Trouble in Warp Space (8 page)

“Calm down, boys,” Claudia Rajiv said. “It all worked out fine. Nobody got hurt, and Rod got some great shots.”

Director Webb nodded. “True,” he said. Then turning to the Hardys he added, “But next time you step in before I yell ‘Cut,’ I’ll have you run off the lot.”

Joe stepped forward as if to say something, but Frank held him back.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Rod,” Sandy said. “Why doesn’t everyone take fifteen to calm down a bit.”

“Yeah, okay,” Webb said. “Let’s take our dinner break. I want everyone to be fresh when we start again. This may be another long night. And, Morton, have Stan Pekar look at that helmet. We don’t
want it splitting in half during a crucial scene.”

Chet nodded his agreement and headed for the makeup room. Gross and most of the other cast members drifted off to their dressing rooms. Before he left, Webb pulled Matt Stiller aside. “Find Millani and have him fix the damage to the set. I still want to get a few shots in if we can.”

“Right,” Stiller said, and ran off.

“Well, that was certainly exciting,” Iola said.

“More exciting than I would prefer,” Sandy O’Sullivan said. “Now I have to do more rewrites!”

“Don’t worry, Sandy,” Claudia Rajiv said. “I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Claudia,” Sandy replied, “I’m not sure if I can handle
anything
extra right now.”

“If you have to go, we can look after ourselves,” Iola said.

“Actually, I can look after them,” Claudia said.

“Great,” Sandy said. “I’ll be right here figuring out how to fit that fight into the rest of the story.”

“Come on, folks,” Claudia said. “Let’s give the girl some space. Let’s go eat.”

“Sounds good,” said Frank.

“Everyone knows we’re really behind on shooting this episode,” Claudia said confidentially. “Some of the studio accountants have been prowling around, threatening to shut the show down if things don’t shape up.”

“Could they do that?” Joe asked.

Claudia shrugged. “Everyone working on the show thinks that
Warp Space
could be the next big hit. We’ve got a good cast and crew, and the start of a solid fan base. But we don’t have the ratings—not yet. If the show runs over budget too much more, we may never get the chance to build that audience.”

Hearing the conversation, Bruce Reid walked over to the group. “The accountants see everything in terms of dollars and cents,” Reid said. “They don’t care if the show makes money next year; they want it to make money now. If they think we’re bleeding cash, they’ll pull the plug.”

“Fan support is critical,” Claudia said, “but it can’t stop the money men if they think we’re a lost cause.”

“Speaking of fans,” Bruce said, “I need to catch up on my e-mail. I’ll see you all after dinner.”

“See you, Bruce,” Claudia said. She and the Hardys and Iola headed for the cafeteria.

As they stood in line to get their food, Iola asked, “What was up with Geoff Gross there? He might have hurt Chet.”

“Geoff’s always been a macho hothead,” Claudia replied. “He’s convinced that he should be the star of the show. Plus, he’s pretty sweet on Jerri. He’s probably a bit jealous of the time Chet’s been spending with her.”

“Boy, the one time Chet does okay with a girl, it
still
messes up his life,” Joe said.

“Everyone seems on edge,” Frank said. “Except maybe you.”

Claudia shrugged. “I’ve been out of work before,” she said, “and I’ll be out of work again. Don’t get me wrong, I want this show to succeed, but my life doesn’t begin and end with it.” They sat down to eat.

“Do you think someone could be trying to hurt the show on purpose?” Joe asked.

“Like who?” Claudia replied.

“We’re not sure,” Frank said, “but a lot of things have been going wrong lately.”

“I think it’s just the pressure,” Claudia said. “That’s why I’m throwing a party tomorrow night, so everyone can let off some steam. You guys are welcome to come if you like.”

“We’d love to,” Iola said, sipping her drink through a straw so as not to smudge her makeup.

They finished their food and headed back toward the soundstage. The frantic shooting had eaten up much of the day. Already long, twilight shadows darkened the lot.

As they passed by Bruce Reid’s trailer, he came out, looking distraught. “Have you seen the Web site today?” he asked Claudia. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Know anything about what?” she asked.

