A Cosmic Christmas 2 You

by Hank Davis

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink? The food’s not great, but it’s edible.” I turned back to my guest and offered with a smile, spreading my hands.

  Kris chuckled. “Well, I never leave home without a supply of vittles. What say I furnish the feast, to make up for my earlier misbehavior?”

  This I had to see. “Sure.”

  The old man took off his hat and tucked it into the pocket of his coat, which he then removed and hung over the back of his chair. Suspenders held up his red trousers, under which he wore a white, long-sleeved jersey. He looked like someone’s grandfather from any backwoods planet out in the galactic rim—though somewhat cleaner. Kris happily rubbed his hands together and rummaged in his sack. What emerged was a huge woven hamper, and the smells emanating from it instantly made my mouth water. Out of the sack, he also took a large red cloth and laid it over the table. From the hamper, he began to pull an almost endless progression of hot goods and platters, identifying them for me as he laid them on the table. After a moment or two, the memory of the computer’s assessment of “inter-dimensional irregularities” began to take on a deeper meaning. Nearly as deep as the food hamper. I seriously entertained the thought that Kris had a tiny wormhole in there, feeding him. One that small could probably make several fortunes for the creator. I angled my head, trying to see inside it.

  “Oww!”

  I rubbed the back of my hand where Kris had smacked it with a metal spoon. I hadn’t realized I’d reached for the hamper at all, until that stinging thwack. How did one roast a pot anyway, I grumped, getting back to his culinary litany? Something stirred in the back of my mind, and I vaguely wondered what it would take to make Kris part with his hamper. If the Moon had a title deed of ownership, and I had access to it just then, I’d probably offer it to the old guy in exchange for that innocent looking basket. Not only would it be an answer to my career and success, but it would possibly feed me for the rest of my life, as well. Somehow though, I don’t think Kris would accept the offer—he didn’t seem to need or want anything at all, except maybe companionship.

  I sighed and shook my head, as Kris finally brought out a steaming red jug and two red mugs. He appeared to really identify with that color. Each to his own, I guess. It certainly made a colorful and welcome contrast to the pastel and dun mediocrity of the base’s committee-directed failure at cheerful decor. They seemed to forget that we caretakers had to live here as well as work here. But Kris’ red fetish really seemed to brighten the place up, make it warmer somehow.

  “. . . and at last, Eggnog,” he announced with a flourish. Filling both mugs, he presented one to me then appeared to think for a moment. “What’s the date?” he inquired.

  “Hmm, GM 837—20th, I think,” I replied, sniffing cautiously at my mug. Then I caught him staring blankly at me. “Oh! Computer, what’s today’s date—old Earth calendar?”

  ‘ACCORDING TO OLD EARTH STANDARD CALENDAR, TODAY IS 24TH DECEMBER, OF THE YEAR 3604.”

  Kris seemed to beam, twinkle and sparkle all at once, he was so pleased. “Perfect!” He announced. “Merry Christmas, William!” And with that, the old man drained his mug.

  I took a sip of mine, and then a deeper mouthful. Grief, that was good! I let him refill the mug again, before asking, “Is this it? Is this what Christmas is?” I indicated the laden table with an unoccupied hand.

  “Ohh, ho, ho, no,” my companion chuckled. “It all began for humanity a very long time ago. Would you like to hear about it?”

  I thought he’d never ask! I nodded eagerly, but had to wait while he fed the reindeer, before Kris settled back in his chair. The bag produced three large flat pans filled with a kind of ground up . . . something. A grain of some kind? I’d sneak a sample for analysis later, if the little greedy gutses left any. They were chowing down very enthusiastically.

  “Well, now. I’ve been around a mighty long time. Long before your species rose to walk the Earth, I slept beneath it and within it with many others of my kind. Our plane of existence greatly differs from yours. But sometimes the planes interconnect, for good or ill.” Kris scratched his head ruefully, and I got the distinct impression that he was trying to figure out how to verbalize the impossible to an infant…me. “One event or another would awaken us, or humans would get too loud in their dealings, and we’d have to take steps. We’ve been called many things over time. Demons, gods, angels, ghosts, sprites, spirits, et cetera . . . hmmm, I’ve always liked that one: spirits. Well, there came a time when a child was born. A human child. A very special child, on a very special night, a very long time ago in a small town called Bethlehem. . . .”

