For a moment my fingers were illuminated by a diffuse red glow.
“Did I just see its nose light up? No, don’t tell me. Rudolf?”
The reindeer seemed to nod.
“The other problem,” my companion said, “is the flight plan.”
“What about it?”
“It’s on a hard drive built into the sleigh’s dashboard. There are several billion sets of coordinates, and a list of presents against each one.”
“So?”
“To start and stop that many times in one night would mean accelerations of thousands of gees. And that would mean …”
“Diced venison?”
“Exactly. We think the two things are related. Whatever lets reindeer fly lets him survive forces that would kill a human pilot in less than a second. Just think what that would mean …”
“Oh no! I am not doing this. I am not helping you convert Santa’s sleigh into the ultimate fighter aircraft.”
“For Queen and country?”
“No.”
“A lot of money?”
“No.” He paused, assessing my weak spot.
“You must realize that whoever finds out how this is done will revolutionize the world’s transport systems, maybe even fix global warming, make cheap space flight possible …”
“Still no.”
“And quite possibly,” he paused, spinning out the sentence, “come to the attention of a certain prize committee …”
I swallowed hard. When I gave up university life for teaching I’d abandoned all hope of academic recognition. Except that if this worked I might just …
It couldn’t happen.
It might.
I’d look good in a dinner jacket in Stockholm.
I opened the door and slid out of the Land Rover, my feet crunching on the thin snow.
Santa was peering into an open inspection cover at the front of the sleigh, prodding at the circuit boards inside with what looked like a long, thin, tree decoration connected to a portable logic analyser.
“Channel 17 is good,” he said into the headset. “It’s showing a live cat.” He paused.
“Can you get one of the elves from the maths department? I want to know what will happen if I open it.” Then he took off his headset and beamed at me. “Merry Christmas! Have you come to help?”
“I hope so. Can you tell me what happened?”
He paused for a moment, a worried smile on his face. “We’d taken off from Lapland as normal. About ten seconds into the climb-out I started getting high temperatures on three and four.” He tapped the row of gauges built in to the sleigh’s dashboard.
The third and fourth were labeled ‘Prancer’ and ‘Vixen’. “I aborted the equivalence at once. About three seconds later I lost power completely and made a forced landing.”
I was calculating in my head.
“Lapland to Kent in 13 seconds is around 100 miles per second, way beyond escape velocity. You don’t need aerodynamics, do you? It’s just raw speed that makes it fly.”
Santa nodded. “Although how you manage to push through the atmosphere at Mach 500 without burning up defeats me.”
The old man just smiled. “It is a mystery if you don’t understand.”
I got up onto the sleigh, sat on the bench seat and studied the instruments. There was a little rectangular screen showing a globe of the Earth, divided by lines of latitude and longitude, the spaces between them a chequer-board of light and dark patches. Two digital readouts were labeled ΛEW and ΛNS. Both showed zero. A little farther along was another display simply labelled ‘h’, and next to it was an impressive red handle. Almost automatically I wound my fingers around it, ready to pull. Santa jumped. For a moment there was a flash of real terror in his eyes, then he was jolly again. Whatever it was, I’d hit it. Lambda, h and a pattern tessellating the planet, this was the key to the whole thing. Pulling the big red lever could have disastrous consequences, only it wasn’t working.
Which was why the sleigh was on the ground.
I sat back. When the sleigh was in what Santa called ‘the equivalence’, it whistled along, slipping through the atmosphere at speeds that would fill NASA with envy.
The only thing that could overtake it was light.
The secret had to be in the reindeer, or rather in the composite of engineering and biology that sleigh and reindeer made together. Perhaps some weird twist of evolution had produced a beast that existed partly on another brane, one with a much bigger value of Planck’s constant.
What if Santa had found some way to harness the multiversal nature of the reindeer, to mould a subtle and unstable biological process into useful technology?
There were about 15 digits on the ‘h’ display, although only a single zero glowed cheerily at the right-hand end.
No, it couldn’t be …
It was. The big red lever changed the value of Planck’s constant for the sleigh.
Changed it so that the sleigh could convert into a single photon. A photon with a wavelength of a few metres. I tried to visualize the effect of quantum mechanics happening on a macroscopic scale, of the sleigh having a definite wavelength.
So that was what the lambda gauges measured, although I couldn’t see why the north–south and east–west wavelengths were different. The sleigh would become a standing wave, rather like an electron orbit, all around Earth. No, all over Earth.
The last section of the puzzle clicked into place. The pattern on the picture of Earth was a set of spherical harmonics, the standing wave that the sleigh became when the red handle was pulled. So that was how the old chap did it. He didn’t have to rush around the planet, just convert into a standing wave that was everywhere on
Earth simultaneously, and wait for the midnight line to pass right around the world under him. At any time there was a very small probability of his being in any particular chimney, but averaged over the whole night he was everywhere, once.
