From: mainzv@aries.scs.uiuc.edu (Vera Mainz)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: visit to a weird planet
Date: 7 Jan 93 21:54:11 GMT
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana

There have been several requests for "Visit to a Weird Planet", but I can't
remember which newsgroup.  So, if it should be posted anywhere else, please
pass it on.  I have typed it in from my copy, so forgive any errors.




"Visit to a weird planet, or the inside story behind the antagonism of a 
certain network toward a certain segment of the population"

by Jean Lorrah and Willard F. Hunt

(Published in SPOCKANALIA 3 - September 1, 1968)
(Purchased in 1987 from:	Poison Pen Press
				627 East 8th Street
				Brooklyn NY  11218)



	The mission had been long and hazardous.  Captain James T. 
Kirk breathed a sign of relief as he stood ready to beam back aboard 
the Enterprise, First Officer Spock on his right and Dr. Leonard McCoy 
on his left.  He paid little attention to the familiar sensations of the 
transporter, for he was thinking of a leisurely meal, a hot bath to soothe 
his aching muscles, and then . . . .

	Feeling himself once more in one piece upon the transporter 
platform, Kirk stepped forward -- and stopped in astonishment.  "What 
the devil's going on here?"

The opposite wall of the transporter room was missing!

Tangles of wire snaked across the floor and hung from the ceiling, men 
in strange costumes stood about, and Kirk's view of what might be 
behind the missing wall was blocked by a monstrous piece of machinery 
that seemed to be pointed directly at him.  Hot, intense lights nearly 
blinded him.

	"What have you done to my ship?" he demanded.

	"Cut!"

	A tall man stepped toward Kirk with an air of controlled 
irritation.  "Bill, that's the third time you've blown that line! It's . . ." he 
looked into a sheaf of varicolored pages, "'Scotty, get a report on that 
power source and meet me in the briefing room.'  You're not even 
_close_ to the script!"

	Script?  Kirk stared at the man, who shoved the multicolored 
manuscript into his hands, saying, "Now go get this scene straight once 
and for all so we can strike the transporter!"  He turned to the men and 
the huge machine and began issuing further instructions.

	Bewildered, Kirk looked down at the manuscript.  "_Star 
Trek_," it said, "'______' by ____________."  Leafing through it, he 
saw that it was written in the form of a play, and the characters 
speaking were mostly Kirk, Spock, and McCoy!  The latter two, in 
reality, were by this time looking over his shoulder from either side.  
Without speaking, Kirk led them away from the group of men, into a 
more secluded portion of what they could now see was obviously not 
the U. S. S. Enterprise.  They were in a huge, high-ceilinged room 
strung high with electrical equipment and cluttered low with what 
seemed to be bits and pieces of a Federation starship.

	"What do you think, Spock?"  Kirk asked when they were out 
of hearing of the strangers.

	"I don't know, Captain.  As yet there is insufficient information 
to formulate a reasonable hypothesis."

	"Well, then, what would be your guess?"

	"Vulcans do not guess, Captain.  We form conclusions from 
established fact."

	"Of course."  Kirk knew Spock had a tendency to quibble over 
semantics to give himself time to think.  "What I meant was, what 
would be your tentative hypothesis?"

	Spock studied the room for a few moments, then took the 
manuscript from Kirk and leafed through it again.  "Based on the 
fragmentary historical records from your late middle twentieth century 
Earth and what we have seen here so far, I would say that through a 
multi-parallel space-time inversion we have been accidentally 
transferred into a television studio filming a futuristic space adventure 
series, which by Roddenberry's Law of Parallel Evolution is identical to 
what has actually, or I should say will develop in our time."

	"Fascinating," murmured Kirk, although it was uncertain 
whether he was referring to Spock's hypothesis or to the pair of 
scantily-clad young women wandering past them.

	Spock, however, ignored the second possibility.  "Yes, Captain, 
and quite interesting."

	"Poppycock!"

