I've been writing Santa Wears Blue for the last two years. Where we holiday over Christmas hasn't got any electricity (see "Painting the Bach") so I ration the use of my laptop. But these last two years I've given myself a Christmas present, on the magical day itself, of an hour of Thunderbirds writing time. This year I decided that it was about time that I got stuck in and actually finished the story. I started in September and, while it's finished, I haven't polished it as much as I would like. But, it's either post now, or wait another twelve months…
As usual I can not lay claim to anyone or anything in this story, except for the residents of the town of Puzz (and possibly the ORB and the SAVER.)
As usual I would like to thank Quiller, D.C. and Calliope for their assistance and ideas. Quiller especially, because it was a photo that she sent to me that gave rise to the story… something that sparked two ideas that I just had to write a story about.
Any similarity to any persons living or dead is purely wishful thinking on my part.
:-)
Purupuss
Santa Wears Blue
Dedicated to all those people who risk their necks to help others; especially those whose only remuneration is a word of thanks. I hope they all have a merry Christmas and a restful New Year.
Chapter One
It had been a long hard rescue, Scott Tracy reflected as Tracy Island sped into view. Called out on December 20th, Tracy Island time, here he was returning on December 24th. Well, actually, it was so late on Christmas Eve, that you may as well call it Christmas Day. He stifled a yawn. He'd managed to catch some cat naps over the last few days, but it had clearly not been enough. He yawned again; Christmas Day or not, he was going to hit the sack as soon as he got home. If he didn't he was pretty sure that by the time Christmas dinner rolled around he would find himself snoring facedown in his grandmother's gravy.
Scott gave a tired grin. He well remembered the excitement of Christmas morning as a child - lying in bed in eager anticipation of the moment when he could clamber out and run into his parents' room with the expectation that it was time to open the presents which lay invitingly under the Christmas tree. Of course, as his younger brothers began to learn of the thrill of getting up early on Christmas morning, Scott had decided that, as the eldest Tracy son, it was his job to ensure that they all stayed in bed until a reasonable hour... That hour usually being ten minutes after he'd ushered the last of them back to their rooms.
Scott yawned yet again and glanced at the onboard chronometer. Somehow even as a young boy, the idea of being up at 12.02am on Christmas morning, especially after being more or less awake for the previous 100 hours, never appealed to him.
His mind wandered back to Christmases past and Scott gave a chuckle as he remembered his younger brothers' steadfast refusal to give up their belief in Santa Claus. Scott had denounced the mythical figure the year his mother had died. In his eyes any world that could take a mother so cruelly from young boys, could not sustain a 'merry old elf' who gave away gifts without expectation of thanks. Despite that belief he could not bring himself to suppress his siblings' seasonal optimism. It was almost a relief when Alan declared at the breakfast table one Christmas morning that he knew who Father Christmas really was because he'd woken during the night and seen the culprit sneak into his bedroom with a full stocking.
These quiet musings had preoccupied Scott's mind so much, that he nearly overshot the island. Hoping that he hadn't woken anyone, he did a u-turn and returned to the swimming pool, swinging Thunderbird One around so that she was on the vertical above her launch bay. He'd done this landing so many times in these last few years, that everything happened almost instinctively and without conscious thought... That was until the impact alarm sounded and the motors cut out. At this point Thunderbird One's computers took control to ensure his survival and the anti-gravitational units kicked in simultaneously with the extinguishing of the landing jets, leaving the rocket plane suspended in mid-air. As he quickly ran his eyes over the control panel Scott was relieved to discover that nothing was amiss. But what had impacted with Thunderbird One's hull?
Not expecting to see anything but a dull glow from the villa, a few Christmas lights, and the stars in the sky, Scott glanced outside.
An elfin face, looking as surprised as Scott felt, slid down the cockpit window and out of sight. It was followed by a creature that appeared to have at least twenty eyes and fifty legs.
Scott blinked, shook his head to clear it, rubbed his eyes and threaded his hand through his hair. He must have been seeing things. It had been a long rescue… He was tired...
He looked at the scanners and cast a searching beam around the perimeter of his position.
Something indistinguishable was moving on the paving stones by the pool.
Scott quickly examined his options. Moving Thunderbird One from its low hover was out of the question. Should he attempt that, whatever or whoever was beside the pool would either suffocate in the exhaust gases, or be burnt to a crisp. From where he was, suspended in Thunderbird One, Scott was powerless. As far as he could see he only had one option. Reluctantly he opened his radio link...
Jeff Tracy had gone to bed as soon as he'd known that Thunderbirds One and Two had safely departed the danger zone. He too remembered his sons' early mornings on previous Christmases, and felt an immense sense of relief that they had all outgrown that stage. Like them he'd had little sleep over the last few days and was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up. He was therefore unimpressed when his oldest son called him at an inhospitable hour on Christmas morning. "What do you want, Scott?" he asked, a trifle snappishly. "It's midnight!"
"I know, Father..." Scott sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I need your help."
The statement got Jeff's attention. While he wasn't beyond asking for assistance when necessary, it was very unusual for Scott to actuallyneed help. He was capable in most of the things he attempted and a request for assistance was highly unusual. "What's the problem, Son?"
"Uh, I'm hovering above the launch bay… The anti-gravity generators have kicked in... I think someone's by the pool."
Jeff frowned. "But everyone went to bed before I did."
"Yes... Well..." Scott was sounding even more unsure of himself. "I don't think it's one of the family. I'd put it down to me being tired, but I think there's something strange there."
Jeff stared at his son's image that had replaced the face of his wristwatch. "Strange? How do you mean strange?"
Scott didn't particularly want to elaborate. He wasn't even sure that what he'd seen was, well… what he'd thought he'd seen. "Um… Father, the generators will only last another ten minutes, and then I'm going to have to start the engines again. If someone is there they are going to be cooked alive."
"All right, Son, don't move. I'll be there in a minute." Jeff Tracy grabbed his robe and hurried out of his room, stopping only to pick up a stun-gun from a hidden cabinet in the hall, which he pocketed in his robe. Then, after he'd grabbed a high-beamed torch from its position in a cupboard, he hurried down the stairs, playing the torch's beam around before him. Silhouetted against the light of a full moon, Thunderbird One was hovering in mid-air like a mystical obelisk, or, considering the date, a modernist Christmas tree.
Jeff heard a noise, a kind of snuffling and scraping, from the side of the pool. "Who's there?" he demanded.
There was a moment's silence. Then... "Um... Excuse me, Jeff... I'm sorry we woke you, but I was wondering... Do you think you could possibly give us a hand?"
His already deep frown deepening, Jeff rounded the edge of the pool. The light from his torch landed on what appeared to be a living pile of fur. Several pairs of eyes blinked in the glare of the beam and then looked away.
"What... Ah... Who are you?" Jeff called, his hand closing around the gun in his pocket. "What are you doing here?"
