Author: George Saoulidis
Date: 2017-12-08 16:07:17+00:00
Keywords: Fairy Tales & Folklore; Artificial Intelligence; Adaptations; Fiction; Cyberpunk; Young Adult Fiction; ghost story; taxi; scrooge; fairytale; athens greece; uber; General; Science Fiction; xmas
Description: Scrooge Is Looking For A Taxi Dickens meets I, Robot in this sci-fi retelling of a classic story. In this modern retelling of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," Scrooge is looking for a taxi to get home on Christmas Eve. But he will get the ride of his life, as he is walked through his past, his present and his future to end up a changed man. Set in modern day Athens, this science-fiction version of the classic ghost story is guaranteed to bring shivers down your spine and a smile to your face. “It isn't too late for all us Scrooges, and this story did make me see more than the classic.” “A
Publisher: Mythography Studios

THE IMPOSSIBLE QUEST OF HAILING A TAXI ON CHRISTMAS EVE

By George Saoulidis

An adaptation of the classic novella

"A Christmas Carol,"

By Charles Dickens

Published by Mythography Studios

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 George Saoulidis

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Stave One

"Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that," he read out loud from the first page and then shut the book closed. He exhaled, a puff of frozen breath forming in front of his mouth and said, "And this is supposed to be a fairytale? How morbid."

He held the book in his hands, a real, physical print of "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. It was only a mass-produced cheap copy but it was vintage enough in this time and age. His late partner had left it on his desk, with a handwritten dedication for him. Scrooge never figured out why.

His name wasn't really Scrooge of course. He was John.

People just called him like that, and the nickname stuck. It was just that every Christmas Eve since his business partner's death on the exact same day, he was reminded of the man. Scrooge didn't have any pictures or anything, just the worn old book in his drawer. He never got to read the thing, it was too dour. He just held it in his hands, feeling the paper, thinking. There's something about the texture of books that appeals to people. The shiny, glossy surfaces of the reading devices nowadays just don't evoke anything similar.

Across the freezing office was his assistant, Clara. She was a single mother of one, in her late thirties and needed a new dye of blonde hair. She could have been attractive, if she had managed to get some sleep, enough money to pay her bills and a miracle to lift the worry off her shoulders. She was an accountant, the only employee to Scrooge, and she ended up juggling every single job, manning the phones, doing the accounts, fixing technical issues with the techs, keeping the office livable with a couple of plants.

She was currently rolled up in a blanket like a gyro wrap, shaking and sniffing her nose. The frigid office was dark, illuminated only by the lights outside, some colourful ones from the Christmas decorations, others simply street signs and lamp-posts, and also by the computer monitors on their desks. She was wearing knit colourful gloves and was tapping away on her phone, constantly stopping to check out something on her monitor by pressing a button, sighing, and then turning back to her phone. It was doing gling sounds all the time, filled with incoming and outgoing Christmas wishes to old friends and faraway family. The glove tips wouldn't normally work on the touchscreen, but she had those popular touchscreen gloves with capacitive elements sewn in the fingers. It was a small comfort in the cold office.

"Mr. Tsifoutis, it's still not working," she nagged to no one in particular.

"The server works half the time, so it's good enough. How many hours do you need to input a few accounts woman?" Scrooge grunted, his eyes not lifting towards her.

"But I'm waiting for over an hour to finish this up and go home. The IT isn't responding, they must have left the office for Christmas Eve." She sniffed her nose. In the beginning, she was trying to do it quietly, discreet like a lady should, but after years and years of enduring a winter office she had just given up and pretty much blew her nose like a loud trumpet.

"Bah! Customer service they call it! It's the same thing every Christmas, you just can't get any work done anywhere," Scrooge spat out, his face turning sour.

"People just want to go home to their families Mr. Tsifoutis," she explained softly.

He got the hint. "Days off with pay... In my day, you could work 14 hours a day 7 days a week and not get paid till four months later," he said shaking his finger.

She waited calmly for him to finish his rant, pulling up the blanket in a futile quest to make herself warm.

"Christmas! Bah! Nothing but a marketing ploy, I tell you. Selling Christmas ornaments and Christmas gifts two full months before the holiday itself. And the waste of it all! The city lights, paid with my taxes. Stupid snow frosting on buildings, requiring money to put on and then money to clean off! A waste. They slap a Christmas packaging on products and mark-up the price by 30%!"

"Thirty percent," she nodded patiently.

He still had more coming but he suddenly felt tired, so he sagged back into his chair. The back was worn and some screws were poking out of the lower back, making it really uncomfortable. He didn't spare any cash to get new office chairs of course. They were fine and sturdy, they still had at least 10 years of good use. "Anyway, go home. I'll finish up here and upload it in a while. You're gonna drain my account anyway, you can have the day off tomorrow."

She stood up and smiled, putting her stuff in her bag, arranging her desk, pulling down the blinds.

Scrooge grunted at her, "But I want you here the next day half an hour earlier!"

"Yes mister," she said, and watered the plants, cleaned up her cup of tea, picked up his cup and put a new cup of water in the boiler. She left it boiling, cleaned up the tiny little kitchen, went to turn off the Christmas lights she had brought to decorate the office, remembered Mr. Scrooge had already demanded her to stop wasting power and turned it off, went back to her desk and sent the accounts of the day to her boss, went to his desk, threw away the trash, dusted off his hanging coat, leaned to his computer, pulled up the accounts so he could update them as soon as the server was running again, went back to the kitchen, poured hot tea, brought it to his desk savouring its warmth for a second too long, stood in front of his desk ready to leave and then said goodnight.

"Good night Clara," Scrooge said with the tone a boss has when he allows his employee to leave.

"Maybe we should do the upgrade Mr. Tsifoutis," she said hesitantly. "Our service depends on it, it's been years. I've shown you the cost, it's not that high and..."

Scrooge raised his hand interrupting her, "I know. I'll think about it."

She was referring to their service, which was their object of trade really. Scrooge was running an accounting internet service for small businesses. Despite that their platform hadn't been updated in, pretty much ever, they were still competitive due to their low prices. The cost was kept down of course, by skimping on things like proper furniture, internet hosting, required employees and, office heating.

"Merry Christmas sir," she said cordially and turned to the door.

"Bah. A marketing ploy I tell you. Don't you listen to anything I say woman?"

"Of course I do, but Merry Christmas anyways," she said and she meant it.

As she was opening the door, Scrooge's cousin showed up. He was fat and huge and was always huffing from exertion, making his cheeks red. He made a great Santa Claus, so he showed up in costume. "Hello Miss Clara! Merry Christmas to you," he said and presented a small gift to her. "For your son." Then he reached into his red Santa bag and fished out a party horn as well.

"Merry Christmas Mr. Tsifoutis," she smiled back. "I'm sure he'll love it."

"Ho ho ho!" the cousin bellowed out and then leaned in to whisper, "Is Scrooge still here?"

"Yes," she replied, "Go right in, he's just waiting for the system to unfreeze."

