A “Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons” story for Christmas

By Chris Bishop, Mary J. Rudy and Sue Stanhope

PART 1

It had to be him… WHY did they HAVE to send HIM?

Colonel White looked up from the memorandum in his hands and scowled at the man dressed in civilian clothes standing before him. The Spectrum commander-in-chief rubbed his face, bringing attention to his tired eyes. He, and the rest of his senior staff, had been up through the previous night thwarting the most recent Mysteron threat, and his fatigue was evident, even though White tried his best to conceal it. “When Accounting first notified me of this, I assumed they meant they would send a representative from their own offices, not Intelligence.”

Special Agent Martin Conners smiled thinly, as if it were possible for him to smile any other way. “They’re a bit short-handed, sir. I volunteered for the job.”

“You volunteered,” said White unctuously. “How nice of you to do so, Mr Conners.”

“Colonel, I hope you realise it’s nothing personal.” He consulted the file in his hands – it seemed as if he ALWAYS had a file in his hands whenever White saw him. “It came to the Accounting Centre’s attention that a number of… financial irregularities, shall we say, occurred this past year aboard Cloudbase. Discrepancies between mission expenses, equipment allowances, and officers’ reimbursement vouchers, that sort of thing. Nothing really bad; a routine audit will be sufficient to sort it out, I’m sure…”

Suddenly Colonel White was fully awake. “You want to do a what?!”

“An audit, sir,” Conners repeated. “Of the senior officers’ expense accounts, which is the reason it has come to the attention of Internal Affairs.”

“Internal Affairs?” White scoffed, throwing the sheet on his desk. “My officers have nothing to hide!”

“Which is why I know they’ll comply fully with my investigation.”

“But why now? I’m told you want to start TODAY! It’s Christmas Eve, for goodness sake!”

“Spectrum Intelligence – that is, the internal affairs bureau at Spectrum Intelligence – feels that we should clear this matter up before the end of the year. My team is prepared to start today, if possible…”

“Team?”

“A team of three auditors, Colonel. I thought the work could be done more efficiently that way. I assure you, as soon as we’re finished here, we’ll be on our way, and we’ll be out of your crew’s way in time for your holiday celebrations.”

Colonel White scowled. Celebrations? Well yes, it would soon be Christmas. Over the past few weeks several delegations from his crew had come to him asking permission to put up decorations and celebrate the various holidays on board. He had given his agreement, on the sole condition that everyone continued with their duties as normal. After all, this was a military base, and everyone had to keep in mind that there was no better time for the Mysterons – or any terrestrial terrorist group – to launch an attack, when no-one would anticipate it and would be taken by surprise. White wouldn’t want that; the cost in lives would be too high.

White looked down at the paper set on his desk in front of him. The authorisation that Conners had given him upon entering the Control Room a few minutes ago, and before explaining to him what his visit was for exactly. In principle, White could have rejected the demand and asked Conners to wait until after the Holiday Season for his auditors to perform their task. It would be easier on everyone at the moment, his crew, officers, staff – himself. And he had a feeling that the auditors themselves would prefer to be anywhere else rather than on Cloudbase – probably with their own families, no doubt. But the colonel could not, in all conscience, regard this as a good enough reason to ask Conners to leave. He could see the necessity of such an administrative operation. He nodded quietly.

“You won’t disturb my staff during the course of their duties?” he asked in a warning tone.

“No, Colonel. Maybe a few questions to some of them, and I’ll make sure it’s quick.”

“All right, then. Lieutenant Green?” White called, addressing the communication officer seated at his station and working on the base’s main computer. He saw the young Black man turn in his direction and raise his head. “Mr Conners’ team is cleared to board. Inform the Accounting Centre that we are expecting them.”

“S.I.G., sir,” Green answered, turning to his console.

“When your team arrives someone will escort them to the Bursar’s Office, Mr Conners,” White added to the Spectrum Intelligence agent. “Lieutenant Gold is in charge. I’ll make sure he co-operates with them.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I’m much obliged.”

There was a bit of surprise in Conners’ tone of voice. He was indeed perplexed by the colonel’s quick approval, because he had come prepared for a fight. The result was that he was at a loss for words. He stood there, not quite knowing what to say.

“Is that all, Mr Conners?”

“Er… Yes, sir. That’s all. I will, of course, forward you a copy of my report to Accounting…”

White narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Mr Conners. I would appreciate that. Now, if you’ll excuse me and carry on with your duties – I am quite busy myself.”

