The Christmas Man
by Chris Morton
It was Christmas in the city, a time for celebration, for gifts and family. It was twenty two hundred years since some kid had been born – a kid who’d turned out to be a hell of a good guy. In the city streets they still sang songs about it. The whole world was full of joy. Up there Saint Nick was dropping off surprises to all the little hopefuls while I sat in a bar alone, another year around the corner. I was feeling sorry for myself, contemplating life, waiting for the Scotch to do its work. I’d just finished a job and was doing my best to blank it out. I’d chased a punk through the city subway, cornered him and pulled the trigger. My boss had been grateful. Credits had been deposited and a corruption to the timeline avoided. That particular punk had been small time – only traveling back one year from the future, but his intentions had been to bet big on the laserball and win himself a small fortune. A great idea for him, but who knows what repercussions that would have for the rest of us? So that’s where I came in. Moving forward in time was impossible, but since it had been worked out how to travel back, there would always be these roaches, somehow getting access to a time machine. Bribes mostly. They’d travel back with no regard for any changes they might cause. He’d had to go and it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.
The place I was in was a retro bar, mid-twentieth century. It was heaving with positivity. Young office girls stumbling around. Men in suits and plenty of liquor. In the corner an android was at the piano, playing some jazz take on the old jingle bells theme.
A message came through to my pad.
Drop in your area. Black List. Male. Mid-sixties. Santa suit.
A ‘drop’ meant that a client had got away. He’d escaped one of our agents and the hunt was now on. All agents in the area would be getting the same message as me.
I went back to my Scotch, then caught the eyes of the barman.
“Another?” he shouted over the sound of song and laughter.
“Top me up,” I answered.
A mission was the last thing I needed. It was Christmas and I was on vacation.
“Goddamn black list,” I murmured.
A black list was a client who’d slipped through the net before, one who’d caused enough trouble to have the top guys of our agency pulling their hair out, picking at their scabs, biting their nails down to the flesh. Bringing in a black list meant a credit bonus large enough to keep Santa in business for a whole other year.
Santa, I thought. I threw back the Scotch, then from the breast pocket of my jacket I pulled out the laser pistol.
Swiveling the bar stool around, I aimed at the door then rose to a standing position, still holding the pistol out.
Some of the crowd seemed to notice, though most were too drunk to care as I strode towards the door with the professionalism of law enforcement, the eyes of a man on a mission. I wasn’t interested in any of these party-goers and the waves parted, allowing me through.
Outside it was a rush of looming scrapers and neon. Pod bikes and shuttles. Last minute shoppers.
There was a man standing next to me, dressed in red and white. He had a full beard, blue eyes, his hair was a thinning mop of gray and he looked homeless, desperate. He was tall and the suit didn’t fit. He had a pot belly and flushed cheeks.
“Mr Sun,” he said in a heavy warm voice. “Mr Sun, you will kill me now.”
I put the pistol to his head.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“Oh, I know all of it,” he answered, smiling despite it all. “You see, I’m from the future.”
My finger was close to the trigger.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I sneered. “You’re a time bandit. Scum.” They were all from the future and it was my job to take care of them.
“What are you waiting for, Mr Sun?”
It was an easy kill, but I had to wait for confirmation. Was this a code red or blue?
“Red,” the man boomed, reading my mind.
I glanced down at my pad.
“I’m a wanted man, and have been for many years.” His eyes narrowed. “Well, Mr Sun, are you going to kill me or not?”
The pad flashed red and I lowered the pistol at his torso. A clean kill, no messing up the face. I pulled the trigger and he fell to the floor, his insides burning. He managed one last look at me, but who was I to care?
Turning about, I didn’t give it a second thought. Pretty soon my credits would be rolling in. I could bet big on the laserball myself.
At the bar again I ordered another Scotch.
“And a round of drinks for the house,” I said to the barman.
No one batted an eyelid. It was that sort of place.
Just a kill like any other. At least that’s what I thought.
I thought it was over.
* * *
It was Christmas again. Another year gone by and I was sat in the same bar, same android in the corner playing the same songs, the same crowd, though some of the faces were older, some newer, some of the men there were richer, some of the girls more desperate.
I was drinking the same Scotch.
“Mr Sun?”
I turned and it was him. The same man I’d killed exactly one year earlier. The same ill-fitted Santa suit, the same beard, the same sad eyes. His cheeks were still flushed and for all appearances it was as though he’d stepped from that time to this – but moving forward in time was impossible and that wasn’t the case at all.