"Unfreeze? Why, in this cold it might take some time," he said with jolly, half-stepping in the office.

She sneezed and then blew her nose loudly like a trumpet, that echoed into the corridors. Cousin Santa blew his own party horn in a similar note.

They both laughed and wished each other happy holidays.

Scrooge hid his face in his palms. He didn't really want to face his cousin, he was dodging his invite for days.

The cousin Santa came in and bellowed, "Ho ho ho dear cousin!" and blew his party horn, in a loud prrr. He then went to the decorated Christmas lights and turned them on, illuminating the place in various flickering colours.

Scrooge stood up and ran to the lights, turning them off. "Are you trying to bankrupt me man?"

"Come on, a few LEDs wont make a real difference. Be merry! Be jolly!" he said, blowing his party horn and turning the Christmas lights on again.

Scrooge turned them off. "Bah! It's just a marketing ploy."

Santa turned them on. "Will you come to our Christmas dinner tomorrow?"

Scrooge turned them off. "No. I have work to do at home. Clara won't be coming to work tomorrow, I have to keep up the pace."

Santa turned them on. "You can't possibly work on Christmas Day! Come to us for dinner. There'll be turkey! And sweets! And chocolate. We'll have a merry old time..."

Scrooge turned them off. "A waste, overpriced dinners when you can't afford them. Don't be coming to me for loans in a few weeks."

He was referring of course, to actual loans. He'd never lent out money just like that, not even to family, whatever little of both he had left. They were actual personal loans, signed in triplicate, incurring interest at "market average" rates.

Santa sighed and gave up. "Fine. I know you've seen my invitation days ago. I know the message I left to Clara was passed to you. This is just some excuse, I don't know why you don't want to spend the holiday with family. Anyway, the offer stands. Our door is always open for you," he said, blew out the party horn one last time, though it was something sad this time, and left.

Scrooge shut the door and sat back down to his uncomfortable office chair. He pressed a button on his computer and waited for the server to respond. It took more than two minutes for it to spit out an "error: unreachable" message.

It was fine. He could wait. The hosting service he used was the cheapest one there is, and that meant it was poorly maintained and came with customer support that didn't really care.

He picked up the tea, that was scalding hot when Clara brought it but now was barely warmer than the freezing room, and sipped, while staring outside into the dark Christmas Athens. It was still afternoon but it was already pitch going for black.

Someone knocked on the door and he stood up, protesting loudly all the way. "What now? I told you I won't come to the damn dinner," he mumbled and opened the door.

He looked down and saw three little children, fluffed out with big coloured coats and knit caps and gloves. The girl was Romani, the boy was Greek and the second boy was Nigerian.

They cheered in unison, "Na ta poume?" which was the protocol of Christmas Carol initiation. They didn't really have the patience to wait for a proper reply so they began jingling away their little triangles and singing.

It was so merry and sweet.

Scrooge yelled at them and shushed them. "Stop this racket! Stop at once. Who told you to start with this cacophony?"

They extended their little gloved hands and waited for their treat. Their paycard was in hand, a simple tap from another would confirm a small-amount transaction instantly.

"I'm not giving you anything, you little extortionists! Coming here uninvited, mangling out a couple of verses and then demanding payment. No. And you, aren't you a Muslim?" he said and pointed at the little Roma girl.

"We like Christmas, it's a time for family and happiness," she replied with her sweet little voice. "That's what mommy says," she added.

Scrooge squinted. "Do you know how insane that is? Celebrating the birth of Christ from another religion? Tell your mother that I won't be fooled by those pigtails and those big round eyes. A fine scam, if you ask me. Getting money every year without a receipt," he nodded.

The children looked at one another, but since they were stuffed like turkeys they had to turn their whole bodies to exchange glances. They kept their hands up, paycards in hand, but a little lower now.

"And you," Scrooge said, pointing at the Nigerian boy. "What are you?"

The little black boy shrugged. "I'm Greek mister."

"So you are Orthodox Christian?"

"Yes sir. My name is Nico, from the Saint Nicholas," the boy replied, the words repeated by heart. He gifted the bitter man a shiny-white smile that could melt your heart and fill you up with hope.

"Blasted immigrants," Scrooge said and slammed the door to their face.

Scrooge sat on his desk and hit the button once again. His accounting service attempted to connect for two whole minutes and then spat out an error.

He exhaled, his breath visible in the air. He picked up the phone, but all he got was a recorded message. His assistant had already tried that of course. He thought he wouldn't mind waiting for the server to reconnect, but the absence of a specific timeframe made him weary. If he had known of a general amount of time it might take, he would be willing to wait. But alas, this seemed it would keep him up till the morning.

Scrooge grunted and searched his emails for the long overdue report of the service upgrade that was necessary. He didn't print it of course, toner was so damn expensive, as if it were made of gold particles. Also, what about the environment? Yes, digital files are nice and cheap. He put on his glasses and read the report his late business partner had left him.

It explained in detail the steps necessary to upgrade the accounting service, to improve speed, customer experience and unlock some new features. It was all ready and done, but it wasn't yet needed for a company this small, as it was when his partner was alive. As poor Marco fell increasingly ill, the business growth was halted and was left on the shoulders of Scrooge. He could manage just fine thank you, but regarding the computer and technical aspects it was all on his partner. Scrooge had shopped around for another computer engineer, and they had all asked for an arm and a leg in cash. Marco in his last days, stir-crazy from lying in bed all day, had prepared the system update for when the company would pick up pace again.

The problem was, that the upgrade demanded even more powerful servers, some shiny new gear with fancy names and numbers, all costing more and more and more. Scrooge had been postponing the upgrade for a long time. He checked the report's date. Seven years? Has it really been so long? Marco had planned for a year after his death, but Scrooge hadn't changed anything for six more years, to the dismay of their customers and Miss Clara.

Scrooge rubbed his chin and his hand hovered over the mouse. He never did things in haste, but now, for some reason, something was itching him. He clicked the long-forgotten button in their system and initiated the update program his partner had set-up as his last contribution.

The computer began to process things, as it always does and Scrooge relaxed, sure that the process was a lengthy one.

Where the program ran, a face appeared in a video. Scrooge had to straighten his glasses to see better and for a second he held his breath. He hadn't seen that face in so long, but it was clearly... Marco's face.

Marco's face was staring at him patiently. Then he moved slightly, and Scrooge realised that the video had already began and Marco was simply staring at his own monitor. He was pale and sickly, illuminated harshly by the room-lamp and the monitor. His eyes were sunken, his lips a thin line. These had been his final days.

