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Complete Shatner Scenes from Star Trek script
SMALLVILLE Justice Society Trailer
Twilight: New Moon dethrones The Dark Knight - New opening day record set
Nov 17 | Originally hired as co-executive producer to help with the second half of the show's first season, Kevin Murphy has now taken the reins of Caprica, the Battlestar Galactica prequel on Syfy, according to The Hollywood Reporter. He now serves as an executive producer along with Ronald D. Moore, David Eick and Jane Espenson and oversees the day-to-day functions of the show.
Nov 12 | Star Trek star Zachary Quinto is loosely attached to star in the romantic dramedy Whirligig, reports Risky Business.Quinto would play the lead role in the independent Canadian film, which is aiming to shoot early next year. The movie centers on a man who, in a misguided attempt to woo an older woman, befriends the woman's adopted son.Chaz Thorne is directing the pic, based on a screenplay by Michael Amo, creator of the Canadian supernatural series "The Listener."
Nov 11 | The CNS Foundation, is hosting an on-line charity auction at www.charitybuzz.com. One of the items they are auctioning is a signed movie poster of the new Star Trek movie which has all the cast members and writers. The president of our organization is Carol Abrams, JJ's mother, and she arranged for the donation from Bad Robot Production Company. J.J. Abrams is also a major donor to their organization. The funds raised will go to help find a cure to neurological disorders in children. The auction link is here.
Nov 10 | Candice Bergen, Charles Lisanby, Don Pardo, Gene Roddenberry, Tom and Dick Smothers and Bob Stewart have been selected as the next inductees into the Television Academy's Hall of Fame. They will be honored at a Jan. 20 ceremony at the Beverly Hills Hotel. "This year's inductees have challenged and shaped popular culture, changed television for the better and entertained us royally while doing so," TV Academy Chairman-CEO John Shaffner said. More info at the Hollywood Reporter
Nov 08 | Unreality-SF.net has interviewed Star Trerk author James Swallow about some of his upcoming projects. He talks about Titan: Synthesis and Seven Deadly Sins: The Slow Knife, as well as some forthcoming Doctor Who and Stargate stories.
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By GustavoLeao / 05:34, 2 June 2008 / Trek Books
Author and reviewer Jeff Ayers sent to TrekWeb this exclusive excerpt of the upcoming Deep Space Nine novel Star Trek Deep Space Nine Fearful Symmetry, written by Olivia Woods, on sale next month. Have a good reading.
STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE
FEARFUL SYMMETRY by Olivia Woods
2357
" . . . that despite cowardly attacks by insurgents, Union forces continue to make progress in their efforts to restore stability to Bajor. Three more terrorist cells were routed yesterday in the southern province of Musilla; and, thanks to intelligence provided by the Obsidian Order, a plot to transport chemical explosives onto space station Terok Nor has been thwarted. The six conspirators connected to the plot have been arrested, found guilty, and are currently awaiting trial to confirm sentencing.
"In related news, Cardassia will formally welcome home one of its heroes as Gul Trekal Darhe'el is honored at a formal reception in the capital this evening. Darhe'el, who served on Bajor with distinction for more than a quarter-century, is retiring from military service in order to spend more time with family. When asked what he believed his legacy would be, the longtime proponent of labor initiatives on Cardassian subject worlds said he hoped the example he tried to set on Bajor would inspire others in the struggle to end the unrest as quickly as possible.
"According to the official announcement, tonight's reception will also honor Gul Morad Pirak, who leaves next month to join the heroic military effort on Bajor; and Legate Tekeny Ghemor, newly promoted to Central Command . . ."
Ordinarily, hearing her father's name over the comnet feed from the Information Service would have given Iliana Ghemor a momentary thrill, even if it meant having to endure the tiresome updates from Bajor. But on this occasion, preoccupied as she was with figuring out the proper way to don the absurdly elaborate dress her mother had chosen for her to wear to the reception, the announcement had served instead merely to remind Iliana of her bleak expectations for the evening ahead. With an irritated jab of her finger, she cut the feed and resumed trying to decipher the bizarre complexities of her gown.
The house intercom chimed. "Iliana, are you dressed yet?" Mother.
