I know how you feel, a napkin agrees. He has to squint a little, in order to decipher the handwriting in his current state.

When your job is everything you are, and you can't bear to part with it.

"Yeah," he agrees, stabbing a finger into the napkin. "Yeah, exactly like that. And I — I don't want to stop, of course I don't. I just wish ... that this year I could do something new."

And sometimes, just sometimes ...

When you put your heart into a wish, no matter who you are, from the smallest baby to the man in the sleigh himself ...

Sometimes, when you make a wish ...

It comes true.

She's had a long day. She loves what she does, really. She's proud to serve her community.

But sometimes her community is very dumb.

It's an acknowledged risk which community mediators and other service personnel like her face. The people who most need her help, day to day — they're the ones who don't have their lives together. So she sees a lot of people who have trouble living in the society everyone has built, and that can wear on you.

It's a few days after the winter solstice, and she just wants to spend the evening on the phone with her partner out in Big Lake City.

She opens her closet door to hang up her uniform, and —

— opens it onto a large room, tastefully furnished in warm colors and lit by a crackling fire, instead.

A large man sitting on a stool at the other end of the room perks up and waves her in.

"Merry Christmas!" he cries. "Oh — but you should put on some clothes; the landlords prohibit nudity in the bar."

Kyaris blinks and goes to grab a soft robe from its hook. She tentatively steps inside.

She has ... several questions. Starting with 'What happened to my closet?' and continuing all the way through 'Am I hallucinating?'.

The one she actually asks is "What's Christmas?"

The man looks as though someone just slapped him across the face.

"What's Christmas?" he repeats. "What's Christmas? Why, it's the most wonderful holiday of the year!"

He waves a hand, and a swirl of snow curls through the air.

"It's a festival of lights and laughter in the darkest part of the year. A time to spend with family and friends, and enjoy the holiday cheer! A time to give presents, and remember how much we all mean to one another," he explains.

"Well, I don't think we have that in Central River City," she tells him. "Although it sounds wonderful. A few days ago we had the solstice festival of lights, which sounds similar — it's not a time for presents, though."

The man taps his white gloved finger against his beard in thought.

"Well, the solstice is like Christmas, in a lot of places," he allows. "That's ... that's the oldest part. The return of the sun. That's the core of it. But ..."

The man trails off, staring past her and out her closet door.

"I think everyone needs a present, sometimes. Here."

He pulls a large brown sack out of nowhere, and draws out a neatly folded pile of fabric.

She takes the fabric and unfolds it to reveal a fluffy green robe, exactly in her size.

"Thank you," she says.

"If there's a whole city of people who've never heard of Christmas, I think that's worth checking things out, while we're still between the ticks of the clock," he announces, levering himself to his feet. "Here, would you get the door for me?"

"The ... door into my bedroom?"

She glances back at the closed bar door, noticing the stars out the window for the first time.

Her hand surreptitiously reaches into her robe, finding her phone on the end of its thong, and tapping one of the buttons in the pattern for 'silently call Emergency Services'. Her phone buzzes to let her know that it has no Network connectivity.

"Well, it doesn't always lead to your bedroom," the man explains. "It leads somewhere different for everyone, you see. If I were to step through that door, I'd go back to the house I was delivering presents to before I took a ... break."

Kyaris maneuvers him back toward the bar with body language, taking a seat herself.

"I'm not saying no, but I think I want a little more idea of what your plan is, if that's okay," she says. She's had a long shift, but she's had a lot of practice speaking with that calm and reasonable tone. "You want to give people presents?"

"Yes, that's right!" the man agrees. "It's what I do. I'm the spirit of the season, aren't I? The one who embodies the tradition and makes it Christmas, the same way that Bar is the one who makes this place a bar, isn't she?"

Hello, a suddenly appearing napkin by Kyaris's elbow reads. The first drink is free.

One of them is having a break with reality, and Kyaris really hopes for the sake of her career that it's him. But that seems increasingly unlikely, really.

