Redshirts

“Jimmy,” Dahl said.

“Chronicles of the Intrepid has aired one hundred twenty-eight episodes over six seasons to date,” Hanson said. “One or more Intrepid crew members have died in ninety-six of those episodes. One hundred twelve episodes have death portrayed in one way or another. You’ve killed at least four hundred Intrepid crew members overall in the course of the series, and when you add in episodes where you’ve had other ships destroyed or planets attacked or suffering from diseases, your total death count reaches into the millions.”

“Not counting enemy deaths,” Dahl said.

“No, those would bump up the figure incrementally,” Hanson said.

“He’s read up a lot on the show,” Dahl said to Weinstein, about Hanson.

“All of those deaths aren’t my fault,” Weinstein said.

“You wrote them,” Duvall said.

“I didn’t write all of them,” Weinstein said. “There are other writers on staff.”

“You’re the head writer,” Hester said. “Everything in the scripts goes through you for approval.”

“The point is not to pin these deaths on you,” Dahl said, cutting in. “You couldn’t have known. From your point of view you’re writing fiction. From our point of view, though, it’s real.”

“How does that even work?” Weinstein said. “How does what we write here affect your reality? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Hester snorted. “Welcome to our lives,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Weinstein said, turning his attention to Hester.

“Do you think our lives make any sense at all?” Hester said. “You’ve got us living in a universe where there are killer robots with harpoons walking around a space station, because, sure, it makes perfect sense to have harpoon-launching killer robots.”

“Or ice sharks,” Duvall said.

“Or Borgovian Land Worms,” Hanson said.

Weinstein held up a finger. “I was not responsible for those land worms,” he said. “I was out for two weeks with bird flu. The writer who did that script loved Dune. By the time I got back, it was too late. The Herbert estate flayed us for those.”

“We dove into a black hole to get here,” Hester said, and jerked a thumb at Kerensky. “And we made sure to kidnap this sad bastard to make sure it would work, because he’s a main character on your show and won’t die offscreen. Think about that—physics alters around him.”

“Not that it keeps me from having the crap beaten out of me on a regular basis,” Kerensky said. “I used to wonder why bad things kept happening to me. Now I know it’s because at least one of your main characters has to be made to suffer. That just sucks.”

“You even make him heal super quickly so you can beat him up again,” Duvall said. “Which now that I think about it seems cruel.”

“And there’s the Box,” Hanson said, motioning to Dahl.

“The Box?” Weinstein said, looking at Dahl.

“Whenever you write bad science into the show, the way it gets resolved is that we feed the problem into the Box, and then when it’s dramatically appropriate it spits out an answer,” Dahl said.

“We never wrote a Box into the series,” Weinstein said, confused.

“But you do write bad science into the series,” Dahl said. “All the time. So there’s a Box.”

“Did they teach you science in school?” Hester asked. “I’m just wondering.”

“I went to Occidental College,” Weinstein said. “It has really good science classes.”

“Yeah, but did you go to any?” Duvall said. “Because I have to tell you, our universe is a mess.”

“Other science fiction shows had science advisers and consultants,” Hanson pointed out.

“It’s science fiction,” Weinstein said. “The second part of that phrase matters too.”

“But you’re making it bad science fiction,” Hester said. “And we have to live in it.”

“Guys,” Dahl said, interrupting everyone again. “Let’s try to stay on target here.”

“What is the target?” Paulson asked. “You said you had an idea you wanted to talk about, and all I’m hearing so far is a bitch session at my head writer.”

“I’m feeling a little defensive,” Weinstein said.

“Don’t,” Dahl said. “Again: You couldn’t have known. But now you know where we are coming from, and why we came back to stop your show.”

Paulson opened his mouth at this, probably to object and offer any number of reasons why that would be impossible. Dahl held up his hand to forestall the objection. “Now that we’re here, I know that just stopping the show can’t happen. It was a long shot anyway. But now I don’t want the show to end, because I can see a way for it to work to our advantage. Both ours and yours.”

“Get to it, then,” Paulson said.

“Charles, your son’s in a coma,” Dahl said.

“Yes,” Paulson said.

“There’s no chance for him ever coming out of it,” Dahl said.

“No,” Paulson said after a minute, and looked around, eyes wet. “No.”

“You didn’t say anything about this,” Weinstein said. “I thought there was still a chance.”

“No,” Paulson said. “Doctor Lo told me yesterday that the scans show his brain function continuing to deteriorate, and that it’s the machines keeping his body alive at this point. We’re waiting until we have the family together so we can say good-bye. We’ll have him taken off the machines then.” He looked over at Hester, who sat there silently, and then back at Dahl. “Unless you have another idea.”

“I do,” Dahl said. “Charles, I think we can save your son.”

* * *

“Tell me how,” Paulson said.

“We take him with us,” Dahl said. “Back to the Intrepid. We can cure him there. We have the technology there to do it. And even if we didn’t”—he pointed at Weinstein—“we have the Narrative. Mister Weinstein here writes an episode in which Hester is injured but survives and is taken to sick bay to be healed. It gets done. Hester survives. Your son survives.”

“Take him into the show,” Paulson said. “That’s your plan.”

“That’s the idea,” Dahl said. “Sort of.”

“Sort of,” Paulson said, frowning.

“There are some logistical issues,” Dahl said. “As well as some that are, for lack of a better word, teleological.”

“Like what?” Paulson said.

Dahl turned to Weinstein, who was also frowning. “I’m guessing you’re thinking of a few right now,” he said.

“Yeah,” Weinstein said, and motioned to Hester. “The first is that you’ll have two of him in your universe.”

“You can make up an excuse for that,” Paulson said.

“I could, yes,” Weinstein said. “It would be messy and nonsensical.”

“This is a problem for you?” Hester asked.

“But the thing is that two of him in their universe means none of him in this one,” Weinstein said, ignoring Hester’s comment. “You had—have, sorry—your son playing this character here. If they both go, there’s no one to play the character.”

“We’ll recast the role,” Paulson said. “Someone who looks like Matthew.”

“But then the problem is which of the—” Weinstein looked at Hester.

“Hester,” he said.

“Which of the Hesters the new one back here affects,” Weinstein said. “Besides that, and I’m the first to