A SNN Christmas Carol

Stave V: The End of It or The End (Finally!)

The bedpost was his own! The bed, the room, the floor, the typesetting machine, were all his own!

"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Ballway repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Mike Cathcart! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Mike, on my knees!"

He saw the bed curtains, the sheets, the room. "They are not torn down! They are still here! The room is in the same disarray it has always been in! I am as light as a feather, as happy as an angel, as merry as a school boy, as giddy as a drunken man! (The joke is obvious here, pick a drunken STFer and go with it.)

Ballway scrambled about the room. "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas Bedford Falls, er, STF!"

He looked about at the various objects. "There’s the saucepan the replicated gruel was in! The door which Cathcart entered from! The corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat! The structural damage the Ghost of Christmas Past did! It’s all true, it all happened! But, but what month is it? What day?"

He heard the Church of Sisko bells clanging in the air, and ran to his window. Ballway spied a boy in Sunday clothes, and yelled to him. "You, yes, you down there! What day is today?"

The boy was a bit startled, but answered, "You senile old buffoon! It’s Christmas Day!"

Even at this insult, Ballway was pleased. "Fine boy," he muttered, "Very witty boy. I’ll put him on the WeBBSights staff."

"Do you know the Butcher’s, down the street?" yelled Ballway.

"Of course I do, you ninny!"

"Excellent boy, so funny -- yes, and the prize targ in the window? Has the butcher sold it yet?"

"You mean the one as big as me?"

"Yes, yes, that one! Have they sold it yet?"

"No, sir. I don’t think so."

"Excellent! Go down to the Butcher and buy that targ! Then, bring it back here along with the Butcher and I’ll give you three space-bucks. Be back in five minutes, and I’ll give you ten!"

The boy, at the sound of monetary terms, ran as fast as his genetically-enhanced legs could take him down to the Butcher’s.

"I’ll send it to Garfield’s!" he said, "It’ll be twice the size of Tiny Seamus, and they’ll be thrilled!" He scrawled an address onto his Newton, then when it came out incorrectly, threw the Newton out the window, where it hit a woman square in the nose.

He put on hat and coat and went out to greet the Butcher. It was a targ, indeed! He could never have stood on those legs, he would have snapped them like they were transparent aluminum! Ballway paid for the targ, paid the boy (12 space-bucks), then told them to deliver it to Garfield’s in the Vaytan section of town.

Shaving was not an easy task for Ballway, as his hand still shook very much, but he managed to rid himself of his 1700-hour shadow with few laser burns. If he had singed off his nose, he would have placed some medical putty on it, and been satisfied.

He put on his best clothing, and went out into the street. Each person he saw he greeted with a "Merry Christmas" or a "Good Day" or a "Read SNN Headline News," which was odd considering that Ballway had scorn for that particular periodical and its lackadaisical editor.

He was so irresistibly pleasant that they thought him insane, but returned his greeting anyway, with a "Happy New Year," or a "Good day to you," or a "I prefer Aye on the WeBB."

Ballway had not gone far before he met up with the fellow he saw yesterday, Greg Hertzsch, the PDir. "Good day to you, sir," exclaimed Ballway.

"Yes," said Hertzsch. "Good day, Mr. Ballway."

"Oh, I fear it is a name that you would not want to hear right now, but it is one that you might remember in the future. Here." Ballway handed over a small sackful of coins to Mr. Hertzsch. "Is 75 space-bucks enough to make up for my shortness?"

Greg Hertzsch was at a loss for words.

"175, then?"

And still, Hertzsch stammered to find the right words.

"300, then, and not a penny more!," sang Ballway as he tipped his hat and continued on his way.

At last, Greg finally said, "Thank you, sir, and a very Merry Christmas to you!"

Ballway reached his nephew’s house, and knocked on the door. A young woman answered it, and her face was full of contempt. "Where is he, my love?"

"He is in the dining room, sir, but I’ll show you upstairs . . ."

"That’s quite all right. He knows me."

He went in and turned the dining room lock. He sidled in, and made his way around the table. "Mike!" said Ballway, with much joy.

He had forgotten his niece, who nearly had a heart attack. Mike Barclay, on the other hand, was pleased as well as surprised.

"Uncle!" he said, "what brings you here?"

"I have come to dinner," said Ballway. "Will you have me?"

"Why of course, Uncle."

So they played games, had fun, sang, danced, and talked about why his nephew was AWOL for so long. It was great fun, and Ballway was glad he came. The next morning saw Ballway at the office extra early. If only he could be there, to catch Larry coming in late! He did indeed. The chronometer struck 0900, no Larry. A quarter past. No Larry. He was a full 18.0339 minutes behind his time. Larry slunk in the door, and his coat and hat were off like lightning, and he was madly scribbling away, as if to make up for 0900.

"Hello," growled Ballway in a voice he had used long ago.

"I am very sorry, sir. I am behind my time."

"Yes you are," growled Ballway again. "Step this way, if you please."

"It’s only once a solar rotation!" said Larry, "it shall not be repeated! Please sir, I was making rather merry yesterday, sir!"

"I’ll tell you what, my friend," said Ballway, "I am not going to stand for this sort of thing any longer. And therefore, I’m forced to give you a raise!"

Larry Garfield shielded himself and uttered a staunch "No, sir! Please sir!" then stopped and dropped his shield. "What sir?"

"Yes, Larry. A raise. Merry Christmas, Larry. And what’s more, I’m making you my partner. I’ll aid in the affairs of your struggling family, and we’ll discuss this over a steaming bowl of Blue Jell-O. Now turn up the temperature controls before you insert another end tag, Larry."

Ballway was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Seamus, who was not taken away by Mike Bourdaa, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened in this galaxy, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further contact with the Spirits, and lived forever with Christmas in his heart all year ‘round. It was said that he could keep Christmas as well as anyone. May that be truly said of all of us! And so, as Tiny Seamus observed, "God bless us, every one. And God bless Aye on the WeBB!"