For him last year was yet to happen.
He sat down next to me. The piano continued to play, the women continued to flirt. Laughter sounded, it was Christmas again; another chance to celebrate the myth that life was much more than a simple coffee at breakfast, whiskey at bedtime and one or two kills a month to pay the bills and pass the time.
“I take it you remember me?”
“No idea who you are,” I murmured, staring ahead at the bottles behind the bar.
“Oh, I think you do.”
I turned at him. “What do you want?”
“Just a chat, that’s all.”
I sipped at my whiskey.
“And why would I want to speak to dead man?”
He laughed.
“Oh, I’m not dead. At least not yet.” He opened his palms wide. “You think it’s strange that I wish to meet the man who’ll eventually kill me?”
“How do you know I will?”
“Oh, there’s no problem with that.” He laughed quietly. “Simple enough to set up. I take it the kill was easy?”
I said nothing. This man seemed confident, reclined to his fate. Here I was next to him, his liquidator and he couldn’t have cared less.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched him stare at my whiskey.
“Never had a taste for the stuff myself,” he said. “I’m a gin man, always have been.” He clicked his fingers, gesturing to the barman. “Spot me a Blue, will you? And on second thoughts make it two. I think you’ll like it,” he said, this time to me.
“Yeah?” I answered.
He laughed again, patting me on the shoulder in a reluctant sort of way.
“In fact I know you’ll like it.” he said, “Because a year from now, that’s exactly what you’ll be drinking.”
I stood up quickly. “What do you want from me?” My hand moved towards the pistol under my jacket. “I suggest you scram before I –”
“Before you what, Mr Sun?”
Two Blues were suddenly placed in front of us. Picking mine up, I downed it and it was good, better than I’d been expecting. Maybe I would give up the Scotch for this sweet blue gin.
“Just confirm for me why you don’t take me outside and kill me again?”
I looked across at him. “Already spent the credits I got for your kill,” I murmured.
“Well done, Mr Sun. Well done indeed. You catch on fast.” He sipped at his drink. “Tell me, Mr Sun. How does a man end up in a job such as yours?”
From somewhere in the crowded bar a woman was squealing with delight. There were cheers and congratulations.
“We all have reasons,” I sneered. “And I suppose you’d like me to ask for yours. Why you’re traveling back. How you got access to a time machine …” I was still standing, holding my empty glass. A year ago I’d watched him die.
“Not your job to ask for reasons,” he sighed. “You pull the trigger and that is all.”
“My job,” I said coldly, “is to make sure you don’t interfere.”
“Sure, sure it is. Ask no questions …”
Slowly he stood up too and I was reminded of his height. A tall lanky Santa with a belly full of hops. His figure gave off awkwardness, but those eyes, they were anything but. This man knew things I didn’t.
“See you next year, Mr Sun,” he said, patting me on the shoulder again. “You’ll be waiting for me I hope.”
* * *
Why I didn’t call it in, you may ask. The truth was, he had me. Any interference with my timeline and I’d be institutionalized at the very least. There’d been enough papers written about it. I was young and scared. He’d got me because taking that risk was more than I was ready for. I was young enough to still care about myself – kill him now and how would I have been able to do so in the past? I could have contacted my boss, reported him, called for backup. But a year to the day in the past it’d all be different and I’d remember nothing.
Let him be, I thought. I’d done my part. In his timeline I’d have the last laugh. His future was written, the same as my past.
I’d pull the trigger and burn out his torso.
* * *
It was Christmas and I was at the bar again. It was becoming a tradition, except this time I was drinking Blue.
I was expecting him this time but trying my best not to show it.
He sat down.
“Been waiting long?”
“Just a year.”
“A whole year thinking of me?”
“A few times, maybe,” I admitted.
“And here I am again, the ghost of Christmas past! Oh, Mr Sun! Why so morbid! It’s Christmas!”
I guess I must have frowned. “You like Christmas?”
“Oh, but of course I do. Look around you, Mr Sun. Even in a place like this, where people come to drown out their sorrows, to forget, to let off steam. Tonight they come to celebrate! Can’t you feel the warmth in the air?”
The place of course was heaving again. The android at the piano was playing one Christmas tune after another. Not for the first time that night I felt like breaking its metal jaw.
“Outside,” I said, “it’s minus two degrees.”
