Whether or not you're one of the many
faithful whose people celebrate a holy day or days during the holiday season, I
think we can agree that light and love are two pretty good things. May you all
have both in abundance, at this time and always.
"Following Yonder Star"
By Joseph "Rudolph" Manno
(With the able assistance of Geri
"Dasher" Behrens,
Johnny "Dancer" Call, Kenneth
"Prancer" Gauck,
Gabriella "Vixen" Manno,
Matthew "Comet" Pook,
Julie "Cupid" Raybon, Richard
"Donner" Spake
and Alex "Blitzen" Thompson)
Luciano Mantovanni stumbled.
He gritted his teeth; he was nearing the
limits of his endurance—or, at least, his patience—and seemed no closer to
achieving his goal than when he'd started.
A voice, tinged somewhat with
frustration and disbelief, observed, "You're hardly adding to your
reputation here. This is a pathetic effort."
Determinedly, he composed himself.
"All right. I'll try harder."
Vaerth Parihn rolled her eyes and moved
to stand beside him.
"For the thousandth time, this is not
about trying harder! You're not attempting to beat the crap out of someone
here." She smiled then, a lovely mixture of affection and exasperation.
"We're just trying to teach you how
to dance…" the Orion began.
"…and we're not doing too good a
job," Erika Benteen finished, adding her voice to Parihn's, and then
reminding him, "Captain Cortes is a great dancer, Cicero.
"Whatever possessed you to
accept her invitation to perform the first dance with her at the Christmas
mixer?"
"I was caught up in the spirit of
the season," he declared drolly. Mantovanni then walked over to one of the
holographic studio's chairs and sat, rather heavily.
His expression wasn't a happy one.
"Hey, I didn't say it was time for
a break," the younger woman protested.
"Quiet, you little tyrant,"
Benteen scolded. The problem continued to elude them; their captain was one of
the most agile and formidable martial artists in the quadrant, yet that same
facility of movement wasn't translating very well to the dance floor.
As both had repeatedly, emphatically
told him, the difficulty was neither lack of effort nor determination;
any problem that could be solved by an application of will was child's play for
Luciano Mantovanni.
Unfortunately, willing yourself
to be graceful didn't work.
A touch defensively, he said, "I'm
sorry I don't move as well as the Basque who grew up on it and the Orion who
was born to it."
Benteen, in that instant, had an
epiphany.
"Parihn, you're on duty in fifteen
minutes," she announced. "I'll keep going with our student, here… we'll
see you in an hour or so."
The younger woman looked prepared to
protest, but something in both her superiors' expressions convinced her to
simply nod and excuse herself.
Erika whooshed out a weary breath, and
flopped down in a seat next to her captain.
"Too damned energetic," she muttered, and then chuckled.
"But you could do worse."
Mantovanni stiffened momentarily.
"I'm not sure what you mean by that."
"Mmm hmm. And I bet you both actually believe
that, too."
She laid a hand on his arm.
"You were embarrassed when she was
in here, weren't you?"
Grudgingly, he gave a curt nod.
She smiled inwardly; this extraordinary
commander she'd grown to like and respect in a very brief time, this person
with a prepossession and wisdom she'd rarely encountered, was, like all
men, very much a boy when it came to worrying about how he looked around a
woman for whom he cared.
"Even you can't be good at
everything,
Benteen burst into a round of giggles.
"You stink."
After an affronted moment, her captain
smiled and shook his head sheepishly.
"Welcome to the world of us mere
mortals, smart guy." She didn't want him to grow too frustrated, and so
added, "You can do this, and, to be honest, I think you'll find it
easier now that you're laughing at your… uh… Terpsichorean ineptitude…"
"Nice turn of phrase," he
noted dryly.
"…with a friend instead of worrying
about how you look in the presence of a…" she hesitated as he shot
her a warning glare, "…more intimate friend."
"Better save."
"All right," Benteen suddenly
declared, grinning impishly and holding out her hand as she stood.
"Break's over, twinkle-toes… you're going to have to work for this."
Her friend's expression told her that he
was probably regretting his rash words to Cortes…
…but that, as always, he'd follow
through.
