first contact protocol back in the Academy.”

“Why, thank you, Captain,” she said, appreciating his gracious offer. “Mr. Kebron, hail on all frequencies.”

“Hailing, sir… no response so far, and they are continuing approach.”

The ship was drawing closer, the details of the ship becoming more discernible to the naked eye.  It was a deep rust color, and she had been right… it did indeed look like some sort of predator ready to strike.  Shelby couldn’t help but wonder whether that was a bad sign.

“They’re slowing,” Lefler informed them.

Almost at the same time, Kebron said, “Sir… we’re getting a reply.”

Shelby rose and straightened her jacket. “Put them on screen, Lieutenant,” she said confidently.

The image of the planet Zondar vanished to be replaced by the view of the interior of the alien bridge.

Shelby’s eyes went wide.  She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

It looked remarkably like the bridge of the Excalibur, except that the bulkheads looked like dirt walls.  The floor was covered with a thick thatching of branches, dirt, and pebbles.  The individual who was facing her, and apparently the commanding officer of the vessel, was quite short… less than a meter high measuring from his toes to the tip of his little ears.  His eyes were pink, and his little snout was white and twitching in a manner that was most likely a means of greeting.  He was wearing a uniform that looked vaguely like that of Starfleet, but as she could see by other members of the alien crew moving about in the background, they were specially tailored to allow for their adorable little fuzzy tails.  And there were, indeed, a hell of a lot of them… nearly two dozen, as far as Shelby could see.

Shelby tried to make words come out but she couldn’t manage it.  She looked to Calhoun, who was resolutely staring at the screen as if there were nothing unusual there.  Everyone else was keeping an admirable deadpan as well, except for Lefler who was clearly fighting desperately to maintain a straight face.

It was a bridge full of bunnies.  Uniform-clad, multi-colored, space-going bunnies.  She now realized that the ship was, in fact, crafted to look like a rabbit poised and ready to strike fear into the hearts of its enemies.

“I bring you greetings,” said the rabbit-in-command, “I am Captain Binky from the U.S.S. Hutch, a ship representing the UFP… United Furry Persons.”

“What the hell?” whispered Shelby, but she knew even as she asked.

“We seek Commander Shelby,” continued Captain Binky. “Would you be her?”

She put her fingers to her temples, shaking her head, unable to believe it.  Very quickly, Calhoun said, “This is her, yes.”

“We have sought you out, Commander, for word of you has reached all the way to the outermost reaches of the United Furry Persons, and the Hutch was dispensed with the purpose of contacting you and paying you homage.” His ears were standing at full attention, and the other members of his crew were assembling behind him. “It is our understanding that you acted above and beyond the call of duty, Commander.  That you were sick, injured, operating at far below your normal capacity.  By rights, you should have remained in sickbay.  However, so dedicated an officer are you, that at a time of crisis you put aside your discomfort and injury and, instead, forced yourself up to the bridge and took command through sheer effort of will.  Once there, you devised a strategy that saved your crew and ship, thereby proving that you—functioning at less-than-your-best—are still more formidable and competent an officer than most officers who are operating at full capacity.  In short, you are a superior officer in every sense of the word, displaying valor, dedication, and outstanding ingenuity.  And so I, Captain Binky, and the valiant crew of the Hutch, have journeyed here this day to present you with the greatest gesture of honor that our people are capable of bestowing, namely… a 21 Bun’ Salute!”

“Oh, God, no,” moaned Shelby.

Whereupon all 20 members of Captain Binky’s crew, plus the captain himself, drew themselves up stiffly and snapped off a perfect military salute.

Shelby, of course, had long since realized that what she was looking at was a computer-generated animation—what would have been termed in the old days a “cartoon.” She closed her eyes and wondered what in the world she had done to deserve this.

And then she heard something: the sound of slow, steady hands slamming together.  She opened her eyes and turned to see Calhoun, standing, slowly applauding, and nodding his head in approval.

