Tricanthos
Banana Breakfast
has anyone read such a thing? I'll admit I didn't Google it first. but I was thinking about it on the drive home when I heard the song "White Christmas". Thought about a colony on some planet getting festive.
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Xmas themed sci fi
- Thread starter Tricanthos
- Start date
Oh, absolutely! The magazines (though I haven't subscribed in years and can't speak for current times) always had at least a couple of Christmas stories in the December editions. Bud Sparhawk comes to mind in particular, as I recall he wrote one in the early 90s called "RTRNRD" (Rudolph The...). I'm sure I have a couple dozen December issues of various magazines with Christmas stories in them. 
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2008
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Well, there's this:
I'd be very surprised if there weren't a lot more: I can imagine the Golden Age writers really liking the idea, for some reason.
For the last few years, I've been putting out a short story on my website every Christmas. They are even sillier than the full novels.
Space Captain Smith | Sounds good. Where can I buy these marvellous tales?
I'd be very surprised if there weren't a lot more: I can imagine the Golden Age writers really liking the idea, for some reason.
For the last few years, I've been putting out a short story on my website every Christmas. They are even sillier than the full novels.
Space Captain Smith | Sounds good. Where can I buy these marvellous tales?
Vorkosigan has a midwinter wedding short story.
Toby Frost has done some wonderfully ridiculous Christmas stories. This is the one that sold me into reading more about Space Captain Smith:
Space Captain Smith Christmas Story available for download!
Serendipity
A Traditional Eccentric!
C.A.T. here - well hello all you lovely people. My author has published three christmas stories on my blog. Isn't she such a lovely author, giving my christmas presents like that? Purr... They really are so purrfect. Here's the first one for you to enjoy... purr, purr, purr....
C.A.T.-mas
“Am I parade smart?” Commander Zacman asked, standing tall in front of his mirror, with Nikita at attention by his side, her tail straight up in the air.
C.A.T. dragged his attention away from that allurig tail. “More like peacock smart. You’ve caught a speck of dust in the top of your uniform’s seal. One of your eyelashes has just lodged itself at the top of your shoulder insignia. Your left thumbnail has a nick in it, likely to become a tear in the next couple of hours.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, you’ve been manky all this past week. Give it a rest.”
C.A.T. jolted its head around to check its ginger fur down its back and tail. “Mangy? Robo-cats don’t get mange, but the way this looks, I might as well have a severe dose. Look at it.” He flicked out a claw to point to a particularly short and bristly patch down his right hind leg. “That’s totally uneven, off colour and fizzled into curls. Curls, I ask you. As for my tail,” he said, bending round to have a closer look, “it looks like a set of randomly broken teeth. Then there’s the ice-burn at the tip of my ears-”
“Whoa, Cat,” Zacman said, holding up hand while brushing the eyelash off his uniform with the other. “Just exactly what is the matter with you?”
“My fur, that’s what the matter is. It’s an absolute disgrace. I can’t go to the carol service like this. I need a new coat.”
“Oh, Cat! You know I can’t afford it for at least another six months.”
“You could win the lottery,” C.A.T. said, turning his back on Zacman. He sat down with a thud and made his back end so wide that he knew it would look sulky. His tail flicked from side to side in the really-annoyed-at-you mode.
“I’d have to buy loads of tickets, and even then, the odds are stacked against me.”
“You only need the one. In fact, I’ll arrange buying it for you. Guaranteed to win, believe me.”
‘No, Cat. Out of the question.”
“Meeeeeoooooooowwwwww.”
C.A.T. found itself scooped up, cuddled and being tickled behind its ears. He switched off his automatic purr response.
“Cat, you should wear these battle scars with honour. If it wasn’t for you, then none of us three would have survived Mahilani Geyser.”
“Who cares? I mean who knows what happened? You, me, Nikita and who else?” He sneaked a glance back at that tail.
C.A.T. was well aware of the answer. Nobody had been told. If the truth had come out, then he would have been labelled as a self-learner and immediately deleted, no matter what.
There was a formal knock at the door, which immediately opened as tradition dictated. The Mess Sergeant stood outside at full salute. “You are cordially invited to our humble carol service, Sir,” she said.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Instead of returning the salute, Zacman held onto C.A.T. even more tightly.
