Trouble in Warp Space (2 page)

“Okay,” Sandy said as Wilson walked off.

“Why is he going that far away?” Joe asked.

“Webb’s a health nut,” Sandy said. “Hates smoke.” She pulled back the flap of the big tent and ushered the teens in. Inside, a man with a bushy beard and long, graying hair was cleaning up around one of the three makeup chairs. “Stan Pekar, our makeup and
effects man,” Sandy said. She introduced the teens to Pekar.

“Pleased to meet you,” Pekar said, not looking up from his work as he pulled out new brushes, some paint, and a latex nose appliance. He put the new equipment in a small tray and walked over to Iola, checking her face from every angle. “Hey, we got lucky,” he said, smiling. “I can work with this. Great. Take a seat, will you? This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Iola sat down. Pekar draped a makeup bib around her and began to work. “You’re going to be an Alturan in this scene,” Pekar said. “You know what that is?”

“Sure,” Iola said.

“Try not to talk,” Pekar said. “It’s harder to work when you talk. And don’t move your head, either.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Iola said.

Sandy whispered to the others. “Stan’s eccentric, but he’s brilliant. We were lucky to lure him out of retirement to do this show.”

The three young men nodded. “I’ve heard of Stan Pekar,” Frank said, “and I’m not even a big SF fan.”

Just then a tall woman with long, braided blond hair and pointed ears walked into the tent. She was dressed in a blue Spacefleet jumpsuit and high heels. She moved gracefully despite the rough ground inside the tent.

“Sandy, thank heaven I found you,” she said. “Webb wants my character to run downhill—in these heels, if you can believe it. I’m happy to do my part, but I’m not willing to break my neck. Maybe you could rewrite the scene somehow so I arrive by shuttle or something.”

“Iola, Chet, Frank, Joe,” Sandy said, “meet Jerri Bell—also known as Ensign Allura. Jerri, this is our contest winner.”

“Great,” Bell said. “Pleased to meet you. Now, about that scene . . .”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sandy said, escorting Bell toward the tent flaps. At the exit Sandy paused, turned back to the teens, and said, “I have to take care of this. You can look around the camp, if you want. Try not to break anything expensive.” She gave a half smile and left.

“Actors!” Pekar huffed good-naturedly. “They’re even more trouble than directors.” He puttered in his toolbox and began to put on Iola’s alien nose. “You can watch me work, if you like,” he said. “Just stay out from underfoot.”

“I think we’ll catch some fresh air,” Joe said. He, Chet, and Frank left the tent and looked around. Cameras and lights were set up beside the pond. A rail-thin man with sunglasses and a baseball cap was pacing behind the equipment, shouting orders to Claudia Rajiv as she walked toward the cameras.

“That’s Rod Webb, the director,” Chet said. “He’s
terrific, a real big-market talent on a small-market budget.”

As they watched, Rajiv finished her shot and walked over to Webb. The two conversed a few moments, then Webb glanced around, as if looking for someone. Spotting the teens, the director jogged toward them, concern on his tan face. He was a tall man with a graying beard and mustache. His Red Sox cap held his shaggy hair in place, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

“Are you the contest winner?” the director asked Chet breathlessly. “Why aren’t you in costume? We’ve got to get rolling here!”

“My sister won the contest,” Chet said. “She’s in makeup.”

“Terrific,” Webb said, meaning just the opposite. He glanced around and sniffed the air. “Is one of you smoking? There’s no smoking on the set.”

“Not us,” Joe said. “We’re tobacco free. But that slayer guy . . .”

“Wait a minute, Joe,” Frank said. “I smell it, too, and it’s not cigarettes.”

From behind the hill beyond camp, black smoke billowed into the morning sky. Then small tongues of orange flame danced atop the nearby ridge.

Chet gasped. “Fire!”

“Do you have fire extinguishers?” Joe asked Webb.

“Four, I think, in the electrical and generator truck,” Webb said.

“We’ll do what we can,” Frank said. “Chet, find a phone and call the park rangers. Mr. Webb, get your crew and start hauling water from the pond.”

The director was too surprised to say anything except “Right.” He ran off, shouting directions. Cast and crew members rushed out of tents to assist in fighting the fire.

Chet ran for a cell phone, while Joe and Frank found the electrical truck and hauled out the heavy metal fire extinguishers. They hauled the extinguishers to the ridge.