"Another moment," she called back, pulling her arms through the sleeves of the dress and gasping as the autofasteners did their work along her spine. She didn't particularly care for gowns, preferring the easy comfort of her usual tunics and trousers, or the liberating feel of a painting smock . . . or just about anything other than the flowing jade frippery in which she had draped herself. Standing before the full-length mirror situated next to her vanity, she was both startled and bemused by the sight of the feminine features she routinely tried to conceal. The dress was definitely pinching her waist, accentuating her hips, and its off-the-shoulder cut and plunging neckline played up the ridges of her neck as well as the pectoral scoop between her breasts.
The things I do for family.
She had stubbornly refused to make any modifications to her hair; she took considerable pride in her long black tresses and rejected the current fashion that required women to arrange their manes into absurd geometric shapes.
Reaching for the tray of pigments on her vanity, she added a final touch of blue to her forehead dimple, and then, telling herself it was only an afterthought, applied the color to her pectoral scoop as well. What a sight you are, she mentally told her reflection. I'm not even sure I recognize you anymore.
There was wry amusement behind the thought . . . coupled with a twinge of ruefulness. The hypocrisy of her current circumstances weighed heavily on her; the very thought of participating in a political event orchestrated to celebrate the military and strengthen its public image felt like a betrayal of her true self, and tantamount to a personal endorsement of the troubling direction in which Cardassia seemed inexorably determined to slide.
Iliana glanced at her dresser across the room, recalling the item it held, reminding herself that she could put those feelings aside for one evening.
She turned back to the mirror and studied herself a moment longer, frowning, thinking she'd forgotten something. She nearly jumped when she focused past her reflection and saw that someone was staring at her from the bedroom door.
Iliana spun around. "Mother, you startled me! What's the matter?"
Kaleen Ghemor strode toward her daughter, her full, brown-glazed lips spreading into a smile. "I was just wondering where the years have gone. It seems only recently that you were a determined baby trying to stand, struggling to find your balance. Now I see you as a grown woman." Kaleen shrugged. "I suppose it just takes getting used to." As her mother moved, her midnight blue gown seemed bleed into the air, as if it were made partly of smoke.
"Is that what you're wearing tonight?" Iliana asked in amazement. "It's beautiful!"
"Isn't it?" With a playful flourish, Kaleen turned so Iliana could see her from all sides. Parts of her mother's dress appeared to coil around her before settling back into ordinary fabric. "Holographic diodes woven into the gown produce the effect," Kaleen explained. "I bristled at the expense at first, but your father persuaded me to buy it anyway, reminding me how important it is that we all make a good impression tonight."
Kill me now. "Do I really have to go?" She regretted the question even as it escaped her mouth.
Kaleen's smile fell. "Let's not have this conversation again, please. Your father is the newest appointee to Central Command. That's no small thing. I have a duty to him, and you have a duty to us both, to show his peers the love and devotion we share as a family. Especially with so many powerful men and women on hand who will be assessing us as potential allies. Or adversaries."
"They won't be assessing me," Iliana pouted, looking out the window. Beyond the high walls of the estate, the sky was turning purple with the approach of night.
"Oh, but they will," Kaleen said, grasping Iliana's chin and forcing her to pay attention. "Make no mistake about that. Whether you choose to believe it or not, Iliana, your presence and your conduct matter in this. They speak to how we've raised you, and to what sort of example your father will set for Cardassia. Those things matter as much as anything he has done during his career." Kaleen released her chin and started fussing with the top of Iliana's dress. "I know how you feel about the military, but this night isn't about you. You're father's star is rising, and it's important that we do nothing to embarrass him."
With an air of mischief, Iliana said, "I suppose having a radical-minded malcontent for a daughter could be a liability to his public image."
"It's a forgivable offense, particularly in an artist," Kaleen allowed, "but only up to a point. You're not a child anymore. You're a young woman, and it's past time you took your responsibilities seriously. Do you understand me, Iliana?"
"Yes, Mother." Then, once again failing to suppress her impulses, she added, "I imagine your own career will benefit greatly from Father's promotion."
"Indirectly, perhaps," Kaleen replied evenly, refusing to be baited. She reached for the pigment brush and gently touched Iliana's neck ridges. "The truth is, I'm quite content as a university inquisitor, because I know that's how I can best serve our homeland. I have no further ambitions, other than to support my husband in his new position, and to secure my daughter's future. There. Have a look."
