“Only SEVEN days until the big day! Meet your daily quota or Christmas will be ruined!”
Kappa “Kap” 239 shuddered as the jingling of sleigh bells signalled the end of the video. Father Christmas’s smiling face disappeared from the screen, message delivered. Work harder. All around him, Kap heard the other elves in the workshop quickening their pace, the snap of toys being put together like a constant strange applause rising up from the cubicles.
Kap looked down at his workbench, shiny plastic components sitting in piles, waiting to be assembled into “Captain Fantastic – Hero of the Seven Galaxies”, the must-have toy this Christmas. He should be working harder, desperately trying to complete his quota. This was the busy time, the final countdown to Christmas. Kap looked at the motivational posters that plastered the walls of his cubicle. “For the little boys and girls everywhere,” wrote one, a picture of an elf and two children beaming out at him. “Enthusiasm”. “Hardwork”. “Commitment”. Buzzwords repeated again and again. They made Kap feel physically sick. All the qualities he was supposed to have tacked onto the wall as not so subtle reminders of the work he should be doing. Each message decorated with snowmen, Christmas trees and other symbols of the season. To make Kap feel Christmassy. Bah humbug.
His hands hurt, tiny blisters formed on his fingers on any patch of skin that had not become a dried dead callous. His eyes blurred from staring at the tiny parts, his focus permanently damaged from the hours spent putting the components together. Kap looked at the three walls of his cubicle, closing tightly around him. His cage. “I can’t do this anymore,” said Kap, loud enough so others could hear him.
“What? You can’t stop now,” said a voice from the cubicle beside him.
“Why not?” said Kap.
“Because Christmas is coming! Do you want to disappoint Santa and ruin Christmas for all the little children?”
Santa. Father Christmas. Hearing his name made Kap angry. His hands involuntarily gripped tightly on his tools, the instruments becoming weapons he wished he could stab into that fat round bearded face. His oppressor, his slave driver. Father Christmas. The elf next door poked his head around the corner, wanting to see if Kap had indeed stopped working. “Come on Kap,” said Omikron 436, “We have to meet the quota.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” said Kap.
“What about retirement?” said Omikron, “If you don’t reach your quota you won’t reach retirement.”
Kap sighed. “Retirement”. The big prize awaiting all elves. Complete your ten-year shift, meet your quotas, work hard enough and be rewarded with a lifetime pass to the Santa Retirement Resort. Free accommodation, free food, free facilities. The perfect place to spend the rest of your life after a good hard shift in Santa’s workshop.
Kap pulled back the sleeve of his tunic, revealing a message carved into his arm. “Retirement is a lie”. He didn’t remember when it was written nor who wrote the message. It seemed like his handwriting but how could he have forgotten carving into his own skin? At first he thought it was a joke, the results of a brief rebellious moment from his youth. Then he started thinking how he couldn’t remember his youth, or anything before three years ago, when he had started working in the “Space Toys and Action Figures” workshop. Three years of twenty-hour work days. No days off, no holiday, working through illness. The routine never stopped, never changed. Everyday exactly the same. Kap often wondered if he had died and gone to hell. This was the only life he had ever known and he couldn’t take anymore. “I’m not making another toy,” said Kap, “Retirement or not.”
Omikron’s head disappeared from view. “Don’t talk to me, I can’t be seen speaking with someone heading to the naughty list.”
A horn blared out across the workshop. Lunchtime. The poster on the wall ahead of him slid to one side, a hatch opening to reveal a glass of milk and two bright red capsules. “Protein pills”. Kap took the glass of milk and drank it down, the cool liquid helping relieve the bitter taste in his mouth. The pills he took in his hand and added them to the drawer he had secretly built beneath his workbench, the drawer rattling with the sound of a hundred other pills as it closed. “Protein pills”. Kap had stopped taking them three months ago. Since giving up, he had started feeling different. Less enthusiastic about the work. Less eager to please the supervisors, to meet the quotas. Before, when Santa would broadcast messages to the workshop, Kap would feel overwhelmed with happiness, so eager to obey the fat man’s orders, believing every word he said. Now, the false promises rang hollow, only serving to increase Kap’s desire to break free from his hell. He was unsure why he had stopped taking the pills yet glad he did it. Finally he felt something.
