“What should we call it?” Santa asked Bernie, the head elf over R&D at the North Pole Research Laboratory.

Bennie’s cheeks flushed as he tucked his chin to his chest. He tapped his curly-toed shoe on the floor. “Well, uh, the team at NPRL did come up with a name for it.”

“Well let’s hear it!” Santa shouted.

“They call it the ‘RPGS 4828.’”

“That is a mouthful,” Santa said. “What does that stand for?”

Bernie twitched. “I know, sir. It’s a terrible name.” The elf rolled his eyes. “Engineers, you know. It’s not really a name. Not a good one anyway. It stands for Rocket Propelled Galactic Sleigh.”

“Galactic? And the numbers?”

“Four thousand eight hundred twenty eight kilometers per hour is the speed you’ll need to get you into Earth’s orbit in only six minutes.”

Santa’s eyes narrowed. “You know I’ve no need for that.”

Bennie whistled an awkward tune, looked up at the ceiling, and tapped his shoe again.

“What now?” Santa asked.

“Well, sir. Have you thought about expanding Christmas?”

“Expanding?”

“To the galaxy, I mean.”

“The Klaaxxons have not been good, Bennie. Do I need to remind you what they did to the other planets? They are the reason our galaxy is mostly uninhabitable!”

“Yes, sir. Agreed, sir. But they have made a few changes you might not know about.”

“Like what?”

“Well, sir, we actually outsourced the–”

“I know about the Roombas,” Santa said. “That was a disaster.”

“Yes sir, but I was going to mention…” the elf hesitated, “they made up for it.”

“How?”

“They already delivered the Playstation 8’s.”

“Delivered? Those are not due for another ten years.”

“I know, sir. That’s how ahead of schedule they are.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They asked for something.”

Santa’s eyes narrowed further and he grunted. “Food, no doubt. Klaaxxons eat everything. What do they want now?”

Bennie seemed to shrink with timidity. “They want… Christmas on Neptune!”

Surprise coated Santa’s face. “And just how would we pull that off?”

Bennie's eyes darted to the RPGS 4828.

Santa placed both hands on his belly. “If we’re going to use that thing, we have to come up with a better name.”

“I have a suggestion, sir,” Bennie said. “We can call it the Missile-Tow 3,000. Four thousand eight hundred twenty eight kilometers per hour converts to 3,000 miles per hour. Plus, it could tow an extra 3,000 pounds and you wouldn't even notice. That's the weight of all eight reindeer combined.”

“I knew I put you in charge for a reason, Bennie. Tell the Klaaxxons I’ll be there. Though I have no idea what to bring them.”

“They only requested one thing, Santa.”

“What’s that?”

“Reindeer.”