Then McHenry joined in, as did Lefler.  When Kebron tried slamming his hands together, it created an almost deafening explosion of air, so he did it more gently.  But ultimately, within seconds, everyone on the bridge was applauding Shelby and cheering.  She looked at the screen and the bunnies were not only applauding, but they were stamping their feet, rapidly creating a concerted thumping noise.

And Shelby, to her astonishment, started to laugh.

She couldn’t help it.  Not only had they gone to a tremendous amount of work to set the entire thing up, but she knew it wasn’t being done for the purpose of lampoon or derision.  Calhoun had orchestrated it, of that she was positive.  He’d wanted to single her out for praise and commendation but, being the maverick and relatively bizarre person that he was, he couldn’t find it within himself to do it in anything vaguely approaching a normal manner.  And so he’d pulled this… this craziness.

She continued to laugh, louder and with greater delight, because she felt genuinely touched and amused and even liked: an entire barrage of emotions, one tumbling over the next, and finally she took a deep bow as the bunnies chanted “Shel-by, Shel-by!” over and over again.  Calhoun patted her on the back and she turned to him and said, “You’re insane, do you know that?”

“That’s what my first officer keeps telling me,” he replied sanguinely.

“Hey!  Commander!” called Captain Binky.  All the rabbits had lined up and were now marching backward away from the screen. “Guess what we are!”

She knew they weren’t really talking to “her.” The animation wasn’t interactive; it was all preset. Nonetheless, she said on cue, “What?”

“A receding hare line!”

Shelby didn’t know whether to laugh or moan and wound up choking as she waffled between the two.  And as groaning mixed with guffaws on the bridge of the Excalibur, the U.S.S. Hutch broke off communication and—its job done—hurtled off in search of new missions.

Ironically, a passing reference to Captain Binky did wind up in the book. But readers had no idea what it was in reference to.

I also introduced an all-powerful, super-intelligent race called The Prometheans. I had a definite concept in mind for them. At the last moment, Paramount refused to allow it through. When one of the Prometheans first shows up on the Excalibur, the printed description is that he looks like a Southern sheriff or something. Uh uh. This was the original description of the all-powerful super race:

“Hi. How y’all doing. Glad to be here. Really am.”

The Promethean was nearly two meters tall and looked completely human, a man in his late 30s, early 40s at most.  He was dressed in a fairly tight suit of purest white, and it was covered with shimmering stones that seemed to catch the light in a thousand different ways, giving him almost the effect of a living prism. A short cape hung off his right shoulder.  His stomach was taut and flat, his jaw was squared off, and he had a thick head of black hair with a curl that hung down impishly on his forehead.

He sported thick sideburns that ran halfway down his jaw, and when he spoke his voice was deep with a faint twang to it.

He took a step down from where he was standing, smiled at Lefler, and touched her cheek. “Hi, little darlin’. You doin’ OK?”

“I’m… fine, thank you,” a stunned Lefler said. For no reason that she could discern, she felt an almost primal urge to scream in ecstasy and faint.

You figure it out.

Favorite Babylon 5 gag: I worked on a script which never got made for a variety of reasons—a script written with Bill Mumy for the fifth season of B5.  Consequently, the following exchange will never get on the air. If I have to explain it to you, it simply won’t be funny, so read it. If you’re a B5 fan, you’ll get it, and if you’re not, you won’t.

Interior corridor—Londo, Garibaldi: A somewhat puzzled Londo is being briskly paced by Garibaldi.

Londo: But I don’t understand? Why do you want me to say it?

Garibaldi: I just… I want to hear it, Londo. Just once.

Londo: Just once.

Garibaldi: I’ll die happy, I swear.

Londo: Very well. (Sighs, doesn’t understand) Moose and squirrel. All right? Moose and squirrel. Are you satisfied, Mr. Garibaldi?

Garibaldi: You’ve made my day.

Garibaldi walks off, chuckling. Londo shakes his head.

Londo: Humans.

Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., P.O. Box 239, Bayport, NY  11705