BOXING DAY ON MARS

Two old enemies met in a cave on the planet Mars.

The storm had raged for weeks, covering everything with a layer of fine, rust colored dust.

Winds howled murderously, though the atmospheric pressure is less than one percent that of the Earth. The dust clouds covered the entire Martian surface. It was impossible to find one's way—yet the lone, red garbed figure made his way unerringly to the hidden cave.

Above him, scarlet whirlwinds towered hundreds of feet. They stooped like curious giants. Ghastly voices shrieked and howled in the wind that cut like razors.

Why do you not fall down, gasping? You cannot breathe our air. We will leave you a withered, wind-blown husk, a mummified, taxidermied corpse.

Despite the winds' accusation, the Fat Man was not inconvenienced by the carbon dioxide content of the air. He wore no breathing mask over his white-bearded face. Instead, his eyes were protected by goggles with lenses so dark as to almost be obsidian. As he neared the cave, a faint red glow seemed to come through the goggle's thick lenses. The dust was so thick, though, that it might have been no more than an optical illusion.

He had shuffled and kicked through the last of the wind-piled scarlet sands.

A welcoming greenish glow came from inside the cave, beckoning like an emerald Welcome Mat. The Fat Man entered to find himself in a vast cavern, more than fifty feet deep. At the very back a fireplace had been carved into the cavern walls. The fire that burned here glowed an eldritch green. An earthly flame would have been choked by the Martian air.

Before the fireplace stood a great evergreen tree that reached unto the ceiling, twenty feet above. Tinsel ribbons; multi-colored Christmas Tree balls; strings of glowing lights shone like wondrous constellations. Classic bubble lights—tiny, different colored glass tubes filled with clear liquid, enchanting in their multi-colored bubbling action.

Holly, mistletoe and ivy hung from the walls and ceiling.

On either side of the tree and set before it, three oaken tables fairly groaned with the wealth of all kinds of rich and mouthwatering foodstuffs they supported. A delicious smell filled the cavern. Mince and fruit pies steamed as if fresh out of the oven. Turkeys, ducks and geese were piled up on a great table. Chestnuts and cherry-red apples, plums and pineapples. Horns filled to the brim with sweet mead.

Stacked up on either side of the walls lay innumerable decorated eggs, shining with their own light, decorated with silver, gold, emeralds, rubies and sapphires.

A gigantic Rabbit stood before the central table. He was well over seven feet tall, and clad in the motley of a king's jester. The cap and bells made the Rabbit look as if he had more than one set of ears. He did not wear the traditional diamond shapes of an harlequin. Instead, his costume was a chaotic crazy quilt of clashing colors, as if its color scheme had been designed by Jackson Pollock.

In his paw the rabbit held a large, richly decorated egg, larger and more splendorous than any of the others that filled the cave. A sly and sardonic expression was painted on his face. He gave a gracious and impossibly low bow. All the while the splendorous egg in his paw remained perfectly stable, balanced with exquisite perfection.

“Welcome! Welcome!” said the Rabbit. “Help yourself. I've long had this feast prepared, and have only awaited your coming.”

The Fat Man almost smirked. “I'm on a diet.” He threw back his scarlet hood and slid the goggles up until they rested snugly on the top of his head. Now visible, it was still difficult to determine the man's age. He appeared old, and yet there was something unsettlingly timeless about him.

Ignoring the feast set before him he picked up one of the eggs from a random pile, gave it a once over and nodded his head, approvingly.

“I see you've not lost your touch. You've still got the prettiest panoramic sugar eggs imaginable. Right out of a Hallmark catalogue, or a Macy's Christmas display window. Just look at this—cherry icing bunting, all tied up in a pretty bow. Got all these sugar flowers. Oh—and just look at this! You can see it right through the window. A cute little bunny rabbit. Look at that button nose. Those floppy ears. You have perfectly captured the spirit of the holiday with that one! ”

The seven foot rabbit looked at his visitor wryly. “Such...sarcasm...ill befits you, Nicholas. After all these ages, are we not beyond such pettiness?”

