The Nutcracker Coup (2 page)
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Clarence Doggett straightened his weskit with a tug and said, “We have no reason to write a letter of protest about Emperor Halemtat’s treatment of Chornian. He’s deprived us of a valuable worker, true, but....”
“Whatever happened to human rights?”
“They’re not human, Marianne. They’re aliens.”
At least he hadn’t called them “Pincushions” as he usually did, Marianne thought. Clarence Doggett was the unfortunate result of what the media had dubbed “the Grand Opening.” One day humans had been alone in the galaxy, and the next they’d found themsleves only a tiny fraction of the intelligent species. Setting up five hundred embassies in the space of a few years had strained the diplomatic service to the bursting point. Rejoicing, considered a backwater world, got the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel. Marianne was trying very hard not to be one of those scrapings, despite the example set by Clarence. She clamped her jaw shut very hard.
Clarence brushed at his fashionably large mustache and added, “It’s not as if they’ll really die of shame, after all.”
“Sir,” Marianne began.
He raised his hands. “The subject is closed. How are the plans coming for the Christmas
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bash?”
“Fine, sir,” she said without enthusiasm. “Killim-she’s the local glassblower-would like to arrange a trade for some dyes, by the way. Not just for the Christmas tree ornaments, I gather, but for some project of her own. I’m sending letters with Nick Minski to a number of glassblowers back home to find out what sort of dye is wanted.”
“Good work. Any trade item that helps tie the Rejoicers into the galactic economy is a find.
You’re to be commended.”
Marianne wasn’t feeling very commended, but she said, “Thank you, sir.”
“And keep up the good work-this Christmas idea of yours is turning out to be a big morale booster.”
That was the dismissal. Marianne excused herself and, feet dragging, she headed back to her office. “‘They’re not human,’“ she muttered to herself. “‘They’re aliens. It’s not as if they’ll really die of shame....’“ She slammed her door closed behind her and snarled aloud, “But Chornian can’t keep up work and the kids can’t play with their friends and his mate Chaylam can’t go to the market. What if they starve?”
“They won’t starve,” said a firm voice.
Marianne jumped.
“It’s just me,” said Nick Minski. “I’m early.” He leaned back in the chair and put his long legs up on her desk. “I’ve been watching how the neighbors behave. Friends-your friend Tatep included-take their leftovers to Chornian’s family. They won’t starve. At least, Chornian’s family won’t.
I’m not sure what would happen to someone who is generally unpopular.”
Nick was head of the ethnology team studying the Rejoicers. At least he had genuine observation to base his decisions on.
He tipped the chair to a precarious angle. “I can’t begin to guess whether or not helping Chornian will land Tatep in the same hot water, so I can’t reassure you there. I take it from your muttering that Clarence won’t make a formal protest.”
Marianne nodded.
He straightened the chair with a bang that made Marianne start. “Shit,” he said. “Doggett’s such a pissant.”
Marianne grinned ruefully. “God, I’m going to miss you, Nick. Diplomats aren’t permitted to speak in such matter-of-fact terms.”
“I’ll be back in a year. I’ll bring you fireworks for your next Christmas.” He grinned.
“We’ve been through that, Nick. Fireworks may be part of your family’s Christmas tradition, but they’re not part of mine. All that banging and flashing of light just wouldn’t feel right to me, not on
Christmas.”
“Meanwhile,” he went on, undeterred, “you think about my offer. You’ve learned more about Tatep and his people than half the folks on my staff; academic credentials or no, I can swing putting you on the ethnology team. We’re short-handed as it is. I’d rather have skipped the rotation home this year but...”
“You can’t get everything you want, either.”
He laughed. “I think they’re afraid we’ll all go native if we don’t go home one year in five.” He preened and grinned suddenly. “How d’you think I’d look in quills?”
“Sharp,” she said and drew a second burst of laughter from him.
There was a knock at the door. Marianne stretched out a toe and tapped the latch. Tatep stood on the threshold, his quills still bristling from the cold. “Hi, Tatep-you’re just in time. Come share.”