He could not leap, slither or bite his way out of the Commander’s arms without arousing the Sergeant’s suspicion. C.A.T. strained against his arms to make their muscles ache, a way of trying to persuade Zacman to let him go. Also, C.A.T. could hide some of the messier parts of its fur.
“I would be delighted to accept. Please lead the way,” Zacman said to the Sergeant.
They started out as a two-person-and-two-robo-cat procession, with the Sergeant leading the way to Triton Base’s Community Hall. One by one, other Service personnel joined behind the procession as it passed their cabins and adjoining corridors. They were all smartly dressed in their best uniforms.
C.A.T.’s emotion app felt embarrassed and he hid his head into the crook of Zacman’s arm.
Zacman gently stroked his head and tickled him behind his ears. C.A.T. assessed Zacman was trying to cheer him up. Instead, C.A.T. pushed its nose harder into his elbow, trying to hide from his shame. The number of footfalls increased, echoing down the corridors. His humiliation increased along with the noise.
They came to a stop. C.A.T. cautiously lifted his head so one of his video sensors could scan around. Ahead, immediately in front of the big screen were real mannequins and stage furniture of the traditional nativity scene. They were a pure luxury according to the humans. C.A.T. could not understand why they wasted such time and effort.
To one side was a Christmas tree, decorated with all sorts of baubles and tinsel, and topped by a luminescent white angel. White candles stood upright in silver candleholders clipped on at branch intersections. Newly lit candle flames flickered royal blue rising into sparkling gold.
Their dance fascinated C.A.T., who gradually lifted its headed up. He focussed on one candle flame near the top of the tree, counting the number of miniscule diamonds it formed and threw into the air as dust.
“Your Order of Service, Sir,” the Mess Sergeant said.
C.A.T. jerked its head back round to see her offering an unrolled comp-stick displaying words surrounded by pictures of holly entwined with ivy. Zacman loosened his hold on him to take the proffered comp-stick.
He saw some of his damaged fur being uncovered. A surge of panic rippled through him from his dread alarm. He jumped down, did a couple of bounds and climbed into the lower branches of the Christmas tree. He carefully used the tree’s branches to hide all the damaged areas of his fur from view, ending up twisted into an almost impossible position and hanging on by claws and teeth dug into the silicon moulded branches.
“What are you doing, Cat?” Nikita pinged him.
“Hiding my damaged fur.” He looked her over with sheer envy. Her fur was hardly touched by their latest adventure.
“Why?”
“Part of my app-suite,” he lied.
“Fascinating.”
That word was starting to irritate him, but he kept one video sensor on her beautiful furry tail.
As the congregation started to run through the traditional nine carols service, C.A.T.’s other video sensor stared at the candle flames, trying to forget about his embarrassment. He counted the diamonds as the drifted into the air from all twenty-one candles he could fully see at once. He noticed a pattern developing over time and volume in the diamond drift, with the most diamonds being thrown off from the top of the flame and hardly any from the lower blue segments. He followed the diamond trajectories that gave the whole room a curtain of sparkles to see through, making everything and everyone glisten. Pine needle ends glinted brightly in their light.
He was still staring as the last flame died in its candleholder. Zacman and Nikita were left in the room, the others having left to enjoy their Christmas party in the mess.
Zacman wandered over and crouched down.
“You can come out now,” Zacman said.
C.A.T. cautiously bent his head around the trunk to check nobody else was left. The hall was empty. He carefully unhooked one forepaw from a branch. As he moved it away, he brushed against the pseudo pine needles.
He stopped and brushed against them again.
“These needles are made of fibre optics, aren’t they?” C.A.T. asked.
“They sure are. What else can we do with such cut-offs?”
“What do you mean?”
“As you know, we can’t use these cut-offs because we can’t get the clarity of light transmission over the necessary distances through the welds. So making a Christmas tree each year gives our youngsters on the Base practice in their manipulation of miniscule components.”
C.A.T. remembered the glints from the ends of the pine needles and had an idea. To check it out, he studied the tree in some detail, visually measuring the pine needles and doing some quick calculations.
“What happens to this tree after Christmas?”
“It gets thrown away.”
“Can I have it?” C.A.T. said, disengaging itself from the tree and dropping quietly to the floor.
Zacman stared at him.
