The Eternity Code (Disney)

by Eoin Colfer

  Spiro laughed. “You can bring all the fairy friends you like, Arty-boy. Short of a miracle that Cube is staying right where it is.”

  Juliet was an American citizen by birth, even though her brother had been born on the other side of the world. She was glad to be back in her home country. The discord of Chicago’s traffic and the constant chorus of multicultural voices made her feel at home. She loved the skyscrapers and the steam vents and the affectionate sarcasm of the street vendors. If she ever got the chance to settle down, it would be in the U.S. On the West Coast though, somewhere with sun.

  Juliet and Holly were circling the Spiro Needle in a blacked-out minivan. Holly sat in the back, watching video from Artemis’s iris-cam on her helmet visor.

  At one point she punched the air triumphantly.

  Juliet stopped at a red light. “How are we doing?”

  “Not bad,” replied the fairy, raising her visor. “They’re taking Mulch to bury him.”

  “Cool. Just like Artemis said they would.”

  “And Spiro has just invited all of Artemis’s fairy friends into the building.”

  This was a crucial development. The Book forbade fairies to enter human buildings without an invitation. Now Holly was free to break in and wreak havoc without violating fairy doctrine.

  “Excellent,” said Juliet. “We’re in. I get to body-slam the guy who shot my brother.”

  “Not so fast. This building has the most sophisticated Mud Man security system I’ve ever seen. Spiro has a few tricks in there that I’ve never come across before.”

  Juliet finally found a space opposite the Needle’s main revolving doors. “No problem for the little horsy guy, surely?”

  “Yes, but Foaly’s not supposed to help us.”

  Juliet focused a set of binoculars on the door. “I know, but it all depends on how you ask. A smart guy like Foaly, what he needs is a challenge.”

  Three figures emerged from the Needle. Two large men in black and a smaller, nervous-looking individual. Mulch’s feet were treading air so fast that he seemed to be performing an Irish jig. Not that he had any hope of escaping. Pex and Chips had him tighter than two badgers fighting over a bone.

  “Here comes Mulch now. We’d better give him backup. Just in case.”

  Holly strapped on her mechanical harness, extending the wings with the touch of a button.

  “I’ll follow them from the air. You keep an eye on Artemis.”

  Juliet ran a video lead from a spare helmet’s handheld computer. Artemis’s point of view sprang to life on the screen.

  “Do you really think Mulch needs help?” she asked.

  Holly buzzed into invisibility. “Help? I’m just going along to make sure he doesn’t harm those two Mud Men.”

  Inside the vault, Spiro was finished playing the gracious host.

  “Let me tell you a little story, Arty,” he said, plucking the C Cube from its pressure pad. “There was this Irish kid who thought he was ready for the big time. So he messed with a very serious businessman.”

  Don’t call me Arty, thought Artemis. My father calls me Arty.

  “This businessman didn’t appreciate being messed with, so he messed back. And this kid is dragged kicking and screaming into the real world. So, now this kid has to make a choice; does he tell the businessman what he needs to know, or does he put himself and his family in mortal danger? Well, Arty, which one is it?”

  Spiro was making a serious mistake by toying with Artemis Fowl. It was difficult for adults to believe that this pale-faced thirteen-year-old could actually be a threat. Artemis had tried to take advantage of this by wearing casual clothes in place of his usual Armani suit. He had also been practicing an innocent, wide-eyed look on the jet, but wide-eyed was not how you wanted to look when one iris did not match the other.

  Blunt prodded Artemis between the shoulder blades.

  “Mr. Spiro asked you a question.” His new teeth clicked as he talked.

  “I’m here, am I not?” replied Artemis. “I’ll do whatever you wish.”

  Spiro placed the Cube on a long steel table that ran down the center of the vault.

  “What I wish is for you to disable your eternity code, and get this Cube working right now.”

  Artemis wished that he could make himself perspire, so his anxiety would seem more authentic.

  “Right now? It’s not that simple.”

  Spiro grabbed Artemis by the shoulders, staring him in the eye.

