I don't know what to say - I'm sorry? I'll try for something less silly next year?
Happy Christmas to all the viewers out there. Indeed.
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UNIT: The Great Mince Pie Mystery by vvj5 [Reviews - 7]  Author's Notes: | |
“Miss Smith,” said Colonel Crichton, watching Sarah Jane make her entrance into his office at UNIT’s HQ. “Who let you in here?”
She raised her eyebrow at this unpromising welcome, even as she shut the door behind her. “Well, the soldier at the gate seemed happy enough with my UNIT pass and I left K9 with the sergeant — and then your secretary told me you were in here. She gave me a mince pie, too.”
“Miss Smith -.”
Sarah turned a bright smile on him, interrupting before he could order anyone to march her out at the risk of annoying K9. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Considering what I told you last time, you may imagine I am.”
She took a seat at his desk, opposite him. “I don’t suppose you’re investigating anything interesting, are you? I wouldn’t mind a few bits and pieces, something to write up. And you never know, K9 could be useful. I can be, too, if you’ll give me a chance.”
“You’ve left that dog loose in the building?”
Sarah said, “No, I told you, Sergeant Kennedy is looking after him.”
“I’ve told you before what Professor Arnolds thinks about improbable robot dogs who know more than he does — and he is the best scientific advisor I’ve had.”
She gave a reminiscent smile. “That you’ve had, maybe.”
“Anyway,” said Crichton, “while I’m not at liberty to give you information about UNIT’s current investigations — as I told you on previous occasions — I can and will assure you that we have nothing ongoing at the moment. You’d be better off home, sit tight — you never know; it might even snow tonight. In fact, to tell you the truth, it’s been about as quiet as I can remember.”
With impeccable timing, a scream came from outside the door and they heard the sound of distant gunshots elsewhere in the building.
“Stay here,” ordered the Colonel, getting to his feet and reaching for his gun. “I’ll investigate.”
Sarah hopped up after him. “Oh, no,” she said. “Sit here alone waiting to be got at? I don’t think so, Colonel!”
*
Captain Winifred Bambera ran towards the scream, nearly crashing into Miss Lonsdale, the Colonel’s secretary as she launched out into the corridor in front of her.
“Did you see it?” she gasped.
The Captain paused, looking about her. “See what?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shiver. “I only caught it out of the corner of my eye, slipping out through the door — but it’d eaten all the mince pies.”
Bambera thought about this. Miss Lonsdale disapproved of her — Miss Lonsdale disapproved of everyone — so she proceeded with caution. “You’re sure you saw something, Miss Lonsdale? Because if someone’s stolen a plateful of mince pies, I can think of another explanation.”
“Believe me, so can I,” retorted the secretary. “Captain, they haven’t been stolen — they were eaten. The crumbs are there and it was the noise — all that scrabbling and swallowing — that made me look. And I saw a horrible thing darting out over there. I don’t think even Corporal Leonards is capable of such an elaborate hoax — certainly not for a plate of mince pies.”
She nodded. “Right. I’ll track it down.”
Working for UNIT involved acceptance of unlikely events as commonplaces, so she argued no further. Aliens after mince pies was no weirder than anything else. In fact, it was a lot less weird than some of the things they’d seen.
*
“In here,” said Sergeant Kennedy, holding the door open for K9. “You’d better keep out of the way of the Professor. I’d have thought an intelligent dog like you would have known better than to go round contradicting people, but there we go. Don’t suppose you want a cup of tea?”
“Tea is unnecessary,” said K9, lifting his head as he followed him into the kitchen.
Kennedy set about boiling the kettle, pulling a none-too-clean mug out of the cupboard and finding an equally stained teaspoon. “Now there I disagree with you.”
K9 trundled along the length of the kitchen, examining it closely. Then he paused, his scanners whirring. “Warning! This unit has detected extraterrestrial activity in the vicinity.”
“What?” said Kennedy, turning from pouring out the tea. “Where?”
