Reviews: "Pantheon: the complete scriptbook" and "Pantheon: welcome to the machine" by Bill Willingham

Most folks who know Bill Willingham know him through Fables, his fantastically popular Vertigo graphic novels. Fewer readers know of The Elementals, his first series, a superhero comic (albeit a quirky and rules-breaking one at that.) Connecting those two is Pantheon. What is it? Would I like it? Who should read it? Is it any good? I'll attempt to answer all that in a roundabout way.

First, let me say that everyone who like Fables should have the opportunity to read The Elementals. Even though this is Bill's (can I call you Bill?) earliest writing, and he's working in a genre chock-full of tropes and conventions, and pile on the fact that the kernel of Elementals comes from his days playing Villains & Vigilantes, one of the first (perhaps THE first) roleplaying games about capes and masks, Elementals was still ground-breaking, witty, with great twists and plot turns.

Alas, note that I said "should have the opportunity." Unfortunately, only a few of the very earliest issues are available in "The Natural Order" graphic novel. The series itself went under when its parent company, Comico, was sold off to an unreliable investor. Worse still, the story of The Elementals ended right before the big climax of a multi-issue plotline. Years of stories building up to...cancellation.

So, fans of Fables should read The Elementals. But you can't. Mostly. What happened next?

Bill moved on to other projects, and just before DC comics found him, a small independent publisher from Texas hired him to do another superhero series. This is Pantheon-on the surface, it's about a superhero group called Freedom Machine, but really it's an exploration of and deconstruction of superheroes, along the lines of Watchmen. Pantheon also attempts to show how Elementals' big plotline might have wrapped up, told through the lens of Pantheon's pantheon of characters.

So, if you're one of the few who *did* read Elementals back in the day, *you* should definitely read Pantheon.

And, if you're a thorough fan of Willingham's writing, you will want to read Pantheon: the Complete Scriptbook (and the graphic novel, although it--like Elementals--is only a few, early issues.)

Now, Pantheon wasn't a huge commercial success. And, I'd argue that--stacked up against Willingham's other works--Pantheon is a mixed bag, critically. Certainly, if you like action, Pantheon's got a ton of action. Eye-lasers and fists flying, and things disintegrating. If you like Willingham's plots and stories--you'll get some of that here, along with a great plot-twist ending. If you like his characters...ah...here's where the ice gets thin.

Perhaps it's because Pantheon was born on the heels of a cancelled series that Bill felt compelled to push the action button so hard over character, plot or story-telling. Certainly, he wanted to show the ending to Elementals that he'd planned, but never got a chance to show-I get that. Thank you, Bill, for thinking of the readers. But the characters in Pantheon are, without a doubt, the slightest to ever grace a Willingham comic. Deathboy? Commander Cross? Kid Kong?

Hey, I'm  no fan of "origin stories," but there's nothing to connect with here, no back story at all.* Worse yet, some of these heroes are simply knock-of
fs of (no kidding) the Fantastic Four, Johnny Quest, Batman, Superman, who are joined by characters who are little more than a name, a costume and a set of powers. (While it's true that Watchmen did the same thing, somehow it doesn't feel as much like a shortcut when DC recycled their own characters. Also, Watchmen is just...Watchmen, y'know?)

When contrasted with what Willingham accomplished with supers in the pages of Elementals--each of whose characters I can *still recall vividly and go on about idiosyncratic details...but I can tell you next to nothing about Pantheon's cast of characters. It's a bit of a letdown.

So, Pantheon's got great action, good plot, but slight characters. Still, is it worth a read?

Yes, there are some real gems here that any reader would enjoy (Blackheart's backstory, the twist ending to the series. Dynasty.) A Fables fan will get a kick out of seeing an early incarnation of Bigby Wolf (I shit you not.) And a completist like me...I don't have to sell you. Go get it.


