A ‘Captain Scarlet’ Christmas story by

Sage Harper

“I have a bad feeling…” Ochre murmured over the rim of his mug of tea, sat by a large round window in the Officers’ Lounge to catch the last of the winter sunlight. “I don’t know what, but I just know something is going down.”

At that his sole companion looked up, completely unfazed.

“That’s because you live in a perpetual state of doom mongering,” Grey reasoned. “Even a broken watch is right twice a day.”

Ochre gave the audible equivalent of a shrug, and went back to attacking a model making supplies catalogue with a highlighter pen.

Best Friend Protocol dictated that Ochre annotate his every possible want so as to serve for both Christmas and birthday gift procurement purposes. He knew from bitter experience that said best friend did not have the interest nor patience to ‘figure it out for himself’ when it came to Ochre’s somewhat niche hobby. If he didn’t provide a list, Pat would default to some thoughtful but frivolous item he couldn’t really justify buying for himself: cashmere sweater, signed first edition book, and so on. Ochre hated people spending money on him at the best of times, especially on something he didn’t particularly need.

He looked across at his colleague. Grey was reclining on the sofa, e-reader in hand, at his side a large mug was set neatly on a coaster and giving off steam. Here was a man who evidently had bullet point lists and a budgeting app and did all his Holiday shopping weeks in advance.

“Actually I’m a fundamentally optimistic person,” Ochre noted, because Grey was looking at him now so he had to say something. “If I didn’t think it was possible to bring justice, or win the war of nerves, then why would I still be getting up every morning, noon, or night to work here? Might as well just quit this job and go chill with my kid in Bora Bora.”

Grey would give him that.

The doors to the Officers’ Lounge swept open; Scarlet entered with a spring in his step that carried him to the kitchenette. As he pulled a mug from the cupboard, Grey preempted his next move.

“Adam made the coffee, but there’s fresh tea in the pot.”

Sure enough, the oversized custard-yellow teapot, dressed in a rainbow knitted cosy, was taking up prime real estate on the counter. It made Scarlet happier than he cared to admit. As one of the few Brits to use the Officers’ Lounge, Scarlet was generally resigned to being a misunderstood minority where food and beverages were concerned. For example, when Scarlet said he fancied ‘a nice cup of tea’, his ever-obliging field partner would produce a mug of beige water with an aftertaste that suggested Blue had sourced the tea leaves by dredging Boston Harbour. Scarlet wondered if Blue was being deliberately obtuse, to get out of making drinks, either way Scarlet had stopped asking.

He assumed the tea was courtesy of Captain Magenta. Ireland was the tea consumption capital of the western world, so there Scarlet had found a powerful ally in the tea and biscuits stakes.

“Have you heard the latest?” Scarlet asked. He sniffed the tea; yes, it was Earl Grey. He added a slice of lemon to his cup instead of milk. There were even a few chocolate biscuits left in the box Rhapsody had brought down to the lounge earlier that day; he carried that over to his colleagues and sat down.

Ochre looked up first. “Clearly your pressing need to tell is more relevant. We will feign surprise if necessary.”

“Colonel White is leaving. Not permanently, just a trip.” Scarlet took a first sip of his tea. It was bloody ace. “Tonight, for a week, a few days at least, anyway.”

He had Grey’s attention now. “And who will be Acting Commander?”

The other captains looked at each other; they’d both assumed it would be Grey. It wasn’t so much that Colonel White had a favourite among the captains, but, well, Grey was also a navy man, and always so calm, added to which, he actually liked doing paperwork.

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Grey added, in case that was necessary.

“It’ll probably be Blue then,” Ochre groused. “We’ll end up with extra drills and some stupid lecture on, I dunno, the stock market or something. Just what we need to feel Christmassy.”

“Rick does sense some impending catastrophe,” Grey noted as explanation, helping himself to a biscuit.

“Adam’s not that bad as Acting Commander.” Scarlet felt a need to defend his field partner out of loyalty. But he tailed off slightly with the realisation that regarding this particular issue he didn’t really have any supporting evidence. “And, well, no, I don’t suppose Magenta would…”

“What’s wrong with Pat?”

Ochre merrily traded insults with his partner all day long, and very rarely passed up an opportunity for terrible Irishman jokes, or to make a reference to Magenta’s past as a big player in New York City’s organised crime. But if anyone else dared to even think something mean-spirited about his partner, Ochre was prepared to fight them to the death.

“I don’t suppose Pat would want to be commander,” Scarlet finished his sentence calmly. “He’s always complaining about the paperwork, and how rigid the structure is here. I suppose, far as a leadership role goes, he’s more used to doing things his own way.”

Ochre let that go, there was something of a valid point buried in there somewhere; but it would mean a lot more coming from someone who didn’t act as if Spectrum regulations were a mere suggestion.

“So, anyway, when is Colonel leaving? And how long for?”

“In an hour or so, and I don’t really know,” Scarlet answered.

“In that case, you’re only really coming to us with half… no, a third of the intel?”

“No, I’m giving all the intel I have,” Scarlet pointed out. “That we are being given a window of opportunity for, whatever activities might require such a thing.”

Captain Blue settled into the chair; it felt comfortable, if you disregarded the accompanying crushing weight of expectation. The curving desk surrounded him, white but for an imposing plethora of buttons and lights. If he was ever called on to be completely honest, Blue didn’t entirely remember what most of them were for. He just had to give the impression that he did, and thus far he’d never needed to step outside of the scope of what he already knew.

“I have full confidence in you,” White had concluded. With a hint of ‘so don’t even think about screwing this up’ in his tone, but then Blue might have imagined it. It wouldn’t be so bad, surely; White’s absence would be brief, and all Blue had been tasked with was maintaining the usual familiar routine.

“It’s appreciated, sir.” Blue stood up smartly and saluted. Then he noticed White had extended a hand, and shook it. “Safe trip, sir.”

“And have fun.” Blue added casually, almost cursing himself for probably sounding totally unprofessional.

“Hmm, I think I might.” White added enigmatically, as the glass doors slid closed behind him.

Ten minutes later White’s crisp voice was heard in the control room once again, as he requested launch clearance. It was granted of course, and from the runway below them the SPJ swept into the sky towards its destination. Only then did Blue take a breath and fully acknowledge this was happening. He was the one sitting at the helm of Cloudbase, and Cloudbase was the official headquarters of Spectrum, an entire global organisation stretching across the surface of the earth 40,000 feet below his chair, and if only for a brief spell he was the ultimate ‘buck stops here’, responsible for every minute detail. It was exhilarating or terrifying, depending on your constitution.

“You rang?”

“Uh, yes.” Blue sat up sharply. It hadn’t been deliberate, he’d been signing some papers at the desk and his hand had slipped, so now he would need to style it out. “There was an anomaly with your report.”

From the other side of the control desk, Captain Scarlet managed to keep a straight face. “Would that be the fact it was submitted early?”

Blue lowered his voice. “You know full well that something else was in that shipment. What happened to it?”

“So, I’d just like to clarify… are you suggesting that contraband items have been brought onto the base? And that a senior officer, a former highly decorated WAAF Colonel at that, not only would turn a blind eye to this, but would be actively encouraged by his temporary Commanding Officer to forget to list it on his report, and conceal said items, and then perhaps place them in the quarters of said commanding officer?”

Blue gave him a look. “I would never suggest such a thing, of course.”

“Everything is in hand.” Scarlet continued to keep a straight face; it was somehow more damning than if he’d crumpled to the floor with mirth. “Seems like the second act of your illustrious career as Great Leader of Spectrum is beginning, illustriously.”

Blue shrugged, and raised one of the stools from the floor around the desk. “I haven’t screwed up yet.”

Scarlet sat himself down, entirely at ease. “Well, no; you could have pressed the wrong button and accidentally summoned Agent Connors instead. Would need a better flimsy pretext for that.”

Blue gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of interaction with the self-important agent of Spectrum Intelligence. “Maybe I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“Lieutenant Claret’s right there.” Scarlet gestured towards the comms desk. On hearing his name, Claret looked up sharply.

“At ease, Claret,” Blue said gently, as he flicked a switch and drew the privacy screen around his desk area, translucent and soundproof (or rather almost soundproof, Scarlet had been informed by his reliable sources).

With some degree of privacy, Blue also relaxed somewhat and smiled softly. “I meant, someone that’s not going to be all flustered in case I report their every little mistake to Colonel White, or spare my feelings.”

There was a spark of mirth in Scarlet’s eyes. “I could certainly fulfil that role.”

“I know that my appointment as Acting Commander hasn’t been well received,” Blue began.

“Can’t imagine why, Adam.”

Blue gave him a look. Scarlet knew exactly why; he hadn’t been there in person on the previous occasion Blue had been at the helm of Cloudbase, but he’d certain heard about it.

