by Ronald D. Moore
Today I walked the corridor of the Starship Enterprise and sat on the bridge. Not the A,B,C,D, or E, mind you—the original. Constitution class. The finest ship in the fleet.
Down on Stage 11 is an exacting replica of the fabled vessel that started it all, and I must tell you the ghosts of Star Trek past were all around us. The background players are walking around in bright red, gold, and blue uniforms… there's a sign for Mr. Kyle's quarters … the triangular ladders hidden away in alcoves lead to other decks … wall comns are sprinkled along the way … turbolifts stand ready. To walk the Corridor is to at once step back and step forward in time. It's the future, the twenty-third century. And it's the past, the 1960s. Somewhere between memory and fantasy, the Starship Enterprise plies her five-year mission. It's their ship—Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Shatner, Nimoy, Kelly, Roddenberry, Justman, Coon, Jeffries, Feinberg, and all the others. It's our ship—Sisko, Picard, Janeway, Brooks, Stewart, Mulgrew, Berman, Piller, Behr, Taylor, Klink, Menosky, West, Oster, Cameron, Okuda, and many others. And it's your ship—Trimble, Winston, Gerrold, Nemecek, Altman, Whitfield, Caputo, Carey, Ford and everyone who's ever raced to make it home in time for another rerun or said "Kirk to Enterprise," with the faint wish that Scotty's voice would really answer. This one's for us. The fans. The people who love that beautiful lady almost as much as Kirk did.
And this one's for you, Gene. Thank you for thirty years of joy. And I hope we make you proud.
—Ronald D. Moore,
Fan