12. Krampus

CHAPTER 12

KRAMPUS

T he tiny communication device in Mel's hand chirps with an incoming signal. Her face drains of color as she reads the caller identification.

"Mother." The word comes out as a whisper.

I lean against the kitchen counter, fascinated by the sudden change in my host's demeanor. This fierce woman who attacked me with sporting equipment now trembles at the prospect of maternal contact.

"Hi Mom." Mel's voice rises three octaves. "No, of course you're not interrupting anything."

The voice on the other end carries clearly to my enhanced hearing. "We'll be there for dinner. Your father wants to discuss your life choices."

"Tonight?" Mel squeaks.

"Seven sharp. Don't overcook the roast this time."

Mel sets the device down with shaking hands. "Well. That's happening."

"Your maternal unit causes you distress?"

"You could say that." She runs her fingers through her hair. "I need to clean. Everything needs cleaning. And cooking. And-"

"Perhaps I should depart." The words taste bitter. "My presence complicates your family dynamic."

Sam peers around the doorframe.

"Are Grammy and Grampy coming?"

"Yes sweetie. Help Mommy clean?"

I straighten up as an idea forms. "I will retire to your vehicle storage facility. I have a plan."

"The garage?" Mel's eyebrows draw together. "What kind of plan?"

"A good one. Trust me."

"That's what worries me." But she's already moving to gather cleaning supplies.

I duck through the door to the garage, my mind racing with possibilities. If I can't leave this woman unprotected, I'll need to ensure her family accepts my presence. And I know just how to do it.

My compad connects to Earth's primitive data networks. These humans still use silicon chips. Adorable.

"Show me the perfect mate." The search results scroll past. Too slow. Far too slow.

A quick scan reveals something called "Hallmark Christmas Movies." The description catches my eye - apparently these detail courtship rituals during this peculiar holiday season. Perfect.

I adjust my neural interface and prepare for direct download. This should give me everything I need to know about wooing a human female.

"Initialize full spectrum data absorption."

The flood hits my consciousness like a plasma blast. Thousands of hours of content surge through my neural pathways in a fraction of a second.

Bakers falling for businessmen. Teachers meeting strangers in small towns. Christmas tree farmers finding love. Cookie contests. Ice skating accidents leading to romance. Fake relationships becoming real. Small town festivals. Hot cocoa. Mistletoe. Gingerbread. Sugar cookies. More hot cocoa.

My claws dig into the concrete floor as the saccharine overload threatens to short-circuit my brain.

"SWEET MERCIFUL NEBULAS, MAKE IT STOP!"

The endless parade of perfect hair and meaningful glances and Christmas magic burns through my synapses. So many scarves. So many cardigans. Everyone owns a bookstore or a bakery or both.

I collapse to my knees, overwhelmed by knowledge of holiday romance tropes I never wanted. The garage spins around me as my processors try to handle the sugar-coated data dump.

I pull myself up from the concrete, shaking off the last vestiges of sugar-plum induced trauma. The data download may have felt like psychological warfare, but it taught me what I need to know.

These Earth celebrations require specific elements. A perfect tree. Decorations. Baked goods. Family togetherness.

And someone to protect it all.

My claws scrape against the floor as I rise. This isn't about repaying Mel for freeing me anymore. That tiny human larvae - Sam - deserves the magical holiday experience these entertainment programs promise. And Mel...

The thought of her fierce spirit, her protective instincts, stirs something primal in my chest. She attacked a creature three times her size with primitive sports equipment. For her offspring.

"Computer, access local merchant databases. Calculate optimal routes for procurement of holiday supplies."

The screen fills with data. Trees. Lights. Something called "tinsel." And here I thought it was just festive murder rope.

I make use of Melanie's vehicle rather than the motorcycle. I will need to be able to carry my purchases home easily, after all. My first stop is a Christmas Tree lot. I need to procure a type of Evergreen known as the Douglas Fir.

The human merchant's lot smells of pine sap and desperation. My image inducer makes me appear as what the movies call a "rugged mountain man" - apparently this is an attractive form.

Three rows in, I spot it. The perfect Douglas Fir. Just like in "A Cookie Cutter Christmas" when Jennifer falls for the handsome tree farmer. Except I'm not here to court the tree.