“You can ask for presents?” Nikita pinged.
“It’s for my maintenance, dear,” he replied with a note of sarcasm.
“What would you do with it?” Zacman asked.
“Just pamper me, pleeeaaasssseeee.” C.A.T. rubbed itself against Zacman’s legs in his be-nice-to-me mode.
“Where would you put it?”
“In the Chief’s workshop. It’s not being used at the moment.”
“But–”
“Pwetty pleeeeeeaaaasssssseeeeeeee. Or do you want me to continue our discussion about my new fur coat?”
“Is this blackmail?”
“Absolutely,” C.A.T. said, flicking his tail. “Giving me that tree will keep me quiet for about three weeks.”
Zacman laughed and ruffled his fur. “Now that is an offer I can’t refuse.”
***
And so it was on the twelfth day of Christmas, Zacman got the old tree moved to the Chief’s workshop.
C.A.T. busied himself with intricately removing, remoulding and redesigning the fibre optics. He kept himself so occupied that he hardly saw Zacman or Nikita who was busy guarding Zacman from the increased bandit threat to him.
As dawn started for Candlemas, C.A.T. stood back from his work and after a few tests was well satisfied.
He sloughed off his old fur coat and put his newly made one on. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked exactly like when he had been newly produced out of the factory.
C.A.T. purred so loudly that the worktable vibrated. He scampered off the table and trotted through the corridors. Just as it was about to turn into the corridor with Zacman’s office, he heard a familiar voice.
“O.K. I’ll talk to Lord Rangeworthy and tell him we have to move his spacecraft off the landing pad for a couple of days. We’ve got to keep spaceways clear.”
“He won’t like it, Sir,” Lieutenant Lois Johnson replied.
C.A.T. glanced round. There was nobody in sight. He sent the command to his coat, to flatten the fur in a certain way. This was followed by another commend for the fur ends to reflect the surrounding colours, just like the pine needle ends had reflected the diamond glints.
“He can lump it,” Zacman replied.
C.A.T. walked round the corner. Lois was standing with her back to him and Zacman was just beyond her facing him. Beyond both of them and walking towards them was a man in a shimmering grey silk with navy velvet trim. Short blond hair, blue eyes, hooked nose, rounded flat ears. His facial recognition app indicated it was Lord Rangeworthy.
Nikita, standing beside Zacman, immediately swivelled her head to look straight into his eyes.
“What are you doing in that silly coat?” she pinged.
“You can see me?”
“Of course I can, I’m a guard cat and one of my apps is to detect camouflage. Now stop playing silly games.”
C.A.T. quietly growled at her.
Zacman suddenly snapped his eyes onto C.A.T. and a quizzical look appeared on his face.
“I say, what’s this about lumping it?” Lord Rangeworthy asked.
Zacman turned round. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we have to move your plane off the landing pad for a couple of days. We’ve got a lot of flight traffic coming in and out at the moment.”
“But my dear chap, I absolutely have to have that plane on standby. Requirements of the business, you know.”
C.A.T. queried the Central computer as to what business he was in and the likelihood of his needing to go off-moon.
The answer returned within a microsecond. He was an asteroid miner by stated profession. His travels were always around prospecting areas, and he always seemed to dash off just before new finds were lodged. Further queries showed that those new finds always had some ore missing. That meant only one thing. Lord Rangeworthy was an ore raider.
“I can assure you I wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary,” Zacman countered.
“I absolutely insist on my rights. Goodness knows I pay enough in port fees.”
C.A.T. padded past both the Lieutenant and Zacman. He noticed a line bulge down the side seam of the Lord’s silk, cleverly hidden under the raised velvet trim. Analysis showed it was a comp-stick. He queried it. It contained a complete record of all the Lord’s ill-gotten ore-raiding profits.
Then C.A.T. had an idea.
“I can assure you by the statutes and powers vested in me, that I can order your spacecraft off the pad. We can either do this with your co-operation or without.”
C.A.T. tapped Lord Rangeworthy’s foot.
He flicked his foot to one side as if getting rid of an irritation.
C.A.T. then tapped his other foot.
The Lord flicked that foot to the other side.
Then C.A.T. did a series of taps, around the Lord’s body to make him move in a certain ways.