"I can assure you," the voice replied, 'that you won't need that."
"Tell me who you are," Jeff requested again, tightening his grip on the gun.
He heard the clearing of a throat I the darkness, followed by a soft "Oof…! Will you move your hoof, Dash...?"
"Well?" Jeff shouted.
"I go by many names and aliases depending on where I am," the voice replied. This was not reassuring considering International Rescue's greatest foe's tendency to do just that. "Most people from your part of the world know me by the name of Santa Claus." The mystery man sounded almost apologetic.
"Sure," Jeff sneered. "Now tell me who you really are."
"What's going on out there?" the voice from Jeff's watch sounded anxious. "I've only got five minutes before the engines will start again."
"I think your son is becoming worried," 'Santa' said. "If you could please give me and my team a hand I would be most grateful. I can assure you that none of us bite... Except perhaps Vixen, she can get quite, ah, vixenish at times. But I guarantee that it would only be a love bite."
Aware of the fact that he, and this pile of living fur, were directly in the path of Thunderbird One's rockets, Jeff hurried forward. As his light played over the mystery he could see that it appeared to be made up of several small animals and, at the bottom of it all, a human figure. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Jeff grasped the body of one of the animals. By pulling gently the animal's legs disentangled from the rest and it slid free. He placed it on the ground and the creature got to its feet and staggered away. Realising that the only safe place for any of them to be, at the moment when Thunderbird One reignited its rockets, was in one of the changing rooms, Jeff picked up the beast, jogged to the room and shut it inside.
"Four minutes," Scott intoned.
Another animal was released and carried into the room. A third managed to disentangle itself and staggered over to the shelter. Carrying the fourth, Jeff let it inside.
"Three minutes."
After Jeff had released two more beasts, another two were able to free themselves. They made their way to the changing room; one limping badly.
"Two minutes."
Jeff picked up the injured animal and carried it into the shelter before returning yet again. The last two bundles of fur appeared to be badly entangled by the antlers.
"One minute."
After a brief tussle to separate the entangled pair, Jeff gave up and tucking one under each arm sprinted for the changing room, hearing footsteps behind him.
"Ten seconds… Nine… Eight… Seven…"
Jeff ran through the door.
"Six… …"
Jeff heard the mysterious voice say. "Okay. We're all safe!"
"Four… Three…"
Jeff slammed the door shut and lent against the door panting from stress and exertion. He heard the automatic lock slide home.
"Two… One…"
Her VTOL jets flaring in the darkness through the window, Thunderbird One slipped down into her hangar.
"That was close."
Jeff turned back into the room. In the light of the bulbs in the ceiling he could now get a clear look at those he'd just rescued. Looking about he realised that he appeared to be in the company of ten minute animals from the deer family and a short… very short… man. The intruder was inspecting his pets' injuries.
Feeling like Gulliver in Lilliput, Jeff looked down on them all. "Who are you?" he asked.
Not only was the stranger very short, he also had snow-white hair and beard, a ruddy complexion, and his shape was what could be described as 'round'. His jacket was red with white cotton trim, as was his hat, his trousers and boots were black, and he had removed a white glove and was running his hand over one of the deer's legs. Trembling, the animal submitted to his touch until he made contact with a tender spot and it flinched; pulling its leg away. "That hurt, did it, Zoomer?" he asked, caressing the injured animal's head. "I'm sorry, my love. I'll see if I can get something for you." He straightened and turned to Jeff and his eyes, though worried, were sparkling behind wire-rimmed spectacles. "It looks like we won't be going anywhere soon until Zoomer's feeling better. Do you think Brains would be willing to look at her?"
"Wha…?" Jeff stared at the man and wondered how he knew about Brains.
"I know your mother's told you many times that it's rude to stare and even ruder to stare with your mouth open."
Jeff shut his mouth. "Who are you?" he repeated for the umpteenth time.
"Santa Claus."
"There's no such person."
The mystery man gave a resigned sigh. "You believed in me once. You were convinced that after you'd set fire to the haystack when you were seven, that I wouldn't visit you that Christmas." The bearded stranger gave Jeff a sideways look. "You were smoking out rats, weren't you? I know it was an accident. You were only trying to help. You were simply at an age when you didn't think things through… and were too young to be left near matches."
Jeff's jaw dropped again. This was a secret that, as far as he was aware, no one else knew. Even 'she-who-knew-everything', a.k.a. his mother, appeared to have no idea who had torched the winter feed. The rats had survived, having fled the conflagration, but the hay, despite his the best efforts of his father and a farm hand, had been destroyed. The farm's few animals had survived that winter only due to the generosity of neighbours. "How'd you…" In shock he sat down.
The little man laid his finger on the side of his nose. "I know all children who are 'naughty and nice', remember? You were a whisker away from being placed on my naughty list."
"But Santa Claus is a mythical character," Jeff protested.
"Who's to say what makes an idea become real?" 'Santa' asked. "If millions of children all over the world believe in something, wouldn't that have some effect? Sometimes it only needs a few people to turn a dream into reality, or…" he looked at Jeff, "just one."
"I don't believe in Santa Claus," Jeff stated, struggling to remain true to his convictions as his eyes told him otherwise. "And I don't know any adults who do."
"Unfortunately," 'Santa' admitted as he turned to examine Zoomer again, "many adults are too narrow-minded to accept my existence." He glanced over his shoulder at the bemused man sitting behind him. "I thought you were more broadminded than that."
Jeff made another attempt to make some sense out of what was happening. "Whoare you?"
"Santa Claus. Saint Nicholas. Odin. Sinterklaas. Tomte. Neclaus. Télapó. Mikulás. Kris Kringle. Christkindl. Father Christmas. I'll answer to any of them. I've been them all over the centuries."
Jeff had been tempted to say and I'm the Easter bunny, but had held his tongue.
"You mother has brought you up well," Santa continued, as if in reply to the unsaid sentence. "You know not to be rude to strangers…" Zoomer tried to take a step and made a sound that could have been described as a whimper. 'Santa' touched Jeff on the arm. "Please, even if you don't believe me, at least help my animals."
Jeff felt a warm glow that could have been described as a feeling of 'goodwill-to-all' fill him. He was also aware that his watch was vibrating. The signal, a secret alert that Scott was standing by, waiting to come to his assistance, should have gone unnoticed by all about him.
"You'd better answer that," Santa said. "Scott's going to be wondering what's happening out here. We don't want him to worry unnecessarily."
Feeling as if his head was spinning, Jeff raised his hand so he was able to look at his watch face. "It's okay, Son."
"What the heck's going on out there?"
"We have unexpected visitors," Jeff admitted.
"What! How…!"
"Don't worry about that," Jeff insisted. "We've nothing to worry about." Even as he vocalised the words a small part of him wondered if it were true. "Ah… Would you get Brains? Ask him what he knows about the medical care of, um…" he hesitated, realising that whatever he said was going to sound distinctly odd. "…Ruminants," he finished.