"Uh. I will have a cold ginger kvass, if you have that," she replies.

A clear glass mug containing the cloudy liquid appears on the surface of the bar. It is served in the traditional þereminian style: in a thick-walled cold glass vessel, no ice, with visible shreds of ginger in it.

She takes a sip. It's pretty good — and, importantly, not really sold in Central River City. She picked up the taste for it on a visit to Largest Waterfall City, and always has to order it from overseas.

She regards the mug thoughtfully for a moment, and then returns her attention to the man.

"I'm sorry — I just realized I haven't given my name. I'm Kyaris; how should I refer to you?"

The man strokes his beard in thought.

"I've had many names. Some people say the first was Nicholas of Myra, but I think I prefer Santa, all things considered."

"It's good to meet you, Santa," Kyaris replies, taking another sip of her kvass. It's good, if noticeably different than the kind she usually gets, so it would be a shame for it to go to waste.

"And you as well!" Santa agrees. "I so rarely get to meet people, on Christmas night. So much to do ..."

He leans forward.

"But there's always room for more. Tell me, how do people in your city give gifts?"

"Well — when you're good friends with someone, so that you can judge their tastes well, and you know what they'll find aversive, sometimes you'll feel motivated to share something with them," Kyaris explains. "So you'll buy or make them a present, and ... give it to them."

She runs a finger thoughtfully around the rim of her mug.

"I guess there's other kinds of presents as well. Parents give their kids a lot of presents, because kids are sometimes too young to know all the things that they'll enjoy, so a parent can frequently give them things that they will turn out to like but don't know to ask for. Usually they can use the self-exploration guides by twelve or so, so it's less usual to give gifts to a child older than that — but everyone is different," she continues.

"Then there's courting gifts, which are really a different thing. Oh — and it's always appropriate to gift money to someone, since it's fungible, so that's quite common."

Santa looks somewhat aghast.

"So you ... don't have any gift-giving holidays at all?" he clarifies.

"I mean, there are plenty of holidays that involve communal sharing of resources?" Kyaris clarifies. "The harvest festival, for example. So you might make food or costumes for a group of people. But I don't think there are any holidays that involve giving a gift to a specific single person, if that's what you mean. In Central River City, at least. Lots of cities have different traditions."

"But why not?" Santa asks, his white eyebrows coming together like tiny clouds.

"I ... think that it would make it less special, to get a gift and know it was given out of traditional obligation, and not love?" Kyaris hazards. "Also, it would be an imposition on people, right, and a lot of folks wouldn't be able to handle the additional stress of having to coordinate it."

Santa shakes his head.

"No, no, no, that just won't do," he says. "It won't do!"

He clasps his hands imploringly.

"I'm not about to tell you how to run your city — but please, just for tonight, let me hand out some presents."

He pats the pouch on his belt.

"I have just what everyone needs."

"... you have what everyone needs?" she questions.

"I do!"

He taps the side of his nose.

"It's the magic of the season — I always know what to give everyone I meet. Tell me, do you like that robe?"

Kyaris looks down at the green robe crumpled in her lap.

"... I do. I actually meant to get another casual around-the-house robe, actually, but I've been putting it off."

He nods decisively.

"So if you'd just let me through your door, I can go and hand out some presents and be back quick as a wink."

Kyaris fingers the robe.

"I think some of the people I work with will find you ... overwhelming," she cautions. "So I'll do it, on the condition that I can come with you to help explain."

She gestures to his coat.

"But you'll probably want to change into a different outfit. Red is the color of people who don't want to talk."

He strokes his beard.

"Well, it's not the modern version, but ...

"Will this do?" he asks, suddenly wearing a brown robe and a stole instead of his earlier red robe.

"Yes," Kyaris agrees. "I don't think that outfit will raise any eyebrows."

She finishes off her drink with a big gulp, and then stands and faces the door, squaring her shoulders. Time to find out how much of this is real.

"Alright."

