CRASH!

by Juliet Eyeions and Paul Brazier

‘Bugger!’ said Santa, and he pulled at his beard in frustration. The computer had crashed again. He hit the restart button as hard as he dared, and pushed himself away from the monitor, stretching and yawning. The elves had worked long hours of overtime, with fingers more used to fairy hammers and magic needles dancing over keyboards until they had finished the data entry only a few hours earlier. This was the fifth time since then that the computer had crashed, and he was getting nowhere. He was beginning to regret sending Rudolph home so precipitately; it looked as if they were going to need his special skills after all.
  Outside, the lanes and alleyways of Santa City were covered, deep and crisp and even, with a gorgeous coat of snow. All the elves and their wiveses and elvets were snugged up safe and warm in their beds, with only the nightlights next to the sherry and mincepies gleaming at the windows, by the fireplaces and in the hallways. All round the world, parents and children slept soundly, confident that when they woke in the morning, Santa would have been to visit.
  Santa was tired. And this was new; for Santa to be tired before he had even set off to deliver the presents was unheard of. But the computer kept crashing. It was supposed to make everything more efficient – lists compiled and entered on the database and calibrated against the individual child’s behaviour for the year, optimum suppliers and delivery dates, and a complete delivery list, with every child’s wants and desserts listed against availability and accessibility, so that all he had to do was make the final decision on what they should receive, then output the list to the new computerised warehouse sleigh, and go along for the ride on the delivery (and to collect his free sherry and mincepies, of course).
  And yet, here he was, halfway through Christmas night, and the final list wasn’t even complete. It was way, way too late to go back and do this the traditional way. The only way all the children of the world were going to get their presents was for Santa to make this blooming computer work. The prompt came up, and he sat down to work again.
  The gray light of pre-dawn was just beginning to silhouette the rooftops of Santa City when he at last sat back from the computer. He pressed ‘save’, then gasped in disbelief as the now-familiar message appeared: “your program has generated an internal error at 004D F199: press ‘close’ or ‘ignore’. If you choose ‘ignore’, save your work in a new file, quit all Windows programs and reboot before attempting to continue”. He pressed ‘ignore’, but he knew from experience that he would immediately receive the same message, but without the ignore option. And indeed that is exactly what happened. He rebooted again, and turned, stretching, to the window.
  “Oh, no!,” he cried, as he saw the creeping light in the sky. “I’ll never get it all done now, not even with the HAL’s help!” He slumped back into his chair, and gazed vacantly at the screen.
  A silvery shimmering noise filled the control room of Santa Centre, and, before his very eyes, two humanoid figures appeared.
  “Who are you?” he managed to say, as the white-skinned one sat down at his computer. The green-skinned one replied,
  “My name is Spock, and this is Lieutenant Commander Data. We have been seconded by our respective captains to help solve your computer problems.”
  “But why… why are you here?”
  “It is in the interests of all fantastic characters that children of the world not be disabused of their fictional nature. If they do not believe in Santa Claus, then it is but a short step to…”
  Just then, a grinding, tearing, roaring, screeching noise filled Santa Centre, and a large blue police call box, complete with flashing blue lamp on the roof, appeared in a vacant corner. The door opened, and a cheerily inquisitive man in silly clothes stepped out.
  “Hello,” he said. “I’m the Doctor. Is there anything wrong?”
 “It would appear,” said Data, “that Santa Claus here has attempted to modernise his operations in order to economise and become more efficient.   “Unfortunately, despite being Quality Assured under BS5750, there are several vital concepts absent from the computer program he is attempting to run.”
  “You mean I’ve been wasting my time,” exclaimed Santa.
  “Sir, this computer program cannot do what is claimed for it. In short, sir, you have been conned.”
  “But what am I going to do?” wailed Santa.
  “I think I can be of help,” said the Doctor. He put his arm around Santa’s shoulders, and led him to one side. “D’you think you could get your reindeer and sleigh through that door?” he said, indicating the Tardis.
  “Why, that’s a ridiculous notion,” wheezed Santa.
  “No more ridiculous than a fat old man in a red suit squeezing his way down a myriad chimneys in a night, I dare to say,” said the Doctor. “You’d better get Rudolph back in here, and try.”
  “But I’ve sent him home,” said Santa, only to be interrupted by a crash as the doors flew open and Rudolph pranced in.
  “Rudolph had no more faith in your computer than you should have had,” said the Doctor. “Now, if you please, could you be as quiet as possible; I wouldn’t want to wake Ace and spoil her Christmas…” He opened the door of the Tardis, and Rudolph led the other reindeer in. The Doctor followed with Santa, and, as Data and Spock turned unsurprised glances to one another, the grinding, crushing noise started up again, and the police box faded away…
  …only to reappear again almost immediately.
The door opened, and Santa and the Doctor emerged, arms around each other, Santa’s nose now rather redder than Rudolph’s. Data stepped forward.
  “Was the time step not successful? We have developed a technique aboard the Enterprise which may be of use…”
  “In fact, it was developed by us on the first Enterprise,” Spock interrupted, “and merely enhanced in your later version. However, it has been proved to be effective…”
  “Oh do shut up the pair of you,” said Santa. “The Doctor’s Tardis worked perfectly. We went back in time to last night, and I delivered all the presents on time, and then he brought me back here to where, I mean, when, we left from. Thank you, Doctor, my dear chap.”
  “If we are no longer needed,” said Spock, “we will return to our respective vessels. May we report that a Merry Christmas is now assured?”
  “Of course, but do stay for a little drink,” said Santa.
  “Human intoxicants have no relish for me,” said Spock, “and Data is an android, and therefore would be unaffected by any such. But we thank you for your generosity.”
  “Before you go,” said the Doctor, “tell me, how did you know you were needed here?” Spock raised an eyebrow; but Data answered:
  “Elementary, my dear Doctor. A disastrous Christmas would have untold ramifications down the time lines. There was a reality flicker. We simply traced it back to here and now, and came here to try to solve the problem, as always. As the problem seemed to be computer-based, Spock and I were sent to help. But I have to tell you that, while the problem was computer-based, the real problem is that you cannot do Santa’s magic with a HAL. Now, if you will excuse us…” He touched a brooch on his chest and said “Data to Enteprise, two to beam up.” The silver shimmering noise returned, and the two alien figures faded and were gone.
  “What did he mean, Doctor,” asked Santa, slumping into his chair. “Should I have bought a Mac instead?”
  “No,” said the Doctor. “While the Macintosh seems like magic to use, there are some things even it can’t do. What you do, you do best by your own combination of intuition and magic and kindness, and no computer will ever emulate that. Now, if you will excuse me…” The Doctor stepped into the Tardis, saying “Ah, Merry Christmas, Ace. You’ll never guess who I’ve just been talking to…” The grinding screeching filled Santa Centre control room once more, the box faded and disappeared and then all was quiet.
  “Well,” said Santa, smiling. “Well, I’m blowed…” He patted Rudolph gently. “…and a Merry Christmas to you too.”

"Crash!" is copyright © 1993 Paul Brazier & Juliet Eyeions

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