PodCastle

* Authors : Tim Pratt and Heather Shaw
* Narrators : Kaitlyn Zivanovich, Matt Dovey, Eric Valdes and Devin Martin
* Host : Matt Dovey
* Audio Producer : Eric Valdes
*
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PodCastle 819: Skipping Christmas is a PodCastle original.


CW for child injury and references to drug use


PG-13
Skipping Christmas
by Heather Shaw & Tim Pratt
The flight was dead: to begin with. Leo Altman was seated in suite 2K in the first-class section, his usual preference since the first row was too close to the bathroom, and had almost the whole cabin to himself. There were fourteen seats up here in first, and as far as Leo could tell, there were only two other passengers, neither nearby. There might be teeming hordes in coach, but those poor souls boarded through a separate entrance, so he’d never know. He doubted even cattle class was crowded, though. He’d done this same flight a dozen times, the first few in his early thirties, when he could only afford business class, and it was never a crowded route.
Not many people chose to take the nonstop flight from Los Angeles, California to Sydney, Australia on the evening of December 24th. If they did, they crossed the international date line on the way, landing in Sydney on the morning of December 26th, and skipping Christmas Day entirely. Leo hadn’t experienced Christmas in over a decade. Oh, Christmas still happened — his nibling Ash always sent a cheerful text about it, for one thing — but it happened without Leo, taking place on a page of the calendar that he didn’t inhabit.
The plane taxied and lifted off, and Leo ignored the chatter from the cockpit and settled in. A flight attendant brought merely adequate champagne, but soon returned with a glass of better Scotch. She didn’t even wish him “happy holidays.” Leo was content to spend the next thirteen hours basking in serenity, another annual landmine successfully avoided.
His first-class suite didn’t have a door, or even a privacy curtain like some other airlines provided, but given his scheduling needs, it was the best he could do. Usually, it was good enough. But not this time.
This time, a stranger slipped into his suite and sat down on the little jump seat across from his recliner, meant for guests to visit and chat. The interloper was short and slender, dressed in white silk pajamas, with an eruption of pale yellow hair on top of their head, but the sides shaved. Their eyes were bright, and their smile wide; the overall impression was of an anthropomorphic candle. Leo couldn’t guess their gender (but then, his nibling was nonbinary, so he was used to that sort of thing) or, more strangely, their age — young, old, neither?
“Hello, Leo,” they said in a voice that trilled. “I’m sorry for the lack of warning. I usually work with a team, and ideally we like to send a mutual acquaintance ahead to make introductions, but we’re terribly busy lately, so you’ll have to make do with me alone.”
An intrusion. In another five years, if things continued as planned, Leo would be able to stop flying commercial entirely; by the time he was fifty, he hoped to have his own private plane.
“Please return to your seat,” Leo said. “Don’t make me call the flight attendant.