If you were to write the episodes up in prose form (much as James Blish did for the original series or Alan Dean Foster did for the animated series), how would you do it? Use this thread to post your answers! Post scenes from the episodes you've adapted into prose form. Will you add things to make it the way you think it should have been? Will you keep it strictly faithful to the original? Let's see what you've got! I'll get the thread started with an adaptation of the scene from The Best of Both Worlds where Picard is facing the Collective after being abducted. I've changed it to include the Borg Queen, because if they producers had known about her back then, I think they would have included her. Some slight changes to dialogue as a result, but it still keeps the feel of the original, while adding a bit of a different feel to it as well. *** The drones had forced him to march through the endless winding corridors of the Cube, and Picard had long since lost any idea of which direction they were heading in. The regeneration alcoves along the walls were identical, blending together so that he couldn’t keep count of them in the heat. He’d glimpsed other things down some of the corridors that had branched off the seemingly random route he’d been lead along, strange pieces of machinery, moving, with hissing sounds and strange chemical tinged smells. But the drones leading him had not slowed, and, held firmly in their grasp, Picard had been pushed ahead. After some length of time, they came to a larger chamber. Picard had lost track of how long he had been on the Cube, but his uniform was soaked with his sweat, and perspiration was dripping into his eyes. The chamber was darker than the rest of the Cube, and Picard couldn’t see how far it extended. He had a dim sense of there being irregular walls, but the mist that hung in the stale air prevented any clear view beyond a few meters. Directly ahead of him, though, no more than five meters from him, was a body. A slim female figure, standing perfectly upright, covered completely in the same substance that formed the biomechanical armour of the drones beside him. The body, however, lacked the multitude of implants that broke up the outer layer of the drones’ armour. The female body was quite smooth. But where the neck should be was just a gaping empty hole, as though whoever had once owned the body had been scooped out of it, leaving only a shell behind. For a long moment, the drones just stood there, holding him in front of the hollow upright form. He was silent; he’d tried talking to the drones, demanding to speak to them when he’d first arrived on the Cube, but his words had gone unnoticed. But now it was different. The drones had obviously brought him to this place for some purpose, and he was about to speak again, to demand to be released, but a voice came from somewhere above him before he could form the words. “Jean-Luc Picard,” it said. A female voice, and not the apathetic voice of thousands speaking together, but the voice of a single individual, speaking with unmistakable emotion. It had a somewhat curious tone, but also a disinterested quality, as though the speaker knew that Picard was helpless. “You lead the strongest ship of the Federation fleet.” From above, in the shadows, Picard saw a movement, but it was not a person. It was more like snakes, writhing in the air, reaching into the darkness, their heads coming together where the shadows were deepest. “You speak for your people.” And now, Picard realised that the Borg must see him as some sort of leader of the Federation. And if that were the case, then this voice he was speaking to now must be a leader of the Borg. But why would they want to talk to me, like this? he thought. The answer came to him quickly. The Borg did not want to negotiate, to reach agreement. Every action they had made indicated that. They had taken him for his knowledge. Without a doubt, they were going to interrogate him for that knowledge, but how far would they go? Torture? The movement above him was growing more pronounced, and Picard could see something larger moving in the shadows. It seemed that this larger object was at the center of the long writhing shapes, like a horribly tentacled creature. It was slowly descending. His eyes fixed on it, Picard said, “I have nothing to say to you! And I will resist you with my last ounce of strength!” The woman’s voice spoke again, and this time it carried a note of mild amusement. “Strength is irrelevant,” she said. “Resistance is futile.” And now, Picard could see the object as it descended. It was a woman’s head and neck, the exact shape needed to fit into the hollow shell of the body that stood before him. It was descending on a multitude of conduits that twisted around it. The skull was elongated, and it had the look of not having been grown that way, but of having been stretched and elongated artificially, and implants and tubes inserted. The shockingly pale skin glistened wetly in the dim light. The face itself was almost Human looking; it was free of any implants, and it wore a slight smile. But