There had been an attempt on Colonel White’s life, during which their commander-in-chief had chosen to leave Cloudbase, and for the interim he had appointed Blue to oversee operations. Blue had wanted to make a good impression certainly, but he’d also needed to keep everyone busy so they didn’t notice the absence of Captain Scarlet. He might have been somewhat overzealous in adhering to Spectrum procedures and rules.

“You mean the other captains didn’t provide you with a complete summary of the experience?” Blue sounded almost petulant.

“I’m sure you did the right thing, given the difficult circumstances.” Scarlet’s tone was placating, but sincere. He had basically swanned off to act the hero, like always, and in doing so, left Blue without his partner and at the mercy of their disgruntled colleagues. He’d come to that conclusion organically once he’d revived after the beating and gunshot wounds sustained while protecting Colonel White… but if he hadn’t, Rhapsody Angel’s diatribe had been rather compelling.

Blue took a breath. “Right, so, this time will be different. I need this base to run efficiently and for people to do their jobs, willingly.”

“So, you want my advice?”

“I don’t need advice, per se, just, perhaps, some suggestions to make the atmosphere of the base more convivial.”

Scarlet didn’t know anyone else that used such an adjective in ordinary conversation.

“I’ll see what I can do ... So, where’d The Old Man get to? Inquiring minds are inquiring.”

“Colonel White? I can’t say.”

“Oh, is that classified? Are we not important enough to know these things?”

“I’m not deliberately withholding any information from anybody,” Blue insisted. “He genuinely didn’t disclose his destination. It’s not in the system. He’s the commander-in-chief and we have him on personal communicator, he doesn’t have to.”

Scarlet’s expression softened, contrite, knowing he was being unfair. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Blue gave a sigh. “My best friend has retrometabolism, we are paid to thwart invisible aliens, and literally live in the middle of the sky… My perception of ‘weird’ may be somewhat off kilter.”

“Valid points, Ads. But are you not at least slightly curious what Colonel White is up to?”

“Not right now.” Blue sighed. “Kinda busy keeping up the illusion that having me in charge isn’t the worst thing in Spectrum history.”

“Why would it be?” Scarlet looked at him sympathetically. “Pretty sure if you don’t kidnap the World President and nearly drop him off a multi storey car park then you’ll be fine.”

It got a smile from Blue, which was the intended effect.

Hours later, after his shift in the Control Room ended, Lieutenant Green wandered down to the staff canteen for food. It was almost empty, being outside the normal dinner rush. He noticed a door in the far corner was ajar, which was not ordinarily the case, so he supposed that, as most senior person in the room (sort of, technically), he should investigate.

He walked across, slipped inside the Officers’ Mess, and almost regretted it.

The Officers’ Mess was a near pointless concession to naval tradition, being a dining room for senior staff only. Green supposed that, technically, he was entitled to dine there too, but it rarely occurred to him; he liked talking to his fellow ‘minions’ over dinner. The Mess did, however, serve the vital function of being somewhere that a senior staff member could wine and dine (albeit with non-alcoholic-wine) their companion of choice away from prying eyes.

On this occasion however, several members of Cloudbase staff, mainly of the young, giggly, female persuasion, were forming a queue in front of an indoor tent. The nylon was printed to look like a gingerbread house, and around it, someone had strung up some Christmas lights.

Captain Magenta gave a nod of greeting. “Yeah, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Lieutenant Green couldn’t begin to imagine what could possibly have occurred in Patrick Donaghue’s past that would make standing in an Officers’ Mess dressed in an elf costume, seem like something a person could just totally relate to. He certainly did not have time to get into it right then.

Lieutenants Copper and Flaxen, arm in arm, entered the room, Copper looking considerably more enthusiastic and less awkward about it. Green gave a slight wave in greeting but they probably didn’t notice him. After all, he was just a lieutenant, standing near a captain. And holding the rank of captain was like being in a band. They were the cool, popular ones, the top tier sex gods of Spectrum. Green couldn’t compete with that.

Having concluded the formality of selling the women each a ticket, Magenta spoke. “Ladies, and Seymour, an important question, is ‘Die Hard’ a Christmas movie?”

“Are you still on about that?!” came Captain Ochre’s voice, from inside the tent.

Green was sure there was a wrong answer, and in his best interests he didn’t know which answer corresponded to which captain’s viewpoint, nor which captain it was pragmatic to align himself with, regardless of what his own personal opinion on the matter might be. He’d worked that out in basic training when the stakes had been higher. Ochre and Magenta’s partnership had since mellowed into a truce and further evolved into being as close as two human beings could be. They still liked a good debate though, bickering serving as pressure value, so the working part of their relationship stayed easy.

“They are all set on Christmas Eve!” Ochre stated, as if that was case closed.

“But they don’t embody the traditional genre conventions of a Christmas movie,” Magenta countered.

“Your face doesn’t embody tradition or convention,” Ochre retorted. “And send someone else in, you useless oversized leprechaun.”

Magenta accepted the raffle ticket stub from Philly, Captain Blue’s cabin steward, and held open the tent flap so she could go inside. Green caught a glimpse of someone, Ochre surely, sat in a dining chair and dressed as Santa Claus.

Job done, Magenta pivoted his entire upper body to take in Green, genial but expecting an answer.

Green went with neutrality and honesty. “Umm, I’ve never seen the movie, sir.”

“Utter travesty. We’ll have to show them now, regardless… And don’t you ‘sir’ me, we’ve had this conversation. Anyway, what ails you?”

“If that were genuinely the case you’d be after using a different tone.”

Green avoided his eye by taking in the Christmas décor; somehow it was getting tackier year on year. He had no idea who decorated the Mess, maybe Symphony Angel, as she led the charge with decorating the other communal areas on base.

“I’d rather not, right now, considering.” Green moved his hand to take in the melee of people. “And you’re dressed as an elf.”

“I know, I’m Santa’s helper, because, Lord knows, himself-in-there needs all manner of help… anyway, are you wanting a ticket, Griff? It’s two dollars, euro, or whatever currency you have to hand. For the Spectrum Orphans Fund, you see.”

Green watched as Philly emerged from the tent, a slight blush on her cheeks and a wrapped, iced sugar cookie in her hand.

“I’m ok, thanks. Just going to go get some dinner.”

“Well, if you change your mind, then we’ll be here until eight.”

Heathrow airport really hadn’t changed much during Charles Gray’s lifetime. Perhaps the complex was bigger and more energy efficient, but it was still the same cold tiles, gaping spaces filled with people that had no idea where they were going, and overpriced alcohol.

He sat in the café in Arrivals, his coffee was finished but he continued to read a newspaper. There was a ridiculous, nervous fluttering in his stomach that he was studiously ignoring.

“Dad!”

It still startled him to hear that, to momentarily recalibrate to this as his life now. That he had a partner in life, the most incredible woman he knew, and the daughter they shared not by blood but by circumstance and love.

He stood and turned, and saw them approaching. Amanda looked radiant, even pushing a trolley of suitcases. Evie was wearing those rubber soled canvas shoes all the young people seemed to favour; Charles wasn’t convinced of their practicality given the British climate, but there was no point saying anything.

The hug nearly knocked him over. “How was the flight, my love?”

Evie tucked her cheek against his neck; her hair smelt faintly of lavender. “It was ok, a hundred years long, and bad food, but ok.”

“I thought you’d be used to bad food, living in America.”

“So rude!”

Charles laughed, kissed her forehead. “Your mother’s cooking excluded, of course.”

Amanda’s embrace was more physically restrained but just as warm, and they shared a brief but passionate kiss. For a brief moment, White wondered what his officers would make of this scene, because they only ever saw the man he was when commanding the base, not in his personal life. They would probably all reach for Mysteron detectors.

Evie took out her phone, and prepared to take a selfie. White didn’t understand why something that had been a trend during his infancy should suddenly make a revival, if indeed it had ever really died out.

White didn’t realise he had stepped away from the camera lens until Evie spoke again. “Dad, get in the picture.”

“That wouldn’t be wise, given the circumstances.”

Evie shrugged, momentarily frustrated but the feeling passed. He wondered sometimes how much she truly understood about the complexities of their lives and the security measures that had to be taken in every public moment… he hoped that the balance still tipped further towards innocence. She was seventeen now, still young and changing all the time, filled with promise and energy to fight the injustices of the world.

“The car should be here now,” he said, taking over pushing the trolley. “Are you ready to go?”

Evie led the way, somehow navigating herself through the crowd without looking up from her phone. But she did make a point of meeting her adoptive father’s eye once they were in the taxi. “Where are we going though, Dad? Mom was all, it’s a surprise! Y’know, like I’m five. Or that she has no freaking clue about the itinerary. I’m being generous and assuming the latter.”

Charles couldn’t help a slight chuckle. “Well, first to the hotel. It would be impractical to have luggage in tow all evening. And then, what was the first thing on your ‘Christmas in London’ bucket list?”

Evie couldn’t remember, she’d been tweaking the list for months since her mom had even hinted they would be spending the Holidays outside of rural Iowa, where they lived on the family ranch. She’d asked everybody for ideas.