***
Ambassador Agesliar, the Federation
representative to distant Lorpine Alpha VII, waited for his attaché, Vice Envoy
Richard Friedan. When the harried young man arrived at Agesliar's quarters, the
diplomat's first question was more of a statement.
"You are troubled?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"My boy, have you been away from
your kinsmen during this time of year before?"
How did he…? Friedan thought.
As if in response, Agesliar smiled.
"I may not celebrate
Christmas, Chanukah, or any of the other winter festivals your people do… but
I've had many attachés who did."
Of course, the younger man realized, the man's
lived for 177 years… I'm just another in a long line of bumbling assistants.
"Twice," Richard admitted.
"I knew this was one of the consequences of diplomatic service… but it
still bothers me. I'm here to work, though sir," he finished determinedly.
The Chaldonian rose, and shook his head.
"Time enough for that when your
feast is over. Come," he ordered. "I shall tell you about my people's
Festival of the Corn on Chaldonar—which is taking place even now—and you will
tell me of your beliefs.
"Once we disembark in seven months,
we shall be at Lorpine Alpha VII for a long time together, young Richard.
"We must be each other's family…
and keep both sets of traditions."
Richard Friedan decided he liked this
man… and that perhaps it was time to celebrate.
***
"Ambassador Agesliar's
administrator signals that Vice Envoy Friedan has safely transported down, sir.
We are cleared to depart."
"Very well, Lieutenant
T'Vaar."
Luciano Mantovanni had maintained a
carefully studied impassivity throughout the entire journey: Days ago, they'd
been diverted from their course towards Earth to ferry the young diplomat
Richard Friedan on the last leg of his trip—in place of the high speed courier Atalanta,
which had been forced into layover at Starbase 57 with engine problems.
The delay, unfortunately, had been sufficient
to guarantee that even
No one aboard—least of all her
captain—had been happy with that consequence.
"
"Aye, sir," replied Parihn.
"Coming to course 25, mark 37… heading for the Sol system."
"Belay that," the Sicilian
countered gently.
He'd managed to surprise just about
everyone on the bridge.
The Orion half-turned in her chair.
"Sir? We're not going to Earth?"
The captain gave no answer… just further
instructions.
"Make our heading 33, mark 82, and
execute at warp 9.5. Please inform our fellows of the change and have them
match course and speed."
Parihn managed to evict most of the
curiosity from her tone before confirming, "Aye, sir… 33, mark 82, warp
9.5." The two helmsmen communicated via their consoles; and, as one,
The captain stood, and glanced to his
left. There sat his new executive officer, Subcommander T'Laris. The Romulan,
of course, had given no reaction to either their first diversion or this new
one. She simply continued to regard her display, absorbed in the duties she'd
been assigned.
Other than the most cursory exchanges
involving
"Subcommander," he informed
her curtly, "you have the bridge."
"Acknowledged, Captain."
I'm surprised neither of them have
laryngitis after that verbose exchange, thought MacLeod.
She motioned to T'Vaar—who wordlessly
reconfigured the tactical station to handle ops as well—and followed her
captain into his ready room.
"You're attending the Christmas
party, of course."
"I don’t have much choice," he
answered, even as he stopped in front of the replicator. "Hot cocoa, with
whipped cream and a cinnamon stick," he ordered, then followed that with,
"Iced tea, in a frosted glass, flavored with a hint of peach." He
passed the cold drink to his science officer, and retained the hot one for
himself.
Sera chuckled. "Try to contain your
enthusiasm, Scrooge."
Mantovanni protested. "I love
Christmas as much as the next man… and please, spare me any, 'Yes, if the next
man is…' comments."
Thwarted, the half-Vulcan managed an
impish grin.
"That's hardly fair. I don't
handicap your monologues.
"Where are we going?"
Now the captain smiled more genuinely.
"You love mysteries, Commander.
"You tell me."
***
"Computer, begin recording personal
message, addressed to Samantha McDonald, Utopia Planitia Personal Quarters,
Jane McDonald sat at the desk in her
quarters and waited for the computer to announce it was prepared to comply. In
the interim, she prepared her most reassuring smile for her only child.