  “And why wouldn’t it be that simple? Just punch in the code word, and away we go.”

  Artemis averted his mismatched eyes, staring at the floor.

  “There is no straightforward code word. An eternity code is built to be irreversible. I have to reconstruct an entire language. It could take days.”

  “Don’t you have any notes?”

  “Yes. On disk. In Ireland. Your monkey wouldn’t let me bring anything in case it was booby-trapped.”

  “Can we access your hard drive online?”

  “Yes. But I only keep my notes on disk. We could fly back to Ireland. Eighteen hours, round-trip.”

  Spiro wouldn’t even consider that option. “Forget it. As long as I have you here, I’m in control. Who knows what kind of reception is waiting for me in Ireland? We do it here. As long as it takes.”

  Artemis sighed. “Very well.”

  Spiro replaced the Cube in its Plexiglas case. “Get a good night’s sleep, kid, because tomorrow you’re going to peel this gizmo apart like an onion. And if you don’t, what’s about to happen to Mo Digence will happen to you.”

  Artemis wasn’t unduly worried by that threat. He didn’t believe Mulch to be in any danger. In fact if anyone was in trouble, it was those two musclemen, Pex and Chips.

  Vacant lot, Malthouse Industrial Estate, South Chicago

  Jon Spiro had not hired Pex and Chips for their debating skills. In the job interview, they had only been set one task. A hundred applicants were handed a walnut and asked to smash it however they could. Only two succeeded. Pex had shouted at the walnut for a few minutes, then flattened it between his giant palms. Chips had opted for a more controversial method. He placed the walnut on the table, grabbed his interviewer by the ponytail, and used the man’s forehead to smash the nut. Both men were hired on the spot. They quickly established themselves as Arno Blunt’s most reliable lieutenants for in-house work. They were not allowed outside Chicago, as this could involve map reading, something Pex and Chips were not very good at.

  At the moment Pex and Chips were bonding under a full moon, while Mulch dug a dwarf-size pit in the dry clay behind an abandoned cement factory.

  “You wanna guess why they call me Pex?” asked Pex, flexing his chest muscles as a hint.

  Chips opened a packet of the potato chips he was forever crunching.

  “I dunno. Is it, like, short for something?”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno,” said Chips. He used that phrase a lot. “Francis?”

  This sounded dumb, even to Pex. “Francis? How could Pex be short for Francis?”

  Chips shrugged. “Hey. I had an Uncle Robert and everyone called him Bobby. That don’t make no sense neither.”

  Pex rolled his eyes. “It’s pec-tor-als, moron. Pex is short for pectorals, on account of me having big chest muscles.”

  In the pit, Mulch groaned. Listening to this mindless banter was almost as bad as having to dig a hole with a shovel. Mulch was tempted to deviate from the plan and launch himself into the flaky soil. But Artemis did not want any display of fairy powers at this stage of the proceedings. If he took off, and these goons escaped without being mesmerized, then Spiro’s paranoia would be driven up another notch.

  Up on the surface, Chips was eager to continue the game.

  “Guess why they call me Chips,” he said, hiding the bag of chips behind his back.

  Pex kneaded his forehead. He knew this one.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said. “I can work it out.”


  Mulch poked his head from the hole. “It’s because he eats chips, you idiot. Chips eats chips. You two are the thickest Mud Men I have ever met. Why don’t you just kill me? At least I won’t have to listen to your drivel.”

  Pex and Chips were stunned. With all the mental exercise, they had almost forgotten about the little man in the hole. Plus, they were unaccustomed to prospective victims saying anything besides, “Oh no, please God, no.”

  Pex leaned over the grave’s lip. “What do you mean drivel?”

  “I mean that whole ‘Chips Pex’ thing.”

  Pex shook his head. “No, I mean what does the word drivel mean?”

  Mulch was delighted to explain. “It means rubbish, garbage, claptrap, twaddle, baloney. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Chips recognized the last one. “Baloney? Hey, that’s an insult! Are you insulting us, little man?”