the smile did not reach her eyes, and the eyes themselves were dark and evil. The lips were the only part of the face with any colour, a bright red, but it did nothing to change the deathly pallor that the woman had. Underneath the pale skin snaked dark lines, and Picard realised that it was her blood vessels, as thought the fluid within them was stagnant. The head finished its descent, and the gleaming metal spine that hung beneath the neck slid into the empty cavity in the female form standing in the center of the chamber. And then, hooks reached out from the edges of the biomechanics on the body, latching onto the skin, puncturing it and holding it tight. But the wounds did not bleed, they had the look of already having congealed with grey blood. Complete now, the female form moved, the conduits that had carried her head and neck withdrawing back into the shadows. She stepped forwards, flexing her body as though it had not been used for a long time, enjoying the sensations of physicality. Then she looked up at Picard. “I wish to improve myself,” she continued, and as she spoke, she gestured with her arms to indicate the drones, the chamber, the very ship around them. And then Picard realised that she meant everything around her was her. She was the drones, the ship. This one being in front of him was everything that the Borg were. She existed in each of them, in every drone, every vessel, everything that was controlled by the Borg. She turned back to him and smiled coldly. “I will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to my own,” she said. “Your culture will adapt to service ours.” She spread her arms wide again, indicating the drones around her. “Impossible,” countered Picard. “My culture is based on freedom and self determination.” The woman lowered her arms and gave him an almost pitiful look. “Freedom is irrelevant,” she said. “Self determination is irrelevant.” Her voice became harder. “You must comply.” Picard gathered himself, trying to keep his voice steady. “We would rather die.” The woman gave him an almost dismissive look, then turned away. “Death is irrelevant,” she said, and apathy was in her voice. She began walking around his side. Picard turned his head to follow her, but the drones at his sides were still holding him tightly. “Your archaic cultures are authority driven,” she said as she vanished out of his view behind him. For a moment, she was silent. “To facilitate my introduction into your society, I’ve decided that a Human will speak for me in all my communications.” He felt her dank breath on the back of his neck, and fingers like cold steel stroked his ear. She whispered, “I’ve chosen you to be that voice...” Her words sent a jolt through his heart as though his blood had turned to ice water, then there was a sudden noise of something moving fast towards him, a sting in his neck, and a cold pain spreading throughout his body. He contracted in agony, and he could feel swarming things creeping under his skin. And he knew, in a growing realisation, that they were going to make him into one of them, he would be used, raped, violated, and it wasn’t so he could speak for the Borg with his words, it was so he could speak as an example, this is what will happen to you, this is the hell that awaits you. And as he realised all of this, and felt the pain of his skin being torn apart from the inside and sharp things clamping tightly onto his skull, he heard her voice again, whispering a word seductively in his mind. “Locutus...”
Actually, I find this idea somewhat intriguing. I wrote fiction and science fiction for much of my life, but in recent years I've lost the time and much of what little talent I may have once had. I've been trying for the past few years to get back into it, but have been having a great deal of trouble both coming up with original creative ideas, and writing anything in an interesting and/or compelling way. It occurs to me that having a structure such as you suggest might be a good springboard to help me get back into it. I will seriously consider jumping on board with this idea.
I've played with the idea of doing prose version of some of the un-produced scipts that were written for the Phase II series back in the '70s (i.e. Kitumba), but have never found the time or motivation to do so.
Glad to hear it. I started this precisely so people can get practice writing even if they don't have any ideas. This way we can concentrate on technique without worrying about plot.
That's a GREAT idea! Yeah, that's exactly what I'm thinking. I have a week long vacation coming up, which should afford some precious free time and think I'll try to start on one of these projects if at all possible during that trip. One question to Tiberious and Mysterion: Can you direct me to especially reliable sites for the scripts (the Phase II scripts in particular)? I found Chakoteya.net for the produced transcripts, which would at least probably be a sufficient jumping off point for the ep's I've actually seen produced (about 100 times each.) Thanks in advance for any guidance you may be able to offer.