“What’s the matter with you, my Lord?’” the Lieutenant asked, as C.A.T. continued tapping away, knowing he was invisible to them all.
“I seem to be getting some strange aches in unusual places. I say,” he replied as he jerked sideways.
His side-seam split open. The comp-stick toppled out and unfurled. C.A.T. ensured it was open on the relevant page.
Zacman glanced down at the comp-stick as he picked it up. He frowned and started reading it.
Lord Rangeworthy snatched at it, saying: “That’s mine.”
Zacman pulled it away as he continued to read it.
The Lord paled, turned and started running.
“Arrest him,” Zacman ordered as he dropped the comp-stick and ran after the Lord, followed by Nikita and then the Lieutenant.
Once they had all disappeared round the corridor’s corner, C.A.T. checked there was nobody about. He gave his fur the command to revert to its default ginger coat. Then he ran after them, past the Lieutenant and Zacman. He swerved in front of the Lord and tripped him up.
Zacman caught up, put his knee into the Lord’s back and grabbed his arms to handcuff them. “You are under arrest for ore raiding. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something, which you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in evidence.”
C.A.T. purred.
“That damn Cat,” the Lord said. “Where did it come from?”
“It wanders about,” Zacman said.
“Lieutenant can you take the Lord down to the holding cells.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
Zacman, followed by Nikita and C.A.T., returned to outside his office to pick up the comp-stick. He continued reading from where he left off and whistled.
“We’ve been after this one for some time,” he said, rolling up the comp-stick. “Now, Cat. You and I need to have a little talk about your new fur coat.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t go round being nearly invisible all the time.”
“Nearly?”
“Nearly. Your fur doesn’t cover your red eyes. They looked scary to say the least.”
“But the coat is my Christmas present.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m not going to take it away from you. I just don’t want you use it unless you have to. Especially as your eyes would give you away.”
C.A.T. could not fault Zacman’s logic. He reluctantly nodded agreement.
“I like your new coat,” Nikita said. “It makes you look normal.”
“You do look much more handsome in it. Almost as good as new,” Zacman added.
“What do you mean by almost? What’s wrong with it?” C.A.T. asked looking round his fur.
“Your eyes show too much wisdom for their age.”
“Oh,” C.A.T. said and purred. Zacman’s comment was a far more precious present than his new fur coat.
C.A.T.-mas
“Am I parade smart?” Commander Zacman asked, standing tall in front of his mirror, with Nikita at attention by his side, her tail straight up in the air.
C.A.T. dragged his attention away from that allurig tail. “More like peacock smart. You’ve caught a speck of dust in the top of your uniform’s seal. One of your eyelashes has just lodged itself at the top of your shoulder insignia. Your left thumbnail has a nick in it, likely to become a tear in the next couple of hours.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, you’ve been manky all this past week. Give it a rest.”
C.A.T. jolted its head around to check its ginger fur down its back and tail. “Mangy? Robo-cats don’t get mange, but the way this looks, I might as well have a severe dose. Look at it.” He flicked out a claw to point to a particularly short and bristly patch down his right hind leg. “That’s totally uneven, off colour and fizzled into curls. Curls, I ask you. As for my tail,” he said, bending round to have a closer look, “it looks like a set of randomly broken teeth. Then there’s the ice-burn at the tip of my ears-”
“Whoa, Cat,” Zacman said, holding up hand while brushing the eyelash off his uniform with the other. “Just exactly what is the matter with you?”
“My fur, that’s what the matter is. It’s an absolute disgrace. I can’t go to the carol service like this. I need a new coat.”
“Oh, Cat! You know I can’t afford it for at least another six months.”
“You could win the lottery,” C.A.T. said, turning his back on Zacman. He sat down with a thud and made his back end so wide that he knew it would look sulky. His tail flicked from side to side in the really-annoyed-at-you mode.
“I’d have to buy loads of tickets, and even then, the odds are stacked against me.”
“You only need the one. In fact, I’ll arrange buying it for you. Guaranteed to win, believe me.”
‘No, Cat. Out of the question.”
“Meeeeeoooooooowwwwww.”
C.A.T. found itself scooped up, cuddled and being tickled behind its ears. He switched off his automatic purr response.
“Cat, you should wear these battle scars with honour. If it wasn’t for you, then none of us three would have survived Mahilani Geyser.”
