The Arctic Incident

by Eoin Colfer

  “What was that?”

  Trouble brought up a front view on the monitors. A goblin stood there with a large tube on his shoulder.

  “Bazooka of some kind. I think it’s one of the old wide-bore softnose cannons.”

  Cudgeon smacked his own forehead. “Don’t tell me. They were all supposed to have been destroyed. A curse on that centaur! How did he manage to sneak all that hardware out from under my nose!”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Trouble. “He fooled all of us.”

  “How much more of that can we stand?”

  Trouble shrugged. “Not much. A couple more hits. Maybe they only had one missile.”

  Famous last words. The doorway shook a second time. Large chunks of masonry tumbled from the marble pillars.

  Trouble picked himself off the ground, magic zipping a gash on his forehead.

  “Paramedics, check for casualties. Have we got those weapons charged yet?”

  Grub hobbled over, hampered by the weight of two electric rifles.

  “Ready to go, Captain. Thirty-two weapons. Twenty pulses each.”

  “Okay. Best marksfairies only. Not one shot fired until I give the word.”

  Grub nodded, his face grim and pale.

  “Good, Corporal, now move it out.”

  When his brother was out of earshot, Trouble spoke quietly to Commander Cudgeon.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Commander. They blew the Atlantis tunnel, so there’s no help coming from there. We can’t get a pentagram around them to stop time. We’re completely surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. If the B’wa Kell breach the blast doors, it will be over in seconds. We have to get into that Operations Booth. Any progress?”

  Cudgeon shook his head. “The techies are working on it. We have sensors pointed at every inch of the surface. If we hit on the access code, it will be blind luck.”

  Trouble rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. “I need time. There must be a way to stall them.”

  Cudgeon drew a white flag from inside his tunic.

  “There is a way ...”

  “Commander! You can’t go out there. It’s suicide.”

  “Perhaps,” admitted the commander. “But if I don’t go, we could all be dead in a matter of minutes. At least this way, we’ll have a few minutes to work on the Operations Booth.”

  Trouble considered it. There was no other way.

  “What have you got to bargain with?”

  “The prisoners in Howler’s Peak. Maybe we could negotiate some kind of controlled release.”

  “The Council will never go for that.”

  Cudgeon drew himself up to his full height.

  “This is not a time for politics, Captain, this is a time for action.”

  Trouble was quite frankly amazed. This was not the same Briar Cudgeon he knew. Someone had given this fairy a spine transplant.

  But now the newly appointed commander was going to earn that acorn cluster on his lapel. Trouble felt an emotion well up in his chest. One that he’d never before associated with Briar Cudgeon. It was respect.

  “Open the front door a crack,” ordered the commander in steely tones. Foaly would be just loving this on camera. “I’m going out to talk to these reptiles.”

  Trouble relayed the command. If they ever got out of this, he would see to it that Commander Cudgeon was awarded a posthumous Golden Acorn. At the very least.

  Uncharted Chute, Below Koboi Laboratories

  The Atlantean shuttle sped down a vast chute, sticking tight to the walls. Close enough to scrape paint from the hull.

  Artemis poked his head through from the passenger bay.

  “Is this really necessary, Captain?” he asked, as they avoided death by an inch for the umpteenth time. “Or is it just more flyboy grandstanding?”

  Holly winked. “Do I look like a flyboy to you, Fowl?”

  Artemis had to admit that she didn’t. Captain Short was extremely pretty in a dangerous sort of way. Black-widow pretty.

  “I’m hugging the surface to search for this alleged crack that Mulch insists is along here,” Holly explained.

  Artemis nodded. The dwarf’s theory. Just incredible enough to be true. He returned to the aft bay for Mulch’s version of a briefing.

  The dwarf had drawn a crude diagram on a backlit wall panel. In fairness, there were more artistic chimpanzees. And less pungent ones. Mulch was using a carrot as a pointer, or more accurately, several carrots. Dwarfs liked carrots.

  “This is Koboi Labs,” he mumbled around a mouthful of vegetable.