I was going to do a novelization of "Lower Decks" but after submitting two chapters to fanfiction.net and a lack of interest, I discontinued the project. However, in the actual episode "Lower Decks" Riker just mentions to Troi about Flecther being more experienced with compusion systems if I remember correctly off the top of my head without actually going back to watch the episode. In my version, I started out by showing how that conversation got started to begin with. I don't know if I will touch such a project, but I'm contemplating doing a novelization of "Pre-emptive Strike". I was going to make the battle scenes more intense and some more... chemistry between the characters.
Thanks. Yeah, checked there. Found a couple actually on Amazon; a couple in the Reeves-Stevens book. Will keep looking. At first I thought it would be fun to adapt "In Thy Image"/"The God Thing", but there are so many elements that ended up in TMP, I think it might be hard to create a truly unique and independent work. I'll keep poking around, though.
So, I just thought I'd report in. After much searching, though I wasn't yet able to find any Phase II scripts available, I was able to locate an unproduced DC Fontana script intended for the unrealized season 4 of TOS. I'm irrationally excited about this. I'm sure it's a little rough (apparently, a 1st draft), but should still provide a good amount of structure and, hopefully, an interesting story for these characters who are very familiar. Leaving on a little vacation on Saturday, and I'm looking forward to reading the script and hopefully starting some writing while I'm away. Just thought I'd share.
It's pointless. I can understand writing fan fiction that takes tangents from the episodes, but just writing them over again seems like the most utterly meaningless exercise. We already saw the stories, acted out and in color. They're old news.
Seriously? Did you bother to read other posts in this thread? If you had, you would see that, though the OP's proposal might well be pointless to you in your entirely subjective opinion (to which you are, of course, entitled) it may, in fact, have some value to others. And, some of those "others" - me, for instance - are looking to unproduced scripts that have not been seen by anyone. I prefer not to have my cornflakes served with piss all over them, thank you very much.
Actually, my main purpose in this thread is to overcome writer's block. Writing prose versions of the episodes allows a writer to concentrate on developing style WITHOUT having to worry about plot - because that's already been worked out. But if you think that's pointless, then you don't have to participate.
Doctor Who had a 30 year history of novelising TV scripts, they are now being realeased as talking books as well. In fact I've just heard a 200 minute reading of what was on TV 50 minutes long! However that was old series, fans have tried to do their own for new series but the BBC had them removed for copyright reasons. It seems you have to be a bit more careful novelising.
Something along the lines of: In the ten-forward lounge, at the very prow of the starship Enterprise-D, Captain Jean-Luc Picard considered the 3D chessboard that lay upon the illuminated table before him. His opponent, a mechanical being built in the image of a man, waited patiently in the seat opposite, his gaze playing over the captain’s face as if looking for some sign of Picard’s next move. The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring down at the positions of the black and white chess pieces placed tactically upon the various levels of the board. “Lost again Picard?” a low, warm voice asked from behind him. He glanced around, his eyes rising past the violet robes to the dark face of ten-forward’s host, Guinan. She was quite possibly his oldest friend, he’d known her for longer than he could remember, yet for some peculiar reason, Picard couldn’t quite recall exactly the point at which the two had first met. “It would appear so,” he conceded, the aroma of his Earl Gray tea wafting toward him as she placed the cup and saucer down on the table, “Mr. Data has found quite a talent for the game.” “That observation is inaccurate,” the android put in, just as Guinan served him his own ‘beverage’, a glass of semi-organic nutrients, “My creator, Doctor Soong, thought it necessary to include the moves of over seven thousand 3D chess games in my programming. Therefore, using this knowledge, I have been able to extrapolate every possible move that you are able to make, and alter my strategy accordingly.” “Ever been beaten?” Guinan asked with a wry grin, lowering herself into a chair. “Not as yet,” Data replied. “And I doubt that that will change this morning,” Picard’s said, taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid in his cup, “You win Mr. Data.” Data inclined his head slightly. “I agree,” he replied, as he went about resetting the board, “Guinan, would you like to play?” The El-Aurian woman’s smile grew broader. “I’d like that very much,” she told him, pushing herself a little closer to the table, “Let’s see if I can’t spoil your winning streak.” Picard sat back, content to watch. Beyond the large viewports that made up the forward bulkhead of the lounge, smooth lines of starlight streaked quickly past his ship. The Enterprise was at warp seven, a brisk clip even by Galaxy-class standards, on a heading that would take them to Utopia Planetia in less than a week for shore leave. He found himself looking forward to visiting his family, and the opportunity to take in the atmosphere of his homeworld once again after his ship’s extended mission in deep space. Glancing back at the game, he saw that Data had made the opening move, placing his rook on the second level and taking one of Guinan’s pawns. The host, for her part, didn’t appear surprised. Her face gave nothing away, yet conveyed an air of experience and knowledge that was impossible to miss. She considered her options for only a moment, just before lifting her bishop from its initial position. Then, something completely unexpected happened. Guinan froze in place, a look of complete and all-consuming terror appearing on her face as the carved-marble piece dropped from her grasp onto the table. Her dark eyes sprung open to their widest extent, her breathing ceased completely, and both men vaulted from their chairs in concern. “Guinan?” Picard said sharply, kneeling beside his oldest friend, “What’s wrong?” “I will call for medical assistance,” Data said, hand reaching for the small metallic combadge affixed to his breast. “No,” Guinan snapped, her voice so cold, so fierce, that Picard’s heart missed a beat. “Guinan,” Picard began, gripping her cool hand tightly, “What is it?” The El-Aurian continued to stare straight ahead, as if fascinated by a point in space unseen by anyone else in the almost empty lounge. “Go to the bridge Picard,” she instructed him curtly, “Your crew will soon need you far more than I do.” “What?” the captain demanded, his brow furrowing as he narrowed his eyes at her, “What do you mean.” “Leave me,” Guinan told him again, her extreme persistence not wavering for an instant. Picard shook his head in defiance. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Finally, she turned to him slowly, as if the lock that had held her neck in place had been broken. Her eyes conveyed a sense of fear and purpose that frightened even the captain. “If our friendship means anything to you Picard,” she said with a deadly earnestness, “You’ll do as I say. In a very short time, any problems that I may have will be meaningless to you. That’s the magnitude of what’s happening here.” Picard let out a sigh of annoyance as he rose to his feet, still staring down at her as he gave his uniform a short, effective tug downward to eliminate any creases. The action had become as instinctive as breathing to him in the last year, when the new generation of uniforms had been introduced by Starfleet. “I’ll be back,” he promised her, “Your problems are not meaningless to me.” He glanced up at Data, gesturing toward the door. He led the way out of ten-forward in silence, pleased that at that time of the day, the lounge had been devoid of customers. The doors hissed closed behind him, and he took a moment to pause and answer the forthcoming query from Data. “Sir?” the android said on cue, falling into step beside his captain as they strode up the bright passageway toward a corridor intersect. “I’m not sure Data,” Picard replied curtly, “But when two people have been friends for as long as Guinan and I, one learns to trust the others judgement.” He pressed his fingers against a control beside the turbolift alcove, summoning a car to convey them to the pinnacle of the ship’s saucer section. The two cream panels parted, revealing the internal confines of the chamber. “From what I observed sir,” Data began as the pair stepped inside, “Guinan’s ‘judgement’ appeared to be driven by no real basis. Unless of course the El-Aurian species exhibits telepathic tendencies, which to my knowledge, they do not." “Bridge,” Picard breathed, clasping his hands behind his back. “Data, Guinan is not all she appears to be. I can’t put my finger on it, or explain to you exactly what it is, but she has a perception beyond what we would consider to be ‘normal’. If Guinan says that something is wrong, I would generally assume that it is.” Not a moment to soon in the captain’s opinion, the turbolift car decelerated, coming to a halt on deck one and discharging its passengers onto the main bridge. Data