Twas the Night Before Christmas (On Mars)

Slyszmam strode the espanade with long, lanky strides from her three-taloned claws. The boardwalk gave a beautiful view of the Martian desert and the distant, small green line marked the boundary of the atmosphere plants. The raw sea of sand that was the Chryse rested beyond.

Slyszmam was an officer in the famed Nike Apteros brigade of the Stellar Marines. Her rank translated, or mistranslated, as 'Colonel-General' into Human languages. Her unit was stationed on the red planet, and she was an adviser to the Planetary Security Agency in the Martian Capitol. She liked her time on Mars. She only wished the humans knew more about her avian people. She was tired of explaining that the bright feathery plumes so famous to the Earthly Martians were worn by males of her species only, in order to attract females like herself. She had a silky black crown of down instead.

It was 24 December according to Universal Time, as the humans so anthropocentricly called it. It was the local time of a North Atlantic seacoast town, the home of the Green Witch. The symbols of the holiday season were all around her. Snowmen and candy canes, reindeer and dreidels, menorahs and creches were strewn about the boardwalk. Slyszmam had been invited to several coworker's homes for the holidays – from Christmas, to Hanukkah to Kwanzaa parties. But she missed her nestworld and her hatchlings. She turned and returned to her apartment to quietly spend the night.

The intruder used ELFS to enter the home. That is ELectromagnetic Fluctuation and Syncopation teleportation. He carefully put down his large bags of items. He looked about the spartan main room.

"What are you doing here? Looking for cookies?" The intruder jumped back at the sound of the voice. His belly rolled like jelly and his red checks glowed a more scarlet. Santa Claus stroked his snow white beard. "I could ask the same of you. Father Christmas."

They were twins of a sort. The two men wore thick coats of red. Father Christmas's was long and brushed upon the floor. His beard was also much longer and sank deep upon his chest. A tasseled hat rested on both their heads. "In believe this area is mine in which to deliver toys. Shouldn't you be on the Moon." A crisp British accent spoke the words.

"I was. Do you realize how easy it is for flying reindeer to reach escape velocity in lunar gravity? I am here because the Synod of 2007 clearly stated…" Santa began.

"That gathering set the boundaries for the expected Lunar colony and any L5 space stations."

"The Kris Kringle Proposal -" Santa held up his index finger.

"That proposal was tabled by the committee."

"I am the one to bring presents here," Santa Claus shouted.

"You two are behaving like children. I believe coal will be in both your stockings!" A newcomer spoke. Saint Nickolaus carried a shepherd's crux and wore the miter of an archbishop as he strode into the room. The saint was thinner than the others, and his skin darker, as he hailed from Anatolia, not the North Pole.

"You're in trouble now," Santa whispered.

"Freeze. Planetary Security. What are you doing her?" Slyszmam stood there, the luminescent sword of her people in one foreclaw and an ol' style Earth blaster in the other. The red dot of her RATS (ranging and targeting scope) danced upon Santa's white beard.

"Why, I'm Santa Claus. And these are other gift-givers who arrive with presents on this most holy eve."

Father Christmas added: "By the by. Where the dickens is Sydney Liu Hu?"

"I'm subletting from her." She lowered the sword, but not the blaster.

"I need a database update," lamented Santa. "I functioned better with letters than e-mails." Santa stroked his beard and laughed loudly. "Ho, ho, ho." His convex belly shook.

"When he does that, he's just a showing off." Father Christmas said.

"There are religious and folkloric meanings to this season on Earth —" began Santa.

"Jesus is the reason for the season," Saint Nickolaus stated.

"The hatching of your human god," replied Slyszmam.

"Yes, of course," continued the red-suited man. "Freedom from religious persecution in an eight day miracle of lamp oil for the Temple, the celebration of the virtues of the 'first fruits' of harvest."

"Even a winter harvest," Father Christmas added in a voice that was either sarcastic or just singularly British.

"There are even traditions of fallen-away pagan solstice holidays involved. Yule logs, lit trees in the home, be they Christmas trees or 'Hanukkah bushes', wreaths. Any evergreen. Holly or —"

"Hey-ho! Balder, Norse God of Light, at your service." A tall blonde man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a white fur-lined outfit with thick boots that looked to be made out of Yeti hide – or maybe it was storm giant.

Santa's finger pointed upwards. Balder raised his head to see oval, green leaves and red berries. "Ai-yie! Mistletoe!" He scurried away.

"I died and came back from Hel, too. You know."

"Like Demeter!" Slyszmam said.

"Oh, don't mention her! She was a Queen down under."

Santa Claus coughed loudly, too many years of pipe smoking one must assume. "If I may continue… A savior's birth, a miracle of lights, cultural virtues, a prosperous New Year. Abstracts all. To give a gift to abstracts? Even I wouldn't attempt that!"

A solid "humbug!" came from Father Christmas.

"No, we pass along our warmer wishes, a toy or two, to family, neighbors. Even strangers."

"Wassel!" cried Father Christmas.

"Ah! Speaking of which — isn't that pub on 42nd street still open?" Balder asked.

Santa Claus rummaged in his large bag. "I always carry an extra gift …" He brought forth a headpiece of colorful, beautiful feathers. "For you, dear. Wear it in good health."

Slyszmam took the wig in her foreclaws. It was a perfect replica of a strutting males' plumes for her to wear amongst the humans.

Find more by G.C. Dillon in the Author Index.

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