  “That?” exclaimed Root.

  “I realize, Julius, that it is not an accurate schematic.”

  The Commander exploded from his chair. “An accurate schematic? It’s a rectangle for heaven’s sake!”

  Mulch was unperturbed. “That’s not important. This is the important bit.”

  “That wobbly line?”

  “It’s a fissure,” pouted the dwarf. “Anybody can see that.”

  “Anybody in kindergarten maybe. So it’s a fissure, so what?”

  “This is the clever bit. Y’see that fissure is not usually there.”

  Root began strangling the air again. Something he was doing more and more lately. But Artemis was suddenly interested.

  “When does the fissure appear?”

  But Mulch wasn’t just going to give a straight answer.

  “Us dwarfs. We know something about rocks. Been digging around ’em for ages.”

  Root’s fingers began beating a tattoo on his buzz baton.

  “What fairies don’t realize is that rocks are alive. They breathe.”

  Artemis nodded. “Of course. Heat expansion.”

  Mulch bit the carrot triumphantly. “Exactly. And of course, the opposite, too. They retract when they cool down.”

  Even Root was listening now.

  “Koboi Labs are built on solid mantle. Two miles of rock. No way in, short of sonix warheads. And I think Opal Koboi might notice them.”

  “And that helps us how?”

  “A crack opens up in that rock when it cools down. I worked on the foundations when they were building this place. Gets you right in under the labs. Still a way to go, but at least you’re in.”

  The commander was skeptical. “So how come Opal Koboi hasn’t noticed this gaping fissure?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say it was gaping.”

  “How big?”

  Mulch shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe five yards. At its widest point.”

  “That’s still a pretty big fissure to be sitting there all day.”

  “Only it’s not there all day,” interrupted Artemis. “Is it, Mulch?”

  “All day? I wish. I’d say, at a guess, this is only an approximation . . .”

  Root was loosing his cool. Being one step behind all the time didn’t agree with him.

  “Tell me, convict, before I add another scorch mark to your behind!”

  Mulch was injured. “Stop shouting, Julius, you’re curling my beard.”

  Root opened the cooler, letting the icy tendrils curl over his face.

  “Okay, Mulch. How long?”

  “Three minutes, max. Last time I did it with a set of wings, wearing a pressure suit. Nearly got crushed and fried.”

  “Fried?”

  “Let me guess,” said Artemis. “The fissure only opens when the rock has contracted sufficiently. If this fissure is on a chute wall, then the coolest time would be moments before the next flare.”

  Mulch winked. “Smart, Mud Boy. If the rocks don’t get you, the magma will.”

  Holly’s voice crackled over the com speakers.

  “I’ve got a visual on something. Could be a shadow, or it could just be a crack in the chute wall.”

  Mulch did a little dance, looking very pleased with himself. “Now, Julius, you can say it. I was right again! You owe me, Julius, you owe me.”

  The commander rubbed the bridge of his nose. If he made it through this alive, he was nev
er leaving the station again.

  Koboi Laboratories

  Koboi Labs were surrounded by a ring of B’wa Kell goblins. Armed to the teeth, tongues hanging out for blood. Cudgeon was hustled past roughly, prodded by a dozen barrels. The DNA cannons hung inoperative in their towers, for the moment. The second Cudgeon felt the B’wa Kell had outlived their usefulness, then the guns would be reactivated.

  The commander was taken to the inner sanctum, and forced to his knees before Opal and the B’wa Kell generals. Once the soldiers had been dismissed, Cudgeon was back on his feet and in command.

  “Everything proceeds according to plan,” he announced, crossing to stroke Opal’s cheek. “In an hour, Haven will be ours.”

  General Scalene was not convinced. “It would be ours a lot faster if we had some Koboi blasters.”

  Cudgeon sighed patiently. “We’ve been through this, General. The disruption signal knocks out all neutrino weapons. If you get blasters, so will the LEP.”

  Scalene shuffled into a corner, licking his eyeballs.