The dog span round. “In here. I shall investigate.”
Kennedy watched him, slightly amused, until they both heard the scream from several rooms away and something leapt over his head, K9 firing a red bolt at it as it went.
“What was that?” he said and then looked again, taken aback. “Hey, it drank my tea!”
He put the empty cup down, making a face. There was no use in standing around dreaming of a white Christmas here at UNIT. They had a duty to do and even when something odd happened that made it look likely you might not be getting much time off this holiday, you had to hang onto your hopes, your will to try. Well, otherwise they might as well just lay down and die and that’d be a lot of use in saving the Earth from invading aliens.
He had to admit tea-swiping aliens were a new one on him, though.
*
“This is a valuable learning experience for the human race,” said Professor Arnolds, in the laboratory with Corporal Leonards who was holding his equipment for him as he performed a dissection on their most recently vanquished foe. “Of course, none of my papers will be in the public arena for at least fifty years or so, I’d imagine, given this ridiculous insistence on cloak and dagger piffle, but future generations may be able to learn something. Think of it as a message from a planet a long way from here, if you will.”
Leonards said, “Sir.”
His usual practice of playing dumb whenever he encountered the hot-tempered, elderly Professor had failed him this morning, due to Sergeant Kennedy being inexplicably unavailable. And it would be dissection, he thought. What was worse, he couldn’t move away or hold his nose, because the Professor’d want his scalpel or something. (Although, given the thing’s hide, he’d started with a whacking great knife that was under his nose now, dripping with purple gore, and which he was trying not to think about). It’d been a long, hard year, and now it was Christmas — and he got alien autopsies. It wasn’t fair.
“Hmm,” said Arnolds. “Look at the heart. Fascinating. Completely unique!”
Leonards tried not to, and reflected on what he could possibly do to Kennedy for landing him with this one that wouldn’t get him court-martialled.
“Corporal,” the Professor added, turning, “if you’re going to pass out or vomit, I’ll thank you to remove yourself and send in one of your colleagues, preferably the Sergeant. I thought you were a soldier. You must have seen worse than this.”
“Sir.”
“Is that all you can say?” he snapped. “Our late friend here probably had more intelligence than you, but what can one expect?”
It was at that point that something leapt in through the open window and swiped the heart from the Professor’s gloved hands, running on as it swallowed it audibly.
Corporal Leonards dropped the dish and moved back hastily while the scientist stared.
“What was that?”
“No idea, sir,” said Leonards. “Mind you, I should think after that little snack, it’s likely to be the one throwing up.”
Arnolds glared at him. “Small,” he muttered under his breath, “dark — saw a pair of eyes there, seemed to have four limbs, possibly a tail — wouldn’t you say? Question is, where did it come from?”
“Sir?”
He said, “Well, don’t stand there gawping like the idiot you are, Corporal. Get after it!”
“Yes, sir,” said Leonards. “You’ll be all right, will you?”
“I assure you, I shan’t miss you in the least!”
*
Bambera found she’d been joined by the Colonel and — she had to suppress an eye roll of impatience — that journalist woman who thought she had a right to hang around their HQ, turning up at all the most inconvenient moments she could manage. The dog, she thought, was all right, but she could have done without Miss Smith.
“What was that?”
She saluted. “Sir. Apparently something ate the mince pies.”
“Bambera?” said Crichton. “I meant the screaming and what have you.”
Miss Lonsdale turned. “Colonel, some horrible little creature swooped in, gobbled the lot and ran off again before I could stop it.”
“Where will it end?” said Sarah, her face poker-straight. “If you don’t do something, it might get the digestives next, not to mention the ginger nuts.”
Bambera glanced at her. “It might start eating something worse than that. I’m onto it, sir.”
“I suppose,” said Miss Lonsdale, “one can’t expect alien invaders to realise it’s the festive period, but it is very inconvenient.”
Sarah had a mischievous look in her eyes. “Yes. Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?”
“Good, Bambera. You do that,” said Crichton, ignoring the other exchange. “Miss Smith, where were we?”