She opens the door, and gestures Santa through.

"Welcome to Central River City."

Santa glances around her small open-plan apartment, taking in the exposed conduits, the attachment points screwed into the beams, the neatly organized containers of various ingredients.

He takes a deep breath.

"It's nice to see somewhere new. Let's go spread some cheer!"

She steps through to join him in her bedroom, and her phone reconnects to the Network. Her call to Emergency Services goes through, and she quickly turns it off of stealth mode.

"Emergency Services. What is your emergency?"

"Hi Thummil — this is Kyaris. I'm either hallucinating, or I'm going to be guiding an alien who is the magical embodiment of a gift-giving celebration through the city so that he can distribute gifts to people. Either way, would you send a patrol to come check in on us?"

Working as an Emergency Services dispatcher requires a certain unflappability.

"Alright. Do you want me to connect you to the hospital, as well?"

"No — I don't think that's necessary. I'll leave my location shared with you, just in case."

Santa strokes his beard, looking consideringly at the phone.

He snaps his fingers.

"Okay, Kyaris. Zakrimit and Verhatis are on their way, and should be with you in a few minutes. Try not to do anything that would be risky if there were no magic occurring, alright?"

"My apologies for interrupting," Santa interjects. "But Thummil — check your messages. And Merry Christmas!"

Kyaris taps the phone over to standby and drops it into her robe before Thummil can reply.

"Did you send them a message?" she asks, making her way toward the door. "How?"

"I think you will find that very little can stop me from giving a gift," Santa tells her. "It's a little harder over a distance, but I gave them a copy of a book that they were saving up for."

Kyaris frowns, pulling on her high winter boots.

"With physical goods, creating them creates value. But electronic goods have zero marginal cost of production — if you just magic a copy into existence, you're making the author poorer," she observes, although her voice is not judgemental.

Santa smiles gently at her.

"It's magic," he explains. "It would hardly be a gift if it were stolen. So the right amount of money will have made its way to the author. And before you ask where that came from, it will have come from somewhere that it was not doing anyone any good, and will not be missed."

He opens the door for her.

"When done right, generosity is like love: potent, unable to be contained or combated, and the more you give, the more there is. When I was just a man, I knew its power. Now, I am something more than that."

He chuckles.

"Ah, it's been so long since I've worn this form. It makes me preachy." 

Kyaris steps out into the hall, throwing a brown cloak around her neck. With the long brown cloak, casual blue robes, and tall leather boots, she looks like every other person out for a winter walk.

"I don't think I understand," she tells him. "But I also don't think that I have to. Do you know where you want to start?"

"Oh, let's start right here," Santa replies, pointing across the hall to her neighbor's door. "Do you knock, in Central River City?"

"We do," Kyaris agrees, giving the door a set of deliberate raps in the 'non-urgent brief interaction request' pattern.

A moment later, the door opens to reveal a small man with mousey brown hair.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Hello, Mosavilh," Kyaris greets him. "This is Santa, a magical alien who wants to give you a gift."

Mosavilh is an easy neighbor to get along with — they see each other once every few weeks, and she's never needed to talk to him in an official capacity. He is not someone she's too worried about overwhelming.

"Merry Christmas!" Santa adds, handing him a box patterned with leaves. "A new set of knives, for your kitchen."

"Oh! Well, I don't know how you knew I needed them, but thank you," Mosavilh responds. "I'll put them to good use."

He nods to Kyaris, and closes the door.

"That went well," Santa remarks, as he strolls toward the next neighbor. "Let me see ... oh, this family has children. That's always a delight!"

And so Santa and Kyaris work their way through the apartment building. Santa doesn't stop at every door — although whether that is because they're not home, not in need of a gift, or he doesn't want to give them one she can't tell. At some doors, he leaves a patterned box without a word. At others, he takes a moment to exchange bright words, and explain the gift he has.

By the time they make it out of the apartment, they've been joined by two on-duty Emergency Services personnel in purple pants.