“Come in,” Reid said. “I’ll show you.” He ushered Claudia, the Hardys, and Iola into his trailer.
The group huddled around a laptop on the trailer’s counter.

“I was checking my mail on my fan site,” Reid explained, “and discovered a lot of sympathy notes. Some angry ones, too. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was all about. Finally, I tracked it back to the main
Warp Space
site.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up a new Web site. “Take a look!” he said forlornly.

“I don’t see anything different,” Claudia said, checking the brightly colored front page of the
Warp Space
Web site.

“It’s in the news items, near the bottom of the page—the bottom!” Reid said.

The Hardys and Iola leaned closer as Claudia scrolled down.

Near the bottom of the page, was a picture of Reid. Next to the picture, was a simple block of black and white text.

“Captain Winter no more—Bruce Reid leaving series.”

“You’re leaving the series?” Iola asked.

“Not that I know of,” Reid said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

Frank reached over and clicked the link on the headline. “It says here that you’ve decided to move on because of creative differences,” he said.

Reid rolled his eyes and moaned. “That’s a death knell for an actor!” he said. “‘Creative differences’ always means an actor is difficult to work with. But I
haven’t
been difficult. I’ve given my all for this show.”

Claudia put her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “Everyone knows that, Bruce,” she said.

“It also says that the fate of your character remains up in the air,” Joe added.

“It does,” Reid said, “but I read on a fan site that Captain Winter will be killed two episodes after the one we’re shooting now. Then Ensign Allura gets a field promotion and becomes captain for a while.”

“How can that be true?” Claudia asked. “I don’t think Sandy has two episodes done beyond this one. We both know she’s still sweating over rewrites on
this
episode.”

“But we also know she has a master plan for the series in her head,” Reid said. “If she
is
bumping my character off, she might have leaked the news to soften the blow—or put it up herself using a pseudonym.”

“Mr. Reid, I think you’re worrying for nothing,” Iola said. “How could they kill Captain Winter? He’s the emotional center of the show.”

“You know how this happened,” Reid said, ignoring Iola and pacing the trailer. “A lot of Web sites upload their news weeks in advance, and then the program displays it on the proper date. Sandy must have decided to write me out but hadn’t gotten around to telling me about it yet. The show’s ratings have been marginal. A stunt like this might perk them up.”

“Or it could be just a prank,” Joe said. He shot Frank a look that said, if it were a prank, he didn’t think it was very funny.

“O’Sullivan and Webb authorize everything that goes up on the site,” Reid said. “Sandy writes most of it herself. Why would the creator and head writer put it up on the site if it weren’t true?”

“Sandy doesn’t post everything herself,” Claudia said.

Reid sat down and put his head in his hands. “I need this job,” he said. “My last series tanked, and I really need
Warp Space
to fly. I’m not getting any younger, you know. And the rest of the actors around here are sharks—except for you, Claudia.”

“There’s an easy way to settle this,” Frank said. “Go to Sandy and ask her.”

“But what if it’s true?”

“Better to find out now than spend time anguishing over it,” Joe said.

Reid stood up and took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“That’s the old Captain Winter spirit!” Iola said, clapping him on the shoulder. He smiled at her.

“We’d better get back to the set,” Claudia said. “Webb’s probably having kittens by now. I’m in the next shot, too.”

“But I’m not,” Reid said. “I’ll find Sandy and talk to her.”

“We’ll be happy to go with you,” Joe said, “and lend some moral support.”

Reid nodded. “Thanks, kids. I appreciate it. The
show’s pretty lucky that your friend won the contest.”

They all left Reid’s trailer and went back through the lengthening shadows to the soundstage. As it turned out, shooting hadn’t started again. Rich Millani was still repairing damage from the earlier fight. Webb had even called Stan Pekar in to help Millani after Pekar finished working on Chet’s helmet.

Sandy wasn’t there, though, so Reid and the Hardys went to look for her. Iola stayed behind because she had a walk-through in the next set of shots.

“Sandy’s probably in her office,” Reid said, leading the brothers across the studio to the brick building that housed the production offices.

“Mr. Reid,” Joe said, “do you think someone could be trying to sabotage the series?”

“I don’t know,” Reid said. “There’s been a lot of strange stuff going on around here lately, that’s for sure.”