She smiled back at him. “Oh, I’m not missing out on this one, Colonel!”
*
“Sarge,” said Leonards, meeting Kennedy as he ran down the main hallway. “There’s a creature loose in the building.”
He nodded. “More than one. K9’s off chasing the one that got my tea.”
“What?”
He grinned at him. “It ran in, drank it and moved on before I had time to blink.”
“I can better that,” said Leonards. “Picture me in the lab with the Professor who’s conducting an alien autopsy — in fact, if you want to think about that for a bit longer, don’t let me stop you. Wish I was at home for Christmas, I was thinking, to myself. Now, last Christmas -.”
“Leonards!”
“Sorry, sir. Well, then this little creature with big teeth got in through the window and ate the heart right when he was holding it up and going on about it. You know how he is when he’s doing his Dr Frankenstein routine.”
“It did what?” said Kennedy. “Is this a joke?”
He looked hurt. “Why does everyone ask that?”
“Can’t imagine,” said the Sergeant. “Okay. Better see if there are anymore, I suppose.”
He paused. “Sarge, up there.”
Kennedy drew his gun as he followed his gaze carefully. One of the creatures was sitting on the picture rail amongst the tinsel, and they got their first proper look at it. It was small, huddled up in the corner, and clinging on with sharp claws. It had yellow eyes and drooping ears, but both of them couldn’t help but focus on the large, gleamingly sharp teeth.
Before he could fire, it flung itself at them, fleetingly resting on Leonards’ shoulder, the touch making him yelp, even as it leapt on to Kennedy, digging its formidable incisors into the Sergeant’s arm. He visibly bit back a response, trying to knock it off with the gun. Leonards punched it and it leapt back, Kennedy firing at the same moment, hitting it almost by mischance.
Leonards winced at the mess: its small body exploding like a burst balloon and hitting the wall behind it and the ceiling. “Great,” he said, distracted by wondering who was going to end up clearing this lot up, mainly because he had a strong feeling it would be him.
“Leonards,” said Kennedy, drawing his attention back to his superior. He saw that he’d gone white and he had to catch at his arm to keep him standing. “Suppose it was too much to hope that the thing’s bite wouldn’t turn nasty.”
He helped him to the ground. “I know. You stay there, Sarge — I’ll get Sister. Won’t be a minute!”
*
“Leonards,” said Arnolds, after Robinson and Parkes had hauled Kennedy up and half dragged him back to the sick bay after Nurse Morris, “I’ll need some samples — you’d better scrape some of this unpleasant little alien’s remains off the walls.”
He watched him go and pulled a face. “I knew it,” he said under his breath. “Oh, well, if it stops them and helps the Sarge, here goes -.”
*
“Does anyone know what’s going on here?” asked Crichton. “Professor, any idea what these creatures are?”
Arnolds paused. “Well, there were a number of eggs left inside the remains of the last two alien bodies I was examining — some sort of parasite, I imagine. They must have hatched.”
“Wait,” said the Colonel. “Are you saying that you brought these things here? Professor, must I remind you yet again to inform me when you intend to keep these sorts of things in the UNIT lab?”
He folded his arms. “Naturally. How else was I to identify them? I must admit, I didn’t think they would survive being removed from their host, let alone hatch out. Interesting.”
“Professor Arnolds, I suggest you find something to stop them,” he said. “Captain? Any more sightings?”
She shook her head. “It’s gone quiet. For all we know, there were only two.”
“I doubt it,” put in Arnolds. “There were at least a dozen eggs. The majority may well have hatched by now.”
“What about the Sergeant?”
“Hard to tell. Sister’s doing her best.”
Crichton turned to say something to Arnolds again, but they were interrupted by the arrival of K9. He dropped a dead alien at Sarah’s feet.
“Honestly,” said Sarah. “It’s worse than cats with mice. Yes, good dog, K9.”