Conners nodded briefly and turned on his heel, briskly walking the distance separating him from the green doors leading out of the Control Room. They opened before him and he left. White was thoughtfully staring as the doors slid shut on him, his eyes following the paper decorations – in the shape of mistletoe leaves and berries – pasted on them. That was Lieutenant Green’s doing, earlier that day. White shook his head morosely. His eyes changed direction; they fell on glittering garlands, hanging from the ceiling – put there by Captains Ochre and Magenta the day before. He grumbled and picked up his pen, to continue writing in the report he had been working on before Conners’ arrival.

Christmas…

White heard a faint beeping sound coming from Green’s console, almost as soon as the young man had finished contacting first the SPJ hangar, then the Bursar’s Offices. Someone was contacting Cloudbase Control Room. The colonel distractedly heard his aide saying something into his mic, then raising his voice to address him.

“Sir, an important call for you.”

“From whom, Lieutenant?” White asked, without raising his eyes from his document.

“The World President, sir. He says he wants to speak to you in private and if you would call him back from your quarters…”

White stopped working. The World President… calling on Christmas Eve? And asking for a private conversation? That certainly must be important. He rose from his seat. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Tell the World President I’ll call back in five minutes.”

“Got a minute?”

Captain Blue looked up from his half-written report and pushed his chair away from the desk. “You know, normally I don’t mind doing these after-action reviews, but today my heart’s just not in it.” His smile was tired; they were all done in, it seemed. “What can I do for you?”

Captain Ochre smiled in return, a bit brighter than his colleague. “I need some muscle.”

“Huh? If you have to collect a debt, maybe it’s Magenta you should be asking. He used to do that for a living.”

“Not that kind of muscle. I have to set something up in the Officers’ Lounge for the party.”

“Sure, why not? This can wait.”

The pair strode down the corridor, but passed the hatch leading into the lounge and headed for the access to the lower decks. “Wait a minute, where are we going?” Blue asked.

“Oh, I stored it on the Hangar Deck. We’re going there by way of Sickbay, because I’ll need Scarlet’s help as well.”

“Scarlet? What is this thing?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” He paused, seeming a bit embarrassed. “This was meant as a Christmas surprise for everyone, but... now I need some help.”

Blue shrugged. Captain Ochre didn’t normally ask for help from his fellow officers, but he usually wasn’t so secretive about one of his projects either – not that anyone was ever really interested in one of his projects… This time, apparently, he wasn’t going to tell him any more, and Blue left it at that. It was the time of year for surprise gifts and keeping secrets from each other, after all, and the Midwesterner had obviously been keeping something secret from the others for months. He assumed he’d know soon enough what it was.

Captain Scarlet had just been released and was putting a new uniform on when they got to Sickbay, and he was only too glad to be of assistance. “Will do me some good to stretch out these new muscles,” he remarked, rolling his shoulders as he did so.

“Nothing too strenuous, Captain,” cautioned Dr. Fawn, who had entered the room just as Scarlet finished. “I don’t want you back here in an hour.”

“As you say, Doctor, ‘no worries.’ I’ll be fine.” He snatched the release from Fawn’s clipboard. “Happy Christmas, Doc.”

“Thanks, and the same to all of you!” Fawn cheerfully replied, nodding to each of them as they left.

The three officers eventually reached the Hangar Deck and stopped before a locked storeroom. Captain Ochre swiped the lock with his keycard, then entered a code.

Blue stared in disbelief. “You coded the lock?!”

“Just in case the colonel came snooping around,” said Ochre as he pulled the door open and gestured them in. “Remember, he doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Neither do we,” Blue growled. “What have you been up to for the last few months, Rick, and why are you hiding it in here?”

“Can we please discuss this later? The colonel doesn't know about the party either, does he?” Scarlet consulted his watch. “He’ll have our guts for garters if he doesn’t get our reports soon. Fawn told me he’s in a dreadful mood.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ochre with a wink. “I’ve got that covered. You two aren’t the only ones in on this—” With that his personal communicator beeped; the top of the pen-shaped device flashed green. He pulled it out of his tunic pocket.

“Right on time, Lieutenant. Talk to me.”

“Ebenezer’s having a word with Marley right now. You are clear to take the turkey out of the oven.”

“S.I.G. Hot stuff, comin’ through.” He closed the channel.

Scarlet and Blue exchanged glances. “Rick, sometimes you take your job way too seriously,” Blue said, shaking his head.

Ochre ignored the comment, and headed for the workbench in the corner of the room. “Come on, we haven’t much time. Once we get these in the lounge I’ll explain everything.” He moved several empty boxes from the front of the bench, revealing three large objects covered with individual tarpaulins.

“We’ll make sure you do.” Scarlet frowned, thoughtful. “Ebenezer I can understand, but who the devil is Marley?”

“The World President,” Ochre explained. “Green told me earlier that he heard through the grapevine the colonel would be getting a private call from him today, Christmas greetings I imagine.” He waved toward the workbench. “Now’s the time for us to get these out of here, before he goes off Green’s radar and starts wandering the decks looking for us.”