Marco cleared his throat. "Oh, it's on? Hello Scrooge. You do know of course, that it's by that nickname that people are referring to you. I suspect you know, but don't really care since it empowers your reputation as being tough in business. Anyway, they are referring of course to Disney's Scrooge McDuck, from those old cartoons. The character though, comes from an older archetypal character, that of Ebenezer Scrooge, in the book I have left for you in my office. It is a remarkable tale, centuries old that has seeped into our minds. You and I are pragmatists, I know that I can't really scare you into changing your ways. That Scrooge, a stingy bitter old man, was visited by three spirits, that showed him the Christmas past, present and yet to come. There are no spirits to do the same to you, but I hope that this message of me one year after my death will bear the gravitas necessary to sink in your thoughts. Please, my invaluable partner, please, read it and think about your own life. As I lay here in my bed, between feeling ill from medicine that was meant to make me well and vomiting from the medicine that combat the first one's side-effects, I have had a long time to think my life over. Money is not all there is in this life. The truly precious stuff can't be bought. And if you have them, treasure them while you can because time is fleeting. By now, I assume your business acumen has brought our company - your company I guess - to its previous positive profitability. I know you like to keep a tight leash on expenses and that sometimes drives a wedge between you and people, so please don't do that. Do not make the same mistakes I did. Do not die alone. It's still early, there is still time to change your fate. Merry Christmas, dear friend."

The video ended and Scrooge lay silent, staring at the paused digital ghost. Marco had been more than his business partner. He was his friend, he trusted him with finances, with decisions that would affect both their lives. What little competition there was between them was nothing but a game, a nod from one to another to push forward, to do good business deals, to bring in more customers, to make more money. For both of them.

He hadn't expected to hear his voice again after so many years, tired and weary from the illness. This was a message that was supposed to be delivered six years ago, forgotten in a computer. Scrooge couldn't help but wonder, could his late partner be right? Was the path he was on the wrong one? Was it too late?

"Bah!" Scrooge blurted out and dismissed the video. He tried once more to connect to his accounting service, and this time it came through. He updated the accounts Clara had left for him, left the system upgrade half-finished and closed shop for the day.

Stave Two

Outside in the street, it was getting darker and chillier. It was Christmas Eve, downtown Athens was decorated with lights and snowflakes, people were cheerful going up and down, carrying wrapped gifts and last-minute dinner shopping. It wasn't snowing, but it was chilly enough to see your breath and frost windows.

Scrooge rubbed his hands together, tightened his old and patched coat and got to the street corner. He took out his phone and used the Supertaxi app, to call up his usual ride home. It only showed one available driver, and Scrooge grunted. "A 4.6 star rating! Really, I should send them a firm email about their low hiring standards. The man might as well be a drunkard, for what I know!"

He tried again for a few minutes but then decided to hail the driver through the app. He stood and waited, sidestepping behind an advertisement sign to shield himself a bit from the cold wind. He glanced at his phone, which showed his route towards him. "Bah! He should have turned earlier. The man is keeping a client waiting in the cold! I'll have a firm talk with him when he gets there, just you wait."

He was beginning to shake. The taxi finally came, pulled aside and Scrooge walked to the door. Before he could get in, the cabbie locked the doors.

"What in God's name?" Scrooge bellowed and rapped the door handle.

The window rolled down slightly and the cabbie turned to him. "Sorry sir, we've had an unfortunate ride before. I had a switch in my account and it didn't show up for some reason. I can't give you a ride, you'll have to find someone else."

"That's insane! Open this door at once," Scrooge said and raised his chin.

"I'm sorry sir, it is within my rights to refuse an undesirable client. Merry Christmas," he said and started the car.

Scrooge lost his temper, tapping on the window and demanding the driver to stop. The taxi left, turning into Ermou, the busiest shopping road and leaving him in the cold. "Did you see that? The man just left me here," he told to a couple passing by, but they shrugged and moved on.

His nose was turning red from anger. He fished out his phone and tapped for another taxi. There were no cars available, the app said. Please try again in a few minutes, we are sorry for the inconvenience. "What a horrible service! I'll be sure to leave them a firm review, I tell you that," he muttered to himself. Scrooge didn't drive. He had a license, sure, but he preferred to be driven and over the years, his skill had vanished anyway along with his eyesight. It was cheaper nowadays to use a service like Supertaxi, to use the car only when you needed it, driver included. He had done the balance sheet of course, it was the cheapest choice. He had been using Supertaxi for years now, relying on them for his daily commute to and forth from work, but also on the rare times when he needed to visit someone, usually for work related issues, and occasionally when he treated himself with a proper meal at a restaurant. Nothing too fancy of course. He would have a steak on his birthday, and a proper wine to wash it down. Table for one.

And he liked the Supertaxi's service, there was no interaction involved. Sure, Greek cabbies were always talkative, but when they saw that you didn't want to strike up a conversation they shut their yap and drove along. No interaction was necessary, tap the app, hail the cab, get inside, drive you there, get off and go home. The destination was selected from the app, no need to explain the address every time. So efficient. And the payment was taken directly from his bank account, in a neat exportable spreadsheet that could be put into his expenses with ease.

No talking necessary. Scrooge loved it.

But now, he had to call up a phone, wait in line, talk to an operator, like Neanderthals. The horror. So he found Supertaxi's phone number and called them to complain. He was placed on hold, said to wait patiently by a recorded woman's voice and was soothed by some modern music he had never heard of before.

A few minutes went by and Scrooge dropped the call in frustration.

He retried the app and found another taxi. A 4.9 star rating. That's more like it, a proper gentleman. He hailed it and shoved his hands in his pockets, enjoying his victory.

The taxi arrived, a long and wide Mercedes, yellow of course but the colour couldn't possibly detract from the elegant machine's beauty. It stopped at the spot before him and Scrooge got in the back seat. Warming seats, in fine black leather. Aaah... His joints untensed, taking in the warmth. A smile came to his face, and he made himself comfortable and waited for the driver to take him home.

The taxi didn't move.

On the contrary, the driver switched off the engine and leaned back to him, putting his arm on the passenger seat's headrest. He was a weary man, middle-aged, flecks of grey on the sides of his head. He had a big well-trimmed moustache, quite old-fashioned. He seemed friendly, a man from an older age, where politeness and hard work were the norm. He was the kind that takes care of his old car, drives safe, makes sure he is dressed clean and his trousers ironed.

"Good evening Mr. Scrooge," the driver said in a deep voice.

"Good evening," Scrooge replied and turned to face the window again.

"I've been informed by the office upstairs that you have been flagged an undesirable client."

Scrooge stared back at him and his eyes flared. "What does that mean? I have been a client for two decades! Is my money not good enough anymore?"

"On the contrary," the driver said remaining calm. "It's because you are such a long time customer that instead of simply banning you from our service, we wish to offer another option."

"Banning me?" Scrooge spat out. "How can you ban me? I'm the paying customer! I give a star rating to the driver at the end of every ride."

The driver raised his palm. "And the driver gives a star rating back to you," he added.

Scrooge was caught unaware for a moment. Really? They rated him back? "What sort of business are you, banning paying customers?"

"You sir, have been rude to six out of ten drivers in these last few years," the driver said calmly, reading from a list on the tablet on his dashboard. "Have filed complaints to five out of ten, have rated below three stars almost nine out of ten, and have verbally assaulted four out of ten."