“We're definitely way beyond where I thought I'd find you. Did you really think putting two hundred-fifty million miles between you and me was going to do anything more than set me back a little bit?”

The Rabbit smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I did figure that not having your eight tiny reindeer might cause you a problem or two.”

“Nine—if you don't forget Rudolph. Why did you butcher them?”

“What can I say—I was hungry!”

“You're a rabbit. Rabbits aren't carnivorous.”

“Yes, we're creatures that flee at the first sign of trouble. Let me refresh your memory. I'm sure you've seen the Medieval manuscripts, the drolleries depicting rabbits with swords, shields, and lances—hanging dogs by the neck, and beheading humans. All true to life, I can assure you. And...who, once having seen him, could possibly forget The Rabbit of Caerbannog?”

“So you were hungry and that's why you butchered my reindeer.”

“Shame to let all that venison go to waste,” he grinned. The Fat Man was not amused.

“Why slaughter my elves?”

“I told you—I was hungry!”

“So now you're a cannibal, as well as a murderer.”

The Rabbit shook his head and vigorously waved his paw, “No, no, no—a cannibal is one who devours his own species. Harvey, here,” he gestured to his own self, “doesn't do rabbit-on-rabbit-action.”

“Harvey?” The Fat man looked dubious.

“Play about an invisible, imaginary rabbit.. Hell—you know damn well I never had a name of my own. I figured Harvey would be just as good a name as any—and better than most.”

“You actually laid all these eggs.”

“I actually laid all these eggs.”

“With all the raspberry bunting and the cute little cellophane windows, and the chocolate bunnies inside?”

“It did take me quite a while to master that little trick.”

“Guess I've always wondered how a lagomorph mammal could lay eggs.”

“My dear Nicholas—we are creatures of fable and fairy tale. Scientific laws and classification don't apply to us—and they don't bother us. Do you know that in 1798 they discovered the duck billed platypus—and thought it was a fake? Duck's bill, otter's body, beaver's tail—oh, and it lays eggs. For someone who's been around the world countless times you don't seem too familiar with Australia. Didn't the abos have enough chimneys for you to slide down in?”

“No need to be disrespectful. I always got the good little boys and girls their presents by Christmas morning.”

“And while we're speaking of Christmas morning, are you sure you won't have something? Boar's head and snail soup—oh, I would particularly recommend the roast swan!”

“Christmas was yesterday. Today's Boxing Day.”

“I can't praise the roast Beaver's Tail, or the Bear's Paws enough.”

“Harvey...cut the crap!”

“Frog Leg Pie? I promise it's not poisoned. Oh, all right. It's Boxing Day—so...what?”

“I brought you a present.”

“I don't see your omnipresent sack—let alone any boxes to speak of.”

“One hundred-fifty years ago, you butchered my reindeer. You slaughtered my elves. What you did to my wife we won't even talk about. If I'd skinned your whole family alive—think you'd be having a Happy Easter?”

“Do you want to know why I blew the fucking shit out of your whole operation?”

“Only if your explanation will bring her back—bring them all back.”

“You really don't want to know?” The Rabbit was nonplussed. He moved confusedly back toward the Tree, unscrewing one of the colored bubble lights and holding it up in his paws.

“And here I took all that time to decorate the Tree.”

With a move quicker than the eye could see, Harvey hurled the bubble light straight at Nicholas. The Fat Man dodged easily.

“Those things are full of methylene chloride—think you're going to give me cancer? Like you said, I'm a creature of fable and fairy-tale.”

The Rabbit leaped about, tearing off more of the bubble lights. These the Fat Man easily dodged. The Rabbit was not done. Christmas Tree bulbs were ripped from the tree and hurled in Kriss Kringle's direction. They exploded on contact with the cavern floor and released jets of multi-colored gas. They didn't affect the Fat Man, but the clouds of colored fog did prove disorienting.