Ochre had appropriated three wheeled carts used for transporting mechanic’s tools. Scarlet and Blue lifted each of the heavy bundles onto a cart, straining with the effort. “Jesus, Rick, what have you got in here?” Blue grunted. “This better be worth the effort!”

“Oh, it will be, believe me,” said Ochre with a sly smile.

The three of them started across the deck with their cargo, dodging the deckhands preparing for an incoming aircraft. Suddenly Scarlet stopped in his tracks.

“Perhaps you were too hasty in assigning code names, Captain,” he whispered, nodding toward the other end of the deck. “Here comes someone more appropriate for the part of Mr Scrooge.”

Ochre swore under his breath. “What’s Conners doing here?”

As if he heard him, the Intelligence agent changed course and headed straight for the three officers. “Good morning, Captains,” he said, eyeing the tarpaulins more than the men. “What have you got there?”

None of your goddamn business, thought Ochre, but instead replied, “A last-minute Christmas present, if you must know…” Conners was about to make another comment when the klaxon sounded, warning everyone to clear the deck for depressurisation.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Conners!” Ochre shouted over the din, pushing the cart away with a vengeance. He took off at a run toward the exit, Scarlet and Blue following closely behind. Thank God for small favours, he said to himself. He smiled slightly when he realised that Scarlet and Blue were probably thinking the exact same thing…

It took White less than the five minutes announced to reach his personal quarters, located on the lower level of the Control Tower. As he briskly walked down there, he encountered a few groups of rather festive people. The third group, a low-ranked officer and a security sergeant, nearly forgot to salute him appropriately. It was only when they noticed the colonel’s reproving frown that they caught themselves, coming to attention as he walked by. Apparently, White reflected, every one was in the spirit of the Holiday Season. Everyone, that was, except him. For the last few years, he mused, he had never truly felt like celebrating during Christmas. Oh, he would accept that the holiday be celebrated, and even joined in the festivities, but ever so briefly. Always, he would leave early, and would usually return to his work, which he couldn’t stay away from for long.

It wasn’t always that way, though. White remembered a time, so long ago, when he would be in as much of a celebratory spirit as anyone else, if not more.

Was that so many years ago?

He reached the door to his quarters, slid his card into the slot and keyed his security number on the lock pad. The door slid open and he stepped in. As the door slid closed behind him, he heaved a deep sigh. His quarters always felt like home. Not as Spartan as anyone would imagine, he thought as his eyes browsed around, taking in his surroundings with obvious contentment, but comfortable, and very personal, with all kinds of memorabilia from his past life hanging on the walls or adorning his furniture. On the place of honour on his desk, right next to his work computer, was the framed photo of his deceased wife, which had never left him for the last seventeen years. As he sat down in front of his station and reached for the comm.link console to make his call, he noticed the ‘new mail’ message flashing on the screen of his computer. A quick glance informed him it was coming from his secured personal mailbox. He took note to come back to that, in the back of his mind, then contacted the World President’s office.

It only took a few seconds before the image of James T. Younger, seated at his desk in his office, appeared on the comm. screen, to greet the Spectrum commander. “Ah, Colonel White,” the World President said with a grin, “so glad you were able to call me so swiftly.”

“Mr President,” White answered with a nod, “how may I be of service to you? I suppose it’s an urgent matter for you to have called today, and asked me to contact you right away.”

“Urgent matter? Not exactly.” The World President waved toward the surface of his desk, which was covered with mounds of paper. “I have documents I have to attend to, before leaving for the Christmas vacations – hoping everything will go smoothly during those few days and that I won’t have to be called back to duty unexpectedly.”

The colonel visibly relaxed. So, the World President hadn’t called him because of an emergency. Still, he was curious to know what it was all about. He saw Younger reach for a folder on his desk, put it in front of him and open it. “One of those documents concerns Spectrum, and I thought I should contact you about it. It’s about that budget expansion for Spectrum that you asked the Cabinet for a few months back.”

White straightened on his seat hearing those words. About time! he thought. They’re finally following it up. Frankly he had about given up hope of hearing anything about it any time soon. It had been his intention to make another attempt after the Holidays, if the World Government Cabinet failed to take any action on his first demand. Although benefiting from large funds for its operations, it was the colonel’s point of view that Spectrum needed even more, in order to do an even more efficient job. The organisation was in need of new fighter pilots, and well-trained ground agents – not to mention always the best equipment in the Research and Technologies Department, if it wanted to find out more about the Mysterons – and subsequently, come up with new and more effective ways to counter them.

“You realise that demand of yours involves quite a large amount of capital, Colonel?” Younger noted, consulting the document and scratching his ear pensively.