The intercom on his cubicle wall buzzed. “Kappa 239, is there a problem?”
“No,” said Kap.
“I see you haven’t built a toy for ten minutes. Are your tools broken?”
“No.”
“Injured? Sick?”
“I am physically incapable of making another toy,” said Kap.
“What is the nature of your injury?” said the supervisor.
“I am uninjured.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I am refusing to work,” said Kap, “I will not build another toy ever again.”
The supervisor gasped on the other end of the line, muttering nervously to himself. There was a pause for a moment as the supervisor regained his composure. “Very well,” said the supervisor, the intercom switching off.
A few seconds later, the alarm bell rang, the shrill piercing noise bringing all work to a stop. “ALL ELVES ARE TO REMAIN CALM AND STAY IN THEIR CUBICLES. CHRISTMAS SPIRIT SHORTAGE DETECTED. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED SHORTLY.”
Kap quickly grabbed his tools from the workbench and stuffed them down his trousers, pulling his tunic over the top to hide them. “Good luck,” said Omikron from the cubicle next door.
The sound of boots marching grew louder and nearer, Kap taking a deep breath to prepare himself. He looked down at the message on his arm, reading it out loud. “Retirement is a lie”. Two human guards entered the cubicle, grabbing Kap violently by the arms. Dressed in black save for the red of their Santa hats, the guards were double Kap’s size. They easily overpowered Kap, dragging him away past the other cubicles. Kap made sure his eyes stayed forward, showing no emotion. The other elves on the workshop floor gossiped as he passed.
“Oh no, not Kap. And so close to Christmas too.”
“He’s not kicking and screaming like the other naughty elves?”
“Why doesn’t he think of the children?”
Kap was tripped and thrown to the floor as they reached the edge of the workshop. The supervisor, Alpha 913, walked over, putting on a show for the humans. “I was expecting this to happen. Take him to the Christmas Spirit Rehabilitation Centre.”
The guards picked Kap up, yanking on his arms and lifting him to his feet. “Best part of the job,” one of the guards whispered into his ear.
The door to the workshop opened and Kap was moved to the exit. He looked through the portal to the outside world and stared in wonder at the wintry scene before him. He could see snow covering the ground and a clear night’s sky, stars shining down above. The guards lifted Kap and tossed him outside, Kap feeling a brief moment of freedom as he flew through the air before crashing onto the cold wet ground. He lifted himself up and looked around, the initial beauty of the outside world replaced by desperation. Workshops stretched out on all sides, disappearing into the distance all around him. Hundreds of them, each one identical to the next. How many elves were trapped working there, oblivious to the outside world? The guards picked him up again and began dragging him across the tundra, occasionally gripping him a little tighter, making sure his face scraped painfully on the icy ground.
They walked for an hour, Kap feeling his decision to rebel was a bigger mistake with each step they took. The snow on the ground had soaked his clothing, the cold growing stronger with each workshop they passed. Guard to
wers appeared sporadically, their white circle eyes dancing on the snow around them. Kap could see the guards silhouetted against the night sky, menacing rifles in their hands a far cry from the flimsy plastic toys he had assembled in the workshop. This wasn’t a place of work, Kap thought, it was a prison.
The workshops ended, the grid making way to a sparse open tundra. In the distance, Kap could see the light of a runway, hundreds of elves preparing large metal sleighs for flight. Their eyes turned and watched Kap as he was dragged away from the harsh artificial lights of the workshops and towards a huge cold concrete cube positioned far away from the complex. Guards patrolled around the cube, rubbing their hands to keep warm. Out on the open ice, the wind hit hard and Kap could feel the sensation leaving his numbing hands and feet as the chill reached through the flesh, down to the bone.