Bonus question: should Willingham do supers again? Yes. Obviously, I'm an Elementals fan. If the rights to it could be pried out of the hands of the nutjob investor who bought it, Elementals could get an awesome reboot. Some of the issues it tackled back in the 80's are ever-more-relevant today. I'd even be happy to see more Pantheon. Just with more attention to character, please.


*Actually, we do get a smidgen of backstory on two of its main characters, but both were saved for the end of the series. Too little, too late.

Captain Kirk and the Ensign of Doom

A Fantale by Falstaffe

The Enterprise’s captain was proving to be a formidable opponent, much to the dismay of Junior Transport Technician Third Class J.G. Whitcombe. Kirk leaned one shoulder against the wall of the turbolift, a thick book in one hand, while the other rubbed his eyes. Tired from a long shift on the bridge and despite the weight of nearly five-years spent touring the frontier, Kirk was still an intimidating presence. Whit had to gather all his courage to even broach the subject in the first place.

Kirk didn’t seem to want to believe him, and dropped an open, pleading hand as he asked, “Whitcombe? That’s not a very traditional name for an Orion, is it?”

“Ah-my grandfather, sir. One of the first Earth traders to visit Orion.”

“Well, Mister Whitcombe, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why your shuttlecraft maintenance cycles have been interrupted. Perhaps this would be a good time to start a new book?” He said, tapping the cover of the volume of poetry.

“Sir, it’s much more than a simple scheduling glitch. The whole safety of the ship is at stake!”

“Ensign?”

“The computer’s safety interlocks have been disabled.”

“What? All of them?”

“No, just the ones that check to see if all crewmen on the flight deck have the necessary backup life support gear.”

“Oh,” Kirk said, relieved, “I was going to say Mister Scott must be off his game.” Kirk indifferently rolled a hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for it. I wouldn’t worry. The new force field hatch we installed at Starbase Two-surely that’s safe enough.”

“Safe enough!?” Whit blurted out. The rest of his words became a jumble of incoherent syllables.

“Ensign Whitcombe,” Kirk’s brow furrowed, but he put a paternal smile on the rest of his face, “In my time out on the frontier, I’ve learned that sometimes you have to bend a few rules. This may be one of those times. Now, this is a direct order from your captain: forget about the safety interlocks. “The turbolift slowed and the doors hissed open. “Are we clear?”

Whit nodded, but was undeterred.

#

Whit climbed up the Jeffries tube to the flight control room, a magna-spanner clenched in his teeth like a pirate. He cautiously slid the access plate aside. The overlook to the flight deck was empty, but Whit could tell from the controls that he’d just missed the saboteur. One screen flashed a warning about the disabled safety interlocks, while another showed that the elevator controls were active. He climbed out of the tube, crept up to the window, saw more troubling signs. The flight deck was completely blacked out, even the emergency lights.

“Impossible.” Whit muttered.

He jumped at a sudden, loud, rumbling noise. The outer airlock—the “clamshell”— slowly opened, revealing the pinpoint specks of distant stars and the faint whisp of a nebula. The forcefield stretched over the opening shimmered momentarily as atmosphere pressed against it. Whit strained to see what was going on, nose pressed to the glass.

The faint hint of starlight revealed a mysterious figure on the flight deck. The young technician’s eyes widened as he saw the intruder creep towards the very edge of the shuttle bay. For a moment, Whit thought they had stepped off the fantail and were floating in the blackness of space, but then caught a glimpse of a small platform beneath the intruder’s feet.

Whit raised the magna-spanner, prepared to bring it crashing down on the controls, then froze as lights from a shuttle stabbed out of the depths of the bay. He started to turn, to look and see who the beams illuminated like a spotlight, but lights from other shuttles snapped on, blinding him. He squinted at the flight deck. Shuttles had been arranged in a row on the flight deck-Einstein, Galileo II, Copernicus, and Columbus-and all of them were focusing their navigation lights onto the lone figure.

Whit turned. Standing at the edge of open space was a woman. He had to blink twice before he recognized who it was. Lieutenant Commander Uhura stood on the platform, resplendent in a sparkling gown whose hem blended seamlessly with the deck, as if she were a living part of the ship.

