Biggins watched incredulously as Santa's sleigh, port stabilizer torn away, flipped gracefully over and entered a terminal dive to destruction. / Oh just great, thought Biggins, the night before Christmas and there goes my last chance at getting research funding.

Tips pointing skyward in watchful expectation, sophisticated instrument packages tuned to detect airborne objects emitting at the red end of the visible spectrum, the deadly array of surface-to-air missiles glinted menacingly in the moonlight. / Biggins gazed toward the horizon and grinned wryly as his target came into view. "Last year you refused to give me a research grant," he muttered quietly, pressing the launch button. "This year we rid civilization of the scourge it calls 'Santa'."

It was a brighter meteor than most, and Biggins allowed himself a quiet smile as he contemplated the immense speeds involved as it burned itself up in the atmosphere. .. / Who would have guessed, Biggins mused as he fingered his recently delivered lump of coal, that Santa's sleigh would have a detachable heat-shield..?

Biggins regarded his gift from Santa with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he now had a whole year's worth of research funding. .. / On the other hand, the scope of his research project had been modified slightly; from the impacts of global warming on Pacific Island beaches, to examination of abandoned coal-mines in Bosnia.

Biggins emerged from his hiding place and peered up his chemically-treated chimney. Santa had arrived in the dead of night, slid carefully into the fireplace, left a single lump of coal, and departed as quietly as he had arrived. / Biggins smirked with pleasure at a satisfactory exchange of gifts. Yes it's true that I got a lump of coal, he thought, but in sliding down my chimney, Santa got a coating of the most powerful moth pheromones known to science. ..

Techno Santa

[Techno Santa patent application]

[Sign] THE COMING OF SANTA IS NIGH..!/ Well mock you may, little boy. .. but he KNOWS when you've been good or bad..!!

HE'S MADE A LIST, AND CHECKED IT TWICE. AND YOU'RE ON IT. / BE AFRAID. BE VERY AFRAID. / SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN.

"Well no wonder you haven't been feeling too well lately Santa - you're 96% cholesterol."

The Wilsons always had the Spirit of Christmas, all year long.

Four hundred nautical miles north of Antarctica, and 120 feet below the chill night-time seas, a chartered Kilo Class Type 636 submarine slid cautiously through the most isolated waters on earth. With the two diesel engines shut down, and running on battery at only one-quarter revolutions, the vessel was effectively silent. / The crew were weary with tension but quietly patient. Would they be found? Time alone would tell. It can be bloody hard to avoid the relatives at Christmas.

"And where do you think you're going at this time of night..!?"