In Part I of this turgid tale, WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER told your humble narrator, "I'd never let a kid onto my bridge," and humiliated, embarrassed, and crushed his fragile teenage ego.

However, the Enterprise wasn't going to fly itself, so he had to suck it up and get back to work.

Enjoy the conclusion of WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER. I hope it was worth the wait.

I walked into the stage, and took my seat at the conn, next to Brent Spiner.

"I heard about Shatner," Brent said.

Jesus, was this on the news or something?

"Yeah," I said.

"You know he wears a toupee, right?"

I giggled. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yep. He's balder than old baldy up there." He tossed a gold thumb over his shoulder at Patrick.

I giggled some more, as the stored up adrenaline coursed through my veins. "Boy, that's pretty bald."

"Yep." Brent put his hands up on his console.

The first AD said, "This will be picture," and we all focused.

"Picture is up! Very quiet please!" He shouted, "Roll camera!"

"25 apple, take 1," the sound mixer said, "Sound has speed!"

The camera assistant clapped the slate.

"Action!" said the director.

Patrick entered from his Ready Room, and walked to the captain's chair.

"Mister Crusher, take us out of orbit, and lay in a course for the Ramatis system, warp 6" He said.

"Aye sir," my fingers danced over the CONN. "Course laid in, sir."

"Make it so, Mister Crusher."

The camera creaked back on the dolly track, as the Enterprise D went to warp speed.

"Cut! Great! New deal!" the director said.

"Wrong set! We are moving to the Observation lounge for scene 55!" said the 1st AD, "The actors can relax for about 10 minutes."

On my way back to my trailer, the DGA trainee stopped me. "Gene Roddenberry would like you to call his office, Wil."

"Okay."

I changed direction, and walked to the stage phone. My heart began to beat hard in my chest. Had Gene heard too? WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER had known Gene for over 20 years . . . oh my god. Was Gene going to be pissed at me?

I passed the craft service table, setup behind the starfield that hung next to the Ten-Forward set. Michael Dorn and Jonathan Frakes were pouring cups of coffee.

"To hell with him, W," Jonathan said. I love it when he calls me "W."

"To hell with who?" Michael asked.

"Shatner took a shit all over the Teen Idol," Jonathan told him.

Beneath his latex Klingon forehead, Michael rolled his eyes. "You want me to kick his ass, Wil?"

"No, that's okay. Thanks, though." I said.

"I've got your back, man," Michael said.

I dialed Gene's office, and told his secretary that I was returning Gene's call.

"He's expecting your call. Just a second, Wil." There were two clicks, and Gene's soft, gentle, friendly voice was in my ear.

"Hi Wil, how are you?"

"I'm okay . . ." I swallowed hard. ". . . how are you?"

"Fine, fine. I understand that you had some words with Bill Shatner today."

Oh my god. Was he going to be mad at me?

"Uh . . . yeah . . ." I said.

"Wil, Bill Shatner is an ass. Don't you worry about him, okay? I am proud to have you on my show. Don't you ever forget that."

Did Gene just call WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER an ass? And then he said that he was proud of me?

"Gosh, Gene, thanks," was the best I could do.

"Come by my office soon, okay?"

"Okay."

"See you then." He hung up.

I began to feel better. Although a childhood hero had kicked me in the nuts, a bunch of people who I cared about and respected had all made efforts to put it in perspective. I felt loved, and protected.

The next day, when I got to work, there was an envelope on my dressing room table. It was addressed "To Master Wil Wheaton" and was "From the Office of William Shatner."

I dropped my backpack, and tore it open.

Inside, there was a single three by eight note card. The Paramount Pictures logo was stamped into the top in blue, and "William Shatner" was stamped into the bottom in gold.

There was a message typed on the card, which said,

He'd signed it in ink. Blue ink. My mouth hung open, and my hands trembled a bit. I held it up to the light, to make sure it was real. The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Wil? It's Gene," I recognized his voice immediately.

"Good morning Gene," I said.

"I spoke with Bill Shatner yesterday, and he should be dropping a note off for you today."

"It's already here," I said. I read it to him.

"Good. You are a fine young actor," he said. "See you later."

I couldn't believe it. Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek and The Great Bird of the Galaxy, had called WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER, Captain James T. Kirk and director of Star Trek V, and asked him to apologize to me, Wil Wheaton, the 16 year-old acting ensign and drooling fan boy. Of all the wonderful gifts Gene gave me over the years, that is one of the most fondly remembered, because I know that without Gene's intervention that note never would have been written.

Epilogue

Over the years, whenever I ran into WFS at a convention, he was aloof to me at best, downright rude to me at worst. I heard so many other stories from so many other people who had an experience similar to mine, I just accepted that WFS wasn't the nicest person in the world (or at least not the most personable) and what I once took personally faded into a funny-but-sad story.

Unlike a lot of Trekkies, I was able to separate the actor from the character, though, and I was able to still enjoy classic Trek, and Star Trek II - Star Trek IV, as well as many hours of TJ Hooker.

Heh. Just kidding. I only watched TJ Hooker once, and that was because I lost a bet.

Unlike a lot of Trekkies, I thought WFS's "get a life" sketch on SNL was hilarious, and I thought it was an interesting turning point for him; after that sketch, he seemed much more willing to laugh at himself, and though I continued to hear stories of him being kind of a dick to people in private, at least publicly he seemed to take himself less seriously. (See his brilliant performance in Free Enterprise for an example.)

Then, in 2001, I played on a special Star Trek edition of the game show Weakest Link, with members of every Star Trek cast, including William Shatner. I had a wonderful time, and in front of a national prime time television audience, I held my own with my peers. I didn't win, but I made the host, Ice Queen Anne Robinson, laugh three separate times (which strangely didn't make it onto TV.)

Before we began filming, I sat in the green room (a place where actors hang out while they get stuff ready. There's food, drinks and TV, usually) and watched the World Series . . . with WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER.

Yeah. It was really weird sitting there, talking about baseball with him like . . . we were just a couple of guys watching baseball. We talked about Randy Johnson versus Curt Shilling, and discussed the various strategies employed by the teams during the few innings we watched. He was kind. He was funny. He was warm. He was genuine. He talked nerdy sabremetrics with me. He was just a really nice and charming guy. In fact, he was so friendly to me, I assumed that he'd forgotten that I was that kid from Next Generation, or had me confused with someone else he'd worked with who he liked. (It could happen; I've been mistaken for Heather Locklear so many times, I started getting my roots done regularly and bought lower heels.)

In retrospect, the whole experience felt too good to be true, so over a year later, when he did "Ask William Shatner Anything at Slashdot, I asked him . . .

I was pretty sure I'd get some solid karma-whoring points, and maybe a +5, Funny, but I didn't expect an answer. I certainly didn't expect the answer I got:

Right there, in front of every geek in the world, WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER told me we were "cool." Of course, the "personal time" he mentioned could be in a Turkish prison, and who knows if he really meant it, but he could have simply ignored the question (I've done two Ask Wil Wheaton Anything interviews at Slashdot, and the editors send about 40 questions to you, with the expectation that you'll answer at least half of them) if he really thought I was a dick, so I decided not to read too much into it and accept it at face value. Though he'd once pulled off my fake rubber ears and pushed me face down into a puddle while the rest of the senior class stood around and laughed, as of 2002, WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER and I were cool.

Wil Wheaton was not surprised when a crack in the ice appeared under his feet.