“It could be worse,” Joe said, blinking back the
smoke. He sprayed one extinguisher at the base of the flames.

Frank dropped his extra extinguisher and did the same. “I think we can keep it at bay,” he said. “Good thing there’s been rain here recently.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I wouldn’t want to try this with a California brushfire.”

The wind shifted, and despite their efforts the fire began to skirt their defensive line. Frank coughed the smoke out of his lungs. “We need help,” he said. “Where are Webb and his crew?”

Joe glanced back downhill. “They’re coming. But they look pretty disorganized.”

“Good thing I’m here, then,” Chet said, loping uphill. He took Joe’s extra extinguisher and joined the brothers in battling the blaze. “I called the rangers,” he said.

Together the three friends curbed the blaze’s flanking maneuver and began to push the fire back uphill. As they did, the crew from
Warp Space
arrived, hauling buckets of water and soaked blankets. Iola, partially made-up as an alien, ran up and threw a bucket of water on the fire. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“We’re fine,” Joe replied.

“How did this happen?” Sandy O’Sullivan called as she beat at a nearby patch of flames with a wet blanket.

“Maybe someone dropped a match,” Jerri Bell
suggested. She picked up the fourth extinguisher and began to spray it, inexpertly, at the flames.

“Everybody pitch in!” Webb yelled. “We need to put this fire out and get back to work! We’re behind schedule as it is!” He tossed a bucket of water on the fire and headed downhill to where a ragtag bucket brigade had formed from the pond up the hill. “Where are those rangers?”

Claudia Rajiv looked around, worried. “Never mind that,” she said. “Where’s Peck?”

Frank and Joe shot each other a worried glance.

“He went over the hill for a smoke,” Chet said.

“Frank and I will go after him,” Joe said. He handed his big extinguisher to Iola. “Take this,” he said. “We can make do with the one Frank has and the one that Ms. Bell is using.”

Jerri handed the canister to Joe. “You might as well take it, for all the good
I’m
doing,” she said. “I’m an actress, not a firefighter!”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the rangers?” Sandy O’Sullivan asked.

“No time,” Frank said. “Don’t worry. Joe and I have had rescue training.”

“Just keep the fire from spreading or flashing back on us,” Joe added.

“Right,” Chet said. “Be careful.”

Iola handed the Hardys a bucket of water, and they doused themselves with it. They also soaked their handkerchiefs and tied them around their
faces to mask out some of the smoke.

Choosing a spot where the fire had exhausted most of its fuel, they picked a path through the blaze, using their extinguishers to clear the way. They went over the top and down the far side of the hill. The wind picked up and whipped up the smoke and dust, making it difficult to see.

“Let’s check that outcropping of boulders at the bottom of the hill,” Joe said.

Frank nodded. “Good place to take cover,” he said. “So that’s a good place to start.”

Cautiously, the brothers made their way toward the boulders. As they approached, they spotted a pair of alien boots sticking out from behind the rocks.

Sprinting the last few yards, Frank found Peck Wilson lying on the ground, unconscious. He knelt at Wilson’s side and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” Frank said, “but he’s inhaled smoke. He’s scorched on the right side of his face. Plus he’s got a nasty bruise on his neck—probably from keeling over. I think he’ll be okay though. Too bad that costume he’s wearing isn’t a real space suit. He’d have been better off.”

“Should we move him?” Joe asked.

Frank shook his head. “Probably not. I think I hear sirens. Let’s just make sure he’s comfortable and wait for the pros.”

“Check,” Joe said. He took off his shirt and put it under Wilson’s head to serve as a pillow. “Good
thing there isn’t much to burn near these boulders.”

“There’s enough to start a fire, apparently,” Frank said, “if you’re careless.”

“You think that’s what happened?” Joe asked.

“Judging from the burn patterns, the fire looks like it spread uphill from here,” Frank replied. “And there’s a cigarette butt in that scorched patch just behind that boulder.”

Joe kneeled down and picked up a piece of paper at the edge of the scorched area. The paper had been partially burned, but Joe could still make out the words on it. “This looks like part of a
Warp Space
script,” he said.

“Probably the part Wilson was studying,” Frank said.

“So, you think he was having a smoke, tossed the butt in the wrong place, and—whoosh!”

“That’s how it looks,” Frank said.

As they talked, the smoke from the fire started to die away. The sound of firefighters working to wrestle the blaze under control echoed over the hill to Frank and Joe. “Is anyone down there?” a deep voice called through the smoke.