“Ice skating at Somerset house,” she said slowly.

“Very well, that will be our first stop. Hope you brought your skates.”

After eating, Lieutenant Green walked briskly from the staff canteen towards his quarters, intent on putting on his pyjamas and watching his current favourite series. He arrived at the lift, and was ready to swipe his keycard, when the doors opened. Lieutenant Viridian walked out, clearly taking the lead about whatever bee he had in his bonnet this time, and Captain Blue followed him.

Green turned on his heel and walked a few paces behind them the exact way he’d just come.

“Do you want to take over?” Ochre asked, tone almost neutral.

“Do I feck?” Magenta replied, which presumably meant ‘no’.

The queue didn’t seem any shorter, just a few different people to when Green had last seen it. Copper and Flaxen were still there, chatting with one of the technicians.

Magenta heard them coming, took a step back, resettled the tent flap and turned around.

Blue stopped just in front of his fellow captain. “What on earth, are you doing?”

“It’s a Santa’s grotto.” Magenta supposed he would have to elaborate, maybe, during Blue’s rich-people-descended-from-puritans childhood he’d never partaken in such a thing.

“But that’s for children, and these are not children,” Viridian noted. “They are grown women.”

“It’s open to everyone,” Magenta stated. “Regardless of gender identity, we’re very inclusive.”

Blue gave a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his being. He deliberately ignored Viridian’s expression, and stepped into the tent.

“Adam, hi, uh wait, ho-ho-ho, what do you want for Christmas?”

“Could you sound any more like you’re soliciting?” Magenta rolled his eyes.

Ochre turned to his partner. “I have a lot of questions about how you know what that sounds like, because I’m pretty sure it didn’t come from working in a drugs and vice taskforce for two years.”

Captain Grey came into the Officers’ Mess, with a languid smile and two coffees in reusable cups. He handed one of the cups to Magenta. Then he noticed Green stood there.

“Hey, Griff, the family ok?”

“Umm, yeah, they’re all fine.”

Grey gave a nod, grabbed a chair and sat down beside Magenta.

“I’m their representative,” Grey began, because Blue’s look demanded he explain his presence. “Ochre’s and Magenta’s. As per the Spectrum charter: during disciplinary procedures a staff member is entitled to be accompanied by a representative of their choice of equivalent or higher rank.”

“But this isn’t a disciplinary.” Blue almost threw up his hands. “How can I determine what, if any, infraction has been committed here until I even know what’s happening?”

Grey took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I’m here now.”

“Fine.” Blue turned slightly. “Ochre, can you please at least take off the beard and hat?”

One thing Green had always admired about Magenta, apart from his being almost, nearly, practically, as good with computers as he was himself, was that he could just be so damn cool. It must be that his gangster past that honed it.

There he was, stood there, still in costume, coolly regarding his temporary commander, while Ochre did the talking.

“Dunno what your problem is, we’re simply conducting a charity fundraiser,” Ochre stated poker-faced, having complied with Blue’s request.

“And what was the nature of this… fundraiser?”

“People pay a small cover charge, and then people, well, traditionally children, go into a grotto thing and meet Santa, and sit on his knee and say if they’ve been good or not, and what they want for Christmas, and maybe have a photo with Santa, maybe get a little gift at the end.”

For a moment, Blue said nothing.

“The gift was a cookie, by the way,” Ochre added. “Symphony Angel baked them.”

“The nature and provenance of the gift is not really relevant,” Blue replied.

Only then did Magenta speak. “Sir, could you enlighten us as to the exact nature of our infraction?”

Green full-body pivoted in his chair at that; he’d never heard Magenta use that voice before, only Ochre seemed unaffected by it.

For a moment, Blue said nothing. He looked over the four, no, five, men waiting for his verdict. Viridian and the women waiting to ‘see Santa’ had been shepherded out, but were obviously staying close to get the gossip.

It was clear he had a choice to make that would have wider repercussions during his time as Acting Commander and beyond, because it seemed that public opinion was very much on ‘Santa’s’ side.

When Magenta spoke again his voice was low. “Should we interpret your silence as admission that we, that is Captain Ochre and I, haven’t contravened any Spectrum regulations whatsoever? You know it, and we know it, because we checked the whole handbook before we started.”

Blue was fairly sure that last statement was more incriminating than anything they’d actually done.

“Pat, I didn’t drag myself all the way down here to mete out draconian punishments.”

Ochre met Blue’s eye, held the gaze firmly. As if to ask then why was Blue there.

“There was a complaint, about your, uh, fundraiser.” Blue’s voice was less firm than he’d wanted it to be. “And I want to hear your version of events first.”

Ochre gave a nod. “It’s exactly like we said it was.”

“Nothing complaint worthy at all,” Magenta added.

Blue couldn’t help another sigh. “So… you’re not denying that the pair of you were making money from people having the opportunity to sit on Captain Ochre’s knee and tell him they’ve been very naughty?”

Ochre and Magenta concurred.

“And surely,” Blue continued, “you can see that, for someone of, shall we say, more ‘traditional’ values that might seem to cross a line of decency? Considering this is a Spectrum base and not a bordello.”

Magenta squinted at his partner in slight confusion.

“He means a whorehouse.”

“Ooooh… oh no, we totally weren’t doing that.” Magenta’s voice was so innocent it couldn’t have been feigned. Lord knows, Blue was well aware what Pat Donaghue’s not-actually-innocent-voice sounded like.

Ochre said, “It was Viridian, wasn’t it, who ratted on us?”

“Ochre, as per Spectrum policy, when a complaint is made, I’m not a liberty to disclose who – ”

“He barrelled in ahead of you, looking all scandalised,” Magenta noted. “So a person could easily get that impression.”

“We are right here in the Officers’ Mess Hall,” Ochre protested. “He’d have had to talk to people and literally go that far out of his way, and hang around, specifically to get offended. Is that really what Jesus would do?”

Magenta stepped closer and gently rested a hand on Ochre’s shoulder. “The Prods get some peculiar notions about that sort of thing. You know, in 1647, Oliver Cromwell banned celebrating Christmas all together.”

“Is that why everyone in your country hates him?”

Magenta gave a sigh. “Not particularly, mo chroi, but it can’t have helped his cause any.”

“Hmm.” Ochre turned back to Blue. “I still don’t see why Viridian is being such a Grinch. Just because he couldn’t do a live action nativity doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t get to celebrate the Holidays.”

“A real life Nativity, on base?” This was the first Blue had heard of it.

“Yeah, he likes that sort of thing. But then he went round all Cloudbase and couldn’t find three wise men or a virgin.”

For a long moment Blue said absolutely nothing, but he pursed his lips and sucked in his cheeks. He definitely was not going to meet Green’s eye.

“You know that moment when I have no idea if you’re actually kidding or not?” Grey began, “That’s why we can never be regular field partners.”

“Suits me,” Ochre replied. “Would you rather be paired with the guy just voted ‘most likely to have a side career as a pimp’?”

Blue was absolutely not getting paid enough for this. “I did not even insinuate such a thing. Anyway, what are you going to do with the money you raised?”

“It’s for charity,” Magenta answered. “The Spectrum Orphans Fund, and environmental causes. Think of the poor, motherless, baby dolphins.”

“And that aspect is commendable,” Blue conceded. “I would just advise you that in future, you should try an alternative fundraiser… you’re dismissed, the three of you.”

A suitable distance from the canteen, Ochre reached across and wrapped his arm around Magenta’s shoulders; there was only the slightest resistance.

“You did not warn me that you’d bust out the gangster voice… dayum!”

“Didn’t know I’d be needing the gangster voice… and to be fair we didn’t really. He’s getting better; still same old Blue, but he’s trying.”

Ochre gave a murmur of conceding he had a point. “Ooh, look, mistletoe.”

“Let’s not push our already precarious collective luck.”

“Not even an itty bitty totally platonic kiss?”

Magenta leant in, briefly let his lips brush just above Ochre’s jawline. “You need a shave.”

“Oh yeah, ready for my hot date tonight.” Ochre grinned. “And my date is very hot, by the way. Tall, dark, witty, so smart, has an accent that makes me just melt, and –”

“Spare me.”

They reached the door to Ochre’s quarters, the corridor of ‘Captains’ Row’ was empty; Magenta converted the arm round him into a brief hug.

“We should do something charitable next year. Getting our grotto shut down by 25^th-generation-Puritans aside, it was fun.”

“Uh huh, and after all that you never got to see Santa.”

“I wrote a letter.” Magenta leant back, looked him in the eye. “Might have left it inside that catalogue of stuff for your toy planes. I mean, who would look there?”

“They are not toys.” But Ochre was too obviously amused to be offended.

“If you insist. Now go get changed, you don’t want to be late.”

They sat together, mother and adult daughter, in the dining room of their rented holiday flat, the remains of their dinner growing cold as they talked. Emma Topping held the piece of printed card delicately between her fingers, read it once more, and handed it back to her daughter. “I’m just not sure that would be appropriate.”

