Shatnerquake (6 page)

He regarded the situation for a moment and then went walking off in search of the next segment.
 

* * *

Shatner coughed and woke up still strapped into the ambulance seat.
 
He unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and fell out of the smoking, mangled vehicle.
 
He crawled forward a few feet on his hands and knees, coughing.
 

He got to his feet and was amazed to find himself uninjured.
 
His suit was torn in a few places, but other than that he was unscathed.
 
He turned to the wreckage and saw that he was the only one who made it out OK.

Natalie had been severed in half at the waist by the air-born ambulance.
 
The top half of her was on the roof.
 
A splatter-trail of entrails led from the front of the vehicle to the lower half of her body, which was next to the debris.

TJ Hooker had been crushed between the ambulance and the doors, his chest cavity torn wide open.
 
Spilling out from the huge wound were bucketfuls of the black goop and what looked to be film stock.
 
The reels looked like they had been tightly stuffed in his body but were now unwound out onto the vehicle’s hood.
 

Shatner was less concerned about this strange sight as he was over the entrance.
 
It looked like someone had placed a giant television on the other side, the channel turned to dead static.
 
Every inch of the glass was displaying the snow show.
 
He stood staring at the strange sight and then moved to one of the front doors the flying ambulance did not destroy.

He pushed at the revolving door but it would not budge.

He rushed back to the center of the lobby.
 
By now other people had wandered into the room and had noticed the wall of static on the other side of the exit.
 
They were so distracted by the sight that they did not even notice that THE William Shatner was amongst them.

Shatner ran over to the registration table and grabbed a map of the convention.
 
He looked it over, trying to figure out what to do next.
 
The convention staff had been no help so far and what the fuck was with TJ Hooker trying to kill him?

He studied the various room listings.
 
Theater?
 
No.
 
Filking
?
 
No.
 
Fan Fiction Readings?
 
No.
 
Dealer’s Room?

That was it.
 
The Dealer’s Room was most likely where the other guests for the convention would be.
 
Shatner flipped through the program, trying to find the guest list but could not.

No matter.
 
The Dealer’s Room is just down that hall.
 
There will be someone there that can help me.
 
Someone like me.
 
A celebrity.
 

Shatner went jogging in the direction of the Dealer’s Room as the lobby filled with shocked and worried convention attendees.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kirk and Stephen jogged through the doorway.
 
Kirk froze and dropped to his knees.

“What kind…of fantastic…bazaar…is this?” asked Kirk surveying the huge table-filled room.

Stephen leaned wheezing against the wall.
 
“It’s just the Dealer’s Room.”

“You’re in…terrible shape…for a…Starfleet officer,” said Kirk as he took out his
tricorder
and tried yet again to get a reading.
 
He shook his head.
 
“Still nothing.”

Kirk clapped his hand on Steven’s shoulder, “Come on, Redshirt… let’s explore…this…feast for the senses…You don’t mind if I call you Redshirt…do you?”

* * *

Shatner walked into the Dealer’s room amazed at its size and scope, just like everything else he had seen at the convention so far.
 
The room was at least as large as three football fields.
 
The entire floor-space was taken up with tables of dealers selling their wears and convention attendees eager to empty their wallets.
 
The panic and chaos that was happening elsewhere in the convention did not seem to have reached here yet.

Shatner pushed his way into the crowd, hoping to find a celebrity’s table or a convention worker that could direct him to where he could find one.
  
He squeezed his way past fat collectors arguing over the printing number of action figures and dealers attempting to overcharge for limited edition Christmas tree ornaments.
 
It was so busy and crowded that no one took notice of him.

After going down the third row of tables he was beginning to lose hope that he could find anyone to help him.

“Bill!
 
Thank God I found you.”

Shatner spun around at the sound of his own voice, ready to fight.
 
He looked into the mirror version of himself and relaxed.
 
It was just Bob.

Bob looked very concerned.
 
“There is some really strange shit going down around here.
 
There are versions of you running around all over the place.”

“What…do…you mean?”
 
Shatner said, thinking about his encounter with the TJ Hooker look alike.

“I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I have a theory,” said Bob.
 
Shatner groaned and rolled his eyes.
 
Bob ignored him and continued, “Remember the Network Wars of a few years back?
 
Remember the fiction bombs?
 
Celebrated
Teletician
, Jonah
Epenhiemer
, once put forward the idea that if a fiction bomb did work as properly it could have other, radically different effects.

“The device works by attacking and rewriting the very fabric of reality.
 
By design, it cuts things out, like editing a movie.
 
But it only works on works of fiction—it can’t cut real people out of reality.
 

“What I think we’re seeing here are the effects of a fiction bomb that backfired.
 
Instead of erasing your work from reality, it made your characters real.”

Shatner stood and thought about it for a moment.
 
He looked about the bustling convention floor, his eye stopping to admire a slightly pudgy woman in a two-sizes-too-small Nurse Chapel costume.
 
He turned back to Bob.

“That’s…just…stupid.”

Bob ignored him and began pacing.
 
“The question is who?
 
Who would want to erase William Shatner?”
 

He thought hard and then snapped his fingers.
 
“Of course, the Campbellians!
 
They were suspected in the assassination of Adam West last year, but no one could prove anything.
 
