by Burk, Jeff
In the center of the bare floor was a VCR. The side panels were removed and wires jutted out from its mechanical viscera. On top of the machine were two blue light bulbs. Rick stepped closer to the VCR and then took notice of the front display screen. 55…54…53…52…
Rick held up his walkie-talkie, “I got something back here…”
* * *
Natalie walked over to a table against the back wall of the room. She picked up a rag and wiped the blood off her hands.
She walked back to the Campellian and lit up another cigarette. He lay on the floor in a fetal position. The chair he was sitting on now lay shattered against the left wall.
He rolled and softly cried, cradling his left arm. It now ended in a bloody stump. Strips of flesh hung from the crude wound.
He tried to get to his feet but he was woozy from blood loss. He tried to use his stumps for more support. The combination of pain and the blood-slicked floor were too much for his weakened state. The stumps slipped out from beneath him and he crashed down.
Natalie snickered.
“Fiction Bomb,” he weakly said.
“What!” Natalie crouched down and grabbed his hair. She pulled his head back and screamed, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“There’s a Fiction Bomb behind the theaters’ screens.”
Natalie stood up and kicked the man in the face.
Fiction Bombs were the result of the Network Wars. They were devices that, when set off nearby film stock, erase the media from reality. No one remembers the entertainment. There are no records of the entertainment. It completely disappears. They were illegal, but certain terrorist sects and unscrupulous networks were still known to use them.
Natalie rushed to the room’s door. She turned back and addressed the convention guards, “Sodomize him with his hand until he tells you how many other Campbellians are here. If he doesn’t talk in two minutes, kill him.”
* * *
Shatner signed and signed while Bob talked and talked.
* * *
“It’s a Fiction Bomb!” yelled Michael from over the walkie-talkie.
“What?” said Rick.
“I just got off with Natalie,” replied Michael, “It’s a Fiction Bomb! Turn it off!”
Rick dropped the walkie-talkie and rushed toward the Fiction Bomb. He grabbed it and began tearing wires from the side. He picked up the device and smashed it against the floor. Both light bulbs shattered into glass shards that pierced his hands in a dozen places.
Rick picked up the black box with bleeding fingers and looked at the display.
2…1…
If the blast had not immediately liquefied Rick and splattered him onto the screens in a billion droplets, he could have taken comfort in the fact that he had fucked up the Fiction Bomb enough so it did not work properly.
Those in the theaters heard a loud blast and saw the screens become red-tinted as Rick hit them. Then the blast hit them, reducing all those in the theaters and projection booths to piles of gray ash.
The theaters and the screens, however, remained unharmed. The films showing flickered and then the images disappeared. They glowed a bright, vivid dark blue and moved erratically in and out—as if alive and struggling to take a breath. In the blue, shapes began to move. They took form and grew limbs and heads.
These blue figures danced around the screens and then began to smoothly step out of the picture. They began to move about the now-empty theaters and become more defined figures.
One figure formed a brown suit and a briefcase.
One twirled its microphone about by the cord.
One flipped open his communicator. “Captain to ship. Captain to ship.” No one answered.
More and more figures emerged from the screens.
At first they were without feeling but, as they became whole, this new world filled their senses.
First came the feeling that they didn’t belong—some fundamental urge that this world was not for them. That they were pale shadows of something else already here.
Then the anger.
Then the desire to do something about it.
CHAPTER THREE
Dealer’s Room: The room quaked and shook when the Fiction Bomb went off. An unnatural hush swept over the crowd as everyone waited to see what would happen next.
A voice came over the room’s PA system: “We have just received notice that a generator blew out on one of the lower levels. We apologize for the inconvenience but there is nothing to worry about. Thank you.”
Larry and Jay stood in the center of the room listening to the announcement.
“Do you think anything’s wrong?” asked Jay.
“Nah, they just said it was a generator blowing out,” replied Larry who was had already lost interest in the blast as he noticed the rare Star Trek: Dinosaur Planet with matching seven-inch record on a nearby table.
Most of the crowd was now back absorbed in the merchandise for sale. A few still milled about, unsure of what to do and if the announcement was completely truthful.
From where Jay stood he could see through the doorways of the dealer’s room and into one of the convention’s hallways. At that moment a young couple ran past his view—the woman sobbing and the man’s eyes blank with shock.
“I don’t know,” said Jay, “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Man, chill. Check it out. Naked pics of Nichelle Nichols.”
“Ooooooooooo!”
