A Star Wars Holiday Special

“Yeah, I get it. I don’t mind doing it—but do you think now is really the best time to tell him?”

The shorter elf just kept walking. He was adjusting a set screw on the sleigh’s yaw sensor, and the screw was tiny, even by elven standards. After it was set, it’d have to be reinstalled on one of the aft rails; he'd have to remove the time-bender assist and then reinstall that, too. Even though it was a rendundant system, the sled would never run witho—

“Are you even listening to me?”

The shorter elf gave a sideways glance up. “Yes, I was listening. Yes, we have to tell him now. We’re T-minus 68 hours.” He’d lost the screw depth. Time to back it out and start over.

The taller elf ran his spindly fingers over the pockmarked, faded green-and-red concrete walls of the tunnel with one hand, shaking his head in frustration. In his other hand was a giant stack of inventory paper—switching to digital would take over a year, the lady who ran the system said, and anything that couldn’t be fully complete in a 10-month window wasn’t going to happen in the North Pole.

“I get it. You ride the thing as his right-hand elf every December 25th. You fix the spirit accumulators. You’re indispensable. Me, I’m a cog. If he decides I’m out—well, you ever tried to apply for a real job as an elf? How many interviews do you get once they read the name ‘Bgreakffftjthr’ on your application? My cousin’s been squatting in a Houston warehouse since the 70′s. Sells kids’ wishes in some kind of pill form outside a Seven 11.”

“Bgreakffftjthr, you’ll be fine. I’ve done this before. He’ll appreciate your catching the problem and preventing several huge disasters.”

"I just—" He smacked the stack of papers with the back of his hand. "I got this stupid promotion, but I'm still making peanuts. I can't get ahead in this job, this Pole, this—" He smacked the papers again. A bar code sticker fell off a random sheaf. "And these stupid barcodes. Where did they even come from? I mean, Santa's sack, it's one thing after another. And now, he's probably going to pinch his fingers, and I won't be able to breathe, and it'll be all like 'Hooo-per. Apology accepted, Captain Needa' as I die on the floor."

Yrkwquerstyxx didn't answer. He hated the taller elf's constant Star Wars references, as well as his incessant pessimism. Truth be told, he loved fixing things, and he loved spreading the joy. He loved riding as an emergency tech on the big night—solving problems and seeing the Playstations, the bikes, even the vibrators, go out, knowing they were going out because of his work. Saving Christmas, just like the cliché. He gave the set screw a quarter turn to get it restarted, but they had arrived. The tunnel opened into what looked like a bomb shelter.

“Sir, it’s me, Yrkwquerstyxx. We’ve got a problem.” He finally looked up from the yaw sensor, and looked over to his taller partner as a cue to deliver the news. But Bgreakffftjthr was simply staring, tiny elf jaw agape.

Santa was strapped to the vertical gurney, but some of the restraints were already starting to strain under his swelling musculature. Fog covered his tiny gold-rimmed glasses, condensed down his beard in glassy rivulets, and eventually pooled on a midsection that was less “bowl full of jelly” and more “abs stacked like rolls of hairy prime rib.” Bright red and green fluid pumped in tubes into several ports in his arm and side; murky brown and blue gunk flowed out and back into the chugging machine.

“Bgreakffftjthr!” whispered the shorter elf.

“I knew this was how he got ready,” whispered Bgreakffftjthr, still staring. “But every time I see it...What’s in the tubes, again?”

“Caffeine. Vitamins E and C. Kids’ unselfish wishes. But mostly cocaine—Speak up so he can hear you. I’ve got work to do,” spat Yrkwquerstyxx.

The taller elf took a histrionic deep breath. “Sir, it’s about Donner.”

The great bearded head turned down slightly enough to regard the two elves standing on the worn concrete floor. Yrkwquerstyxx could see the screen placed in front of The Big Guy's face; he’d been watching Love Actually.

Thankfully, the taller elf continued. "Donner's wattage fell below the thresholds set by the vet team for 3 straight trials. This triggers an automatic disqualification from the sled crew."

Yrkwquerstyxx understood the elf's predicament: not only was he delivering news given to him by another department, but he also had no solution in place.

Santa, though, did not choke him with The Force. Instead, he smiled. A vein bulged behind his left ear; Hugh Grant danced in his glasses.

"Thank you elves." His voice boomed in the hangar, partly because he was Santa, but mostly from the drugs. "It will not be a problem. I will take Donner's position. I will pull the sleigh!"

"Sir—" began Bgreakffftjthr.

"And who will deliver the presents, you ask? You will help, Bgreakffftjthr! You will ride with us on the hallowed evening!" His face was red with merriment. And stimulants.

The taller elf took one glance at his stack of paper, and looked back up. His tiny Adam's appled bobbed, and he seemed to shrink about an inch.

"Yes, sir."

"Ho, ho, ho!" The voice seemed to shake even the thick concrete of the hangar. "Nothing can stop Father Christmas! Now go, mine elves! Prepare for the ride of your lives!" His head returned back to the gurney.

The taller elf looked straight ahead as they walked back silently. The shorter one got the first setscrew flush with the sensor head, and smiled.

Bgreakffftjthr looked down at him. "Glad you're happy. I'm riding in the sleigh on Christmas Eve. I'll either die or ruin Christmas. Or both."

Yrkwquerstyxx started on the second setscrew. "Odds are, you'll be fine."

"Never tell me the odds."