"That's just stupid. I have only made valid complaints where there was necessary. When I'm paying I demand a certain level of-"

The driver looked back at him. "You don't remember me do you, Sir?"

Scrooge gawked with his mouth open, trying to recall.

The driver sighed. "Well, I guess us cabbies really are invisible. Anyway, the Supertaxi Terms and Conditions you have signed and agreed to by using our service, allow us to deny access to undesirable customers." He put a big index finger in Scrooge's face. "You Sir, are undesirable."

"That's insane," Scrooge let out with a hiss. "What do you want, a bribe? I'm not giving you one."

"I couldn't accept a bribe, everything we do and say is recorded Sir."

Scrooge looked around the spacious car. "Recorded?"

"Of course. For your safety and ours. It's in the Terms and Conditions," the driver explained.

"I didn't know that," Scrooge said, his eyes darting around the place, looking for cameras.

The driver tapped the ceiling of the car, where a slight bump housed the cabin light. "It's right here. It's not hidden, nor is it a secret. It's just discreet."

Scrooge lifted up the coat to cover his throat and said, "Whatever. It's been a hard day's work, I need to get home and rest. Take me there."

"I'm afraid I can't do that yet."

"You what?"

"As a long-time customer, you are entitled to a special condition. You need to accept a disciplinary action, and take a reprimanding ride," the driver said, presenting the offer with a big palm."

"What's that? A ploy to get more money out of me?"

"No Sir, no further cost will be incurred. The reprimanding ride in itself is free."

Scrooge squinted. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that by the end of the reprimanding ride, it will be decided if you will remain a customer of ours, or if you will be blacklisted and denied further service."

"Nonsense. You are speaking nonsense. A company can't do that! You'll go broke in a year! Take me home right this instant."

"We can't do that yet. You need to accept the reprimanding ride, it needs to be on record."

"Blasted- I will not subject myself to that, no." Scrooge got out of the taxi and stood in the sidewalk once more. The driver didn't leave. Instead, he leaned forward and turned up the volume on his radio, muffled music coming in from the car. He sat back in his driver's seat and made himself comfortable, pressing the alarm lights on his car to make himself more visible in the dark. The orange lights just added to the whole flickering coloured lights of the street and the shop fronts.

Scrooge snarled, and went down the road to hail a taxi the old fashioned way, by raising an arm and yelling at it. Supertaxi had pretty much engulfed the whole taxi service, leaving freelance taxi drivers few and in-between. There were some though, since this was the centre of Athens, so Scrooge tried to hail one.

After a lot of running about the busy streets and a lot of wild gestures, he managed to hail a taxi. He had two more passengers inside, and the man leaned towards the passenger window to talk to Scrooge.

"Where are ya going? South? Nah, sorry, going the other way," the driver said and moved into the traffic again.

Scrooge just stood there exacerbated. He turned back towards the Supertaxi that was waiting for him calmly, so he sneezed at it literally and went on with his search.

Standing at the road, waiting for a taxi to roll through another man came close and was doing pretty much the same. But then, the man walked infront of Scrooge so as to pick up a taxi first. Scrooge wasn't going to accept that, he was here first dammit! Scrooge walked infront of the rude man, cutting back the line. The man sniffed his nose loudly, checked the old Scrooge for a second and then cut in his line again, going further down the road. Scrooge went forward, and then some more, standing on the street corner, and looked at the man with a triumphant face. There was no more pavement to rush forward to. The man raised his palm in an open-fingered gesture that was very rude indeed and left to go to another street.

A quarter of the hour later Scrooge located another taxi, and this one was empty. He wasn't going to leave anyone before him, so he rushed to it, hailed the driver, and even before the vehicle was fully stopped he got inside and blurted out his address.

The taxi driver looked at him from his rear-view mirror. His cheeks were red and there was a whiff of alcohol on the air. "Sorry man, only going east. Going back home to my family, Christmas Eve and all. You understand." He shrugged.

"No I don't understand! It is demanded by law, that once a customer steps foot into the taxi you are obligated to take him to his destination!" Scrooge said a bit too loudly.

"If you happened to be going my way, sure. But you're not, so bye bye. Get off."

Scrooge was pretty much furious at this point. "I'm going to file a complaint about you!"

The driver shrugged. "Don't care. I just want a ride near my place and then retire for the night."

"So, to be clear, you are not accepting to take me to my destination, even though you know fully well that this is forbidden by law?"

The taxi driver leaned back and popped the door open for Scrooge. "Just get off mister."

Scrooge did.

The taxi left, leaving him once more into the cold. Scrooge cursed a few times and gritted his teeth. He was too shaken up to really jot down the taxi's license plate. "People have gone insane," he muttered to himself. "Denying a customer proper service, rejecting money!"

He stared back at the parked yellow Mercedes that was waiting patiently for him. He decided to wait five more minutes, just to spite the man. But in the end, Scrooge was the one standing in the cold instead of a heated luxurious car, so he gave in.

"Quick as you like, take me home," Scrooge said, rubbing his hands together.

The taxi driver simply rubbed the tip of his moustache.

"Oh fine. I accept the damn reprimanding ride. There. I said it. Happy now?"

The driver grunted in approval and turned the ignition on. The classic car rumbled in a deep satisfactory purr.

They got into traffic and moved in the city roads. "I'm obligated to inform you about this ride. The AI that monitors our clients and helps us provide a better service for you, has flagged you for this reprimand. At the end of the ride, you will be taken home. Until then, we will do a small detour."

Scrooge waved a hand and stared outside the window. "Whatever. Let's just be done with it."

The taxi took on speed and moved into the dark afternoon.

"Where are we?" Scrooge demanded, looking around at the place. It seemed familiar, but it must have changed so much over the years, so he couldn't really put his finger at it.

The driver pointed at the big and flashy entrance to the Titania Hotel. It was lit up, decorated to perfection, a warm welcoming to their guests.

"Oh right," Scrooge said, and a few buried emotions seemed to stir inside him. Just a bit.

The driver tapped a few buttons and the monitor for the back-seat passengers turned on. It showed a distorted image, a wide-angle view of the inside of a taxi. It wasn't this one, but it was something quite similar. A couple was sitting in the back, you wouldn't call them young, but they weren't elderly. In their late thirties was more like it. Scrooge squinted and put on his reading glasses.

Why, it was him! A young Scrooge! With his fiance Beth! This was years ago. The young couple had just entered the taxi, and the woman was staring firmly outside, her lips pursed together and her arms crossed over her chest. She looked upset.

"What is this? How do you have this recording of me?" asked Scrooge with irritation in his voice.

The driver replied in a straight tone-of-voice, "As I said Sir, everything is recorded for your protection and also ours. This is only in case of emergencies, or to parse data so as the service provided to you be as smooth as possible. It's all in the Terms-"

"Terms and Conditions, yeah yeah," Scrooge interrupted. "It's still wrong, keeping a recording of me for so long."

"Please pay attention to the video or we'll have to go over it again," the driver said and then went silent.