His laughter subsiding to a chuckle, Nick took his feet from the desk and greeted Tatep in
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high-formal Rejoicer. Tatep returned the favor, then added by way of explanation, “Marianne is sharing her Christmas with me.”
Nick cocked his head at Marianne. “But it’s not for some time yet....”
“I know,” said Marianne. She went to her desk and pulled out a wrapped package. “Tatep, Nick is my very good friend. Ordinarily, we exchange gifts on Christmas Day but since Nick won’t be here for Christmas, I’m going to give him his present now.”
She held out the package. “Merry Christmas, Nick. A little too early, but-”
“You’ve hidden the gift in paper,” said Tatep. “Is that also traditional?”
“Traditional but not necessary. Some of the pleasure is the surprise involved,” Nick told the Rejoicer. With a side-long glance and a smile at Marianne, he held the package to his ear and shook it.
“And some of the pleasure is in trying to guess what’s in the package.” He shook it and listened again.
“Nope, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
He laid the package in his lap.
Tatep flicked his tail in surprise. “Why don’t you open it?”
“In my family, it’s traditional to wait until Christmas Day to open your presents, even if they’re wrapped and sitting under the Christmas tree in plain sight for three weeks or more.”
Tatep clambered onto the stool to give him a stare of open astonishment from a more effective angle.
“Oh, no!” said Marianne. “Do you really mean it, Nick? You’re not going to open it until Christmas Day?”
Nick laughed again. “I’m teasing.” To Tatep, he said, “It’s traditional in my family to wait-but it’s also traditional to find some rationalization to open a gift the minute you lay hands on it.
Marianne wants to see my expression; I think that takes precedence in this case.”
His long fingers found a cranny in the paper wrapping and began to worry it ever so slightly.
“Besides, our respective homeworlds can’t agree on a date for Christmas.... On some world today must be Christmas, right?”
“Good rationalizing,” said Marianne, with a sigh and a smile of relief. “Right!”
“Right,” said Tatep, catching on. He leaned precariously from his perch to watch as Nick ripped open the wrapping paper.
“Tchaikovsky made me think of it,” Marianne said. “Although, to be honest, Tchaikovsky’s nutcracker wasn’t particularly traditional. This one is: take a close look.”
He did. He held up the brightly painted figure, took in its green weskit, its striped silver tights, its flamboyant mustache. Four metal loops jangled at its carved belt and Nick laughed aloud.
With a barely suppressed smile, Marianne handed him a “walnut” of the local variety.
Nick stopped laughing long enough to say, “You mean, this is a genuine, honest-to-god, working nutcracker?”
“Well, of course it is! My family’s been making them for years.” She made a motion with her hands to demonstrate. “Go ahead-crack that nut!”
Nick put the nut between the cracker’s prominent jaws and, after a moment’s hesitation, closed his eyes and went ahead. The nut gave with an audible and very satisfying craaack! and Nick began to laugh all over again.
“Share the joke,” said Tatep.
“Gladly,” said Marianne. “The Christmas nutcracker, of which that is a prime example, is traditionally carved to resemble an authority figure-particularly one nobody much likes. It’s a way of getting back at the fraudulent, the pompous. Through the years they’ve poked fun at everybody from princes to policemen to”-Marianne waved a gracious hand at her own carved figure-”well, surely you recognize him.”
“Oh, my,” said Tatep, his eyes widening. “Clarence Doggett, is it not?” When Marianne nodded, Tatep said, “Are you about to get your head shaved again?”
Marianne laughed enormously. “If I do, Tatep, this time I’ll paint my scalp red and green-traditional Christmas colors-and hang one of Killim’s glass ornaments from my ear. Not likely, though,” she added to be fair. “Clarence doesn’t go in for head shaving.” To Nick, who had clearly taken in Tatep’s “again,” she said, “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”@
Nick nodded and stuck another nut between Clarence’s jaws. This time he watched as the nut gave way with a explosive bang. Still laughing, he handed the nutmeat to Tatep, who ate it and rattled his quills in laughter of his own. Marianne was doubly glad she’d invited Tatep to share the occasion-now she knew exactly what to make him for Christmas.