	They turned to the third member of the party, Spock already on 
the defensive.  The doctor was the only man who could consistently 
arouse an emotional response in the Vulcan, although Spock would 
have hotly defended his reaction as logical.  The two men were the best 
of friends.

	"Do you have any logical alternative to suggest, Dr. McCoy?"  
Spock's look of superiority showed that he had anticipated the doctor's 
silence.

	After a moment Kirk said, "Then by the non-interference 
directive we must not reveal our true nature."

	"You're both out of your minds," McCoy observed sadly.  "Or 
perhaps we all are, since we seem to be in a madhouse."

	"Yes, Doctor," Spock agreed.  From the point of view of these 
people we would be considered mad were we to reveal ourselves.  We 
have no logical alternative but to follow the non-interference directive."

	"All right," said Kirk.  "They apparently assume we are actors.  
We'll go along with that until we can get our bearings -- probably the 
rest of the day."

	McCoy suddenly broke into his rare impish grin.  "I'll be 
anxious to see what happens at the end of the day, when Spock tried to 
take off his makeup!"

	Before Spock could answer, Kirk said, "Bones, help me figure 
out what scene they're doing.  I'd better learn the lines.  Spock, see if 
you can find your way outside and look around; try to find out exactly 
where and when we are.  McCoy and I will try to bluff our way here."

	They found the scene which they had beamed into.  "No wonder 
they're upset!" Kirk observed.  "I have that one line and that's the end 
of the scene."  He turned a few more pages.  "You're in the next scene, 
Bones.  Better learn your lines."

	"I'm a doctor, not an actor!" grumbled McCoy; then, satisfied 
with having lodged his protest, he settled down to study the script.

	Looking around, Kirk noticed a small group of people being 
guided around the set by a gorgeous blonde.  He stepped behind a 
computer, which turned out to be an empty shell.  From this vantage 
point he watched the group approach McCoy.

	"Oh, Penny," gushed an elaborately coiffured matron to the 
statuesque blonde, "I'm just so _thrilled_ to be allowed to see the 
_actual program_ being filmed!  Oh!  There's Dr. McCoy!"  Her voice 
rose to shrill squeal on this last, and the two teenagers with her looked 
embarrassed.  McCoy stood up uncertainly.

	Penny, the blonde, introduced them, and McCoy could hardly 
get out a how-do-you-do before the woman was off again.  "Dr. 
McCoy, I just can't _believe_ I'm meeting you in person!"

	"I'm certain of that," replied McCoy, but she continued without 
a pause.

	"You're my very _favorite Star Trek_ person, and I don't think 
it's fair that you never get the girl.  If it were _me_" she began with a 
conspiratorial wink, but was interrupted by a bored-looking man, 
apparently her husband.

	"All right, Gladys, let the man get back to work."

	"Oh, Albert!"  she said petulantly, and returned her attention to 
McCoy.  "Doctor, I know this is the wrong time to ask, but I've been 
having this back trouble . . ." and she launched into a long description 
of her symptoms.  Kirk noticed McCoy fingering his medikit, and 
decided it was time to interrupt.

	Just as he joined them, though, the woman finished her tale of 
woe and McCoy drew himself up and said, "Madame, may I suggest 
that you have been consulting the wrong kind of doctor?"

	"What?" she asked uncertainly.

	"You'd better watch out, De" laughed Penny.  "There are laws 
against practicing medicine without a license."

	At this point a teenage boy in the group shoved a piece of paper 
at Kirk and said, "Will you autograph this, Captain Kirk?"

	"Uh, all right," Kirk replied, and scribbled "James T. Kirk" with 
the pen that was thrust into his hand.  This resulted in a flurry of papers 
and pictures being thrust at both him and McCoy, and several minutes 
spent merely signing their names.  At one point, the woman named 
Gladys got close enough to Kirk to begin, "Oh, Captain _Kirk_, you're 
my _favorite Star Trek_ person, and --" at which point her husband 
dragged her away.

	"This is so _exciting_!" said the teenage girl who completed the 
party.  "But I did hope we could meet Mr. Spock."