Arnolds moved over. “That’s exactly what I need. Virtually undamaged, unlike the mess Kennedy made of the other. I’ll take it. I’m sure I can find some way of dealing with its venom — and with the creatures themselves — now I have a proper sample to analyse. I suppose that wretched machine has its uses.”
“Take no notice of the nasty Professor,” said Sarah, once he’d marched out, carrying the dead creature. She patted the tin dog’s head. “K9, that was very clever of you.”
The robot’s head dropped. “Batteries low, mistress. Recharging.”
“There,” added Sarah, with a glance upward at Crichton. “Aren’t you glad we came?”
“I’d rather not be answerable for your safety with these things about the place.”
“I’m answerable for my own safety, thank you,” she returned.
Bambera shook her head to herself. “I’ll go check there’s been no more trouble.”
*
Leonards finished the unpleasant task of scraping dead alien off the walls, taking what he’d managed to collect to Arnolds in a polythene bag. The Professor glanced up in mild surprise at his approach. “Leonards? Didn’t someone tell you? I have a much more complete example. Still, leave it there — it may prove useful.”
He managed not to swear until after he’d left the room. Unfortunately, his outburst coincided with the Captain’s arrival.
It was not a good day.
Merry Christmas everyone, he thought darkly.
*
“Professor Arnolds,” said Angela Morris, sounding irritated. She disliked Arnolds’s habit of ignoring her except on the rare occasions it suited his purposes to recognise her presence — usually for a brief spate of orders. She also disliked being elbowed out of the way when she was trying to treat a patient.
Particularly when this was Arnolds, swooping in without explanation and injecting the said patient with who-knew-what.
He nodded at her, having finished what he came to do, and turned to leave.
“Professor Arnolds!” she said in her sternest tones, putting herself between him and the exit. “If you don’t stop and tell me what you’ve done to Sergeant Kennedy, I shall throw something at you.”
He turned with a frown, as if she was the one being unreasonable. “Worked out an anti-venom, obviously,” he said. “It should prove effective, if I’m correct in my conclusions. Just keep an eye on him — call me back if there are any odd side-effects, but I don’t anticipate any trouble.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” she said with a glint in her eye. “I do wish you’d think to stop and consult with me from time to time. It would be helpful. I don’t know whether your ideas of nursing are trapped in the dark ages, but I do more than wander around bandaging up soldiers and handing out aspirins, thank you. I don’t have a lamp, either.”
He snorted slightly and walked on.
“That man,” she said, moving back across to the Sergeant. “Well, he does have an infuriating habit of being right, so I’ll trust that he hasn’t done any damage, but I wish he would deign to talk to me.”
She shook her head and wondered worriedly what Arnolds would consider to be odd side-effects. “I should have thrown something,” she concluded.
*
Weren’t there any other soldiers around today? Leonards asked himself after he got collared by the Professor for the third time — and it wasn’t past midday yet. It was tough, and he’d had enough. He wished he was at home for Christmas yet again — anywhere but here with the Mad Professor.
“I’ve worked out a formula — should prove lethal to the creatures,” Arnolds told him. “The only question is how best to administer it on a large scale.”
He paused and raised his eyebrows. It sounded as if he was actually asking his opinion. “Well, they seem ready to eat anything, sir. Shouldn’t think it’d be too hard. Big basin of tea?”
“Hmm,” said the Professor. “Fetch me a selection of items — any food you can find on the site. I don’t care if it’s mince pie and brandy butter or chestnuts, or coffee and pumpkin pie or whatever ridiculous festive nonsense you have in mind — just hurry up!”
Leonards hesitated again. “How about the Sarge? Will this help him, too?”
“Oh, Kennedy,” said Arnolds. “I already put together something that should do the trick. Sister will let me know if it fails. Now, get on — there’s no time to be wasted.”
One of these days, he thought, someone’s going to shoot him. If only he wasn’t so handy with dealing with aliens, I’d volunteer.
*
“Captain, there’s another one,” said Private Day, following Bambera on her search of the building. “Up there.”