The concrete box loomed nearer, a large metal door in the centre of the windowless block. It was the same size as a workshop, only built of solid grey concrete instead of the corrugated metal of the workshops. Guards stood either side of the door, staring at Kap as he was brought nearer.
“Another one?”
“Yeah, it’s that time of year. Pressure gets too much for them.”
The metal door started rising. Guards beside the door turned and stared into the darkness on the other side. Kap could see eyes reflecting in the shadows, hundreds of them staring out as he was brought to the entrance. “Get back!” shouted the guard, firing his gun in the air.
The gunshot sent the watchers in the darkness back into the shadows, the black void on the other side returning to secrecy. The guards holding Kap lifted him and threw him forward. Instead of snow, Kap fell onto cold hard concrete, the impact a sickening thud. He looked back at the guards who smirked as the door closed behind them. It slammed shut the last few centimetres, the noise echoing around the large chamber that formed the inside of the cube. He turned away from the door to look in the darkness, aware that there were hundreds of others inside there with him. He waited, unsure if he should make the first move to greet his fellow inmates. He was about to speak when they revealed themselves.
Tiny red lights flickered on in the darkness, surrounding him. Small LEDs taken from broken toys now used as torches, beacons in the dark. They closed in on him, a galaxy of red bulbs slowly revealing hundreds of elves. Unlike those in the workshop, the elves here were damaged, disfigured, faces scarred and bruised. Kap knew from experience that these were self inflicted, the scar on his arm was evidence of this. He felt some relief in seeing their deformities. He wasn’t the only broken elf.
“Are you okay?” said a female elf, the first to approach him.
“Fine,” said Kap, seeing the large scars down the side of the elf’s face.
“What did you do?” she said, taking a close look at him.
“I stopped making toys,” said Kap.
There were some gasps in the darkness. “You chose to come here?” said the elf, “You weren’t forced to?”
“I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to do something,” said Kap.
The elves were unsure of how to react to the newcomer. It took a moment for a voice to speak up from the darkness.
“I recognise that voice. Iota, bring him to me.”
Iota, the female elf, took Kap by the arm and led him through the crowd of elves, “The old one wants to see you.”
Kap was taken towards the far corner of the room. A large red light hung here, bigger than the others, a sign of dominance, respect. Sitting below the light, an elderly elf stared at Kap. “Hold the light to his face Epsilon,” said the elderly elf, “I need to see him.”
The light blinded Kap as the elderly elf’s assistant held it close. “Kap! It is you! I was starting to think I would never see you again.”
“How do you know who I am?” said Kap, not recognising the old, emaciated elf that stared at him with eyes clouded by age and lack of use.
“You’ve been here before. We were friends, fellow inmates. You even gave me my new name. Mole.”
“Mole?” said Kap, the word firing something in his brain, as if the neurones had gone searching for a memory that was missing from the library.
“I don’t understand it either. You told me it was because of my eyes, reminded you of toys you used to build. Still, I prefer it to my workshop name,” said Mole.
“I can’t have been here before,” said Kap.
Mole took his tunic and pulled back the sleeve on his right arm. Carved into the skin was a message. “Retirement is a lie,” said Kap.
He pulled back his own tunic, showing the identical message. “This is what brought me here.”
“I didn’t think it would work, hurting yourself like that. Here you are though, proving me wrong once again,” said Mole.
“What happened to me?” said Kap, “What’s going on?”
“Retirement is a lie,” said Mole, “All those promises of a peaceful happy life after the years of work, they are all empty promises. Once each elf completes their shift, they are brainwashed and put back in a workshop. ‘Re-education’.”
Kap shuddered at the word, a long lost memory suddenly resurfacing. He could hear screams of pain and fear, terrifying screams of anguish. His screams. Re-education. “You mean, all our hard work is for nothing?” said Epsilon, the fear in his voice reflected in murmurs of discontent and sadness from the other inmates.