"... and then we can take the train up to the Eastern side," Kyaris explains, gesturing with her hands to explicate the layout of the city. "But I do think we should start down that way."

Santa nods gently.

"I think you're right."

He looks down the street at a man in a large orange hat, tucked into an alcove between two buildings and gently rocking.

"Tell me about him," he asks. "He needs a present, but I don't think he needs me to give it to him."

"Oh! That's Vormelha," Kyaris explains. "He works checking building regulation compliance for the city, but he doesn't like to be inside buildings during his off hours. We bump into each other pretty often, making our rounds. Maybe I could give it to him?"

Santa hands her a stiff dusty sienna backpack.

Kyaris walks over to stand by Vormelha, although she angles her body away from him, and focuses on the roof of the opposite building instead. Her colleagues hang back.

She stands silently for a minute, and then sets the backpack down next to him.

"A gift, from the man with the beard," she remarks. "I hope it serves you well."

"That building has twenty-seven birds on it," he informs her. "For now."

She nods, and makes her way back over to the others.

"That's why I wanted to come with you," she explains. "Some people need the world to be gentle, and I've been working as a mediator for the city for hexades."

"I welcome the help," Santa tells her.

He bends down to hand a toy helecopter to a girl who goes running past, a cheerful "Thank you!" echoing over her shoulder, and then walks over to her parent to hand them a bag.

"In Myra, I like to think I fulfilled a similar role. Nowadays ..."

He pauses thoughtfully as they walk down to the train station.

"The trick to being a spirit of a holiday, is to recognize your dual nature," he says. "It is both true that I fly around the world in a single night, bringing presents to everyone — and true that the people who give gifts on Christmas give them in my name. When you give a gift to someone, for no reason other than to make their lives better, your hands are my hands, and my strength your strength."

He hands Kyaris a small box and points to a young woman sitting on the bench by the station entrance.

"So I am no stranger to working through intermediaries."

"That's Tana," Kyaris supplies, taking the box and feeling how light it is.

She walks over to her.

"Hello, Tana," she says. "How are you?"

Tana blinks and straightens up, her eyes focusing on Kyaris's face.

Mediator Kyaris, she signs. Are you on patrol?

Kyaris shakes her head.

"Not officially. Zakrimit and Verhatis are," she responds, pointing to where Zakrimit is talking softly into his phone and Verhatis is wrangling a luggage cart out of storage and wheeling it over to Santa.

"That man has presents for people," she tells Tana. "He wanted you to have this."

She takes the box hesitantly. Tana moves around a lot, between a perpetual cycle of romantic partners that never last much longer than it takes her to get to know them. She doesn't have much stuff — and doesn't need much stuff. Better to travel light.

She opens the box, and smiles.

Thank him for me, she signs. I need a new watch, because Polmali stole my last one.

"Did you report it?" Kyaris asks gently.

Tana shakes her head.

I don't ... you know how much detail they always want.

"I keep telling City Hall to make the form simpler," Kyaris agrees. "I'll let Zakrimit know anyway, and we'll just keep a note of it in case Polmali is willing to talk about it. You have a good night, Tana."

Tana nods, and hooks the chain of the watch on to her collar.

You as well, she agrees.

"So if we load up stuff for the kitchens, the train staff will see it sent there," Zakrimit explains as she returns to the group. "Normally, we'd want you to send it via normal mail, but the staff were alright with it this once, given the circumstances."

"Splendid!"

Santa begins piling up some neatly-sealed bamboo boxes of various foods on the carts Verhatis has wrangled over.

Once the carts are loaded, they hand them over to one of the station workers, and Kyaris leads the group over to the platform for the southbound train.

"So you've mentioned a bit about Christmas, but every holiday has its rituals. What else do you do, on Christmas?" she asks.

It feels wrong, somehow, to subtly pump this kind old man for details about his world, even if it's very tempting when presented with a magical alien. But if he is the embodiment of the holiday, then she suspects he won't have any problem telling her more about that.

