Peter's Christmas
by
Rob Morris
He would have to leave, soon. By the Old EarthDate New Year, the
Enterprise would reach Alpha Centauri, and the boy would be put off,
to take a transport back to Earth and his grandmother. He didn't want
to leave. He had dreams - stupid ones he admitted to himself - but
dreams nevertheless, of riding the stars with his new friends and his
uncle - Captain James T. Kirk. For Peter Kirk, this was looking to be
what ancient Terran singers rightly called a Blue Christmas.
It had been hard. When the one-celled monstrosities came, and
possessed them all. When the ravioli-pierogie looking things inflicted
hideous pain upon the people of Deneb. When he heard, through his
pain-induced stupor, his infant brother dying of neglect. When he
awoke, to find Uncle Jim in front of him, saying some words he wished
he could make go away.
"Peter? Son, can you hear me?"
"Dad? Is Mom...the baby...Oh, let him be all right, he can take
all my stuff if he's just...Uncle Jim?"
Standing on either side of his uncle, like they were born there,
were Doctor McCoy and Mister Spock. He knew, then.
"I'm on the Enterprise! Uncle Jim? Please! Where are...."
He saw a look of concern on his uncle's and on Doctor McCoy's
face. But seeing a bare whisper of pity on Spock's face told him
everything.
"NO! THEY'RE NOT GONE! THEY'RE ALIVE! THE THREE MOUTHS DIDN'T GET
THEM!"
Once he was calmer, Peter explained that he had experienced
pain-induced nightmares of three giant mouths devouring Deneb 3. But he
had saved his family--hadn't he?
"Spock---that nightmare? How close---"
"Distressingly similar, Captain. I - and most survivors of the
assault on Deneb - saw a similar vision. Doctor, a limbic assault?"
"Agreed, Spock. Jim, since these creatures played with the host's
nervous system almost uniformally, it makes sense that a similar vision
would emerge. Tell you what, Peter. Make a picture of your nightmare.
It'll help draw the image out of your mind."
"I will, Doctor. But what were those things?"
As Peter got prepared to meet his uncle and their friends, he
remembered how he first heard about their one-celled nature, how they
were part of an immense macro-biotic being, one which did not obey
physical laws as they knew them. But drawing a picture of his nightmare
didn't help. He only saw the three mouths become three heads. He asked
the computer just last week to access all legends of three-headed
monsters. He was shocked by what he found.
"One entry! Computer! Can that be correct?"
The computer's searches NEVER yielded just one of anything. There
was no such thing as a truly Universal legend. But there it was. Worse,
Peter was certain that this legend was in fact the source of the
cellular monstrosities that had killed his family. It had a name, but
it was one he would not utter. Not on Christmas Night. He left to join
the others.
"So, in honor of our special guest, our Captain's nephew, we speak
of Christmas Past - specifically, in the 20th Century. It is ship's
tradition that we each learn of holidays not our own, and speak upon
them, briefly. I'll go first."
As far as Peter Kirk was concerned, Lieutanant Uhura could speak
forever. He hoped no one had noticed his immense schoolboy crush on
her. Of course, everyone had, including the speaker.
"I speak of The Miracle Of The Trenches, during Earth's 1st World
War, when an inconcievable amount of young men were killed by their own
armies, for desertion, or imagined slights against the bloody
governments forcing the war. Come that Christmas, the soldiers, like
ghosts, rose from their trenches and sang, ate, and drank together like
brothers. For a week, war was itself defeated. No Germans, no English,
and no French. Just people, acting like people, in the midst of hell on
Earth. Its memory stays with us."
Uhura sat down, and Chekov rose.
She looked at Peter, as though to tell him to dwell on his good
memories, not the very recent bad ones. Now, Pavel spoke.
"Thees ees an old Russian fable. A man, Sergei Bailovsky, felt as
though he was a failure. Despite his best efforts, his town would soon
fall into the hands of an evil baron, Pottrovich. Bailovsky then tried
to take his own life. But an Angel named Vladimir Oddbody showed him the
world as it would have been as if he had never been born. Without him,
none of the efforts he undertook came about, and the baron ruled all.