instantly assumed his customary position at the first forward station, Ops, while Commander Will Riker rose and vacated the command chair with an expression of surprise gracing his bearded face. “Something wrong sir?” he asked. “I was hoping that you could tell me Number One,” Picard said, looking up toward the aft deck, where the Klingon weapons and security officer stood at the wooden tactical rail which encompassed the command area, “Have we received any distress signals Mr. Worf?” he inquired, neglecting to sit down until he discovered whether or not he’d be staying. Worf shook his head, curious eyes probing his commander beneath his ridged Klingon brow. “No sir. If that was the case, you would have been informed.” Picard nodded, turning to face the operations console just behind the main viewscreen. “Mr. Data, do the sensors detect anything that may constitute a threat to ourselves or anyone else in this sector?” The android regarded his console for a moment, responding without looking up. “Negative sir. All spatial phenomenon are within established parameters.” Riker moved to stand near Picard, speaking quietly so that the others would have difficulty hearing them. “Captain? What’s happened?” The captain opened his mouth to respond, but, before he could utter a single word, an incessant chirping began from behind him. He turned, noticing that Worf had bent further over his console in response to a change of situation. “Report?” he demanded. “We are receiving a distress call,” the Klingon said in veritable astonishment, “From the New Providence colony on Jouret IV, two light-years away.” He studied the high-priority message packet a little more closely. “They are under attack by an unknown force.” Picard needed no further urging to take action. He spun around on his heel, barking an order to the ensign at the conn. as he dropped into his chair. “Helm, set course for the Jouret system, maximum warp.” He allowed a short moment for his officer to comply, before snapping his arm forward and back as if to point the way. “Engage.” The great ship’s mighty engines resonated through the hull, causing a subtle vibration through the deck as the Enterprise banked sharply, coming to its new heading, before accelerating steeply through the warp factors as per her captain’s orders. Whatever situation Picard and his valiant crew were racing into, whatever threat they would encounter, it would not be very long before they faced it. Captain’s log, stardate 43989.1 The Enterprise has arrived at Jouret IV, in response to a distress call from one of the Federation’s outermost colonies. Will Riker had left the bridge as the Enterprise dropped from warp near Jouret IV, and coasted into a high scanning orbit, a gentle free fall, approximately forty-thousand kilometers above the scarred surface of the class-M world. Picard had decided not to get too close to the planet itself, a wise precaution considering that sensors hadn’t been able to establish the aggressor that the colony’s leader had spoke of in her distress call. Those same sensors hadn’t been able to establish even the presence of the New Providence colony, due to a curious energy signature that had shrouded the upper atmosphere above its supposed position. It had been Picard’s decision that an away-team was the best option at this time, and Riker’s role as first officer entitled him to lead that initial scouting party. He arrived at transporter room three at the same time as Data and Worf, who had chief engineer Geordi LaForge in tow as the forth member of the team. “Anything from the surface?” he asked Worf as the others took up their positions on the transporter dais. “No sir,” Worf responded with a shake of his head, “There have been no communications from the colony for over twelve hours.” Riker’s apprehension grew worse. “Sensors picking up any signs of life?” “None,” Worf stated grimly. Riker glanced sideways at the transporter chief, Miles O’Brien, asking the unspoken question. “The surface environment is safe for transport commander,” the Irishman informed him. The first officer was thankful for small favors. He joined his team within the transporter chamber. “Energize,” he ordered, holding his breath in anticipation of the forthcoming beam-down. O’Brien, at the operator’s console, touched the necessary points on his board, just before swiping three controls upward. Riker felt the familiar grip of the annular confinement beam grasp his body from the head down, then the indescribable, yet not unpleasant sensation of quantum dematerialization. His vision clouded with the sparkling subatomic atoms of the matter stream, quickly reforming into the horizon of a planet as the ACB evaporated around him. The first officer inhaled a breath of the cold ionized air, tasting a strange odor