It darted down and she fired, missing as it fled. “Shame.”
Outside there was a yell.
“Sounded like Frazer,” said Day, but the Captain had already beaten him to the door. He sighed. “And we were going to have a party tonight…”
*
“Was this all you could find?”
What did the Professor expect? Leonards looked down at the trays of food in front of him in the corridor. He thought he’d done pretty well, considering that he got things thrown at him if he went in the canteen. (The Colonel was probably right about tricks not being clever, but it hadn’t seemed that way when he’d started here a couple of years ago.) He said nothing; holding his rifle at the ready in case the creatures descended on them without warning.
“Where are they?” asked Arnolds, echoing his thoughts. “I’d have thought this would have caught their attention sooner.”
Leonards drew in his breath as a distinctive rustling sound grew and at least eight of the things emerged from the nearby rooms.
“Don’t shoot,” warned the Professor.
He kept mum again, but he would have liked to tell him that he wasn’t about to unless the things proved that the food they preferred was human flesh. He knew what this experiment was about.
*
“It’s too much,” complained Miss Lonsdale once the Colonel returned to the office. “Now Corporal Leonards has gone off with the remaining mince pies. He says it was the Professor’s idea, but really -. You had better watch out and I’m telling you why: I shall be handing my notice in if this continues.”
The Colonel nodded. “Splendid. Sounds as though the Professor has thought of something.”
“He’s a brute,” said Sarah, carrying K9, having refused any help.
He bit back a smile. “He’s not that bad — and he is handy in a crisis.”
They walked on into the Colonel’s study.
Miss Lonsdale shook her head and started typing again. She made her list for new supplies and checked it twice, still radiating disapproval as she did so. Aliens and other ridiculous things were bad enough. Aliens and Christmas nonsense were even worse. Next thing they’d be claiming someone had found Frosty the Snowman running here and there all around the village square or Santa flying past with Rudolph at the head of his sleigh. Honestly, men. They were lucky to have someone sensible like her to help keep their feet on the ground.
*
“Well,” said Leonards as he and the Professor beat a hasty retreat once the creatures finished their strange feast. “They definitely preferred the mince pies, didn’t they? Went straight for them.”
Arnolds glared at him. “Yes, but if you’re suggesting we bake them a giant mince pie, young man -.”
“No,” said Leonards, forgetting his usual policy with regard to the Professor. He turned. “What about a Christmas cake? And we could put the mixture in one of those huge saucepans they’ve got in the canteen, heat it up enough to bring them running and there’d be enough in it to disguise your stuff, wouldn’t there?”
He shut the lab door. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. You make the mixture, I’ll run up what you so crudely call my ‘stuff’. Go on, get on with it!”
“Yes, sir!”
*
“Do you know how to make a Christmas cake?”
Miss Lonsdale ceased typing yet again and looked up at Corporal Leonards. “I’m busy. I would have thought you had enough to keep you occupied as well. You should be out hunting down those vicious little creatures.”
“That’s the thing,” he said with a grin. “We’re going to make them a cake — sort of. The Professor’s come up with something to kill them all off, but we need to be sure of them actually eating it. So, do you know how to make one?”
“Of course.”
Leonards leant on the desk. “Well, in that case, Miss Lonsdale, I think we’ve known each other long enough — would you like to go out with me?”
“Where to?” she asked, ignoring his impertinence.
“Sainsburys. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”
“I can be ready this instant,” she retorted, getting to her feet and fetching her coat. “Well?”
He grinned. “You come along with me, then. At least the admission’s free — and we’ve got petty cash for the rest.”
“I’m touched,” said Miss Lonsdale with asperity. “It might even be the Christmas spirit.”
Leonards said, “Oh, I don’t think we can afford any of that on what the Captain’s given me.”
*
“Do you know what they were, K9?” Sarah asked.
He still sounded faint, but he lifted his head slowly. “Grotchen, mistress. From the Fraesian Galaxy.”