“How could it not be, Mum? It’s for the children of WGPC officers, who’ve been, well, that don’t have both parents at Christmas time… By definition, Ricky certainly fits that brief.” Eleanor Topping had to fight hard to hold in a heavy sigh.

If she stopped to think about it, Ellie realised how easily she had slipped into a world of half-truths, careful logistics and covering all the tracks so the actuality of the situation wasn’t discovered. That didn’t concern her so much as the fact she was evidently really good at it, took pleasure from it even.

“… It’s a children’s Christmas party. There’s going to be cake, a puppet show, a visit from Santa, plenty of other kids to talk to. He’ll love it.”

Half-truth because while there was a children’s party, and her nephew had been invited, and he was the son of a former WGPC commander… the party had nothing to do with the WGPC. It was a gathering for children of serving Spectrum Officers, which indeed Ricky’s father had been since he’d joined the organisation rather than taking a promotion to become WGPC Supreme Commander. That move had required great secrecy, thus the severing of all ties to his then Significant Other and the child he’d had no idea she was carrying. Alie had been so in love with him, so devastated by the loss that she’d named her son after his father. She had been such a good mother to Young Richard, but Alie was killed in a senseless crime, and the family had been forced to find a new equilibrium. At least they’d had a semblance of normality until the day Ellie had been injured. The details were hazy, but Richard Fraser had come back into Ellie’s life. Just appeared beside her hospital bed in a Spectrum uniform with a frankly somewhat implausible explanation for a. letting Alie think he was dead, and b. missing the first five years of her nephew’s life.

Ellie had been angry about it for a long time. Actually no, she’d been angry about it until she realised how much Ricky adored his father, needed him, and that the bond with Rick Fraser so enriched his life, even with all the limitations forced on them. Ricky had already lost his mother in the worst circumstances that Ellie couldn’t, in good conscience, effectively take away his father too. So as his guardian she was the one who drove him to the airport, received and invested the ‘child support’ on his behalf, calmed his frustration when he was making a Father’s Day card and the drawing of a Thunderbird jet didn’t turn out right, and, yes, regularly lied by omission to her own parents.

“It just, might be upsetting, to remind him of that,” Emma added. “His father being gone, I mean.”

Ellie did sigh then. “He’s never going to forget about that, Mum.”

Her mother had never really liked Rick. Alie had sensed it before Ellie, but then Alison was ‘the smart one’. In hindsight, and recollection of her sister’s confidences, there had been things which suggested in the grand scheme of things that Alie and Rick weren’t the perfect match. Like any man, Rick had his faults; a little tactless, impulsive, no sense of work-life balance, and it was near impossible to change his mind when he was convinced he was right. But during their relationship they had been happy; he’d adored Alie, and he was a significant upgrade on the guys her sister had dated before. So Ellie had had no issue with him; that is with Commander Fraser for in her head she essentially thought of Fraser and Ochre as two separate people. Nevertheless, in time she had also come to like Rick in his current incarnation.

Her mother’s reasons were her own, but on some level Emma was glad to see the back of him; and with Alie no longer alive, grieving and defending the love of her life/father of her child, she’d become even less subtle in expressing it.

“Are you coming to the party, Nanny?”

The boy had stealth and was quiet when he wanted to be, coming in and sliding up onto a free chair.

“No, I have some other things to do.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ellie assured him.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time y’know; I’m not a baby.” Ricky helped himself to a wrapped caramel from the glass bowl.

It hit Ellie that the party would be one of the rare moments Ricky could be his complete self, could freely talk about who his father actually was and what they did, because all the other young guests were in much the same strange family circumstances. Some children lived with their family in London, others in their hometowns, while their ‘Spectrum’ parent was seconded to one of the Spectrum bases on the ground. Others, like Ricky, were from another city entirely but were in London for the Christmas period and were attending this particular party (Ellie assumed other bases hosted their own gatherings).

That made her even more determined he should have this opportunity.

“It’s ok, I won’t cramp your style, especially if you get talking a nice girl.”

“Yes, just like his dad.”

Ellie could feel the sting in that barb, but knew that to confront her mother in front of Ricky would just make it worse.

Ricky looked up, confused by his grandmother’s words, he shunted the bowl of sweets towards her.

“I think it’s time for bed, Ricky.” Ellie stood up. “You need to get plenty of sleep so you’re ready for tomorrow.”

He nodded, and stood up, let her hold his hand and walk him to the bedroom even though he wasn’t a baby any more.

Ricky settled into bed; having finished his milk, brushed his teeth, and read a story.

“I don’t think Nanny is really feeling the Christmas spirit,” he said.

“She tries, honey,” Ellie replied. “It’s just… Nanny is very sad, because she misses your mommy.”

“We’re all sad about that, Aunt Ellie. I miss Mommy every day, but that’s me being sad. I don’t want other people to be sad. So, I always try to still be happy and have a good time. Because I know about being sad, and I don’t want for any other people to feel like that.”

Ellie could only hold him tight, tears welling over his head.

Yes, he was just like his father. In ways her mother would never be able to understand.

This is the voice of the Mysterons ... we will assassinate the father of Cloudbase.

Because the threat came in the middle of the night for Cloudbase, their briefing was slightly delayed. The captains had needed to dress in uniform and prepare themselves for the work ahead.

“The father of Cloudbase?”

They looked towards Ochre, the only one of the senior staff with a child.

Ochre’s expression remained neutral, until Blue stated his intention.

“A personal protection officer will be assigned to you… do you have a question, Captain?”

“Yes.” Ochre figured he should tread carefully after his previous interaction with Blue, but he needed to make a point. “Who will that be? I’m just curious, given I am the most senior officer for personal protection.”

“We are all more than capable…” Scarlet interjected.

Ochre just let that hang, he could not be the only one recalling how the Mysteron threat to kill the Director General of the United Asian Republic had played out.

“Very well, Captain.” Blue conceded. “Given your expertise you are entitled to some flexibility regarding your own security measures, please submit your written plan as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blue spoke again. “But the protocol in this situation is clear. You cannot just ‘be a lone wolf’. So I have to insist you are accompanied by another Spectrum field agent of your choice. Please also include that in your plan, and, of course, brief the agent in question.”

Ochre surveyed his somewhat limited options. All his colleagues were trained and capable, that’s why they were his colleagues; but you needed such a level of trust to put your life almost entirely in someone’s hands. Considering they would be with him almost constantly until the threat passed there would need to be an equally high tolerance for Ochre’s annoying quirks.

“As you wish, sir.”

They discussed other possible interpretations of the threat, and divided up the tasks accordingly. Scarlet and Grey would investigate and go to the designers of Cloudbase itself. Magenta would remain on base, coordinating the gathering of intelligence and liaising between any field agents on the surface whose services were required. Ochre, likewise, wasn’t going anywhere.

“Should we contact the colonel?” Grey asked.

“He’ll be informed in due course,” Blue replied. “For now, let’s just focus on our mission.”

To anyone else in the hotel restaurant they must look like such an ordinary family, having breakfast together. Perhaps they were going to see a show or go Christmas shopping. It was only Charles Gray who would question it in brief moments; he had experienced such personal tragedy and professional setbacks in his life that, on some level, he assumed this state of happiness could not last.

“What’s the matter, Charles?” Amanda was so perceptive.

“Nothing.” And he realised that he truly meant it. For this moment at least his existence was untroubled, he had everything he needed. “It’s just, I meant to say, something has come up at work. Don’t worry, there’s no need to cut short our holiday. I just, well, there is a very particular duty that has fallen to me at very short notice.”

“What do you have to do?” Evie continued eating her full English, although, Charles supposed, without the meat elements it wasn’t particularly full. Apparently, she was a vegetarian now.

“Ah, it’s somewhat classified in nature.” Charles hated to be evasive with them. “It will only be for a few hours tomorrow afternoon, I hope it’s not any trouble for you.”

Amanda gently took his hand. “We understand, do what you have to, honey. We can meet you afterwards.”

“At ease, Ochre.” Blue raised a stool for him.

Ochre did nothing of the sort. Seriously, how ‘at ease’ would Blue be if he was in the sights of some horde of invisible aliens with an all-consuming grudge?

“I’ve read your proposal, and I can’t support it.”

Ochre looked Blue in the eye. “You just said I can make my own plans. Getting the hell out of here a.s.a.p., that’s phase one. I’m not going to sit around being babysat, and risk the Mysterons taking out hundreds of other Spectrum personnel when they come for me.”

Blue couldn’t entirely dispute the logic in this. “And where, exactly, do you consider safer than a Spectrum base?” Blue turned the page. “Oh, right, yes: the capital city of Ireland… very secure, very easy to contain a threat there.”

“It has a Spectrum base.”

“And you’re taking Magenta with you?”

Ochre gave a brief nod. “He might not have as much field experience on paper, but he knows all about staying alive when everyone around you is losing their crap and trying to kill you. Or however that poem goes.”

