Redshirts

when the Narrative takes over. Things quit making sense. The laws of physics take a coffee break. People stop thinking logically and start thinking dramatically .
    “The Narrative”—Jenkins’ term for when the television show crept into their lives, swept away rationality and physical laws and made people know, do and say things they wouldn’t otherwise. You’ve had it happen to you already, Jenkins had said. A fact you didn’t know before just pops into your head. You make a decision or take an action you wouldn’t otherwise make. It’s like an irresistible impulse because it is an irresistible impulse—your will isn’t your own, you’re just a pawn for a writer to move around .
    On the view screen, three orange blossoms burned brightly as the Intrepid ’s countermeasures took out torpedoes.
    Three, not four, Dahl thought. Because having one get through will be more dramatic .
    “One’s still heading our way!” Jacobs said. “It’s going to hit!”
    There was a violent bang as the torpedo smacked against the hull several decks below the bridge. Jacobs screamed as his weapons station exploded in a shower of sparks, flinging him backward to the deck of the bridge.
    Something will explode on the bridge, Jenkins said. That’s where the camera spends nearly all its time. There has to be damage there, whether it makes sense or not .
    “Reroute weapons controls!” yelled Abernathy.
    “Rerouted!” said Kerensky. “I have them.”
    “Fire!” Abernathy said. “Full spread!”
    Kerensky smashed his fingers into the buttons of his station. The view screen lit up as pulse beams and neutrino missiles blasted toward the Calendrian rebel, exploding in a constellation of impacts seconds later.
    “Direct hits!” Kerensky said, looking at his station for information. “It looks like we cracked their engine core, Captain. We’ve got about a minute before she blows.”
    “Get us out of here, Kerensky,” Abernathy said, and then turned to Q’eeng. “Additional damages?”
    “Deck twelve heavily damaged,” Q’eeng said.
    The door to the bridge opened and Chief Engineer West came through. “And our engines are banged up pretty good,” he said, as though he would have been able to hear Abernathy and Q’eeng’s conversation, through a door, while red alert sirens were blaring. “We’re lucky we didn’t crack our own core, Captain.”
    “How long until it’s repaired?” Abernathy asked.
    Just long enough to introduce a plot complication, Dahl thought.
    “Ten hours would be pushing it,” West said.
    “Damn it!” Abernathy said, pounding his chair again. “We’re supposed to be escorting the Calendrian pontifex’s ship to the peace talks by then.”
    “Clearly there are those among the rebels still opposed to the talks,” Q’eeng said, looking toward the view screen. In it, the rebel ship blew up impressively.
    “Yes, clearly,” Abernathy said. “But they were the ones who asked for the talks to begin with. Why jeopardize them now ? And why attack us ?” He looked off, grimly.
    Every once in a while Abernathy or one of the other officers will say something dramatic, or rhetorical, or leading, and then he and everyone else will be quiet for a few seconds, Jenkins told them. That’s a lead-out to a commercial break. When that happens, the Narrative goes away. Watch what they do next .
    After several seconds Abernathy blinked, relaxed his posture and looked at West. “Well, you should probably have your people start fixing those engines, then.” His voice was notably less tense and drama-filled.
    “Right,” West said, and went right back out of the door. As he did so he looked around, as if wondering why he felt it necessary to come all the way to the bridge to deliver a piece of information he could have easily offered by phone.
    Abernathy turned to Q’eeng. “And, let’s get repair crews to those damaged decks.”
    “Will do,” Q’eeng said.
    “And while you’re at it, get someone up here to repair the weapons station,” Abernathy said. “And see if we can’t find some power spike dampeners or something. There’s not a damn reason why everything on the bridge has to go up in sparks anytime we have a battle.”
    Dahl made a small choking sound at this.
    “Is there a problem, Ensign?” Abernathy said, seeing Dahl for what seemed like the first time in all of this.
    “No, sir,” Dahl said. “Sorry, sir. A little post-combat nervousness.”
    “You’re Dill,”