by Lee Goldberg
Charlie sighed. "The plane leaves in five minutes. Either you get out of the car now, or you go back to jail. Your decision."
"Fine," Chick got up and held out his wrists to Charlie. "I'm an executive club member, they'll give me the pilot's pants if I ask for them."
Charlie unlocked the cuffs and handed Chick his tickets. Chick stared at the tickets in horror.
He could live with soiled pants, even make it a badge of honor. He had major clients who got onto planes dead drunk, covered in their own vomit, and it only added to their renegade allure. It might even help his image with the Johnny Depp, Drew Barrymore, Keanu Reeves set. But this... this he would never live down.
"Coach?" Chick's eyes swelled with tears. "Please, no. I can't fly coach."
Charlie handed him the manila envelope that contained his valuables. Chick took the envelope and began sobbing uncontrollably.
"I'm finished," Chick said.
Charlie offered him a Kleenex and led him into the terminal. As soon as Chick's plane was gone, Charlie booked himself on the next flight back to LA.
Chapter Two
"Beyond The Beyond" Launches Big Net Slate
HOLLYWOOD - A revival of the 60s cult favorite Beyond the Beyond will be the cornerstone of The Big Network, Pinnacle Studios ambitious bid to launch a fourth broadcast network.
"We're aiming our programming squarely at the 18-49 demographic," said Kimberly Woodrell, Big's president of primetime programming. "The future of broadcast television is in niche programming, and we're on the cutting edge."
Pinnacle is committed to spend $1 million plus per episode, and has hired Conrad Stipe, the series' original creator and executive producer, to helm the new effort, which is currently in pre-production.
"It's the old show, updated for the 90s," promised Jackson Burley, Pinnacle's prexy of TV. "We'll lure back the old fans and attract a hip, young audience of new ones. This will be the TV event of the century...and beyond."
Industry wags, while skeptical of the net's long-term chances for survival, were quick to praise the move. The series has a devoted cult following that could rub off on the web, slated to bow on a strong line-up of indies nationwide this fall.
Six months ago, Woodrell ankled UBC, where she was vp of current programming, with two years still left on her contract. Woodrell, widely credited for developing Valet Girls, was personally recruited for the Big post by Milo Kinoy, chairman and CEO.
Kinoy's Big Communications bought Pinnacle Studios early last year, and immediately announced plans to build a network on the studio's television station group. Since then, The Big Network has signed affiliates in 28 of the top 30 TV markets.
"The three networks have become stodgy and stale, out of touch with the new generation," said Woodrell, who apprenticed under UBC's legendary prexy Don DeBono. "We're going to become the network for today. The network that takes risks, that isn't afraid to fail."
Her slate, still in the development stage, also includes Caine & Able, the hilarious misadventures of two gay bouncers at a strip club frequented by "zany ethnics, Generation X'rs and Estelle Getty;" The Two of Me, described as a "gritty drama" about a teen hermaphrodite struggling through his first year in the police academy; Con Artist, a "magical anthology with a social conscience" about a young convict whose jailhouse tattoos come alive and help people in need; and Sexual Surrogate, a UBC reject starring Yasmine Bleeth as a therapist who "uses her body and soul" to help "families in crisis."
Although the Big schedule is still in the early stages, insiders report that Sexual Surrogate is slated to go up against MBC's hit Adoption Agency and UBC's new high-concept actioner Siamese Cops, starring John Stamos and Matthew Lawrence.
* * * * * *
"Spacedate 980122. Captain's personal log. Two decades ago, the starship Endeavor was nearly destroyed in a sneak attack in deepest, darkest space, cut off from the Confederation. We crashed on a class M planet, most of the crew was lost. But I held on. I never gave up command...or hope."
Captain Pierce's uniform was a little faded, and very tight, but it still fit, and Guy Goddard wore it, and the mission it stood for, with pride. He sat in the Captain's chair on the circular bridge, staring ahead at the main view screen as he made his report. But instead of deep space stretching out in front of him, he saw the his weed-infested back-yard and the rotting fence that surrounded his downed starship.