“I realise that, Mr President,” White replied with an assured tone. “But it is imperative that Spectrum gets this money. As you know, our fight against the Mysterons – although successful – has taken its toll on the organisation. We need more equipment and personnel if we want this fight to continue to be successful.” He paused, and saw the World President seemingly hesitant. “We’re talking the defence of the entire planet, sir,” White added meaningfully.

“You’re preaching to the choir, Colonel,” Younger replied with a sly smile. “You and I are convinced that Spectrum needs all the capital necessary to continue the good fight. I’m on your side all the way, and I will support any demands you deem essential to pursue Spectrum’s operations.”

“Thank you, sir.” White was feeling a ‘but’ coming. Sure enough, he didn’t have to wait very long for it.

“However,” the World President pursued, “there are those in the World Government Cabinet who feel that Spectrum is already costing more than it should… and those people are quite willing to consider suggestions from other agencies that might help make some cuts in Government expenditure.”

White felt nervous again. He inhaled slowly. “What kind of cuts, sir?”

Younger smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Colonel. There is no intention whatsoever of cutting expenses for Spectrum’s needs. We know all too well how invaluable the service provided by the organisation is to Earth’s security. No, it’s not that…” the World President looked down at his document. “It’s a… proposition the Cabinet received that might interest you.”

“A proposition?” White asked with a frown. “What kind?”

“One that might provide for a sharing of Spectrum’s burden in their operations – and especially with regard to its fight against the Mysterons – with other World Security Organisations.”

White stared at the screen in silence. He was unsure he had understood correctly.

“A sharing of Spectrum’s burden,” he repeated gloomily. “Frankly, Mr President, we already receive all the assistance and support of the other security organisations, whenever we need them. By World Government authority, it’s their responsibility to provide us with all necessary help at Spectrum’s demand.”

“I already know that, Colonel. But this is something different.”

No apparent emotion was visible on White’s face, but his mind was racing. He was starting not to like this at all. Something was up, he could smell it. And just by seeing the expression on the World President’s face, he could guess it was something serious.

“Now I can assure you,” Younger continued quickly, “the final decision will be yours. But I’d like for you to hear me out, and consider all the options before you make a decision concerning this proposal I’m about to reveal to you. I know you are a man of considerable good judgement, Colonel. I’ll trust that judgement, whatever your decision may be.”

White let out a deep breath. This was serious.

“Please, Mr President,” he said softly, tensing as he spoke, “go on…”

Captain Magenta stood in the observation room of the SPJ hangar deck watching with ill-concealed pleasure as the hydraulics lowered the seventy-eight foot, blue and white aircraft down into the hangar bay. Destiny had earlier in the day volunteered for the priority detail of collecting Conners’ team of auditors and bringing them to Cloudbase. But she had another, altogether devious, reason for taking the task. Under cover of supposedly collecting vaccines for Doctor Fawn, two boxes had also been loaded onto the SPJ, each one containing twelve bottles of the finest French wines, personally selected by Destiny herself.

Lowering his cap microphone, Magenta grinned conspiratorially as he contacted Lieutenant Green.

“Lieutenant, how’s Ebenezer?”

“Busy, but Captain, Bob Cratchit’s on his way to the hangar!”

“Who?” asked Magenta, surprised by the reply.

“Bob Cratchit, on his way to pick up the little Cratchits.”

Magenta turned a disdainful eye to the SPJ, which he knew had brought an auditing team to Cloudbase. Conners! Magenta laughed to himself. Bob Cratchit was a good family man. How out of place it seemed that Conners of all people should be referred to in this way! But with the part of Scrooge gone to the Colonel...

It seemed to Magenta that Marley would had then been much more appropriate for the SI agent, but perhaps Green was feeling charitable towards him? Even Christmas couldn't change his attitude THAT much, surely... nah, there was only one explanation. Marley had already been used.

For whom, Magenta wouldn't even try to guess...

“S.I.G. Lieutenant. I’ll be careful.”

Magenta was barely able to contain his anticipation as the bay doors closed above the sleek plane, shrouding it in semi-darkness. A green light flashed to confirm that air pressure and atmosphere had been restored and Magenta wasted no time in exiting the observation room. Joining him in the hangar, two men and one woman, smartly dressed and with dark, serious expressions, stepped from the SPJ. One of the men, clearly the senior of the three, strode purposefully towards him. The second man, shorter, and with a slight limp, walked a step behind, accompanied by the woman, a little taller with long blonde hair.

“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen, ma’am,” Magenta greeted them. “I’m Captain Magenta, welcome to Cloudbase.”

“Thank you, Captain.” The first man stepped forward. “My name is Peter Finch. My colleagues, Tim Copely and Belinda Jackson. I understand that we are to wait here.”

