Part 0:
Synopsis: Christmas brings a spark of magic into life on Luna.
Luna Yuletide, and the whole Kindred Spirits universe, is dedicated to the late Philip Gilbert.
This is the thirteenth story in the Kindred Spirits sequence. Recommended reading order is:
1) Kindred Spirits - Two Aims, One Destination
2) Kindred Spirits - Double Bluff
3) Kindred Spirits - Slipping the Net
4) Kindred Spirits - Consumed by Fire
5) Kindred Spirits - The Stair
6) Kindred Spirits - Stara Majka
7) Kindred Spirits - ZD28-FV6
8) Kindred Spirits - Darkness and Lust
9) Kindred Spirits - Abandoned
10) Kindred Spirits - The Path Ahead
11) Kindred Spirits - Serpent's Tooth
12) Kindred Spirits - Grand Central Station
13) Kindred Spirits - Luna Yuletide
Previous Kindred Spirits stories can be found in the TPFICT archive or on our own pages at: http://www.oocities.org/tiylaya/KS/ or http://www.effdee.demon.co.uk/tp/Stories/stories.htm
This story is based on the television series 'The Tomorrow People' created by Roger Price and owned by Thames Television/Freemantle Media. It also features original characters and situations created by, and the intellectual property of, Jackie Clark and Elizabeth Stanway, October 2003.
Many thanks to Jackie and Ana for comments on this story. I am also very grateful to Anyta for all her help with proof-reading this and the rest of the KS sequence.
Any feedback, comments or criticisms would be extremely welcome at tiylaya@yahoo.com
*** Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to Everyone on TPFICT! ***
"Mamma! Look!" The four-year-old girl held her handiwork up for inspection, and her mother smiled a tired smile.
"Wonderful, Eila!" she enthused, taking the paper snowflake from the child's hands and threading fine cotton through one of its holes. She hung it amidst a cascade of others, suspended from the springs that roofed the lower bunk they shared. Their small world was a cave of wonders now, snowflakes and paper streamers almost concealing the utilitarian metal frame. All along the bunk-lined corridor other families were doing the same. They decorated their corners and fiercely defended territories with decorations that were bright and cheerful, but entirely homemade. Even those of the refugees who had no children to brighten their world had embraced the excitement surrounding them and joined the fun.
Perhaps it wasn't the tinsel-strewn wonder of a conventional Christmas home, but at least it was theirs. For so many of them, merely the knowledge that they were safe and secure here in the Luna refugee centre was gift enough to make this Christmas magical. Carine took Eila into her arms, burying her face in her young daughter's hair. It was hard to believe they were really here after so many years of fear. True, life in the refugee centre wasn't the paradise that she might once have imagined. Compared to the ordeal that so many of their kind endured in the Camps though, and what that might have done in time to a second-generation child like Eila, Carine knew she could not complain.
"Please, may Eila come play?" Little Nils Eskilsen stood a metre away from the drapes that curtained their bunk, calling politely rather than intruding on their privacy. Even the smallest children had quickly learned the rules of this insular place. Carine climbed out of their snow-lined cave, catching the eye of Nils' mother Amalia as she stood by her family's bunks ten metres further along the corridor. The woman nodded and spared Carine a quick smile before turning back to one of her other children. "Mamma is going to teach us a song about Jultomten!" the little boy confided in a whisper that could probably be heard by everyone in the corridor.
"May I?" Eila bounced up and down on her heels eagerly. The child had played enough with the Eskilsens to recognise the Swedish Santa when he was named. With a return smile for Amalia, Carine bent down to straighten her daughter's collar.
"You may. But don't be too long. It will be late soon and you need to sleep - even tonight."
"And if I sleep like a good girl then Père Noël will come and we'll have lots of wonderful presents, Mamma," Eila predicted confidently. "Just like last year!"
"Oh, Eila!" Carine crouched and took Eila in one arm and Nils in the other, hugging both children. "I don't know if Père Noël will be able to find us all the way out here on Luna," she explained quietly, thinking of the small cloth doll she had spent nights making from scraps of fabric donated from all over the corridor, and of the small trinkets that Amalia had managed to set aside for her children. With resources so scarce on Luna these days, few of its residents had been able to jaunt back to Earth for presents, even those who had Earth-resident friends or family willing to provide for them. Eila's face was falling in confused dismay and Carine spoke quietly but comfortingly. "It's a long way for him to come. He might not be able to carry much with him. So if he finds us then the two of you must be very happy with whatever he brings you, and remember how difficult it was for him. Do you understand, darlings?"