“See?” said Sarah again, to the Colonel. “Think where you’d be without me.”
He tapped his desk. “Thank you, Miss Smith.” He refrained from pointing out that a name was meaningless without anything further.
“A spaceman came travelling,” she said under her breath. “They’re certainly not angels, Colonel.”
Was he suggesting that they were? “Miss Smith, there may have been places where angels and archangels, not to mention cherubim and seraphim, have gathered, but never at UNIT HQ - even at this time of the year.”
“No,” she sighed, sobering again. “It’s always something nasty, isn’t it?”
*
“I’m busy!”
Angela folded her arms. “Well, had you bothered to share the details of your precious antidote with me, I could have made some up without troubling you. As it is, I now have Private Frazer in the same condition as Sergeant Kennedy and I need more.”
“Oh, very well,” he said, without lifting his head from where he was busy with some apparatus, possibly distilling something. “Over there.”
She treated him to a glare, though he remained oblivious. “Thank you, Professor!”
She marched out with a shake of her head. He may have titles and published articles, but she didn’t rate his common sense highly. And when you came down to it, she doubted that you’d find many wise men here in UNIT HQ.
*
Leonards carried in the margarine, flour, sugar and treacle while Miss Lonsdale followed with a further box containing eggs, lemon peel, raisins, sultanas and a small bottle of a brandy. “Eat, drink and be merry, eh?”
“If this turns out to be some elaborate joke -.”
He put the box down in the canteen. “I’d never lead you on like that, Miss Lonsdale.”
“Well,” she added, putting the box down, “I assume you’ll need me to mix this up for you?”
“You’re a star,” he told her.
She said, “You are nothing but a flatterer — and your trolley-driving skills are virtually non-existent.”
“Its wheels were back to front, I swear,” he returned. “But you are — and I followed you over moor and mountain and on my scooter, blowing my hooter and whatever. Well, on my trolley and all round the fruit and veg, anyway.”
She said, “I was under the impression that this was a serious life or death situation, not an opportunity for you to make unamusing festive jokes.”
“Yes, Miss. Okay, you give the orders and I’ll heave everything in.”
Miss Lonsdale sighed. “I take it after that I can resume my proper work? I did have rather a lot to get through today. If we must stand around referring to carols, I’ll have to put in a request for a silent night, thank you.”
*
“Bambera,” said the Colonel, after going in search of her. “I gather we’ve got Frazer and Harris in sickbay now, as well. I went to speak to Arnolds and he said something about a Christmas cake. Has everyone lost their minds? I know it’s December, but surely -.”
She paused. “I can’t comment on that, sir, but I gather the cake is a trap for the creatures.”
“They’re called Grotchen, apparently,” he informed her.
“The Professor?”
“No. The dog.”
“Shall I throw Miss Smith out?”
He contemplated the idea. “Best not. She doesn’t print everything she sees, and we’ve got enough to deal with today without annoying her.”
“Sir.”
He smiled. “I’m hoping that the snow will start to fall. Then she’ll have to leave of her own accord.”
*
“It seems a dreadful shame — positively wicked,” commented Miss Lonsdale as she watched the Professor add the final ingredient to the cake. “Such a waste! This could have fed the whole regiment.”
Leonards winked at her. “It’d have taken forever to cook, mind. And if it does for those things, we’ll all be grateful. That’s not a waste.”
“Quiet,” said Arnolds. “This may technically be a Christmas cake, but in this case, it is simply another weapon in our arsenal. Now, I suggest you call one of the men here and get him to help you carry it out into the corridor.”
Leonards leapt back, pushing Miss Lonsdale behind him, though she tried to hit him for it. “Too late — they’ve found us!”
The Professor backed away cautiously, but they were all very much more interested in the large pan than the small group of humans.
“Let’s hope it works,” said Leonards, crossing his fingers. “Look, they all want some figgy pudding and they won’t go until they get some.”