  I listened, totally entranced, while the old man wove an oral history of the human race. I was unashamed of the tears that laid silent tracks on my cheeks when he told of the death of that special child, and what it had portended for humanity. The journey had begun then, and was still in progress—only we didn’t know it. He made it sound real, and worthy, and mighty in spirit. I’d automatically hit the record button on the rec’s area computer link to capture his story, as I usually did Jen’s. Kris ummed and erred a bit over several things during his telling, and I wondered if his story was as perfect as it sounded, particularly where humanity was concerned. We weren’t a perfect race . . . far from it. But I had a good many burning questions to fill later hours, days, and months once left alone with the base computer and the masses of stored archives in the caverns below us. What he was describing resembled a primitive kind of worship. I wondered absently if it had ever gotten out of hand like the God wars between a set of planets out on the galactic rim a few hundred years back. I remembered bits of that from a history refresher course I took once. It wouldn’t surprise me if it had.

  Kris went on to explain how his role in Christmas came to be: “I woke one evening to find a man dying in the snow. His name was Kris Kringle, and he had a mighty errand to perform, but an accident made sure that this would never happen. He was crying out in despair with his body and soul—and that is why I heard him. He died there, while I held his hand, and I comforted him with the promise that I would finish his errand for him. So I became him for that night, and I delivered the items in his sack. It was a pitifully easy thing to do, but I distributed every wrapped package to every intended recipient, and then some. And I must say, that I enjoyed it so much that I got a bit creative with giving the humans in the village things to treasure: even if it was just a memory, or a smile, or enough to eat.”

  He paused. A smile softened his features as he remembered that far distant night.

  “Anyway, I listened in the next day—a day in celebration of the birth of that child I mentioned before, incidentally—and how they mourned when the body of the real Kris Kringle was discovered in the forest. I read in the minds of some of the people of how they vowed to see Kris’s sacrifice and compassion kept alive the next year, by doing the same thing in his honor. I was touched. They did it too, you know. I checked, and helped where I could, and whispered suggestions into specific ears. It became a habit after that, I suppose. One I really didn’t want to break. And I became stronger as the rumor of the event spread across the continent and the seas, and people helped keep it alive by giving to those they loved, and helping those in need.” Kris stopped briefly. “How’s the turkey, son?”

  I looked down at my plate, at the inroads I’d made into the feast. Once I’d gotten past the anatomical resemblance the “turkey” had to a semi-intelligent alien species on a planet in the Interior, I’d tucked in with gusto. Where did one get such food that tasted so good and looked so exotic? I finally looked back up and grinned. “Tastes like chicken.”

  “I’m not surprised!” Kris rolled his eyes and harrumphed a bit.

  I blinked a bit in shock. Did he really know what “chicken” tasted like, let alone what it was? That old adage was a running joke where I came from, and usually alluded to “I don’t know for sure, but it tastes great,” I squinted at him, suspiciously. There were gaps in the wo
rld records after the chaotic 21st through 23rd centuries, old Earth time. Knowledge was lost, along with many people, and many species of native flora and fauna. I felt an urgent need to know whether “chicken” was animal, vegetable, or mineral.

  “Er, Kris . . .” I began casually. “What exactly IS chicken?”

  He frowned at me as if to say, “Really?” After he’d stretched the moment to its ultimate, he finally said with a degree of withering pity, “It’s a bird, son. Like a turkey, only smaller. Has feathers, but can’t fly far. The females lay eggs.”

  My eyes widened. The chicken and egg theory. . . . but that was just a myth. Wasn’t it?

  And it was a bird? Well that explained it then. The most powerful avian virus the world had ever known took out most of the bird species mid 22 nd century. But I needn’t tell him that just yet. I gazed at my companion with new respect and a touch of awe, as he got on with his story.