"I hid the wreckage, salvaging what I could and initiating repairs."
The studio scrapped the set within a week of cancellation and stacked it under a tarp on the backlot. He stole it, piece by piece, and reconstructed it in his living room.
"But without nitrozine energizers and chief engineer Glerp's guidance, there was little I could do."
He looked at what was left of his bridge. The lights on the consoles were dark. The sophisticated armrest control panels on his chair were retrofitted with a cassette recorder, a portable phone and a remote control, which activated the VCR and TV at what once was Mr. Snork's science station.
"I did what I had to survive, against incredible diversity."
Captain Goddard was more than a role to him, it was the perfect meld of actor and character. So much so, that soon after taking the job, it stopped being one. It was a calling. But no one else saw it that way. To the industry, Beyond the Beyond was a flop. He was consigned to ten years of sporadic guest-shots as stiff politicians and rigid newscasters in bad cop shows, returning each night to his starship to relive his greatest role.
Pretty soon, the casting directors stopped calling and he stopped caring, scratching out a living doing mall openings and Beyonder conventions, but always in uniform.
Then he got the word.
"But in the end, my faith was rewarded. Yesterday, I received a transmission from Confederation high command."
He glanced once again at the Daily Variety open on the helm, and the glorious headline: "Beyond the Beyond to Launch Big Net Slate"
"The Endeavor has been discovered. She'll be rebuilt, and I'll once again embark on a daring mission to that distant, unknown corner of space that lies ...beyond the beyond."
He clicked off the recorder with a dramatic flourish, and noticed the red "battery low" light glowing. Alkaline batteries were no substitute for nitrozine power cells.
Guy Goddard rose from his command chair, forced open the Mag-Lev tube doors, and walked through the kitchen to the carport outside, where his '71 Buick Riviera was parked. He backed shuttle craft one out of the launch bay, eased into the interstellar traffic of Victory Boulevard, and headed for Pinnacle Pictures.
He made terrific time, getting to the main gate well within four light years.
"I'm here to see Conrad Stipe," Guy said to the astonished guard.
"Guy Goddard," the guard said, turning to his colleague in the booth. "I thought he died."
"He did," the other guard stole a glance at Guy. "And he was buried in his uniform."
Guy took his pass and drove onto the lot, giving the guards a chance to see the words "Shuttle Craft One" emblazoned on the Buick's side.
He emerged from his car and breathed the sweet, studio air. This was definitely his home planet. His communicator trilled. Guy opened his flip-phone with practiced grace and held it close to his mouth.
"Yes?" he said.
"This is shuttle craft two," said the squeaky voice on the other end, "we're in orbit."
"Maintain position, Pierce out." He flipped the phone shut, clipped it onto his space belt and strode fearlessly towards Stipe's small, Spanish-style bungalow.
He opened the door and found himself facing a secretary with enormous breasts sitting at her desk, which was cluttered with recent issues of Variety, Hollywood Reporter, National Inquirer, and other required reading of the trade.
"Nice computers," Guy admired her breasts. "I haven't seen mainframes like that in light years."
"Yeah, they should be in the Smithsonian," she glanced at the IBM PC on her desk and shrugged, mistakin
g his galactic compliment for sarcasm. "I have an electric razor with more RAM."
She looked back at Guy. "Mr. Stipe told me to send you down to see him on stage 14."
Guy gave her a curt nod and left, walking around the bungalow to the soundstage directly behind, opening the heavy, sound-proofed door and letting it close behind him with a dull thud.
The cavernous soundstage was dominated by a giant structure made up of plywood flats braced with long two-by-fours. To anyone else, it was the bland exterior of another set. But to Guy Goddard, it was the riatanium hull of the magnificent starship Endeavor. He walked along the edge of a set, where a row of port-holes looked out on a giant backdrop of stars and planets.
Guy studied the stars and recognized it immediately as the Gamma Sector, where he once battled an entire fleet of Umgluck Warstars. He peered through the porthole, and saw the med-bay. Gleaming white brain re-energizers hung above every space bed. At the main med console, he spotted the data-cords that plugged into Dr. Kelvin's computer breasts and remembered the time he strangled a globulan mebocite with one of them.
