Page 70 of Eat My Moon Dust
Thinking about it was exhausting, so I let the topic die off. It was my next major project, but I needed to get through the Winter Festival first.
Bajora clapped me on the back like a big brother, jarring my teeth as he chased away the overwhelming task of reinventing my passion on an alien moon. “Chin up,na’syali.I know you hate the food bays, but they’ll get better and more intuitive over time. Especially if you’re able to make me some samples to work from someday.”
I smiled sadly.
“But right now, I need to boot you.”
“Huh?” I blinked. He nodded towards the exit.
“Hunar’s making me expand the workshop, which means I need to concentrate. Says I gotta get it all done before the festival or I can’t go.”
“What a bully,” I scoffed.
Bajora chuckled, his mane twisting up with amusement. “Something like that.”
“Alright, I’ll scram.”
“Thanks, Tin,” Bajora said, meaning it. “I do like your company, even if you hate my food bays. You make Hunar alotmore tolerable.”
“Hah hah.”
He flashed me a wicked grin, then followed the next shelving unit out into the hangar. I gathered my bag and adjusted my antlers, drinking the remnants of my water before setting the empty cup on Bajora’s workbench by the cleanser. Then I drew a heart into the dust of Hunar’s workbench, snapped a photo, and sent it to him as I walked down the hill.
25
?TINSLEY?
The Winter Festival wasfinallyhere. It should have felt like the blink of an eye, but so much had changed in the span of just a few weeks that my brain couldn’t compress it all into such a short amount of time. I couldn’t believe how much we’d been able to accomplish.
Though Hunar had delivered the Christmas tree while I wasn’t there, the magic of seeing it was enough to make some Renatans cry, including me. It was statuesque with thick bushels of needly branches, the color traditional for a spruce tree, though the tips were frosty blue. White glitter adorned every bough, and a big red ribbon cascaded from the tippy top to frame the tree on either side. I was sad I’d missed Hunar, but when one of the smaller children asked if Santa brought it? I bit my cheek, nodded, and gave him a hug.
MySanta certainly had.
Now it was still mid-morning, but there were people buzzing all around the playfield. School was canceled so the kids could play and make cute costumes outside. Even the refugees like Siatesh, Ngozi, and Kokebe were lounging around, relieved of their patrols for the celebration. All of them wore badges, paper crowns, felt headbands, tinsel necklaces and had been liberally draped in popcorn garlands. The younger kids were decorating them like Christmas trees, giggling and asking probing questions about extra eyes, tusks, fur, claws. The group of men all showed off, strutting their new holiday cheer as if they’d won medals. Smiles infected their usually stoic expressions, and it had a magical effect.
Most humans were slightly terrified by them, as standoffish and haunted as they’d been when they’d first arrived. Beyond Siatesh, Ngozi, and Kokebe, the others didn’t interface with humans nearly as much, and they weren’t species we were very familiar with. Only a handful of us had ever met a hjarna or advenan, and no one had ever seen guvers, uids, or yiwreni.
But today? They were all here with us, part of the community, and spreading a sense of fun that would forge exactly the kinds of bonds I was hoping for.
“Okay, is everyone ready?!” I asked, standing on a bench so people could see me. The crowd of a couple hundred clapped and hollered with excitement to start putting their ornaments on the tree whileRockin’ Around the Christmas Treerang out over the speakers. Piro and Bajora stood near Aavar and Bree, all of them holding up giant glittery nuts and bolts on colorful ribbons. Bree cupped her mouth and took a deep breath.
“WOO YEAH!” she bellowed.
“Do yuh magic!” Omi called out from behind them, one of Siatesh’s upper arms around her shoulder.
I brought up the twinkle lights app on my holotab and lowered five branches into the awed crowd. They brushed their hands over the needles and branches in amazement, gingerly placing their ornaments as they took deep breaths, hoping for that seasonal whiff of terpenes to take them home for a moment in their minds.
“Ho ho ho!” Wade bellowed, dressed in a velvety red muscle shirt and sweatshorts. He’d polished his nose with a bit of red paint for the classic drunk Santa look and showed off his farmer’s tan with pride. A handmade ball cap with a white puff glued to the top shaded his eyes. “Ya did a fancy job on this, Tinsley! Look fast–”
He tossed me a surfboard ornament that he’d carved by hand, painted, then spritzed with the same glitter decorating the ferns. I admired the little knicks and imperfections, and the tiny signature that proclaimedWade, Year Onein globby paint on the back.
“Reckon my old funboard’ll look good up there,” he explained with a wink.
“Thanks, Wade!” I called as he swaggered away, not missing the fact that he skipped the line of people waiting to put their ornaments up on the tree. He snapped out a towel by Ngozi and Kokebe, then laid down for a nap in the sun with a self-assured grin. That old charmer lived in a constant state of troublemaking.
“Oh, howbeautiful,”Marcella sang, patting her chest with a wide, beaming smile. She shook her head and her soft white hair bounced in its high ponytail set with finger waves. Wearing a red wide-legged suit and a white lace collar, she looked very much like the doting elderly Mrs Claus, just one hundred times sexier.
Ambassador Zufi walked a few paces behind her with his hands behind his back and gave me a brief nod. My genuine joy at seeing Marcella dressed to the nines stiffened.