So why had it stopped working? What had disrupted the delicate processes inside two of the reindeer and brought the sleigh crashing back into our world?
Rudolf wandered towards the sleigh, nose flickering like a disco in an LED factory, a silly grin on his face. Suddenly I had an idea.
“Santa! The two reindeer that had high temperatures, are they boys or girls?”
Santa laughed. “Everyone knows that Vixen is female, but the books are wrong about Prancer. She’s a girl as well.”
There’s one thing that can happen to a female mammal that plays Old Harry with delicate internal processes. I turned to the squadron leader. “We need a veterinary surgeon, now.”
Twenty minutes later it was all over. Prancer and Vixen had provided positive pregnancy tests; Blitzen was being awkward about letting us have a sample.
“Rudolf!” snapped Santa, “I’ve told you before!”
Rudolf’s nose flared an embarrassed scarlet. Santa unwrapped a parcel and pulled out a slide rule. “I’ll take off on reduced power and follow the great circle back to Lapland. I should get home before they overheat again. Then I’ll swap Vixen and Prancer for Robbie and Rusty. The presents may be a few hours late but they’ll still get there. Thanks, and Merry Christmas.”
He whistled, and the reindeer lined up ready for the harness. Then he was on the seat with the reins in his hands, Rudolf’s nose started to flash like an anti-collision beacon and the sleigh accelerated down the runway. I saw one fur-gloved hand reach out to pull the big red lever, then there was a flash, a rush of wind and the sleigh was a vanishing dot on the horizon.
That’s why, every Christmas, I leave a packet of peppermints, a glass of sherry and a letter by the fireplace.
“Dear Santa, for Christmas I’d really like one present. How do reindeer change the value of Planck’s constant?”
And every year I receive a photograph of Rudolf’s growing family.
Sam Williams
THE KRAMPUS
IT SEEMS THAT somehow you are aware of, but don't realize, you
r worst mistakes; not until the second after they're committed. That's how it was when I killed my older brother. It was Christmas Eve and I was seven. Richard had come dressed as theKrampus. I believed in all the stories. Expecting a visit, I prepared to protect myself. I had hidden a kitchen knife in my robe. When I opened the door and saw the beast before me, I didn't hesitate and plunged the blade into its belly. Maybe it was the sound of poor Richard groaning, but I instantly knew I had done something terribly wrong.
The authorities declared it a tragic accident. Of course they and everyone else in town blamed my parents and their old world traditions. What those people, and later the therapist I was sent to, would never be able to understand is that the Krampus is real.
It's been several years since that Christmas, the first Christmas he came for real. Each year after, I either escaped him, or he didn't show. The years he didn't come, I simply assumed I was a “good boy”. The others were a battle. The first was the worst. After the first incident, I was assured that he didn't exist so I didn't prepare, and he almost had me. Because of what had happened, I wasn't going to sleep. I was up when he came.
Lying in my bed, hugging a tear soaked pillow, I heard something outside. The tragedy had removed any fear of monsters. To my parent's dismay, sometimes deer would eat from the little planter outside my window. The thought of seeing one cheered me up a little. My window was fogged and I opened it just a crack. I was sure I had scared it away, but then I heard it again. I opened the window wider and fell back onto the floor when two hands gripped the window sill. The fingers were long and boney and came to a point; they resembled a bird's talons. The arms were a pale flesh, covered in fine, almost-translucent white hair. A horrible face appeared out of the darkness. It was framed by two twisted horns on each side. As the creature raised itself slowly through my window, I saw the knobby end of my bat poking out from under my bed.
Little seven-year-old me didn't put up much of a fight with my baseball bat, but it was enough to get my parents in the room. When they arrived it disappeared. After midnight, I was safe for the next year. But each year after, I prepared for him. Most years it was by finding a way to stay with my parents for the night. Other years, especially as I grew older, it was traps and fighting back.
This is my forty second year and it has been, by far, the worst in a lifetime of bad. My only good years were the last five, when my son David came into my life. But it was this year I had decided to drive Davey back from the fair after having one too many. Davey didn't make it home. I did, albeit after a long hospital stay.
I now live in the mountains on a large parcel of land, far away from any neighbors. As I look out at the snow covered trees, the ever-growing shade tells me dusk is upon us. It's Christmas Eve, and while most families have come together about this time around a dinner table or fireplace, I sit alone and watch the movement in the shadows. There is something out there. It's something for which I have no fight left, something that with each inch of the setting sun gets closer.
James Maddox
INTERVIEW: A CHRISTMAS ELF or WHO’S DERRICK?
WHEN I FOUND that an elf was working at the Ashland Town Center Mall on a random visit to Kentucky, I asked if he would give me an interview. He agreed, stipulating that I had to keep his name confidential. I agreed, and we were on our way to the nearby coffee shop for a sit down.