  “It was fine for many years”, he said, then his voice grew more somber. “But progress shot forward in both technological, and spiritual senses. Over time, the meaning and spirit of what Christmas was really about, got lost.” Kris looked very tired and old just then. “When this happened, I slept longer and longer, and then didn’t wake up at all. Rapid change just took over, and people forgot in all the rush.” He looked up at me and smiled. “And then you asked your question, and I woke up and came looking for you.”

  “Wow.” It was all I could manage just then. The magnitude of his story made me feel very small. I looked Kris over for a very long moment, absorbing his costume and accoutrements. Finally, I just had to ask: “Kris, have you always looked like you do now?”

  The big guy chuckled his peculiar ho-ho-ho-ing laugh. “No, William. I change with people’s perceptions and with their fashionable trends. Thankfully, they’ve let me keep my beard, and sent me Rudolph to lead the reindeer team in recent years.” He averred fondly—the little creature with the ruddy nose wandered over and nuzzled his hand before bounding off again. I dragged my mind back from wondering if the little reindeer’s nose was something akin to an implanted laser pointer or laser weapon. Kris caught me gazing first at his red jacket, the table cloth and jug, and then finally back to the retreating reindeer nose. He drew himself up to his full awesome height, and sniffed disdainfully. “What’s wrong with red anyway? I like it very much.” He sounded a bit defensive about it. “It’s festive and all, and expresses the season and the sentiment splendidly. And the other Christmas colors like green, blue and silver always seemed a bit blah to me.” Kris finished in a faint grumble.

  Okay, you had to be an extrovert to do what he did, so perhaps garish, loud, warming, wonderful red made people smile over the long years. And it also stood out against the whiteness of snow and frost as a safety issue. I laughed. “It’s a grand color, Kris. And it suits you very well. Hmm, I guess I should tell you what happened while you slept.”

  The old man sat forward with an eager expression on his red cheeks. “That would be most gratifying, William. Yes, please.”

  “Well, probably several centuries after you went into your long sleep, the Earth was starting to really deteriorate physically. Overpopulation, pollution, and waste took its toll, and it started to die. Not as many children were born each year, species of animals and plants disappeared, natural catastrophes took their toll along with health ones, and so on. The ecology couldn’t keep up under the onslaught of humanity’s foibles, no matter how much we tried to fix it. It was too little, much too late.”

  A sudden bleakness crossed my companion’s features at these disclosures. I felt his discomfort enough to ask what was wrong.

  “No wonder I had no energy and couldn’t wake up,” he noted broodingly. “If Earth was dying, then so were we.”

  We’d never known that we were killing off Kris’ people as well as our own, along with everything else. It was hard to swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. And I thought I knew helplessness. Now I knew better. Kris waved me to continue after a moment.

  “In spite of everything wrong on Earth, we somehow floundered our way into space. WorldCom co-opted everything into extending our reach by promoting colonial settlements on other worlds. The discovery of temporary wormholes in the space-time continuum and the development of the Ellison Drive enabled us to travel farther and faster than we ever had before. Control was a bit wild at first, but the scientists eventually got it under control, under budget and viable. Short high energy bursts and a tame wormhole got the first interstellar spaceship out of the solar system and to our nearest neighbor, Alpha Centauri. There were no planets we could use, so we kept going. Eventually, we found a solar system like ours further inward along our arm of the galaxy. It had three planets out of nineteen that were suitable. Planet number six became the new home of the human race. We called it Gaia—the rest is history.”

  I stared at nothing for a bit, still awed by that massive undertaking. Then I shook myself and continued. “As for here, Worldgov evacuated the Earth, and put an inviolate satellite cordon around it, forbidding landing there. On the planet surface, teams spent twenty years replanting anything they could lay their hands on, and cloning animals to be released. Then the home-world was left on its own to regenerate. That was nearly two hundred years ago. It’ll be another four hundred or so before the Commonwealth government lets anyone move back again for study and evaluation. This station, Earthwatch Prime, was built here on the Moon to house some of the artifacts from planetside, and to monitor the status of re-growth progress.” I tied up my nutshell version of Earth history, and smiled at my guest. I was startled to find Kris gazing at me in stunned amazement.