“Who cares? I mean who knows what happened? You, me, Nikita and who else?” He sneaked a glance back at that tail.
C.A.T. was well aware of the answer. Nobody had been told. If the truth had come out, then he would have been labelled as a self-learner and immediately deleted, no matter what.
There was a formal knock at the door, which immediately opened as tradition dictated. The Mess Sergeant stood outside at full salute. “You are cordially invited to our humble carol service, Sir,” she said.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Instead of returning the salute, Zacman held onto C.A.T. even more tightly.
He could not leap, slither or bite his way out of the Commander’s arms without arousing the Sergeant’s suspicion. C.A.T. strained against his arms to make their muscles ache, a way of trying to persuade Zacman to let him go. Also, C.A.T. could hide some of the messier parts of its fur.
“I would be delighted to accept. Please lead the way,” Zacman said to the Sergeant.
They started out as a two-person-and-two-robo-cat procession, with the Sergeant leading the way to Triton Base’s Community Hall. One by one, other Service personnel joined behind the procession as it passed their cabins and adjoining corridors. They were all smartly dressed in their best uniforms.
C.A.T.’s emotion app felt embarrassed and he hid his head into the crook of Zacman’s arm.
Zacman gently stroked his head and tickled him behind his ears. C.A.T. assessed Zacman was trying to cheer him up. Instead, C.A.T. pushed its nose harder into his elbow, trying to hide from his shame. The number of footfalls increased, echoing down the corridors. His humiliation increased along with the noise.
They came to a stop. C.A.T. cautiously lifted his head so one of his video sensors could scan around. Ahead, immediately in front of the big screen were real mannequins and stage furniture of the traditional nativity scene. They were a pure luxury according to the humans. C.A.T. could not understand why they wasted such time and effort.
To one side was a Christmas tree, decorated with all sorts of baubles and tinsel, and topped by a luminescent white angel. White candles stood upright in silver candleholders clipped on at branch intersections. Newly lit candle flames flickered royal blue rising into sparkling gold.
Their dance fascinated C.A.T., who gradually lifted its headed up. He focussed on one candle flame near the top of the tree, counting the number of miniscule diamonds it formed and threw into the air as dust.
“Your Order of Service, Sir,” the Mess Sergeant said.
C.A.T. jerked its head back round to see her offering an unrolled comp-stick displaying words surrounded by pictures of holly entwined with ivy. Zacman loosened his hold on him to take the proffered comp-stick.
He saw some of his damaged fur being uncovered. A surge of panic rippled through him from his dread alarm. He jumped down, did a couple of bounds and climbed into the lower branches of the Christmas tree. He carefully used the tree’s branches to hide all the damaged areas of his fur from view, ending up twisted into an almost impossible position and hanging on by claws and teeth dug into the silicon moulded branches.
“What are you doing, Cat?” Nikita pinged him.
“Hiding my damaged fur.” He looked her over with sheer envy. Her fur was hardly touched by their latest adventure.
“Why?”
“Part of my app-suite,” he lied.
“Fascinating.”
That word was starting to irritate him, but he kept one video sensor on her beautiful furry tail.
As the congregation started to run through the traditional nine carols service, C.A.T.’s other video sensor stared at the candle flames, trying to forget about his embarrassment. He counted the diamonds as the drifted into the air from all twenty-one candles he could fully see at once. He noticed a pattern developing over time and volume in the diamond drift, with the most diamonds being thrown off from the top of the flame and hardly any from the lower blue segments. He followed the diamond trajectories that gave the whole room a curtain of sparkles to see through, making everything and everyone glisten. Pine needle ends glinted brightly in their light.
He was still staring as the last flame died in its candleholder. Zacman and Nikita were left in the room, the others having left to enjoy their Christmas party in the mess.
Zacman wandered over and crouched down.
“You can come out now,” Zacman said.
C.A.T. cautiously bent his head around the trunk to check nobody else was left. The hall was empty. He carefully unhooked one forepaw from a branch. As he moved it away, he brushed against the pseudo pine needles.
He stopped and brushed against them again.
“These needles are made of fibre optics, aren’t they?” C.A.T. asked.
“They sure are. What else can we do with such cut-offs?”
“What do you mean?”