Elf wasn't as short as I thought most elves would be, but there was something to his facial features that gave him away. Also, there was something to his eyes. They looked too old to be a part of his body. He sat looking at me wit those ancient eyes as soon as we were facing, waiting for my first question. So I asked it.
James Maddox: As an elf, what do you do after you're finished with a day at the mall?
Elf: What do you think? I take off this costume and have a drink.
JM: Milk?
Elf: What?
JM: According to some legends, if you give an elf a saucer of milk, they'll help you out with certain chores. Is that how Claus keeps you all working so hard? With saucers of milk?
Elf: First off, I don't work for any Claus. And Secondly, I like milk as much as the next guy, but I need to see cash to keep me on the job.
JM: I see. How long have you been working this particular mall?
Elf: This is my second year. Took me a while to find it. The work here is easy enough, and the stores are nice. I get to shop for my family, since I'm already at the mall. Everybody is happy come Christmas time.
JM: Where are your family from originally? Alfheim or Svartheim?
Elf: Lexington.
JM: Lexington, Under the Hill?
Elf: It's more west of here.
JM: I just wondered. I don't know if location has much to do with this, but there are a number of different versions of elves in western holidays. Halloween has goblins. St. Patrick's Day has leprechauns. Christmas has you. Are there different races of elves for each holiday, or are you assigned a holiday where you're located, or does it only matter where an elf's interest lie?
Elf: Interest, definitely. Only, more often than not, the majority of elves have turned toward Christmas since the Restructuring. Nobody likes to be thought of as a goblin, and leprechauns always feel the pressure to dress in nothing but green year round. Also, there's that whole rainbow and a pot of gold thing. People are always after that. It's ridiculous, but that's the rub of it. Christmas elves are surrounded by cheer, and since we are merely the middle men to the big guy, we're usually not bothered.
JM: Do they do background checks on all the elves that come to work here.
Elf: Extensive. Leave nothing up to chance. No one wants the ordeal of having a kidnapper on their hands, no matter what kind of presents they leave behind. But mostly, all those types have been able to leave the old ways and just do the job assigned them. Besides, residents of Fairie aren't all for collecting humans anymore. Even with the difference in time flow, all those children that were taken grew up, and suddenly we had full grown humans on our hands. Most of them resentful of having been taken. That wasn't a pretty time for us. We know that, and we've put it behind us now.
JM: How are the benefits with a job like this?
Elf: There are no benefits, officially. The Fairie Market has a booth set up for this kind of seasonal work, and every year chaps like me and Drizzt over there line up to get a job for Human December. The money we make does us well for the time we spend in Fairie. By the time it's used up, Human December's come back around on your side of the fence, and it's back to work for us.
JM: And they do use cash where you're from?
Elf: Oh, yeah. They did the big switch to currency once the Santa's Village people said they weren't paying with favors anymore. It became too costly to them, they said. And we couldn't do much about that. Used to be, if we liked you, we helped. If we didn't, we made your life a living hell. But like I said, that was in the old days, back when interbreeding hadn't yet dumbed down our magic.
JM: Interbreeding?
Elf: Yeah, those humans that didn't want to leave Fairie mixed with a population of elves that would have them. In fact, I'm somewhat a result of that particular period of our history.
JM: Really? You?
Elf: Thirty percent human.
JM: Wow.
Elf: But for some reason, we're still allergic to iron. Our people never got that figured out.
JM: So, what do you do with the time you're not in pointy jingle toes?
Elf: I keep myself busy. Sometimes, I'll visit those that live on this side full-time. Sometimes, I'll just read over the old scrolls. Sometimes, I'll catch up on past favors. There are always plenty of things to do. This job gives me a chance to do them.
JM: Why don't all elves put in for this job?
Elf: They do. It's just that not all of them get in, because of its high profile. Like I said: Extensive background checks. You can't be some slob off the street to work this gig. You have to have some pull. It makes a lot of elves sick that humans
give this job to teenagers who don't appreciate it. Half the time, those little pimply bastards feel this job is some kind of punishment they have to serve, when, for us, this job is a chance to live easy in Fairie. It could be a chance to save our children a lot of work in their lives, or even a means of setting up your own shop in the Market. This here [jingles his toe bells] is a break—one I'm happy to have received.
JM: Well, I'm glad you've got it. And I'm glad you took the time to speak with me. This has been great.
Elf: No problem, sir. Now, I have to get back to work. These kids aren't going to guide themselves to Derrick's lap on their own.
Angela Carter
THE GHOST SHIPS
A Christmas Story
Therefore that whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or the like, either by forebearing of labor, feasting, or any other way upon any such account aforesaid, every person so offending shall pay for every offense five shillings as a fine to the county.
Gift-Wrapped & Toe-Tagged: A Melee of Misc. Holiday Anthology Page 100