Scrooge grunted but couldn't keep his eyes off the recording even if he wanted to. There is something mesmeric in seeing yourself, more so if it's something so old, almost twenty years ago. A part of your life that you had half-forgotten yourself.

In the video, the young Scrooge said, "Come on now Beth, it was a steal! Double dot they call it, charging twice the price for the very same dinner as always! I will not be subjected to their marketing ploys like that."

Beth was quietly sniffing a handkerchief, trying to fight back her tears. "It was all lovely until you ruined it all. I never asked for any expensive presents, or clothes. I don't nag like other women to take me to fancy restaurants. It was just this once, to have a romantic Christmas Eve, us together."

"We can go somewhere else, where they aren't price gouging so blatantly," young Scrooge explained.

Beth cried and said, "But it was my dream, to spend a perfect dinner with you up on the Olive Garden, in full view of the Parthenon, the lit Athens below, us tasting wine and taking in the moment." She rubbed her eye and her makeup got blurry. "It wasn't about the cost, you know me damn well. I just wanted an experience for us, something to treasure."

Young Scrooge sighed it away. "We'll just go to a nice gyro place, warm and cheap."

"I'm not going to a gyro place dressed in a gown!" she cried out in surrender.

"It's better to be overdressed than under, I say."

Beth now cried out loud and was going through the taxi's handkerchiefs like a river. "I'm sorry," she gulped. "I know this will seem that it's about the fancy date, but it's not. It's about you. I know you'll always love money more than me. I know you'll always feel cheated because my father has no dowry to give for our wedding. I know that you have placed me and our upcoming wedding in a balance sheet on your mind and are feeling an itch about it, constantly."

Young Scrooge just stared at her. Of course he had, it was how he viewed the world.

"You are bitter, you just are. You don't care for a romantic evening, just once in our life, because you don't think it's worth the cost. You don't think I'm worth the cost," she ended and exhaled through a stuffy nose.

"No darling, don't think-"

"We are done. We are breaking up. Because I love you, and you'll never be happy loving me. So I release you. There. No more 'girlfriend expenses' for your balance sheet. Merry Christmas my love," Beth said and demanded to be left out the taxi. A few seconds later, she got out, young Scrooge running after her. There were some muffled sounds coming in the video. After a while, young Scrooge got back into the taxi, alone.

Just as his young counterpart, Scrooge himself was staring out into the window, deep in thought. The driver didn't say anything, he just started up the car again and went into the flow of traffic once more.

Beth, his ex-fiancee. So long ago. He shuddered as he remembered how warm she made him feel. The touch of her hands, the tenderness. The love he never acknowledged. Scrooge just took in the dark roads, illuminated by red lights and green lights and yellow lights, all in a Christmas Eve.

"Why are you taking me back to my office?" Scrooge said wearily.

The driver nodded, "The reprimanding route is decided by Supertaxi's AI. I'm just taking you there."

They stopped right back where they started from, at the corner beneath his office. The driver tapped something and the video screen showed another recording.

It was Scrooge again, young like before, in business clothes. Beside him was an older man, sitting calm.

Why it was Mr. Fioretti! His old boss, the man who treated him like a son.

"Mr. Fioretti," Scrooge said and tears came to his eyes. He explained their relationship to the driver, who was listening in silence. "He was so good to me. This is the day he came with me to the capital, because I was too scared to come alone. He told me I was the best, that I could do anything I wanted." The two men in the video were calmly taking in the sights of the big city, though young Scrooge wasn't that calm. He was straightening his suit and tie all the time, rubbing his papers, his CV.

Mr. Fioretti put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't sweat it, you are the best partner he could ever ask for. We just have to show him that."

Scrooge told the driver, "This is the day I came to do the interview with Marco. It all went well, we became partners and I worked in his startup business. He did the computer stuff, and I did the accounting. I own the business now, Marco is long gone," he sighed. "Mr. Fioretti is gone now as well. He is built like an ox that man, but something in his arteries, I don't know. He took me in, trusted me with his finances, let me work around Economics school, get my degree. Then he pulled all the strings he had to get me interviews in Athens. He even came with me for moral support. It was the last time I saw the man in person, that Christmas Eve."

The video showed the anxious Scrooge rehearsing some stuff he wanted to say in the interview, and Mr. Fioretti nodding in approval and raising his thumb, patting him hard on the back. Then they got out, at the same spot Scrooge was now sitting in, and got up to Marco's little accounting startup.

"I would have bolted if it wasn't for him," Scrooge said. "I would have given up, I was that afraid."

"I'm afraid there's more," the driver said and tapped away on his tablet.

Another video showed up, but this time it wasn't Scrooge. It was Clara. She seemed different somehow. It took him a long time to place it, but then he got it. She was prettier, plump cheeks, eyes filled with energy. Her hair was dyed blonde. She was riding in the back of the taxi, filled with anxiety, leaned forward, gripping the headrest.

Scrooge then noticed something, and looked around the cabin. It was the same taxi, the same car. Clara in the video waited for the taxi to stop, stormed outside, leaving the door open. Sounds from a playground could be heard, maybe a school? Yes, that sounded right, a school. The car in the video shook and another door thumped. After a minute, a man leaned in carrying a child. Clara's boy. The man was old-fashioned, with a thick moustache.

It was his current driver! Scrooge raised his gaze at the actual man but he just lowered his head and sat deeper in his seat.

"Oh God, is he alright?" Clara said in the video.

The driver calmed her down, "Don't worry, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I have no money! I'm not getting paid until-"

"Don't think about that. Think of your boy. Now now, get inside," said the driver in his deep assuring voice.

She hugged her son and was holding him tight, moving back and forth. She was cleaning his mouth from some vomit. The boy was just going along, unable to sit up.

"Timmy, Timmy. Mommy's here. We are going to the doctor, to see how sick you are, OK Timmy?" Clara was terrified.

The video was cut and showed them both a few hours later, riding back on the taxi. Timmy was sitting upright this time, Clara was holding his little hand, gripping it tightly as if refusing to let go.

"How are you showing me this?" Scrooge asked. "This isn't about me, this is personal information."

The driver said calmly, "It gets charged in your business account, so it all gets filed under the same policy. I think it's like that, anyway," he waved a hand.

The driver had began moving again, and Scrooge had the feeling they were heading to the hospital in question.

Timmy in the video spoke, a faint voice, barely heard. "Am I sick mommy?"

"Yes. You are, but we are going to take medicine and see some doctors and you'll get better," she said, her voice sweet but firm. Then she turned to her driver and said, "Thank you Sir, for everything. I don't know how to repay you."

The driver's deep voice in the video said, "It's alright Miss. If something like that had happened to my boy I want to believe someone would stay and help. That's what Christmas is for."

"When was this?" Scrooge asked.

"Last year," the driver said in a hushed tone, and not a word more.

Timmy in the video raised his eyes to his mother and she wiped off her tears. "Mommy, is that bad man Mr. Scrooge going to give us enough money for the doctors?"

Scrooge felt a dagger plunge into his heart.

