Over the River and To the
Moon
July 23, 2044
Ginger was busy reviewing
the elves’ upcoming duty schedules when
something on the background
television snagged her attention. She peered up and saw video from what
appeared to be the surface of the moon and its first permanent habitation -
Armstrong Base. She increased the volume.
“…the
consortium just gave approval today for the first child to visit Armstrong
Base. Vivian Olovski, seven-year-old daughter of the base’s first commanding
officer, Case Olovski, is tentatively scheduled to make the trip in
mid-November for a sixty day stay. Officials are heralding the educational
opportunities and…”
Ginger tuned out the rest of
the details as pictures of the precocious child at her elementary school’s
science fair flashed by. Mid-November for sixty days. That little tidbit seared
itself into the back of her mind. Christmas fell into that span. The moon.
Presents.
“Peppermint
sticks!”
Ginger muted the television
and snatched up the snow globe from her desk. Shaking it vigorously, she
initiated a call straight to Santa. The big guy answered after a bit, his sun-burnt face resolving out of the dancing
snowflakes. Even behind the mirrored sunglasses, his irritation was clear.
“I
thought I told you to only use this for an emergency,” he said. Just underneath
his less-than-jolly voice Ginger could hear the crash of waves. Aruba? Santa
hadn’t disclosed where he and the missus were taking their summer vacation this
year.
“It
is,” she said, suddenly less certain it raised quite to that level. “Well, sort
of.”
Santa’s
scowl deepened, a difficult thing to do while sipping something exotic from an
umbrella and fruit-laden glass.
“It
involves a tricky delivery.”
Santa shook his head. “We
have tricky deliveries every year and Christmas isn’t for another five months.
That doesn’t sound like an emergency to me.”
Ginger got the hint. “Sorry,
probably not. I just, well, it’s something we’ve never seen before and…”
Santa’s
stony expression hardened further.
“…and
we have those every year, too,” she finished. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Do
that.” Santa’s face vanished from the snow globe and the flakes settled out
over the miniature re-creation of Christmas Village.
Ginger set the globe down
and sighed. She was embarrassed for having interrupted Santa’s
private time and knowing it hadn’t really been necessary. In the back of her
mind, though, she had a nagging suspicion it might be more of a problem than
she initially feared.
Santa had entrusted her with
immense responsibility as his number one elf. She oversaw most of the entire
operation, particularly on the 364 days each year not directly tied to the
delivery of gifts worldwide. What had he told her about handling such
responsibilities when they became too great? Form a committee and delegate.
#
October 17, 2044
“What’s
the problem?”
Snowball wilted and Ginger
quickly apologized for snapping at the chief engineer.
“Sorry,”
she said, softening her tone. Geez, in her old age, she was getting as bad as
Santa. “What did you need?”
“Well,
the sleigh conversion is going according to schedule,” Snowball began, having
trouble keeping his eyes off the floor. “But the protective bubble we’d been
developing for the reindeer isn’t working. It can protect them from the vacuum
of space, but there’s an interference with their flight magic. Either they can
breath or move, but not both at the same time.”
Ginger removed her glasses
and pinched her nose. Outfitting Santa’s team
for a trip to the moon had been nothing but one seemingly insurmountable
problem after another. Christmas Magic was powerful stuff, but even it had
rules. Flying off-world hadn’t been part of Santa’s legend. Worse, any time
Ginger tried to broach the subject with the big guy, he ignored her or changed
the topic. Granted, his sole responsibility in the lead-up to the big day was
to monitor the kids and polish up the naughty and nice lists. But on this one
topic, he was being unusually obstinate. Ginger secretly suspected he was aware
of the situation and didn’t have any answers of his own, which terrified her.
She said, “Have
you tried thinking outside the box?”
The elf frowned. “Uh,
maybe?”
Ginger shook her head. “Perhaps
you’re thinking about this too much like an elf. How would a human approach it?”
He shrugged. “I
don’t know. They rely on spaceships and spacesuits to go into space. Christmas
Magic doesn’t factor into it.”
“Then
maybe you should consider their approach.”
Snowball looked at her
incredulously. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Uh,
okay.”