"What!"
"Please, Scott. Do it. It'll all become clear soon. We're coming inside now."
"We?!"
Jeff lowered his arm. He carefully picked up Zoomer and felt the animal stiffen at his touch before relaxing as if it realised that it wasn't in danger. "What do you want to do with the others?" he asked.
"If Thunderbird One isn't going to be launching again soon, and if it's all right with you, I'll let them walk around outside; they'll welcome the opportunity to stretch their legs." Santa chuckled. "They don't often get the chance to experience a tropical island."
Awkwardly, as he juggled Zoomer so he could reach the door handle, Jeff unlocked the changing room door. They stepped outside into a starlit world where silhouettes of palm trees graced the horizon and the Tracy villa loomed over them like a monster lurking in the shadows.
The three of them mounted the steps that led to the lounge, and as they grew closer to the living room they became aware of raised voices. "Were you sleeping on the job?!" Scott was demanding.
John was on the defensive. "No, I was not!"
Scott glared at his brother's portrait. "Then how do you explain the fact that we've got visitors without your knowledge?!"
"I don't know!"
"You must have been asleep!"
"I swear, Scott, I haven't slept for the last ten hours. And neither have you! Otherwise you wouldn't be yelling at me!"
"Yes, I would. You've compromised security."
"I'vecompromised security?! This is from the guy who was in such a daydream that he nearly overshot the swimming pool… Ha!" John jeered at Scott resultant expression. "See, I was watching you. I wasn't asleep."
"Boys…" Jeff said quietly. "You can continue this discussion later... I thought I asked you to get Brains, Scott."
"I did. He's getting dressed." Scott stared at the animal in Jeff's arms. Zoomer, for her part, had stiffened again at being brought inside into the presence of angry strangers. "What's that!?"
"A miniature reindeer," Santa said. He reached up and patted his pet on the nose. "It's all right, Love."
"Who's that?!" John exclaimed.
Jeff cleared his throat. "Ah… Santa Claus." His two sons stared at him as if he'd gone mad.
Santa turned to them. "Now that we all know each other, I should like to offer you an apology, Scott. I should have been looking where I was going. I hadn't planned on, ahem," he gave the young man a wry grin, "dropping in on you."
Scott shook his head. "Father," he pleaded. "Please explain what's going on."
"This is Santa Claus," Jeff explained again. "I don't know why he's here. He hasn't told me yet."
"Santa Claus," Scott repeated.
"Yes."
"As in Father Christmas?" John enquired.
"Yes."
"John," Scott turned back to the video of the space monitor. "Would you tell Brains to hurry up, please? We've got more than sick animals to worry about."
As if on cue, Brains entered the lounge, his laptop computer at the ready. "What, ah, animal are we d-dealing with, Mr Tra…" He saw the reindeer in Jeff's arms. He saw the diminutive figure standing at Jeff's side. He turned to Scott and saw that he was still in International Rescue uniform and that Operation Cover-up and not been activated. "Wh-Wh…"
"Don't ask, Brains." Scott shrugged. "I haven't got a clue."
Jeff made the introductions. "This is Santa Claus." Brains stared at his employer as if he were a few presents short of a stocking.
"Zoomer has hurt her leg," Santa explained. As if she needed to prove him right, Zoomer began to wriggle, but it was only when her antlers dug into his shoulder and banged against his jaw that Jeff put her down. Santa grasped to stop her from trying to escape. "I'm afraid that we hit Thunderbird One. I would appreciate it if you could help her, Brains."
"And Z-Zoomer is a…?" Brains peered at the stranger short-sightedly.
"Reindeer."
"Y-Y-You hit Thunderbird O-O-One?"
"That I can confirm," Scott agreed.
Brains was delving into the laptop's memory banks. "Reindeer - Rangifer tarandus… Semi-domesticated caribou…" he muttered. "Shorter and stouter… Outer coat of long, hollow guard hairs are at a density of 5,000 per square inch… Undercoat a fine "woolly" hair at 13,000 per square inch…"
John gave a low whistle. "Impressive." He received a glare from his elder brother.
Brains looked at the blonde. "The th-thick coat inhibits radiation and allows them to lie on snow without m-melting it and getting w-wet." He resumed his inspection of the laptop. "Large hooves… act like snowshoes… helps them walk on snow."
"Very useful on a tropical island," Scott sneered.
Brains ignored him. "Both male and female grow antlers… Bulls shed antlers between December and January… Steers and non-pregnant females shed antlers between February and April. Pregnant females shed antlers late-April and May." He glanced at Zoomer, taking in her impressive head ornamentation. "Ah, what sex is, ah, Zoomer?"
"Female," Santa offered. "None of my reindeer are pregnant. I would not subject them to such a long trip if they were."
"Female…" Brains mused, and continued reading. "Adaptations such as preventing radiation and lack of sweat glands for heat conservation in winter may cause stress in warm weather."
"That could be a problem," Jeff admitted. He looked at his watch. "It'll be dawn in about four hours. Then the temperature will rise to the high 20s. We'll have to see if we can get Zoomer fit enough to travel before then." Then he frowned. "Did you travel in a sleigh?"
Santa nodded. "Yes, I did."
Jeff's frown deepened. "I don't remember seeing it out there." His two sons shared a look that was a mixture of concern and bemusement. "It's probably crashed into Thunderbird One's launch bay."
"In which case it'll be toast by now," Scott noted.
"Oh, dear," Santa exclaimed. "It might take me some time to repair it."
Zoomer was examining the Christmas Tree as if she were hopeful of finding something edible in its foliage and Santa gently pulled her away. Brains shut his laptop and walked over to the little creature. "D-Does she bite?"
"No, it's Vixen who bites, but they're only love bites." Jeff winked at Santa as John and Scott exchanged incredulous glances.
With evident trepidation, Brains drew closer to the little stranger and the beast that he was restraining. "G-G-Good, ah, Z-Zoomer." He knelt by the reindeer's trembling flank. "N-Nice r-reindeer… I-I w-won't h-hurt you."
Santa laid a hand on Brains' shoulder. "Zoomer knows that. She won't hurt you either."
Brains smiled as a feeling of warmth and friendship flooded his system. "I know." He began his examination of the reindeer's leg.
"Now that Zoomer's being looked after, hadn't you better give Virgil and Thunderbird Two the all clear to land, John?" Santa asked.
"What?" John checked his scanners. "Uh… Yeah…"
---F-A-B---
Being a third slower than her sister ship, Thunderbird Two was only just drawing close to Tracy Island. Virgil stifled a yawn. "Nearly there, Guys."
There was a muttered response from the passenger seats behind him.
"Buckle up."
Someone got more comfortable, but Virgil didn't hear the clicking of safety harnesses. He briefly toyed with the idea of putting Thunderbird Two through some fancy manoeuvre to wake his brothers, but then decided against it.