He gave me a jolly laugh, the sort of laugh that fitted his attire. This year he was much more cheerful. His eyes were still big blue and sad, but this year they were crinkled with humor. “You know, Mr Sun. I’ve always enjoyed Christmas.”
“And each year I hate it more,” I quipped.
He laughed again.
“You have family, Mr Sun?”
Clicking his fingers at the barman, he ordered us both another Blue.
“Bring us a bottle of your best,” he said.
“Right you are, Santa.”
He turned back to me. “Family, Mr Sun?”
“A brother in Connecticut,” I dismissed. “Though we haven’t talked for years.”
“Ahhh,” he said. “The long lost brother.”
I didn’t rise to that one. It was none of his business.
“I myself have a little girl, you know. A wonderful little girl.”
“You have a daughter?”
“I do,” he said. “But an old man like me … you see I never appreciated her until it was too late. Always working, always busy. In the future, in your future I make quite a success of myself. Possibly you will even hear of my name. But my life … my daughter, she is grown up and no longer needs a father she doesn’t love.”
I wondered if that’s how he’d got access to a time machine. The rich, they had their ways. But I decided to let it slide. After all, that wasn’t my department. Instead I stuck to the subject at matter.
“And that’s what this is about? That’s what you’ve come back to change?”
“No, no, no, Mr Sun. I understand the laws of no interference well enough. That’s not why I’m here at all.” Receiving the bottle, he poured us each a slug. “The reasons some of us have; you never learn the reasons, do you? Just shoot to kill as ordered.”
“You know nothing about my job.”
“A man who drinks alone on Christmas Eve? Forgive me for jumping to conclusions, but I’d say you’re far from content.”
“Listen,” I said. “You wanna give me a Christmas message then hurry up and come out with it. Our timelines are sensitive, more sensitive than you could imagine. Just one change and –”
“All I’m asking for is a little understanding, Mr Sun. A favor, if you like.” He picked up his glass and took a long sip. “You know, life,” he then said, putting the glass back down. “One day your life will be over. You’ve got to grab in by the horns, make the most of it all, appreciate …”
I threw back the contents of my glass.
“He’s asking me for a favor,” I said to the barman. “Santa here’s asking me for help!”
“So give it to him!” the barman yelled over the top of all the rabble.
“Oh, he will, he will,” said my bearded companion. “Mr Sun here is a real gentleman.”
* * *
Something was drawing me to the bar, a force that I couldn’t reckon with. Fate, determinism. I had to see this through.
My future, his past.
I poured myself another slug, my glass overflowing. It was Christmas in the city and I was about to meet a time bandit who’d slipped through the net more than once. The android was at the piano and the Christmas crowd cheered. Santa had walked in through the doors of the place, as familiar to them as he now was to me.
“How’s it you’re getting away with this?” I slurred when he came to sit down beside me. As usual no messages were coming through. Here I was with a wanted man.
Two more Blues were placed in front of us.
“They seem to recognize me here.”
“And why wouldn’t they?” I asked. “Every year, turn up in that damned suit.”
He was quiet.
I sipped at my Blue. “The suit, the suit!” I gestured. The Santa suit, it meant something and I’d had a whole three years to work out what. It was a miracle it had taken me this long. “How’s your little girl? You about to pay her a visit?”
“As a matter of fact I am,” he answered. “Though how … but of course,” he then said, peering at me with those crinkled eyes of his. “You guessed as much. Here I am, dressed like this.”
“No interference,” I agreed. “No interference and you tell me nothing. But I guessed already. Your daughter, she doesn’t know who you are. Thinks you’re the Christmas father. You get to see her grow up, visit her once a year, drop off a couple of gifts.”
He was staring at me. If anything he looked confused, perplexed.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I may be a killer but I have a brain too.”
“Quite right, sir,” he answered quickly.
And I laughed at that.
“What’s with the sir?” I said. “I’m not Mr Sun to you anymore?” I gazed at my glass, not looking at him. “You know, I’ve gotta admit I’ve been getting used to these meetings of ours. Your Christmas spirit, it’s brushing off on me. Even thinking of calling my brother.”
“Our meetings …”
“Yeah, our meetings, goddammit! How many more Christmases are you going to be around haunting me? The ghost of Christmas past,” I slurred. “You said so yourself. The man I’ll eventually kill. The man I have killed,” I corrected. “Christmas past, Christmas future. Yet here we are, old buddies that we are. You’re asking for a favor. Are you ready to tell me yet what that favor’s gonna be?”