Clara held her boy's head to her chest and said, "I don't know honey. I'll ask. We'll see."

Then the video ended. Scrooge's eyes focused through the black monitor, blurring his vision.

He whispered, "I didn't."

Stave Three

"This is where you get off Mr. Scrooge," the driver said politely. They had parked at the side of a main avenue, nowhere near Scrooge's home.

"But why?"

"Another driver will take you from here. He'll be around any second now."

Scrooge got off and stood in the sidewalk. Cars wheezed past in moderate speed, not so slow like the central Athens roads but not faster than the highway.

The cold was bearable now, even though it must have been a few degrees lower since he got in the taxi. He had absorbed enough heat to make him soldier on the short wait. The Mercedes went back into the road and disappeared into the traffic.

Another taxi came and stopped beside him. It was a modern model, smaller, nothing like the vintage Mercedes. This was short, easy to steer, easy to park. Sleek lines, modern accents. Scrooge stepped in and it was nice and warm. Unlike the old cars, that required heavy modification into the cyborg vehicles that being a taxi required these days, this one had built in tablet surfaces, sleek hidden antennas, integrated electronics in the dashboard, GPS, everything. You couldn't realise it when watching one of the old modified cars, but they were actually a mess of cables and clunky slapped on devices. In there, they were all part of the design. The seats didn't squeak with the sound of leather, but they felt nice.

"Well," Scrooge said. "Are you going to take me home young man?"

The driver was indeed young. He was more casually dressed, no facial hair, a modern haircut from some footballer that every man was sporting these days. Scrooge studied him, until he was pretty sure he was of Albanian origin. It wasn't easy to tell, but there were some signs.

Scrooge grunted in disapproval.

"You are still in the middle of the reprimanding ride, Mr. Scrooge," the young man said, a hint of scoff in his voice.

"Why the change of a ride? I don't get that."

"The previous driver was about your past, Mr. Scrooge. I'm all about the present," he said and smiled.

"Bah! Nonsense. Let's be done with this charade." He opened his coat, letting the warm air in his body. "Have we met before?" Scrooge squinted.

"Yes we have. You had requested I never get sent to you again because of my Albanian origin," the young man said, studying his features through the mirror.

Scrooge lowered his head a bit. "Well, it is within my rights. I'm the customer, after all."

"Yes, that you are," the man said and drove.

Some time later, they arrived to Goudi area, across the street from Paidon Hospital. A children's hospital, dedicated to Saint Sophia. It was a big place, busy with people, packed with cars and comings and goings.

The taxi parked next to the row of other waiting taxis. Scrooge craned his neck around and looked towards the racket at the entrance. A Santa was going inside, a pack of children all around him, screaming and laughing and waiting for their turn to get a present from his bag of gifts.

It was his cousin! He was throwing out little presents and sweets and chocolates out of his bag in handfuls. The children were ecstatic, going back to their parents to show what they got, wide smiles in their faces. Camera flashes were going off constantly, as if Santa was a celebrity. The kids were taking selfies with their Santa, or between themselves. Apart from the Greek kids, some were Asian, some black. A few Pakistani with their ears refusing to stand anywhere near their skull. A pale ginger one who could only be British. Some of them had tiny little crutches, others had bandages, but they were all having fun as if everything would be alright.

"Ho ho ho! I think you've been naughty," cousin Santa said to a girl and pointed at her.

"No Santa, I promise you! I've been nice all year. Ask my teachers," she protested.

"Oh OK then, here's your candy," Santa said and picked her up for an impromptu photoshoot as she laughed.

Scrooge stooped down and said, "I don't really want him to see me here, please let us go."

The young driver tapped a button somewhere and a slight pop came from the windows. "There. They are tinted now, he can't see us."

Scrooge disbelieved that for a second but he could notice a slight change in the light coming in the window. He stood up again and watched.

His cousin Santa managed to get inside without trampling any of the sick kids, and went to talk to some lady in the reception. After a few minutes, the whole chaos had been moved to the first floor and the kids who had been properly sweetened up had dispersed along with their parents.

Scrooge was still looking outside. "OK fine, I can see the joy my blasted cousin brings to the sick children. Are we done?"

"A few minutes more," the young driver said and sat comfortably in his seat.

Scrooge looked around absent-minded. Then he noticed his assistant Clara, holding some papers in her hand and talking on the phone. She was quite close to him but he couldn't hear clearly. The driver pressed the button and the window lowered a few centimetres so the outside sounds could be heard clearly, but was still blocking them from being seen.

"But I don't make enough money to cover that. Those amounts are insane! Who can actually pay that much health insurance?" Clara said on the phone, very upset. "No, that was my Christmas bonus. No I can't make a payment before the end of the month. No, you listen to me. This is my son's treatment we are talking about. You can't- Yes, I'll hold."

Scrooge watched her with interest, as if it was the first time after seven years that he laid eyes on the woman. She was thinner than the video of her last year. He hair was untended, simply brushed back. Her eyes were sunken. She was snapping angrily at everything.

She was in despair.

He tried to dig out his memories. Had Clara asked him for money to cover her son's treatment? She must have, but he had dismissed it. Probably. Deep in his own accounts, his balance sheets. He was paying her what was due, what the law dictated and a good enough raise as she was getting experience. But had she explained to him how much she needed the money? She must have tried. The woman was spending half her day in an office right next to him, for God's sake. An opportunity would have arose. Or was she so scared she might lose her only job that she didn't even dare to ask. To ask him. The bad man. Scrooge rubbed his face hard, as if scratching away the layers to get down into his memories. He couldn't even remember. Such an important fact about the only other person that was so close in his life, and he didn't even remember. He dug up some calculations he'd done at some point about her salary, he had given her some extra pay for overtime. But it was nothing, a few euros here and there. The health insurance must have been asking for thousands.

He tried to find her again but she was gone in a second, somewhere inside the hospital.

"W-wait," Scrooge said. "Is she going to spend the night here?"

"Every night for the past five months," the young man said, his voice quiet. "I'm usually her driver, my routes coincide. Plus the AI believes that having a familiar face to take you there is easier on the parent who's facing this, even if it's only a few words spoken here and there."

"It must be, yes."

"I know you Mr. Scrooge. All the little bits and pieces she tells me, everything she mumbles on the phone over the months. Half of it's about her son, half of it is about you. Cutting corners, keeping everything miserable so you can squeeze out some tiny profit. Ignoring basic necessities, keeping her frozen and ill all the time, making her unable to tend to her child. Do you like the heat in my car?"

"Yes..." Scrooge said unsure.

"How about we turn it off. For economy's sake."

Scrooge grunted. "OK, I got the point. Thank you." He paused for a minute, thinking. "What's your name?"

"Achilles," the young man said.

"That's quite a Greek name," Scrooge said, the words stuck in his throat.

"I was born here, you prick," Achilles said and drove them both away in silence.