The voice of Commander Scott echoed through the bay, “Ready, darlin?”

“I hope so.” Uhura replied unsteadily.

“The recorders are active-whenever you’re ready.”

She took a deep breath, paused, as if uncertain what to say or how to start. “Hi Dad. I don’t know what I can say at a time like this. I’m sorry I can’t be there. If your heart is like mine, I’m sure it’s in a million pieces. It’s ironic, just a few more weeks and this tour would have been over-I could have been there, I could have said goodbye, I could have--” Her words choked off, then she regathered herself. “Well, since I wasn’t, and I can’t, here’s the next best thing: some of Mom’s favorite songs. My way of telling you that I’ll be home soon, and telling Mom that I love her.” And then, lit by the shuttles and standing against the backdrop of deep space, Lieutenant Uhura began to sing.

Whit fumbled with the magna-spanner in his hands for a moment, the door behind him hissed open. Kirk strode in, nonplussed that the Junior Transport technician stood there, ready to smash the controls.

“Well Mister Whitcombe, what have we learned here?”

“To obey direct orders…and to sometimes bend the rules.”

“I can’t fault you too harshly. You had the ship’s safety in mind. I’ll try to keep this infraction off your permanent record-if you can behave until we reach Earth.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Yessir. Thank you, sir.” The young technician slipped out.

Kirk sighed, a slight grin at Whit’s expense on his face. He sat in the chair, adjusted the comm, and listened to Lieutenant Uhura’s farewell song as the stars slid by behind her.

“Somewhere, over the rainbow…”

(Hope you enjoyed this "Fantale," stories from the flight deck of the Enterprise and her sister-ships.)

Lt. Data and the Missing Meters Theory

         A Fantale by Falstaffe

     

  
         “Everthing all right, sir?”

Lt. J.G. Geordi LaForge eased the pallet of scientific equipment down to the deck plate, brought it to rest outside the flight deck’s airlock, slumped with his backside against the bulkhead. He massaged his skull above and below the metal band of his VISOR, “Fine. Just a nagging headache. Playing around with the interface settings again. It’s probably nothing.”

Chief O’Brian Ah’d sympathetically, turned his attention back to the shuttle traffic console. He raised his eyebrows, gave a hint of smirk, and asked, “Sir, don’t you think this is a little backwards?”

“Chief?”

“Well, here you are delivering cargo and I’m the reception committee,” O’Brien wagged the PADD in his hand with their new arrival’s accommodations, “And our Second Officer is out playing chauffer.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not often we get an extended stay at Vulcan, so the shore leave rotations did leave us a little light-handed.” Geordi ground a palm into his forehead, “Then I made the mistake of telling Lt. Corbin I was headed this way. If I didn’t owe him from last week’s poker game-” The wall began to hum, indicating that the landing pad on the other side of the wall was springing life, and so Geordi sprang onto his feet. He held out his hand.

Chief O’Brien handed off the PADD with a smile, “Thanks. I hear this Sel’Don is a tricky customer.”

“Oh, he’s a genius all right,” Geordi acknowledge, but then added sotto voce, “But a quirky one, I’ll grant you.”

“Transporter phobia-in a Vulcan?” Geordi nodded in agreement, so O’Brien continued, “The Enterprise’s transporters are top o’ the line.” He leaned in, conspiratorially, “And I should know-I’ve had my nose in the bloody manuals for weeks now. Pardon.”

“Trying for your Transporter Rating?” Geordi asked, and O’Brien nodded. The two had only a few moments more to banter before they were interrupted by the hiss of airlock doors pulling back. Two figures made their way from Shuttlecraft 13. To the left was Enterprise’s Second Officer, Lt. Data, a sallow-colored, golden-eyed android. To his right walked a tall, studious-looking Vulcan with razor-sharp bangs and the brocaded robes of the Vulcan Science Academy. The two men were engaged in an animated debate, although their words were garbled until they exited the din of the shuttlecraft bay.