Iliana sighed inwardly as she turned to face the mirror again, easily grasping the subtext of her mother's words, which could have come straight out of The Never Ending Sacrifice (a painfully wretched book as far as Iliana was concerned, despite its popular reputation as a literary classic; she had never been able to finish it). All respectable Cardassians devoted their lives to selflessly serving the State in some capacity, but children of the ruling elite were expected to pursue leadership careers, regardless of any personal desires they might have to the contrary. Years ago when she came of age, Iliana had narrowly avoided being sent to one of the regimented institutes that groomed privileged young people for those roles, her impassioned pleas for the chance to independently explore her art winning the day. But she knew her parents' patience was not without limits. Now well past the age of emergence, Iliana was recognized as an adult and therefore long overdue to settle on a path that would reflect well on her family. Cardassia valued its artists, but only so long as they remained politically correct.
Those pressures notwithstanding, Iliana had been clinging doggedly to an ever-dwindling hope that she might eventually attend school in the northern township of Pra Menkar, a remote academic community sufficiently removed from the pervasive conventionality of Cardassia's cities to permit the unrestricted pursuit of art for its own sake, rather than as a tool for "proper" political expression. That desire had become a source of tension and heartache within her family, of defiance and self-doubt, of angry words and challenges to authority--both her parents' and the State's. The contrariness her father and mother had once been willing to overlook as nothing worse than youthful spiritedness was tolerated less and less as Iliana grew older. Nonconformity, after all, was too often just another word for sedition.
But it's my dream. That should count for something, shouldn't it? More than anything, Iliana wanted her parents to be proud of her, but she harbored a growing fear that they might never be.
"Well, what do you think?" her mother asked, peering over her shoulder.
Iliana noted the new hints of blue on both sides of her neck. The stranger in the mirror was now complete. She had to admire Kaleen's subtle touch.
"It's quite a difference," Iliana said.
"Aren't you two ready yet?"
The bellow startled her. Tekeny Ghemor, clad in full military regalia and sporting the symbols of his new rank, stood in the open threshold of her bedroom door. Kaleen stepped to one side, allowing him to take in the sight of his only daughter. "Oh, my," he said breathlessly. "Iliana . . . you look radiant."
Iliana's heart skipped a beat, absurdly pleased. Tekeny's approval always did that to her. In that moment, she even forgot how much she hated the dress. "I'm glad you think so, Father."
Tekeny tilted his head to one side. "Iliana, I know how you feel about these state affairs. . . . "
Iliana shrugged. "I'll get over it."
Tekeny glanced at Kaleen, and from the corner of her eye, Iliana saw her mother give him a slight, reassuring nod. "Very well, then," her father said. "Let's be off. We're running late as it is." Tekeny started to turn.
"Faither, wait," Iliana moved to her dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out the cloth-wrapped bundle she'd placed there that morning. She might think the military was leading Cardassia down the wrong path, but this was her father, and whatever their disagreements, that still meant something. "I know how important it is to you that I be a true and dutiful daughter of Cardassia tonight, and I have every intention of honoring that obligation. But before I do that, I want to be just your daughter, if only for a short while longer." She presented Tekeny with the bundle. "I made this for you. It's just my way of saying I love you. "
Moved by her little speech, Tekeny cradled the bundle in one arm and embraced her with the other. "I love you too, Iliana." They released each other and her father removed the cloth covering from her gift, his eyes glistening as he looked upon it for the first time.
The bone carving had taken her weeks to fashion, its fused layers of stylized wings curving and overlapping as they rose from its circular base. She hadn't known precisely what she would make when she first set to work on crafting a tribute for her father, save that it would be an abstract. But as she began scratching away at the flattened fragments of taspar bone, the wings and their symbolism slowly began to take shape; a fitting gesture, she hoped, to honor the most important man in her life on his rise to the Central Command. "It's called Ascension," she told him.
Tekeny didn't speak at first, and when he finally found his voice, it cracked with emotion. "I don't know what to say. It's . . . it's beautiful. Truly, Iliana. Thank you. Kaleen, have you seen this? The detail is extraordinary."
Iliana's mother smiled as she joined them. She regarded the carving almost reverently as Tekeny handed it to her. "It's lovely," Kaleen said, and glanced at her husband. "It seems you were right for a change," she teased him, and Tekeny laughed, nodding.
Iliana eyes shifted back and forth between them. "Right about what?"
Tekeny let out a long breath. "I guess there's no better time to tell you. Your mother and I have been talking . . . and we both agree that perhaps Cardassia needs another artist right now more than it needs another jurist, or another soldier."
Iliana blinked, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. "Does that mean I can go to Pra Menkar?"
