Coffee, Sass, and Santa

Posted on Fri Dec 12th, 2025 @ 10:00pm by Commander Donald ‘Don’ Key

693 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: A Fondness For
Location: USS Albion Main Bridge
Timeline: Current

:OFF:
A little rusty here, forgive me.


:ON:
The swirling storm-world of CUMULONIMBUS 5 flashes outside the viewport. Don Key sits at his console on the bridge, which is beeping like a microwave full of forks. Captain Sprague strolls in holding a PADD upside down and a cup of coffee with no lid.

⸻

DICK: Don, why is the ship tilting?
(slurps coffee, spills half on his uniform)
And why is my coffee migrating starboard?

DON: Sir, the ship is listing thirty-two degrees because of atmospheric shear. Also because you parked us sideways.

DICK: Sideways is relative, Don. Space doesn’t have a “side.”

DON: It does when you hit the “parallel park” autopilot.

DICK: That’s a feature?

DON: No, sir. That was a suggestion box idea you approved.

DICK: Oh. (pause) Wait—we have a suggestion box?

DON: We did. It burned up during that incident with the toaster transporter.

⸻

The ship lurches again. Dick holds out his coffee like it’s a tricorder.

⸻

DICK: Computer! Diagnose— (looks into cup) —uh… situation.

DON: Sir, your coffee is not the computer.

DICK: Then why does it answer me?

DON: That’s steam, sir.

⸻

Dick nods like he’s learned something profound.

⸻

DICK: All right, Don. Fix the tilt.

DON: Aye, sir. (taps buttons) Rebalancing thrusters, stabilizing inertial dampeners, overriding your “Sassy Pilot Mode.”

DICK: I did NOT activate Sassy Pilot Mode!

DON: Sir, the ship called you “honey” earlier and refused to turn left.

DICK: Well maybe I like a ship with personality!

⸻

The ship suddenly flips right-side-up. Dick is thrown sideways into a wall. He salutes while on the floor.

⸻

DICK: Flawless maneuver. Good job, Don.

DON: Thank you, sir. I… didn’t do that.

DICK: Then who—?

SHIP’S COMPUTER: Adjusting for captain-induced pilot error. Again.

DICK: Traitor.

⸻

Don clears his throat.

⸻

DON: Sir… do you remember the atmospheric probe we launched earlier?

DICK: Of course I do! (whispers) …Did we launch a probe?

DON: Yes, sir. You christened it “Probe-y McProbeFace” and then gave it a pep talk.

DICK: That does sound like me.

DON: And, uh… the ship is being dragged because you attached the tether to the Albion’s nacelle instead of the probe.

DICK: I thought that hook thingy was decorative!

DON: It says WARNING: DO NOT ATTACH A PROBE TO THIS in bright red.

DICK: Yes, well, red is an inviting color.

⸻

The ship lurches violently as the planet pulls on the tether. Dick flails and grabs Don for support. Don nearly falls into the console.

⸻

DON: Untethering now! (taps command; loud snap) There. The probe is free.

DICK: And how’s Probe-y McProbeFace doing?

DON: Descending into a thunder supercell at terminal velocity.

DICK: So… thriving?

DON: Let’s go with that, sir.

⸻

A huge flash from the planet below. A soft boom vibrates through the hull.

⸻

DICK: Did the probe just… explode?

DON: Sir, that was a… uh, natural weather phenomenon.

DICK: Right. No need to log anything, then.

DON: I already pretended to hit “save,” sir.

⸻

Dick stands triumphantly, coffee-stained, crooked-uniformed, smiling like a man who thinks he saved the universe.

⸻

DICK: Well Don… another flawless mission completed.

DON: Sir, we haven’t even started the mission.

DICK: Exactly! And already no fatalities! That’s what we call a win.

DON: …Should I tell him about the confetti vents?

SHIP’S COMPUTER: Please do not tell him about the confetti vents.

DICK: What was that?

DON: Nothing, sir. Just space.

⸻

Dick nods with deep, profound misunderstanding.

Suddenly, something streaks across space outside the viewer: a glowing red dot leading several smaller glimmers behind it. A sleigh-shaped silhouette—absolutely unmistakably jolly old Saint Nick—whizzes by at warp-adjacent speed.

⸻

DICK: (open mouthed) …Don?

DON: Yes, sir?

DICK: Did we just see… Santa?

DON: I believe we did, sir.

DICK: …Should we report that?

DON: Absolutely not, sir. Last time we filed a report about a holiday apparition we were both ordered to see Counselor at HQ.

DICK: He made me talk about my feelings.

DON: For thirteen hours, sir.

DICK: …Forget Santa?

DON: Forgotten.


:OFF:
Commander Donald ‘Don’ Key
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Albion

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