By Ryan Bush
Captain Bob Cratchit yawned as he adjusted the holographic scanner, slowly bringing Sector 213A into clearer focus. It had been a long flight between the stars, and all he could think about was getting home to Earth for Christmas.
Alarms suddenly shrieked as the sector snapped into view. The captain bolted upright to stare at the screen, then whirled and slammed the Red Alert button beside his chair.
“Battle stations!” He barked to his crew. “Engines, full throttle! Tiny Tim, get into that turret and aim for Sector 213A!”
Tiny Tim, the ship’s bearded, hulking gunner, limped across the deck, his crutches thumping rhythmically as he scrambled into his seat and booted up the ship’s defensive guns. An old injury had left him halfway crippled, but he’d always refused corrective laser surgery. The guns whirred into action, and he rotated the assembly towards the distant threat.
“I’m locked on,” he growled. “Giant swarm, eighteen klicks out and closing fast.” He activated the ship’s cannons, but the fierce laser bolts only fired once every few seconds. “Blast it, he’s even regulated our firing rate! Captain, do something before we’re chewed to pieces!”
“What is it?” Another crew member panted as he burst onto the bridge and scrambled into his seat. “Pirates? Nebular mines?”
“Worse,” Captain Cratchit said grimly. “Humbugs.”
The revelation sent a shudder through the quickly-assembling crew. Swarms of humbugs roamed the interstellar plains, tearing ships to shreds with teeth that rent metal as easily as flesh. Even the survivors often went mad from the bugs’ horrible humming sounds as they pierced and gnawed through a ship’s armor.
“Helm, full throttle forward!” Captain Cratchit barked. “Outrun this swarm!”
“Can’t, sir!” The helmsman shouted, scrambling with the controls. “He’s got us maximized at one-tenth power to save on fuel!”
“Get that old fool on the comms, now!” Tiny Tim yelled as another round screamed off through the void of space. “Or we’ll be pulverized in minutes! Fifteen klicks out!”
Captain Cratchit was already activating the relay. It took a few moments, but then an old, withered face appeared on the viewscreen. Greedy eyes glared out from beneath furrowed brows at the crew.
“What’s the meaning of this?” snapped Ebenezer Scrooge, head of the Scrooge and Marley Interstellar Shipping Company. “This call costs 3.4 megazerks a second. I’m docking it from your paychecks!”
“Ebenezer,” Cratchit said forcefully, “we’re about to be swarmed by humbugs. You’ve regulated this ship so much, we’re half crippled already and unable to escape. If you don’t remotely unshackle us, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than the cost of a call!”
“Bah!” Scrooge replied. “Humbugs. You’re complaining about something so trivial as that? If you were worth half your wage, you’d never be in this predicament.”
“Forget wages for once. We are going to die!” Tiny Tim roared, firing off a laser blast, then another one a few seconds later. “Eleven klicks out. Take off this gun’s regulator and give us a fighting chance!”
“Please, sir,” Cratchit pleaded. “Think of our wives and children! It’s Christmas! Would you really create more widows and orphans on Christmas?”
“If your incompetence costs me my shipment, I’m taking it out of their insurance policies,” Scrooge snapped, reaching over to cancel the connection. “Don’t fail me!”
Just then, the entire crew froze as a strange sight appeared on the ship’s deck. It shimmered silently there, and Captain Cratchit completely forgot about the threat of humbugs.
It was a ghost. A wisp. A faint trace of something that once had been. Travelers sometimes spoke of encountering these strange spirits in the emptiness of interstellar space, but none of the crew had ever seen one. Stories said they sometimes communicated with the living, though it was never clear on whether the messages should be welcomed or feared.
The ghost flitted across the deck, and every man watched it with speechless fascination, except for Tiny Tim, who turned forcefully away and continued firing at the humbugs as fast as his guns allowed. The spirit hovered before Captain Cratchit, and he stared back in wonder.
What had it been in life? It was difficult to tell if it had once been man or woman, or even human at all. A vague form lingered there, clearly visible and present, but also so translucent and ethereal, the entire deck was visible behind it. It wavered for a moment, then soared to the viewscreen. In the blink of an eye, the spirit passed through the screen over to Scrooge’s office, traversing millions of light years in an instant.
Scrooge rocked back in his chair, eyes fixated on the spectral vision before him. And then the screen went black.
The crew remained spellbound until Captain Cratchit turned and shouted.
“Back to your stations, now! Scanners, track that swarm—I see it getting closer by the minute! Engineering, try bypassing the regulators—we need to get this ship moving, immediately!”
“That won’t be necessary.” The viewscreen crackled back online, and Scrooge’s face returned to view. He looked haggard and pale, and years older, though he had only disappeared for a moment. The ghost was gone. “I’m deregulating your ship now. Engines and guns are at max capacity.”
A few seconds later, the engines roared to life, and the ship shuddered as it rocketed forward at blinding speeds. Captain Cratchit stared at the screen in shock.
“But…you…I mean, thank you, sir!” he stammered.
“Ah, think nothing of it!” Scrooge replied joyfully, an emotion they had never before heard in his voice. “You get yourselves home safe and sound. Spend some time with your families! After all, it’s Christmas! Merry Christmas!”
Tiny Tim whooped as his guns blazed with furious energy, decimating the humbugs. He turned and shouted gleefully at the viewscreen.
“Merry Christmas, you old codger! And God bless us, every one!”
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That is the BEST retelling of a Christmas Carol that I have read! Well done!
If you changed “humbugs” to “lawyers”, the approaching swarm becomes more terrifying, and its decimation more satisfying. God bless us, every one! (except the lawyers)