  Mulch clasped his hands in mock prayer. “Finally, a breakthrough!”

  The musclemen were uncertain how to react to actual abuse. There were only two people alive who insulted them regularly, Arno Blunt and Jon Spiro. But that was part of the job; you just ignored that by turning up the music in your head.

  “Do we have to listen to his smart mouth?” Pex asked his partner.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe I should phone Mr. Blunt.”

  Mulch groaned. If stupidity were a crime, these two would be public enemies one and two.

  “What you should do is kill me. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Just kill me and get it over with.”

  “What do you think, Chips? Should we just kill him?”

  Chips chewed on a handful of BBQ Blast Ruffles. “Yeah. Course. Orders is orders.”

  “But I wouldn’t just kill me,” interjected Mulch.

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Oh no. After the way I just insulted your intelligence? No, I deserve something special.”

  You could almost see the steam coming out of Pex’s ears as his brain overheated.

  “That’s right, little man. We’re gonna do something special to you. We don’t take no insults from anybody!”

  Mulch did not bother pointing out the double negative.

  “You’re right. I’ve got a smart mouth, and I deserve everything I’ve got coming to me.”

  There followed a short silence, as Pex and Chips tried to come up with something worse than the usual straight shooting. Mulch gave them a minute, then made a polite suggestion.

  “If it was me, I’d bury me alive.”

  Chips was horrified. “Bury you alive! That’s terrible. You’d be screaming and clawing the dirt. I could get nightmares.”

  “I promise to lie still. Anyway, I deserve it. I did call you a pair of overdeveloped, single-cell Cro-Magnons.”

  “Did you?”

  “Well, I have now.”

  Pex was the more impulsive of the duo. “Okay, Mr. Digence. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re going to bury you alive.”

  Mulch clapped two hands to his cheeks. “Oh, the horror!”

  “You asked for it, buddy.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  Pex grabbed a spare shovel from the trunk. “Nobody calls me an overdeveloped, signal-bell crow magnet.”

  Mulch lay down obligingly in his grave. “No. I bet nobody does.”

  Pex shoveled furiously, his gym-sculpted muscles stretching his suit jacket. In minutes, Mulch’s form was completely covered.

  Chips was feeling a bit squeamish. “That was horrible. Horrible. That poor little guy.”

  Pex was unrepentant. “Yeah, well, he asked for it. Calling us&all those things.”

  “But—buried alive! That’s like in that horror movie. Y’know—the one with all the horror.”

  “I think I saw that one. With all the words going up on the screen at the end?”

  “Yeah, that was it. Tell you the truth, those words kinda ruined it for me.”

  Pex stamped on the loose earth. “Don’t worry, buddy. There are no words in this movie.”

  They climbed back into their Chevrolet automobile. Chips was still a bit upset.

  “You know, it’s much more real than a movie when it’s real.”

  Pex ignored a no-access sign, pulling onto the motorway. “It’s the smell. You can’t smell stuff in a movie.”

  Chips sniffed emotionally. “Digence musta been upset right there at the end.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “’Cause I could see him cryin’. His shoulders were shaking, like he was laughing. But he must have been crying. I mean what sort of crazy wacko would laugh when he’s getting buried alive.”

  “He musta been crying.”

  Chips opened a bag of smoky bacon curls. “Yeah. He musta been crying.”

  Mulch was laughing so much that he nearly choked on the first mouthful of soil. What a pair of clowns. Then again, it was lucky for them that they had been clowns, otherwise they might have chosen their own method of execution.

  Jaw unhinged, Mulch tunneled straight down for twenty feet and then veered north to the cover of some abandoned warehouses. His beard hair sent out sonar signals in all directions. You couldn’t be too careful in built-up areas. There was always some wildlife, and Mud Men had a habit of burying things where you wouldn’t expect them. Pipes, septic tanks, and barrels of industrial waste were all things he had taking an unwitting bite of in his day. And there is nothing worse than finding something in your mouth that you weren’t expecting to be there, especially if it’s wriggling.

