A Long Winter's Night

by

Tiffany Park

Colonel Makepeace covered his team's six as they stalked through PH1-225's verdant forest. The area was suspected of harboring a Goa'uld presence, the initial MALP surveys had shown an odd structure decorated with known Goa'uld designs. As the team voted most likely to successfully shoot its way out of trouble, SG-3 had been sent to check the place out.

So far, so good. The structure in question had turned out to be nothing more than an odd statue or monument. The Marines had dutifully taken radiation and energy output readings and come up with zip. However, the statue's mere presence was a warning sign of potential trouble, so SG-3 had been ordered to thoroughly recon the area.

They hadn't spotted any people, although they did find signs of habitation in the form of a stone footbridge that crossed a narrow river. They had also located a few rock-paved trails, but they were so densely overgrown that it was clear no one had used them in a long time.

Nonetheless, SG-3 kept silent, staying hidden among the trees and undergrowth, moving in single file as they scouted the terrain. With their transport ring technology, the Goa'uld could be located anywhere. A strong sense of caution was in order, and the Marines kept their senses alert.

So it came as a great surprise when Makepeace felt something cold and hard pressed against his side. He froze.

"Hold it right there, human," a slightly nasal voice said from behind him. "Don't move a muscle, or I'll zap you right where you stand."

Crap. Was that a Jaffa? Whoever it was, he was definitely unfriendly. And where there was one, there were sure to be more. How, Makepeace wondered, had they snuck up behind him like that? He hadn't heard or seen a thing. He tensed, drew a breath to shout a warning to his team, and a sensation like an electrical current ran through his body. He collapsed, limp and twitching, unable to move.

"Dumb-ass," the voice said with contempt. "I warned you, didn't I? But noooo—"

Someone else said, with an air of authority, "Shut up, Jingles. Let's get him off the path before his friends notice he's gone."

"Yes, sir."

Jingles? Whoever heard of a Jaffa named Jingles? Talk about losing something in the translation. Makepeace barely had time to register the absurdity when his captors came into his field of view.

There were six of them, all male. They were short, the tallest barely topping out at four foot five, and at first glance they looked human. Then Makepeace noticed their pointed ears. Wonderful. Runty Vulcans.

They were dressed in gaudy shades of green and red. All carried large devices that looked like peppermint sticks. Other items like candies and other treats hung from their belts. Terrible camouflage, Makepeace thought. Why hadn't he seen these silly characters coming?

The aliens picked him up and carried him a short distance into the woods. They efficiently divested him of his weapons and gear, then tied his hands behind his back with a cord that looked and felt like a black licorice whip.

One of them touched Makepeace on the shoulder with an oversized peppermint stick. A tingle ran through him, and he realized he could move again.

"Get up," the alien said.

Makepeace flexed his wrists. Whatever their looks, the bindings were a lot tougher than licorice. He couldn't even stretch the stuff, let alone break it.

"I told you to get up," the alien repeated impatiently. He sounded like he was accustomed to instant obedience. Probably the leader of this little group.

Awkwardly, Makepeace struggled to his knees, then stood up. It occurred to him that no one had been particularly quiet during this rotten misadventure. Surely his team had heard the racket, or noticed he was missing by now, or something. So where were they?

He squinted back toward the trail, where he thought he saw movement. Lieutenant Johnson soft-stepped into view. SG-3 was backtracking, looking for him. Makepeace saw Johnson glance around, then beckon to his other two teammates and move off—away from Makepeace and the aliens. Makepeace frowned. How could Johnson have missed seeing him? He'd been right in plain sight.

Well, one cry for help ought to fix that problem. He drew a deep breath and opened his mouth.

The leader shrugged. "Go ahead, knock yourself out. Shout your fool head off. Won't make any difference to us."

Fine, he'd do just that. Makepeace yelled at the top of his lungs, "Johnson! Johnson, I'm over here! Andrews! Henderson!"