The computer beeped and announced in its
clipped feminine tone, "Recording."
"Hello, Sam…"
A small intake of breath was followed
by… nothing.
"Computer, pause recording."
Dr. Jane McDonald, wife, widow for
barely a year-and-a-half, and mother—not to mention career Starfleet officer
and acting chief medical officer aboard one of the fleet's finest vessels, the
USS Liberty—exhaled and wondered how she was going to start.
It wasn't the first time she'd sat down
to record it in the last month, but it had to be the last: If she didn't
send it today, Sam wouldn't receive it tomorrow… and to not hear from your
mother on Christmas Day was simply a thought too terrible to consider.
Even worse, Jane had only until she went
on shift in an hour or so for inspiration to strike.
Aloud, to no one but herself and the
emptiness of her sparse quarters, she gave voice to her most pressing thought.
"That was a month ago, Jane… so why
haven't you come up with something and sent this message?"
Because you thought that you would be home with Sam by now, she
answered herself. And you've known that you wouldn't be for a month. If not
for the damned Mokhara and the diversion towards Way Station 242, we
might have made it.
How does that poem go? "Broken
hearts, broken dreams, these are the things th–..."
Oh, please, Jane. This is ridiculous… she's your daughter.
Just talk to her.
"Computer, continue
recording…" Again, a beep indicated compliance, and she tried anew.
"Hello, Sam. I'm recording this on
Christmas Eve so you'll get it tomorrow. I know you were expecting me home, but
I won't be able to get there in time. You've heard it all before, and I'm
sorry, but
"Anyway… that, I promise you,
is all the bad news. The good news is that Liberty will get me
home in time for us to celebrate New Year's together—just you, Elizabeth and
me. And I'll be home for your birthday. I've a fair amount of leave coming to
me and I really want us to spend it together. We'll do whatever you want...
I know you and your…" Jane hesitated for a moment before brightening and
continuing, "…father liked to visit the Mons Olympus on Mars. Perhaps we
can do that together, and you can teach your mother to ski?"
There were tears in her eyes, but that
didn't matter. She touched her face as if to compose herself and then went on
with what she really wanted to say.
"Sam, I know things have been
difficult for us, with your father… gone. But I want them to be different.
Whatever we decide to do, I want us to be together. But we'll discuss all this
when I get back in a few days…"
"I love you, you know… I really
do."
Jane gave the recording Sam would
receive tomorrow a last smile, kissed the tips of her fingers and put them to
the screen.
"Computer, end recording and send
message." Before I decide to change it yet again.
It was, she hoped, the start of some
changes in her life—and that of her daughter's. For the moment, though, it was
time to wipe away the tears, put her personal life on hold and start her shift.
Jane told herself, I can't give Sam
the Christmas she wants this year, but I will give her the New Year she
deserves and more.
Nothing will stop that.
***
"Will you be joining us at the
mixer, Subcommander?" Mantovanni inquired with cool politeness.
Though she seemed surprised at the
invitation—and nearly astonished at who'd tendered it—T'Laris shook her head.
"Negative. Since the next 32 hours
or so seem of particular importance to you Terrans, I have decided to
take the watch for that period."
The captain arched a brow.
"A generous offer, but we can't
have you on continuous duty for such an extended period."
His new X-O's expression was firm, with
a touch of hauteur.
"I am a Romulan, Captain. The
exigencies of duty are not to be questioned… and I'm certainly capable of
operating at peak efficiency for a longer period than you humans." While
her tone was hardly warm, it wasn't openly contemptuous, either—which, from
what they'd seen thus far of T'Laris, equated almost to enthusiasm.
She continued, "I offer this to you
and my fellow officers as a… how do you call it?… 'Christmas present.' Make
merry… I shall mind your ship."
In the face of such selflessness,
Mantovanni conceded.
"Very well, Subcommander. You have
the bridge."
"Captain," she acknowledged,
and again settled into the center seat.
***
A few hours later, the captain settled
into another seat, without nearly the easy grace his X-O had employed.
Ow.
I can't believe this, he thought in amused indignation.
