The Trouble With Tribbles the birth, sale, and final production of one episode of STAR TREK David Gerrold Illustrations by Tim Kirk BenBella Books Dallas, TX Copyright © 1973 by David Gerold All rights reserved. First BenBella Edition 2004 BenBella Books 6440 N Central Expy Suite 617 Dallas, TX 75206 2 “David Gerrold knows Star Trek better than anyone, and here’s his take at how it really should have been; the Star Wolf series is Star Trek done right—moral conundrums, fascinating characters, and pulse-pounding action. Highly recommended.” Robert J Sawyer, author of Hominids Also by David Gerrold FICTION The Star Wolf Series The Voyage of the Star Wolf The Middle of Nowhere Blood and Fire The War Against the Chtorr Series The Dingilliad Trilogy The Man Who Folded Himself The Flying Sorcerers (with Larry Niven) When HARLIE Was One The Martian Child NON-FICTION The World of Star Trek The Trouble With Tribbles Worlds of Wonder 3 The Trouble With Tribbles the birth, sale, and final production of one episode of STAR TREK David Gerrold A Word to the Fore— This book is the story of a television script, where it came from, how it was written, how it was eventually filmed and finally got onto the air as an episode of STAR TREK. It’s a peek into the techniques of writing for television, and it’s a piece of lore about a popular TV show. But more than that, it’s the story of how I began my career as a writer. And what I learned in the process. And it’s a book about STAR TREK. The episode was “The Trouble With Tribbles,” and from the very beginning it was an atypical example of television production. But then again—STAR TREK was an atypical TV series. For example, STAR TREK was the hardest series on the air to write for. Too many professional TV writers didn’t understand science fiction—they couldn’t handle the format. They didn’t realize that science fiction is more than just a western with ray guns. And the science fiction writers were almost defeated by the show too. They knew their science fiction, but they had to learn the exigencies of television production. Some of them couldn’t handle a medium that kept interrupting itself for commercials, insisted on exactly—no more, no less—fifty-six minutes worth of story, and needed three minor climaxes and a major one, no departures from form please. These were the voyages of the good ship Enterprise and her crew: Captain Kirk, the interstellar womanizer; Mr. Spock, the pointy-eared logician; Dr. McCoy, specialist in sarcasm; Lieutenant Uhura, a really gorgeous communications officer; and Ensign Chekov, a Russian hotshot at the helm. Each week this band of intrepids (and four hundred and thirty other odd crew members) set out to spread truth, justice, and the American way to the lesser corners of the galaxy. Usually, they succeeded—once in a while, they deserved to. STAR TREK was never a big hit in numbers—at least not in the numbers that meant anything to NBC: Nielsen, Arbitron, etc.—but it has undeniably carved itself a place in American folklore of the twentieth century. 4 STAR TREK has become a new mythology, and STAR TREK fandom has become a Phenomenon, almost a cult. The worldwide devotion of the show’s followers sometimes borders on the fanatical. There must be a reason for it. I like to think that it’s because STAR TREK was—despite its faults, and there were many—an imagination-stretcher. It tickled people’s minds, it made them think—and most of all, it looked toward the future with a hopeful and optimistic eye. STAR TREK’S very existence said, “There will be a future! And we must learn how to make it the best of all possible futures!” And because of that, STAR TREK was for the young and for the young-at-heart —the people who would live in the future and the people who looked forward to it with anticipation and hope. STAR TREK provided a dream, and the viewers responded with intensity and enthusiasm. One of the ways they responded was with story ideas and script outlines. In just one year, STAR TREK received more than six thousand scripts, outlines and stories from would-be STAR TREK writers. Six thousand! At best, a television show will buy thirty stories in a season. On numbers alone, the odds against any new writer breaking into STAR TREK were 200 to 1. The odds against any particular new writer selling them a story were 6000 to 1. Or more. Remember, he’s competing with more than just the other would-bes, he’s also competing with all the professionals who are trying to sell their stories too. And the professionals have the edge—after all, it’s their game. And yet, the hopefuls keep trying. It must be more than just the money—there are easier ways to get rich. It must be more than the credit too—who notices a TV writer? I suspect it’s the desire to share in TV’s special magic—a desire to be one of the magic-makers themselves. Every season, year after year, hundreds of amateur writers mail thousands of amateur manuscripts into the Hollywood studios. The process is continual. But there was something about STAR TREK that attracted more of them than any other TV show in history. Maybe it was STAR TREK’S own particular kind of wizardry that intrigued them, or maybe it was the unlimited scope of imagination that the show’s format allowed, or maybe it was the special rapport of the characters and actors who played them— but it had to be more than just the desire to break into the promised land of TV writing. I believe that it was just plain wanting to get closer to your favorite TV series. Once a week wasn’t enough—you had to have more of STAR TREK, more! So you sat down and wrote your own stories— you acted out your private fantasies and put them on paper. And then even that wasn’t enough, you had to share them —so you put them into an envelope and mailed them off to Gene Roddenberry at 5 Paramount Studios in Hollywood and hoped that He too would recognize how special this dream of yours was—and He would reach down from the bridge of the Enterprise and say, “Yes, this is an official STAR TREK adventure. Yes, we’ll share it with the rest of the world.” He would anoint you and lift you up to join the ranks of STAR TREK’S exalted—the special dreamers! And you would glow forever—because now you too were one of the people who actually made STAR TREK! The intensity of those who wanted to make that big leap was incredible. It still is. (They’re still writing their STAR TREK stories even though there’s no longer a STAR TREK to sell them to. But that doesn’t stop them, not at all. To a real Trekkie, STAR TREK goes on forever.) The difference between myself and all those other hopefuls is simple—I was the one who made it. (Hey, who’s that gawky kid rubbing shoulders with the Vulcan?) And the reason I made it is that I was training to write for STAR TREK long before there ever was a STAR TREK to write for. I had always been a reader of science fiction, I had always wanted to write it; I had wanted to make movies and work in television as well. And that’s what I studied to do. STAR TREK provided the opportunity. And this is the story of it. Some of these incidents are fun, some are funny—and several of them are very special. (And there’s one in particular which makes me feel very, very good every time I think of it—but I’m saving the telling of that one for the end.) So, this book exists for a lot of reasons, but mostly for fun—I want to answer all of the questions that STAR TREK fans keep asking me. I want to tell the story of my very first sale as a professional writer. And I hope to bring back some of the sense of wonder that we all felt the first time we saw the Enterprise hurtling through space. 6 CHAPTER ONE From Winnie the Pooh to Aristotle or Getting Ready for Opportunity’s Knock In 1966, I was a rabbit. I mention that fact in passing, only to explain why I missed most of STAR TREK’S first season. I was in my last year as a Theatre Arts student at San Fernando Valley State College (now Cal State at Northridge), and we were doing a children’s show called Winnie the Pooh. I was the rabbit. Uncle Rabbit, that is; I wore a flowered waistcoat, wire-rimmed glasses, and a watch-chain with a little carrot-shaped fob. Under that, I also wore a six-foot rabbit costume and about twenty pounds of padding, tights and make- up. STAR TREK’S first episode was telecast on Sept. 8, 1966. It was “Man Trap,” written by George Clayton Johnson. (My private name for that episode is “The Incredible Salt Vampire.” I’m not being flippant; it just makes for quick mental identification.) I watched that episode eagerly—and also schizophrenically. Half of me was delighted that at last there was going to be another good science fiction show on television (there hadn’t been one since the demise of “Twilight Zone”)— and half of me was nit-picking, looking for things wrong with the show.