Story Seed Vault

Forgot to get a post up linking to this (very) short story I wrote back in 2017. It's for the Story Seed Vault, a collection of tweet-sized sci-fi inspired by science news stories. When I heard about the site, an article I had read not long before immediate popped to mind and the story soon followed.

The story was untitled, but for convenience I'll call it Beet Burgers.

Christmas Leftover

Third consecutive year for writing a Christmas story. I think that official makes it a tradition. Different feel from the last couple years. Hope you enjoy it.



Christmas Leftover

Santa took a long, deep breath of the salty Pacific air. Ordinarily, these last couple deliveries in American Samoa marked a pleasurable end to a long night’s work. Something was off tonight, however, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

His team had done its job remarkably well and the post-Christmas evaluations would be nitpicking. That wasn’t it. The weather had been cooperative, aside from a few dicey moments in the northeast Pacific and that spot of hail in Uruguay. That wasn’t it, either.

Santa climbed into his sleigh and sent his team off to the very last house on his route. When he reached back into his pack to fetch the young girl’s gift, he discovered two packages there. That was it.

“Peppermint sticks!” Santa’s curse drew wary glances from his reindeer.

When was the last time something like this had happened? In the early years, it had been a regular problem until his wife convinced him he really did need to check his list twice. Then the elves put together a quality control program—the department of redundancy department, he liked to call them—and there had been nearly no miscues since. It felt like a breakdown in the system and left an otherwise fine season on a sour notes.

Santa dropped off the young Samoan’s gift and then took a look at the wayward package. It was addressed to Kristi. The address, in elvish script invisible to human eyes, said she lived in Rockham, Oregon in the United States. That would make it nearly dawn, if he wasn’t mistaken. At least there was still time to make the delivery before its absence was noted. He set his team on the course with all due haste.

While the reindeer blazed out across the open water, Santa shook the snow globe on his sleigh’s dash. Within moments, Ginger, his most trusted elf, appeared among the swirling flakes.

“What’s up, Santa? All done?”

“Not exactly,” Santa said.

Ginger’s demeanor changed from playful to profession in the blink of an eye. “Problem?”

“Route’s done, but I have a spare gift in the bag,” he said. He gave her the details. “I’m en route now, but I want you to check the delivery schedule and see if you can’t figure out why it wasn’t on there.”

She nodded somberly. “Get back with you shortly.”

Courtesy of Santa’s own reality, the trip across the Pacific was brief and uneventful. He spent the time recalling up the young Kristi’s gift request. It was a disc golf basket, uncommon but nothing particularly noteworthy.

The address was out in the countryside, just high enough in elevation to have enjoyed a light Christmas snow. Colorful lights illuminated the home and a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney. The eastern horizon was revealing its first hint of pre-dawn gray.

As the team came in for a landing, Rudolph flinched and then banked abruptly. The others followed suit and the sleigh was whipped around roughly. Santa was about to chastise his team lead when he felt it—a powerful aversion to the house itself. It wasn’t cold or evil in nature, just adamant. What in the North Pole was going on?

He directed the team to land just in a clearing just off the property line. They pawed nervously at the ground, but otherwise ignored him. He couldn’t blame them, sharing their agitation.

The snowflakes in his dash globe began to swirl and Ginger’s image returned. He hoped she had an answer for him.

“Sir?”

“What’d you find, Ginger?”

“I can’t explain it. She’s on the master list, clear as day, but not on the delivery schedule. This kind of thing shouldn’t be able to happen.”

He bit back his retort. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t need to be on the receiving end of his tongue-lashing. Even if someone else had screwed up, it was ultimately on him, and he had a feeling there was more to this than just the delivery schedule.

“I can’t set foot on the property,” he said.

“You…what? Like unholy ground or something?”

Santa stared at the house for a bit. Something nagged him in the back of his mind.

“Does Kristi have a sibling?” Once, long ago, he probably would have been able to remember off the top of his head. He’d gotten lax in recent centuries, relying too much upon his support system.

“Just a sec.” Ginger vanished for a minute and then returned. “Yes. Trevor, age eight.”

That made him three years older than his sister. Santa knew, instinctively, that Trevor was on his good list this year. But he only had a present for Kristi. He would have remembered trying to deliver one here for Trevor.

