Reclamation

by BaltoSeppala

Preface:  This story is a reimagining (a "reboot") of two tales already well-known to most of the readers--that of the adventures seen in the first Balto movie, and then that of famous nineteenth-century English writer Charles Dickens' classic Christmas social-consciousness story A Christmas Carol.  However, this is not a word-for-word re-telling of either story, nor is set in a Christmas time frame (since the story in the Balto movie is actually set in late January/early February, in keeping with the true history it is very loosely based on)...but rather a new tale.  So, quite obviously, this is an alternative history which deviates from the original canon story of the Balto movie.

My story draws heavily upon the 1951 movie version of Dickens' famous tale.  That version is still, to this day, not only considered one of the most faithful screen adaptations of the original Dickens story, but also the most well-acted (especially by Scottish actor Alastair Sim, who played Scrooge).  Titled "A Christmas Carol" in the U.S. version, it was originally released in the U.K. under the title "Scrooge".  And while it appears in black and white in its original form, a colorized version has also been released for those who cannot sit through and watch a black and white film (for whatever reason).  It is a must-see for those who love the original story and its characters!  And it's currently in-print on DVD and Blu-Ray, and freely available for viewing online (including on YouTube).  I have borrowed some from the dialogue in the movie and, in a few cases, my wording will be practically identical.  There was no intention whatsoever to plagiarize that great work of film, but rather to pay tribute to how well it stands out as the quintessential adaptation of Dickens' great story, bar none.

The story will be told in a similar style and language as that of Charles' Dickens' famous tale, but in a more modern vernacular, and without all the heavy Victorian embellishments which would probably confuse the average reader of this material.  It will also be divided into chapters befitting a literary story, rather than "staves" as in the case of Dickens' story (staves being musical or poetic structures, a nod by Dickens' to the notion of his story being a "carol").  Also, please note that there will be differences in the narrative.  It is only inspired by, and based upon, Dickens' story...using the characters from the animated Balto movie...and a few original characters created by me.

This material may not be reprinted or reposted electronically, in whole or part, without written permission of the author.  All characters, except where otherwise noted (below), are the property of Universal Studios and Amblimation/Steven Spielberg.  Charles Dickens' material, insofar as I know, is open source.

EDIT:  The existing cover image was drawn, beautifully, by Mightybalto1925, and is simply fantastic!  It is of Charger's ghost, dragging his chains...

--BaltoSeppala/JerseyCaptain
 

PROLOGUE

Charger was dead, and there was no doubt about that whatsoever.  His musher had seen to it that he received a decent-enough burial...Charger being one of his cherished and valuable former lead dogs, after all.  The other dogs of the team had witnessed it, and Steele himself, Charger's co-leader, had even deigned the whole process as interesting enough to him that he would put in a cursory appearance...albeit as aloof and apparently disinterested as he could possibly demonstrate to the others.  He did, after all, have what he viewed as a "reputation" to uphold. 

Steele certainly was a strong, swift leader of his master's team.  No one could argue that fact.  Alongside his co-leader, who had been noticeably older than he, Steele had led the team to many victories in the races in and around Nome...even if those victories were not always achieved without a certain degree of fraudulence.  Which, I can say--without overmuch exaggeration, occurred more often than not.  And yet somehow, and rather conveniently for Steele and his cohort, this always seemed to occur out of sight of those who came to watch and wait on the outcome of each race.

The members of the team were, in fact, the only witnesses to Charger's burial.  While the human and, most especially, the canine residents of Nome (and the surrounding countryside) thought quite highly of Charger and Steele, and looked upon them as celebrities (of a sort), the dogs--at least--often gave both of them a rather wide berth.  Neither Charger nor Steele were particularly known as gentle, affable and self-effacing dogs.  Rather the reverse: they were proud, arrogant, self-important, and churlish brutes.  Everyone knew it.  They knew it.  And they did not care.  Not one whit.  In fact, it may be said that they reveled in the feeling of power and entitlement such displays of deference gave the two of them. 

Steele, being the younger of the two, always seemed to catch the eyes of the lady dogs in spite of his nature.  He was a big, muscular dog, and bore that stature confidently.  To a fault, in fact.  Charger carried a similar build in his heyday, but the ravages of time had eventually started to tell on him, and he had begun to see less and less activity on the team.  One might think this would concern his co-leader.  Oh no...not Steele.  To be perfectly honest, Steele couldn't be less troubled by the situation.  He was all too eager to make the team his own.  And, in spite of the friendship he and Charger shared (they were, in fact, each others' only real friends), Steele couldn't possibly appear less moved by Charger's gradual decline, and sudden retirement, all but a year before his passing.  And when the time came, if he was moved in the least, Steele didn't let slip so much as a murmur of emotion.  Cold as ice...and as hard as his namesake.  That, and less, was Steele.

Steele knew Charger was dead?  Certainly he did.  How could he not?  While Steele might have shrugged off the loss of a lesser team member as just "the normal course of events in dog sledding", Charger was still his co-leader (and senior) and, as I have already mentioned, his only real friend in the world...as if either of them could ever even acknowledge such a relationship openly (which, it must be keenly emphasized, they certainly never did). 

Oh! but Steele was a strict and unforgiving leader on the run!  A pushy, demanding, bullying, hard-nosed ol' brute!  How well his name fit his demeanor--stiff and unbending, slick and often sharp.  No harsh, biting Alaskan cold caused his steps to falter, no gust of Arctic wind checked his pace when he set into it.  No matter if the dogs behind him on the gang line might stumble or even balk, he pressed on all the same.  Steele did not lead by example...he simply led.  Whether or not anyone had difficulty following was of little consequence to him, unless he was in a quarrelsome mood.  And that only happened when one of the dogs dared to question him...which they seldom ever did.
 

CHAPTER 1: CHARGER'S GHOST

Once upon a time, some years hence--in the freezing, bitter cold of the Alaskan midwinter--Steele reclined on a sofa in his master's home, staring indifferently out a nearby window at the kennel yard.  The master had sent all the team dogs out to the yard after returning from the day's race, an arduous one in which they were victorious.  There were many small dog houses in the yard, which was enclosed by a tall fence.  Before each little house, a husky lay shivering and curled up with its tail laid over its muzzle for warmth as the bitter wind played persistently at their fur.  But what did Steele care?  He was inside, where a nice fire was blazing in the hearth.  To his way of thinking, this was precisely where he deserved to be...the place of privilege that any leader ought to be able to enjoy.  And if Steele enjoyed anything, it could be said that he most definitely enjoyed the perks of his position...especially when the other dogs didn't share in those perks.  As far as he was concerned, they hadn't earned them either by station or merit.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door of the house, and a cacophony of barking from the yard in response.  Steele's master, who was also his musher, went to answer it, greeting two gentlemen in overcoats and bowlers, and another fellow dressed more ruggedly.  After removing their coats and hanging them on pegs in the hall, they adjourned to the drawing room where Steele reclined, now watching them with some interest.

The master approached the couch and began to motion to Steele.  "Off the couch, boy.  Come on."  Letting out a long, loud and frustrated groan, Steele slowly rose, stretched and, stepping down onto the floor, walked over to a corner of the room.  There he laid back down, glancing at his master disapprovingly.  The men all sat down on various chairs in the room, and began a discussion which Steele listened in on.

"We've come on rather pressing business, Dan," one of the men began.  This fellow seemed to Steele to be of high station...he wore a fine suit.  From the vest underneath hung a gold watch chain with an intricately-carved ivory fob.  He alternately chewed and puffed on a cigar protruding from his mouth and from underneath a full, bushy brown moustache.  The smoke was pungent and rather