Just a dash of cinnamon. Maeve crouched over the one-pot stove in the kitchen of her ship. Open flames were forbidden in space, so roasting anything over a fire was out of the question. Cider warmed on a hot plate? Just fine. Cider… kind of. It was water with half of a re-hydrated apple, one box of orange juice, and the last of the spices from the supply run she and Paul made a couple months back. It was close enough to cider that Maeve didn’t care. Goddamn it, they would do Christmas if it killed her. Najah is going to kill me now that we don’t have any of the aromatics left. Oh well. They were stopping at Station Three in the Ligar System in a week’s time if their route went according to plan.
Maeve left her place at the stove to hit the intercom button near the wall, “Hello, and a Merry Christmas to you all. I’m calling a mandatory meeting in the biosphere room in exactly thirty minutes. Bring your Secret Santa gifts.” As the captain of the vessel, Maeve was obligated to make sure her crew allotted time for social activities. It was just her luck that her crew of three, herself and the two research scientists with objectives studying two entirely different phenomena, were the most anti-social people the Captain had ever had the pleasure of working for. This “Christmas” idea was a recommendation from one of her friends who had similar issues with his crew.
You can bring a horse to cider, but you can’t make it appreciate the efforts to enjoy a Terran-appropriate holiday. Maeve ladled the weak cider into three thermoses and started down towards the biosphere. The room was Maeve’s baby, and the only space besides her bed that she lay claim to. The biosphere was a sectioned-off portion of the common room where Maeve grew plants to varying degrees of success. She’d been cultivating one specimen specifically for this occasion.
Najah and Paul both entered the common room exactly thirty minutes after Maeve’s announcements. Massive snowflake garlands were strung from one end of the room to the other. Nothing like grey, plasteel walls covered in attempts at snowflakes by someone who’s never seen snow.
“Captain? Do we exchange gifts now?” Paul asked. He held a ball wrapped in a brown cotton sheet, one of the spare linens from the supply closet, and thrust it towards Maeve.
“Awww, Paul, you shouldn’t have,” Maeve said, taking the present. “Najah, mine’s for you.” She handed Najah a small envelope.
“Yes,” Najah replied, “If you had gotten Paul a gift, then I would have had to get a gift for myself, and that was not in the rules for the exchange.”
Maeve shook the ball, from which no sound emanated. “Alright, now, Najah give your gift to Paul and then we can decorate the tree.”
“I hooked yours up to your terminal. It should be ready when you return to your work station.” Najah gave a succinct nod to Paul and then ripped into her envelope. “A letter? An antique Terran-style letter?”
“Read it,” Maeve replied.
Najah read aloud, “You have been invited to the sixteenth birthday party of Miss Angeli Supranata,” she paused. “Captain, why am I going to a child’s birthday?”
Maeve couldn’t repress her grin anymore, “You, my friend, are going to the fanciest party you’ve ever been to in your life. Not only will you get to wear your nice clothes, I heard a rumor that the Supranatas invited that physicist you always gush over.”
Najah’s eyes were the size of saucers, “Xochtin Romero is going to be at a sixteen year old’s birthday?”
“And so will you. I had to pull a few strings, but I know the guy who runs their security detail. It’s going to be you, Romero, a herd of children, and nothing to do but talk science and math. Now, my turn.” Maeve set the heavy ball down carefully on the table in front of her. Underneath the spare linen sheet was a glass container filled with, “Dirt?” Maeve asked.
Paul nodded, “It’s dirt from the home world in Ligar.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, “I made us come out this way so I could pick it up. It’s some of the most fertile soil in the nearest five galaxies. I put it in the sphere because you said that presents should be wrapped nicely.”
“That’s perfect for the strain of—”
“Monstera Egregia that you’ve been trying to grow.”
Maeve nearly squealed. She looked to Najah again, “So, what’d you get Paul?”
“I had engineered a suite of nanobots to deploy from a station attached to your terminal. Once a week they will tidy your belongings so they stay inside your room. It’s a gift for all of us, really.”
“Thank you,” Paul said, “Now I can devote more time to the 67-PLB terraforming project.”
“Yes,” Najah agreed, “That was the intended outcome.” A rare smile, one with too many teeth slipped over her face.
“You guys,” Maeve said, “this is perfect. Thank you for going along with my mandatory social event.” She handed each of her crew their ciders and gestured to the curtain dividing the common space from the biosphere. “Now, our Christmas tree—which, before either of you correct me that this is not a ‘tree’—I know it’s not. This is the closest approximation to a tree we have.” Maeve unveiled her final gift to everyone, one tall Terran corn stalk. “It’s fragile at the top, so poke the ornaments I made into its base. Later we’re going to take the edible parts and explode them to make popcorn.” As the crew of The Philodendron bickered over which parts of the stalk were load-bearing and could hold the ornaments, Maeve sipped her cider, and for a moment, she understood the reason for a holiday none of them had ever celebrated before. Merry Christmas.
Lilly Smith is a recent graduate with degrees in Archaeology and Classical Studies. She can often be found in dirt of various times and places, or lost in a space opera.
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