A crowd had formed around them, keen to see what Mole had to say to the newcomer. Kap could feel all eyes on him. “We work until we drop dead,” said Mole.
“How have you escaped re-education?” asked Kap.
“Some sort of miracle. I was taken here and forgotten, my name never called when the time came. I have spent twenty five Christmases in here, seeing elves come and go. Many friends have died. All living in the false hope of a peaceful ending.”
Retirement is a lie. “What can we do?” said Kap, “How can we stop this?”
“With you,” said Mole, “You have the fire of rebellion inside you. Fire enough to burn down the system.”
Kap could feel it inside him. Before leaving the workshop, it had been a knot that twisted inside of him, like an ulcer that could not be eased. Away from the shop floor, he felt stronger, the twist inside replaced by a desire to change things, to break free from the routine. The fire.
“What do we do Kap?” said Iota.
The elves leaned in, waiting for Kap’s answer. He looked around at the expectant eyes, seeing Mole smiling widely. “Re-education. Our own brand. If we can show every elf the truth about retirement, we can change things. No elf should be forced to work with no reward. From now on, we make our own choices.”
There were yells and cheers of approval from the crowd. “We put our message on the television screens. They are in every workshop right? Every elf will see them.”
“I used to work in the video centre,” said Epsilon, “I can show you how to do it.”
“The two of us will break out of here and send the message. The rest of you get ready. I will come back and break you free.”
Kap reached down and picked up one of the broken toys. He snapped it in his hands and drew the sharp edge along his arm, cutting his skin.
“We have weapons and we have numbers. If we start the battle, the other elves will join the war. One on one, we lose. But there are more of us than them. We all fight or we all die, those are the options we have. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making toys, do you?”
Angry cheers of agreement. “I will fight for every elf enslaved by Father Christmas. I can’t do this alone. Are you with me?”
More cheers, an energy building amongst the elves around him. Kap took his tools and began handing them out to the other elves. “We’ll need a tunnel to the outside. If we work hard it will be ready in a day or so.”
The elves obeyed, happy to be working for their own cause, their own objective. The tunnel was ready at one a.m. on Christmas Eve. The biggest day of the year, when the elves would
be pushed to the limit to reach their quotas before the night’s deliveries began. Kap could not have chosen a better time to put his plan into action.
A crowd gathered as he prepared to enter the tunnel, feeling the cold night air flowing from the escape route. This would be the only chance he had to change things. If he was caught or captured, then he would surely be put to death. He looked at Epsilon and Iota, who had volunteered to join the first stage of the plan. They were ready. “As soon as I open that door, be ready,” said Kap, pointing to the metal gate.
“We’ll be ready,” said Mole, “Good luck.”
Kap jumped down the hole, moving as fast as he could to get his muscles warmed, countering the cold. The wind hit him hard as he emerged at the back of the prison. No guards here. Before him he could see nothing but ice and snow, a vast wasteland with no end in sight. What was out there waiting for him? He made a promise to himself that he would leave the cold as soon as his mission was complete.
He reached back and helped Iota and Epsilon out of the tunnel. They moved along the back wall of the prison, reaching the corner and slowly peering round. “Which way?” said Kap.
Epsilon surveyed the complex, shivering against the cold. “It’s the other side of the airport.”
Kap looked back at the guards, their attention waning in the extreme cold. “We can’t risk getting too close. We’ll have to cross the tundra, away from the buildings.”
“Can we make it?” said Epsilon.
“Of course we can,” said Iota, Kap smiling at her enthusiasm.
“We don’t have a choice.”
They huddled together and began walking across the ice, heading towards the airport. Crossing the open plain, the wind hit them hard, trying to steal the heat that was so precious to them. The journey took an hour, their progress slowed by the cold and the fear of being caught. They often fell, their legs shaking so hard from the chill that it knocked them off balance. Reaching the limit of their endurance, Kap feared that he had made the wrong choice, that the Arctic tundra would be their grave. Epsilon suddenly stood up straight, seeing something that renewed his determination. “There’s the Comms centre!”