Blue closed the report. “Ochre, be honest; if you were in my position, would you not think, that maybe, this was even very slightly being used as an excuse to go on vacation?”

Ochre raised his eyebrows. “Mysterons trying to kill me personally, sounds really relaxing.”

“I need you to be safe, of course. I also need all available officers working to establish what the threat is and how to thwart it.”

“Thought we already decided that it’s me.”

“But we don’t know if that’s right. So how are you going to pursue other avenues if you’re swanning around Temple Bar with your best friend?”

“Grand.” Ochre shifted further towards ‘attention’. “So, I’ll stay on base then, and go help with the intelligence stuff…”

“That’s a great idea. Dismissed.”

After his shift on radar watch, Lieutenant Green went to the computer labs. The labs were where other lieutenants did research, collated their findings, and reported them to the senior staff, so they could make decisions about the current threat. He hated this stage of a Mysteron threat, when everyone was still reeling a bit and they had to scramble to get information before the Mysterons began their attack in earnest.

Captain Magenta was already there. He was ‘in the office’, using the one computer console that was set apart and slightly partitioned off to give the sense it was meant for senior staff. Magenta was not elitist, but it was clear from his body language he’d rather be alone. Everyone else was giving him a wide berth, and, not so surreptitiously, watched as Green approached the nearest console to the captain’s.

When Green offered a greeting, Magenta didn’t reply; he didn’t even look up, so intent was he on the computer screen and typing away.

So Green started to work on his own task. Ordinarily he liked working alongside Magenta, but this silence was hardly companionable.

“I’m collating all the recent Mysteron sightings, seeing if there is an overlap in location.” Magenta offered, after a while. He still didn’t look up, but at least he was talking.

“But if Ochre is the target and he’s on Cloudbase, then they’ll be coming here,” Green noted and instantly knew that was the worst thing to say.

“We don’t know that! And even if he is, we have to know where the threat is coming from and stop the Mysteron agents before they get to Cloudbase. Which obviously is full of other Spectrum agents; kill over 600 birds with one bomb, as the saying goes.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Are you here to help because I really don’t have time for this?”

“I am here as your colleague, and friend.” Green picked up a printout and read it. “So, apparently there was a call in about a sighting of Captain Black, in uh, Newark airport.”

“Feck sake, the only reason anyone would be there is because they’re going somewhere they actually want to be.”

“So, Ochre doesn’t have a connection to Newark?”

Magenta looked up then, as if Green was an utter simpleton. “No… I mean, maybe he arrested someone there, once, considering by all accounts he’s been everywhere and done everything as WGPC’s most capable and delightful Commander.”

Green just let that second adjective go.

Magenta blew out a long breath. “It’s ok, I know I’m being a dick. And that I can’t keep doing this, it’s crazy talk and not helping. So, I’m sorry. What have we got so far?”

Green gathered some more papers together, reading through what little information they already had.

“Not much. Anyway, I’m not taking it personally. Of course you’re worried about Rick. He’s… important to you. You can’t beat yourself up for being a human with emotions.”

“No, but I can get my crap together and do my job.”

“From what I’ve seen of the other captains here, one of those doesn’t preclude the other.”

Magenta smiled then.

The doors opened and Ochre strolled in.

“Hey, my most favourite co-workers!”

“As if you don’t say that to everyone.”

But Green noticed how Magenta relaxed, at least somewhat, for seeing his partner.

Ochre shrugged, reached Magenta’s console and held out his hand. “Got you a muffin; they were all out of chocolate, so blueberry it is.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna put it down here, ready for when you are.” Making no sudden movements Ochre set the muffin on top of a stack of papers.

“Wow, I guess being able to concentrate for more than three consecutive seconds really is too much to ask.” And Magenta returned to glaring at the screen.

“I’ll go then.” Ochre didn’t move at all.

Magenta looked up. “Best not, as I’m your babysitter or whatever, you’re supposed to stay where I can see you at all times, something like that.”

Ochre sat down on the floor by Magenta, chose one of the laptops and logged in. “Well, that’s interesting, considering Blue absolutely refused to ok any other aspect of my personal protection plan for me.”

“Did the rest of your plan involve anything that could have constituted fun?”

Ochre gave it some thought. “I guess it slightly implied the theoretical possibility of potentially enjoying one’s self for a brief spell, assuming the Mysterons don’t kill me first.”

“Oh, well, that’s where you went wrong, Pet. It’s all business on the good ship Captain Blue.”

Ochre smiled, shuffled a little so he could nudge Magenta’s thigh with his shoulder. “It’s PPO, by the way, personal protection officer. Haven’t needed a babysitter since I was ten.”

“Whatever gets you through the day.”

“Also helps that my big picture plan has a phase two… I’m gonna make it so either Blue totally trusts us, or he gets sick of the sight of me. Then I can do things my way.”

“How are you going to do that?” Green had a feeling he was interrupting something not solely work related.

“Griff, honestly, I can’t go giving away all my trade secrets.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “And do you have any connection to Newark?”

“What, no, why?”

Green decisively drew a line on his sheet of paper. “Guess, that’s one lead we don’t need to pursue.”

Captain Russet was not, as his grandparents’ generation would say, ‘hashtag living his best life’.

On the enormous table before him were all manner of plans, photographs, and documents. There was also a guest list; each name on that list associated with a serving Spectrum agent. If someone wanted to destroy the morale and future of Spectrum Headquarters London, then attacking a room full of their children would be the way to go.

Russet was the one in charge of making sure that didn’t happen, that the entire event went smoothly, without so much as a papercut. He had heard about the latest Mysteron threat, of course, they all had. Superficially at least it wasn’t their concern, the threat was very specific in mentioning Cloudbase. But he knew full well the Mysterons didn’t play fair by the standards of earth’s sportsmanship.

The mention of Cloudbase sent his brain down an unwelcome rabbit hole. Russet recalled his previous visits and the company of the staff there. They were all good people, and when they said to contact them any time with a question or concern, it was genuinely meant. So, that’s what Russet was doing.

Dear Ochre,

Spectrum London is responsible for security of a delegation at a particular hotel, tomorrow afternoon. The matter complicated further by the fact that this delegation is compromised almost entirely of civilian children.

We have a security plan in place, of course. But I thought, considering you have such experience with these things, if you get a minute could you look over it and make sure we haven’t overlooked anything.

Thanks,

Russet

Ochre wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat on the floor, but from the unwelcoming burst of discomfort when he finally shifted position, it must have been a while.

He looked up from his computer and accompanying notes, scribbled all over loose-leaf papers. The muffin was half eaten, deliberately left that way, so he reached for it and pulled off small pieces to eat, savouring it. Not as good as his mom’s baking of course, at least, what he recalled of it, but it filled a hole. He should probably figure out how to bake them himself and do that with his son, it would be a warm, fuzzy, wholesome family activity. When he got a minute.

Everyone looked very intent on their computer screens, as if they personally were going to thwart the Mysterons single-handedly. He appreciated the sentiment, because, all things considered, Ochre quite liked being alive, probably more than he had at any point since joining Spectrum. He knew exactly why. There were two reasons really: one of them was sat next to him, still typing away ridiculously fast and making notes in the meticulous orderly fashion of someone who had been in an academic setting of their own free will.

As Ochre finished the muffin he took a moment to look at Pat. Really look at him. And, because he could, Ochre allowed his chest to fill up with an emotion he hadn’t expected to feel after he’d cut all ties to his previous life, and to the woman he’d thought he would spend the rest of his life with.

Pat had been there through that entire ugly, emotionally repressed, acting out, transition phase. He’d been so patient, thoughtful, listening to Ochre, talking him down from the metaphorical ledge, just holding him when words weren’t enough. And when things were going well, there was nobody that made him laugh harder or he’d rather have adventures with. Because one of the things that drew him to Pat was that shared sense of fun, and his conviction that taking a controlled risk (although clearly they had different definitions of ‘controlled’) was always better than living a dull, safe, little life.

One day he’d do it, finally put into words exactly how much Pat meant to him, in such a way it was sufficiently convincing. It just seemed like something always came up… a work thing usually, but occasionally a family thing, or a friend in some kind of crisis; a direct threat to his life was a new one though.

Magenta must have sensed the attention, because he smiled before he looked round.

“You grand?”

Ochre nodded. “But clearly we need more coffee.”

Magenta reached across, held Ochre’s arm to still him. “You don’t have to get up.”

“I’m a target, not invalid. Also need to get the circulation back into my feet.”

Someone, with greater foresight than most, had installed a coffee machine and associated items in the lab. So Ochre made two cups and brought them back to his spot.

“Pat, that trace software thing you’ve been working on, is it ready?”

“More or less”

“Then how about using it to find Colonel White, as he’s carrying his Spectrum communicator.”

Magenta have a slow nod, as he fired up the program, assuming there was some cop intuition going on here. Either way, he appreciated the opportunity to finally put his advanced personal tracker program into use, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. By the time he’d finished his coffee there was a result.

