Global Warming Santa Read online

with a comb-over of his thin ash blond hair. He had wireless spectacles pushed high on a pert nose that he was already pushing back up. He cleared his throat and announced to an audience stunned silent by the incongruity of his presence, “Mr. Santa Claus please, thank you,”

  Santa turned around to pin the intruder with a gaze awful in its stark glacial intensity. He didn’t say a word, just stared and waited.

  “I take it that you are the man concerned?” snipped the man.

  “Should I be?” Santa asked, studying the officious little man, trying to place him in his memory. Suddenly the picture firmed in his mind. Edwin Cecil March, formerly of Midlands Texas. Santa remembered receiving twenty page typed invoices annually from the tiny brat years ago listing all of the toys he required for each year. Now why could this man be on his doorstep, demanding his attention?

  Edwin Cecil answered that question right away.

  “I am afraid that you have twenty four hours left to evacuate the region. The International Council has been sending you letters for eleven months now informing you of their decision, plenty of time for you to have made alternative arrangements, but now your time is up and this is your final warning. You must retreat beyond the 70th parallel within twenty four hours or your village will be forcefully dismantled and disposed of. Thank you and goodbye.”

  As he turned to leave he set down a thick sheaf of papers on a side table, turned on his heel with Germanic military precision and disappeared beyond the doorway.

  A heavy silence shrouded the room, suffocating them all for a full 10 seconds before the room exploded into a violent vocal tumult, waking a napping Mrs. Claus in the main lodge on the other side of the floating village. The reindeer were also immediately alarmed, bugling distress and trying to kick down the walls of their stalls, so sure were they that death had finally arrived for them, incarnate in their reindeer imaginations, as a huge insatiable polar bear, no doubt right outside that very moment. However, the lack of any polar bear odor clued them in, just as their energy level was expended moments later. Not a bad display for depressed reindeer. They remained suspicious.

  Hours later, the plan was already being put into action. A birthday gift for Santa from the elves months before was finally being put to use, Santa’s personal dirigible, The Big Rush, was now fully inflated.

  Quite a large windbag, Mrs. Claus thought, and it sure as hell was a Big Rush. Twenty four hours wasn’t enough time even with magic elves and all the residual magic left in the village. She was puzzled by the huge face on the front. The man’s face was neither interesting or attractive. What had possessed the elves to add this design of a boring fat man in a business suit over the body of the vessel? Well, just as long as it did its job in helping move the floating village. With the help of the magical reindeer pulling from the front, and some added gas propulsion from the back, the zeppelin should work just fine. With the loss of the three bucks, Santa had had to add does to the team, Owl’s Feather, Laughing Brook, Rainsong, Hummingbird and one aggressive young buck Chutzpah, to lead. The older bucks were too dispirited right now to make trouble in a mixed team, so they should do just fine. The dirigible by itself was large enough to convey the entire village aloft for some distance. She noted that the elves had also installed a bright blue electric message strip banding the entire length of The Big Rush. Some of them chuckled at the message being flashed even now: “Global Warming Is A Hoax… I Don't Need Scientific Proof To Know It's A Lie!” Followed by a comic bug-eyed version of the fat man’s shouting face blinking in electric blue.

  Mrs. Claus’s face twisted into a frown. Sometimes she did not really get elven humor. But on the bright side, she was not only looking forward to a change to warmer climate but also to the adventure of aerial travel. She wished she could see the whole contraption from a god’s eye view when The Big Rush finally pulled the village aloft. Everything had been reinforced with twisted spider silk ropes that softly gleamed a pale gold and the entire rope village nestled in a woven net slung from Rush’s belly. Every building was firmly braced and interconnected now with a strong matrix of wooden bridges, struts and girders. The pontoons had been maintained in their positions for when they eventually touched down in a new but temporary home. Their village had been transformed into the strongest, most beautiful package that she could imagine. There was some business to take care of first, before they started their journey, a crucial errand that Santa would take care of during that night during the darkest hours but that inscrutable and exasperating man refused to give her the details. She had heard a little too much giggling from Pinkiwi and her little friends to feel entirely comfortable.