“As you know, we can’t use these cut-offs because we can’t get the clarity of light transmission over the necessary distances through the welds. So making a Christmas tree each year gives our youngsters on the Base practice in their manipulation of miniscule components.”
C.A.T. remembered the glints from the ends of the pine needles and had an idea. To check it out, he studied the tree in some detail, visually measuring the pine needles and doing some quick calculations.
“What happens to this tree after Christmas?”
“It gets thrown away.”
“Can I have it?” C.A.T. said, disengaging itself from the tree and dropping quietly to the floor.
Zacman stared at him.
“You can ask for presents?” Nikita pinged.
“It’s for my maintenance, dear,” he replied with a note of sarcasm.
“What would you do with it?” Zacman asked.
“Just pamper me, pleeeaaasssseeee.” C.A.T. rubbed itself against Zacman’s legs in his be-nice-to-me mode.
“Where would you put it?”
“In the Chief’s workshop. It’s not being used at the moment.”
“But–”
“Pwetty pleeeeeeaaaasssssseeeeeeee. Or do you want me to continue our discussion about my new fur coat?”
“Is this blackmail?”
“Absolutely,” C.A.T. said, flicking his tail. “Giving me that tree will keep me quiet for about three weeks.”
Zacman laughed and ruffled his fur. “Now that is an offer I can’t refuse.”
***
And so it was on the twelfth day of Christmas, Zacman got the old tree moved to the Chief’s workshop.
C.A.T. busied himself with intricately removing, remoulding and redesigning the fibre optics. He kept himself so occupied that he hardly saw Zacman or Nikita who was busy guarding Zacman from the increased bandit threat to him.
As dawn started for Candlemas, C.A.T. stood back from his work and after a few tests was well satisfied.
He sloughed off his old fur coat and put his newly made one on. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked exactly like when he had been newly produced out of the factory.
C.A.T. purred so loudly that the worktable vibrated. He scampered off the table and trotted through the corridors. Just as it was about to turn into the corridor with Zacman’s office, he heard a familiar voice.
“O.K. I’ll talk to Lord Rangeworthy and tell him we have to move his spacecraft off the landing pad for a couple of days. We’ve got to keep spaceways clear.”
“He won’t like it, Sir,” Lieutenant Lois Johnson replied.
C.A.T. glanced round. There was nobody in sight. He sent the command to his coat, to flatten the fur in a certain way. This was followed by another commend for the fur ends to reflect the surrounding colours, just like the pine needle ends had reflected the diamond glints.
“He can lump it,” Zacman replied.
C.A.T. walked round the corner. Lois was standing with her back to him and Zacman was just beyond her facing him. Beyond both of them and walking towards them was a man in a shimmering grey silk with navy velvet trim. Short blond hair, blue eyes, hooked nose, rounded flat ears. His facial recognition app indicated it was Lord Rangeworthy.
Nikita, standing beside Zacman, immediately swivelled her head to look straight into his eyes.
“What are you doing in that silly coat?” she pinged.
“You can see me?”
“Of course I can, I’m a guard cat and one of my apps is to detect camouflage. Now stop playing silly games.”
C.A.T. quietly growled at her.
Zacman suddenly snapped his eyes onto C.A.T. and a quizzical look appeared on his face.
“I say, what’s this about lumping it?” Lord Rangeworthy asked.
Zacman turned round. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we have to move your plane off the landing pad for a couple of days. We’ve got a lot of flight traffic coming in and out at the moment.”
“But my dear chap, I absolutely have to have that plane on standby. Requirements of the business, you know.”
C.A.T. queried the Central computer as to what business he was in and the likelihood of his needing to go off-moon.
The answer returned within a microsecond. He was an asteroid miner by stated profession. His travels were always around prospecting areas, and he always seemed to dash off just before new finds were lodged. Further queries showed that those new finds always had some ore missing. That meant only one thing. Lord Rangeworthy was an ore raider.
“I can assure you I wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary,” Zacman countered.
“I absolutely insist on my rights. Goodness knows I pay enough in port fees.”
C.A.T. padded past both the Lieutenant and Zacman. He noticed a line bulge down the side seam of the Lord’s silk, cleverly hidden under the raised velvet trim. Analysis showed it was a comp-stick. He queried it. It contained a complete record of all the Lord’s ill-gotten ore-raiding profits.