“Yes, Mr Cr… Conners will be here shortly to escort you to the Bursar’s Office.”

Finch raised his eyebrows at the strange slip with Conners’ name. Magenta shrugged.

“Beginnings of a cold,” he explained. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Perhaps you should get a shot of one of Doctor Fawn’s vaccines that your rather attractive pilot brought on board with us?”

Magenta offered him a genial smile. “Yes, I’m sure the vaccines will be very popular amongst the staff. We’re scheduled to get dosed up tonight as it happens.”

“Captain Magenta?”

The voice behind him was one he knew well, and it never made him feel any better to hear it, no matter what the reason.

“Mr Conners.” Magenta turned, fixing the Spectrum Intelligence agent with a forced and insincere smile.

“You’ve met my team of auditors?” Conners nodded and smiled to himself. “That’s good, we’ll be wanting to speak with you later, I’m sure.”

Magenta’s smile vanished in an instant, to be replaced with a cold, hard stare. Conners tried to maintain his superior attitude and bearing. He didn’t like Captain Magenta, it was commonly known, but it appeared that the feeling was entirely mutual. Magenta’s gaze went beyond superficial contempt and his unblinking stare began to unnerve the Spectrum Intelligence agent to the point that he finally lowered his eyes to the file he carried and cleared his throat.

“Anyway…” he began uncomfortably.

“Captain Magenta?” Destiny Angel called from the SPJ’s main hatch. “I think we’ve taken up enough of Mr Conners’ time. He and his team have a lot of work to do and we have to get those vaccines down to Sickbay.”

Magenta turned and nodded, the sooner Conners and his team were out of their way, the better.

“Destiny Angel,” Conners nodded politely. “Very thoughtful of you, we will be quite busy, I’m sure.”

Magenta felt eyes burning into the back of his neck and the frown from Destiny merely confirmed his thoughts.

“Mr Conners?” Magenta began through gritted teeth, still with his back to him. “Will you be requiring an escort?”

“No thank you, Captain, I know the way,” Conners returned abruptly.

“Mr Conners?” Finch stepped forward, eager to break the obvious tension in the hangar. “Perhaps we could help to carry the vaccines, the boxes looked very heavy and, no offence, ma’am,” he turned courteously to Destiny, “but a lady ought not to be carrying such a weight.”

Magenta grinned, the idea of Conners assisting him with contraband was simply delicious. His hopes were dashed by the voice of reason, in the form of Destiny Angel.

“Thank you, Mr Finch,” Destiny offered him a grateful smile, “but that won’t be necessary. We have already made arrangements for their delivery.”

“Thank you, but I think we should be going to the Bursar’s Office. We’ll speak later I’m sure, Captain,” Conners cut in, signalling to the three auditors.

Magenta watched as Conners led the team from the hangar and heaved a heavy sigh as the doors slid closed behind them.

“Could have had some fun there,” he sighed, turning to face Destiny who merely shook her head slowly at him.

“What?” asked Magenta with concern. “Were they suspicious? Did you have any trouble?”

“Do you think I am incapable, Captain?” Destiny Angel, asked in a slightly haughty manner.

Magenta raised his hands in defence whilst almost losing his smile. “No, not all, who could think that?” he finished with a grin spreading once more across his face. “You got the stuff?” he asked with an exaggerated wink.

“Huh!” Destiny scoffed. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Patrick…”

“Uh oh, I’m about to be told off,” Magenta noted with a wry smile.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Magenta grinned. “And you don’t?” Magenta paused as Destiny grinned in return. “Where did you put the boxes?”

“In the passenger compartment, I didn’t want the wine to chill too quickly in the cargo hold, that can be as bad as not chilled at all,” Destiny replied coolly.

“What?! You put it right under their noses?”

“No, right under their feet, they were using the boxes as little footstools all the way here.”

“You’re joking, tell me you’re joking.”

It was only then that Magenta saw the teasing smile spread across her face.

“So, you DO think I’m incapable!”

Magenta took a deep breath, realising he’d been tricked, he gritted his teeth and managed a half smile. “Sometimes, I don’t know who’s worse, you or Ochre.”

“Mon pauvre Patrick,” she replied, brushing her hand gently across his cheek, “you’ll have to work that one out before tonight.”

Magenta’s eyes widened in horror as she turned smoothly to step back into the SPJ. There was the Christmas party tonight, and both he and Destiny would attend. After all, they were providing the wine for it. But later on... he had hoped for a romantic evening, but it was clear she was either in a playful mood or she was deadly serious, it was never easy to tell. But this latest dilemma was a real problem. If he told her she was worse than Ochre, she could be offended and furious, if he told her that Ochre was the better trickster, she could be… well, she could be offended and furious. His shoulders sagged as he followed her into the SPJ. Well, he thought to himself, she was in line for an evening of flattery and attention in the hope that she would forget the question. Hearing the slight sigh behind her, Destiny smiled, satisfied.