Lobby: Emma held her breath as the display cases shook. Leading to the registration table were several massive displays of Shatner memorabilia to entertain attendees waiting in the seemingly endless registration line. When the blast happened, they all shook and Emma had mental images of millions of dollars in collectables being destroyed and Natalie blaming her for the accident.
Fortunately, the cases were quickly steadied and crisis was adverted.
Emma breathed out a sigh of relief and she leaned back into what she thought was the wall. Instead, she leaned against a twelve foot high display of all the various weapons that William Shatner had used in one-on-one to the death battles as Captain Kirk. It was a massive wooden display with the arms mounted on for attendees viewing pleasure. The props had been kept in pristine condition over the years and many were still deadly sharp.
Her weight unbalanced the large display and it started to sway. Emma spun around and tried steadying it, but she was not strong enough and her actions only worsened the rocking. The lirpa that Kirk used against Spock in “Amok Time” fell and missed her head by inches.
That was close-
All the weapons came spilling down and she was pierced in a dozen places by a variety of daggers, swords, and pole arms. None of the wounds were deadly, so she was still alive. However, the many weapons had gone through her body and straight into the floor, trapping her in place. All she could do was moan through the pain paralysis. The convention attendees were too concerned with losing their place in line to come help her.
A camera flashed as someone took a picture.
The case rocked back and forth once more and then tipped over onto her, mashing her into the carpet.
Emma Lombardi was the first, but far from last, fatality at ShatnerCon.
Signing Room: Shatner stood up, “What the…fuck…was that?”
A wave of panic passed through those in the room. The crowd’s orderly line began to dissolve and people began to move en mass to the signing table.
The two guards moved in front of the table and produced batons. They held them out and ready.
“Sir, please go through the door and move on to another area,” barked one of the guards. Neither made any movement so it was unclear which one actually spoke.
“I just,” Shatner waved his arms, “got here. I don’t know…where…anything is.”
The guards didn’t respond. There was now a solid wall of people on the other side of the table, calling out to Shatner for an autograph or asking the guards what the blast was.
&
nbsp; “Where’s…the green room?” asked Shatner.
“Sir, you need to leave,” ordered the guard, his voice harsher this time.
Bob was still off to the side, “I’ll come with you Mr. Shatner.”
He motioned to move forward and the guard closest to him pivoted and shoved him hard with the baton. Bob stumbled back and fell over into the crowd, taking two people down with him.
Shatner flinched. He didn’t like the guy but it is strange watching yourself get hurt.
He went through the door and was back in the hallway. On this side of the door he could not hear any of the pandemonium from the signing room. He looked up and down the hallways but he couldn’t remember which direction he had come from.
He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts and found Natalie’s number. He hit dial and put the phone to his ear. Nothing happened. He looked at the display, it said “Calling” but he did not hear any ringing. He hung up and tried again, this time waiting while the display read “Calling.” Still nothing.
Shit.
With only two choices, he picked left and started walking. After rounding a corner he came to a door that opened to a stairwell. It only went up and since he really did not have a better option he went up them. At the first landing he came to a door and went through it.
He stood in a giant open room filled with glass displays. Shatner walked to the case next to the fire exit he had just come through. It was filled with small microphones, the kind you clip onto a shirt lapel. Each one had a place card with a show name and date on it. It took a moment before the significance dawned on him. The cards were all shows that he was a guest on and the date was when he was there. The microphones were the very mics he wore on the shows.
He turned around and looked at the other cases. They held costumes, props, toys, and other memorabilia. Shatner was in a museum dedicated to himself.
There were six other people in the area Shatner was in and they were all now staring at him. Shatner quickly moved to the far end of the room where there was a doorway leading into the museum’s next exhibit.
There was also a magazine rack set up holding a display of convention programs, their fronts were a full-cover image of Shatner with his charming smile.
Shatner grabbed one of the programs. He held it up to his face to block peoples’ views as he quickly moved deeper into the museum.
CHAPTER FOUR
Captain Kirk walked with a confident stride. The hall was filled with people worried about the blast they had just heard and felt. Most paid Kirk little mind, a few complimented him on his costume.
Kirk eyed the people and wondered what kind of world he was on where people wore such outlandish outfits.
He spied at the end of the hall someone in a red Starfleet uniform. Kirk sprinted down the hall, dodging around the convention goers.
“Thank…God,” Kirk said placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, “I…thought...I…was the only one stranded here.”
The portly man stood a foot taller than Kirk. He sneered at Kirk.
“What’s…the…situation,” asked Kirk.