"Oh! Well, the traditions have changed over time," Santa tells her, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "But there are some constants. Lights, for example. And singing! There's so much wonderful Christmas music."

The train pulls up, and Kyaris leads them into the compartment.

This particular train car is empty, so she doesn't feel as though she will be bothering anyone when she asks:

"Do you think you could teach us a few?"

"Of course!" Santa agrees.

And as the train clatters south, he teaches them the words to 'Deck the halls'.

"... and that song is sort of an extended answer to your other question," he remarks as they step off the train. "Since it lists some of the traditions for celebrating Christmas."

By and large, Þereminian cities try very hard to keep everything walkable and colocated. But as much as they fight, they cannot always win against the combined pressures of economic incentive and historical happenstance.

There are some areas of Central River City that are not very nice.

This area is a study in contrasts. The cobbled roads and public parks are as well-kept as any other area. But the buildings are shabbier, built in an older style and somewhat in need of repair. It is a quiet and sombre neighborhood.

"Oh dear!" Santa exclaims.

He carefully examines the houses, and then peers past them to a park.

"Would it be alright if I rang a big bell?" he asks his companions. "There are a few people who will only accept their gifts if they can see everyone getting them, I think."

Kyaris shares a look with her coworkers.

"Let me check the neighborhood noise ordinances," she says, pulling them up on her phone.

"... yes, you should be fine," she says after a moment. "I'll file for a public performance permit, just in case."

Santa gives a determined nod, and strides to the park. He pulls a large silver hand-bell from somewhere, and begins ringing it over his head.

"Ho ho ho! Come one, come all, it's Christmas time!"

Several people in the buildings nearest the park twitch their curtains, looking to see what the commotion is.

A few, seeing the mediators, come out to see what's going on.

"... this is Santa," she finds herself explaining to someone she doesn't know. She can't know everyone in the city.

"He's a magical alien — but don't worry, that's why we're showing him around to avoid any misunderstandings. So far he seems very nice. He has some presents that he'd like to give to everyone."

Santa waves from where he's handing sticky-cakes to a group of children.

"So you think you could help me by letting them know what's going on?" he asks them.

The kids disperse into the buildings, rousing their friends and families.

And soon there's a growing crowd in the evening light, milling around in the park and talking in low voices.

"I brought a nice roast with me!" Santa calls out over the crowd, holding up a large box. "Does anyone have a table they could bring out so we can share it out?"

This is more familiar ground for some of the adults. Every holiday involves sharing food — and for those few of them who must occasionally choose between using their basic on food or on the things their children need, it's a welcome reprieve.

A handful of people sign to each other to coordinate, and then hurry away to go fetch Gozmezi's big folding table.

A child comes up and tugs on Santa's robes to get his attention.

"What about the people up on Flattish Hill? My friend Boneg lives up there," they say.

"Oh, I have a present for him too," Santa assures them. "Actually — do you think you could run up there and spread the word? Christmas is for everyone, and they should have the choice to come and join us. Here, this is for Boneg," he continues, handing the child a small silver package.

Kyaris helps get the table unfolded and steadied on the snow. Soon enough Santa's roast sits in the middle of it, but someone else has brought a batch of cookies, and someone else has brought a pot of soup.

Kyaris stands back and watches it all. There are people she recognizes, here in the crowd. Someone starts up a solstice song.

"It's magical, isn't it?" Santa comments, as he makes his way out of the crowd and over to her. "It's not just me — it's them. When people come together, everyone has a bit more."

He smiles at her.

"But I think it's time for us to move on. We have a lot of people to visit tonight."

"Will we have time to get to them all?" Kyaris questions. "How long is Christmas, anyway? Actually, what time is it?"

She feels like they've been at this for an hour or more, but the city still seems lit by the same indirect evening light as when she finished her shift earlier.

"Why, it's Christmas time!" Santa tells her. "And there is always time."

