Dr. Phil's Dreamwidth Journal

"Deer season" begins Saturday, in retail speak.

That’s when the most reluctant shoppers begin venturing into stores with what Kimberly Smith calls that “deer in the headlights look,” foraging for gifts.

It's been a busy morning, and I'm liking the results! -- Mother-in-law's poppyseed coffee cake recipe, mince pie with pastry made with vodka, and an entire stollen just for us!

and

Plenty to share -- c'mon over!

No, no! It's way too crowded here. No room. And, uh, the roads are going to be icy. You'll slide off the road trying to get here. Really. And, uh,you'd never make it up our LONG ICY TERRIFYING driveway. Yeah. You, uh, better stay home. And leave the poppyseed, mince pie and stollen for me... for us, I mean! -- Dr. Phil

         A Rosebourne Christmas
      by Dr. Philip Edward Kaldon

Tuesday 29 October 2886 Earth Relative Time
Aboard Royal Navy (Space) Pocket Battlecruiser BCG-500
His Majesty's Starship Rosebourne

     "Merry Christmas, Captain."
     The look of surprise on the face of Sub-Commander 
Elinor Dawes more than made up for the trouble Lt. Tom 
Guyrere had gone through to arrange for this gift.  It 
suited her startling English rose look, he thought.
     "It is Christmas morning on your native world.  At 
least for the past thirty-seven minutes by my calculations."  
Most spacers reckoned in Earth Reference Time, but just 
for this occasion Tom had kept track of the Golden calendar 
and knew it to be Sunday 25 December 586 A.A. in the city 
of Secundus, The British Sector on Golden.  Gold Christmas 
on the Planet of Gold.
     "Yes.  Yes, of course," she answered, glancing at 
her own clock from home.  Her executive officer was quite 
correct -- just past second midnight there.  Standing 
up from the desk in her day office, Ellie took the large 
package, wrapped in the reds and golds of Golden, and 
nearly dropped it.  "Heavy," she said, a quizzical look 
spreading on her face as she pushed her reddish bangs back 
in that unconscious move of hers which meant she was thinking.
     They made an interesting pair.  Both in their mid-
twenties, neither born on Earth.  Of course, the differences 
in their backgrounds was extreme -- she came from the planet 
Golden and he grew up on a tin-can mining station in Free 
Space.  She was British Star Empire, he came from the mongrel 
polyculture Out There which wasn't even American anymore.  
He stood tall dark and rough, while she was pale and lovely in
that way which people called unconventional beauty.
     Her family owned the patents on all the technologies 
which made faster-than-light travel through jump space 
possible and if they were not the wealthiest family in 
existence, it hardly mattered.  Riches or good looks, however, 
had not gotten her either commission or warship.  Hers 
was one of the finest analytic minds in relativistic tactics 
and strategy.  The British Star Fleet could not rush Ellie 
to meet the alien Enemy crisis fast enough.
     His family was gone, killed by raiders who meant to 
steal the modest stock of metals they had accumulated, 
and Tom had been rescued by a passing British warship.  
When he was old enough, he had enlisted in the Royal Navy 
to return the favor.  It was the Enemy War which had promoted 
them fast and brought them together on this ship at this 
time, deep in the War Zone eight-hundred light years from 
Earth.
     But Christmas was a common bond in space, even amongst 
many non-Christians.
     Tom could not have afforded this, Ellie thought as 
she fingered the sprig of evergold tied into the red ribbon, 
and then she frowned.  "You brought the goldplant virus 
aboard my ship?"  Golden was called Golden for a reason -- 
a disease which rendered nearly all green plants yellowy-gold 
in color under the light of a star much yellower than Earth's 
Sun.
     "No, sir.  I seemed to recall a story you told of a 
red rose with green leaves which survived without changing 
on Golden..."
     She smirked.  "You had it preserved in plasticite.  
Very clever, Mister Guyrere.  May I?"
     At his nod, she slipped long fingers under the edge 
of the paper, eventually unwrapping the gift without ever 
once tearing the wrap.  She recognized the heavy 26th century 
book almost immediately.
     "My God, Tom -- this is a copy of The Illustrated Art 
of War and it looks to be an original.  These are very rare."
     "One-hundred-and-twenty-five printed," he replied.  
"This one is number ninety-five."
     "You couldn't possibly afford this.  Tell me straight 
off -- did you go to my father for this?"
     "Absolutely not, sir."
     "Hmm."  She sat back down.  Such a book would surely 
fetch an auction price of at least £100 000.  "Well, I don't 
know how you arranged this -- it surely was a labor of many 
months -- but thank you."
     "Four months, sir.  And you're quite welcome."

                            ***

     Tom entered the wardroom to get a cup of coffee on his 
way to the bridge.  Second Officer Lt. Christian Bowles stood 
straining hot water through loose tea leaves.
     "You're quite the man of the hour, Tom," Chris said.  
"Captain is unable to fathom how you managed it."
     "I'm glad it worked out."
     "But how in the worlds did you do it?"
     "You remember the story about the Captain's cousin 
Elizabeth?"
     "Yes.  Elizabeth Bell-Hanson, I do believe."
     "Well I knew her as Lisa Hanson of Bell-Hanson's Traders 
on Castlerock."
     The light dawned on the English lieutenant.  "You were 
in the British school at Castlerock Station -- after the death 
of your parents."
     "Kensington School," Tom said.  "When I found out this 
summer they were cousins, I wrote to Lisa and explained I 
wanted to do something special for Ellie on Gold Christmas.  
She got in contact with Sir James."
     "But you assured the Captain you did not contact her 
father."
     "And I didn't -- Lisa did."
     "You are a sly fox, aren't you?" Chris said, a smile 
playing across his normally dour face.
     "I am the executive officer of one of your king's 
starships -- I am expected to be ruthless and resourceful."
     "My hat is off to you then."
     "And a very Merry Christmas to you, too."
     "Indeed."  Chris raised his tea and Tom his coffee in 
salute.  "Merry Christmas."