A Christmas Miracle on Dewdrop

"A stage," Taylor said, "that's... artificial. It's a concert!"

"Copenhagen," Franck said with a distant voice.

"What?" One of the new arrivals asked.

"'The Little Mermaid,' statue in Copenhagen Harbor, on Earth," Franck explained, "her, the singer. Looks just like that."

"And the Odyssey," said someone still in one of the passageways, "sirens, singing on the rocks!"

The video showed her lift her arms and the massed voices quieted. Her lower body glittered red and gold in Dirtball's light, the swell of a tail fin just visible with the rest under the water. Lui zoomed on the singer.

"Wow," said Jenkins, "she's got a set on..."

"Mister," Taylor said firmly and he cut off his statement, "but yes, very human-like breasts. But that neck."

The singer in the video launched into her next song.

"Christmas... did she just say...," Franck's question was cut short by Taylor's 'shh.'

"Chief, analyse," she said and Lui nodded. Faces screwed in concentration at the song, the words seemed just out of reach.

"Working. But two voices," Lui said softly, "like a duet, but just her... she's awesome. Fourth stanza, coming up."

A murmured buzz broke out that not even Taylor could block.

"She said 'Broadway,' I know it," Franck said, "and... 'New York.'"

Her voice went into a wordless chant as it slowed and deepened.

"Quite the change," Lui said, "it's... if I were doing that it would be a dirge."

"I agree," said Taylor, "language analysis? Anything like human languages?"

"Computer's cross-referencing..."

The singer seemed to end the dirge and there was a smattering of applause and those 'hoots,' low and slow. She morphed her voice back to the chords and cadence of the song and there was a sudden restlessness in the audience.

"Those are children," Taylor said as Lui moved the focus to the audience to show smaller versions of the singer, hair and skin a wide range of colors, adults 'stood' alongside them in the water. The children sat on and hopped up and down on those stones and put out a growing volume of hoots. The singer held her arms horizontal and lowered them and the children quieted. The computer said there were ninety-eight youths in the group.

Taylor knew sentient intelligence when she saw it. This was no instinctual ritual. The singer was trained, skilled. Her 'choir' was reacting to commands. The singer brought her voice to a pause and raised her arms. The mass of voices were much rougher than the soloist but they sang.

"De bays ov de N Y P D cwayair... wair sayngang gullway beay..."

"Shit," Franck said and Taylor didn't stop him, her mouth was open, "they just sang N Y P D..."

"End de ballsh wair rayngang awt fur Christmash Deay..."

"English," Lui said as she stared at her screen, "they're singing in English. And... that's not all... fuck."

She shook her head and muttered. "Can't be... can't be..."

"Chief," Taylor said, "out with it."

"The computer says they're singing something called 'Fairytale of New York,' written by a band called... 'The Pogues,' in.. in nineteen bloody eighty-seven! Their pronunciation has shifted significantly, but the computer says it's English and this song is from Earth."

The children quieted and the singer hit a fast cadence. Accepting it was English, the listeners better discerned them as the words rang through the little lab in perfect pitch.

"You're a bum... you're a punk... you're an old slut on junk..."

"What kind of song is this? What does that mean?" Taylor asked. Lui worked her screen.

"Happy Christmas your arse... I pray god it's our last..."

The singer had repeated her arm movements and the 'choir' sang the chorus again.

"It's a Christmas song," Lui said, "isn't that obvious?"

That got a few snorts. The song continued for another stanza and another chorus. Lui worked furiously at her screen. Everyone else was frozen. At the end the audience erupted in cheers and hoots and the video showed a few of the children falling off the rocks where they splashed but no one seemed hurt.

The singer let the chaos continue a few moments before she let out a series of chords.

"That was her neck," Taylor said as she stared at the screen, "oh, gills. Those are gills."

"Rudolph the red nosed ridgehead..."

The next song. 'Parents' lifted little bodies and placed them back onto their rocks where they hopped and sang with obvious enthusiasm. The children picked up the second line.

"Oh, hell," Lui said, "this is a Christmas concert!"

The science team went silent and listened. Rudolph was followed by Jingle Bells which was followed by...

"Jolly Old Saint Nick," Lui said, "they have Santa Claus."