"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."
"Thunderbird Two," Virgil responded. "Go ahead, John."
"You're nearly home?"
"Yep. I guess big brother's already in bed?"
"No…" John appeared to be subdued. "He's still awake. So are Dad and Brains."
"Couldn't they wait to open their presents?" the voice coming from behind Virgil's shoulder sounded drowsy.
"They could have at least waited until we got home," Alan grumbled as he stretched.
"I don't think they've been thinking about Christmas," John stated. "…At least not Christmas presents…"
Virgil frowned. "What's wrong?"
"We've got visitors."
Virgil immediately banked Thunderbird Two into a sharp turn. "Visitors! Why didn't you warn me!? We've got a visual on Tracy Island!" There were slithering sounds as his brother's failed to stop themselves from sliding down the steeply sloping floor. "Sorry, Fellas," he called back over his shoulder.
"There didn't seem to be much point warning you," John admitted. "This guy's seen Thunderbird One and seems to know a lot about us."
"He'sseen Thunderbird One!" Now that Thunderbird Two was back hovering on the horizontal, Gordon had come to stand at Virgil's shoulder. "Who is he?" He shared a worried look with Alan, who, now fully awake, was standing beside him.
"He, ah…" John had the ashamed air of someone about to make a confession. "He claims that he's Santa Claus…"
"What!"
"He says he's Santa Claus," John repeated.
"And you believe him?" Alan asked.
"Dad appears to… And Brains seems quite happy to help fix up his reindeer…"
"His what?" Three brothers stared at the face on the screen in open astonishment.
"I've only seen one. She's called Zoomer and she's hurt her leg. There's at least one other called Vixen…"
"Vixen?!" Gordon exclaimed. Then he gave his elder brother a sideways look. "Are you sure you haven't been O.Ding on the halluagen again, John?"
"No, I haven't… And I never have! There's this guy who barely reaches Dad's knees and he's got reindeer and he says he's Santa Claus!"
"How did he get to the island?" Virgil asked. "And why?"
"He said that he'd come in his sleigh and that that's currently in pieces on the floor of One's launch bay."
"Why?" Virgil asked again.
"He crashed it."
"Obviously an experienced flyer," Gordon snickered.
"I don't know why he's on Tracy Island," John admitted. "I just know that he wasn't registering on our scanners. If he hadn't run into Thunderbird One…"
"Wait a minute, John," Alan held up his hand. "What did you say?"
"He ran into Thunderbird One. Scott said he was landing through the pool when the impact warning started blaring and the anti-gravs kicked into life. Next thing he sees is this face sliding down the viewport."
Gordon looked at Alan. "He didn't get enough sleep over the last four days. He's hallucinating. He's been on the halluagen."
"Yep," Alan agreed. "I knew I should have flown Thunderbird One home. Scott's overtired."
"You know full well that if you'd tried to take over Thunderbird One you would have had your spine ripped out as you climbed into the cockpit," Virgil said. "Besides, he'd had enough power naps to sustain him until he got home. I checked his reactions and he checked mine…"
"That is not reassuring," Gordon interrupted.
"You weren't worried," Virgil retorted. "You slept the whole way."
"Of course. I want to be awake to see what you've given me for Christmas."
"So, what are we going to do, John?" Virgil asked. "Head off to Mateo?"
"You may as well come home," John replied. "'Santa' appears to be more worried about his reindeer than anything else at the moment. You should be able to stash Thunderbird Two away without his seeing you."
---F-A-B---
"What's everyone doing up?" an elderly, feminine voice was heard in the hallway. "I know it's Christmas morning but to be opening your presents at one a.m. is ridiculous! What are you doing, Jefferso… Oh!"
Jeff saw that his mother's startled gaze had fallen on the unexpected visitor. "Let me introduce you to Santa Claus."
"Santa Claus…?"
Santa stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "Lovely to meet you again. It's been a long time."
Grandma smiled at the stranger as a warm, giving, feeling flooded her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Claus."
"Please. Call me Santa."
"Thank you, Santa."
"What!?" Scott stared at their grandmother who seemed perfectly willing to accept the identity of the intruder. "Grandma, did you hear who this guy says he is?"
"I'm not deaf, Scott. Of course I heard."
John had come back on line and Scott moved closer to the video's microphone. "Call out the men in white coats," he whispered.
"The cavalry's on its way," John whispered in reply. "Thunderbird Two's just landing. I've given them a heads up."
"Good."
"What's wrong?" Grandma moved closer to the injured reindeer.
"Sh-She hurt her leg on Th-Thunderbird One," Brains told her. "When she f-flew into it."
Grandma turned and scowled at her eldest grandson. "Weren't you watching where you were going?"
"I didn't see it, ah, him, her, them!" Scott protested. "I was trying to land."
"I'm afraid it was my fault, Mrs Tracy," Santa confessed. "We were distracted."
Grandma humphed. "Out of my way, Dear," she said to Brains, who was delving again into his computer's database. "I've dealt with animals before."
"But not reindeer," Jeff reminded her.
She gave him a scathing look. "This end eats. That end doesn't. What more is there to know? I'm sure the whole principle is similar to 'Ol' Bessie's' rheumatics." After a quick examination she made her diagnosis. "The leg wants strapping up and the poor thing needs to rest." She tickled the reindeer under the chin and it responded by nuzzling her cheek. "I'll put one of my poultices on it." She turned to Santa. "But she won't be leaving here until late tomorrow."
Santa inclined his head gravely. "That is fine. I don't have to be anywhere."
"You don't…" Scott stared at the man. "But what about today?! Christmas day?! Your biggest day of the year! Remember?" He gave Santa a sideways look. "That's if you are who you say you are…"
"Scott…" Jeff growled.
"What does your reindeer eat?" Grandma asked. "The poor thing's probably hungry."
Brains was, yet again, diving into the database for answers. "L-Lichen, grasses, sedges, shrubs… Highly nutritious p-plant matter."
"Does the island have 'highly nutritious plant matter' suitable for reindeer?" Jeff asked.
"The rest of the team should be all right," Santa reassured them. "I'm sure that Zoomer would prefer what I had in my sleigh."
Scott turned to John. "I can't believe I'm hearing this conversation."
The crew of Thunderbird Two arrived. They'd made a point of coming through the complex the long way round, so that the access way in the lounge wouldn't be exposed. They entered the room warily.
"Ah!" Jeff beamed at them. "Good, you're home. Come over here and meet Santa Claus."
No-one obeyed him. The three youngest Tracys stared at the elderly stranger with suspicious eyes.
Santa, seeing their indecision, was the first to react. "Ah! I remember you all! I could never forget the Tracy sons." He stepped forward in greeting. "Alan and Gordon…" He shook Alan's hand and Scott was dismayed to see his brother relax and smile at the stranger. "I don't know how many times I shifted the pair of you off my 'nice' list and onto the 'naughty' one… especially you, young Gordon," he prodded Gordon playfully in the kneecap.