“You mean the noise? I don’t know man. The people running the con say a generator in the basement overloaded. You mind taking your hand…”
“Hold…on,” Kirk interrupted. He pulled out his phaser and pointed across the hall, “a Klingon!”
The man looked and there was someone standing in a costume modeled after the Klingons on the Original Series. The “Klingon” saw them looking and arched a large eyebrow. He laughed and jokingly raised his plastic disrupter.
“Watch out,” yelled Kirk as he raised and fired his phaser. The Klingon screamed in anguish as his body disintegrated.
People all around began screaming and running to get away from the madman with a laser-gun.
“Come.” Kirk again grabbed the Starfleet officer’s shoulder, “let’s…move on.”
Kirk started running down the hallway and the man followed, afraid of what would happen if he did not.
In the panic that phasering Jordan Mitchells, Klingon enthusiast, caused, Lorene Devonport was trampled by no less than seven overweight science fiction lovers. As she lay dying, broken bones piercing her lungs, she saw the image of William Shatner hovering above her. He looked down and smiled at her. She smiled back.
He turned around and faced no one in particular. “There is a limit to the abuse the human body can sustain. Hello, I’m William Shatner. Tonight, on a special convention edition of ‘Rescue 911,’ we observe the case of Lorene Devonport, left battered and broken. Will anyone arrive to help her in time?”
How does William Shatner know my name? was Lorene’s last thought.
“We would like to remind you,” he continued, “all the footage in this segment is real.”
* * *
Shatner walked from room to room in the museum, unable to find the way out of this maze of himself. Each room was at least one hundred feet by one hundred feet with huge doorways at either end. As he walked on Shatner could find no hint of an exit.
As he went further into the maze the displays got stranger. At first they were mostly obsessive props and tickets from his various shows and movies. Now he was coming across displays labeled WILLIAM SHATNER’S BABY TEETH and WILLIAM SHATNER’S KIDNEY STONES. The weirdest was the glass case purported to be a display of used condoms for which he was responsible. He was not sure how the convention organizers had gotten a hold of them and thought it better not to consider the implications for too long.
Worse, he was now getting a crowd following him. The program was not providing enough of a disguise. There were now around twenty curious fans following him through the maze. If he didn’t find a way out soon, the crowd was sure to grow. He hurried on hoping to find an exit or someone in charge.
He went through the doorway into the next room and saw at the far end another person that had a crowd following them. The person got closer and Shatner could see through the glass display cases the blue uniform of a police officer.
Shatner ran around the cases and up to the officer, “Oh thank God, I...” He froze in midsentence as he stared into the face of TJ Hooker.
It’s just one of those damn impersonators.
Shatner turned to walk away when Hooker punched him in the side of the head. Shatner stumbled back and fell through a display case, sending broken glass and used q-tips flying. He sat in the shattered glass and held his head, a thin line of blood trickling down from his temple.
“What...the Hell’s…the matter with you?”
Hooker grabbed Shatner by his collar. “I’m taking you down scum.” He lifted Shatner to his feet and threw him into the wall. Shatner fell to the ground but was quickly back to his feet, his Drunken Shaolin Street Fighting skills kicking in.
After being swarmed and nearly crushed to a gooey pulp by overzealous fans at the One Weekend on Earth Convention in ’96, Shatner dedicated two hours of his day, every day, to the ancient Chinese art. It came in handy at times like these when an autograph seeker did not know their place.
Hooker came running forward. Shatner grabbed him by his arms and used his force to throw him headfirst into one of the display cases. Hooker crashed through and lay on the ground stunned.
One of the first lessons one is taught in the martial arts is that the best way not to lose a fight is to not get into one. With this in mind, Shatner took off running, a crowd of screaming, cheering fans following him.
* * *
“Mother-fuck, shit shit shit,” said Natalie as she stomped her feet. She breathed in deeply and exhaled, attempting to calm herself down.
She raised the walkie-talkie, “So you lost William Shatner.”
There was a pause and a static filtered voice said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well fucking find him,” Natalie yelled and then hung the walkie-talkie on its belt-holster.
She took out her cell phone and dialed Shatner’s number. The screen read: CALL FAILED. She tried two mor
e times with the same result.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” She put the phone back in her pocket. Just one more problem she did not need.
She began to walk in the direction of the main entrance. If Shatner was wandering around, there was a good chance he would head there hoping to find convention staff. This was the abso-fucking-lutely worst time for him to go missing. The guards had gathered from the prisoner that there were three other Campbellians loose in the convention. Unfortunately, the prisoner did not give up where they were or what their plans were before he finally died from massive blood loss.