  Of course that was not the only reason for denying the goblins neutrino weapons. Cudgeon had no intention of arming a group he intended to betray. As soon as the B’wa Kell had disposed of the Council, Opal would return power to the LEP.

  “How are things proceeding?”

  Opal swiveled in her Hoverboy, legs curled beneath her.

  “Deliciously. The main doors fell moments after you left to . . . negotiate.”

  Cudgeon grinned. “Good thing I left. I might have been injured.”

  “Captain Kelp has pulled his remaining forces into the weapons’ room, ringing the Operations Booth. The Council are in there, too.”

  “Perfect,” said Cudgeon.

  Another B’wa Kell general, Sputa, banged the conference table.

  “No, Cudgeon. Far from perfect. Our brothers are wasting away in Howler’s Peak.”

  “Patience, General Sputa,” said Cudgeon soothingly, actually laying a hand on the goblin’s shoulder. “As soon as Police Plaza falls, we can open the cells in Howler’s Peak without resistance.”

  Internally Cudgeon fumed. These idiot creatures. How he detested them. Clothed in robes fashioned from their own cast-off skin. Repulsive. Cudgeon longed to reactivate the DNA cannons and stop their jabbering for a few sweet hours.

  He caught Opal’s eye. She knew what he was thinking.

  Her tiny teeth showed in anticipation. What a delightfully vicious creature. Which was, of course, why she had to be disposed of. Opal Koboi could never be happy as second in command.

  He winked at her.

  “Soon,” he mouthed silently. “Soon.”

  CHAPTER 13

  INTO THE BREACH

  Below Koboi Laboratories

  An LEP shuttle is shaped like a teardrop, bottom heavy with thrusters, and with a nose that could cut through steel. Of course, our heroes weren’t in an LEP shuttle, they were in the ambassador’s luxury cruiser. Comfort was definitely favored over speed. It had a nose like a gnome’s behind. Bulky and expensive looking, with a grille you could use to barbecue buffalo.

  “So, you’re saying this fissure is going to open up for a couple of minutes, and I have to fly through. And that’s the entire plan?” said Holly.

  “It’s the best we’ve got,” said Root glumly.

  “Well, at least we’ll be in padded seats when we get squashed. This thing handles like a three-legged rhinoceros.”

  “How was I to know?” grumbled Root. “This was supposed to be a routine run. This shuttle has an excellent stereo.”

  Butler raised his hand. “Listen. What’s that sound?”

  They listened. The noise came from below them, like a giant clearing its throat.

  Holly consulted the keel cams.

  “Flare,” she announced. “Big sucker. It’ll be roasting our tail feathers any minute.”

  The rock face before them cracked and groaned in constant expansion and contraction. Fissures heaved like grinning mouths lined with black teeth.

  “That’s it. Let’s go,” urged Mulch. “That fissure is going to seal up faster than a stink worm’s—”

  “Not enough room yet,” snapped Holly. “This is a shuttle, not one fat dwarf riding stolen wings.”

  Mulch was too scared to be insulted.

  “Just move it. It’ll widen as we go.”

  Generally Holly would have waited for Root to give the green light. But this was her area. No one was going to argue with Captain Holly Short at the controls of a shuttle.

  The chasm shuddered open another few feet.

  Holly gritted her teeth. “Hold on to your ears,” she said, ramming the thrusters to maximum.

  The craft’s occupants clutched their armrests, and more than one closed his eyes. But not Artemis. He couldn’t. There was something morbidly fascinating about flying into an uncharted tunnel at a reckless speed, with only a kleptomaniac dwarf’s word for what lay at the other end.

  Holly concentrated on her instruments. Hull cameras and sensors fed information to various screens and speakers. Sonar was going crazy, beeping so fast it was almost a continuous whine. Fixed halogen headlights fed frightening images to the monitors, and laser radar drew a green 3-D line picture on a dark screen. Then of course, there was the quartz windshield. But with sheets of rock dust and larger debris, the naked eye was next to useless.

  “Temperature increasing,” she muttered, glancing at the rearview monitor. An orange magma column blasted past the fissure mouth, spilling over into the tunnel.