	"Yeah, where _is_ Mr. Spock?" asked the boy.

	Never one to miss a cue, Spock appeared at that moment 
through a door at the other end of the room, breathing hard, his hands 
over his ears, and his face registering the Vulcan equivalent of 
bewilderment.  His shirt was torn, the Star Fleet insignia missing, and a 
fresh bruise was turning his left cheek an inhuman green.

	"Spock!" cried Kirk, as he and McCoy broke away from the 
group of tourists to run to their friend.

	Spock immediately reverted to his usual unemotional attitude, 
and said, "Don't go outside, Captain!  Or you, Doctor.  There's a crowd 
of people out there protesting against something called Nielsens."

	"How did you get involved?"

	"I didn't realize at first that there was any connection between 
those people and this program.  Their signs read 'Cancel Stamps -- Not 
Programs' and 'Help Stamp Out Nielsens.'  Also 'NBC is a Klingon 
Conspiracy.'  I intended merely to walk past them, but the moment they 
saw me, they attacked."

	Attacked!"

	"It was most illogical, Captain.  They seemed more admiring 
than angry, yet they kept pulling at my clothes and . . . well, several 
people seemed to be under the impression that my ears were 
detachable.  I'm afraid I lost both my communicator and my phaser."

	"You _idiot_!"

	The words were an explosion from a man running over with a 
fresh shirt for Spock.  "Don't you know better by this time?  Going 
outside in costume!  Here!"

	He shoved the shirt at Spock, who apparently decided it was 
best to remain silent, and began stripping off his torn uniform top.  The 
man continued, "You _know_ how much those communicators cost.  
And the phaser!  Fred!"  he called suddenly, and another man came 
over, carrying a tin box.  "Fix him up," the first man instructed.  "I've 
got to go brave the mob, see if we can get the equipment back."

	"Watch the ears!" were Fred's first words as Spock began 
casually pulling the new shirt over his head.  "They want to start 
shooting again soon.  What _happened_ to you?" he demanded as he 
got a good look at Spock's cheek.

	"A minor mishap."

	"Sit down.  Minor indeed!"  Fred opened the box to reveal an 
array of makeup, chose a bottle of flesh-colored fluid, and began 
dabbing it over the bruise.  "We'll have to light you from the right until 
this heals."

	Spock submitted to the makeup, McCoy went back to studying 
the script, and Kirk, letting his curiosity get the best of him, slipped out 
the door Spock had entered.  He had to try several corridors before 
finding one that led outside, but the mob was there as Spock had 
described.  Apparently they had swallowed up the man who had gone 
for their equipment; he was nowhere to be seen.  Kirk noted with a wry 
smile that Spock had diplomatically not reported all the signs in 
evidence:  there were several proclaiming "Mr. Spock for President," 
while one small one said, "Kirk for Vice-President:  The Sooner the 
Better."

	Seeing the man who had gone after Spock's equipment 
worming his way back through the crowd, Kirk hurried back onto the 
set.  He had no sooner settled down than the man burst in and shoved 
the communicator at Spock.  "Here," he said angrily.  "Some kid ran 
off with the phaser, which is coming out of your salary!"  He stomped 
off, and Spock stared after him, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

	Just then Penny returned, this time with a telephone trailing a 
long cord.  "Leonard," she called as she approached, "call for you."

	"For me?" asked McCoy in surprise.

	"Not Leonard McCoy," she said impatiently, "Leonard Nimoy!" 
and shoved the phone at Spock, who took it hesitantly.

	Just then the big man called, "Bill, come here and try that line 
again before we shoot it," and Kirk had to go off.

	The last thing he heard was Spock saying into the phone in a 
puzzled voice, "Sandi Who?"

	The rehearsal was fine, Spock and McCoy were called over, but 
just as they were prepared to shoot, someone noticed that under the 
lights the bruise on Spock's cheek showed right through the makeup.

	"All right, you three take ten while we rearrange the lights."

