Authors: Justine Fontes
Arthur Christmas (2 page)
A team of elves made their way down a suburban street. Before alley cats could open their mouths to meow, an elf turned his gun to “CAT” and dispensed a barrage of tuna-flavored treats. Similarly, a dog-food grenade silenced a guard dog.
Every type of gift, no matter how large, cumbersome, or noisy, reached its proper destination beautifully wrapped and perfectly assembled. Though most houses no longer had chimneys, the elves found their way in, deposited the right gifts, and left without waking so much as a mouse.
Disguised as doctors, they delivered to every sick child in hospitals. Prepared for every possible problem, the elves even had a peanut gun to shoot into the beak of a parrot that squawked loudly.
They had special gadgets designed to bite the carrots children left out “For Rudolph” and the other reindeer. They used hoses to suck up the pudding left “For Santa” into containers strapped to their tiny backs.
An electronic scanner measured the Nice/Naughty percentage of each child, allowing the stocking-filler gun to dispense the proper amount of small toys, chocolate coins, and candy canes.
The elves efficiently slid every kind of gift under tree after tree, and stuffed stockings with lightning speed, all without knocking over one knickknack or card.
Incredibly, within the 18.14 seconds, all the elf teams emerged from their targets with their gifts successfully dispatched. Carlos Connor reported proudly to the camouflaged craft, “Stand by S-1! Aarhus is Merry. Aarhus is Merry!”
The elves grabbed the wires and shot back up on them to the waiting ship, as air jets in the soles of their tiny shoes erased their footprints from the snow below. No trace of their visit was left behind. As each trio of elves ascended, they saluted Santa before disappearing into the craft.
As it flew through a dense cloud between stops, the S-1 momentarily dropped its starry camouflage, revealing it to be a giant red spaceship, the most modern craft on Earth!
Commanding it from Mission Control, Steve Claus said, “North Pole to S-1, you have weather fluctuation, update camouflage.”
One of the elves assigned to maintaining the craft's disguise replied, “Roger that, Control.”
Cameras all over the S-1's surface clicked to life. Suddenly the huge craft was cloaked in images of the land beneath. It was making itself invisible by projecting its surroundings onto itself! “Hull projection optimized,” the elf reported.
The helmsman, Chris Tankenson, reported, “Denmark cleared.”
Other elves echoed excitedly, “Denmark cleared.” “That's an X-12 on Denmark.”
Determined to keep them focused on the best delivery operation, Steve said, “OK, next drop Flensburg, minus 12.4 seconds.”
AS THE SPEEDING
S-1 approached Germany, one of the elf specialists jammed the nation's Air Defense Radar on five different frequencies. A computerized voice from the North Pole Mission Control played through the S-1's monitors. It reminded the elf, “Four hours to mission deadline.”
The elf's tiny, sensitive ears twitched at yet another sound, a tentative knock on the door and a muffled voice saying, “Hello ⦠?”
The elf knew that voice and pressed a button that caused the door to SWISH open and a red carpet to unroll for Santa Claus. His jolly demeanor and big red suit made the man instantly recognizable. At his approach, all the elves present quickly saluted. Santa shuffled inside, muttering, “Sorry ⦠Forgot the pin code.” He could not get used to all the passwords and codes required by Steve's new technology. But Santa still wanted to stay on top of the mission. “So, how're we, uh ⦔
The eager helmsman answered Santa's question before he could finish. “Just crossed into Germany, sir.”
“Germany.” Santa stifled a belch. “Aren't we doing well?”
“Certainly are, sir,” Tankenson replied.
Santa almost belched again, and then apologized. “Umf ⦠sorry ⦠one too many ⦠mince pies.” His belly was bloated with all the treats combined with the stress of the season. He patted his pockets, looking for the antacid tablets Mrs. Claus always made sure were there.
Tankenson filled the awkward silence. “Great achievement, sir.” Then he added, “Looking forward to retirement?”
Santa hadn't heard him over his own chewing. He had found the roll of chalky tablets and had already popped two into his mouth.
The computerized voice recited, “Ten seconds to Flensburg.”
Santa yawned. White chunks of dissolving tablets dotted his tongue. “Maintain current ⦠um ⦠Carry on all!”
The computer went on, “Update national protocol. Delete rice pudding and carrot. Germans leave out a shoe on the front step for Santa to fill. Repeat: Shoe on front step.”
The same voice echoed in the S-1's giant Dispatch Deck where millions of gifts traveled along a maze of conveyor belts. As each gift passed through a control point, a scanner read the tiny barcode on its tag. On the computer screen of the nearby checker elf, the number would appear, ticking off the delivery for the child assigned that particular barcode.
Past the scanner, teams of delivery elves huddled beside their hatches, waiting for other elves to attach a gift to their back. The room resonated with numbers, followed by the constantly repeated phrase, “Gift secured!”
Dispatch Chief Carlos Connor kept his crew briskly focused. “You! MOVE!” he shouted to a dreamy elf named Tardy Baynham.
“What happened to peace and goodwill to all men, Sarge?” Tardy wondered.
Connor grumbled. “It don't say nothing about elves, soldier. GO! GO! GO!”
Over the speaker, Steve commanded, “Engage rooftops!”
Another elf hooked Tardy to his wire and pushed him out of the huge ship. Wind whistled through Tardy's pointy little ears as he suddenly sped toward the ground.