Inside the SPJ, Magenta followed Destiny to the cabin situated immediately behind the cockpit and watched as she started to pull a box out of a storage cupboard; it was clearly heavy. Stepping forward, Magenta gallantly stooped to take over; struggling as he shouldered the burden.

“Huh!” he gasped. “What’s in here? France’s gold reserves?”

“Just twelve bottles of the finest French wine,” Destiny replied casually with a wave of her hand.

“Twelve? Between eleven of us?” Magenta frowned.

“Don’t panic, Patrick!” Destiny admonished. “That’s just the red wine. The white is underneath. Anyway, there will be ten of us, you know how the colonel reacted last time to Angel One being unmanned.”

“No… I didn’t mean… Twenty four?! We’re only going to get about two hours, you know!”

“And this –” Destiny continued, ignoring his outburst, “– is for us.”

Magenta’s eyes opened as wide as his grin as she raised a bottle of his favourite vintage champagne. “Where did you get this?” Magenta’s eyes all but glazed over as he took the champagne from her hands and examined it carefully, holding the precious bottle as if it were nectar from the Gods. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen this vintage?”

Destiny sighed and nodded tiredly. “Yes, eight years. I know the story word for word and I’m rather hoping that it’ll be another eight years before I have to hear it again.”

Magenta glanced sheepishly at the French Angel, before grinning as he handed the bottle back to her. “It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas, isn’t it? Our first… together.”

Destiny placed the bottle to one side, all the while not moving her eyes from Magenta’s own. The treasured champagne now forgotten, he gazed lovingly down at her beautiful heart-shaped face. Stepping forward, he cupped his hands around her face and gently let his fingers trace the outline of her cheeks and neck. As his hands ran from her shoulders to her arms, Magenta gathered her towards him, his cheek brushing hers. Sliding his left hand around her slender waist, he ran the fingers of his right hand through her long platinum blonde hair, breathing in her fragrance as he gently kissed her neck.

“Oh, get a room!” came the voice of Captain Grey from the doorway.

Magenta felt Destiny try to pull back sharply with embarrassment, but held her firmly.

“He can wait,” he whispered softly in her ear as he waved an arm vaguely in Grey’s direction.

“I heard that!” admonished Grey.

“Hearing like a bat!” Magenta sighed, turning and offering Grey a shrug of resignation. “Too much time in a submarine listening to the sonar.”

“Yeah, well, at least I’ve kept my skills. I imagine there was a time when you’d have been fully aware of anyone creeping up on you.”

Magenta frowned. “I knew you were there,” he muttered defensively.

“Gentlemen! This is Christmas!” Destiny reminded them. “A time of peace. Goodwill. And carrying of heavy boxes.”

Grey sighed and smiled. “And unbelievable luck too. Green just told me that the old man’s gone to his quarters. Important communication from the ground, and he expected to be a while. So we have plenty of time."

“Right then,” Magenta grinned in return, tapping his foot on the remaining box in the storage cupboard. “Grab a box.”

Pensively, Colonel White was reading the paper version of the document that the World President had sent him through the World Government top-security Ethernet lines and which he had printed only minutes ago. It contained all the details of the proposition Younger had been telling him about. And more.

Sharing of responsibility, White thought grimly, pushing the piles of paper away from him as he finished reading the last lines for the third time. Sharing of everything else – knowledge of the enemy, files, weapons, strategies, courses of action – but certainly NOT responsibility. They would share the credit, ‘collaborating more closely with Spectrum’. Spectrum would retain overall control of its operations, but the other agencies would have the opportunity of consultation. In other words, butting in whenever they feel like it, White reflected irritably. But, if a problem should arise, if a mission should fail – Spectrum would certainly be the only one to take the heat. There would be no-one to step forward to share the blame.

He had seen this before, when he was part of the Universal Secret Service. He had seen it between offices and between organisations too. He knew very well that it wasn’t coming from the ‘concern to cut some of the expenses’. No, they had something more devious than that in mind. And he should have realised it over the last couple of years. Spectrum’s continual success in its operations – especially in view of the fight against the Mysterons – had probably caused some jealousy within the other security organisations. It was really the spotlight they wanted to share. Why should Spectrum be the only organisation with the mandate to fight the Mysterons? Wasn’t it a planetary concern that should involve every World Government security office? Notwithstanding the fact that they had to bring their full support and assistance to Spectrum when asked. They didn’t receive much of the credit for that. They wanted more.