UNIT’s scientific advisor merely folded his arms. “Naturally, it will. The only question is how long it will take to prove fatal. Mind you, they’re small — the effects should be fairly immediate if I’ve judged matters rightly.”
“And if they land on their head then they’ve been slayed,” added Leonards under his breath. The flippancy helped, because suddenly this seemed a particularly nasty trick to play on anything.
“Corporal, please remove your arm,” ordered the secretary, poking him again.
He withdrew it but remained where he was. “Can’t be too careful with these things, Miss.”
They watched as the creatures all but threw themselves in the mixture, gobbling it up with noisy and greedy appreciation.
“They’ve no manners at all,” said Miss Lonsdale. “Worse than the men. Much worse!”
Leonards couldn’t take his eyes away, but he wanted to. It did seem cruel, even if they were dangerous aliens with a poisonous bite that had nearly killed the Sergeant. They seemed so happy with their find. And if the Professor was right, which he nearly always was, they’d be dead pretty shortly. “Well, they appreciate good cooking,” he told Miss Lonsdale, but it was half-hearted.
She gripped his arm, despite her earlier protest. “I’m not sentimental, but it does seem — I don’t know — killing the things with a Christmas cake — well. It’s not very seasonal, is it?”
“What are you two talking about?” demanded the Professor. “Hah. Aha! There goes the first.”
Leonards and Miss Lonsdale watched as it fell onto the sideboard, another hitting the floor with a soft thud. There were no visible signs of pain at least.
“Looks like they’re dying happy,” he said to her, keeping to a low tone, so as not to attract the wrath of Arnolds again.
“I’m really not sure I’m ever going to be able to eat Christmas cake again,” she said. “Really, that’s quite repulsive. I suppose it goes to show that greed doesn’t pay, but -.”
He nodded. “It’s sneaky, isn’t it? Shooting them wouldn’t be workable, not this time, but it’d feel more honest.”
“The only question,” said the Professor, who was still ignoring them, his attention focused on the dying aliens, “is: was that all of them?”
*
“Hello,” said Leonards, walking into Kennedy’s cubicle in sickbay. “How are you feeling now?”
He looked up at him. “Okay. I’d be back with the rest of you if it was up to me, but Sister put her foot down. How’s everything?”
“Oh, you know — been a heavy day, all told, but we’ve got to keep on plodding onwards.”
“Same as usual, then,” he said. Then he frowned. “Mind you, it was a bit weird.”
“Oh?”
“Dreamt I was one of the things,” he said. “I’ve never felt so hungry — wanted to eat everything and anything.”
Leonards looked at him.
“What?”
He only shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing.”
“Leonards, what is it?”
He leant forward, “Well, that’d explain it then. Sister had to change the sheets ‘cos you’d be trying to bite your way out of them by the looks of it. Surprising the damage you managed.”
“Very funny.”
He looked affronted. “Sarge, seriously. I mean, you said yourself-. Look, I’ll go away and you forget all about it, right?”
*
“Well,” said Sarah, “that was interesting, Colonel. I suppose you’re going to demand that I swear faithfully not to write up any of this?”
He smiled at her. “That’s up to you, Miss Smith. I’d imagine that claiming the existence of mince pie stealing extra-terrestrials who were defeated by a large helping of Christmas cake wouldn’t do wonders for your professional reputation.”
“Ooh,” she said and then laughed at the truth of this. “All right, Colonel, you win this time.”
*
Angela listened to Kennedy’s embarrassed and slightly incoherent apology and her forehead furrowed as her puzzlement grew. “Sergeant, what are you talking about? Were you having a bad dream?”
“Something like that,” he agreed, gathering he’d let his junior get the better of him this time. He lay back. “One of these days, I’m going to have to kill Leonards.”
She paused. “Ah. Well, nothing violent, please. I’d like to have a happy holiday without being called in to deal with messy murders.”
“Not till the New Year, then,” he promised. “Looks like I’ll get home now, live to tell the tale.”
Angela nodded. “And deal with Corporal Leonards in January.”