I saw one protesting the convention as I came in.
 
I didn’t think too much of it at the time.”

Bob rushed over to Shatner and grabbed his shoulder.
 
“We’ve got to get you out of here.
 
We need to get you someplace safe.”

“Good God man,” said Shatner, “get…a hold of…yourself.”

Suddenly a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.
 
It was a man holding a walkie-talkie and wearing a “Staff” t-shirt.

“Shit man, where the hell have you been?” asked the man.
 
He raised the walkie-talkie.
 
“Hey, I found Shatner.
 
We’re in the Dealer’s Room, south side.”

“Oh, I’ve…been about,” replied Shatner, “where are the…other guest tables?”

“What other guests?” asked the
man.
 

“I…can’t be…the only guest.”

“It’s called ShatnerCon, who else would be invited?”

“I…don’t know…any of the hundreds of people I’ve worked with!”

“
Whatever,
take it up with Natalie.
 
Not my problem.”

Shatner’s heart sank.
 
He looked to Bob who was surveying the crowd for any sign of a threat.

I’m the only one here.
 
I’m all alone.

* * *

Kirk ran back and forth from table to table.
 
Stephen slowly walked, barely keeping pace and looking for some method of escape.
 

Kirk was suddenly right in front of him, leaning in too close.

“How…do…they…know of me,” said Kirk with his hands
raised
in loose fists, “and the history of Starfleet?”

Kirk went to a table and held up a Kirk doll.
  
“They have…toys of me.”

He squeezed the doll and it said, “Conquest is easy…control is not.”

“Hey man,” said the balding dealer from behind the table, “you want to play with that, you’ve got to pay for that.”

Kirk set the doll back down and went to Stephen’s side.
 
“This…is a…strange place we find ourselves in…be on guard.”

Then Kirk heard a voice that he had never heard before and yet instantly recognized, “I don’t know…any of the hundreds of people I’ve worked with!”

Kirk took out his phaser and raised the weapon.
 
“Be on guard.”

Stephen pissed his pants.

* * *

Shatner shook his head and paced back and forth.
 
Bob was trying to convince the staff member of the severity of the situation but he just ignored him and talked on the walkie-talkie.

I’m doomed.
 
Fucked you could even say.

Suddenly, Bob grabbed Shatner and roughly pulled him back.
 
The red beam narrowly missed him and instead hit the staff member, instantly vaporizing him and sending screaming people fleeing for cover.
  

Shatner and Bob dropped to the ground.
 
Shatner rolled beneath the closest table and crouched up while Bob crawled on all fours to the adjacent row of tables.
 
He slowly raised his head to get a look at his new attacker.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Kirk came running around the row of tables and stood where Shatner had just been.
 
He looked around puzzled.
 
Shatner crouched beneath the table and braced both his hands under it.
 
He stood up and heaved, throwing the table and its assortment of Shakespeare plays translated into Klingon at Kirk.

Kirk turned around just in time to not be caught totally off-guard.
 
He braced himself and the table knocked him to his knees.

Shatner turned and quickly scanned the room.
 
Three rows over
he
saw the glinting steel of a weapon’s table.

Bingo.

He threw himself over the first row of tables, knocking over a poster board display of NASA cover-ups.
 

Shatner came to the next row and the dealer stood defiant on the other side.
 
His hands outstretched and shaking his head, trying to protect his goods.
 
Shatner stopped, surprised.
 
A red beam hit the dealer and he was gone.
 
Shatner dropped to his hands and knees and scurried under the table the get to the weapons.

Kirk confidently walked to where he had lost Shatner.
 
He got to the aisle and saw no sign of him.
 
He crouched down and slowly walked forward, turning around with his phaser raised.
 
He came to the weapon stand that had set up make-shift plastic display walls.
 
Kirk paused and admired a Bushido sword.

Shatner spun around from the corner of the display swinging the curved blade of a Klingon bat’leth.
 
Kirk had just enough time to raise his phaser in defense.
 
The bat’leth knocked the phaser out of his hand, and it went flying high in the air across the room.

Shatner flipped the weapon around and hit Kirk in the gut with the hard wooden handle, sending him falling back.
 
He reached forward and grabbed Kirk’s shirt but the flimsy fabric tore away.
 
Kirk landed on his ass, his chest and girdle showing through the ripped uniform.
 

Seeing this, Stephen was finally shaken out of his terror-induced daze.
 
He saw Kirk fall and he turned and ran.

Kirk saw him.
 
“That’s it Redshirt, flank him.”

Shatner also picked this time to turn and start running.

Kirk turned and grabbed the nearest object from a table, which happened to be a pewter replica of a Klingon Bird of Prey.
 
Kirk threw it at Shatner, aiming the model for his head.

Shatner ducked just in time and the ship continued to fly.
 

Stephen turned his head to see if he really was going to escape.
 
The bulbous front of the ship bashed through his right eye and jammed back into his brain, killing him instantly.
 
His corpse toppled over a table and tossed its contents into the air.
 
His head came to rest on a rare hand-written script by Gene Roddenberry.
 
It was an
unfilmed
episode which featured a much-talked-about Spock/Kirk love scene.
 
The oozing blood from Stephen’s head forever ruined the rare work.
 
Some would later argue that this was the greatest loss of the day.