Christmas in Space : The Previous Generation

To everyone who enjoyed the Christmas trek I posted before, please note
the following message.


Just thought you might want to know that Eric Rountree is the author of
the X-mas poem you posted to alt.startrek.creative. Also, the actual
title of the poem is “Christmas in Space.”

The following poem is another one that Rountree did. I thought you might
enjoy reading it.



‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the decks
Not a crewman was stirring, ‘cept those having sex;
Their boots were all placed by the vent shafts with care,
In hopes that by morning they’d get some fresh air.
The Redshirts were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of stay’ng alive danced in their heads;
And Kirk in his gold shirt, McCoy in his blue,
Had just settled down for a nice Christmas brew–
When from the comm panel there came such a wail,
They sprang from their chairs, knocking over their ale.
Away to the panel Kirk flew, drenched in beer,
Snapped on the comm switch and barked loudly, “Kirk here!”
The squeals that emerged from the thing after that
Sounded just like the Devil was strangling a cat;
When, what to their bombarded ears should appear,
But the music of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,”
With a voice in the background, a murmur of talk,
That made Kirk exclaim, “Bones . . . That sounds just like Spock.”
More rapid than bullets his syllables came
As he tested each circuit and called it by name–
“Cross Alpha to Beta, join Delta to Theta,
Route Kappa through Lamba, and Gamma to Zeta.
To the end of the circuit, the end of the line,
Now clip a resistor–there. That should do fine.”
As Kirk and McCoy listened closely to this,
The comm unit speaker let out a long hiss.
So, off to the turbolift both of them flew,
With a mind to discover what Spock was up to.
And then, in a twinkling, they reached the bridge deck,
Stepped out of the lift and began a quick check.
As they went down the steps and were looking around,
>From a nook Spock emerged, barely making a sound.
He was all dressed in gray from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with solder and soot.
A bag of components he had in one fist,
And held in the other, a rather long list.
His eyes didn’t twinkle, his dimples were none,
Yet somehow it looked like he’d been having fun.
His mouth, at one corner, quirked up just a touch,
And one eyebrow lifted, though not by too much.
A soldering iron he held in his teeth,
And the smoke from it circled his head like a wreath.
He looked like a man with a task to complete
And nothing would stop him, not rain, snow, nor sleet.
His two colleagues stood there, dumbfounded by this.
McCoy chuckled softly; Kirk let out hiss.
The look in Spock’s eye and the set of his head
Soon gave them to know he would not go to bed.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And tuned all the sensors then turned back to Kirk,
And pressing a button and counting to three,
He lit up the bridge like a huge Christmas Tree.
His work done, he nodded, and walked toward the lift
As his friends stared in awe at his luminous gift.
But they heard him exclaim, his voice with good-will rife,
“Merry Christmas! And to you all, Peace and Long Life!”


Based on “A Visit from St. Nicholas” by Clement C. Moore
Adaptation Copyright 1991, Eric R. Rountree

This work may be freely distributed, provided that the above copyright
notice and this message are included intact.


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