“Oh.”

“Good oh?”

“Possibly… The Old Man is in London.”

“He’s from there.”

Magenta opened up another tab, logged in with his rainbow clearance and ran another check. “He must be with Mrs. Wainwright, and Evie. They’re on the manifest for a Logan to Heathrow flight that arrived just after he did.”

The thought that had been niggling away at Ochre came back even stronger. “Evie is his kid, legally adopted, so that makes him a father. And, he’s also stationed on Cloudbase. He could be the Mysteron target after all.”

Magenta was always interested to hear a good Rick Fraser hunch; overwhelmingly they were correct, and it was endlessly fascinating how his detective mind worked. “It would be ironic, and embarrassing, if we missed that.”

“Couldn’t figure out how they’d do it… but then I got an email from Russet. He sent me through a bunch of security plans and stuff, for an event, well, I guess it’s later today. You know how the Mysterons exploit stuff like that, to make a big scene.”

“But does it have anything to do with fathers? Or Christmas?”

“It’s a party for kids. There will be a visit from Santa Claus, or as my own kid told me, Father Christmas.”

Ochre drained his coffee. “Good thing we packed our bags after all.”

“You better be right about this. Otherwise you have to explain to Blue why we went off base for the craic after all.”

“Deal… But no idea what you’re fussing for, A stór mo chroí. It’s an easy assignment. We’ll just take a quick flight down, save the day, then ride into town covered in glory and in time for tea.”

Magenta didn’t suppose that was likely, but knew there was no point in arguing.

“They are, what?”

Green took a deep breath. “Going to London, sir.”

“Well, that’s great, Lieutenant. It’s so easy to stay connected to someone and ensure their safety on the ground, when they just up and go to another capital city without any warning.”

Green realised then that Captain Blue’s being sarcastic voice and Blue’s regular voice sounded the same. This was an unsettling development.

Captain Blue recovered his composure. It wasn’t fair to react this way to Green; the lieutenant was just relaying the message.

“They received intelligence that Colonel White is in London, and there could be a potential attack on a hotel near Spectrum HQ London,” Green continued.

“Is this intelligence by any chance, Captain Ochre’s amazing policeman’s intuition?”

“No, sir, Captain Russet highlighted it as a potential target.”

“And, Colonel White is staying at this hotel?”

“Hmm, apparently not.”

“So, why is everyone convinced this hotel will be targeted?”

Green grinned. “Captain Ochre’s amazing policeman’s intuition.”

It was going to be a long day on Cloudbase.

An hour before the guests were due to arrive and Russet was both sure they had everything covered and convinced they had forgotten something major.

“Sir, there’s a man here to see you, says he’s a captain from Cloudbase, his ID checks out.”

“Send him in.”

Not that he needed an invitation.

Russet heard him approach, and turned on his heel. “Ochre: hi, good to see you.”

“Yeah, and Magenta’s just parking the car. So, what’s up?… off the record.”

“Nothing, I mean, we’ve been through all the checks. Made the improvements you suggested. Our guests should be arriving at thirteen hundred.”

“And Colonel White?”

“Ah, yes; him too. He has quite an important role at the gathering.”

Ochre nodded, not really sure what they were getting at. “And that’s been factored into the security plan?”

“Of course, and well, it’s Colonel White. In a straight fight I wouldn’t put money on the Mysterons.”

There were people scuttling around everywhere; hotel staff and Spectrum ground agents. Ochre lowered his voice.

“Hans, we have reason to believe the colonel is the target of the latest threat.”

“Then should we cancel? Have him moved to a safe house?”

“No, this place is full of agents, probably the best place for him. Just stay vigilant. And make sure no civilians end up in the crossfire. Officially, I’m not here. But we’ll be around, plain clothes, as backup. So patch us into your frequency.”

Russet nodded. “Typical Cloudbase, stealing all the cool assignments.”

“You try working under The Old Man, we need all the perks we can get.”

“Smell that.” Magenta put his face against an open window and took a deep breath dramatically. “Fresh air, coming directly from the source. And, if we were feeling particularly bold, we could even go outside, any time we like.”

“I doubt the air is particularly fresh here, but whatever gets you off.”

Ochre settled into place, they’d chosen a spot where they could survey the crowd from above but still have ready access to the main floor. Then he checked his weapon again, just for something to do. A part of him missed his old WGPC service pistol. Spectrum had the jump on everyone for research & development obviously, but the WGPC weaponry just felt different, the extra weight was oddly comforting, or maybe he was just getting sentimental in his old age.

“We’ve been sighted.” Magenta’s voice was low. “Ten o’clock.”

Ochre reacted on instinct, drawing the gun and moving into position.

A now terrified girl of about six years old stared back at them.

He should have thought it through, the place was full of kids and they were free to roam around.

“It’s ok, we’re Spectrum agents, like your dad, or mammy,” Magenta soothed.

She didn’t react, it was as if she hadn’t heard him, but there was no way…

Ochre didn’t holster his weapon, instead he placed it on the floor right where the girl could see it. He made eye contact, and, carefully, moved his hands in a pattern.

Slowly the fear left the girl’s face, she responded in kind, smiling at the captains. With a cheerful wave she turned and trotted down the stairs, melting back into the crowd.

“What?” Ochre frowned at Magenta’s bemused expression.

“Since when do you know ASL?”

“ISL, international sign language… and since I did a course in the WGPC. Everyone else in the unit was like, what’s the point? As if because someone can’t hear you, then they don’t deserve to be heard. But I’m rusty as hell, need to practise more.”

Magenta smiled. “The day you stop surprising me is the day I’m gonna have to quit this job.”

“We’re too high up here.” Ochre’s tone was agitated. “We can see things, but not hear them.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t be walking around in the crowd with that thing.”

As the only Cloudbase captain with a true civilian background, it had taken some time for Magenta to be comfortable using guns and the seemingly casual attitude to the damage they could inflict. Ochre understood that, really he did, but sometimes he just didn’t have the patience.

“It is a sniper rifle. And, no, it won’t kill a Mysteron, but I can take one out for long enough that an agent on the ground can neutralise it. First line of defence.” Ochre looked through the sights, scanned the crowd once more. “Y’know, Pat, you could actually be useful for once and go to the bathroom on my behalf.”

Magenta smiled then. “You definitely cannot outsource that.”

“Fine, don’t touch anything unless I say so.”

He’d sighted someone in the crowd, and knew exactly how to play this.

Ultimately, Amanda chose to accompany him and Evie to remain at their hotel. Something about catching up with her shows, and ‘totally over old people being gross’.

“This hotel is really something.”

Charles was inclined to agree. “Yes, I believe the ballroom is a 19th century addition.”

“Well, I’ll believe you over some dusty guidebook.” Amanda kept her arm linked through his, as they moved through to a side room. She noticed a few of the people in Spectrum uniforms salute him, or give a nod of recognition. She could sense the respect they held him in.

“Everything is ready, sir.”

They were ushered into a side room, a familiar red and white suit hung on the back of the door.

“So, either Santa isn’t real. Or, he is and you’re really Santa.”

“Have you ever seen Santa Claus and myself in the same room?”

Amanda laughed. “Good point.”

As he’d anticipated, Ochre left the bathroom stall and saw a familiar face.

“Hello, Daddy!”

Immediately Ochre scooped the boy into his arms. “You must be the best at hide and seek.”

Ricky shrugged, rested his face against his father’s neck. “You never said you’d be here.”

“Never say I’ll be anywhere, otherwise it’d ruin the surprise.”… or break your heart when I can’t make it because the Mysterons ruined our plans.

Ochre could have held his son forever, he smelt of soap and something undefined; but he was there to do a job. He set the boy down gently.

“Actually, baby, I’m at work here. Have to help the other Spectrum officers keep everybody safe.”

Ricky looked disappointed. “But you always have to work.”

“Well, sadly that’s what happens when nobody can do our job quite as good as me and your aunties and uncles. Anyway, it’s just while the party is on. And you don’t need your old dad hanging around while you make new friends. Go do your thing and I’ll catch up with you later, ok?”

Ricky nodded, gave him one more squeeze. “Is Auntie Pat here too? I have an important question to ask him.”

“He’s around, bud, sure. We’ll both come find you after.”

Ochre returned the hug of his own accord, but there was another purpose.

“And can I tell Aunt Ellie you’re here?”

It was wrong the little boy already had to be careful about what he said. “Sure, kid. Ok, I gotta go now.”

“No, first you gotta wash your hands properly.”

Good thing Ochre was used to taking orders. He squirted soap into his palm. “You’re a bossypants, Richard, but I’ll love you whoever you are.”

Ricky laughed. “Yeah, I know. And you should come to Aunt Ellie’s house, when we go back to Chicago, because we’re here with Nanny and Granddad, so there’s no point visiting right now.”

Ochre gave a fleeting grimace at the idea of spending any part of the Holidays with his one-time de facto parents-in-law.

“It’s ok, Nanny doesn’t like you either, even though she still thinks you’re dead.”