  Santa had discovered The Oil Company’s top brass would be visiting their exploration vessel in celebration of his eviction and of their international invitation to drill to their hearts’ content without oversight. Palms had been greased. Tonight this old boys club would be getting an early visit from Santa.

  The Big Rush and Santa’s Village floated high above the party taking place below on the ship. Strangely, no one bothered to look directly up being too busy with drink, back slapping and the most gorgeous young hookers money could buy. The girls were circulating, flirting for tips, and pumping their hips to the primal syncopation of old disco hits.

  Most of the oil men stayed close to the girls inside at the bar, trading jokes and tales of their financial conquests, laughing themselves sick at the thought of all the fools they had fleeced. The unsaid fact that they would be the primary financial beneficiaries of their oil finds at each level of production many times over delighted and satisfied them deeply. There would be no trickle down manna for the general public good but it sure makes a good rationalization, don’t it boys? It will keep things humming for a just a little while longer. So all of them felt. They flew high on the euphoria of additional future riches. They bubbled with laughter and champagne.

  The celebrants noted just after 3:00 AM, that they were falling asleep on their feet. Each had just a few moments to find a seat or bench to collapse in. Magic Christmas dust sparkled over the ship, a creamy, opalescent wave flowing into the interior, seeping under every door, seeking every air space in its journey to the lowest level, leaving no conscious mind free of its insidious influence. No one was at the wheel. Insomniac Frank Lester slumped on his desk before the radio in the deepest, most blissful sleep he had ever encountered. He would have a stiff neck in the morning.

  The figures skimming down ropes and dropping to the decks aroused no curiosity. Santa had assembled a large team of young elves, freshly adult and thus charged with idealistic energy. Balancing out the good cheer were himself and his physician Grumpy, very like the famous dwarf in appearance and already muttering to himself as he slid down the rope, his medical bag slung over his back with an alert Mr. Perfect peeking out, twisting his purple head to take it all in.

  Once they were all safely on deck, Santa oriented himself. They needed the bigwigs. He had memorized photos of the top ten but they only needed around five for their purposes. The elves organized themselves and threaded after Santa into the main lounge, stepping carefully over fallen celebrants, examining faces closely.

  A squeak from Pinkiwi suggested a find.

  “Look here!” she said, “that bastard with the papers!”

  Face-up, with his head nestled in the lap of a sleeping beauty on a couch could be seen the sweaty, pink, inebriated face of Edwin Cecil, his glasses dangling from one ear. He whistled softly as he snored. Santa took one look and decided his current state was perfect for a photo and his young photographer Chancy, a handsome young elf with hair the glistening black of wet charcoal tied back in a ponytail, took the snap, checked it on his digital camera, emitted a snort of approval and moved on.

  They didn’t have much time at all so they worked fast to find their victims. They hit pay dirt with the CEO of the company, vice president, chairman and primary stockholder, one of the company’s most famous PR faces, all piled together in a little snoring, snorting
dog pile. The four men were not easy to separate and drag even with so many helpers. With so little time, they settled on a good corner of the lounge where the rest of the elves were setting up for the shots. They were dragged over other sleeping bodies and their clothes kept catching onto things, prompting a frustrated elf into kicking the president with rage as the man’s jacket finally caught and held onto a stool bolt, tearing the silk lining.

  “Hey! Don’t wake the guy up fool!” his partner reprimanded him.” Not until Grumpy’s ready.”

  The six girls were swift in changing behind the bar. They giggled at the bizarre costumes. Their hair had been fixed earlier in the floating village. Each girl sported braided pigtails sprouting high from their heads, looking quite girlish. Small black masks, leather corsets, black satin tutus stiff and ruffled full as dahlias, fishnet stockings and tiny sharp stiletto heels completed their look. They each brandished little whips designed to smack horse rumps and if they were not constrained by the unfamiliar foot wear, they would have been chasing each other around. They stood there grinning, flicking the whips in each others faces.

  “Can we keep these Santa?” asked