The children nodded, wide-eyed, recognising the quiet regret in Carine's tone. Both children had heard it many times before, from their mothers and others here on Luna. Carine hugged them one last time.
"Then off you go. And we'll see tomorrow what Père Noël and Jultomten have brought."
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There was a moment of silence in the control room of Luna Lab. Kershia looked around the blank faces of her fellow intelligence agents and then back up at TIM's balls.
"Are you serious, TIM?" she asked eventually, breaking the incredulous silence. "I mean, when you told us that there was an urgent mission that you needed us for, we didn't expect..."
"I am perfectly serious, Kershia," TIM told her with calm dignity. "As you are well aware."
The hemispherical devices that marked TIM's physical presence in the Lab pulsed in time with the biotronic computer's words. Their colours were unusually bright - TIM's concession to the Christmas decorations that brightened every other part of the control room. The effects of the decorations were jarring against the sterile precision of the room's equipment and furniture. While the Luna refugee camp had long since become overcrowded, with families and their belongings spilling out into corridors and maintenance areas, the control room remained a haven from the pandemonium outside. The order it represented made an odd contrast with the disorder of festive decorations.
The twenty agents, each with long experience in their secret war for survival, sat in small groups around the link tables or leaned against the walls, between banks of display panels and racks of equipment. Most of them remained silent for the time being, letting Kershia respond to TIM's surprising request. Seated at the central link table, Abigail and the rest of the group that had run Luna Lab since the senior TPs departure listened with thoughtful expressions.
"But the resources this will use up...!" Kershia exclaimed. "You're talking about shifting a lot of bulk here, TIM. We'd have to matter-transport huge stockpiles to central distribution areas. The energy requirements for that alone - "
"Could be justified," Abby pondered, interrupting her friend. "Think about it, Kershia. This place is difficult enough to run at the best of times and it's getting worse. What TIM's suggesting will nip a problem in the bud before it becomes serious. You can't deny that a little oil on the troubled waters might just help the situation we're facing."
"Kershia's right about the difficulties though," Jimmy commented. "It's not as if we have resources to throw away."
TIM cleared his biotronic throat noisily, pulling the attention of everyone in the room back to him.
"I have been stockpiling suitable devices and artefacts for some time," he admitted. With a purr of power, the link table in front of Abby, Kershia and the others lit up and a number of fist-sized objects materialised on its smooth surface. "As you can see, each is quite small. I believe that everyone in this room is capable of jaunting with tens of items on their person. Matter transporters will only be required where many are needed in a single place."
Jimmy picked up one of the devices, weighing it in his hand and nodding to his colleagues. He tossed it to Kershia, who thumbed the activation switch, studying its projections on a small screen that popped out from one side of the box. After a moment she nodded in satisfaction and put the device back on the link table, allowing its screen to close once again.
"But are you sure these will really make the difference you suggest, TIM?" Jimmy asked, frowning. "After all, as you point out, each is quite small."
Kershia rose from her seat and prowled around the link table, shooting TIM a rueful look.
"Much as I hate to admit it, Jimmy, TIM is probably right. If we can pull this off, it probably will make a difference. Even my kids seem determined to make a fuss about it this time." She frowned, specifically not looking at Emina Reganovitch, who had taken on the responsibility for Kershia's former charges. "Someone's been telling tales and the Malthus children have fallen for them hook, line and sinker. They were asking question after question about the old traditions until TIM called me here."
"Children will be children," the old woman, only true Sap amongst these thousands of others, commented philosophically. "As we have discussed before, young lady. And for the children, size is not important. That you achieve what you propose will be sufficient."
"Always assuming we can achieve it," one of the agents commented, leaning forward from where he sat with his back against the wall. "You're suggesting we deposit several thousand of these devices, literally overnight! And in every case we're going to need complete silence and great care."
"I would guess that's why TIM's asked for your teams," Abigail pointed out, glancing up at TIM with a smile. "Of all the Tomorrow People we can call upon, you have most experience of stealth, and of jaunting quietly and precisely."
"Indeed," TIM agreed. "This operation will require great efforts from you all. It will need your complete co-operation. It is unfortunate that I must ask you to work to such a strict time constraint, but ...."
"No, we understand, TIM." Jimmy dismissed TIM's apology with a wave of his hand. He grinned cockily. "It could be worse. You could be sticking with tradition and asking one of us to do it on our own!"
There was another moment of silence, but this time it was less incredulous and more reflective.