“That’s another real good reason for me not to swing by when she’s around then.”

“Yeah, I guess, but Granddad is ok.”

Ochre crouched, pressed a kiss to Ricky’s forehead. “Really am going now. Love you, be good.”

“Ok, bye, Daddy. Go catch some bad guys.”

Ochre stepped out of the restroom and opened his Spectrum communicator. “Communications are green, Magenta?”

“Comms are green.” There was a brief pause. “Such tact. I cannot imagine where he gets that from.”

Ochre rolled his eyes, and returned to his post.

Colonel White settled into his chair, in fact, it was more throne like. He could hear children’s voices from the next room, their laughter and games. It cheered him. Those under his command might have considered him a Scrooge, and he had no particular reason to disabuse them of the notion. For so many years Christmas had been a difficult time for Charles Gray, the glad tidings and family celebrations making him even more acutely aware of his forced solitude, following the death of his wife and infant son.

His new life, a second chance of family, would never entirely erase that. But he felt a greater sense of peace and purpose now than he had done for decades.

Captain Russet put his head round the door. “Are you ready, sir, I mean, Santa?”

White gave a nod.

“This is Claudia.” Russet lead the small girl inside. “She’s from Munich, and uh, her hearing…”

“Ah, yes; don’t worry.” White turned to the girl, and began to sign.

From his perch Magenta saw the queue of children outside the anteroom and knew now was the moment to act.

He opened the two way communication channel.

“Ricky, hi…”

“Auntie Pat! Hi, how are you?”

Good thing Spectrum’s human resources department had gone to all that effort with the secrecy and making people disappear from public life with the code names and so on. “I’m grand, need a favour though, when you go into to see Santa we need to get a picture of him. Just stand right in front of him, so we can see.”

“Why?”

“Just, because. It’s important for our work today.”

“But, it’s Santa. Is it not really Santa then?”

Apart from Ochre, and Ricky obviously, Magenta didn’t know how many living descendants of Clan Fraser there were. But he really didn’t need them all to band together and murder him for ‘ruining Christmas’.

“If you believe in Santa, then he’s real.” See, he could do diplomatic.

“Ok then.”

Russet brought in the next child. “This is Richard.”

“Come in, young man. Merry Christmas.”

The boy waited a brief moment, directly in front of White, then stepped forward.

“Now, have you been good this year?”

“Hmm, define ‘good’.”

White fought the urge to laugh, he’d have expected that answer from someone older but with a similar name. “Have you been kind, helped others, worked hard at school, things like that?”

“Sure.” Ricky closed the space between them and perched on Santa’s lap.

“Then what would you like for Christmas?”

Above them Magenta had a clear image, and promptly ran a retina scan.

“It’s a match, that’s definitely The Old Man.”

Ochre nodded. “Knew it.”

“That’s easy,” Ricky began. “I’d like a Spectrum jet.”

“Hmm. It might be a bit big to fit in the sleigh…”

“But you’re Santa, it’s a magic sleigh. Anyway, I need a plane because then I can go and visit my daddy. He’s busy a lot but sometimes he’s not, so then he doesn’t need to worry about coming to visit me.”

White smiled. “You must miss your dad a lot.”

“Yeah, he’s the best daddy in the world, because he always tries his best.” Ricky looked up and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you really Father Christmas? I heard you aren’t really, you’re just helping him.”

It was rare for White to wrong footed. “Who told you that?”

“I can’t disclose my sources. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

“Well, it is rather a busy time of year, as you can imagine, so sometimes, yes, Father Christmas does need to call on his special helpers around the world to spread magic and meet all the children. But, fortunately, I was in London, visiting my family, so I was able to be here today.”

Ricky seemed satisfied with that explanation.

There was another door to the anteroom, White had noticed it initially but not given it any further thought… until it slowly opened.

A man stepped inside.

Deep coldness spread through White, as adrenaline started to flow. He knew this face, had seen it in images. But to confront this in person seemed unimaginable.

“Black.”

Captain Black took another step forward, slowly, almost entirely silent.

White had always wondered how much of his humanity Black had retained after that fateful mission to Mars. In that moment he felt absolutely sure that none of it had survived. Black was like a ghost, of Christmases past, present, and future.

In his lap the boy shifted, not fully understanding the situation but aware from feeling alone that something was wrong, that this man before him was not entirely human. He reached for White’s hand, and White gave a squeeze back.

Black finally spoke. “Earthman, we will be avenged.”

Through a hidden two-way communicator, White heard a familiar voice, uttering a word that would have to be redacted from the situation report, and the sound of running feet.

White addressed the boy. “Richard, run, go to your father. He knows what to do.”

White turned his gaze, noting that Black had advanced further into the room. “What do you want, Conrad?”

For a moment Black seemed to hesitate, as if there was indeed a shred of humanity left that was fighting to the surface.

“You don’t have to let them win; Scarlet came back to us.”

Black’s eyes were once again entirely dark, nothing behind them. Wisps of white smoke emerged from his collar.

With sickening horror Colonel White realise, exactly what was about to transpire; he had seen it once before.

It was two hundred metres, at the absolute most, between where Ochre had been stationed and the door to the anteroom. Running that distance, with knowledge and instinct of how imperative it was to reach them, felt an eternity.

The ballroom was quickly emptying, Spectrum personnel evacuating the children from the second White had raised the alarm.

How had they factored this in?

How could they have factored it in?

The room was empty but for one person.

Ochre lifted the boy, held him close, knowing he would cover more ground that way. Turned on his heel and headed to the exit. He had no clue as to what the radius of the inevitable blast would be, knew that he knew, yet chose to hope that the odds were in their favour.

They weren’t going to be.

Ochre pulled them into a doorway, the arch around it adding extra protection, pulled the heaviest looking wooden table over and sheltered them behind that.

“We need to stay here.” He curled his body around his son, kissed his soft, wavy auburn hair.

The blast ripped through, boom echoing in every cell of their bodies, glass shattering and fixtures falling, dust coating everything and their ears ringing.

Ochre carefully unfolded himself, just enough to run his hands over his son to check for injuries. He felt nothing untoward. Felt no pain himself except for the many stinging cuts where shards of glass had hit.

Ricky’s voice was soft, but that might have just been due to the ringing in Ochre’s ears. “We didn’t die, Daddy.”

“Nope.” Ochre grinned. “Not today.”

Ochre stood, tried to dust them off a bit, knew they had to get outside soon in case anything collapsed in the aftermath.

“I wasn’t scared.”

“It’s ok to be scared, kid, you’re allowed to have feelings.”

“Ok. I was a bit scared, but then I thought, we can be with Mommy again.”

When Ochre realised the full meaning of what his son had articulated, it truly shook him as he tightened his grip.

“She’s just gonna have to wait a bit longer.”

It occurred to Ochre that he had smelt smoke and run towards a ticking bomb, or at least Mysteron equivalent thereof. No doubt everything in the rulebook and human nature advised against that very thing. But Ochre had never been good at taking advice.

Maybe that was their plan all along, to get him and White in one go. They would never know. It didn’t really matter.

For once the sky was blue, a cold but clear day in London, as they emerged from the hotel building. From what Ochre could see the blast radius had been small after all, with the target so specific.

Without the vivid uniform as a cue, it took some effort to find Magenta, as Ochre walked through the crowd gripping Ricky’s hand.

Magenta saw them first, moved purposefully, reached them and folded them both into an embrace.

“Jaysus, when the comms cut out, I thought…”

“Yeah, me too.” Ochre briefly let his head rest on his partner’s shoulder. “But, the devil takes care of his own, eh?”

“You need to get cleaned up, and see the medics.”

“We’re both fine… and where’s The Old Man?”

“Dunno; they’re still digging through, where his signal is.”

Ochre took a step back.

“You are not going back in there.” Magenta’s face was set. “Richard Atticus...”

“Don’t you first and middle name me!”

“Well, don’t act like that’s the very least I should be doing so you stay alive. Besides, you’ll just be getting in the way of the highly trained professionals.”

“And I’m not one?”

Magenta looked about to say something else, then thought better of it. Instead he turned to Ricky. “Let’s go find your aunt, let her know you’re ok.”

He took Ochre’s free hand firmly in his own. Ochre knew full well it was purely because Magenta was not going to let him run off to do anything that could possibly be interpreted as foolish, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

They found Eleanor Topping standing at the edge of the Spectrum cordon, talking to deeply-shaken blonde woman some years older than her.

“Mrs Wainwright.” If he’d been wearing his cap Magenta would have taken it off. He realised then why they were at the cordon, on the other side of the tape stood a teenage girl who had shoved her way to the front.

Magenta lifted the barrier and let Evie duck under it. He would take whatever consequences of breaking that protocol.

“No news yet,” Amanda said. Holding onto her daughter with the same instinct and intensity as Ochre with his son.

“Is it always like this?”

Magenta didn’t really consider his answer. “It can be. But it doesn’t normally involve your dad being in the firing line.”