Live images of his speedy descent reached Mission Control at the North Pole, monitored on a giant screen by the dashing Steve Claus, Arthur's older brother. All the support elves admired their brilliant, handsome, dynamic leader, especially Steve's assistant, Peter. Everything about Steve, from his neat, white Christmas treeâshaped goatee to his trim, muscular physique inspired adoration in the fawning elfâeven the way Steve sipped his espresso.
“Commencing Flensburg drop,” the computer's voice reported.
Steve commanded. “S-1, hold drop altitude. This is Germany, Father. They drive on the right, national dish is sausage” He looked at the big screen showing Santa landing on a rooftop.
He clapped his hands to rally the elves. “OK, let's show them, people. Operation Santa Claus is coming to town.”
Steve's deep, authoritative voice echoed off the walls of the huge, secret space dug into a glacier. His bright blue eyesâyounger, clearer versions of his father'sâreflected the giant banks of screens displaying the weather, S-1's status, plus military and civilian transmissions from all over the world.
Teams of elves worked in front of each screen. One watched the Santa Monitoring Station, which kept track of the big, jolly man's heart rate, cookie consumption, and Ho, ho, ho's per second.
Numbers flashed across the other screens, each representing a present delivered. Elves clicked buttons and recited “Drop Complete!” Each drop registered on an enormous counter.
Thousands of support elves sat on a giant icestepped platform in front of their monitors. At the top of the stairs stood a huge ice sculpture of Santa beneath big brass letters proclaiming the North Pole's sacred motto: In Santa We Believe.
On a walkway near the icy ceiling, a door opened, and Arthur stepped out. In honor of the special occasion, the youngest Claus wore a bright green Christmas sweater, and he had finally opened the package containing the silly, singing reindeer slippers. The furry slippers felt warm and cozy, though Arthur could not see his feet over the tall stack of papers filling his gangly arms.
Not used to walking in plush slippers, he tripped on a slick step and his papers went flying. “Oops! Sorry!”
Support elves scurried to retrieve the scattered letters. Arthur knew each letter by the color of its crayoned scrawl, and its sweet contents.
A busy elf named David wondered, “What are you doing, Arthur?”
“I have to get Maria Costa down to Steve,” the younger Claus brother explained. But as he reached for the letter in question, it floated away from him. When Arthur tried to grab Maria's letter, he suddenly became painfully aware of the dizzying drop beneath the elevated walkway. He leaned back, wincing with vertigo and nausea, fighting the intense desire to drop down flat to hug the floor.
With a windy
WHOOSH
, an open elevator platform with no handrails soared up to become level with the walkway. An elf stepped off, holding out Maria's letter. “Is this yours, Arthur?”
“Oh thanks, Kenneth!” Arthur gratefully accepted the page. Then he added, “Merry Christmas!”
David stepped onto the elevator platform. “Need a ride?” He joked, knowing that Arthur was scared of heights.
Kenneth, David, and other nearby elves giggled. Arthur declined, “No, no thanks. Uh, I'm not very good with going fast and being high up and ⦔
Arthur winced again as the platform sped off. Images on the multiple screens showing elves plummeting to Earth made him feel even queasier.
Far below Arthur, Steve strode across Mission Control's floor with Peter at his heels. Arthur was in awe of Steve's confidence, clarity, and drive. His brother seemed the very picture of competence as he punched the buttons on his HoPad, the latest in high-tech devices.
Steve commanded, “Buckle down, people!” Then he turned to his assistant and demanded, “Peter, update!”
Meanwhile, Steve's clumsy brother couldn't even climb down a flight of stairs without creating chaos. Arthur apologized as he tripped past busy elves working hard at their screens.
These support elves communicated with the delivery elves in the field, issuing important information like, “Seventh step from the top had a squeak last year.” Whenever elves encountered a problem they couldn't solve, they turned to Steve who always had a quick, decisive answer.
Peter gushed with admiration. “What a night, sir!” Then he added more softly. “Your father's seventieth. Out with the old Santa in with the new, eh?!”
Steve smiled modestly, making him look even more attractive. “Let's focus on now, eh, Peter?” Then he told everyone, “Support teams, prep Poland!”
Arthur muttered to himself, “Wow! They call Dad
Swienty Mikolaj
there, you know.” He asked the elves, “Do you know how many names there are for Santa worldwide?” When no one answered, the young Santa buff exclaimed, “Thirty-two!”
Arthur was so excited that he slipped on the ice. Trying to recover his balance, he snagged a wire that knocked over three elves! When Arthur tried to pick them up, he only made things worse.
“Ow!” one exclaimed.
“That's my ear!” the second protested.
“Ugh,” the third moaned.
Arthur felt miserable about hurting the little fellows. “Oh! Oh dear! I'm terribly sorry! Are you alright?”
Steve ignored everything, except his vital mission. “Special forces! How are we doing at the White House?”
“Eleven minutes to presidential child one, sir,” replied the elf in charge of that sector.
Steve glanced from the elf to the bank of screens showing the White House, Kremlin, Buckingham Palace, and the homes of other world leaders.
“Two hours, forty minutes to Mission Deadline,” the computer reported.
Meanwhile, Arthur tried to untangle himself from the cable and the angry elves. But his new slippers slipped out from under him and he tumbled down the ice stairs toward Steve. The handsome older Claus could not hide his impatienceânor did he try.
ARTHUR WAS EMBARRASSED
that he tripped over the elves. “Sorry, Steve! It's my slippers on the ice!” He held up one of the reindeer slippers. It blinked brightly and played a brief burst of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”