  They were in a desperate race. The fissure was closing behind them, and expanding before the craft’s prow. The noise was terrific. Thunder in a bubble.

  Mulch covered his ears. “Next time, I’ll take Howler’s Peak.”

  “Quiet, convict,” growled Root. “This was all your idea.”

  Their arguing was interrupted by a tremendous grating sound, and a shower of sparks that danced across the windshield.

  “Sorry,” apologized Captain Short. “There goes our communications array.”

  She flipped the craft sideways, scraping between two shifting plates. The plates crashed behind them. A giant’s handclap.

  The magma’s heat coated the rock face, dragging the plates together. A jagged edge clipped the shuttle’s rear. Butler held his weapon. It was a comfort thing.

  Then they were through. Spiraling into a cavern toward three enormous titanium rods.

  “There,” gasped Mulch. “The foundation rods.”

  Holly rolled her eyes.

  “You don’t say,” she groaned, firing the docking clamps.

  Mulch had drawn another diagram. This one looked like a bendy snake.

  “We’re being led by an idiot with a crayon,” said Root, with deceptive calmness.

  “I got you this far, didn’t I, Julius?” pouted Mulch.

  Holly was finishing the last bottle of mineral water. A good third of it went over her head.

  “Don’t you dare start sulking, dwarf,” she said. “As far as I can see we’re stuck in the center of the earth, with no way out and no communications.”

  Mulch backed up a step. “I can see you’re a bit tense after the flight. Let’s all calm down now, shall we?”

  Nobody looked very calm. Even Artemis seemed slightly shaken by their ordeal.

  “That’s the hard bit over. We’re in the foundations now. The only way is up.”

  “Oh, really, convict?” said Root. “And how do you suggest we go up exactly?”

  Mulch plucked a carrot from the larder, waving it at his diagram. “This here is . . .”

  “A snake?”

  “No, Julius. It’s one of the foundation rods.”

  “The solid titanium foundation rods, sunk in impregnable bedrock?”

  “The very ones. Except one isn’t solid. Exactly.”

  Artemis nodded. “I thought so. You cut corners on this work, didn’t you, Mulch?”

  Mulch was unrepentant. “You know what
building regulations are like. Solid titanium pillars? Do you have any idea how expensive that is? Threw our estimate right off. So me and cousin Nord decided to forget the titanium packing.”

  “But you had to fill that column with something,” interrupted the commander. “Koboi would have run scans.”

  Mulch nodded guiltily.

  “We hooked up the sewage pipes to it for a couple of days. The sonographs came up clean.”

  Holly felt her throat clench. “Sewage. You mean ...”

  “No. Not anymore. That was a hundred years ago, it’s just clay now. Very good clay, as it happens.”

  Root’s face could have boiled a large cauldron of water. “You expect us to climb through twenty yards of . . . manure.”

  The dwarf shrugged. “Hey, do I care? Stay here forever if you want, I’m going up the pipe.”

  Artemis did not like this sudden turn of events. Running, jumping, injury, okay. But sewage?

  “This is your plan?” he managed to mutter.

  “What’s the matter, Mud Boy?” smirked Mulch. “Afraid of getting your hands dirty?”

  It was only a figure of speech, Artemis knew. But true nevertheless. He glanced at his slender fingers. Yesterday morning they had been pianist’s fingers, with manicured nails. Today they could have belonged to a builder.

  Holly clapped Artemis on the shoulder.

  “Okay,” she declared. “Let’s do it. As soon as we save the Lower Elements, we can get back to rescuing your father.”

  Holly noticed a change in Artemis’s face. Almost as if his features weren’t sure how to arrange themselves. She paused, realizing what she had said. For her, the remark had been a casual encouragement, the kind of thing an officer said every day. But it seemed as though Artemis was not accustomed to being a member of a team.

  “Don’t think I’m getting chummy, or anything. It’s just that when I give my word, I stick to it.”

  Artemis decided not to respond. He’d already been punched once today.

  They descended from the shuttle on a folding stairway.