“Happy Holidays to us.” Evie kept her eyes on the rescue crew as they worked.

“He’s shaking so much,” Ellie said softly.

Ochre gave a nod, wrapped the foil blanket a little tighter around Ricky. “The shock, I guess. He’ll be ok though. And Spectrum Chicago has counsellors, if y’know, you need anything.”

“That’s good, I didn’t realise they had so many services.”

“Yeah, kinda have to, so we all keep going.” Ochre adjusted his own blanket. “So, how’s your mum?”

Ellie gave him a look. “She’s fine. Yes, enjoying the Holidays here.”

“Considering your mom probably hasn’t enjoyed anything since 2019 then I kinda doubt that, but sure.”

Ellie almost concealed a smile. “You don’t have to see her.”

“Oh, I have no intention of it. There are very few perks to most of the world thinking you’re dead, but that is one of them.”

“You really haven’t changed.”

“No, I really have, but, mostly for the better. I mean there must be reason Pat hasn’t smothered me in my sleep.”

On hearing his name Magenta looked over, untroubled.

It was then they heard a familiar voice emerge from the rubble.

“Can’t keep a good man down.”

“Evidently not.” Magenta stepped closer, and they observed as Colonel White tried to fight off the fussing of both medical professionals and his immediate family. As the most senior officers on site they both approached him, to give and receive a sit-rep.

“Gentlemen,” White began. “I must say I am rather impressed with the protection offered by the mobile anti-blast unit; though it is awfully cramped in there.”

The chair he’d been sat on must have concealed it, Magenta supposed, so the risk had been considered after all.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” he asked cordially.

“For all these people to stop making such a fuss, I am FINE.” White batted away another paramedic. “And your reports, by the appropriate deadline. Or rather, send them to Captain Blue.”

“Yeah, you should definitely enjoy the rest of your vacation, sir.”

White looked at him, and Ochre immediately felt chastised for his previous utterance through the communicator. “I trust that young Richard is unharmed.”

“He’s shaken up, of course, but he’ll be ok.”

“Good, after your efforts today, unorthodox as they were, and I’ve come to expect nothing less, you may take the next forty eight hours as furlough. Don’t think that exempts you from report writing or being on call. Dismissed.”

They both thanked the colonel profusely, knowing when not to push their luck.

The captains headed back through the crowd, slowed by doing their part to ensure everything ran smoothly. Children were being reunited with their families, the ground crew was clearing up, agents were providing statements and otherwise keeping the press at bay. They did not envy Russet having to act as field commander.

“You know what I need?” Ochre began.

Magenta gave him a look.

“Haha, apart from that. Your mam’s cooking; beef in Guinness stew, mash potatoes, roast potatoes, emotional support carbohydrates in general.”

“Will make some inquiries then. Surely our esteemed leader has to agree with letting us have some downtime now? You just think of a good explanation for the child being spirited away.”

Ochre grinned, knew that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Hey, my little love, you hanging in there?” Ochre hugged Ricky, he never wanted to let this child go.

Ricky nodded. “Are you going back to work now?”

“No, not today, not even tomorrow. We’re gonna have to get you some clean clothes, for both of us, huh? Then, how about we go see Granny and Pappy.”

Ricky beamed at the prospect, while over his head Ellie gave him a look.

“Pat’s parents,” Ochre explained. “And they’re the closest thing I have to parents. They call themselves Ricky’s grandparents. And I figure this kid needs all the loving he can get.” A thought occurred to him. “Wait, sorry, getting ahead of myself. If you guys have plans or something then ...”

“No plans really, we can always visit museums and such another time. You should get to see him.”

Magenta turned to Ellie. “My parents have a farm in County Dublin. And you’re more than welcome to join us there, of course. As you’re family; well, a relative of a relative of someone officially bestowed Family Status, which is minimum entry criteria for House Donaghue. ”

Ellie smiled, a rebellious glint in her eye. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

“Colonel, sir, I’d just like to say, it’s a huge relief that you’re safe.” Blue paused, uncharacteristically self-conscious. “And, I’d just like to say, I have a lot of respect for you, sir.”

On the other end of the video call being made from the study of his hotel suite, White gave a nod.

“Ah, yes, I did receive your reports, Captain. And noted the reference to certain officers and their propensity to interpret protocol as a sort of loose suggestion.”

“Yes, sir, and going off to different locations without consulting their superior officer. And, using their initiative in ways that were highly dangerous. And defying orders, and…”

Blue stopped, he was obviously speaking out of turn.

“Yes, Captain. That is exactly what I have come to expect of my officers, all of them… I believe your predecessor in your current role described it as ‘trying to herd cats’.”

Blue hung his head a little, it didn’t quite conceal the smile.

“By all accounts, Captain, you’ve done an excellent job.” White offered a measured smile. “Such an excellent job, in fact, that it’s to be extended by a further forty-eight hours.”

Blue gave a genuine smile, but there was no concealing that he also blanched slightly.

“As you can imagine, this threat has put me rather behind on fulfilling my other obligations during this festive season,” White continued. “Naturally, Ochre and Magenta have also been granted furlough, so that will make your job a bit easier. Think we’ve all had quite enough Santa’s grottos for this year.”

Ochre had been granted leave, finished his report, flown a plane, and had nothing better to do than chill with his favourite people in one of his favourite cities. All was right in Rick-world, which was a drastic improvement on the start of his day.

The four of them were sat in a cafe on Liffey Street, drinking hot chocolate with all the trimmings, watching, if not the world go by, then certainly the city’s Christmas market.

Magenta checked his phone. “Mam and Pappy will be here soon, American definition of soon at that.”

Ochre frowned slightly. “Are we not going to their house?”

“Hmmm, eventually, but for now we’re meeting them here. They’re in the city, drove in specially. They had to use the talking map because there were roadworks everywhere.”

“You got all that from the tracker?”

“No, from my mother sending me seven-million messages, mostly about what to buy the child for Christmas.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Ellie insisted. “Ricky has more than enough toys, and they’re ever so kind letting us stay at such short notice.”

Ochre gave a laugh.

Magenta kept his expression neutral. “It’s ok, you’ve never met my parents, so you weren’t to know that telling them what to do has exactly zero percent success rate.”

“I just have questions about ‘the talking map’.” Ochre added.

“Sat-nav.” Magenta shrugged.

Ochre laughed. “I like how your parents make technology sound like some kind of medieval witchcraft.”

“In their minds, those are pretty much the same thing. Sometimes I do wonder if I was switched by the fae folk.”

“When we were you going to tell me this?”

“That I’m probably a changeling?”

“No, that we’ll be having dinner at a restaurant.”

“You remember about ten seconds ago, when words came out my mouth. That was me telling you.”

Ochre didn’t appreciate Pat making plans without consulting him, just on the principle of the thing… but then Mr and Mrs Donaghue were some of his favourite people to spend time with. So fine, he could survive a little longer without genuine home cooking.

Ochre heaved a sigh, as if he’d had to consider it carefully and was conceding defeat. “Very well, am I presentable enough already?”

Magenta raked his eyes over him, it made Ochre feel something that still startled him. “You’ll do, I suppose. That’s a very nice jumper.”

‘Sweater’ Ochre mentally recalibrated, and brushed gingerbread crumbs from the deep green cable knit that Mrs Donaghue had knitted him the previous winter. Apparently, it brought out the colour of his eyes.

“Yeah, everything your mam makes ends up looking great.” He winked.

Ricky was still slurping down his own hot chocolate, which explained why he’d been quiet for an entire minute and counting. He was all cleaned up and wearing his Christmas sweater, with soft corduroy trousers. Ochre knew he was clean too; but between having to shower in the mobile hazmat decontamination unit, and Ricky talking the entire time, his shower had been the least relaxing bathing experience in the entire history thereof. He was really hoping for a bath later, ideally with a glass of whisky on the side.

Ellie stood up from the table, said she was going to use the restroom. No doubt she’d pay their bill on the way back, after being expressly told by both captains not to do that because it was their treat.

Magenta was still looking at them. Ochre knew that expression, something had been bugging him all day and now finally he could let it out.

“Rick, I have a question,” Magenta began. “How did you know Colonel White would be Santa?”

Ochre broke into song. “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake; he knows if you’ve been bad or good…”

The End

The lyrics (from ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’, by John Frederick Coots and Haven Gillespie) which conclude this story were the inspiration for the entire piece.

I recall making reference to Cloudbase’s Santa’s grotto in a drabble many years back, and thought it needed revival and embellishment.

Character credits:

Lieutenant Copper: Caroline Smith.

Lieutenant Viridian: Lieutenant Wisteria’s story "Baselines".

Agent Conners, and Amanda Wainwright: Chris Bishop.

Lieutenants Claret, Flaxen and Viridian. Phillipa Daniel. Alison, Eleanor, and Richard Topping: Marion Woods.

Thank you to Marion Woods, and Chris Bishop, for beta-reading.

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