Those were the days.
He walked around the edge of one flat, and suddenly found himself at the end of the long, silver corridor that led to the bridge. Taking a deep, proud breath, he marched down corridor, admiring his ship. When he looked at the walls, he didn't see spray-painted egg-cartons, colanders, and lawn genies. He saw interstellar baffles and high-tech energy conduits. When he studied the data screens, he didn't see transparencies on light-boards. He saw plasmatron read-outs from the bio-net computers. His ship was ready for action, and he was ready to take her to meet it.
Guy reached the end of the hall, forcing open the sliding space-doors to reveal the Endeavor bridge. The command consoles were aglow with blinking lights, probably running a full diagnostic of the ship's sensor array. At Mr. Snork's science station, dazzling, geometric shapes gyrated on the video screens. Although they were still in space-port, the irascible Mr. Snork was already running some experiments. He'd have to toss a few extra space-peanuts his way.
Guy settled into his command chair and gently stroked his arm-rest control panels. All the major switches were there, even a few new ones. There would be plenty of time to learn what they were for. The important thing was to get back out there, to the very edge of the unknown, to the worlds that only exist...Beyond the Beyond.
"Don't get too comfortable, Goddard," Stipe's voice rudely broke into his reverie. "This won't take long."
Guy rose to see Stipe entering the bridge with a young man in what appeared to be a Confederation uniform. Stipe's eyes swam in the three screwdrivers he washed down his Egg McMuffins with that morning. Guy started the day with a glass of delicious Tang and five of the Space Food Sticks from the cases hidden in his garage. It's how Guy stayed so sharp.
Stipe turned to the man next to him. "I want you to meet Chad Shaw."
Guy studied the kid. He appeared to be a humanoid in his late 20s, good build, surgically altered nose, and hair at least an inch longer than regulation length. His uniform was similar to his own, but a different cut. What disturbed Guy was the blue stripe across the chest, a Captain's stripe.
"Aren't you a little young to be in a command position?" Guy asked Chad.
"Who is he?" Chad asked Stipe.
"Guy Goddard. He played Capt. Pierce in the original series," Stipe replied, then faced Guy. "Chad was the star of Teen PI for five years. He can command any series he wants. We were lucky to get him."
"I've never watched Beyond The Beyond," Chad told Guy. "I don't want it to color my performance. Nothing personal."
Chad clapped him on the shoulder and turned to Stipe. "Maybe we can screen our first episode at the motion picture home for the entire original cast."
"That's a great idea, Chad." Stipe replied.
"Nice meeting you, Guy." Chad smiled and walked off the set. As soon as he was gone, Guy confronted Stipe.
"What's he doing on my ship?" Guy demanded.
"It's not your ship," he replied wearily. "It's a set. It's not real."
"He shouldn't be wearing a blue stripe," Guy narrowed his eyes at the airlock Chad disappeared through. "I'll bet my asteroids he hasn't even graduated from Star Academy. Security Chief Zorgog will be taking a close look at him with every one of his six beady eyes."
Stipe stared at Guy for a long moment. "Chad is our new Capt. Pierce."
Guy jerked. "What did you say?"
"We're bringing the show back with an all-new, young cast."
Guy's lower lip began to tremble. "You can't do that. I am Capt. Pierce."
"Not anymore, Goddard. Nobody will watch a fat, crazy old fart as an action hero. In fact, I don't want to see you in public wearing this uniform again," Stipe ripped the Confederation insignia from Guy's chest. "That means no more conventions, no more mall openings, no more nothing, as Captain Pierce. You got that?"
"I won't let you do this."
"You don't have a choice," Stipe said. "My show, my characters. My fucking ship. Now get out."
Guy pushed past Stipe and stormed out of the bridge. There was a rip in the time-space continuum. Duplicates were taking over the Confederation. If he didn't do something, reality as he knew it would be shattered.
Once Guy was outside, he ducked out of sight and flipped open his communicator.
"Pierce to Shuttle Craft two, red alert."
