‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the sector,
Not a starship was inbound on any known vector.

The cargo was stacked by the freight loading gear,
In the hopes that the rendezvous soon would be here.

The crewmates were nestled, all snug in their bunks,
While visions of profits got blasted to chunks.

The captain in PJs and me in a night shirt,
Awoke to a klaxon that blared Red Alert!

Away to the comm screen I flew like an arrow,
Called to the bridge and demanded to know.

The moon in orbit ’round the proximate planet,
Gave cover from sensors who failed to scan it.

When what to my horrified eyes did appear,
Than a Poet Fleet squadron growing frightfully near.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the hull,
Much drilling and cutting with nary a lull.

As I gathered my wits and prepared for a fight,
Through the airlock they came with their might.

They were all dressed like dancers, and costumed deceivers,
But tromped through the ship like corsairs and reavers.

Down with our blasters, then hands over head.
Soon we understood we had nothing to dread.

They said many words but got straight to their work,
And looted our hold like they’d put on a cirque.

As the piled they last of it on a grav-sled,
Out through the airlock the lot of them fled.

But I heard them exclaim as they commed from the Astral,
“Happy Christmas to all, and sorry for the hassle!”