The song ended and it was chaos. The singer had slid off her rock and children and apparently their parents all hugged and kissed her as she worked her way away from the drone's vantage. They couldn't pick up words in the noise. But a few had moved closer and offered good views of the upper bodies.

"Those hoots," Taylor said, "they make those with those gills down each side of their necks. They're very humanoid and the adults are a bit larger than an adult human. Mostly that tail. Their upper bodies are well within human norms, if oddly muscled. But, they're aquatic so no surprise."

"The eyes," Lui said, "big, good for underwater, large ears. Sonic language?"

"Very likely," said Taylor, "since we don't see them constantly on the surface, except for these events. They must be able to communicate underwater. Noses. Gills. Definitely air breathing."

"Back there," Lui moved the focus to show four creatures towing flat floats, all had rather large breasts, "ah, look. Food. Banquet."

"I saw one nursing a baby," Franck said, "so those breasts..."

"Also," Lui said quickly, "I saw two, a male and female, the male's arm was crippled or something, don't know if born like that or injured. But healed. They... take care of each other. Love... empathy."

"Not just for show, right. Get me the singer," Taylor said and the focus shifted until Lui found her just beyond the crowd, they all seemed to float easily with their mid-abdomen and up above the water.

"There," Lui said, "talking to three males. Well, I guess, no breasts. No hope of getting her audio in this mess."

"Fair enough," Taylor said, "now we just need to work out how they know Earth Christmas songs that are over a millennium old, more songs than we know! No one on the expedition, crew, sleepers, has ever even been to Earth. And, hell. That they have Christmas. And Dirtball... What's going on in this system? Two humanoid species on disconnected planets. No indication either could've ever crossed. We need a tissue sample. We have an initial view of how this planet's version of DNA works, we need theirs. Do they fit with the fish? There's nothing else here like them we've found."

"This isn't Dewdrop, this is Mermaid Planet. It's the magic of the season," Franck said slowly as they all stared at the singer's face that Lui had pulled into a soft and close focused still, her face and gills surrounded by a fall of long, red hair.

Spies Like Us

"Where are they?" Sirena bobbed in the choppy waters of Galway Bay and scanned the heavy forest. This side of the island had avoided the worst damage from when Madagascar had blown its top a decade ago so trees and plants reached the narrow sand beach in an unbroken mass and even the streams that reached the sea weren't large here. Gerry and his friend who'd turned out to be Fergal bobbed next to her and after discussion she'd had them guide her to this wild and overgrown kelp field to use for cover. Sirena had added long distance running to her workout regimen since the orcas and even the two hunters were pressed to keep up. But Nigel had lagged and she'd given him the face-saving role to act as watch at the south end of the big island, halfway in the trip. If they didn't make it back by the time Swegl set in two days he was to go and warn the settlement.

Sirena had kept them deep despite it slowing their speed, if her suspicions were right the Kringles had flying things with eyes that could see great distances. Could they see down? Pterodactyls and other flyers could see prey and dive after it. She and Beatrice had taken secret trips with the 'lens' and even with the cracked crystal it was amazing.

Nothing was visible but vegetation but the pterodactyls that nested on various of the high cliffs seemed out of sorts. She wasn't an expert on them but she knew almost every adult would normally set out in the early morning to search for schools of fish. It seemed more than usual soared only around the cliffs and called out in anger rather than flying off. Well, they had no other tone, but still, something didn't seem right. hunters made intermittent but regular trips to Galway Bay as different kinds of prey had their turns stopping in as currents pushed blooms of plankton through the bay. Gerry and Fergal specialized in a few kinds, the trout season had been the last few days but the school had moved on. They hadn't thought about it until she'd asked but on their most recent trip the pterodactyls 'hadn't been as annoying as usual, we usually have to fight the fuckers.'

Gerry nudged her shoulder and spoke softly. "Up there, about ten lengths straight up from that big, flat rock."

Sirena looked, thought she saw... something. Every child learned from infancy about the Kringle. He wore red with white bits. There was a 'Missus' Kringle but she stayed home. The Kringle had some sort of head covering, a red 'cap.' Fat old Lobster wasn't the only one who dressed as a Kringle and distributed gifts for the little ones... but he was far and away the best. His 'ho ho ho,' was deep and booming and cheerful, just like it was supposed to be.