I'm actually sore, from dancing practice. How could I not bat an
eyelash from hours of katas and martial arts work, but be in pain after
twirling around a dance floor?
Mantovanni chuckled aloud.
No doubt Benteen would tell me that was
because I'm "…using muscles I never have—since you never have any fun.
That, and you can't relax."
Well, the old dog is working on it,
girls. Give me a chance.
His noticed then that his message light
was blinking.
The ID tag read "E.J.
Donaldson," the subject line, "Bah, Humbug." There was a vid
file attached. He arched a brow and activated the viewer.
Captain Erika Donaldson was sitting at
the desk in her ready room, feet propped on the light-grained oak. It was a
perfectly normal scene—but for the bright red Santa hat she wore. She saluted
him with a dark blue mug, emblazoned with "USS Adventurous" in icy silver letters, and chuckled.
"'Tis the season, so I thought I'd
send along a Christmas greeting. I hope you're having a merry one, at
least." She gave her familiar wry grin, and took a sip. "Starfleet's
present to us was a
set of new transwarp specifications they want tested. Our scheduled leave has
been indefinitely postponed, though we'll get a whole day when we stop
at Starbase 212 to pick up our visiting specialist."
Oh, for God's sake.
Seemingly in
response to his sympathetic thought, Adventurous' captain shook her head, expression
hovering somewhere between resignation and irritation.
"No doubt I'll be spending it
keeping Taylor on a tight leash. She's already frothing at the indignity of
someone else being allowed to tinker with her engines. Though
when this Dr. Hessta sees what she's done to them, she might not be the only
irate engineer on board." The irritation faded into definite amusement. "I'd say God only
knows when we'll be done with this, but I'm not sure Starfleet even sends Him
the memos."
Carefully, so as not to dislodge the
hat, Erika tucked a loose strand of dark blond hair behind her ear.
"Anyway, it looks like we might be out of touch until well into next year,
so I thought I'd drop a line while I could. I'd best be getting back to our
little party before my incorrigible X-O spikes the eggnog with something
stronger than rum."
She slid her feet back to the floor and
stood. "Give my best to Benteen, Sera and the others." With a
soft smile, she added, "May all be calm, all be bright, for you and
yours.
"Merry Christmas, Cicero."
***
Sa’lanna,
hesitantly, entered the small observation lounge.
He stood at
the window, hands clasped behind him, staring at the stars.
She moved
beside him, but at first there was no reaction. Though she knew his senses were
every bit as acute as hers, for one hesitant moment, Sa'lanna wondered if he
was even aware of her presence.
Alexander
Pierce dispelled that with a coolly stated, “It is… agreeable to see you
again, daughter.”
Again,
uncertainty assailed her; they'd not been on the best of terms when last they'd
parted, over a year ago. Perhaps his formidable anger hadn't diminished.
Intonation
belied expression, though: The powerful, gentle gaze she recognized was not
that of Admiral Pierce—but one worn only by her father.
It was good
to see again.
Straightening
her dress uniform jacket nervously, Sa’lanna replied, “And you as well,
Father.”
Pierce gazed
at her for almost a full minute in the subdued lights and then nodded, as if
personally confirming what the greeting entailed. She returned his scrutiny in
kind, examining the medals that adorned his red and black officer’s overcoat.
She thought it much more attractive than the "whites" recently
issued.
Ah, the
benefits of a flag rank… designing your own uniform.
“Did you dress
in the darkness as well?” Sa’lanna asked, as she fussily began to realign
several of the medals, badges and standards that may have been crooked. She enjoyed the gesture, and seeing the
smile that appeared on her father’s face, knew he did as well.
“Well,”
Pierce almost whispered in reply, “for me, worrying over 35-10 is a long time past.”
“Hmm…”
Sa’lanna retorted immediately. “I would have thought an admiral would spend more time preening.”
Pierce’s
eyebrows shot up in surprise and he laughed, much to Sa’lanna’s delight.
"Very
good. Now you sound like your old captain.
"He's on
his way home, by the way."
"I
know," she answered, a slight smile curving her lips. "I work
at Utopia Planitia, Father, remember?"
