The Collected Kagan by Janet Kagan

Author:Janet Kagan [Kagan, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHRISTMAS WINGDING

for Debra Poenisch, who brought the flowers,

and for Richard E. Cross, who cooked the catfish

By tradition, Gabe Jackley manned the Customs' desk at Butterfly's spaceport on Christmas Eve. Usually there wasn't a single passenger to welcome or a solitary bag to check but---should there be---everybody on Butterfly trusted Gabe to handle the situation correctly. Gabe took the task for the honor it was and hummed to himself as he finished wrapping the presents he'd brought along. He'd just managed to trap a fingertip his a peach-pink bow when the comm unit sprang to life---a ship from Foolhardy requested permission to land.

Gabe granted Captain Kogel permission, extricated his finger, and keyed his window to watch the landing. Foolhardy was one of the central worlds---central in that most of the Commonwealth worlds did their government business there---and Kogel was riding a Silver Needle 4 this time. A sweet ship and an expensive one. When Gabe saw that he shoved back the excitement that had risen in him over a Christmas Eve landing. That kind of ship could only mean government bureaucrats or tourists stopping for a few days' land-'fresher. In Gabe's mind, good things were more likely to come in an old battered Bugcrusher II, like the one that sat at the far end of the field.... He smiled to see that someone had looped a wreath of peachywands over the tip of the Bugcrusher's nose.

With a subdued rumble, the Silver Needle set down. Gabe watched as the ship extruded a pair of struts and canted over to one side to allow the passengers to disembark at ground level. Fancy, he thought. He admired the technology, but he reserved his smile once again for the delapidated Bugcrusher II.

After a moment, he thought to kick one of the followmes into motion. It trundled over to the arriving tourists with nothing more on its rudimentary chips than to pick up cargo and deliver it to the Customs' House. It trundled back with a half-dozen people, all dressed in their Sunday best, but not the sort of true Sunday best Gabe would have expected from a tour group come for the holidays. These folk were all dressed in shades of grey and black. He gave an involuntary glance at his packages, all of which were wrapped in the traditional Christmas pink and orange and peach. Well, maybe grey was traditional for them?

He opened the door and ushered them inside. "Merry Christmas," he said, "and welcome to Butterfly." The woman who seemed to be in charge was young, plump and pillow-soft, with bright disbelieving eyes. Gabe had the odd thought that she might pinch herself at any moment, to assure herself she wasn't dreaming. He rather hated to interject a note of reality, but he did: "Have you anything to declare?"

For answer, she drew her passport from her pouch to spread beside Gabe's stack of packages. Diplomatic passport, he saw. One of Foolhardy's finest. The hologram inside astonished him; unlike the usual passport photos, hers showed such a grin of triumph that he was grinning back when he looked up at her.

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