A message was coming through.
Drop in your area. Black List. Male. Mid-sixties. Santa suit.
For a moment I hesitated.
Then I pulled out my gun.
“Mr Sun,” the man stuttered. “Mr Sun, that’s your name, am I right? Now don’t be too hasty here. I think there may be a connection between us.”
“Got that damned right,” I sneered, aiming at his head.
“Mr Sun …” His body was quivering. “Mr Sun, you mentioned a favor, and I’d like to ask for that now.” He swallowed hard, composing himself. “My daughter … in this time she’s already aged five. If you’d just give me more –”
“Time?” I asked cynically. “Time, is not yours to interfere with!”
“No, no, no interference.” He shook his head, still terrified, but continued as best he could. “You said so and I agree. But I’m asking you, begging you to let me finish what I started. Just a few more Christmas Eves.”
“How many?” I asked. “How many times have you visited her already?”
“Just a few, that’s all. Children, they don’t believe in the magic of Christmas for very long. But for a while, just for a short time, they do, Mr Sun. These few Christmas Eves I’ve spent with her –”
“Don’t wanna hear about it.”
My gun was still to his head and the whole bar was watching. I could’ve killed him there and then, but the dangers to my timeline …
He had me and he hardly knew it.
I hesitated. Hesitated some more. I’d said too much, probably given him the idea. Each jump he made from now on, not only would he visit his daughter but he’d visit me too. He’d already interfered and if I blipped him out now, my own timeline would be corrupted. Four of my Christmas Eves would change; even this one, the only reason I was in the bar was because of him – my memory, it was nothing short of a lobotomy.
I saw the workings of his brain come to the same conclusion.
The panic slipped away and there was the hint of a smile.
“I promise you, I’ll make it easy,” he said. “This year my daughter is five. Just a few more jumps and then I’ll let you have me. I’d rather it be when she is still alive – I couldn’t bring myself to die in a time when she doesn’t exist. I never planned to visit her as a baby you see … a few more jumps,” he said again, his mind working away. “How about we make it here?”
“Here?”
This was one hell of a bluff he was playing. If I shot him now, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But he was looking around, confident. “Or maybe outside,” he said. “These people, they don’t want to be witnessing …”
“You want me to shoot you outside?” But of course I’d done that already.
My past, his future.
An idea, a possibility, a backwards determinism that had ensnared me tight.
Putting the gun away slowly, I went back to my drink.
“Messing with time,” I scolded, “is a dangerous business.”
He was quiet. Thoughtful. And I probably was too. It was a lot to take in and we sipped at our Blues.
For a while neither of us said anything.
“Time is so static,” he finally muttered, breaking the silence. “I see that now. Traveling the way I do. Here I am moving backward, you forward, while everything else …”
“Stays exactly the way it is.”
He scratched at his beard, then pointed over into the crowd. “Take that man over there,” he continued, picking out a youth in a dark brown suit. The youth’s tie was loose, he was red in the face and happily he was raising a glass to a group of similarly young men around him. “In the time that I come from, that boy’ll be an old man; if even alive at all. And yet now, right now, at this very moment. Look at him, Mr Sun! In this moment he exists and always will. This Christmas Eve –”
“Will always be here. And that’s the way it should remain. The laws of no interference are to protect men like him. Men that could be blipped out of existence by some punk wanting to change his past. The butterfly effect of even the smallest alteration …”
But his hand was on my shoulder.
“Mr Sun, I want to thank you.”
“Get out of here,” I said. “Get out of here before I change my mind.” He was grateful and it was killing me. I’d never see him again.
“You really should call your brother,” he said. “Christmas is a time for family.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”
Topping up my drink and his, I gave my best shot at a toast. “To family!” I shouted to the whole damned bar. “To this merry holiday, and to my friend here, the Christmas man!”
It was one hell of a toast and those around us raised their glasses.
“A Merry Christmas to all!” they agreed. “May the future bring us happiness and prosperity!”
A few of them began to sing. The android struck up a fresh number on the piano while quietly the Christmas man slipped away and I let him.
The conversations continued. More drinks were thrown back. I was alone once more, staring at the remains of my Blue.
“A merry Christmas to all,” I slurred, raising my glass lazily at the barman. “A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
A great time-twist story for Christmas!
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