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It wasn’t the color of the tree Tatep had helped her choose. The tree was the perfect Christmas tree shape, and if its foliage was a red so deep it approached black, that didn’t matter a bit.
“Next year we’ll have Killim make some green ornaments,” Marianne said to Tatep, “for the proper contrast.”
Tinsel-silver thread she’d bought from one of the Rejoicer weavers and cut to length-flew in all directions. All seven of the kids who’d come to Rejoicing with their ethnologist parents were showing the Rejoicers the “proper” way to hang tinsel, which meant more tinsel was making it onto the kids and the Rejoicers than onto the tree.
Just as well. She’d have to clean the tinsel off the tree before she passed it on to Hapet and Achinto-well-seasoned and just the thing for growing children.
Nick would really have enjoyed seeing this, Marianne thought. Esperanza was filming the whole party, but that just wasn’t the same as being here.
Killim brought the glass ornaments herself. She’d made more than the commissioned dozen.
The dozen glass balls she gave to Marianne. Each was a swirl of colors, each unique. Everyone ooohed and aaahed-but the best was yet to come. From her sidepack, Killim produced a second container.
“Presents,” she said. “A present for your Awakening Tree.”
Inside the box was a menagerie of tiny, bright glass animals: notrabbits, fingerfish, wispwings....
Each one had a loop of glass at the top to allow them to be hung from the tree. Scarcely trusting herself with such delicate objects of art, Marianne passed them on to George to string and hang.
Later, she took Killim aside and with Tatep’s help, thanked her profusely for the gifts. “Though I’m not sure she should have. Tell her I’ll be glad to pay for them, Tatep. If she’d had them in her shop, I’d have snapped them up on the spot. I didn’t know how badly our Christmas needed them until I saw her unwrap them.”
Tatep spoke for a long time to Killim, who rattled all the while. Finally, Tatep rattled too.
“Marianne, three humans have commissioned Killim to make animals for them to send home.”
Killim said something Marianne didn’t catch. “Three humans in the last five minutes. She says, Think of this set as a-as an advertisement.”
“No, you may not pay me for them,” Killim said, still rattling. “I have gained something to trade for my dyes.”
“She says,” Tatep began.
“It’s okay, Tatep. That I understood.”
Marianne hung the wooden ornaments she’d carved and painted in bright colors, then she unsnagged a handful of tinsel from Tatep’s ruff, divided it in half, and they both flung it onto the tree.
Tatep’s handful just barely missed Matsimoto who was hanging strings of beads he’d bought in the bazaar, but Marianne’s got Juliet, who was hanging chains of paper cranes it must have taken her the better part of the month to fold. Juliet laughed and pulled the tinsel from her hair to drape it-length by length and neatly-over the deep red branches.
Then Kelleb brought out the star. Made of silver wire delicately filigreed, it shone just the way a Christmas tree star should. He hoisted Juliet to his shoulders and she affixed it to the top of the tree and the entire company burst into cheers and applause.
Marianne sighed and wondered why that made her feel so down. “If Nick had been here,”
Tatep observed, “I believe he could have reached the top without an assistant.”
“I think you’re right,” said Marianne. “I wish he were here. He’d enjoy this.” Just for a moment, Marianne let herself realize that what was missing from this Christmas was Nick Minski.
“Next year,” said Tatep.
“Next year,” said Marianne. The prospect brightened her.
The tree glittered with its finery. For a moment they all stood back and admired it-then there was a scurry and a flurry as folks went to various bags and hiding places and brought out the brightly wrapped presents. Marianne excused herself from Tatep and Killim and brought out hers to heap at the bottom of the tree with the rest.
Again there was a moment’s pause of appreciation. Then Clarence Doggett-of all people-raised his glass and said, “A toast! A Christmas toast! Here’s to Marianne, for bringing Christmas thirty light years from old Earth!”
Marianne blushed as they raised their glasses to her. When they’d finished, she raised hers and found the right traditional response: “A Merry Christmas-and, God bless us, every one!”
“Okay, Marianne. It’s your call,” said Esperanza. “Do we open the presents now or”-her voice turned to a mock whine-”do we hafta wait till tomorrow?”