  It felt good to be tunneling again. This was what dwarfs were born to do. The earth felt right between his fingers, and he soon settled into his distance rhythm. Scooping muck between his grinding teeth, breathing through slitted nostrils, and pumping waste material out the other end.

  Mulch’s hair antennae informed him that there were no vibrations on the surface, so he kicked upward using the last vestiges of his dwarf gas to propel himself from his hole.

  Holly caught him four feet above the ground. “Charming,” she said.

  “What can I tell you?” said Mulch unapologetically. “I’m a force of nature. You were up there all that time?”

  “Yes, just in case things got out of hand. You put on quite a show.”

  Mulch slapped the clay from his clothes. “A couple of Neutrino blasts could have saved me a lot of digging.”

  Holly smiled in spooky imitation of Artemis. “That’s not in the plan. And we must stick to the plan, now mustn’t we?”

  She draped a sheet of cam-foil around the dwarf’s shoulders, and hooked him onto her Moonbelt.

  “Take it easy now, won’t you?” said Mulch anxiously. “Dwarfs are creatures of the soil. We don’t like flying. We don’t even like jumping too high.”

  Holly opened the throttle on her wings, heading downtown.

  “I’ll be just as considerate of your feelings as you are of the LEP’s.”

  Mulch paled. Funny how this diminutive elf was much scarier than two six-foot hit men.

  “Holly, if I ever did anything to offend you, I unreservedly—” He never finished that particular sentence, because their sudden acceleration forced the words back down his throat.

  The Spiro Needle

  Arno Blunt walked Artemis to his cell. It was comfortable enough, with its own bathroom and entertainment system. There were a couple of things missing: windows and a handle on the door.

  Blunt patted Artemis on the head. “I don’t know what happened in that London restaurant, but you try anything like that here, and I will turn you inside out and eat your organs.” He gnashed his pointy teeth to make the point and leaned close, whispering into Artemis’s ear. Artemis could hear the teeth click with every syllable.

  “I don’t care what the boss says, you’re not going to be useful forever, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to me.”

  “If you were me,” responded Artemis, “then I’d be you. And if I were you, then I’d hide somewhere far away.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, really. And why would you do that?”

  Artemis looked him in the eyes, so Blunt could see the truth there.

  “Because Butler is coming for you. And he’s extremely annoyed.”

  Blunt backed off a few steps. “No way, kid. I saw him go down. I saw the blood.”

  Artemis grinned. “I didn’t say he was alive, I just said he was coming.”

  “You’re just messing with my mind. Mr. Spiro warned me about this.”

  Blunt edged out the door, never taking his eyes off Artemis.

  “Don’t worry, Blunt. I don’t have him here in my pocket. You have hours, maybe days before the time comes.”

  Arno Blunt slammed the door so hard that the frame shook. Artemis’s grin widened. Every cloud has a silver lining.

  Artemis stepped into the shower, allowing the jet of hot water to pound him on the forehead. In truth, he felt a little anxious. It was one thing to formulate a plan in the safety of one’s own home. It was quite another to execute that plan while trapped in the lion’s den. And even though he would never admit it, his confidence had taken quite a pounding in the last few days. Spiro had outwitted him back in London, and without apparent effort. He had strolled into the entrepreneur’s trap as naively as a tourist down a back alley.

  Artemis was well aware of his talents. He was a plotter, a schemer, a planner of dastardly deeds. There was no thrill greater than the execution of a perfect plan. But lately his victories had been tainted by guilt, especially over what had happened to Butler. His old friend had been so close to death that it made Artemis queasy just to think about it.

  Things had to change. His father would be watching soon, hoping that Artemis would make the right choices. And if he didn’t, Artemis Senior would quite possibly take his choices away from him. He remembered his father’s words. And what about you, Arty? Will you make the journey with me? When the moment comes, will you take your chance to be a hero?

  Artemis still did not have the answer to that question.

  Artemis wrapped himself in a robe monogrammed with his captor’s initials. Not only was Spiro reminding him of his presence with the gold letters, but a motion-sensitive, closed-circuit camera was following Artemis around the room.