The Christmas season is upon us again. This time the Ooorah Mothership has landed on the sandy shores of a PiratePunk paradise!
It's a very merry PiratePunk Christmas, matey!
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"Dastardly" Danika Delafonte was wanted throughout the Seven Solar Seas for her smorgasbord of crimes and social misdemeanours. She had no place in civilized society to call home—aside from a windowless one-room apartment at the Casa Boca Vista Home for the Criminally Gifted, over on Rigel X1-V.
Which was why she'd been on the lam for the last decade, jumping from star to star like it would soon go out of style. She'd exhausted over a hundred different aliases within her first year of being a cosmic fugitive. Now Danika was on alias number four hundred twenty-three—Jumpin' Jane Wilkins, head cheerleader for the Buccaneer Beach Scallywags, the town's local curling team. For the last month and a half, she'd actually come to feel like a Jane. She loved the town, the people, the vibe. She'd managed to get nineteen different scams going and no one was any the wiser. Plus the grog was surprisingly delicious.
"Mornin', Janey," came a gravelly voice that shook Danika from her thoughts of criminality.
Almost no one. Sitting on a bench tucked away in the centre square and smiling out at the serene blue sea, Nick Klaas—former mayor of Buccaneer Beach, and the resident Jane hater—was the one and only thorn in Danika's side.
The town seemed to adore the jolly, red-cheeked, white-bearded giver of gifts, greetings, and well wishes. Not Danika, though. She couldn't put her finger on it, but part of her suspected Nick knew her real identity. Or at least knew she wasn't giving the town her whole story. It was the way his watery blue eyes seemed to look through her. Certain tones he'd take with her. Jokes he'd make.
"You look like you're on the run," he said. Grinning. But the grin looked wolfish.
Danika showed nothing. "I'm on a run." She faked a grin back. Then she nodded in the direction of the big tree, beautifully decorated by the townsfolk with lights and trinkets, standing tall near the edge of the cliff. She didn't quite "get" the custom, which was celebrated daily, but apparently it was called Christmas and the town of Buccaneer Beach was known for such an occasion. "Did you add your ornament?"
"It's in there."
She smiled and made to continue on her jog. She would zip down the stairs and away from the centre square, bound up the stairs to the nearby community hot pool, go for a quick dip before she got to her real business. There was a nice old lady with a sizeable collection of vintage Alf Pogs, which were known to fetch a hefty sum of credits in the next star system over.
Danika got two steps out when Nick cleared his throat and spat a green-and-red loogie off into the ocean. "Did you see the poster?" he asked.
She stopped and turned back to him. "Poster?"
"In the archway back there. 'Dastardly' Danika Delafonte."
Her heart pounded. But she knew she was okay. Danika was her original face. She doubted if anyone could see Danika in Jane—not over a thousand cosmetic surgeries later. "That's interesting. I'll take a look on my way back."
"No, you'll stop where you are an' listen to me." Nick got up from the bench and stood to his giant height. Seven feet. Danika felt like a doll next to him. He didn't seem too jolly now. "I knew you looked familiar."
She almost laughed. Almost.
"I do a lotta trips 'round the stars," Nick said, nodding at the presents under the Christmas tree. "I've spent a lotta time on a lotta different planets and starbases. I've seen a lotta wanted posters. I'm an old man, Janey—or should I say Deandra Wilks? Ursula Parsnippa? Ondulina Nircumzina?"
Her jaw dropped. Those were just three of the four-hundred-plus identities she'd lived under over the years. Deandra had been two years ago. Ursula three. Ondulina was one she'd almost completely forgotten about—ten years ago, only her fourth or fifth identity, back when she was going through identities like pairs of adult underoos; she'd gotten caught shoplifting a radio so she could have some tunes to listen to while out committing crimes. Rookie mistake. And an identity wasted.
"I doubt if I've seen all your faces in sequence," Nick said, "but I sure think I've seen a lotta them. I'm not judging you. I care about the fine denizens of Buccaneer Beach. I know you've been robbing poor blind Helena Vandershmidt, making and distributing pirated software to the townsfolk, and I also happen to know you're accessing a few of our Netflix accounts without our permission. Mine included."
Danika hung her head. All part of her act. She always carried a blaster on her. She wouldn't hesitate to waste old St. Nick here if he tried to lay hands on her. The man was a big beast. Big beasts could still die near-instantaneously of blaster wounds.
"I won't turn you in."
She was stunned.
"Instead I have a proposition for you. If they're displaying that poster here now, I'm thinkin' it means they're onto you."
She nodded. She was always prepared to bolt on short notice. Such was the life she lived now.
"I'm gettin' old, Janey," he said. "And I need someone who can take care of Rudolph and all the other robo-reindeer when I die. Not to mention the whole thing I do with the starship, visiting other planets and giving gifts to the needy."
"What are you getting at?"
Nick pulled out a blaster of his own. His had bells on it. He beamed through his enormous white beard and showed crooked yellow teeth. "I may be nice but I'm no stranger to naughty. A hundred thousand credits could go a long way for the town... So I want you to don the red-and-white suit, Janey." He aimed the blaster her way. "Can you do that for me?"