“He doesn’t have a delivery scheduled,” Ginger said.

No, he didn’t. It all came back to Santa like a kick in his bowl full of jelly.

“Santa?”

He shook his head and ho-ho-hoed. “It’s okay, Ginger. I know what happened.”

“You do?”

“This is an old job.”

Ginger frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Santa grinned. “Pull up Trevor’s file. You’ll understand. In the meantime, I have a gift to unwrap.”

#

Trevor awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. He’d heard a clatter outside. When the sleepiness cleared his head, he decided it had actually been more of a thump. His room was still dark, but the clock said three minutes to six, which was close enough to his school wake-up time that he wouldn’t get in trouble for getting up. He slipped out from beneath his sheets to see what was the matter.

Pulling aside his curtain, he could just make out the shadows of bushes and trees against the brighter snow on the ground. There were still stars in the sky, but those on the eastern horizon were fading. Nothing immediately struck him as being out of the ordinary until he spotted something dark and circular laying in the snow just beneath his window. A ball? It was too dark to tell for certain. What he did know was that it hadn’t been there when he’d gone to bed. It had been snowing lightly at that point and would have covered whatever it was.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Trevor crept out of his room and down the hall. Kristi, his sister, must have already been awake, as her door cracked open and she poked her head out.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside,” Trevor said in a whisper.

“Why?”

“I think something just hit my window. I want to see what it is.”

“I’m coming, too.”

Trevor didn’t want her tagging along because it meant having to help her into her boots and coat, but if he refused she would probably wake their parents. Christmas morning or not, that wouldn’t go over well.

“Fine, just stay quiet.”

Once they were properly dressed, they crunched through the snow around the side of the house over to Trevor’s window. He peered around again, but saw no one. Aside from their footsteps and Kristi’s breathing, it was also silent.

“Is that it?” Kristi pointed to the dark circle. From here, Trevor could tell it wasn’t a ball.

“Yeah,” Trevor said, bending down to pick it up.

It was a dinner-plate sized disc of heavy plastic with a lip around the circumference. He recognized it as a disc golf disc, like a Frisbee but used for throwing into the metal baskets rather than playing catch. Their parents had introduced them to the game last summer while camping.

“What is it?” Kristi asked.

“A disc.”

“Santa came! He got my letter!”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “You asked for a disc?”

“Well, I asked for a basket, actually,” Kristi said. “You know, so you and me could play together while we’re at home.”

Trevor was taken aback by her Christmas wish and found himself ashamed by what he’d asked of Santa this year. What kind of a kid asks Santa to skip over their house? A disappointed and self-centered one, and just because Santa hadn’t brought him what he’d asked for the year before.

“That’s a really nice thing you asked for,” Trevor said. He meant it.

“Wait, is that the basket?” Kristi practically squealed with delight and charged across the yard. Sure enough, Trevor could make out the very thing for which she’d asked. To his eye, it appeared to be set up just outside their property line.

Trevor just twirled the disc in dumbfounded amazement, smiling when Kristi declared that it was indeed a brand new basket, complete with a bow. As the disc turned in his hands, he noticed a dark smear across the back. On closer inspection, it appeared to be handwriting.

He walked around the side of the house to where their Christmas lights provided sufficient illumination to read by. In elegant handwriting were the words, “These things take time.”

Santa had delivered last year’s gift after all, whether Trevor deserved it or not. His sister not only wanted to play with him, but play something they both enjoyed.

Trevor walked back around the side of the house and called out to his sister, “Is there another disc over there?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Santa's Weakest Link

Freebie short story I put together in the spirit of the season. Merry Christmas all!

Santa’s Weakest Link

 

Santa checked his list. He checked it twice. As much as he hated this part of the job, a botched season five years ago had forced his hand and he’d instituted changes to his operation. Performance reviews.

He stepped up to the reindeer paddock and cleared his throat. From the two hundred strong herd, his team of nine separated themselves. While they approached him at the fence, the others maintained a curious watch from a discreet distance.

“Well, it’s been another good season,” Santa said, dusting snow off his sleeves as he opened with the perfunctory good news. “All deliveries made and no incidents. Always room for improvement, of course.”

The reindeer shuffled, dark eyes flickering back and forth. Donner, the biggest of the team, snorted a puff of vapor.

