'Twas the night before CiGmas

'Twas the night before CiGmas, when all through the forums Many a Concierge were a stirring, but not enough for a quorum! The stockings were hung by our wallets with care, In hopes that St. Chris Roberts soon would be there;

The Wing Commanders were all snug in their beds, While visions of Legatus danced in their heads; And Sandi in her 'kerchief, and Chris in his cap, Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the landing pads there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my 890 Jump to see what was the matter. Away to the bridge I flew like a flash, Tore open the doors and threw up the cloth-physics sash!

The moon on the breast of the newly-pledged snow Gave the luster of mid-day to the ships all below, When, what to my wondering regenerated eyes should appear, But a civilian F8, and eight tiny cashiers,

With a black clad driver, so lively with bliss, I knew in a moment it must be St. Chris. More rapid than Fury LXs his ships they came, And he riffed, and gesticulated, and called them by name;

"Now, IDRIS! now, ENDEAVOR! now, BENGAL and PERSEUS! On, CARRACK! on CONSTELLATION! on, JAVELIN and POLARIS! To the top of the pledge records! to the top of that wall! Now fly away! fly away! fly away all!"

As Auroras that before the fully crewed Hammerhead fly, When they meet with a Mantis, mount to the sky, So up to the space station the ships they all flew, With a pledge store full of pixels, and St. Chris Roberts too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the hangar The sparking and roaring of each little clangor. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the fully stocked bar St. Chris came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with laser scorches and soot; A bundle of F8Cs he had flung on his back, And he looked like a huckster just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they glowed! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like hydrogen engines, his nose like a cherry! His droll little eyebrows were drawn up like a bow, And the clean shave of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a Cutlass Black he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little bit of a belly, That shook, when he laughed like a spoonful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old dreamer, And I laughed when I saw him, just like a Twitch streamer; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all of the hangars; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the full service bar he rose;

He sprang to his ship, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he zoomed out of sight, HAPPY CiGMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!