*
“Corporal Leonards,” said Bambera walking up to him as he climbed back down from a chair outside the office. “Do you have a death wish?”
“No, Captain.”
“Then remove that thing now!”
He grimaced and then made a move to climb back up and take down the mistletoe he’d so carefully been placing there. Unfortunately, the door opened and he had to kick the chair back out of the way and stand back, leaping to attention as the Colonel and Miss Smith emerged. They halted directly under the mistletoe. Bambera’s gaze grew stony and distant and Leonards found the need to stare at the ceiling.
“A pleasure, Miss Smith,” the Colonel said, shaking her hand. “I trust your dog will recover?”
She smiled. “K9? Oh, he’ll be fine. He’s almost his uppity old self again already.”
“Good.”
Sarah glanced downwards, a flicker of amusement briefly visible in her eyes. “I’m afraid you will be seeing me again, Colonel. It’s inevitable, given our lines of work.”
“I shall look forward to it,” he returned blandly. “Take care driving. They said there’d be snow at Christmas.”
She whistled for K9. “They always do,” she told him. “Personally, I think it’ll just keep on raining.” Then she headed off back down the corridor, her robot dog close to her heels.
The Colonel turned his attention to the other two and frowned at them. “Is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” said Bambera. “Situation normal.”
Crichton paused. “Normal?”
“Quiet,” she amended. “No sign of any more of the things and the three in sickbay are making good recoveries. Maybe there’ll even be peace on earth, or at least our corner of it. Pigs might fly, too.”
The Colonel gave them another brief frown and then returned to the office. He hesitated at the door and looked amused. “Don’t you mean reindeer?” he queried before disappearing back inside.
Bambera snorted to herself, failing to show appreciation for her CO’s bit of seasonal humour. “Right, Leonards, take that down now. And why, anyway?”
He obliged, standing on the chair and pulling it down. “Well, I thought now that me and Miss Lonsdale have been on our little date, I ought to -.”
“Just get rid of it,” she ordered, rolling her eyes and marching on.
Leonards did as he was told and headed off down the corridor with the chair in one hand, singing under his breath: “While shepherds washed their socks by night, All hanging on the line, The a-a-angel of the Lord came down, And said those drawers are mi-.”
“Corporal Leonards!”
He jumped and swung around to see Arnolds emerging from the laboratory. “Leonards. I suppose you’ll have to do. I’ve not finished this autopsy what with all these interruptions and apparently Sister refuses to allow Kennedy to return to duty. Come along — the boundaries of human knowledge are still waiting to be broken.”
“Right, sir,” said the soldier with a sigh and followed him into the lab. “Lucky me. It’s like an early Christmas present.”
Arnolds shut the door. “Somehow, I suspect a degree of sarcasm there, Corporal. If you had any real intelligence, you’d understand that’s exactly what it is. No one else in history has had the privilege of examining a creature like this.”
“Oh, yes,” said Leonards again. “Yes. Like Christmas every day round here it is, then. I wish.”
“Now,” the Professor began, “let’s take a look at the lung structure — quite fascinating…” He hummed to himself happily - Joy to the World - while Leonards did his best to avoid looking at anything he instructed him to.
“Now, the position of some of the vital organs is quite different to anything I’ve seen before. I couldn’t even find the liver or kidneys. Then I took a closer look at the limbs and would you believe, I found something in entirely an unexpected location. So here it is -.”
“Merry Christmas,” said Leonards, who couldn’t quite stop himself in time.
Arnolds glared. “Oh, go away, Corporal. I’ll manage.”
The sweetest music seemed to have filled the air and a star of silver swept across the skies, he was sure. It was the best thing that had happened all day. He left as fast as he could, dancing along merrily — well, metaphorically, at least — both joyful and triumphant.
*
“Everyone’s gone mad,” said the Professor to himself, who couldn’t see how someone could be ignorant enough to fail to see the attractions of practical xenobiology. “I suppose I should be thankful that Christmas comes only once a year.”
***
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