“Okay, let’s get on with this. Rudolph, we’ll start with you.”

Rudolph’s expression behind that shining red nose was challenging, proud.

“Decent outing last night,” Santa said. “And you were a beacon for the rest when we hit that rough patch over the Ohio River Valley. Can’t say I was too pleased with your off-season work ethic, though. Lack of focus, half-hearted effort at times. Not the sort of example I expect from my team lead. Just because you’re the most famous of the bunch doesn’t mean you’re immune to criticism. I ran with a team of eight for centuries before you were born and I could do it again.”

Rudolph bowed his head, his nose dimming slightly.

“Donner, Blitzen,” Santa said, turning his attention their way. “Again, good job all around. I know I can always count on you two to pull your load. Don’t think I didn’t overhear you two second-guessing my call to hit Italy before Switzerland this year, though. Remember, I see you when you’re sleeping and when you’re awake.”

The two reindeer shared a quick glance before looking back at the ground.

Santa turned back to his list. “Right, Dasher. Excellent off-season, but a little too exuberant when it came to the big night. Take your pace from those ahead of you. Don’t need to keep pulling to the left because you’re in such a hurry.

“And Dancer. Unremarkable all around. No real sore spots, but nothing to set yourself apart, either. Might want to show some initiative and push harder next season. Just getting by isn’t good enough for my team.”

Dancer nodded her head and took half a step back.

“Prancer,” Santa said, pausing to look up and make sure he had the reindeer’s full attention. “Gotta say, I was pretty disappointed last night. Getting your harness tangled up, not once but twice? I don’t know where your head was, but I know where it wasn’t.”

Prancer trembled. Santa didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes, in spite of his claims otherwise, but she’d been losing focus in recent years.

“Slider,” Santa said. “I know you’re the rookie on the team, so I can let a bit of over-enthusiasm slide. Good energy and stamina, but you’ll have to reign it in next season.

“Comet, last year we talked about your tendency to lose altitude on longer hops. This year, didn’t happen once. Thanks for taking that to heart. Good, solid year all around.”

Comet shook her head.

“Ares, gotta say I’m disappointed. Still up to those reindeer games. I let it slide during your rookie season, but I fear I may have been too soft on you. I know Rudolph, Donner, and Blitzen were warning you as well. You never know when you might run out of second chances.”

The young buck looked properly chagrined under Santa’s withering glare.

“Look behind you,” Santa said, waving his black-gloved hand toward the herd. “There’s over a hundred others chomping at the bit for the chance, the honor, the responsibility of becoming a member of this team. It’s not a one-night-a-year job. You have to live it, every minute of every day. We’re a team, and we’ll only ever be as strong as our weakest link.

“Prancer, I’m sorry, but this year that was you.”

#

“Have I mentioned how I hate this time of year?” Santa said.

He settled his bulk into a creaking chair at the dining room table. The crackling of fire in the hearth and heady intermingling scents of pine, cinnamon, and baking bread, aspects of home that always made him feel relaxed after a long season, did little to soothe him today. He poured a glass of milk and sighed.

“I know, dear,” Missus said, poking her head out of the kitchen. “You work too hard, sometimes.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s not the work. It’s having to play manager, boss. Performance debriefs. End of year evaluations.”

“Oh, right. That. Well, it was your idea.”

“And it has improved team performance. Maybe even morale, a bit, I suppose. At least among those who were pulling their weight.”

Missus vanished back into the kitchen, but carried on the conversation. “At the cost of adding stress.”

“Stress.” There was stress, and then there’d been the stress of five years ago.

“What dear?” Missus came out of the kitchen, carrying a heavily laden plate that she set before her husband. It smelled divine.

“Just talking to myself,” he said, tucking a napkin into his shirt collar.

“A week from now, we’ll be soaking up sun in Tahiti and you’ll have forgotten all about this.” She gripped his shoulder and gave him a kiss on his rosy cheek.

“Thanks, dear,” he said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your dinner. You know how I feel about tonight.” Missus gave him a look and he nodded knowingly.

Once Missus had retreated to the kitchen, Santa picked up his fork and knife and assaulted the reindeer tenderloin in lingonberry sauce. A guilty pleasure, to be sure.