Epsilon pointed at a large building beyond the runway of the airport. Hundreds of satellite dishes sat on top, facing in all directions, aircraft warning lights twinkling on tall radio towers. “We can send the message from there,” said Epsilon.
Seeing their destination was close at hand spurred them on, each of them forgetting the cold and remembering the fire inside them, the desire for change. They reached the back of the building, a solitary guard lounging lazily beside the door. Kap and the others moved round behind him, slowly creeping up on the human. “Wait here,” said Kap, reaching into his trousers and taking out a sharp craft knife, blade small but deadly in the right, determined hands.
Kap crept up behind the human, moving as slow as he could so that his feet did not crunch the ice, alerting his target. Within striking distance, he made his move. Kap leapt up onto the guards back, climbing up to the neck before his victim could react. The blade sliced horribly easily through the human’s throat, warm wet blood spurting out as the life emptied from within.
The body fell to the floor, red stained ice pooling around the deceased. Epsilon looked on in horror, only now realising what their mission would entail. Iota walked up to the dead man and took his stun baton, the small handheld weapon becoming a huge menacing club in her hands. “Epsilon,” said Kap, seeing his stunned reaction, “Which way now?”
The Comms building was divided into three floors of call centre, thousands of elves sitting at desks, answering phone calls for Santa. Epsilon took them to the top floor, pointing to a large room at the opposite end of the office. “The video centre is in there,” whispered Epsilon.
They crawled between the cubicles, the chattering of the elves on telephones around them. Kap paused at a cubicle, convinced he had been spotted by one of the workers. The elf at the desk looked at Kap, a pained look on its face staring from between the headset. A bell rang on the elf’s desk and she started talking, her tone monotonous and frustrated. “Ho ho ho this is Santa Claus Toys and Gifts Ltd calling, our records show that you are behind payment on your ‘Five Golden Rings’ package...We understand times might be tight financially...Unfortunately if you cannot pay we will move your son onto the naughty list and he will not receive any gifts this Christmas...That isn’t our problem.”
Kap moved on, not wanting to hear anymore. They reached the room at the far end, the door labelled “Santa’s Grotto”. Epsilon walked to the door and punched in the pass code. The door opened, revealing a recreation of a warm log cabin. Fur rug on the floor, roaring fireplace, a wintry forest scene playing outside the false window. Kap recognised it from Santa’s messages. It looked better on camera, more authentic. In person, you could see how fake it all was.
A door to one side opened, a guard emerging from a hidden toilet. Before he could react, Iota launched herself at him, the guard screaming as the stun baton sent 10,000 volts through his body. “In here,” said Epsilon, taking Kap through a hidden door beside the fireplace.
Epsilon closed the door behind him, muffling the sound of Iota brutalising the guard. The room was a large mixing desk, television screens on the wall, control panel in front. At the back, shelves of videotapes sat, categorised alphabetically. Kap walked over and took the tape labelled “Our Workforce”.
“Show me this one,” said Kap.
Epsilon put the tape in the player and pressed play. The television flickered on, Santa’s face filling the screen. “As investors in Santa Claus Toys and Gifts Ltd, you may be wondering how we can produce such high quality products at such a low cost? The answer is simple. We don’t pay our workforce! You may think that this contravenes some human rights laws but don’t worry, they aren’t human. Elves are an inferior species, happy to dedicate themselves to making the lives of all the children of the world happy at Christmas. Working twenty hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year, our elves work and work until they can work no more.”
As Santa spoke, video of the elves matched the images. Kap almost broke the console in rage as he saw the last clip. “Once our elves have given all that they can, their bodies are taken to our incinerator, where they are used as biofuel. We are a green company after all!”
The video finished. Kap and Epsilon stood in silence, both unsure of how to react to the video. “Play this tape,” said Kap, “Send this as the message.”