Gerry and Fergal claimed that Kringles, plural, were here. Now. They described creatures about the size of people, or so they thought, dressed in red with white bits and no faces. That was different. But the Kringle had a 'beard,' hair growing from his face, maybe that was it, they'd not been close. People didn't grow hair from their faces. But the Kringle wasn't a person, Kringles were... Kringles. Besides. The Kringle had 'legs.' Only Sisters had legs, they'd grow them to go wandering. People didn't have legs.

Without taking her eye off the trees she opened the running pack she'd brought. Gerry and Fergal had food and extra knives in theirs and each had an extra short spear attached. She pulled out the 'lens' and moved kelp strands around so she and it stayed mostly hidden.

"What's that?" Gerry whispered.

"Later," Sirena said as she twisted the lens. She and Beatrice had figured out how to work around the cracked crystal and it took her a few minutes to find the right spot. She let out a very soft hoot.

There were two of them, covered in red. They were shaped like people, mostly. Their lower bodies were split. Legs. Those were... legs. Not like the sticks that flyers had under their bodies. They had something white around the middle of their bodies. Just like Kringles should have. They had some sort of packs on their backs. And they had their heads covered. Like they should. Their legs allowed them to move around on ground. They used tools with their hands like people did and one chopped and cut at plants and the other hunted prey in a small stream.

A few Melons and explorers like... like Theo, had used rivers to explore Madagascar and other islands. All they'd ever seen was what they could see now before they'd get to waterfalls that couldn't be climbed. And the prey once you were far from the sea was worthless. It wasn't tasty and too small to bother with. But was it different for Kringles? Maybe they were hungry, they were not fat like they should be.

But with these legs the Kringles moved. It was like how people walked, upright. Did they run? But they couldn't run like people did. They'd be... flat.

There was something else odd. The chest of one of the Kringles was swollen. Tits? Missus Kringle has come?

Then the other one turned. Sirena hooted. The head covering was red on top and white on the back but she could see through the front. She tried to quickly adjust the focus but the Kringle turned too quickly. The face had had hair on it. But it wasn't white hair. It was dark. Like Alphonse had on his head. And like Theo... Then the maybe-woman turned. Sirena hooted. She felt the nervous bodies next to her but ignored them. Her face was black. Like Aisha and others. The Kringle had red and white clothes and hair on his face, but people of all colors could play them. So it was accurate.

Were these really Kringles? They had red and white coverings. And hair on his face, it wasn't white, but. The Kringle was old and people's hair would go gray or white, like Lobster's hair had so he was perfect as the Kringle. But wouldn't there be young ones then? They were different skin colors. All that was... correct. The red clad beings continued their tasks as Sirena sidled closer to Gerry and handed him the lens.

"Look through, like crystals, twist it until it's clear," he blinked but worked it and hooted in surprise.

After a moment Sirena nudged him and repeated the viewing with Fergal. Then she took the lens back and watched as the pair of Kringles picked up a bag each and used their legs to 'walk' deeper into the forest.

"We need to go and tell the Melons and the Margaret," Gerry whispered and Fergal hooted softly in agreement.

"No," said Sirena, "not yet. It is seven twentyfourths until Christmas. I don't have another concert until the Eve. We will stay here and see if the Kringles are preparing gifts."

She looked at one doubting face then the other.

"But if either of you lack the will to stay, I'm sure Nigel would appreciate company."

Hunters had camping nests in the reef that anchored the kelp field and her companions were currently asleep, they worked out a rotation to watch through the night and Sirena had taken the first shift. She nibbled on a bit of salmon that an Anastasia friend of hers had prepared with chili spices and it offered just enough heat without overriding the yummy flesh. The Sister was overhead and the flat surface glowed with its red light and the cool air had her in the mood to sing, a mood she resisted. For now. She was quite sure Kringles could hear, the pair earlier would turn and look at each other, their actions just what people would do in conversation while they worked at something. But she wasn't ready to do more than watch.