Nothing. His team acted like they hadn't even heard him, and continued to search in the wrong direction. The runt aliens just stood around him, grinning.

Makepeace tried again, and again, until he had shouted himself hoarse. SG-3 never even noticed. Once, Sergeant Andrews seemed to look straight at him, but then turned away to search a different section of the woods. The aliens snickered among themselves.

"Happy now?" the leader said. "They can't see or hear any of us through the stealth field."

"What—" Makepeace paused to clear his sore throat. "What the heck is a stealth field?"

The leader sneered at his ignorance. "A screening field that camouflages us perfectly with our environment. It prevents any sights, sounds, or smells from escaping its radius. When your friends looked this way, all they saw and heard was the woods."

Ah. That would explain the ease with which these guys had snuck up on him. Sounded like a useful piece of tech. Their present actions didn't seem to indicate an interest in promoting friendly trade relations, however. "Who are you?"

"We are Santa's Elves," the leader intoned solemnly. "The most feared and formidable shock troops in the galaxy. I am Commander Tinsel."

"You have got to be kidding."

Commander Tinsel scowled at him, then spoke into a communications device on his wrist. "Elf Squad One to Rearguard. Come in, Rearguard. Over."

A disembodied voice replied, "Elf Squad One, this is Rearguard. We read you. What's your situation? Over."

"We got one. We're coming in. Over."

A voice replied, "Roger that. Congratulations, Commander. We're ready and waiting. Over and out."

"All right, troops, let's move out," said Tinsel.

A red-haired elf commando gave Makepeace a hard shove. "Come on, time to go see Santa." Strangely, the elf made that particular meeting sound ominous.

The absurdity of the situation getting the better of his common sense, Makepeace said, "I think I'm a little too old to see Santa."

"Nobody's too old to see Santa." Commander Tinsel's voice brimmed with menace.

"Why me?"

"Why not you? Nothing personal, buddy. You were just the most convenient mark."

"So this is just a random snatch? What's the point?"

"Nobody said it was random. Now shut your hole and get moving."

The elves marched Makepeace across the bridge over the river and along a winding path through the woods. He couldn't believe that Santa's elves had kidnapped him. This was all obviously some weird dream or hallucination. Maybe he was having an allergic reaction to alien pollen or a bug bite, or some noxious chemical in the air. Or even worse, maybe his original fear was true and he had been captured by the Goa'uld or their minions, and they were using some mind-altering device on him. If so, it was having some pretty unusual effects, or maybe even malfunctioning. Either way, this had to be some kind of dream. That was the only reasonable explanation.

At last they reached the elves' base. Makepeace counted ten more of the elf commandos, most of whom were busy breaking down the camp and packing gear. One of the elves caught sight of the newly arrived group, jogged up to Tinsel, and saluted.

"Commander, good to see you." The elf stared at Makepeace. "Not much to look at, is he, sir?"

Tinsel chuckled. "True enough, Lieutenant, but I don't care what he looks like, as long as Santa's happy with him."

"Yes, sir."

Makepeace couldn't decide whether he should feel insulted, worry that whatever hallucinogen he'd inadvertently ingested might have long-term side effects, or simply indulge in a bout of hysterics.

The elves wrapped up their packing. Tinsel gave everything an approving once-over. "We about done here?"

The lieutenant confirmed, "Yes, sir. Ready to move out."

Commander Tinsel ordered, "Activate the Reindeer's Horn."

Two elves rolled out a large, silver and gold machine shaped like an empty cornucopia on training wheels. Another elf touched the controls on one side, and the horn emitted a pure, bass note that vibrated deep in Makepeace's bones. The tone dropped lower, and lower, until it could no longer be heard, only felt.

The horn started to grow. Makepeace stared into its cavernous bell and could have sworn he saw stars and snow. The horn kept growing, engulfing the landscape and all the people present.

Then the world turned inside out.