Ginger felt for the guy, but
she knew she didn’t have the engineering know-how and
this one had to fall upon their experts. Leadership and delegation, she thought
for not the thousandth time, sucked rancid peppermint sticks. She was a born
control-freak and relying on others was testing every fiber of her elfin being.
If there was one who was worse than her, it was Santa himself. How could he
tolerate not only delegating things to her now, but actively avoid any
participation in those aspects of Christmas preparation? What had allowed him
to change in recent decades?
She reached for her snow
globe to ring him up, even if only to ask about his thoughts on leadership
rather than the moon mission. No, she thought, pulling back her hand. Not yet.
#
December 25, 2044
Regardless how stressful the
buildup to Christmas was each year, the arrival of the actual day had always
filled her with joy. The heavy work was done and now she and the other elves
could mostly just kick back and enjoy the moment as Santa made the deliveries.
Sure, they still had to load the sleigh during stops back at the North Pole,
and the odd storm or other headache might crop up, but all in all it was a
happy time.
Usually.
“Two
hours, Snowball,” Ginger said, trying to hide the urgent desperation in her
voice.
The chief engineer, poring
over one of the toy making machines, looked as frazzled as a kindergarten
teacher on the last day before break. He grunted something as he kicked the
machine and uttered a few very un-elf-like words.
“These
machines were never meant to craft materials of this kind!” He kicked it
harder, as if that would help.
Santa was already ten hours
into making his deliveries. The moon delivery was due in two hours as Armstrong
Base worked on Greenwich Mean Time, right in the middle of Christmas Day
worldwide. The team tasked with making the delivery possible had concocted
spacesuits for the reindeer that, on paper, should work, but in reality had
proved to be too stiff in the legs when under vacuum. An ex-NASA engineer, who’d
been a perennial on Santa’s nice list as a kid, had given them a few
suggestions without knowing who exactly it was he was helping.
The machine chimed
pleasantly and began chugging like a locomotive. Snowball’s
eyes lit up and that hint of optimism lifted Ginger out of her grim funk. The
engineer pulled at several levers and twisted still more knobs.
“Is
it working?” Ginger asked.
Snowball eyed the readouts
and pursed his lips. “Maybe. But, even if it is, we’ll be
cutting it awful close to get the suits sewn up.”
“The
tailors are all on standby,” Ginger said.
Snowball grunted. “It’ll
still take a Christmas miracle.”
Ginger couldn’t
help but grin. “Funny, that.”
#
It might only be one gift,
but every delivery mattered on Christmas Day. Ginger’s
spirits soared as each of the custom-fit reindeer spacesuits was finished and
transferred to the barn just as the team was due in for a reload. And this wasn’t
just any reload, but the first to be delivered off-planet.
There was a buzz of
excitement when Rudolph’s red nose came into view followed
soon after by the team sliding expertly into the barn. With an efficiency that
would make a NASCAR pit crew weep for joy, elves descended upon the sleigh and
team and set to work. Santa hopped out to stretch his legs and give them space.
“You
appear to be in unusually good spirits,” Santa said to Ginger as she walked up
to him. “Been a while.”
Ginger nodded sheepishly. “You
were right. I know you’ve been avoiding the topic to teach me a lesson. And,
well, lesson learned.”
Santa’s
brow furrowed. “What lesson was that?”
Ginger heard the genuine
confusion in his voice and her stomach churned like bad eggnog. Had she
completely misread the last six months? Had he been so utterly removed from the
elves’ project to make his journey to the moon possible that he
had no clue what was involved?
“Uh,
leadership, and such…” Ginger let the words hang like fog from her breath.
Santa looked as confused as
Ginger felt.
Ginger prompted him. “The
moon delivery?”
Santa perked up. “Oh,
that one. No need to fret over that. It’s already been delivered.”
Ginger felt her jaw drop,
but no words came out. What could she even say to that? How? When?
Santa must have picked up on
her discombobulation and smiled. “Took a
bit of planning to get it done, since going there clearly wasn’t possible.
Snuck it aboard the last resupply mission. Even included a self-contained
clockwork elf to make sure it’s placed under whatever passes for a Christmas
tree up there.”
Ginger wanted to slap the
smirk off Santa’s fat, rosy cheeks. The big guy’s
smile started sliding off on its own when he saw the ice in Ginger’s eyes.