The Fat Man had easily avoided anything the Rabbit had hurled at him. The Tree was stripped down to its bare boughs when suddenly the Long Eared Jester gave a paralyzing shriek.

A Japanese katana came spinning from somewhere back in the cave. Had the Fat Man not dodged it would have sliced clean through his neck. The Rabbit was not the one who'd thrown it.

“I thought we agreed to come alone.”

“Only thing I agreed to was being the only living being to meet you. I've kept to the letter of our agreement. Didn't make any promises about these guys.”

Santa took in the scene in a moment. He ran backwards and was followed by a dozen whirling samurai sword blades.

The storm was over and the dust had settled.

What pursued Santa Claus out of the cave were what looked like hundreds of long eared, deep brown figures. Each of these were armed with deadly, razor sharp katanas. At the Rabbit's signal hundreds of them had leapt out—bursting out of the sugar eggs that concealed them.

“Chocolate Easter Bunnies. Should have seen that one coming a mile away! You taught 'em to do a lot more than just the Bunny Hop.”

What followed then was like a chess game, with the Fat Man in constant motion. He quickly armed himself with two of the cast off weapons. A katana in his right hand, and the shorter, wakasashi, companion sword in his left. There followed a battle the likes of which the planet Mars had never before seen, and never would see again.

Some of the chocolate bunnies hurled jelly bean eggs, and hard candies that resembled weaponized M&Ms. The ground shook from the resultant explosions. Sticky jelly began to spatter Santa Claus' scarlet coat and trousers, with similar colored strawberry, raspberry and current jelly. Once stuck, it was almost impossible to pull off. Too much more and the Claus would be stuck fast, immobile and an easy target for the Lepus Mastermind.

The bunnies had surrounded him, seeking to overcome him and overpower him by the sheer force of numbers. With a great and savage war cry, the Claus threw his attackers back, clearing a space and gaining himself some desperately needed breathing room.

So fierce was that cry the bunnies momentarily held back. Even their master stood there, frozen to immobility for a moment. But seeing his foe largely helpless he resumed his progress. He had prepared a special weapon to finally end this fight. He jerked the pull cord and the chain saw roared to life.

Claus found it increasingly difficult to move. The chocolate bunnies surrounded him. They stuck to him like glue. The Easter Bunny grinned. “Take him down!” His voice dripped honey as he gloated.

The Bunny stopped. There was a shaking of the ground. From somewhere in the distance a dull roar grew louder and louder. Harvey's gaze snapped to the east. A thin line appeared on the nearest mesa. Whatever made it, grew larger and larger as it got closer.

An astonished look appeared on Harvey's face.

“You bastard! You unmitigated bastard! What are they?”

“The Polar Bears sought out whiter pastures when the ice cap melted. Made their ways down to Antarctica. Thought the penguins would be easy pickings. But those penguins are tough little motherfuckers! They gave as good as they got! Bears realized mutually assured destruction didn't serve anybody's best interest and they called a truce. I've had them training together ever since.” Santa's voice rang out in a catchy tune.

“Everywhere I walk on the Antarctic continent,

I see penguins with guns. Penguins with guns.

Waddling along like an Indian regiment,

Penguins with guns. Penguins with guns!

Penguins with Uzis. Penguins with glocks.

AK47s, loaded and locked.

Winchesters. Lugers..."

From Martian horizon to Martian horizon the line stretched. Soon the army was in view. Each polar bear carried three penguins on each shoulder and head. They bristled with deadly armament and each combatant, whether mammal or avian, was wrapped in a thick breathing mask, tubes connected to the oxygen tanks strapped to their backs.

Despite their fragile, chocolatey forms, the bunnies were deadly. Beneath the chocolate covering each rabbit possessed a mechanical, clockwork skeleton—and these were outfitted with automatic weaponry.