“Yeah, we’re here,” Joe called back. “We’re okay. We found the missing actor. He’s unconscious and needs medical attention.”

A ranger, wearing a smoke hood and carrying a fire extinguisher, appeared through the dust and smoke. He checked out Peck Wilson and made a
quick call for assistance on his radio unit. “Fire’s under control,” he said. “You people did a good job of containing it.”

“Thanks,” Frank said.

“But,” the ranger continued, “hiking into the smoke was a foolish thing to do. Next time, leave the fire and rescue business to the professionals.”

Joe grinned amiably. “Hey, danger
is
our business.”

•  •  •  

Half an hour later Peck Wilson was packed into the back of Sandy O’Sullivan’s SUV, heading for the local hospital. Rich Millani, the show’s lighting man and property master, drove so that O’Sullivan could stay and do damage control at the site. Stan Pekar had taken Wilson out of the slayer costume, and the big stuntman seemed to be comfortable, even though he was barely conscious. The park rangers sent one of their men, who had EMT training, along for the ride. The rest stayed to inspect the area and make sure the fire wouldn’t spring up again.

The cast and crew of
Warp Space
, including the Hardys and the Mortons, huddled near the cameras by the pond. Sandy O’Sullivan watched anxiously as the rangers combed the scorched hillside.

“I’m really worried,” she said to no one in particular, “that they may decide to shut us down while they investigate the fire.”

Rod Webb nodded. The director looked even
more concerned than O’Sullivan. “We can’t afford to lose a whole day,” he said. “We’re behind schedule and over budget as it is. Who’s ready to shoot?”

He and O’Sullivan took in the dirty, smudged faces of the assembled cast. All had helped fight the fire, but doing so had ruined their makeup and soiled their costumes.

“We are in deep trouble,” O’Sullivan said quietly. “If we can’t complete this footage today, we can’t use the park again until the end of the week—assuming the rangers don’t kick us out altogether because of the fire.”

“Pekar,” Webb barked, “we need someone to put in front of the cameras ASAP. What can you and Ms. Nelson give us?”

“Marge and I are special-effects and makeup artists,” Stan Pekar said, “not miracle workers.”

“Too bad Peck got hurt,” Jerri Bell said. “He doesn’t need makeup under that Slayer outfit.” She wiped a smudge off one cheek with the sleeve of her Spacefleet uniform and tried to fix her hair, but it was no use.

“Hey,” Webb said, “that’s an idea. Who can we get into the Slayer from Sirius costume?”

A gangly young man with wiry brown hair stepped from the small crowd of people. “I can do it, Mr. Webb,” he said.

Webb broke into a broad smile. “Great, Ramon, great. Let’s get you suited up. If we shoot the Slayer
sequences first, we’ll have time to get Bell and Rajiv and that contest winner—what’s her name?—cleaned up.”

Stan Pekar crossed his arms over his chest. “Rod, I hate to tell you this, but there’s no way Torres can play the Slayer.”

“What?” said Ramon Torres, incensed. “I’m up to it. I’ve done plenty of stunts for the show.”

“Pekar’s right,” Sandy O’Sullivan said. “Torres is about half Wilson’s size.”

“Marge and I don’t have time to fit the costume to Ramon—not if you want us to work on the other actors.”

“I can make it work,” Torres said. “Just give me a shot.”

“Chet would fit into the Slayer costume,” Iola blurted out.

O’Sullivan’s eyes lit up. “She’s right, Rod. Her brother
would
fit the costume.”

“Okay, we go with him, then,” Webb said.

“But—” Torres began. O’Sullivan and Webb ignored him.

“Sandy, put together a release for this Morton guy,” Webb said. “Pekar, you and Marge get him into the costume. Somebody dig up a script for him to study.”

“He can have mine,” Claudia Rajiv said. “I’ve got my lines down.” Jerri Bell scowled at her, but Claudia ignored her and handed the script to Chet.

“The rest of you, do what you can to fix your outfits and hair,” Webb said. “I want you ready when Pekar and Nelson have time for you.”

Chet looked stunned. “Hey, I’m going to be on TV,” he said, awestruck.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Iola whispered.

“Looks like your entering Iola in the contest finally paid off, Chet,” Frank jibed.

“Come on, big guy,” Stan Pekar said. “Let’s get you into costume. Iola, you come, too. The rest of the cast knows what to do to get ready for me.”