A Very Blackstar Christmas Pt. II

The Ornaments

Marshall walked into the first floor lounge immersed in his digital letter-reader and accidentally stepped on a Varythian Icicle. A boys’ choir sang. Marshall started and looked up and started again.

He was standing at the shore of the ornament sea, staring at what looked like a glittery upside-down cone with shapely jean-clad legs.

“Hey, honey,” came Aurora’s tired voice from the direction of the legs.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Marshall. “That’s a lot of ornaments, babe.”

Aurora’s head popped out. “That’s because half of them are those self-replicating ornaments from Aglian. Remember?”

Marshall remembered. He had bought them for her as an ill-advised third-Christmas-anniversary present.

Agliate (or the "starfish element," as it was known among the marginally-normal) was prized and/or dreaded for its heat-activated memory properties. At extremely high temperatures, the agliate was molded into the desired shape. Once it cooled, if it ever chanced to shatter, the pieces would somehow expand into near-perfect replicas of the original. Science had yet to conjure a boring explanation for this phenomenon. But such is sometimes the nature of the universe.

“When Lucas was helping me unload these,” Aurora explained, “he dropped and then triggered one of those tiny explosives he idiotically carries around for no intelligent reason.”

“I’m still here,” said Crush, holding up lights. His arms were getting sore.

“Of course,” Aurora said, “it would shatter the ugliest one.” She held up one of a squat, holly-clad native with three teeth. It was devouring a baby seal on a stick like a corn dog. Many identical copies lay around the floor like festive zits.

“It’s not ugly,” Marshall said. “It’s historical, cultural.” He paused, looking for a safe third word.

“Sexy,” offered Crush.

“Unique,” said Marshall.

“The 'Seal-Feast Jubilee' is a tourist myth, dear,” Aurora said tiredly. “It says so in large red letters on the box. Anyway, there are like several hundred more of these.”

“Okay,” said Marshall. He did not have anything else to say.

The Cards

Marshall cleared his throat to signal an impending subject change.

“So I was going to ask you about the Christmas cards,” he said with false enthusiasm.

“Oh those.” Aurora did not even attempt to sound enthusiastic. “Let’s just do the silver ones with the gold ribbon again and get Raymond to delete that horrible song they play.”

Crush did not mention was a fan of the song. It was eleven-year-old singing sensation Lu-Belle Wissahickon’s seminal holiday electro-dance-pop hit, Christmas With My Lover.

The lyrics began to swim through his head.

Christmas, baby, is a time for love

Passion falls like snowflakes from above

“Well,” Marshall said slowly, “They discontinued that particular line of cards.”

Baby give me all your love your love your love

Your love your love your love your love

“Thank heavens,” said Aurora.

Just give it to me give it to me give it to me now

Yeah yeah yeah luh luh luh love

Luh luh luh love ooaauh

“However,” Marshall went on even more slowly, “all the other cards are dramatically more expensive. And we just received a customer appreciation pack of about three thousand Lu-Belle Wissahickon cards, which is exactly how many we need according to the treaty.” He waved the letter-reader before Aurora’s face.

Come on, baby, just ignore the snow

Look, our mouths are under mistletoe

Aurora shrugged. “Then let’s just get Raymond to mute them. No big deal, right?”

Baby give me all your love your love your love

Your love your love your love your love

Marshall winced. “That’s the other thing. As a result of recent corporate deforms, the music is now locked into the product, and altering it in any manner is subject to galactic prosecution.”

Just give it to me give it to me give it to me now

Yeah yeah yeah luh luh luh love

“But we are galactic prosecution,” Aurora pointed out. “Ish.”

Luh luh luh love, luh luh luh loverboy ooaauh

Luh luh luh love, luh luh luh loverboy

“It looks like this,” Marshall concluded. He sighed and launched into lazily convenient expository dialogue. “We can either utilize the annoying cards we got for free and risk prosecution, or we can double last year’s extensive budget in order to procure some decent ones.” He sighed again for effect. “What does Thallos even do with three thousand Christmas cards? How is it necessary for maintaining stability in a region generally regarded as rural and underdeveloped? Why would they include such a random clause in the peace treaty we negotiated with them on our last mission? And why did the entire planet smell like wet socks in a broken dryer?”

Ooaauh ooaauh ooaauh

“Maybe their holiday cheer is distributed on welfare,” Aurora said.

Luh luh luh love, luh luh luh loverboy ooaauh

Luh luh luh love, luh luh luh loverboy

“Lucas,” said Aurora, “WILL YOU PLEASE STOP SINGING THAT SONG.”

“Sorry,” said a flushing Crush. He dropped the lights in embarrassment with a loud crash. “Sorry,” he said again. He bent over to pick them up and stepped on a seal-eating native figurine which promptly duplicated with a bloop sound. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Marshall. “We only keep those lights for inventory bingo. They’ve been broken for about three years.” Then he frowned with suspicion. “Why were you holding them up, anyway?”

“Well, after I,” started Crush.

It was Aurora’s turn to quickly change the subject. “Oh look! It’s time for tea.”