On Sunday afternoon at the Shore Leave convention, I found myself loitering in a hallway with a couple of Star Trek authors and other fans, and the authors were entertaining us with behind-the-scenes anecdotes about the world of writing for Star Trek.
One story in particular was the time about a dozen or so of them got together to pull an April Fool’s prank on their editor.
On that day, he got about two dozen book proposals e-mailed to him, all revolving around a common theme:
Star Trek porn.
“Slash” was discussed. “Tom, Dick, and Harry” from Voyager was tossed around. 7 of 9 and her older sister, 6 of 9, came up. Data’s “full functionality” was explored. Interesting applications of Odo’s shape-shifting were discussed. Ponn Farr received several prominent mentions. One writer indulged his Saavik fantasies. Borg assimilation tubes lent themselves to tentacle porn.
But somehow, “alien probes” were not mentioned.
Right in the middle of the discussion, three people strolled through the chat. (As I said, we were in a hallway, outside a “Dresden Files” panel discussion.) And leading the trio was none other than the still lovely and gracious and powerful Nichelle Nichols, her bright white hair a fitting crown.
We fell silent, more out of shock than any sense of propriety.
One does not discuss alien sex in the presence of royalty, after all.