Scrooge had no idea where he was being taken. It was an area he had never been to, all residential and green-grey. The houses were nice, not too expensive, single or two story houses. It was a new development, roads half-paven, lights half-installed, lots in a patchwork, concrete ending abruptly in plain dirt. The houses were decorated in blinking lights, trees and Christmas ornaments, even those dwarves that had no relation whatsoever to the Greek traditions but where shipped in along with all the others every year.

"I don't know anyone who lives here, I believe. Your AI," Scrooge said, pronouncing the letters mockingly, "must have gotten things wrong."

Achilles rolled his eyes and sat deep into his seat.

Scrooge could hear voices, coming in from the house they had parked on. It was a loud thing, a party going on of sorts. The parked cars were few in this area, all of the houses having their own, so there weren't any guests in this house, Scrooge deducted. The party was a close family one. Children's laughter came out of it, high pitched and annoying.

After a while, a car came and parked in the space reserved for it. A man came out of the car, he was about Scrooge's age, but he looked more healthy, taking care of himself. He stood tall and was all dressed in heavy workman's clothes. His arms were strong, obviously from manual labour. He must have been a builder or something similar.

As he walked around, Scrooge noticed something. It could have been a trick of the light, but he could swear that the man resembled himself. Scrooge couldn't be sure of course, but there was some resemblance, not brotherly, but rather in his general bearing.

If Scrooge had been a head taller, not slouching, had arms thicker than a tree and most importantly, if he was smiling.

The man went to his house and out the door children burst and fell on him. He picked two of them up, the smaller ones, and the big one was simply hugging him beside him. A woman came outside, carrying a baby in her arms.

Scrooge squinted, but that was just an excuse to himself. He knew who she was, he knew even before the door opened. His heart knew, even though his thick skull needed time to keep up.

It was Beth.

Oh, she was fatter, and older. And tired, and a mess. But there she was, happy, greeting her husband into her loving, huge family house.

Scrooge fought back tears. He didn't let them drop. Enclosed in a taxi, behind tinted windows, he was watching the woman who once loved him too much, enjoy Christmas Eve with her beautiful happy family.

Stave Four

They had gotten back into the main road, and pulled over to the side.

"What now?" Scrooge sighed. "What God-forsaken place are you taking me now? What more can you throw at me? Why must you haunt me like that?"

Achilles said, "You are getting on another ride. Wait outside."

After a while, a weird car rolled near and parked. It was looking like a bubble. It was too much even for those modern car designs. It was small, almost round and had some installation on it's roof.

Scrooge went around it and leaned down, opening his mouth to talk to the driver.

There was none.

"What is this?" he said back to Achilles.

"A driverless taxi. Completely autonomous."

Scrooge pursed his lips, looking at it from different angles. "Is it safe?"

Achilles shrugged. "Safer than a human driver actually."

"Why this? I get why I should meet you, and the other driver from before. What's this charade now?"

Achilles sighed, feeling too bothered to explain. "I'm the present. This," he presented the awkward looking taxi, "is the future. It is slowly adopted by Supertaxi, but not that much, because people still need to feel safe with a human behind the wheel. All the other guys are thinking they will take over our jobs, but I don't think so. Not yet. People don't like'em yet. Except grouchy old geezers like you, who don't want to have any human contact whatsoever."

Scrooge's eyes widened. He was right. This was exactly the sort of thing he would like. Completely automated, just showing up on time, taking him home, rolling away. It was perfect for him. No small talk, no annoying body odours, no silly Greek folk music playing on the radio. That blasted AI was right. As soon as Scrooge would learn about this, he would ask for it to come pick him up, and it alone.

"Fine," Scrooge said and stepped into the back seat of the driverless car. Achilles shook his head and drove away.

"Where are you taking me now?" Scrooge asked in the air.

A woman appeared in the monitor in front of him. In a sensual velvety voice she said, "Welcome Mr. Scrooge. You will be taken to your residence now, after which, you will be given a choice. Regardless of that choice, you will be at home in seventeen minutes approximately. Please sit back and enjoy the ride."

A whiff of tea came to his nose and he saw a compartment open up beside him, a ready-made tea in perfect temperature was waiting for him. He picked it up and sipped.

"Oh, this is brilliant," he said and savoured the ride, as the lights sped through his vision. "This," he put a finger on the seat, "is how things should be done. This right here. Perfect."

After a few familiar roads the driverless taxi parked outside his house. Finally, he was there. What an ordeal! He was going to have a few words with some manager the day after tomorrow, that's for sure. The soft female avatar said, "You have arrived at your destination."

Scrooge rapped the doorhandle but it didn't open.

The avatar said, "Please wait."

"Blasted computers," Scrooge said but sat back and waited.

The avatar said, "Rendering complete. Please observe through the right-side window."

Scrooge did. He could see a bright blue graphic, superimposed over the actual view to his house. He realised that the window was some sort of translucent projection surface, showing a rendering over what could be seen normally. He saw the outline of a person, and some lines, a wireframe machine view of the walls and the stairs. It was as if you could see inside the house. Now that was a disconcerting thought. Scrooge squinted and saw a person in the projection, where his living room would be.

He was rattled. "Is this a thief in my house? Why don't you say so then! Let me out."

The avatar said, "What you are seeing is an aggregated possibility of a future moment in time."

"You are showing me the future? Bah! Another marketing ploy of yours?" Scrooge snorted but he couldn't keep his eyes off the projection. The person was moving around, doing all the normal gestures. Putting things in his pocket, donning his coat, checking his phone, that autonomous gesture all humans had inherited these days. It was all crystal clear.

The other windows showed a blue car, its shape just like the one he was in right now, pulling over and parking on the spot in front, a straight line from the house's entrance. It was dizzying to see another reality over the one that was really there, but Scrooge had just learnt how to keep track of everything that he was shown.

But then the blue man clasped his chest over his heart, writhed in agony and fell on the floor slowly. He moved towards the door, pulling himself by his arms, every step a huge victory. Scrooge found himself cheering for the man, willing him to go on, mumbling words of encouragement. The blue man managed to reach the door, and bend backwards in a sickening angle to reach up the handle. He could almost hear the blue man's grunt, his staccato breathing, though there was none there in the projection.

Then the man fell on the floor, hitting his face hard on the surface. He didn't move anymore.

"What is this?" Scrooge demanded through his teeth.

The avatar chimed like it always did and said in her soothing voice, "This is an approximate event, calculated by the data we have on you, Mr. Scrooge. We predict you will adopt our new driverless service as soon as we bring it out of beta, we predict through the biometric data we have gathered since you stepped inside this vehicle that you will have a major heart attack within 340 to 380 days from now, and we predict it will happen in a place a driverless car will not be able to do anything to help you."

Scrooge was red with anger, spiting out the words. "Your stupid car could have done something, since it so perceptive! It could have called an ambulance, or at least some person on the street."

"But it couldn't. Since you remained within the threshold of your residence, law dictates that the autonomous car cannot do anything to intervene. If you were to leave the residence, for example to stand on the pavement, the car could have alerted the authorities and come to your aid."