“What kind of strange stuff?” Frank asked.

“Like the accident that put Wilson in the hospital,” Reid said. “There have been a lot of repairs, too—things are wearing out or being damaged faster than normal. Props have gone missing as well. All of this is contributing to the show’s budget crunch, and that’s made everyone—including me—jumpy. Whether any of it is deliberate, though . . .” He shrugged.

Though darkness now covered the eerily silent
lot, a light still burned in the old brick building that housed Sandy’s office.

“Looks like she’s in,” Joe said.

They walked through an empty reception room and knocked on a door that said Sandy O’Sullivan—Executive Producer.

“Come in,” Sandy’s voice called.

They entered an office piled high with papers, scripts, books, and memorabilia. Most of the souvenirs were from
Warp Space
, but there was a smattering from other SF shows as well. In the middle of the mess, Sandy O’Sullivan sat slumped over a laptop computer, typing furiously. She looked up as they entered.

“Are we back shooting?” she asked, panic flashing across her gray eyes for a moment. “I’m still adjusting the plot to incorporate the new fight footage.” She kept typing.

“Not yet. In a few minutes,” Frank said.

“Before then, though,” Reid said, “we need to talk.”

Sandy stopped typing. “Talk? About what? Could we possibly do this later? I’m insanely busy at the moment.”

“Sandy, are you firing me?” Reid asked. “Are you killing off my character?”

“What?” Sandy asked, surprised.

“The official Web site says that I’m leaving the show,” Reid said.

“And some fan sites are reporting that Captain Winter will be killed off and replaced by Ensign Allura,” Joe added.

Sandy burst out laughing. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard!” she said. “Bruce, without you there is no
Warp Space
.”

“Why is the information on the official site, then?” Frank asked. “Mr. Reid said that everything on the site is cleared through the producer’s office.”

“That’s true,” Sandy said. “The Webmasters live in Renton, Washington, but everything that goes up has to be cleared from here. That’s how I know that nothing of the kind is on the site.” Her fingers flew over her keyboard and she quickly connected to the
Warp Space
site. When the Web page came up, she scowled. “We’ve been hacked!” she said.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Reid said. “I was worried that you might bump off Captain Winter as a publicity stunt.”

“Bruce,” Sandy said, “you should know me better than that. I feel about Captain Winter the way I feel about my dad.”

“Who has the password for uploading to the site?” Joe asked.

“The Webmasters, of course, and Rod and I have it as well,” Sandy said. “So do the studio offices. I’ve got it written down somewhere . . . um”—she reached for a sticky note on the corner of her desk blotter—“here.” She grinned sheepishly.

“Not a very secure system,” Frank said. “Anyone could have seen it there.”

“I suppose,” Sandy said. “Until now it didn’t occur to me that anyone would
want
to hack the site. A lot of people go through this office on any given day. I shouldn’t have left the password out. What a dope I am!”

“Beefing up security all around would probably be a good idea,” Joe said.

Sandy nodded. “Yeah. Given the troubles we’ve been having, I guess it would. Rats! Who needs this extra pressure?”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Reid said.

“Do me a favor,” Sandy said. “Don’t mention this to anyone. The last thing we need is the studio bosses getting wind of more troubles on the show. I’ve had a hard time keeping them—and the media—out of our hair as it is. One more fiasco and the studio may decide to shut us down.”

“Don’t worry,” Frank replied. “Joe and I have kept a few secrets in our day.”

“Good,” Sandy said. “I’ll have the Web guys fix that page before it can go any further.”

“Too bad we can’t rein in the fan sites the same way,” Reid said.

“We’ll send out an official release denying the rumor, and—Oh, no!” Sandy said. “The shoot! We need to get back!” She ran across the office and pulled some new script pages out of her printer.
Then she sprinted out the door. “I’ll take care of the Web site on the next break,” she called back.

“Full ahead, warp speed,” Joe said jokingly. He, Frank, and Reid followed Sandy out.

When they returned to the set, they found Chet and Gross working on retakes for the fight. This time, though, both the Slayer and the lieutenant commander fought with more caution and less enthusiasm. Everyone on the set looked tired, but nothing indicated that the shooting would end anytime soon.