Pierce nodded
slightly: No doubt, he abruptly realized, she'd seen Liberty's name on
the scheduled maintenance docket months ago.
"Yes,
well…" he
began—then simply let it go, shaking his head.
Sa'lanna
looked at him affectionately. He'd no doubt been trying to surprise her; she
felt a strong tug at her heart.
Turning back
to the window, the young Vulcan woman’s hand found her father’s. They gazed
out. The stars, like snowflakes, floated against the wall of night.
After a
moment, she whispered, “Which one?”
“There,” Pierce replied at once,
indicating a point among the multitude.
She gazed at
it for a few moments.
“It’s beautiful,” the Vulcan woman said
quietly; her father’s grip tightened slightly. “Do you think what it represents
still has a place in our time?”
He looked
thoughtful.
"That's
a question we each have to answer for ourselves, my daughter.
“For me,” he
finished, bringing her hand up and holding it against his chest, “it will
always be welcome here.”
Pierce drew
her to him, and she felt his affection enfold itself around her, protective and
loving—the embrace of limb and thought turned to this, his child.
She returned
it wholeheartedly.
They stood
together as father and daughter, and basked in the Light.
***
The captain managed to get through his
dance without embarrassing himself… he still wasn't sure how.
The lights had gone down in the rec room—everywhere
but on the dance floor, that is… and Berengaria Cortes had stepped into the
light.
She'd been literally stunning, garbed in
the vibrant rose red and black of her Castilian traditions. The dress was not
one for casual wear, but for celebration… for movement… for seduction.
All right, just remember what you were
taught, Mantovanni
had told himself.
He couldn't remember having concentrated
any harder in his life.
They'd met in the center of the floor,
and the music had pushed them into movement—a very traditional tango, with a
few flourishes—well, more than a few, actually.
Cortes had exploded into motion. Benteen
hadn't exaggerated in the least: She was an incredible dancer, and had chosen a
variation which allowed her a flamboyance that had both crews gasping… and
allowed Mantovanni to disguise his relative ineptitude.
He'd had only to stride confidently once
or twice, hold her thus and so… and look arrogant.
That, especially, had been easy.
When the music had died, the applause
had nearly caused him to drop her.
She smiled most becomingly, and
whispered, "Muy bien, caballero."
It was in that moment that he realized
she'd obviously been in on something with Benteen.
He managed a slight grin, and drew her
up, towards him. For a moment he held her close, and got his revenge, as the
gathered crews all let out with an, "Ooooh…" and she colored
slightly.
"Muchas gracias, Senorita
Berengaria linda."
He released her… and practically ran off
the dance floor.
For the next few minutes he fielded
comments from various officers and crew.
"Very nice, sir!"
"I didn't know you could dance,
Captain!"
"Wow! You looked great out
there."
He nodded, and accepted their praise
graciously, all the while thinking, If only you knew.
Erika, too, was in traditional garb…
while similar to Cortes', there were subtle regional differences in shade and
floral preference.
"You look beautiful,
Commander," he kissed her hand. He then drew near and whispered, "I
owe you."
She smiled devilishly, and replied,
"I always look out for you, sir; it's my job."
He almost wished he was a better dancer
than he was; the crews were having a lot of fun as he watched. Eventually,
Erika sought out her friend Gari Cortes, and the two engaged in a contest; he
got the sense they'd been doing it since they were children.
They picked on Ensign King. The young
officer now had Paris' misfortune: Beautiful women were asking him to choose
between them. He looked in wonder at both as they laughingly nudged each other
out of the way and upped the stakes with each pass. The two crews were cheering
for the women, though each a little louder for their own officer… and the steps
became ever more intricate and difficult: Even Parihn watched with a keen
professional interest as they each strove to outdo the other.
Finally they stopped, breathing heavily,
faces flush with the sheen of exertion; each curtseyed before him.
King took a pair of roses off the nearby
table, and threw one to each.
There was an explosion of applause, and the
two women each kissed him on one cheek. The youngster handled it well, but he
looked somewhat overwhelmed.