A voice responded from somewhere deep in space. "The caller you are trying to reach is unavailable or has traveled outside our coverage area. Please try your call again later."
The temporal rift in the continuum was worse than he thought. Guy snapped his communicator shut and hurried back to his shuttle craft, his mind already searching for ways save the Confederation from this dire threat.
* * * * * *
Eddie Planet, from his vantage point inside the dumpster behind Conrad Stipe's bungalow, did a double-take when he saw Guy Goddard storm out of the soundstage in his decaying Beyond the Beyond uniform.
He hadn't seen him in years. No one had. Eddie heard that he actually thought he was Captain Pierce, and even had some groupies who believed it, too.
What a loser.
Not like Eddie Planet. The creative force behind such TV classics as Saddlesore, Hollywood and Vine and the infamous Frankencop, finished stuffing his trash bag with discarded drafts of Beyond the Beyond scripts, half-written scenes, and various memos. That idiot Stipe had been out of television too long. He was throwing out cash.
It didn't look like cash now. But once it was all cleaned up, xeroxed, and shrink-wrapped by his third wife Shari, this trash would fetch him a cool couple grand at the next sf convention. Turning trash into money. That was a producer's job. And no one did it better, or with more class, than Eddie Planet, pronounced Plan-A, which, as everybody knew, was French for "to soar," or at least sounded like the French word for it.
Either way, it was a classy name, like the guy who possessed it.
Eddie took a good look around, then tossed the bulging bag into the back of his golf cart, one of the perks of his three year, over-all, writing/producing deal at the studio.
The deal came off of Frankencop ("The best pieces of a dozen dead cops sewn together to make one incredible crime-fighter"), a hit series that would still be on the air it hadn't been financed by the mob. And if the hitman-turned-co-executive producer hadn't tried to murder the stars of every series it was up against. And if Charlie Willis hadn't stumbled into the whole mess just to clear himself of a trumped-up murder charge.
But that wasn't Eddie Planet's fault. Creatively, the show was way ahead of its time. Ground-breaking television. Just like his new show Peter Pan, a highly-promotable, killer franchise, sold on a simple pitch: He's a fairy with an attitude...and a badge. The only reason its ratings were lousy was because MBC put it in the death-slot opposite UBC's Valet Girls and He's My Wife, the wildly successful sitcom starring Scott Baio as a gay ad exec who passes his cross-dressing lover off as
his wife to fool his conservative family.
Eddie pulled off his galoshes and his rain pants and shoved them under the seats, stopping for a moment to appreciate the smell of the cart's leather upholstery. Every producer on the lot had a golf cart, whether they needed one or not. The important thing was making sure yours was better than everyone else's. His even had a burled walnut dash. But Eddie was in danger of losing his if Peter Pan didn't get picked up for a back nine.
Eddie knew the only way to keep the show alive was to get the studio, and Pinnacle Television president Jackson Burley, solidly behind it. To get them to call in every marker they with the network, use every strong-arm tactic they could, to keep his show on the air. And the only way to do that, was to make Jackson Burley one of the stars.
Acting had long since eclipsed the personal trainer, the European secretary, the golf cart, the restaurant table, and the Aspen home as symbols of status within the television industry. If you were somebody in the business, it wasn't enough to write or produce the shows, you had to be a recurring character in them as well.
So when the ratings for Peter Pan started to fall faster than Tinkerbell strapped to a lead weight, Eddie Planet quickly created Dixon Drew, bounty hunter, and told Burley he was born to play the part. It didn't take much convincing, since Burley was a former writer/producer himself, and therefore believed he could play any part as well as the high-paid monkeys who ruined his scripts.
Eddie weaved between the soundstages in his golf cart, purposely cutting off ordinary carts and sideswiping any that dared come alongside, until he arrived outside Stage 23. Burley's Pinafarina golf-cart was parked outside, its V-8 engine still warm under the hood. Eddie checked out his reflection in the tinted glass and, satisfied that no trash was hanging from his black t-shirt, white jacket, and tan slacks, he went into the soundstage.