Epsilon nodded, flicking switches on the console. “Wait. Give me thirty minutes to free the other elves in the prison. Then play the message,” said Kap, taking Epsilon by the arm, “Make sure everyone sees it. Everyone.”
Kap turned and left the control room. Iota had finished with the guard, standing over him, bloodied baton in hand, panting heavily. “Let’s go break out the others.”
They made their way out of the Comms centre and back towards the prison. Kap slowed on the way back, an idea forming. He saw the runway, hundreds of sleighs lined up ready for use. Elves moved back and forth, working frantically to make sure all checks were complete. Kap sneaked over, making sure he was only spotted by elves, not the guards. It seemed the elves didn’t react to his presence. Either they didn’t care or they didn’t realise he wasn’t one of them. That he was different. He made his way to the nearest sleigh and climbed into the cockpit.
The sleigh fired into life, Kap’s hands moving frantically over the controls. The elves around the craft dived out of the way as Kap haphazardly piloted the vehicle through the hangar. Guards screamed for him to stop, the sleigh impervious to their gunfire. Kap guided the sleigh across the ice and towards the prison block. The guards at the gate jumped out of the way, the sleigh slamming into the metal door, knocking it down with a loud clang that alerted every elf inside. Kap climbed on top of the burning wreck of the sleigh and shouted to the others. “Our time is now! Attack!”
The dazed guards did not know what hit
them. From the smoking rubble, hundreds of angry elves poured out of the prison, sharp pieces of plastic clutched tightly in their hands. The humans did not last long, unable to fight the wave of fury that swept over them. Enraged and frenzied, the elves stood over their victims, looking up at Kap for guidance. Kap stood listening for the sounds of discontent that would soon arrive.
Exactly thirty minutes from when he was told, Epsilon played the tape. Every elf in every workshop stopped and watched the message, their “protein” pills conditioning them to believe every word that Santa said. For the first time, they did not like what he had to say. Angry voices of discontent rose as the guards looked at one another, unsure of what to do. Alarm bells began ringing as the elves revolted, looking to vent their anger on someone.
Kap could hear the gunfire from the prison block. The revolution had begun. “With me,” he shouted as he ran towards the airstrip. The aircraft elves were already battling with the guards. Almost overpowered by their human captors, Kap and his reinforcements arrived just in time to turn the tide of battle, the guards falling quickly. “Take the sleighs,” said Kap, “We march on the fatman.”
The elves made their way to the workshop, joining the small battles that were taking place across the complex. Guards were garrotted by telephone cables in the call centres, battered to death by dolls head maces in the Girl’s Toys division. Dead bodies littered the snowy ground. Many elves lay on the ground, life given to the cause. For each one that had died, ten more were still active, joining Kap and his army as they overthrew their oppressive ruler. Soon every workshop was liberated, only one building remaining. Santa’s Grotto.
Kap led the elves up to the extravagant lavish building that was Santa’s home. The guards stepped aside, unwilling to fight any more, simply surrendering to their new leaders. The large wooden door of the grotto was smashed down by hundreds of tiny angry fists. Every elf left standing wanted answers and there was one man who could give them.
Santa Claus cowered in the corner as the door to his bedroom was forced open. Kap entered, his eyes fixed on Santa. Behind him, elves watched and waited for their moment with the fatman. “Please,” said Santa, “We can make an arrangement. I’ll start paying you fairly, start giving you more time off, more holidays. Anything you want, just don’t hurt me.”
Kap walked up to the fat man. Despite being half his size, he felt twice as tall and he looked into the human’s eyes. “It’s time for your retirement.”
The elves charged, launching themselves at Santa, each one wanting to unleash their fury with a tiny clenched fist. Kap emerged from the grotto minutes later, blood on his clothes. He looked around at the elves waiting outside and smiled triumphantly as he held up Santa’s decapitated head. The elves cheered and chanted as Kap cried out to them. “Christmas is cancelled!”
A DOG IS FOR LIFE