A Boring Miracle
Geothermal, Christmas. 900 words, 4 minute read. With Claude Sonnet.
The laser drill's whine echoed through the control room, a sound that had begun to set Jason Magnússon's teeth on edge. His fingers drummed against the reinforced glass as he watched the depth readings crawl upward: 2,341 meters... 2,341.2 meters... 2,341.4 meters.
His beard crackled with frost as he leaned forward, despite the waves of heat rising from the borehole below. One of Iceland's most promising geothermal sites, and he couldn't even keep his facial hair from freezing. His hand moved unconsciously to his phone, where his boss's message still glowed: "Need update on progress. Call immediately."
Jason's fingers trembled as he dialed. Three rings, then: "Kristjánsson here."
"Sir, about the drilling progress—"
"Jason, I've got the minister of energy breathing down my neck. Half of Reykjavík is counting on this well by summer."
"The laser's operating at peak efficiency, but the substrate is—"
"I don't need geology lessons. I need results." A pause. "Fix it."
The line went dead. Jason slumped in his chair, watching the aurora borealis paint the sky in sweeping brushstrokes of green and purple. The rest of the crew had gone home for Christmas Eve, leaving him alone with the rhythmic hum of machinery and his thoughts.
"Some Christmas spirit," he muttered, shutting down his terminal. The clock read 23:17. In his quarters, he pulled his thermal blanket tight, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. The northern lights danced outside his window, but even their beauty couldn't ease the weight of failure pressing down on him.
The thump came at midnight – soft but distinct against the station's metal roof. Jason stirred, his sleep-clouded mind registering sleigh bells, of all things. But it was the mechanical grinding from the drilling chamber that almost woke him fully. Almost.
In the chamber itself, two figures worked in the glow of an extraordinary red light. The taller one crouched by the laser assembly, his red coat catching glints of light as his practiced hands disconnected complex circuitry.
"North Pole to Santa, you sure about this?" Rudolph paced by the door, his hooves clicking against the metal floor. "Last time we upgraded your workshop with fusion power, Mrs. Claus didn't speak to you for a week."
Santa's eyes crinkled above his beard. "That was different. The elves nearly created a quantum singularity with that one." He freed the final laser component with a soft click. "Besides, we're not upgrading anything. We're just..." He twirled the disconnected laser with surprising dexterity. "...making an ecological contribution."
"Right." Rudolph's nose flickered with uncertainty. "And it has nothing to do with that letter Jason wrote when he was seven? About wanting to help power cities with clean energy?"
Santa's movements stilled. "You remember that one too, eh?" He patted the drill housing. "Sometimes the best presents are the ones that take a while to deliver. Your turn, old friend."
Rudolph approached the drill, eyeing the empty laser mount. "You know this is going to take everything I've got. Even that fog back in '39 didn't need this much power."
"That's why I brought these." Santa pulled a handful of candy canes from his coat. "Peppermint power cells. Special batch."
Rudolph snorted but accepted one, crunching it thoughtfully. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Impossibly clever, yes." Santa stepped back, shielding his eyes. "Light 'em up, Rudolf."
The nose began to glow, not just red but with hints of blue and white, like a miniature star being born. The heat it generated wasn't just impressive – it was precisely calibrated, cutting through rock and ice with mathematical perfection, leaving behind walls smoother than any laser could achieve.
The Christmas sun was just cresting the horizon when Jason trudged to the control room, his boots heavy with dread. He'd already composed his resignation letter in his head.
The monitor flickered to life. He blinked. Checked the numbers again. Pulled up the overnight logs, scanning them with increasingly wide eyes.
"This isn't... how did..." His words trailed off as he stared at the figures. Not only had they reached the target depth, but the bore walls showed a crystalline perfection he'd never seen before. The temperature readings were optimal, better than their most optimistic projections.
His legs carried him outside before his mind could catch up. The morning light caught the snow in diamond glints, and there, circling the drill platform, he saw them. Hoof prints, deep and distinct, arranged in a perfect circle. Beside them, parallel grooves that abruptly disappeared after a few dozen meters.
And in the distance, the jingle of bells, and a faint voice:
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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