"What do you think, Abby?" Kershia asked eventually. Every face followed hers, turning instinctively to the young woman who so often swayed the policies and decisions of them all. Once they would have looked to John and the other senior TPs; now increasingly it seemed that Abby had stepped into those heavy shoes. Perhaps they were trained to look for guidance this way, and perhaps, like Kershia, they saw something in the Canadian woman that reminded them of their absent leader. "It's risky," Kershia went on dubiously. "There's the resource issue and then, if it goes wrong, it could backfire catastrophically."
"But if it goes right..." Abigail frowned, thoughtful. "TIM, are you sure we can spare everything this will take?"
"I have been building reserves for several weeks in preparation, Abby," TIM assured her simply.
"Then we'll risk it." She looked about her gravely. "This is purely a voluntary mission. It won't be easy and I imagine it will exhaust you all. None of you are required to undertake it. But I would ask you all to consider carefully what we are attempting to achieve here and why."
There were nods and murmurs of agreement from around the room. Slowly, Jimmy stood and moved to stand by Kershia. One by one, their fellow intelligence agents joined them.
TIM's balls pulsed in brightly coloured satisfaction.
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Jimmy jaunted into the target room, careful to suppress any electromagnetic or sonic fallout from his action. With the skill of a trained intelligence agent he scanned the room, noting the locations of his sleeping subjects in the dim light. Stealthily, he moved from bedside to bedside, planting the appropriate device beneath each pillow, with just enough of the ribbon attached to each left showing to ensure that their presence would be discovered when the subject woke.
Stepping back into the centre of the room, Jimmy activated his electronic notepad. His face glowed a soft blue in the dimmed room as he studied the blueprints of Luna, noting the location and categories of his next target room and its occupants. On the nearest bed one of the subjects stirred, half-roused by the faint light. With silent movements, Jimmy blanked the screen and dropped his hand to his side, maintaining a stillness that would allow him to fade into the background, merging with the sounds of breathing and rustling in the room.
After a few moments, the subject once again sleeping soundly in his bed, Jimmy allowed himself to resume his activities. His hand slipped into the pouch he carried slung from one shoulder, feeling in the darkness for the Braille tags that TIM had attached to each of his gathered artefacts. A category three, a category four and two category sixes. Ready for his next target room, Jimmy concentrated on yet another silent jaunt.
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"Jultomten!" Young Nils Eskilsen's voice woke the whole corridor on Christmas morning, the joy and wonder in it infecting them all.
"Père Noël!" Eila cried happily, pulling at the brightly coloured streamer that led underneath the pillow she shared with her mother. Roused by the children, Carine raised her head and watched in wonder as Eila pulled out a small, brightly wrapped package.
Along the corridor drapes were being pulled aside and people were looking about them in wonder as child after child called out that Saint Nicholas, or Kriss Kringle, or Babouschka, or Santa had brought them gifts. Carine clambered out of her bunk and she and Amalia shared looks of wide-eyed wonder that mirrored the children's. Behind her, Eila was playing with the miniature spinning top that had fallen out of the package into her hands. The little girl laughed as its dynamo-driven lights glowed brighter and brighter on the spinning surface.
Despite herself, Carine felt that infectious laughter rising within her.
"Joyeux Noël!" Carine cried to the corridor as a whole.
"God Jul!"
"Feliz Navidad!"
"Nadolig llawen!"
"Sretan Bozic!"
"Frohe Weihnachten!"
"Mele Kalikimaka!"
The shouts came from up and down the corridor as they shared the joy and love the children were feeling. Soon everyone was up and celebrating, sharing what little they had. Perhaps life on Luna wasn't perfect but, courtesy of Santa himself, today they would share the most magical Christmas of their lives.
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TIM monitored Luna Lab with satisfaction and pleasure.
It had been a gamble. The concentration of telepaths in Luna made it one of the hardest places in the galaxy in which to maintain morale. If even one of the children had woken to see their benefactor, the magic would have been broken - rumour travelling through the refugee centre at the speed of thought - but TIM had chosen his elves well.
Basking in the warm glow of telepathic joy that everyone in Luna was sharing, TIM greeted Abigail and Kershia warmly as they jaunted into the control room. Even when they overrode his indignant objections to secure a fluffy white beard to one of his balls, TIM accepted the teasing in good grace.
Surveying his world, adrift like any other in the vacuum of space, Santa TIM watched the children play throughout the rooms and corridors of Luna. Almost without thinking, he opened a new file in his already huge data banks, noting how each child played with the others, keeping tracks of who was naughty and who was nice.
After all, there were presents to be designed and not long to gather them in.
Next Christmas was only a year away.