on his tongue. All around him, a barren, desolate landscape stretched out as far as the eye could see. He tapped the combadge on his uniform, hearing the distinctive sounds of a tricorder running through its series of scans in the background as he spoke. “Mr. O’Brien,” he asked, “Verify these are the correct coordinates for the New Providence colony.” “Coordinates verified sir,” the thickly accented voice came back, “You’re at the center of town.” Riker looked around again, drawing a type-II phaser from its holster on his belt and ascending a shallow incline. It took only moments for him to realize why the sprawling colonial spires and hydroponics domes were absent from this place. Directly in front of him, no more than two meters away, one of the largest craters he’d ever seen had been carved directly out of the ground where New Providence had once been located. It was hundreds of meters deep and twice as many wide, rocks lying at the bottom where they’d fallen into the incredible abyss. The commander bit back a gasp as the ramifications of this discovery hit him. He’d seen such a spectacle firsthand only once before in his life, a city pulled from the surface of a planet by an incredible force. The location of that place had been thousands upon thousands of light-years distant of Jouret IV, in a star system that the Enterprise could never had reached, if it was not for the unpredictable actions of the omnipotent being known as Q. There was only one explanation. The Borg had arrived. Captain’s log, stardate 43992.6 Admiral Hanson and Lieutenant Commander Shelby of Starfleet Tactical have arrived to review the disappearance of New Providence colony. No sign remains of the nine hundred inhabitants. “The truth is,” Admiral JP Hanson began, leaning forward in his chair, “Hell, we are not ready. We’ve known they were coming for over a year now, we’ve thrown every resource we have into this, but still” “And you’re convinced it is the Borg?” Will Riker interrupted from his position beside the captain’s desk. “That’s what I’m here to find out,” Elizabeth Shelby put in, “The initial descriptions of these surface conditions are almost identical to the reports from system J-25.” “Commander Riker wrote those reports,” Picard said, recalling the incident that had taken place well over a year earlier, “He agrees with you.” “Commander Shelby took over Borg tactical analysis twelve months ago,” Hanson continued, “I’ve learnt to give her a wide latitude when I want things done. That’s how I intend to operate here.” He nodded to his officer to take up the reins. Shelby did so. “My priority has to develop some kind, any kind of defense strategy.” “Obviously nothing we have now can stop them,” Riker threw in. “We’ve been designing new weapons,” the young woman said, “But they’re all still on the drawing board.” “We expected much more lead time,” Hanson explained, “Your encounter with the Borg was over seven thousand light-years away.” Picard nodded. “If this is the Borg, it would indicate they have a source of power far superior to our own.” “I’d like to see the colony site as soon as possible captain,” Shelby said. “It’ll be dark there in thirty minutes,” Riker replied, “We’ve scheduled an away-team for dawn.”
Nice, Outpost 68. I like the way you've included Guinan at the beginning. The only nitpick is that Riker's seen that twice before. At J25 and at the outposts along the neutral zone in the same-titled episode. But both were due to the Borg.
Outpost68, that was really very nicely done. Great little touches that added layers of texture to what we already saw on screen. Definitely demonstrates that this exercise can add significant depth to what we've seen on the air.
Thanks a lot! That was just a little thing that has been gathering dust on my laptop for a while and seemed to fit the bill when I read this thread! I'll agree that it is an enjoyable way to combat writer's block, even if it is just writing a few scenes rather than an entire episode.
Outpost, I'm working on doing a novelisdation of that whole episode. Do you mind if I use that idea you had for the opening, with the chess game?
I've been considering doing novelizations of the big Ezri-centered eps of DS9, Season 7. For "Prodigal Daughter"...perhaps cut between the events of the ep, and the story of her and her family: What happened to her father, what led her to want to get out and join Starfleet, etc. Still, I think "Afterimage" is the one I'd most want to tackle. I've written a "novelisation" of one scene already, as the centerpiece of another tale, "As Time Goes By" (which won the May Challenge on "Reconciliation", BTW). That was the scene between Ezri and Julian. Perhaps, though, in writing for the episode, I'd write it in Ezri's POV, as opposed to Julian's in "As Time".