Colonel White wasn’t very surprised when he had seen the name of the person who had signed that proposal to the World Government – the man personally responsible for it. Weston. Shane Weston Jr. Head of the Universal Secret Service, who had succeeded Charles Gray as head of the London Offices after his resignation, and who had quickly climbed the ladder up to the highest position in the organisation. In fact, he had been the second choice for this post, after Gray. When the latter had turned down the promotion, to take on the title of Colonel White for the newly formed Spectrum organisation, Weston had eagerly accepted the post. He was a good administrator, no doubt about that, but, White knew , he was also able to use fierce and dubious methods to get the job done to his satisfaction. Stabbing people in the back wouldn’t be beyond him. I swear, White thought with humour, he’d use children if it would serve him…

Weston’s proposal didn’t include ONLY the USS, but other security organisations. It meant, amongst others, the WGPC, the WAAF, the WASP, and the World Navy… All in all, White reflected, it wasn’t a bad proposal. But he had a sneaky suspicion that, considering from whom it was coming, there was more to it. When it came to Weston, there was always a price tag attached to everything. He wasn’t someone White would trust implicitly. Not without insurance.

The colonel rubbed his eyes tiredly, grunting. He had not been able to sleep for many hours, and it was beginning to have an effect on him. He needed the rest, he was aware of that. To fully concentrate on that ‘proposition’. All in all, it might not be a bad decision to accept it – to have access to a greater number of assets and on immediate help whenever necessary. But he had to think of the downside of what it could mean. Well, working with Weston would be one, most probably. And it wouldn’t be the only one, more than assuredly.

Am I ready to collaborate to the fullest with all those organisations? To share EVERYTHING with them? Knowledge and weapons? To make a decision that might very well put some of the members of the Spectrum organisation at risk?

Not everybody knew about the existence of Captain Scarlet for example. How would other heads of security organisations react when they found out about Spectrum’s own ex-Mysteron agent?

He closed the folder in which he had put the document. Later. He would have to check it later, when his mind was clearer. His eyes fell on his computer screen, where, at the very bottom , the message that he had received mail in his personal box was displayed. He touched the small box to bring it up, wondering what it might be about. Few people knew this mail address of his, and even fewer still used it to write to him. There were only a couple of people who did, he reflected, as he typed in the security code to access the box. It already had been scanned and cleared by the Cloudbase security features by the time it opened on his screen.

Amanda.

Of course. This was the third time she had written this week.

He had met Amanda Wainwright, the mother of Symphony Angel, one of Cloudbase’s ace fighter pilots, the preceding summer. Well, they had already met before, a couple of times, but they really got to know each other better that summer. More closely than Symphony Angel, or Captain Blue, or the others who were there at the time, would even suspect. And that was something that White wasn’t ready to admit to anyone. And especially not to Symphony. He liked Amanda a lot. He felt closer to her than he had ever felt to any woman since his wife’s untimely demise. Enough to give her his personal box address, something he had never done before, with anyone.

He quietly read the message. He thought it would be a nice change from the official documentation he had just read a few minutes ago. And indeed it was. Amanda had a way with words and each message was a pleasure to read. This one was no different, and a smile formed on White’s lips, as he read the woman’s best wishes for the Holiday Season. She was also HOPING he wasn’t over-tiring himself – from what he knew of Amanda, he felt for sure it was more a demand than anything else – that she still recalled the beautiful time they had spent together, and that she hoped to be seeing him soon – as she was sending him an invitation to spend a couple of days during the Holiday at her home in Iowa…

Hold on.

Invitation?

A few days in her home?

The smile on White’s face disappeared instantly. He sat back on his seat, heaving a deep sigh.

Yes, of course, he enjoyed the time he had spent in Amanda Wainwright’s company. She was a spirited, quick-witted, intelligent, beautiful and charming woman. So much like her daughter, to whom she was very close –Symphony was her only family, since the death of her dear husband a few years back, so it was no wonder she had become the ultimate centre of her universe – her only pride and joy. White thought Amanda was very lucky to have the comfort of a daughter after her husband’s departure – it was a chance he himself hadn’t had, and that he regretted bitterly, since his wife died while carrying their first child. Yet, she also felt lonely – and that was a feeling that he knew only too well. That common loneliness had probably contributed to draw them toward one another, White reflected. Of course that didn’t reduce any of Amanda’s inherent qualities. Or he wouldn’t have been attracted to her.

But now, he couldn’t help feeling that maybe it had been a mistake. A mistake he had pursued by keeping in contact with the woman.

How can I do that? he thought grimly. She’s the mother of one of my agents, for Heaven’s sake! I can’t possibly entertain any romantic ideas about her – however innocent they might be. That wouldn’t be fair to her. I should know that.