  “You mean you’re not the only human left? That there’re more of you?” he demanded, echoing his earlier belligerence.

  “No, no, no! Humans just moved out for the duration! The central seat of government is on Gaia—where I was born. There are at least 12 billion, or so, of us spread across twenty-nine worlds. I’m just on contracted assignment as Caretaker here for a year, so I can finish studying for my Astral Navigation degree.” I spread my hands in apology, for letting him think that humans had died out. Oh, grief!

  “Well,” he mused thoughtfully, after a few calming breaths, “It explains why I can’t hear them, and maybe why Christmas has been forgotten.”

  I had an inspiration about then. “But it’s such a beautiful story, and you have to tell it again: to anyone who will listen. Look, how do you feel about public speaking? My professor at Gaia Central University could help you reach people. Earth history and culture is very, very popular among the worlds—everyone dreams of one day going ‘home’, even though they never can. Humans aren’t as long lived as you obviously are. Maybe you could bring the story to them. Then you’d hear ‘them’—the people—again.”

  Kris appeared to be thinking it over, methodically stroking his beard while he did so. His blue eyes blazed with sharp speculation. “How far is it, to this Gaia?”

  “If you had no problem getting here on the strength of a question, then I’d say that you’d have no problem getting there, or anywhere else. How do you navigate?” I pressed eagerly.

  “By thoughts and feelings—the stronger the better. I believe that I find thoughts on Christmas to be the best pin-pointers. I sort of browse around when I get wherever it is I arrive at.” Kris supplied, catching some of my excitement. “I’ll do it,” he finished firmly, grinning, and swatted me on the back with one of his meaty paws.

  The impact nearly threw me off my feet. Rubbing the offended spot, I half grimaced, half grinned back at him. He’d be all right.

  “Good, I’m going to send you to a friend who is a caretaker on another station, and then she will send you on to Gaia, and the Professor.” Plans ran wild in my head. Even the reindeer must have caught on to it, because they milled around us excitedly, butting gently with their head-sticks.

  Kris and I shook hands on it, beaming at each other.

  “I will have to return to Ea
rth periodically, to renew my energy with it, and to sleep,” he said gravely. “Would you mind if I dropped in to visit you now and then?”

  I grinned. “Not at all. It would break up my study quite nicely. Besides, it gets to be too quiet here, some days. Please come, you’ll be very welcome.”

  Kris half-turned and snapped a crisp command at the table. The hamper rose on four spindly legs, and stepped neatly over the debris of our feast. Its large handle split into two and became arms ending with hands and long dexterous fingers. They deftly shoved platters and things back into its open maw. I still couldn’t see the wormhole inside, and I wondered if it was because my eyes were bulging so hard they hurt. I tried very hard not to have hysterics just then.

  While Kris oversaw this operation, I excused myself and quickly ducked down to the hydroponics dome. As soon as the door whooshed closed behind me, I pelted the computer with rapid fire questions. I even got some answers I could use. When I came back, I’d finally gotten my sanity under control, and I presented him with something. It was a transparent plastic tube filled with soil from Earth, some leaves and twigs and pebbles: a little bit of everything. I had tied a flower to it with a bit of long grass. I felt a bit awkward, and shuffled a bit in explanation. “It’s from Earth. So you can take a little bit of it with you, when you go away. Merry Christmas, Kris.”

  He looked gobsmacked, and very touched. When he suddenly hugged me, I think he surprised both of us. I felt slightly ashamed of my earlier covetous thoughts about his food hamper.

  “Merry Christmas, William. And thank you.”

  Then I handed him a small carisac filled with hybrid apples and few quickly pulled carrots with the green bits still attached. “They’re for your reindeer. The computer said that they might like them,” I added softly. Rudolf approached again and I tweaked one of his headsticks. Antlers, the computer had called them. They were finely fuzzy beneath my fingertips. I suddenly wondered what the names of the other reindeer were. But that would have to wait for another day.