67 hours later, Yrkwquerstyxx checked through his final inspection of the sleigh. The comm panel, located on the front of the "dashboard," was last on his list, but Bgreakffftjthr sat in his way, staring ahead catatonically. The wind howled just outside the heavy doors about 60 feet in front of the sled; maybe that's why he couldn't hear him.

"Move, Bgreakffftjthr. I need to inspect that comm panel."

The taller elf did not respond, except to hug his enormous paper index closer to his tiny chest. At about 6 billion entries, it dwarfed him, making him look even tinier as he say on the bench that was usually occupied by El Jefe himself.

"I can't do this."

"Bgreakffftjthr, I cannot—"

Just then, a hush fell through the crowd of elves working around the sleigh's takeoff prep station. Yrkwquerstyxx didn't immediately see what was going on, but some back part of his brain realized what was happening when he saw a panicked elf pull a giant piece of scaffolding back away from the sled.

"DASH AWAY!" thundered a voice from the crowd, which was parting like blown sawdust. A giant red-and-white missile hurtled toward the sleigh, and in an instant, the heaviest sack in the history of humankind hit the front end of sleigh's seat, barely missing Bgreakffftjthr.

There was no time to strap in. A fully juiced Santa shot into his harness, pushing several shocked reindeer hindquarters in a bobsled start down the ramp, and Yrkwquerstyxx only had time to wrap his arms and legs around the mounts just outside of the sled. Bgreakffftjthr screamed, but Yrkwquerstyxx simply wound his safety catches around himself, patted his toolbox that was also mounted to the outside of the sled, and managed a grin. He looked inside the sleigh at the seat, where Bgreakffftjthr seemed to be calming down. The taller elf set his giant ledger paper under the sack to keep it from blowing away. Both elves' faces were pulled taut from the acceleration.

"First jump start?" Yrkwquerstyxx asked him, yelling into the wind.

Bgreakffftjthr simply shook his head and said something not loud enough to hear, though it sounded like "Bantha fodder." Ahead of them, seven reindeer and one roided-up Santa pulled the sleigh through the winter twilight.

"First drop off in six," the controller's voice came over the intercom, magically augmented to be heard in the wind. Which reminded him—he never got to check that comm panel. He looked over at the panel, and at first couldn't figure out what Bgreakffftjthr was doing. He saw a small light that he didn't recognize (which was positively jolting, to a sled tech) go red, then green under the taller elf's hands.

What in the North Pole was—

"Drop alpha six, hotel mike point three," said the controller. The sled glided down onto a soft snow-covered rooftop, and Bgreakffftjthr, no longer looking to be in shock, hurled the presents out in space. Santa slipped the harness, leaped into the cold air, grabbed them in one smooth motion, and slipped headfirst down the chimney. Suddenly, the night was silent, save the breathing of the reindeer.

And then another beep.

"Bgreakffftjthr," started the shorter elf. "What is that on the comm array?"

Bgreakffftjthr straightened up and looked at him like an elf who's just made a decision.

"I'm scanning barcodes." He no longer looked ill; rather, he looked fervent, like an elf who just demanded one more shot of egg nog and laid another wager on a round of Candy Land. "I'm collecting data."

"Why?" Hanging on his perch on the edge of the sled, the tech elf felt his tiny fingers begin to sweat.

"Why? Are you serious? Do you know how much money this personalized data is worth? Not the stupid online stuff, but who's actually receiving them, and where? And with the time-bending magic we use? They can figure out how to sell presents for this Christmas that are being delivered right now! Amazon's giving me 5%. That's going to be hundreds of millions of dollars. Maybe even billions."

The night was black around them. The reindeer shifted on the rooftop.

"And you'll get your cut, too. For keeping your mouth shut."

Yrkwquerstyxx tried to speak for another silent moment. He then shut his eyes. When he opened them, the taller elf was still looking at him manaically.

"You set this up. Donner. Not letting me check the comm. Everything."

"Of course I did. This scanner interfaces directly with the satellites; it's got to be on the sled. So I've got to be on the sled. We've got to be. We're in this together." His eyes blazed against the black of winter night.

Without warning, the man in red shot out of the chimney. The reindeer startled as he slid into the harness, and they were off again as a "Ho, ho, ho!" boomed into the night. Had Yrkwquerstyxx not been strapped in, he would have fallen out. His partner was already scanning presents again.

Yrkwquerstyxx didn't think. He just reached up into the sleigh to pull himself onto the bench. This was wrong. It had to stop. If it meant hurting Bgreakffftjthr, then so be it. He reached for his heavy wrench—

The taller elf sliced off his hand at the wrist with a Ginsu knife. Sparkling blue and white elf blood peppered the night air as Yrkwquerstyxx fell backwards, grabbing the rail with his remaining hand. His tiny body jerked toward the endless drop, but his arm held tightly. He didn't hear himself scream, but he did see the tiny hand for an instant, buffeted by the wind as it fell into the abyss.

"Good gifts, these!" yelled Bgreakffftjthr down at him from the sleigh bench, holding up the knife. He then tossed it back into the sack. "Good to know who's buying them! Good for me, for the companies—good for everyone but you!"

"That's not true!" shouted the shorter elf, clutching his stump under his armpit and sliding towards the edge of the rail.

"Join me, and we can rule Christmas together. We can end this pointless conflict, and restore order to the holiday!" He reached out his hand towards Yrkwquerstyxx. Ahead of them, Santa and the reindeer charged into a storm cloud, and the wind howled a notch louder.

Yrkwquerstyxx let go of the rail, and fell into the dark December sky.