The final carol had been sung and the last kiss stolen beneath the mistletoe. Cloudbase hovered peacefully in a starlit sky, high above the sleeping North American continent. In the Control Room, Captain Ochre sat at the command desk and Lieutenant Claret was occupied working at the computer console that ran the length of the room. Silence reigned, but although there was an open file in front of him, Captain Ochre was staring blankly into the middle distance as his mind wandered.
Although he tried to maintain a cheerful demeanour during the festive period, he actually found Christmas a depressing time. Everyone who could be spared was given a minimum 48-hour pass or a longer period of furlough to spend with their loved ones. Colonel White unofficially relaxed the stern discipline and turned a blind eye to some of the festivities that broke out on board, as the skeleton crew destined to remain onboard celebrated as best they could. Most of them had booked off-duty video-calls home and were happily anticipating the opening of the presents that had been arriving for weeks.
Even the non-Christians on board joined in the fun appreciating the pleasure of their colleagues, and everyone was brimming with ‘good cheer’.
Everyone except him.
As a child he had always enjoyed Christmas, because it meant spending the day with his parents and elder brother in Detroit; but since his mother had died things had never been the same. His father was now a semi-invalid and lived with his eldest son and his family.
Besides, Ochre reminded himself, to his family, Richard Fraser was dead.
He had taken the decision to allow Spectrum to organise a fake assassination in order for him to join, free from the danger of pursuit by members of the criminal syndicates he had destroyed while an officer in the World Police. At the time he had felt no need for the support of his family, or even of his long-term lover, Alison, and the nagging urge to do something more constructive than even the World Police could offer him had been more important. Here and now, he could acknowledge his selfishness in doing so and that for 11 months of the year he never gave it a moment’s thought. But… once the decorations started going up and the postal deliveries brought cards and presents for his companions, his mood always started to sink.
He didn’t blame anyone but himself. How could he, when he had made his own decisions? But seeing the pleasure of his friends when they opened carefully chosen gifts and read messages of love from their families and friends, he found it increasingly hard to remain upbeat. Of course, they were careful to include him in the festivities: he knew there were gifts waiting for him from all of the Angels and the Captains, and he appreciated them. Honestly.
It was why he was always willing to do Christmas duties and give them a break so they could enjoy themselves – and they appreciated it. Equally honestly.
The sound of the door sliding open snapped him out of his reverie and he turned to see Captain Magenta riding the moving walkway to the desk. He was carrying two substantial lunch boxes and put one down by his friend and field partner.
“Merry Christmas, Rick.”
“Same to you. What’s this?”
“Christmas fare: specialities from the canteen and a slice of the cake Rhapsody got from her parents.” He turned to Claret. “There’s one for you too, Zarek.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Claret received the box with a warm smile.
“Oughtn’t you to be in bed?” Ochre asked, chomping down on a spicy sausage roll.
“Probably. Just about everyone else is.” Magenta sank onto the stool that had risen in front of the desk at the flick of one of the bank of switches on the desk. “I’m not tired though. I’ve been chatting with Symphony and Melody in the Amber Room, and when Mel had to go on patrol, and Harmony came back, I left them to it and thought I’d come and annoy you instead.”
“I thought you were on duty tomorrow morning? You’ll be half-asleep.”
“I’m on with Flax and if I know Audrey, she’ll keep me awake.”
“She can certainly talk up a storm when she’s in the mood,” Ochre agreed, with an amused smile.
Magenta leant his elbow on the desk and reached over to pinch one of the vol-au-vents out of the box. He studied it gloomily and then said, “I hate Christmas,” before putting the food into his mouth.
Ochre looked up, startled at the absurd notion that his friend was a mind-reader. With as much insouciance as he could muster, he said, “You do? I’d never have guessed.”
After he’d swallowed, Magenta replied, “I try not to make it obvious. Just as you do.”
“Me? What are you on about? I’m the life and soul of the party, me.”
“Pull the other one, Rick. I know you too well.”
“No you don’t, you bog-trotting Irish Paddy.”
Magenta gave a weak grin, acknowledging the familiar friendly abuse. “Whatever you say, you dumb cop. But you can’t fool me; I recognise the signs. Too much good cheer always rings hollow, d’you know?”
Ochre looked away and did not reply. “Whatever. I’ll buy it. Why don’t you like it?” he asked, after what seemed to him like too long a pause.
“Because, Boyo, there are enough guys out there who’d like to skewer Patrick Donoghue through the guts. That is, if they didn’t think I was already mouldering to death in Porto Guava.”
Ochre gave a thoughtful nod; it had never occurred to him that his closest friend on Cloudbase was in a similar position to himself. “But they’d like to do that any time of the year, so it’s no reason to hate Christmas,” he reasoned.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t help. Besides, everyone’s going on and on about their families – even Blue, who hates at least 50% of his – and it just makes me realise that I can’t contact mine. Have you forgotten they disowned me for my criminal ways? It was only my sister Ciara who’d talk to me by the time I left New York, and I would never put her at risk by going anywhere near her. The Syndicate can be merciless if it suspects a double-cross.”
There was another, more uncomfortable, pause and Magenta had to stop himself from speaking.
Finally, Ochre asked, “Do you miss your family?”
Magenta shrugged. “Sometimes, but I sure don’t miss the fights.”
“Nor do I. It’s not the same once you grow up, anyway. I never got on well with my brother and my Dad and I were… not close. He was always on my case and I was never good enough to compare to Steve. Once Momma died… well, it never mattered to them if I was working all through Christmas. Even Alison got used to me not being there. She used the time to go and see her family.”
“Well, you’re still working Christmas now – so what’s the problem?”
Ochre shrugged and closed the lunch box. When he replied he sounded unbearably bereft. “Now I can’t go back even if I want to. I had the choice before. Taking that option away makes all the difference.”
Magenta gave an understanding nod. “I told you we were in the same boat.”
“Uh-huh.”
In the distance they heard the muted beep of an incoming call and the swish of Claret’s chair as he swept along the console to answer it.
Tentatively, Ochre said, “Maybe next year… if you like… we could – you and me – we could go somewhere off-base for Christmas. Together, I mean. Rather than spend it here feeling like a couple of sore thumbs.”
Magenta suppressed a smile. With as much nonchalance as he could command, he replied, “Now, that’s an idea. Maybe you’re not so much of a dumb cop as you look, after all? Where did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know – the world’s our oyster, isn’t it?”
“Most of it,” his friend reminded him, but not unkindly.
Ochre grinned. “Let’s give it some thought, shall we? After all, we have 323 days before we need to decide.”
Hoping his satisfaction wasn’t too obvious on his face, Magenta got up and nodded. “You got it, Cop. Now, I’d better get some shut-eye, just in case Audrey’s taken a vow of silence we haven’t been told about.”
“That’s the daftest thing you’ve said all day, but it’s better safe than sorry. Catch you later, Pat.”
“Sure thing.”
“Oh, and Pat: merry Christmas…”
Author’s Notes:
My thanks to Hazel Köhler for beta reading this short story. As ever, any mistakes are down to me and my habit of tweaking the text when it is finished – if a story can ever be called finished!
Thanks to Chris Bishop for the never-ending delight of her website and I’m hoping to have the added enjoyment of one of your stories for this Christmas…
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to everyone.
I don’t think I am tempting fate by saying that – I’m sure it must be pretty safe to say 2021 can’t be worse than 2020, but just in case: Stay Safe!
Marion Woods
3/12/2020