She went still when she heard a sound to her right. She rotated slowly, the lens was in a little bag she'd brought. She had a new, metal knife that she'd had Cromley Melon craft from her second piece of metal but her pack and spear were with the boys. Predators often followed schools on their visits to the bay, but the animals who lived here for the full orbit were mostly not good prey for people and orcas and sharks. Many were pretty and made good pets, if you caught them young to train them. But most people who wanted such would get them from already tamed ones who had babies around the settlement.

There was a middling sized river north of them that fed the bay. There was a larger river much further to the north and Sirena had travelled up it with her Old Melon and others, it curved around a mountain and went off into the distance on mostly flat ground. She'd gotten bored and stayed behind but nothing exciting had been found. The nearer one curved wildly around cliffs, the debate had been if it was a proper 'feejord' or not. Sirena worked the lens from the bag but went still.

A barge. With... were Kringles on it? There were three creatures, she could see their upper bodies. How did it move? There was no mast, no sail, but there was no wind anyway. There were no ropes, it wasn't being towed. There was a sound... a hum? One of the creatures sat at the rear and moved something and the barge turned slightly toward her position. They'd come from the river, Sirena guessed, and it seemed like they might be on an angle to go past the reef. Would they come close to this side? She sent a 'danger, be alert but stay still' hoot and repeated it and received soft acknowledgements. Good. The boys didn't have expansive educations but they travelled the open country and knew enough fieldcraft and to obey now and ask questions later. Most city dwellers like Nigel tended to not be so careful, especially since predators had long since learned to give the settlements a wide berth. She'd been like him up until a few months ago. No longer.

The little barge the Kringles rode sent out a wake that set the kelp fluttering. Good. She could move without obviously disturbing it but she couldn't focus the lens and track them so she held it with both hands at her chest.

They wore red, as expected, but they had large cylinders on their backs that reflected dully reddish-silver in the Sister's light. Metal? They looked like metal. She'd never seen such large pieces. And wearing them? What were they for? Kringles carried large bags of gifts, not metal, on their backs. She wasn't surprised when they arced around the edge of the reef, more than one barge had floundered when inattention or error had sent them onto such dangerous surfaces. As it rounded and turned on an angle toward her location she heard another soft buzz. Behind. Above.

She knew she'd jumped slightly but again, the wake from the Kringles hopefully hid her. She turned her head to the left.

Two flyers sped over her. They were... black, not white. But with white tips. That same crossed shape Bebe and Sy had described. At the top of each tip something spun faster than she'd ever seen anything move. And at the meeting point of the arms a crystal. Yes. A lens?

The flyers sped due south, parallel to the beach. As she turned her head Sirena saw one of the Kringles wave an arm at them. And they answered! They... rocked up and down twice.

She grinned. She'd been right. But the feeling morphed quickly into sadness. Beatrice was amazingly patient and would let her jabber on about stuff that her friend didn't understand. But she'd lost her Old Melon. And Theo. None of the other Melons truly took the singer seriously. All singers, and Chaucers and Shelleys, were "silly, shallow, people, useful to keep the people entertained." Or so the new Old Melon thought, Sirena knew. Bebe and Sy had become true friends, but they were practical people. If it didn't help them catch more prey for less work, it wasn't really useful. And one of these flyers had cost Sy the use of his arm and almost cost them all their lives and it was not a subject to be discussed.

She caught herself and exhaled slowly to avoid the almost automatic mournful hoot. The little barge's hum stopped and it went to a float. Somehow, the hum pushed it. Now. Sounds. She glided to the very edge of the kelp field. Voices? Talking? Maybe. But too far, soft, to know. The Kringles were maybe twelve lengths from her. One of them fussed at those metal cylinders on the backs of the other two. She brought the lens to her eye. The Kringle turned or worked something... artificer! Then one turned and repeated the action for the third. The other one reached down in the barge and... ah, dropped a small anchor and let the rope play out.

Her mouth gaped in surprise as first one then the other two Kringles sat on the edge of the barge and after a moment dropped backwards! How odd and clumsy. But they must've flipped around because their heads popped up and they stayed in a loose circle. Could they walk like people. But how? Legs weren't like people's bodies. Two of them went back to the barge and twisted something that extended over the edge of the barge. Then they returned to their circle.