“You
shipped it!?”
Santa actually took a half a
step back from the elf one-tenth his size. “Uh, well,
yeah. In a sense, I suppose. What else was I going to do?”
Ginger clenched her fists to
keep them from shaking. “Maybe,” she said, drawing out the
word, “you could have delivered it in person. You know, on the sleigh we’ve
been working half a year on outfitting to make it happen. For example.”
Ginger’s
frustration over the last few months must have finally clicked for Santa as he
looked mightily chagrined. “Wow, well, yes, I suppose that would be one option.
But since it’s already delivered and it’s such a long way…”
His words trailed off when
Ginger’s frown became close to showing
teeth.
“I’m
sure the Powers That Be will be understanding.” Ginger said this with a sweet,
innocent tone, completely opposite the dire threat implied. The Powers That Be,
the aspects of the universe that empowered Santa and Christmas magic, were
notorious sticklers for rules. One such rule was the personal delivery of all
presents.
Santa’s
rosy cheeks blanched. “Maybe I should see to it that gift is placed personally,”
he said. “Besides, it’ll be an adventure to travel to the moon.”
“If
you think it best,” Ginger said, unable to hide her sarcastic pleasure at his
discomfort.
“You
really got the sleigh and team outfitted for that trip?” Now that Santa had
conceded his neglect on the matter, his professional interest was roused.
Ginger shrugged as if it had
been nothing. “Delegating doesn’t mean neglecting.”
Santa nodded in
understanding. Perhaps a lesson had been learned from this episode, after all.
“Guess
I’d better hit the head before this next leg, then,” Santa said, hitching up
his pants. “Don’t think there are any rest stops along the way.”
Santa ho ho ho’d
at his own joke as he walked away.
Ginger, still steamed, felt
Snowball sidle up beside her while she watched the elves get the reindeer
dressed in their festively-colored space suits. From the chief engineer there
was a sense of unity and pride.
“Couldn’t
help but overhear some of that,” he said. “Did he really not…?”
“Nope.”
“And
he wasn’t going to…?”
“Nope.”
“Wow.”
“Yup.”
They stood in amiable
silence for a bit longer before Ginger called over Trotter, the reindeer
herd-master.
“The
team’s a bit jittery,” Trotter said, “but they’ll get it done. Those suits fit
much better than the last set.”
“I’m
glad to hear it,” Ginger said. “Snowball did good work.”
Snowball blushed in pride as
the herd-master nodded.
“Now,
I do have a favor to ask,” Ginger said to Trotter. “I’d like to make sure the
team has plenty of energy for the trip.”
Trotter looked offended. “We’re
already feeding them the finest oats we’ve got.”
Ginger shook her head no. “I’m
talking something special. Maybe something we’ve got locked away in shed number
thirteen.”
The North Pole air between
them dropped a few more degrees. Trotter and Snowball exchanged a look.
“Uh,
Ginger,” Trotter said, cautiously. “There’s only one edible thing locked away
in there.”
“I
know.” She gave him a look that carried all the meaning necessary. Trotter
looked nervous.
“But,
what about Santa?”
Ginger snorted and smiled. “He
gave me full authority over this project. I’m exercising it. Make it happen.”
Trotter looked to Snowball,
who only shrugged.
“Right,
Miss Ginger,” Trotter said. “How much?”
“All
of it. And be quick about it.”
“Right
away,” Trotter said, racing off.
When they were again outside
earshot of any other elves, Snowball said, “Are you
sure that’s wise?”
Ginger smiled. “No,
but it’ll be fun. And you can’t say it’s not keeping in the Christmas spirit of
kids and too much sugar.”
Snowball chuckled. “But
four cases of giant caffeinated Pixy Stix? Those things aren’t even street
legal anymore, right?”
“No,
they are not.”
After the gummy bear
incident of 1978, Santa had banned any sugar consumption by his team in the
week leading up to and on Christmas Day. He didn’t
even allow them to clean up crumbs from the cookies he ate.
Snowball shook his head and
smiled. “We’ll just call it rocket fuel
then, eh?”
“Exactly,
Snowball. It’s the only way to fly.”