Instead of displaying the expected negative reaction, Gordon gave a goofy grin. "I had to give you something to keep you busy all year."
John, Scott and Virgil all shared dismayed glances.
"But," Santa continued, "Somehow, you always managed to worm your way back onto the 'nice' list just before Christmas." He chuckled. "You were such a handful!"
"You're telling me," Jeff agreed.
"Virgil," Santa turned to the chestnut-haired young man, who took a wary step backwards. "I've still got that picture you drew for me when you were six. Do you remember it? It was of me and my reindeer and we were flying above your home. You had quite a talent, even at that age."
"Ah," Virgil said, nonplussed by the unexpected compliment. "Thanks."
"It's always a pleasure to see how those children I corresponded with grow up," Santa burbled on. He extended his hand in greeting.
Virgil glanced at Scott and read the warning in the latter's face. He took another step back, "ah…" he held up his hands. "I'm sorry, ah, but, um, it was a hard rescue and I haven't had the chance for a proper wash. That is… um… my hands! My hands are dirty. I wouldn't want you to get dirty too."
Santa shifted his gaze to Scott and then back to Virgil. "Interesting," he mused. Then he smiled. "I also remember, Virgil," he continued as if he hadn't been snubbed, "that when you were seven you wrote and asked me to bring you a grand piano," he indicated the white instrument that dominated one corner of the room. "I see you got your wish."
"He had to work hard to earn it," Jeff said. "But he deserved it."
"I'm sure he did."
Grandma had been making some notes. "I'll need some of the herbs out of Kyrano's greenhouse," she announced. "But I don't want to take them without his permission..."
"I'll get him, Grandma," Scott offered, seeing an opportunity to warn the Kyrnaos before they met the island's visitor. "Ah, Virg…" He gave his brother a meaningful look. "Don't you want to wash your hands?"
"Huh…? Yeah… Yes, I do," Virgil nodded emphatically. "I'll come with you, Scott."
The pair of them escaped into the hall and Scott sighed. "Well, we've lost Gordon and Alan."
Virgil stared at his brother. "How do you mean 'lost'?"
"I've noticed that every time 'Santa' touches someone, they fall 'under his spell'," Scott stated. "At least you had the brains to keep out of the way."
"Well, that's what you wanted me to do, wasn't it…?" Virgil turned to look at the door to the lounge. "What's going on in there?"
"I don't know, Virg, but I don't like it. I don't trust that guy."
"Scott…" Virgil sounded unsure of himself as he turned back to his brother. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but…" he hesitated.
Scott frowned. "What?"
"Are you sure he's not the real Santa?"
Scott stared at his brother. "What?!"
"I mean, I don't see how it can be… We both know that Santa Claus is a mythological creation… But… He's right. I did send Santa a picture that I'd drawn of him flying above our house when I was six. How could anyone have known about that?"
"Logic, Virg," Scott told him. "There are plenty of pictures in the lounge that have obviously been done by you; no one else has your initials. An adult who is an artist was probably a child who liked to draw. And what else would a six-year-old writing his wish list to Santa Claus draw, but a picture of the sleigh over the kid's house, so that Santa knew where to come!"
"Oh…" Virgil almost sounded disappointed. "That makes sense… But what about the piano? There isn't a sign saying 'property of Virgil Tracy' on it. Any one of us could be a pianist. I might not like music!"
"The fact that you're a musician is not exactly a state secret," Scott reminded his brother. "This guy knows enough about us that he must have done some research on the family. A quick check of our school records, find a couple of concert programmes, and anyone could theorise that the piano was yours. That's the thing about these con-artists," he continued. "They use generalities and obvious facts, make a few shrewd guesses, and before long have you thinking that they know more about you than they actually do."
"I guess…" Virgil agreed. Then he sagged. "You're right, of course." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired and I'm not thinking straight. I thought I was coming home to go to bed, not to walk into a rerun of "The Nightmare before Christmas"!"
"Of course I'm right. Who in their right mind would fly around the world just to do something good for a complete stranger and not expect to be paid for it?"
Virgil gave Scott a wry smile. "Is that a rhetorical question or do you want me to give you an answer?"
"Rhetorical."
"Because I can name someone… And I'm not going to say Santa Claus."
"You can…? Okay, I'll bite," Scott acquiesced. "Who?"
"I'm looking at him."
Scott stared at Virgil. Then he managed a dry chuckle. "I'll give you that one." He pulled on his brother's arm. "Come on, I want you to wake Kyrano."
"Me!" "Why me?"
Kyrano, during his waking hours, was a quiet, mild-mannered man who wouldn't hurt a fly without first apologising to it. At night, when he was asleep however, it was a different matter. Back in the early days when he'd first come to stay with the Tracys, there was one occasion when Tin-Tin, then a young child, had been startled awake. Already frightened by her dreams, she been slow to remember where she was and had begun to cry. It had been one of those nights when, shaken by his own fears for the future and torn by memories of the past, Jeff had been unable to sleep, and had heard her. Having had no experience with young girls he'd gone to get her father.
Jeff had tried to wake Kyrano gently, but the latter had reacted with a martial blow that had sent the former flying across the room, nearly destroying a chair and leaving Jeff with bruises that had lasted for days. When he was finally awake and had realised what he had done, Kyrano had been full of apologies, but without a real explanation. This had happened many times over the years and the only reason for this irrational behaviour that the Tracys had been able to come up with, was that something or someone in Kyrano's dim, dark, distant past had wounded the gentle Malaysian. Kyrano, the private man that he was, had never enlightened them as to who or what that could be.
"Why should I be the one to wake him?" Virgil demanded.
"You've got a softer, less authoritative voice than me," Scott stated. "He might not react as strongly to being woken by you."
"You mean you'd rather I was sent flying than you."
"Just get on with it, Virgil. I want to get that Santa fellow out of here before he finds out too much."
Virgil scowled at his elder brother and then knocked on the door. "Kyrano…" There was no reply from inside the room. He knocked again and then called louder. "Kyrano, it's Virgil."
Nothing.
Scott nudged his reluctant brother. "Go in."
"It's his private room! I can't just barge in there."
"You're not barging. You've asked permission and he hasn't heard you. What if there was an emergency? You wouldn't be pussyfooting around. You'd be in there pulling him out of his bed."
"Correction. I'd be tackling the emergency." Virgil gave a sigh. "Here goes…" He slid the bedroom door open. "Kyrano…." There was no sound as he stepped over the threshold… "Kyrano…"
---F-A-B---
"Boys," Jeff looked up from where he was stroking Zoomer, "would you mind going down to Thunderbird One's launch bay and getting some feed from Santa's sleigh?"
Gordon gave an agreeable nod. "Sure, Dad. Coming, Alan?"
