PART THREE: Fear of a Trek Planet (2)

Mr. Burnett has the office that every 12 year old comic book fan would feed their Gramma to a balrog to get. Lego Star Destroyer, enormous four-sheets of scifi flicks from the 30's and 50's. RC Batmobile from Batman Begins (that's the one that was awesome in spite of Katie Holmes rather than Batman Returns, the one that was weak in spite of Michelle Pfieffer).

There are props from movies like SUPERMAN RETURNS. There are scale models of the various original Thunderbirds (THUNDERBIRDS, man. Come ON!). There are James Bonds and Indiana Joneses. There are Kirks and Spocks and Supermans (Supermen?). There is a hunk of green kryptonite (as opposed to red, gold, black, white, silver or blue).

My friends there is even a Galactus staring down imperiously from behind the big desk. GALACTUS!



If you don't know what half of these names mean, you might as well hang up now.

If you ever meet Mr. Burnett and he invites you up, go. That's all I'm saying. Go.

I went. And, while we looked down on Wilshire at dusk, he exlained his plan. Well, the part that involves comics. There was this whole other part involving spaceships, galactic conquest and enormous, barechested valkyries sweeping across-

I've said too much. Comics. Right. Comics.

"I like comics," he said. "I want to make some."

I could get behind that. I have wanted to do the same thing since I read my first Fantastic Four. But, after he said that, we didn't actually talk about comics. We talked about Star Trek. What was wrong with the current show. What was right. Why the Star Trek novels are so FREAKING good. Why the original series was more than just good TV, why we were both geeks for thinking so. Why we didn't care.

There is something about Star Trek, when people buy in, that is like joining a kind of secret society. Optimism. Courage. Diversity. Hot girls in catsuits or silver bikinis. You can't go wrong. A couple of centuries from now there may be a Church of Treknology in every city.

Stranger things have happened.

"Publishing comics costs a lot of money," I said. It was something I'd learned the hard way a long time ago when my bank account was fatter. Maybe he didn't really know how much. A lot of folks don't and get nailed by Reality. I was one of them once. But Mr. Burnett's response to that was typical of his philosophical way of dealing with life.

"Dude, it's my money."

Hey. That was good enough for me.

He asked for some pitches. He got three. One of them was The Red Line. He dug it. He signed a deal with me to write it and then promptly went off to Australia for year. Why did he do that? Because that's where Mr. Singer was shooting a little film called SUPERMAN RETURNS and somebody had to, you know, chronicle the epic undertaking.

You'll see the results of that excursion and that chronicling in a few months, I'm sure.

There's more to the story and there are huge bits that were left out (the whole conversation about the TANTALUS COLONY will never be repeated to anyone and you should all be grateful.) but you get the gist.

And soon you will get THE RED LINE.

And the world will never be the same.