SCIENCE FICTION HUMOR
Here's a bonus short story about Santa in the alien futuristic world of Walter Knight's AMERICA'S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION military scifi series. This short story appeared at the end of BOOK 11: CEMETERY CITY. (Warning: Some adult colorful language.)
Arthropodan planetary defense radar systems confirmed what light diffraction sensors had detected days ago. A lone alien spaceship, probably of human design, was inbound from human pestilence space. The craft evaded pursuing space fleet and planetary fighter interceptors approaching the remote north polar region, emitting gold and silver tinsel chaff to avoid radar and missiles.
Alarmed and angry, the Emperor broke the glass case containing the cherry red hot-line communications device, a direct emergency line to the President of the United States Galactic Federation.
“What new reckless adventurism are you up to this time?” accused the Emperor, watching a sleepy President appear on the monitor screen. “Trespassing on our home world will not be tolerated. Extreme measures will be taken!”
“What?” asked the President. “I do not know what you are talking about. Do you know what time it is? Explain yourself!”
“You dare deny your provocations? Our entire space fleet is on alert. If any harm comes from your continued irresponsible behavior, I will hold you personally liable. I will hold all of humanity responsible.”
“Your Majesty, my commanders are briefing me of the situation as we speak,” replied the President, looking down at a flash message just handed to him by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “They assure me there are no ongoing special projects anywhere near Arthropoda.”
“You admit you spy on us!”
“Now, see here,” replied the President, testily. “You wake me up on Christmas Eve with outlandish accusations from light years away, and expect me to just drop everything and take it?”
“Fuck you!” shouted the President, hanging up.
* * * * *
The President immediately regretted his outburst of temper. Aides turned away, pretending to have not heard.
“Get the Emperor back on the line, and make the necessary diplomatic apologies,” he ordered. “Blame misunderstandings and a faulty translation device, and sun spots.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the nearest general.
“Christ, man! I don’t need this nonsense. The elections are less than a year away, and the press breathes down my neck every time I turn around. Put our space fleets on alert.”
“The last thing I need is another diplomatic flap with those damn spiders. What do you think the Emperor is up to now?”
“The Emperor is under domestic pressure to institute parliamentary reforms,” advised the Director of the CIA. “The fool is pandering to his public to cause a distraction. He wants to preserve the absolute power of the Monarchy as long as possible.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed the President. “Freedom and democracy is not in their DNA. That will be their downfall. Alert our allies.”
* * * * *
“Your Majesty, the bogey just changed direction, and is now flying at treetop level in an attempt to avoid detection,” advised a spider general. “The craft is headed straight for Capital City.”
“Do something!” demanded the Emperor, wringing his claws and pacing. “Our capital must me protected at all costs.”
“Perhaps we should take shelter below the palace, suggested the general. “The Americans always attack command and control centers. They think they can shock-and-awe us.”
“The human pestilence president seemed surprised by my call,” commented the Emperor. “I can read their faces. Every lie is given away by muscle twitches and eye movement. Their president might be telling the truth.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I suspect a ruse.”
“I want confirmation of who, or what, is attacking us. If we are at war, I want to know who we fight. It could be those pervert scorpions causing trouble again!”
“Interceptors will make visual contact shortly,” advised the general, in constant communication with planetary defense forces. “Satellites images will soon be available, too.”
As if on queue, sonic booms shattered windows as the interceptor jets flew overhead.
“Your Majesty,” interrupted a staff officer. “Our pilots report receiving human pestilence radio communications. I am putting the transmissions on audio speaker.”
Immediately the speaker erupted with a cheery human pestilence male voice. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas and goodwill to all galactic species!”
“Veer away from Capital City,” responded the lead pilot. “We will direct you to a safe zone where you will land your craft and surrender. Resistance is futile!”
“I knew it was the human pestilence all along!” shouted the Emperor, pounding his desk. “Devious devils!”
“It appears the Americans are broadcasting seditious propaganda on our frequencies,” advised the general. “It is a common diversionary tactic. They hope the peasantry will rise up in revolt.”
“Nose-counters would think that,” agreed the Emperor. “There is a lesson to be learned here from their weakness.”
“Oh, my God!” radioed the pilot, panicked. “We are being hit by a blinding red light!”
“Ho, ho, ho! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen! We must deliver presents and good cheer down chimneys before dawn!”
“Did you hear that?” asked the Emperor. “They target chimneys! A whole squadron of human pestilence attacks our civilian population centers! Shoot them all down, now!”
* * * * *
“Mr. President, I am putting through our ambassador from Arthropoda with an emergency message.”
“Mr. President? Ambassador James Yamashita here. Uh, bad news, sir. I fear this day will live in infamy. The spiders just shot down Santa Clause.”
“Those bastards! Any hope of survivors?”
“Not even those cute reindeer?”
“No, sir. It was horrible!”
“Rudolph is dead?”
“Sir, they nuked Santa!” exclaimed Yamashita, weeping. “What do we do now? Cancel Christmas? What about the holiday sales? My wife is already camped outside Walmart. There will be no new and improved Kindles delivered this Christmas for anyone!”
“Dump all of my Amazon.com stock shares,” ordered one of the generals, immediately on the phone to his broker.
“Ambassador Yamashita, deliver your diplomatic credentials to the spiders. You are immediately recalled to Earth. I intend to ask Congress for a Declaration of War against the Arthropodan Empire.”
* * * * *
“Ho, ho, ho! Kill Santa? That’s a good one! Bring nukes to a magic fight? Ho, ho, ho! Bad idea! Ho, ho, ho! Let’s move it, Dasher and Dancer! Pick up the pace, Prancer and Vixen! We’ve got hundreds of thousands of more Kindles to deliver tonight!”