SHE should know that too.

How can she invite me to her home?

Amanda knew about her daughter’s and Captain Blue’s engagement. She was overjoyed by it – and had shown herself very happy that the colonel would approve of their upcoming marriage and had also promised to help any way he would with regard to Spectrum regulations. But as White had said himself, he was Spectrum Supreme Commander, so he’d find a solution. And Amanda, since having heard that, had not stopped, in her messages, thanking him and telling him how generous and wonderful his gesture was. To the point of embarrassing the colonel like never before.

Is this what she really feels for me? Only gratitude?

He shook his head.

No. Be fair to yourself, Charles. It’s not Amanda. It’s you…

You and Elizabeth.

It was this time of year, he thought bitterly, when he would find himself thinking the more about his dear and deceased wife. Of the wonderfully happy times they had together during those long-gone days of Christmas Season, where they would go to party after party, visit friends all over the place, and throw their own special bashes that would be the talk of London back then. Or those other blissful hours and days when they would choose to be all by themselves, not seeing anyone, and celebrate the Holidays in their own, personal fashion.

Nothing could replace those fond memories Charles Gray had of those too short but oh-so-vivid moments of happiness.

And how cruelly lonely the Holiday Season had been for him those last seventeen years.

I can’t go, he reflected, looking at the invitation on the screen. It wouldn’t be a good idea. He wouldn’t feel like celebrating. The ghost of Elizabeth would still be with him. How odd it would have seemed, it would be like betraying her.

He closed the message. He knew he was taking the cowardly way out by not answering it. He just didn’t want to sadden Amanda with a negative answer. With any luck, she might think he had not seen the message in time.

After all, it was the day before Christmas…

And he had no time for this, did he? He still had work to do, especially that day. And he knew he wasn’t the only one. Since the debriefing with his staff officers a few hours earlier in the Conference Room, he had been expecting their individual written reports concerning the latest Mysteron activity they had thwarted the preceding night. Some of them must have arrived by now… He pressed the button to the comm.link, which put him in direct contact with Lieutenant Green’s station.

“Colonel White?” He heard the voice of his aide through the speakers.

“Lieutenant, have you received any of those reports I’ve been waiting for?”

“No, sir. Except for Doctor Fawn, who just sent his to the Control Room. Captain Scarlet has made a full recovery, as usual, and came back on duty less than an hour ago.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” White snapped in an annoyed tone. “I’m sure I’ll read all the details in Doctor Fawn’s report.”

He almost heard Green suck in his breath at the reprimand. Probably, he had been surprised by it. He wasn’t the only one, as White himself wondered why he had snapped that way at the younger man. Maybe he was a little frustrated that those written reports he was waiting for were not ready just yet… But it was no way Green’s fault. He heard him murmuring a vague excuse.

“Has Captain Scarlet reported to the Control Room yet for debriefing?”

There was hesitation on Green’s part. “No, sir,” he finally conceded. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

White frowned. No reports, Scarlet not coming to the Control Room after his revival… What was going on with people onboard Cloudbase lately?

Maybe I should check that out.

“I’ll be back in the Control Room later,” the colonel informed his aide. “I want to take a tour of the base. Maybe see what could be delaying those reports.”

“Yes, sir.” Green had wisely decided not to offer his service to check on those missing reports himself. Either he felt that his commander was in need of some cooling off, or he didn’t want to set him off further. In either case, Green probably took a good decision.

White cut contact and stood up, reaching for his cap. Doing so, his eye fell on the folder containing the proposal. His eyes flashed with anger. Some Christmas present! he thought irritably. How could Younger drop that on him like that, today of all days? “Take the time to study it carefully,” he had said. “You don’t have to answer this before the end of the Holiday Season.”

“Oh, and Merry Christmas, Charles.”

And a happy Christmas to you, Mr President, Colonel White thought inwardly, putting on his cap and walking to his door to push the opening button.

Bah, humbug.

Captain Grey shifted the box in his grip once more. In itself, the box of twelve bottles of wine was not beyond his muscles’ capability, but the awkwardness of the size and shape made it difficult to hold. The large box seemed to increase in weight with every step he took. Ahead of him, Magenta grunted with pain and frustration as he propped the corner of the box up against the wall and relaxed his aching arms. Grey followed suit and sighed with a healthy measure of relief.

“Where are we taking these, Pat? If I carry this much longer, my shoulders are going to separate.”

Magenta looked up at Grey and nodded with a sigh.

“Sorry, Brad, a slight miscalculation on my part,” Magenta admitted with a grimace. “But we’ve not far to go. We’re going to leave it in one of the supply cupboards in the Conference Room, I’ve already had a small fridge installed in there.”

“A fridge?” replied Grey, taken aback.