Refreshed, he returned to find his friends and family safe and happy at
his rebirth. Its A Wonderful Story, told since the time of Rurik."
As Chekov sat, Sulu rose, but whispered humorously to Pavel.
"Chekov, do you have ANY shame whatsoever?"
Chekov's self-satisfied smile did more for Peter's disposition than
a hundred counseling sessions. Sulu just shook his head and took the
podium.
"I speak of the Christmas of 1945. The Second World War was over, at
last. But not all of the Japanese-American internment camps had been
closed. My ancestors at that time sang in front of an Imaginary
Tannennbaum, while the guards, bitter for being there, hurled racist
insults. By early Christmas Morning, though, all were singing together,
and some of the GI's even asked forgiveness from their charges. The next
week, those last camps were closed forever, but hearts had been opened
for a time."
Peter knew Sulu was apeaking about the release of bitterness, but it
helped him only a little. Scotty rose.
"I know of no better story than that of a man who returned to
GlenFinnan to find he had become a local legend, many years after his
assumed death. Staying there that Christmas, he saw a man with a Lantern
proclaim the message of the Angels over Bethlehem. His was a weary
heart, and this man's intonation made him glad again. The next day, he
found out that the Lantern-Crier was himself a legend, but that he, now
a visitor, was the first to see him in decades. From then on, the
Lantern - Crier was called Macleod's Angel. They say he returns to
GlenFinnan to hear the Angel every year---to this day!"
There was just something about a spirit story Peter loved, and Scotty
had told a good one. Now it was Doctor McCoy's turn.
"Lots of wars in the 20th Century. Loud, crude barbarians, the lot
of them! But they scraped through. One such war was on the Korean
peninunsla. My story isn't much. A man was dying, and the healers at an
Army hospital falsified the records so that his family would believe
that he died after Christmas. This was after a long effort to keep him
alive, so the family wouldn't associate the holiday with losing this
man. One of those doctors is well-known to history as the man who ended
the Eugenics Wars, simply by daring to speak up to the would-be
dictators. We all do what we have to, when we have to. Even back then."
McCoy actually drew some applause. Peter thought of the bravery of
that one legendary Doctor, who never let anything stop him for long.
Now, Spock walked up.
"I have found a correlation between the de-emphasis of The Slaughter
Of The Innocents in 20th Century Christian lore and the growth in casual
and explosive sudden violence late in the century. Perhaps by not
speaking of that early violence, young people found it easier to act
such behavior out. That is all."
Spock caught McCoy's hard stare, but merely raised an eyebrow and
sat back down. Finally, before the Caroling, Peter's uncle would speak.
"11 years ago, I met someone for the first time on Christmas Day.
Its not a 20th Century story, but it is mine. Mine and yours, Peter! You
were the finest Christmas gift an Uncle could want. I feel special
whenever I see the look you get when I come around. Its not going to be
easy, Peter. We've both lost people we love. But for now, Happy
Christmas!"
"Happy Christmas, Uncle Jim!"
Spock began to strum his lyre, and Uhura led the 300-year old Carol.
"And So, This Is Christmas; And What Have We Done?; Another Year
Over; And A New One Just Begun; And So Happy Christmas; I Hope You Have
Fun; The Near And The Dear Ones; The Old And The Young; A Very Merry
Christmas; And A Happy New Year; Lets Hope Its A Good One; Without Any
Fear; War Is Over; If You Want It; War Is Over Now;"
Though the joy of the Holiday shone through, and his Uncle's love
made things easier, there was still a shadow upon Peter's heart. When
all was done, the 11-year old who felt so much older returned to his
quarters, and waited til Christmas Day was over. He then set his room's
sound dampeners to maximum.
Peter Kirk then called up the image of the legendary creature he was
certain was the source of his family's death. He was only 11, but knew
he had to somehow find and destroy this creature. In later years, he
would find out that he was correct, but not merely for sake of his
vengeance. The image was that of a 3-headed dragon with two tails and
massive wings. Before falling asleep, he shouted only one word, the
legendary creature's name :
"GHIDORAH!"