Author: Alastair Millar

Grandpa Jack had a generous ‘meritorious service’ pension from his time in the Terran Space Force, but he never talked about his time in uniform, or shared war stories. “I’d rather not,” he’d say diffidently, or, if pressed, “Just not much to tell, really”. Everyone around him quietly assumed that his off-world deployments has been in logistics or some other non-combat role, and that he was just shy about admitting it; eventually, they stopped asking. Still, the money had been useful, and shrewdly invested over the years, so every winter he’d take some of the profits and put them towards a Yuletide excursion to Anchorpoint Station, the O’Neill habitat at L4. “A bit of spacefaring for old times’ sake,” he’d say.

The year things changed, he and Nana Martha had been joined by their second son, his wife, and their youngling, Jimmy, who like most four-year olds was a whirlwind of chaos and occasional destruction. He exhausted and infuriated his parents and grandmother in equal measure, but seemed to hold Jack in awe – with the result that Grandpa usually ended up with babysitting duty. That Tuesday was no different: the others having gone off to enjoy some low-gravity skiing, the oldest and youngest members of the family were supposedly looking for last-minute Christmas presents, but were actually just wandering through Central Mall in Cylinder One. Male bonding was in progress.

That was when it happened. As they rounded a corner onto the main atrium, Jimmy screamed “space elves!”, and the old reflexes took over; Jack dropped, dragging the boy to the ground. How had those damned pointy-eared humanoids reached Sol? They’d been whipped proper at Barnard’s Star: the Habitats should all be safe! His hand went to his waistband for his blaster, and he realised it wasn’t there. Godsdammit! He needed backup! He reached for his commbox, and that wasn’t there either! But before he could panic, he realised something wasn’t right… and came back to himself. Around them, people were staring and whispering. A couple of security guards were pushing through the gathering crowd. Of course, the war had ended decades ago. He got up slowly and sheepishly; Jimmy wriggled away, and rushed over to the bright lights of Solar Santa’s Galactic Grotto…

Later, there were questions, of course. Habitat Social Services had wanted a long chat, a local journalist thought he could find a human interest angle, and the rest of the family had been rounded up and brought in “to make sure the child was safe”. Bit by bit, the story came out. About how Jack had been a major in the Stellar Rangers, and fought in the Ophiuchus Campaign – a protracted, bloody struggle infamous for massacres and war crimes on both sides.

“What was left of us, they brought back after the Enaiposha Incident.” he said, then sighed when the others looked blank. “The Offies poisoned the planet’s atmosphere; tens of thousands of us started spilling our guts. We were easy prey for their assault teams.” It had taken three brutal weeks for relief forces to arrive; twenty one days of running battles, desperate gambles, heroic last stands, and blood, blood and death, everywhere. “When we came home, the press ignored us. I thought if I kept quiet, buried it deep, I could forget, and the nightmares would stop. Eventually they did.” Then came the parts they knew: he’d met a girl, got married, picked up the pieces and carried on… built a life, and a mostly happy one at that. But some things, it seemed, even time and the holidays couldn’t erase.