A shrill voice cuts through my thoughts. "That's MY tree! I saw it first!"

A female human in impractical footwear storms toward my target, her artificial blonde mane bouncing with each step. Her face contorts into what humans call "speaking to the manager."

"My children NEED this tree. Christmas is RUINED if I don't get it!"

I reach for my utility belt. The shrink ray feels cool against my palm.

"I suggest you reconsider."

"How DARE you! I'm calling the police!"

zap

The beam reduces her to approximately three inches tall. She squeaks in outrage, waving her tiny designer handbag.

A crow swoops down, snatches her up, and soars away. Her diminutive screams fade into the distance.

"I'll take this one." I hand the merchant his primitive currency.

"Did you see where that lady went?"

"What lady?"

He shrugs and helps me tie the tree to my vehicle. Perfect. Phase one of Operation Holiday Magic complete.

The Earth shopping complex teems with humans like a Rigellian hive mind. Their desperation clogs my enhanced senses - sweat, anxiety, and something called "pumpkin spice."

"Excuse me, sir." A tiny female blocks my path. Her name tag reads 'Brittany.' "You look like someone who needs the perfect gift."

My image inducer must be working well. These humans see exactly what they expect - a large, muscular man in expensive clothing.

"I require items for parental approval units."

"Oh, shopping for the in-laws!" Her smile widens. "Follow me."

The sporting goods section yields what the movies call "golf clubs" - primitive weapons humans use to chase small white spheres. The price seems reasonable - only twelve thousand of their currency units.

"Dad will love these titanium clubs," Brittany chirps.

Next, she leads me to accessories. A leather carrying device catches my eye - the label says "Gucci."

"That's perfect for Mom! So classic."

The lines stretch longer than a Centaurian death march. I resist the urge to shrink-ray the people ahead of me.

"One more thing." Brittany steers me toward gleaming display cases. "For that special someone?"

The red crystal pendant catches the fluorescent lighting, throwing bloodlike shadows. Perfect. It reminds me of the heart of a dying star.

"The ruby heart pendant." Brittany's smile turns predatory. "She'll absolutely love it."

I imagine the gem against Mel's pale throat. The size of a small egg, it would mark her as mine- I mean, show proper appreciation for her assistance.

"I'll take it."

My credit chip, loaded with redistributed wealth, handles the purchases easily. I leave the mall victorious, arms laden with brightly colored bags.

Phase two complete. Now to wrap these acquisitions in festive paper, just like in "The Christmas Prince's Secret Baby Baker."

The weight of shopping bags feels insignificant as I stride through the parking structure. These primitive retail rituals proved more challenging than expected, but victory is mine.

A shadow detaches itself from behind a concrete pillar. The scent of desperation and cheap alcohol hits my nostrils.

"Hey big guy. Nice packages. Hand 'em over."

The human brandishes a blade that would barely pierce my hide. Pathetic.

"I decline your request for redistribution of goods."

"What?" He waves the knife. "Just give me the bags!"

I set my purchases carefully on the ground. No sense damaging Mel's gifts.

"Allow me to demonstrate proper throwing technique."

My hand closes around his jacket. The human's eyes widen as his feet leave the ground.

"Wait, what are you-"

One casual flick of my arm sends him rocketing upward through the parking structure's levels. The concrete shatters, leaving a neat hole through each floor. His scream dopples away as he breaks atmosphere.

"Make sure you don't hit Santa's sleigh on your way to the sun!"

I gather my bags and check the time display. The lines at the "customer service" desk cost me precious minutes. A sleek black vehicle sits in Mel's driveway when I pull up - some Earth machine called a Bentley.

My enhanced hearing picks up voices inside. Mel's stress levels must be astronomical.

I activate my image inducer's formal wear setting. The hologram shimmer settles into what the movies call a "cable knit sweater" and "khakis." Apparently this combination signals both prosperity and trustworthiness to human parental units.

Time to put my downloaded knowledge to use. According to "The Christmas Cookie Catastrophe," parents love a successful businessman who knows his way around a kitchen.

I straighten my illusory collar and head for the door. Operation: Perfect Boyfriend is about to commence.