Kaleen placed a hand on her daughter's bare shoulder. "If that's really what you want . . . yes."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Iliana cried, overcome by the moment and throwing her arms around both her parents. To know she had her their support in choosing her own path, to pursue her dream--
"I'll make you both proud of me," she whispered. "This I vow."
# # #
Against the blue-white glare of Cardassia's day, the massive cobalt pyramid of the State Museum of Natural History was an unmistakable fixture of the capital's crooked skyline, rising from the center of Torr Sector in all its stark grandeur. At night, however, its seemingly simple beauty took on new dimensions as focused spotlights, strategically aimed along its base of ornately carved granite buttresses, revealed details that were lost in the blinding light of Cardassia's harsh sun.
All other things being equal, Iliana would still have preferred a visit to the Tiluvus Gallery, a small, nondescript building that was almost lost among the drab and oppressive warehouses that crowded the Munda'ar Sector, unless you knew to look for it. Privately funded and perpetually in debt, Tiluvus wallowed in obscurity despite boasting works from, in Iliana's estimation, some of the most talented and overlooked artists of the last fifty years. Beautiful as this place was, she thought it unsubtle; too obvious in its intent to awe. The fact that it seemed to function as more mausoleum than museum only compounded her distaste. It promoted itself as a center of scientific and historical inquiry. To Iliana, it was merely a monument to extinction.
It was therefore with a sense of mounting unease that Iliana followed her parents up the grand steps of the building, joining the flow of polished uniforms and formal civilian attire funneling through the towering main doors, discovering as she passed through them that everything was exactly as she feared it would be, only more so. From the first moment, the opulence of her surroundings and the indulgences of the guests assaulted her: The museum's majestic main gallery--its high vaulted ceiling painted with the constellations of Cardassia's southern hemisphere--was crowded with so many partygoers that the inlaid blue marble floor was almost invisible. And there, surrounded by the reconstructed skeletons of gigantic, long-dead animals, the upper echelons of Cardassian society mingled, sipping the finest kanar from flutes of exquisite crystal and sampling the delicacies of the Union off gold-press latinum trays that rested on evenly spaced pedestals throughout the hall. The live performance by a shellwind quintet, playing classical music at one end of the hall, veiled the reception in a fairly convincing illusion of civility, but Iliana knew better than to be taken in by the pretense. For many of those in attendance, these affairs were simply battlefields on which the combatants fought for personal prestige, or to strike a blow against a rival, or to advance a political agenda. It had all the makings of a grand opera.
No, she decided, that wasn't quite right. It was more like a waltz, one in which the participants stepped with calculated precision across the crowded floor, sometimes moving in ways to provoke another dancer into a disastrous misstep.
Steeling herself, Iliana dutifully followed her parents as they navigated the gallery, waiting patiently whenever they paused so Tekeny could accept congratulations from someone. If Iliana knew the well-wisher, she properly offered a polite comment or two; if introductions were necessary, she would likewise endure the inevitable shallow compliments, her smile locked firmly in place.
Within minutes, she felt frayed enough to shed her skin.
"There they are," she heard Tekeny say warily. Iliana followed his gaze and saw what appeared to be a number of high-ranking military officers gathered in a circle near the middle of the room, immersed in what sounded like a contentious debate.
"Dukat's there, isn't he?" her mother asked, smiling at a passerby.
"I'm afraid so," Tekeny said, nodding to someone else.
"Wonderful," Kaleen said through her teeth. "I trust you'll remember what I told you."
"I can handle Dukat, Kaleen."
"I hope so."
Iliana was about to ask her parents who Dukat was, but as they passed a long glass case containing the mummified remains of a pre-Hebitian warlord, Kaleen spied a small clutch of her associates from the judiciary gathered near a marble column at the edge of the gallery. Iliana took note of the subtle, knowing glances that passed between them and her mother, whereupon Kaleen whispered something in her father's ear. Tekeny nodded and the two of them briefly touched palms before her mother turned to her. "Mind your father, Iliana," she said. "See to it he doesn't get himself into any trouble."
"Just go, will you?" Tekeny said. "We'll be fine."
Never taking her eyes off Iliana, Kaleen squeezed her arm. "Try to enjoy yourself. And be watchful."
Iliana nodded. "You too."
Kaleen gazed at her a moment longer before she turned and moved off to perform her social duty. Following in her father's footsteps, Iliana resigned herself to doing hers.
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