"You betcha. It's not everyday that you get to see a sleigh that can fly."
"You won't be able to miss it," Santa explained. "It's a large sack with 'reindeer feed' stencilled on it."
"I'm sure we can manage that," Alan grinned. "Come on, Gordon."
---F-A-B---
"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
Virgil fled back to where Scott was standing just inside the door and pushed his brother forward like a shield. "Kyrano! It's me! Virgil!"
"Mister Virgil?" Kyrano, standing by the bed in attack mode, dropped his hands to his sides. "I am sorry," he rubbed his face before looking at the young men standing before him. "Why did you wake me?"
"You tell him why, Scott," Virgil demanded. "My nerves are shot." He released his grip and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Scott asked him.
"I've done what you asked." Virgil held out his hands. "I'm supposed to be having a wash, remember? It'll look a bit odd if I go back to the lounge still dirty."
"Okay," Scott agreed. "Be careful."
Kyrano watched the brothers with a frown of concern. "Mister Scott? What is wrong? Why must Mister Virgil 'be careful'?"
"There's a guy here who says he's Santa Claus," Scott explained.
"Santa Claus?" Kyrano repeated. "Father Christmas?"
"Yes, that's what he says and he's got something that makes people believe him."
"What does Mr Tracy say?"
"He was the first one to go under. There are only you, me, Virgil, John and Tin-Tin left, and I wanted to warn you before you went out there. Whatever you do, don't let him touch you! Okay?"
Kyrano was looking concerned. "Yes, Mister Scott."
"Because it's when he touches you that he gets you."
"Yes, Mister Scott. I will be careful."
"Good." Scott smiled in relief. "Now, the second reason why we woke you up is because one of his reindeer was hurt when he flew into Thunderbird One…"
"Mister Scott?" Kyrano looked at his friend as if Scott hadn't heeded his own warning.
"I know," Scott held up a hand, "it sounds impossible. I'll explain it all later, but when I was landing, 'Santa' and his 'reindeer' crashed into Thunderbird One. One of the reindeer, Zoomer…"
"Zoomer?"
Scott shrugged and continued talking, "hurt its leg. Grandma wants to make one of her poultices, but she needs some of your herbs."
"Then she shall have them." Kyrano bowed his head. "No animal, real or of imaginary form, should be allowed to suffer."
---F-A-B---
All traces of exhaust gases had been filtered out of Thunderbird One's launch bay, but the strong odour of burnt wood and metal remained.
Alan and Gordon walked over to where a small pile of charred fragments lay strewn over the floor beside the launch platform. "Scott's really done a number on it," Gordon said as he crouched down to examine the debris.
Alan picked up a relatively unscarred section of what could have been a runner before it had been toasted. "What a shame," he said as his finger traced an intricately carved panel. "Look at the workmanship in this!" He held it out for Gordon's inspection.
"Santa and his reindeer were lucky they didn't fall down here with it."
"I'll say." Alan studied his brother who was picking through the remains. "How are you feeling, Gordon?"
Gordon looked surprised at the question. "Umm…. Relaxed… Happy…? At peace with the world? Why?"
"Were you feeling like that before we met Santa Claus?"
"No, I wasn't. I was feeling jaded, even though we'd just had a successful rescue. But when we started talking to Santa… It was like I was experiencing something… wonderful."
"Yeah," Alan agreed. "I feel like that too." He spied something. "Ah, ha!" He pounced on an object that was wedged behind a blast-proof cabinet.
"What have you got?"
Alan dragged out a fat sack. "Reindeer feed." He examined one side and then flipped it over to check the other. "That was lucky. It hasn't split and it's hardly scorched."
"Good." Gordon picked up a burnt piece of wood. "I know that 'Down-Under's' they tend to cook outside on Christmas day, but I didn't realise that the tradition extended to barbequing Santa's sleigh."
"Do you really think that guy's Santa?" Alan asked.
"I don't know who else it could be," Gordon admitted. "He looks like what you'd expect Santa to look like."
"He's elf sized," Alan agreed.
"He's got reindeer. You've got their feed."
"He's got…" Alan stood and nudged the remains with his toe, "…hehad a sleigh."
Gordon nodded, his eyes lighting up as a sly grin stretched over his face. "And he flew into Thunderbird One…"
"What?" Alan asked. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing," Gordon said innocently.
Alan crouched down again so he was at his brother's eye level. "Come on, Gordon. What?"
"Nope. I'm not gonna tell you. I might not even be able to do it."
"You're not going to trick me in some way are you?"
"Now would I do that?" Gordon asked; an expression of pure innocence on his face.
"Yes, you would."
"Don't worry, Alan," Gordon chuckled. "I don't have you in my sights this time."
Alan relaxed. "Then who have you got 'in your sights'?"
Gordon patted his brother on the shoulder. "Do you want me to spoil all the fun?"
"Just so long as I get to stay on Santa's nice list. You can go back on his naughty one if you want."
"Oh, I don't think there's any chance of that. I'm just planning on spreading some Christmas joy about…"
---F-A-B---
"What's taking Kyrano so long?" Grandma wondered. "I want to get this poor thing fixed up." Zoomer nuzzled her hand and she gave it an affectionate tickle under the chin.
"Scott's probably still deciding on the best way of waking him without endangering life and limb," Jeff reminded her.
"Ah, yes," Santa said. "That poor man had experienced much in the way of sadness and betrayal before he met you, Jeff. He still struggles to deal with it in his dreams."
Jeff gave Santa a quizzical look. "Do you know why he's so aggressive when he's woken suddenly?"
"I do." Santa inclined his head. "But it is not my place to elucidate. One day, when he is ready to talk about it, Kyrano will explain everything." He stroked his reindeer.
---F-A-B---
Scott waited impatiently in the hallway for Kyrano to get dressed. When the Malaysian finally emerged the retainer was full of apologies.
"That's okay, Kyrano," Scott replied. "Now, before we go back into the lounge, would you mind telling Tin-Tin what's going on? I would have done it myself, but I think it would be better if you went in there."
"Yes, Mister Scott," Kyrano said gravely and once again Scott found himself alone, pacing up and down the hallway.
---F-A-B---
"Here's the feed." Between them Gordon and Alan dragged the sack into the lounge. Zoomer perked up and sniffed the air. She struggled to her feet.
"Sh-She seems to be hungry," Brains said.
"Jeff," Santa looked up from where he was restraining the reindeer. "Wasn't someone going to collect John from Thunderbird Five yesterday?" John, who'd been maintaining a silent watch over those in the lounge, started when he heard his name mentioned. "Before you all got caught up in your rescue?"
"Yes, that's right," Jeff confirmed.
"I'm sure that he would like to be able to spend at least part of Christmas day with his family. Isn't that right, John?" Santa beamed at the man framed on the wall.
"Ah, yeah… Yes, I would," John admitted.