"A human would have known it was alright to intervene!" Scrooge yelled, surprised at himself with his fervour.

"Precisely. A human would probably have valued the human life more than the risk of facing trial for breaking and entering, even if it meant being fired as a driver. We, however, are a privately owned AI whose only priority is to improve the services rendered."

The projection, and the blue man, vanished.

"Fine, let me out. I'm done with this madness. I want to go home and rest," said Scrooge wearily.

The avatar chimed once more. "The reprimanding ride is complete. There is one more choice to make. Do you want to see one more thing from your future?"

Scrooge raised an eyebrow at that. He was furious at the machine, tired from all the moving about and the cold, getting sleepy by the minute and too shaken up from everything to debate the blasted machine. But, there is one thing every man is curious of, even if he claims he doesn't believe in silly stuff like horoscopes and coffee-reading. His future.

We might as well, I'm already dressed and sitting in the car Scrooge thought.

"Yes," he said.

The car took off once more, to show him, as it claimed, one last thing.

They reached a cemetery. Like all cemeteries, it was spooky at night. The small car took him inside up to the point where it was possible.

The avatar chimed. "This is the predicted plot of land the Municipality of Athens will bestow for you." A blue outline projected in the window, aligning with his eyes to show him the precise rectangle where he would be buried.

"But you don't know that," Scrooge whispered.

"It is an estimate. Predicting that you'll leave no money for your funeral, and that nobody will pay for your burial, this is where the city will place you."

A rendering of a tombstone appeared at the top of the blue rectangle. It was a tombstone, simple and clean cut just like the ones next to it, but this one bore his name on it.

Scrooge looked at it, a mask of horror on his face. It was just a ghostly image on a window, but what more would he be himself when he was gone?

He felt tired, but couldn't pry his eyes off his grave.

The avatar said, "We can take you to your residence now."

"Yes," Scrooge said, his throat dry. "Take me home please."

Stave Five

Scrooge had slept in an instant, snoring heavily. He had nightmares that night.

When he woke up, he felt rested. Renewed.

Why, what a lovely morning, he thought, and opened the window to let the sun in. It was still wintertime but it was a dash warm. He smiled and stretched and took in the fresh air.

His neighbour saw him from next door. "Merry Christmas!" Scrooge bellowed at him. The neighbour was surprised and closed his window shut in fear.

Scrooge looked around. "Such a gloomy house. I better get some decorations," he said to himself and made coffee to start his day.

Outside his cousin's door, he rang the bell and waited. As soon as he opened it, Scrooge hugged his cousin, or at least tried to get his arms around the big man, and said, "Merry Christmas dear cousin!"

The cousin was surprised but hugged him back. "Scrooge? What are you doing here?"

"Why I'm here for the Christmas dinner!" he replied with a smile.

"That's- Wow! Thats great. It's still early though, I need to get some things."

"Excellent! Let's go together. We can buy some sweets and chocolates for the kids at the hospital as well. Get that big red sack of yours, we need to fill it up," Scrooge said, slapping the big man's belly.

The cousin was surprised. "Why, right away!"

Scrooge shoved the wine he was carrying to his hands and asked, "Can I use your computer to read my emails?"

"Of course."

Scrooge found the expense receipt Clara was filing every year, and located her health insurance and the office's number. He got on his web-banking account, sent a wire transfer paid to her name and sent an email in which he personally guaranteed that the further payments would be covered with no delays.

Then he went off with his cousin to buy a bagful of sweets and chocolates.

The dinner was lovely, and Scrooge met his cousin's wife for the first time in so many years despite them staying three whole blocks away. She was a good cook, a delightful company and a wonderful hostess.

When the afternoon came, and the day gave way to night, his cousin asked, "Hey, do you want to come with me to the hospital? Give away sweets? Make kids happy?"

"I have something I've been avoiding for too long. You go, I'll see you tomorrow after work," Scrooge said in apology.

The cousin studied his face. "I see. I get it, one step at a time. Don't get too happy all at once and make your tummy hurt! Ho ho ho. I'm off."

Scrooge went to his office. He used the Supertaxi service of course, like he always did. He was delighted to find that he was unbanned from the service. He even made smalltalk with the cabbie, and then gave him a 5 star rating!

There's a first time for everything.

He unlocked his office, turned on his computer and found the book Marco had left for him in his drawer.

He found the update instructions again, and went through them carefully. When he was done, the computer was showing a long progress bar. The update to his, no, to their accounting service was being applied at that moment. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down on his chair, reading the book his dear old partner had left for him.

When he was done reading, the service had been updated as well. Scrooge tried it out, it was nice and smooth, felt modern and was easy to navigate. Marco had come through, once more. The upgrade would demand a bit more in server cost, but he could negate that by finding 7 new customers. Scrooge had done the balance sheet already in his mind.

He called Clara on her cellphone and cleared his throat.

"Yes Mr. Scrooge? Merry Christmas Sir, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he said spitting out the words, with his usual bleak tone of voice. "I'm here at the office right now, and you know what I see?"

"Sir, if you wanted me to come to work I'd be there, but it's a day off! It's Christmas Day sir..." Clara began explaining herself.

"You know what I see? I see an office, worn and broken down. An office kept in excellent condition by my assistant, who is doing more than her job description requires her to."

Clara hadn't caught it, so she was still defending herself wearily. "Yes Sir, glad to do all those things. My job is very important to me, I need it. Just tell me what else you need me to do and I'll do it, no problem."

"What I need you to do is to stop being my assistant-"

"Mr. Scrooge please, I need this job. My son, he needs those expensive treatments, I can't possibly-" She was practically sobbing now.

"-And become my business partner. Heck, you pretty much do more than me around here anyways."

There was a pause. All Scrooge could hear was her breathing.

"A partner?" she said in a whisper.

"Yes. Fifty-fifty. This isn't a charity on my behalf, you'll get more in salary but you will be taking on the equivalent amount of risk. Also, we'll need to get seven more clients at once, I have completed the upgrade and our monthly costs have increased. You can run the heater as much as you like, since you'll be paying for it out of your pocket too. What else? Oh, I've found some unpaid health insurance bills lying around here. We can't have that. I sent a wire transfer to take care of them out of the common fund."

"Thank you, Mr. Scroo- Sorry. I'm terribly sorry for calling you that," she said sniffing her nose.

"It's fine, I'm getting quite fond of the name," Scrooge said, thumping the old book under his palm. The pages felt nice. "We'll have to get a contract and everything of course, but for what it's worth, just say you agree and we are partners from now on."

"I agree," she said quick and excited, as if the opportunity could vanish away in an instant if she took too long. She was laughing out loud. "I'll be there tomorrow, early in the morning."

"What do I care?" Scrooge said in mock strictness. "It's your company too. Sink or swim, it's up to both of us equally. Oh and Clara?"

"Yes Mr. Scrooge?"

"Merry Christmas."

The End

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Table of Contents

- The Impossible Quest Of Hailing A Taxi On Christmas Eve

- Midpoint