Mantovanni smiled inwardly. Very
cowardly, Ensign... and just what I would've done.
***
"What'd I miss?"
Patrick Aiello sat down at the seat that
had been saved for him. A cluster of junior officers had commandeered a table
next to the stage/dance floor—depending on what was occurring at the moment—and
seemed to be in high spirits.
Molly Ainsworth chuckled. "Well… we
just watched a green Orion woman, dressed in pointy elf shoes and a rather
smallish Santa suit and hat, singing 'All I Want for Christmas is You.'"
Aiello nearly choked on the drink he'd
just been served. "Parihn did that? She seems so
straight-laced."
"I believe the performance had a
specific purpose," T'Vaar stated.
The doctor pondered that for a moment,
then guessed, "You mean she was singing to someone in particular?
Wow… lucky guy, or girl."
"We shall see," the Vulcan
replied enigmatically.
***
As the meal progressed, Captain Cortes
rose, and, as tradition demanded, called up her host to give a toast.
This Mantovanni knew he could manage.
"Let us remember," he began.
"Let us remember that the light
lasted for eight days, when it should have lasted one." His gaze passed
over Ensign Rubenstein and Lieutenant Commander Sharon. They smiled, and he
continued.
"Let us remember that the fast of
the day gives way to the celebration of the night." Lieutenant Rashid ibn
Yussef of the Masada saluted him in the Islamic fashion, and also
smiled.
"Let us remember that the Magi
sought for a king… and against all odds, they found him, at the will of the
Wise Lord." Clearly, Chief Petty Officer Khusrau had been caught by
surprise at the reference to his ancient religion of Zoroastrianism and its
ties to Mantovanni's Catholic faith. He bowed his head.
"Let us remember that the sun is
undiminished, and at home, the days grow longer again." There were murmurs
from a few crewmembers of "Blessed be," and Tertius Galenius inclined
his head, ever so slightly. The Yule and the feast of Sol Invictus were
celebrated differently, but both honored the return of Light to the world.
"And let us remember,"
Mantovanni concluded, "that the promise of a love that never fails is
given to us in the face of every child... and one we remember in particular, on
this, the day of His birth."
The night gave way to the morning.
***
"We're approaching our
destination."
Sera MacLeod smiled, even as the captain
nodded, and grinned slightly in response: He'd, of course, known she'd divine
his reasons long before they'd arrived. Taking up the task alongside her
commander, she revealed nothing, while letting him know it was time.
It was evident from her expression that
she very much approved.
"Slow to impulse, Ensign Parihn.
Take us in."
At her touch, the great starship and her
escort dropped out of warp and coasted into the system that had, evidently,
been the captain's goal.
Expectant and curious, his officers
waited.
"Put me on speakers, T'Vaar… aboard
Masada, too."
A few seconds later, the Vulcan
confirmed, "Standing by, sir."
He addressed the two crews.
"This is Captain Mantovanni aboard
the Liberty. May I direct your attention to the starboard view ports,
or, alternately, your view screens?
"The star in whose system we now
find ourselves was discovered in the 21st century, and was later
named Alpha Omega I by the 22nd century astronomer, Lois Creighton,
who spent a significant period of her life observing it. She'd realized that
the irregular pulsar's cycle occasionally caused incredibly bright flares… ones
that would enable the star to be visible for certain periods from far
greater distances than it would customarily be. She did some painstaking
calculations, and concluded—after consulting with a number of her
colleagues—that it would have been visible for some days from Earth, in the
year 4 B.C.
"Dr. Creighton knew in her heart
she'd found the Star of Bethlehem.
"The discovery wasn't given much
notice or credence in the scientific community, being considered a quaint
little speculation by many."
The captain's voice softened. "But
there are other communities—that, for instance, of the faithful—and there the
idea found a home."
He paused for a moment. The expressions
from his bridge crew ranged from T'Laris' respectful thoughtfulness to
Benteen's wondrous smile.
"I just thought that—on this
morning especially—you might all enjoy the view."
And they did.
After a time, Mantovanni roused himself
from his thoughts.
"Bring us about, Parihn, and
set course for Earth.
"Let's follow that Light
home."