For some reason, Tarik was unable to sleep. Perhaps it was all the rich food he'd eaten that night; perhaps it was an inability to wind down from the happy excitement of the evening (as opposed to the most unhappy excitement that generally characterized his life). Nonetheless, he got out of bed and headed to the kitchen, making sure to put on a robe now that his household included a little girl. Kassia stirred as he got out of bed.
How much my life has changed, he thought. At the beginning of the year I was on Mars, looking at yet another dead-end assignment. Now I've been a part of major history-changing events. Most of all, I have a family now -- both the family I came from and the family I'm forming. He looked over the pictures on the wall, family shots of him with Kassia and Tiyanna, and occasionally Troy and Paul. A group photo from the disastrous vacation to Vulcan a few months ago. Drawings Tiyanna had made at school, thankfully much more cheerful than the ones she'd made when she first arrived at the station as a scared refugee. Tarik smiled as he noticed that she'd made his ears much too big.
He turned to look at the Christmas tree, decorated with artifacts from multiple civilizations, and at the packages beneath it. Tarik was surprised to see that there were a few more than he remembered. And he was even more surprised to see a big human with a white beard in a red suit. Despite his girth the man seemed to move effortlessly. Tarik started to alert Security, then stopped.
"It is true, then," he said.
Santa turned and looked at him. "Why yes, it was true all along!"
"So where's the North Pole these days?"
"The North Galactic Pole, actually, although I've been operating out of Docking Bay 25."
"Why?"
"It was available and wouldn't interfere with shipping."
"No, I mean why are you doing all this?" Tarik asked, ever skeptical.
Santa sighed. "Most of the civilizations in this galaxy have become too jaded, too overcome with their oh-so-sophisticated cynical irony to believe in magic. But occasionally something happens to bring them up short and make them remember there's something larger than themselves out there. For the Federation at this outpost, it was the Briar Patch War. The greatest humanitarian disaster the Federation has faced since very early in its history. Sure, the Federation met the physical needs of the people who were displaced, but their souls still needed more. That's why I came, my friend."
Tarik nodded. "I suppose you're right. But if you've been around for so long, and seen so much suffering, why now? Why not earlier? Better still, why not deal with the problem before it became a problem?"
"Ah, yes, the Eternal Question -- 'Why does God permit suffering if He is so loving?' Even I can't answer that one except to say this: some things God puts in the hands of His people to deal with. The reason there is suffering is because those who know better either don't prevent it or don't act quickly enough to mitigate it. As an Earthman once said, 'The only thing necessary for evil to prosper is for good men to do nothing.' Think on that, Tarik.
"I came specifically to you to tell you something: much is going to be required of your civilization -- the Federation, that is; only your DNA is Romulan at this point, as I'm sure you've determined for yourself. There is a great evil in this sector, and the fate of the Federation shall rest upon how it responds. And you, my friend, are going to be one of the Prime Movers."
"Francona," Tarik thought disgustedly.
Santa shook his head. "No, A'dal Francona is evil enough, but even he is controlled by forces greater than he is. Even if he were to be eliminated tomorrow by whatever means, the evil behind him will remain untouched. The force which is taking control of Francona is gathering some of the most monstrous entities in this quadrant to its aid. You think the Borg were bad? The Borg at least have the saving grace that the Collective actually believes it's doing its victims a favor by assimilating them. Its day too shall come. This force is purely destructive and has no intention of good toward anyone. You, Colonel, will have to make some serious decisions in the next few years -- decisions that will see you either defeat this evil, or fall under its power."
Tarik blinked at the use of his rank. Until now, Santa or his elves had never addressed anyone by rank. "Both Tarik the soldier and Tarik the man will have to make these decisions. You'll know when and where, if your heart is what I think it is. I must go now; I have an entire station to take care of! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" With that, Santa put his finger to his nose and vanished more abruptly than any transporter could have accomplished.
Tarik shook his head. It was too much to take in. He found a book in his hands and looked at the cover: "The Guide for the Perplexed," by Moses Maimomedes -- translated into Romulan.
Tarik smiled. He was unaware that the ancient Jewish philosopher had ever been translated into his native tongue, or that there was ever any desire to translate Maimomedes or any other Earth religious scholar into Romulan. He opened the cover and saw a hand-written inscription.
For my son. May it help you attain clarity.
January 15, 2370 -- Takor.
The date was one day before his parents had been killed. A tear started to come to Tarik's eye, but he smiled as he remembered the last transmission he'd received from his father, an excited message about having gained permission to translate several Earth religious and philosophical texts into Romulan. "I hope so, Father... I really do."