OutroOverture for Our Future
On Christmas Eve, the elves gathered once more beneath the frosted rafters for an address from Mr. and Mrs. Claus. This time, nobody whispered.
"When we last stood here," Santa began, "we were ready to give up on them. On all of them." He looked out across the workshop, and then at you. "And then one intern caught the insider traders, found the bombs before they reached a single stocking, stopped a pandemic in its tracks, untangled Vixen's tunnels, pieced the runes on the Archive door back together, tracked a hacker to a street corner in Cambridge, cracked a password nobody could remember, and got every last jar of soup into the sky." He held up the workshop's star chart. Every square on it was gold. "Twelve stars."
The elves cheered so loudly that a bauble fell off the tree.
Mrs. Claus stepped forward. "The world's wounds haven't closed," she said gently. "The wars haven't ended, and there are still too many empty tables. But I was wrong about one thing. I said we couldn't save what no longer wishes to be saved." She smiled at you. "Some of them still wish it very much. Enough to leave a perfectly good hot chocolate behind and fly to the top of the world for strangers."
"So we're not stepping back?" asked Jingle.
"Not this year," said Santa. "Not while there's intelligent life in Cambridge."
Holly, head of Elven Resources, pressed an envelope into your hands with great ceremony. Inside was a certificate naming you Intern of the Year, and a voucher for one (1) hot chocolate at Knoops.
"About the pay..." you began.
"That is the pay," said Holly. "Plus equity, of course. A small stake in Christmas itself." She patted your shoulder. "It can only go up."
Patch caught you at the sleigh, SnowSlate tucked under one arm. "Did you crack my message?" You only smiled. "Thought so," she said. "Don't forget - I've already told Santa about next year."
The sleigh lifted into the dark. As it climbed over the ridge, you glanced down at the snowfield where the reindeer grazed and noticed something new: a row of orange survey flags, a portable cabin, and a sign too far away to read. Santa frowned. "Hm. That wasn't there yesterday." Then the sleigh bells drowned out everything else, and you drifted off somewhere over the Norwegian Sea.
You woke on Christmas morning in your own bed, with snow on the windowsill and an envelope on your pillow. Whether it had all been a dream, you couldn't say. But you walked down Green Street to Knoops anyway, voucher in hand, and it was the best-earned hot chocolate of your life.