"So, please don't let us and our little dramas upset your Christmas plans," Santa begged.
Jeff didn't take too long to reach a decision. "Alan, did you get much sleep on the flight home?"
"A little."
"A little!" Virgil had entered the room in time to catch the conversation. He'd had the quickest of washes and had discarded his grimy uniform for the clothes he'd been wearing before the rescue. "I could hear him snoring before Thun…" he glanced at Santa, "we'd left the ground. He slept the whole way home." He stepped to one side to let Scott, Tin-Tin and Kyrano enter the lounge.
"Ah, Kyrano, Tin-Tin, you're here," Jeff said. "Come and meet Santa Claus."
Kyrano made a formal bow in the general direction of those clustered around the animal, and Tin-Tin gave a nervous smile as she tried to pat her hurriedly brushed hair into place. "What is it you require, Mrs Tracy?"
"I've made a list…" Alan leapt forward and helped his grandmother to her feet. "Thank you, Dear," she said before picking a piece of paper off the desk. "Here's the list, Kyrano. Are there any problems?"
Showing no emotion Kyrano read through what she had written. "There will be no problems, Mrs Tracy. Will you assist me, Tin-Tin?"
"Yes, Father." Tin-Tin glanced at Santa Claus and, suppressing a delicate yawn, followed her parent out to the greenhouse.
"We're going to get John," Jeff announced. "Alan, you and I will take Thunderbird Three. You two," he pointed at Scott and Virgil and continued before they had a chance to argue, "are to get some sleep. You both look dead on your feet. Gordon, will you carry Zoomer through to the sickbay?"
"Sure." Gordon slid his arms beneath the little animal and picked her up. "Will you come with me, Santa?"
"Of course." Following in Gordon's footsteps, and accompanied by Grandma and Brains, Santa favoured Scott and Virgil with a benign smile as they took a hurried step backwards to give him a wide berth. "Your father is right," he agreed. "You do look tired. Sleep will make you both feel much more relaxed."
Scott shared a worried glance with Virgil.
When the room had been vacated by all non-International Rescue personnel, Scott, John and Virgil took the opportunity to accost their father. "What are we going to do about him…?"
"That guy's a security threat..."
"He already knows too much about us…"
"Whoa! Boys!" Jeff held up his hand. "This is Santa Claus we're talking about."
"Santa Claus!?" Scott exclaimed. "You know that's impossible! Santa Claus doesn't exist! What has this guy done to you? Why can't you see he's doped you in some way?"
"Sometimes you just have to accept the unexplainable," Jeff said. "Yesterday I would have agreed with you. Today, I know I was wrong. There is a Santa Claus."
"Dad's right," Alan nodded his agreement.
"But Dad…" John protested.
"Are you ready to come home, John?" Jeff asked.
"I will be by the time you get here. But don't you think…"
"I think that the sooner Alan and I are allowed to leave, the sooner we'll all be able to enjoy Christmas together," Jeff said before turning back to his eldest Earth bound sons. "Now I want you two to get some sleep. You want to be awake to enjoy Christmas and I want you fresh enough to be able to do your duties if International Rescue's services are required. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir," Virgil mumbled. He stifled a yawn.
But Scott wasn't willing to give up so easily. "Why don't I take 'Santa' and his 'reindeer' and fly them to…"
"Scott! You're too tired to fly anywhere," Jeff growled. "You're not thinking straight."
"I'm not thinking straight?"
"Get some sleep, Scott!" Jeff commanded. "We'll see you in the morning."
"But…"
The sofa descended through the floor of the lounge. Its doppelganger took its place.
"Now what do we do?" Scott demanded. "Everyone's losing it!"
"I'm going to go and pack," John replied. "The sooner I can leave Thunderbird Five, the sooner I'll be home to back you up. I'll work on Dad and Alan on the homeward flight." He reached out for the off switch. "Call me if I can do anything." His video feed reverted back to the normal, static photograph of himself.
Virgil yawned again. "I'm going to bed."
Scott rounded on him. "You're what?"
"Scott, I'm tired. Like you, I've been operating heavy machinery and holding lives in my hands for a large portion of the last four days. If I don't get some sleep soon I'm going to fall over!"
"Virgil…"
"If you want me on top of my game to help you fight this 'Santa Claus' when John gets home then you'd better let me sleep now… And I'd advise you to do the same." Virgil favoured his brother with a tired smile. "Don't worry. I'll lock my door and I'll keep my watch on so you can buzz me if you need me."
"Okay." Scott sounded reluctant. "I'll call you when Thunderbird Three gets home."
"Good." Together they walked out of the lounge and into the hallway leading to their bedrooms. "Get some sleep, Scott. You need it as much as I do." Virgil sped up. "G'night."
"Night, Virg…"
The next event happened so quickly, and so innocuously, that neither brother had a chance to react. "Virgil," Santa stepped out of the shadows and placed his hand on the younger man's forearm. "I'm afraid I've lost my way. Would you mind directing me back to the sickbay?"
"Sure, not a problem, Santa. This way."
Scott watched in dismay as his brother smiled down on the little man and then guided him down the corridor.
"Ah, there you are, Santa," Tin-Tin beamed at him as she hurried along the hall. "We were wondering where you'd got to. Father was asking if you would like him to make you a cup of tea." Scott's stomach felt as if it had dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
"That sounds wonderful, Tin-Tin. Thank you." Santa turned, and looked back at the lone figure in the hall. "Are you joining us, Scott?"
"Ah, no..." Scott kept his distance. "I was heading for bed. You were too, weren't you, Virgil?"
"I was planning to," Virgil replied, looking happy and relaxed. "It's been a long couple of days."
"Then you go," Santa insisted. "Tin-Tin will show me the way."
"It would be my pleasure," Tin-Tin said. "Good night, Virgil. Good night, Scott."
"Night, Honey," Virgil said cheerfully.
"Night," Scott mumbled.
Santa beamed at him. "Merry Christmas, Scott."
Left in the hallway, deserted by the others, Scott felt very alone in his own home. He retreated to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He briefly toyed with calling John, but then decided that there was nothing his brother could do until he returned home. Feeling restless Scott wandered over to the window and looked out into the early morning darkness. Down by the swimming pool something with four legs moved, scratching itself on the steps of the diving board.
A sudden realisation hit him and, stopping only to check the setting on his gun and to grab a headlamp torch, a blanket, and the pillow from his bed, Scott headed outside. It was warm in the still night as he pulled one of the pool's deckchairs closer to the edge of the pool, so it was facing the villa. A curious reindeer appeared to watch his activities. "Shoo!" he said. "Go away."
The reindeer made a strange noise and stamped its foot.
"Don't get annoyed with me," he told it. "This is my house and I can do what I like. And that includes making sure that your master doesn't make off with any of our secrets." He lay down on the deckchair and pulled the blanket over him. Unsatisfied with the chair's position he got up again and dragged it further into the shadows.