Then C.A.T. had an idea.
“I can assure you by the statutes and powers vested in me, that I can order your spacecraft off the pad. We can either do this with your co-operation or without.”
C.A.T. tapped Lord Rangeworthy’s foot.
He flicked his foot to one side as if getting rid of an irritation.
C.A.T. then tapped his other foot.
The Lord flicked that foot to the other side.
Then C.A.T. did a series of taps, around the Lord’s body to make him move in a certain ways.
“What’s the matter with you, my Lord?’” the Lieutenant asked, as C.A.T. continued tapping away, knowing he was invisible to them all.
“I seem to be getting some strange aches in unusual places. I say,” he replied as he jerked sideways.
His side-seam split open. The comp-stick toppled out and unfurled. C.A.T. ensured it was open on the relevant page.
Zacman glanced down at the comp-stick as he picked it up. He frowned and started reading it.
Lord Rangeworthy snatched at it, saying: “That’s mine.”
Zacman pulled it away as he continued to read it.
The Lord paled, turned and started running.
“Arrest him,” Zacman ordered as he dropped the comp-stick and ran after the Lord, followed by Nikita and then the Lieutenant.
Once they had all disappeared round the corridor’s corner, C.A.T. checked there was nobody about. He gave his fur the command to revert to its default ginger coat. Then he ran after them, past the Lieutenant and Zacman. He swerved in front of the Lord and tripped him up.
Zacman caught up, put his knee into the Lord’s back and grabbed his arms to handcuff them. “You are under arrest for ore raiding. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something, which you later rely on in court. Anything you do or say may be given in evidence.”
C.A.T. purred.
“That damn Cat,” the Lord said. “Where did it come from?”
“It wanders about,” Zacman said.
“Lieutenant can you take the Lord down to the holding cells.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
Zacman, followed by Nikita and C.A.T., returned to outside his office to pick up the comp-stick. He continued reading from where he left off and whistled.
“We’ve been after this one for some time,” he said, rolling up the comp-stick. “Now, Cat. You and I need to have a little talk about your new fur coat.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t go round being nearly invisible all the time.”
“Nearly?”
“Nearly. Your fur doesn’t cover your red eyes. They looked scary to say the least.”
“But the coat is my Christmas present.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m not going to take it away from you. I just don’t want you use it unless you have to. Especially as your eyes would give you away.”
C.A.T. could not fault Zacman’s logic. He reluctantly nodded agreement.
“I like your new coat,” Nikita said. “It makes you look normal.”
“You do look much more handsome in it. Almost as good as new,” Zacman added.
“What do you mean by almost? What’s wrong with it?” C.A.T. asked looking round his fur.
“Your eyes show too much wisdom for their age.”
“Oh,” C.A.T. said and purred. Zacman’s comment was a far more precious present than his new fur coat.
I'm working on a story about a husband that sells his fusion power source to buy his wife new control sensors for her beautiful rocket boots. Unbeknownst to him, she has parted out her rocket boots to buy him a holiday source of deuterium for his fusion generator.
Realizing their error, they make love in the warp tunnel to Alpha Primus, just missing the destruction of their home sector by a shockwave traveling through the underlying quantum vacuum.
There will also be eggnog.
Realizing their error, they make love in the warp tunnel to Alpha Primus, just missing the destruction of their home sector by a shockwave traveling through the underlying quantum vacuum.
There will also be eggnog.
I've read some Christmas/Holiday themed story collections released by Angie Lofthouse. She's an indie and small press published author.
Thus, I have heard of such a thing (having read the stories), but I do not think it is a 'big' or prevalent trend.
Thus, I have heard of such a thing (having read the stories), but I do not think it is a 'big' or prevalent trend.
Lew Rockwell Fan
Have tasp, will travel.
Robert Forward filkified an Xmas carol and included it in a short story. Something like:
We 3 laws of orbiting are,
Ruling trajectories local and far
I don't recall the rest of it, nor do I remember what anthology it is collected in. But December 25 really is Newton's b'day.
We 3 laws of orbiting are,
Ruling trajectories local and far
I don't recall the rest of it, nor do I remember what anthology it is collected in. But December 25 really is Newton's b'day.
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