“Mister Data, if that’s your position, than I highly doubt the integrity of your ship’s computer systems!”

Geordi and O’Brien’s eyes flicked to each other, then back to the new arrivals.

Data replied, “I assure you, Mister Sel’Don, I have thoroughly studied the analytical studies of all aspects of the Enterprise’s design and construction. You are in no danger.”

Geordi stepped in front of the pallet of equipment, made ready to greet the two, while O’Brien tried to look as inoffensive as possible and melt into the background.

“Mister Sel’Don.” Geordi forced himself to brush off the implied insult and made his tone as welcoming as possible. “I’m Lieutenant La Forge. Allow me to welcome you to the Enterprise, the flagship of the Federation-the finest ship in the galaxy. At least we like to think so. Data, welcome back.”

“Finest ship?” The Vulcan shot back, with more passion than Geordi had thought Vulcans were capable of. “Are you not aware of the design flaw?”

“Design flaw?”

“Your shuttle bay. It’s nowhere near the fantail.”

“The fantail?” Geordi repeated blankly.

“Yes, the fantail,” The Vulcan held up his hands, shaped them to resemble the back end of a starship, a distinctive curve beneath.

“Oh, uh, well, that’s because…” Geordi started, confused and unsure how or why that mattered.

Data stepped forward, “Geordi-if I may? As I was explaining to Mister Sel’Don, while it is true that the hanger bay on many starships is located above the fantail, that was to solve a problem that no longer exists.”

“Problem?” O’Brien asked, surprised that he’d allowed himself to be drawn into a dispute between superior officers.

“Yes, the problem of crashing shuttles.”

“What?!” O’Brien and Geordi asked together.

Data continued, nonplussed, “Early designers recognized that—after a shuttle crash—repair costs would be much lower if there was less starship next to the bay. Hence, the fantail. However, the Enterprise’s shuttles are much more reliable, and rarely suffer a catastrophic incident.”

“Data, I don’t think-” Geordi began, but then Sel’Don cut him off.

“Are you sure, Lt. Data? I had it on good authority that the original starship designers—human designers—accidentally ordered structural members that were too short, and because of time constraints, had to use what material they had on hand.”

Data nodded thoughtfully, “Ahh, the missing meters theory. Hmm.” The android went silent as if contemplating the truth of it.

Geordi threw his hands up in the air, “What?”

“Regardless of the origin,” the Vulcan pressed on, “Everyone knows it’s bad luck.”

O’Brien stepped up, “He’s right, Lieutenant,” he said, hands spread wide. “Everyone knows that a starship has a fantail to keep the devil from grabbin’ hold of it.” He gave Geordi a broad wink.

Geordi almost dropped the PADD.

“Apologies, Lt. LaForge. At the Vulcan Science Academy I have so little contact with humans that I was concerned about fitting in with a mostly human crew. Lt. Data offered to help me assimilate smoothly and noted that a shared humorous falsehood—typically of exaggerated proportions—often serves as an…ice breaker?” He said, face scowling as he obviously wondered where frozen H2O figured into human social interactions.

Geordi relaxed, chagrined that an android and a Vulcan had conspired to tell a joke. Not only that-it had been successful. “You got me, and good. Now, if I can welcome you properly?” Geordi gestured to the pallet next to the airlock, “Here’s the collection of spores, molds and fungi for your lab, Mister Sel’Don.”

“Oh, they’re not for my lab.” The Vulcan replied. “They’re pets.”

Behind the VISOR, Geordi’s eyes narrowed, and his forehead wrinkled.

O’Brien asked, “The headache?”

“Oh yeah. With a vengeance.”

(So much of Star Trek is centered on the bridge, but a starship has many other locations, with interesting tales of their own to tell. This is the first of--hopefully-- a few "Fantales" that I have planned-stories from the flight deck of the Enterprise and her sister-ships.  It was a bit challenging to squeeze the premise into the thousand-word limit of "flash fiction." Hope you enjoyed it.)