He looks off into the distance, over the clustered roofs of the city.

"No matter how many people there are, we always have time for each one."

He's silent for a moment, and Kyaris isn't sure what to say, but then he begins walking and she falls into step next to him.

The hours pass in a blur — or maybe they don't pass at all. But she walks with him, through the zig-zag streets of her city. Sometimes he takes the lead, with merry laughter and infectious cheer. Sometimes she takes the lead, with her trained calmness and knowledge of the community.

They've left her coworkers behind, but she's far past doubting what she's seeing. Whenever they cause another party, she calls dispatch to keep them informed.

But otherwise, the two of them walk the length and breadth of the city. And where they walk, they leave people joyful, thankful, and better off than they were before.

"There's just ..."

Kyaris yawns, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"There's just the folks up by the mill left, I think," she tells him.

The two walk by the riverbank, their breath forming puffs of fog in the air. At some point it has started snowing, big fat flakes drifting down to nest in their hair.

"Alright, then. Come on — one last neighborhood."

By the time they have left the last present outside Yarik and Lhorna's door, Kyaris is dead on her feet.

Santa reaches out a hand to steady her, and then draws her arm through his own.

"Come on, now. There's just one last thing to do tonight — get you to bed."

"Bed sounds ... bed sounds good," Kyaris agrees. "... did we really walk the entire city?"

"We did," Santa agrees, guiding her around the corner and onto her street. "I told you there would be time for everyone. But even Christmas miracles can take a toll on those unused to them. You'll probably sleep late tomorrow."

Kyaris laughs.

"I think my work will understand."

She fumbles with her key and lets them into her apartment.

"Where will you go now? Back to that bar? Will we ever see you again?"

Santa turns down the covers on her bed and helps her stumble into it.

"Now, I go back to the rest of the world I left waiting," he tells her. "As for whether you'll ever see me ..."

He looks out her window at the growing dark and thickening snow.

"Yes, I think you'll see me again. Whenever you see someone planning a gift. Whenever you see someone sharing with a friend. Whenever you look out into the darkness of winter, and feel the stirring certainty within you that the sun will return ... you will see me."

"Whether enough people will celebrate Christmas and truly believe to extend my normal route to your world — well, I think that's up to you."

"Goodnight, Kyaris."

She snuggles up under the covers.

"Goodnight, Santa. And ... thank you."

With a puff of released magic, Santa stands once again in his bright red robes. He places a hand on her closet door, and pulls it open to reveal a warm room lit by firelight.

"Thank you! You were an excellent helper .... aaand you're already asleep."

He smiles and shakes his head, stepping through the door. He pulls it closed, but pauses, for just a moment, to look back at the world he saw.

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

There are extensive debriefings, later, about why exactly first contact went the way it did. Why no reports escalated from Central River City. Why no xenopsychologists or linguists were consulted. Why no news of the alien seemed to hit the Network until he had already left. They will eventually conclude that it was, if not literally magic, it was at least something sufficiently advanced.

There are a few people who doubt that anything happened at all, and declare it all a hoax put on by some group in Central River City.

But across the city, children play with hand-made toys that nobody will admit to making. And the leftover food seems to last a suspiciously long time. 

And across the world, people wake up to personalized messages, delivered by the Network in the night, although no server logs show their passing. Most people get books — The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, or A Christmas Carol, yes, but also The Encyclopedia Brittanica, or A Complete Guide to Indo-European Languages. Just what each person will most enjoy.

And that is why, from that day to this, þereminia celebrates First Contact Day in a most unusual way:

They string up lights, and sing carols. They put on feasts and hold parties. All that is not so strange. But they do one thing more, that is less in character: they give gifts. Not everyone can, every year. There are reasons to find gift-giving (or gift-receiving) stressful and unpleasant. But those who can, do. And somehow it works out that everyone who wants a present always receives at least one.

And every year, on First Contact Day, Kyaris gathers the children and tells them the story of the time she met a holiday.