The bears and birds lit into them with the complete disregard for personal safety Samurai warriors were once renowned for. The red sands were stirred up in absolute confusion and greatly concealed the massacre of flesh, and blood, confections and cogs.

Santa Claus was still severely handicapped by the adhesive jam and jelly. Few of the combatants were left. The Bunny disposed of the last who opposed him. The field of combat was clear now—he strode through the massive molasses-like tar pit of blood and chocolate remains.

“You fought pretty well, old man. But you didn't know the jam in the jellybean grenades tends to harden up tighter than concrete. You're pretty much helpless now and I can indulge my monologuing without fearing your escape. I've waited a hundred-fifty years to tell you exactly why I destroyed everything you've ever worked for. Oh, how I have waited!”

The Rabbit was about to tell what would have amounted to his life story. He was distracted by an impact he felt from the ground. In moments his long ears caught a sound in the distance that grew louder and louder.

An immense figure came lightly over the horizon. Besides the thud of its hoofs hitting the Martian surface there could be heard the ever-growing sound of whirring gears and the hiss of escaping steam.

The reindeer was nearly a hundred feet tall. A colossus of glittering steel, armed with antlers nearly two hundred feet wide and fifty points. But the starkest feature of the machine was its nose that shone with a scarlet light brighter than an acetylene torch. The mechanism ran swiftly, closer and closer.

“What is it?” screamed the Rabbit.

“That's R.U.D.O.L.P.H. Go and say hello.”

“Rudolph? I killed Rudolph! Turned him into a sweet tasting meat pasty.”

“Not Rudolph. R.U.D.O.L.P.H. It's short for—Range, Unlimited, Destructo, Olfactory, Laser-Power House. I don't think he likes you.”

As if in answer to Santa Claus' statement, a glittering beam of pure red coherent light shot out of the reindeer's nose.

“Gut the cave. He won't be needing it anymore. But don't touch him.”

The robot obeyed Santa's shouted command. In less than a minute the Christmas/ Easter cave collapsed into rubble. The chain saw was melted to slag. Its job done, R.U.D.O.L.P.H.'s gears ground to a halt.

The Fat Man shed his thick coat. “Now we settle this for the final time.”

The Rabbit stared at Santa Claus. He had never seen such powerful muscular development.

“After everything was gone, I had nothing left me but the hope of revenge. Wasn't kidding about the diet. Took two years to shed two thousand years of milk and cookies.

“Just you and me now. I'm going to show you an entirely different meaning of Boxing Day. In my day I was a bare knuckles champion—beat Cribb, Sayers and Mace in the 19^th Century.”

No more words were wasted. While the war between the chocolate bunnies, and the penguins and polar bears, had been epic, the battle between the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, was nothing short of Titanic. It literally shook the planet to its core. Scientists and astronomers would never know what knocked the Red Planet out of its orbit.

But it was not the Rabbit who reeled from the blow that would have knocked the head of an ordinary human clear off. He had led his opponent closer and closer to the collapsed and demolished entrance of the cave. Suddenly he dug down and unearthed a weapon he'd buried shallowly, in preparation for just such an eventuality.

“Now you'll listen! Now you're going to know why I hate you so much—why I've always hated you.”

“My ears are ringin'. Can't hear you unless you get closer.”

The Rabbit bowed close, ready to spill his secret. There was a sudden snikt sound. The Rabbit grasped in horror at his throat. The blades had severed his throat ear to ear.

“We were both unarmed...”

Santa Claus got slowly up. “You know how many Wolverine action figures I delivered over the decades? Thought it would be a good idea to get a few razor sharp switch-blades built between my radius and ulna. Turned out I was right. Figured you'd get treacherous.”

The Easter Bunny was gasping out his final breaths. “Santa Claus—at least...let me tell...you...why.”

He didn't spare a single glance at his fallen foe. Red blood stained the Martian sands. Kriss Kringle simply stared at the three blades jutting out of the back of his hand.

“Don't care. And it's not Santa Claus anymore. Now it's just...CLAWS.”