	Kirk, Spock and McCoy were standing off to one side watching 
the elaborate arrangements, when suddenly Kirk's communicator 
chirped.  Surreptitiously he shook it open.  "Kirk here."

	"Captain!  We've found ye!"  Scotty's voice came through 
cheerfully.

	"What happened?" demanded Kirk.

	"Well, sir, it seems there was a multi-parallel space-time 
inversion.  We've managed to find a para-spatial anomaly that will 
allow us to pull ye back, but --"

	"Hold it, Scotty," whispered Kirk.  "There's something going on 
here."

	Penny, the blonde, was back, this time with a small radio.  
"Hey, everybody!  Listen to this!"

	"Penny . . ." the big man began impatiently.

	"No, this is important, boss," she insisted, and turned up the 
volume.

	" . . . word yet on the President's decision.  In local news, the 
NBC television studios here in Burbank have been attacked by a 
teenage boy with what appeared at first to be a toy ray gun.  
Eyewitnesses report that a few minutes ago several teenagers carrying 
sings saying 'Save _Star Trek_' appeared on Alameda Avenue across 
from the NBC building.  One of the boys stepped forward, pointed the 
gun at the building, and shouted, 'Here's what we'll do if you don't 
renew _Star Trek_!'  Witnesses say a peculiar beam emerged from the 
gun, melting the antenna and part of the roof of the NBC building.  The 
boy dropped the gun, and the teenagers scattered in all directions."

	All around the studio people were staring at one another and 
growing paler by the moment.  The newscaster continued, "A late 
bulletin from the police states that they have confiscated the weapon, 
but cannot identify it.  None of the teenagers involved have been 
apprehended, and witnesses disagree as to the description of the boy 
who did the shooting.  Meanwhile, on the political trail . . . ."

	Penny snapped off the radio, and for a moment there was dead 
silence.  Then everyone began talking at once.  Kirk took the 
opportunity to speak into the communicator.  "Scotty, did you hear 
that?"

	"Aye, Captain.  I can get a fix on that phaser and destroy it."

	"Good work."

	"But Captain, we've got to pull you back in the next five 
minutes, before the anomaly shifts.  And I've got three gentlemen here 
very anxious to go home."

	"Right, Scotty.  Set it up, and we'll get onto the platform.  Kirk 
out."

	The big man was trying to restore order, but once he did there 
were still the lights to be adjusted, and the minutes were ticking away.

	"Two minutes, Captain," murmured Spock.

	Kirk suggested, "Why don't we all get on the platform, and then 
you can adjust the lights on Spock."

	"Good idea," said the big man, and Kirk breathed a sign of 
relief.

	They stepped forward, but just at that moment the boy who had 
been with the group of tourists came running up.  "Mr. Spock!  I want 
your autograph!"

	"Whatever for?" was Spock's reaction.

	"Please, Mr. Spock!"  The boy held out a book and pen to him.

	"Give it to him, Spock!"  said Kirk.  "Hurry!"

	"What shall I write?"

	"Your signature!" said McCoy.  "And get on the platform!"

	Spock scribbled something, and took his place beside Kirk.  
"Thirty seconds," he whispered.

	"The light's okay now," said the big man.  "Let's shoot it."

	The boy was staring at his autograph book.  "Hey!  How do 
you pronounce this?" he demanded.

	"Xtmprsqzntwlfb," said Spock.

	"Quiet on the set!  Lights!  Camera!  Action!"

	The people watching the scene being shot were later to ask one 
another if at that moment there didn't seem to appear a slight shimmer 
about the three figures, as if the transporter really worked.  And then, 
the Captain stepped forward, just as the script called for, and said . . .

	"Gene, you will never _believe_ where we've just been!"

	"Cut!"

	It was almost a sob.  "That's it!  Forget it!  I've had it!  I can't 
take any more today!"

	The big man slowly crossed the room, people clearing an aisle 
for him in sympathetic silence.  The three men on the platform stared 
after him in bewilderment.

	"Now what would make him do that?" asked the Captain.

	"Search me," replied the Vulcan.  "Just tired, I guess."
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