"What on Earth are you doing?"
Although he was startled by the unexpected voice, Scott maintained the appearance of remaining calm. "I thought you had gone to bed."
Virgil stepped out into the moonlight. "I was going to, but I don't feel so tired now. I happened to look out the window and saw you down here and wondered what you were doing." He took in the pillow and blanket. "If you're planning on waiting up for Santa Claus," he chuckled, "you're too late. He's already here."
"I'm not waiting for him to arrive. I'm here in case he tries to leave." Scott settled into his makeshift bed.
"Huh?" Virgil pulled a seat closer to his brother and sat down.
"He knows a bit about us and International Rescue," Scott admitted. "But the only thing he's actually seen is where Thunderbird One's launch bay is concealed. If he tries to get to her, I'll be ready for him."
"If he tries to get her? What are you talking about?"
"I'm here to stop him if this 'Santa' guy tries to leave with some of our secrets."
"In Thunderbird One? You're crazy!"
Scott resisted the temptation to state his opinion that he was the only one who wasn't. "You do realise that half an hour ago you would have been on my side."
Virgil appeared surprised. "I didn't realise that we had 'sides'."
"Half an hour ago you agreed with me that Santa was a fictional character. Half an hour ago you believed that that guy up there was an impostor."
"Half and hour ago I was wrong."
"What did he do to you, Virgil?" Scott threw his blanket off and sat up, swinging his legs around so he was sitting on the side of the deck chair. "Show me your arm…? No, the other one."
"My arm? I'm a leg man myself…" Virgil watched in bemusement as Scott rolled up the sleeve, donned a headlight torch, and examined his forearm closely. "What are you doing?"
Engrossed in his inspection of his brother's skin, Scott didn't look up. "Looking for needle marks."
"What!" Virgil snatched his arm back. "I resent that!" He got to his feet.
"Wha… No… Virgil, come back!" Scott pleaded to his brother's retreating back. "I didn't mean that I thought that you'd…" He stood. "I'd never think…"
Virgil stopped walking, turned back and scowled at his brother. "I was in a really good mood and now you've ruined it!"
"But I didn't mean it like that! Honest, Virg. Don't be mad at me." Scott ran his hand through his hair, removing the torch from his head in the process. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and I'm not making myself clear and you're tired and you're misunderstanding me." He sat down on his chair.
"Then just what did you mean?"
"I meant that I think that that guy who says he's Santa Claus has drugged you and everyone else."
Virgil hesitated a moment and then returned to his seat. "Why would you think that? Why would Santa Claus want to drug us?"
"I've been watching him tonight… I mean this morning, and no one's believed that he's Santa Claus until this guy has made physical contact with them. He touched Brains on the shoulder, shook Alan's hand, prodded Gordon on the knee…"
"Prodded Gordon on the knee?"
Scott nodded. "And grabbed you by the arm… Just there." He pointed to the spot. "What did you feel when he grabbed you?"
"What did I feel?" Virgil repeated and grasped his own forearm as if he was trying to re-enact the event. He frowned in thought. "Happy."
Not expecting this reply, Scott sat back. "Happy?"
"Yeah, happy. Kind of Christmassy."
"Christmassy? I don't understand."
"You know that feeling you get when you wish a stranger a 'Merry Christmas' and then they smile and wish you a 'Merry Christmas' in return, and you think that just maybe you've made their day just that little bit brighter? Or that feeling you get when you help a mother who's got an armload of Christmas shopping and is trying to keep control of three rambunctious kids…"
"I'd help her at any time. Not only Christmas."
"I know and I would too…" Virgil conceded. "Or that warm feeling you get when you give someone a gift, and you see their face light up when they open the present because it's something that they really wanted. That kind of feeling. That's the feeling I got when Santa touched me. That's the feeling I've had all morning until you…" Now downcast he looked at the ground.
Scott leant forward and laid his hand on his brother's arm. "Believe me, Virg; I'm really sorry. I didn't want to hurt you and I'd never believe that you'd do anything stupid like take drugs. I only want to find out who this guy is and what he wants from us… Look, maybe this is all a dream and we'll wake up tomorrow and it'll be Christmas Day and we'll have forgotten all about it."
"If this is 'all a dream', which of us is asleep?"
Scott shrugged. "I don't know."
"Well, I hope it's me, because I seem to be enjoying it a lot more than you are." Virgil looked at his brother with an earnest expression. "Scott? Why can't you accept that 'this guy' is Santa Claus?"
"Because there's no such thing as Santa Claus. He's a myth. A legend. He might have been based on real people centuries ago, but he doesn't exist now."
"What would it take to convince you?" Virgil asked. "Use your own senses! We've got a man, who's so short that he's got to be an elf, looking after one of his reindeer in our sickbay at this very moment!"
"I know."
"He flew into Thunderbird One!"
"I know."
"You saw him fall. No one else did: only you."
"I know."
"Alan and Gordon found his sleigh!"
"I know."
"A sleigh! What would a sleigh, designed for snow, being doing on a tropical island?"
"I don't know."
While the conversation had been going on, one of the tiny reindeer had decided that it needed to cool off. It had eyed up the swimming pool, before, with an almost unbelievable leap, jumping in. It floundered about for a while and managed to swim back to the side, where it pawed at the wall, unable to climb out. Virgil took pity on it and lifted it out of the water with one hand, placing it gently on the ground. It nuzzled him in a gesture that could have been interpreted as a thank you and then skittered away, stopping only to shake its coat dry.
"Hey!" Scott complained as a fountain of water drenched him. The reindeer made a sound as if it was laughing and skipped into the darkness.
Virgil chuckled. "And you've just been soaked by a reindeer."
"I know! I know!" Scott exclaimed.
"Well?"
Scott opened his hands out in an expressive gesture of defeat. "Yes, Virgilia. There is a Santa Claus. Are you happy now?"
Virgil laughed. "Happier." He stood from where he was still crouching by the pool. "I'm off to bed and if you've got any sense you'll do the same thing. You don't want Father to find you out here. That would not make for a merry Christmas…"
"Yes," Scott conceded. "You're right."
"Night, Scott."
"Night, Virg." Scott watched his brother climb the stairs. "Hey, Virg!"
Virgil turned. "What?"
Scott smiled. "Merry Christmas!"
Virgil's face lit up. "Merry Christmas, Scott!" Whistling a Christmas song, he resumed his trek up to the house.
Scott watched him go. Then he stood and picked up his blanket. He weighed it in his hands…
Then he sat back down on the deckchair and pulled the blanket over him. "Sorry, Virgil, but 'Santa' is not going to get his hands on Thunderbird One. If anything so much as moves near this pool, I'll have it!" He puffed up his pillow, placed his gun beneath it, and settled back…
He was asleep before his head touched the pillow…
To be continued…
Reindeer facts from the University of Alaska Reindeer Research Program web site.