Artemis Fowl. The Arctic Incident af-2

by Eoin Colfer

Holly shot upright, arms swinging like a puppet. Her legs began to jerk, kicking invisible enemies. Then the vocal cords, a high-pitched keening that cracked the thinner sheets of ice.

  ‘Is this normal?’ whispered Artemis, as though Holly could hear.

  ‘I think so,’ answered the commander. ‘The brain is running a systems check. It’s not like fixing cuts and bruises, if you know what I mean.’

  Every pore in Holly’s body started to steam, venting trace radiation. She thrashed and kicked, sinking back down into a pool of slush. Not a pretty sight.

  The water evaporated, shrouding the LEP captain in mist. Only her left hand was visible, fingers a desperate blur.

  Holly suddenly stopped moving. Her hand froze, then dropped through the mist. The Arctic night rushed in to reclaim the silence.

  They inched closer, leaning into the fog. Artemis wanted to see, but he was afraid to look.

  Butler took a breath, batting aside sheets of mist. All was quiet below.

  Holly’s frame lay still as the grave.

  Artemis peered at the shape in the hole. ‘I think she’s awake. . ‘

  He was cut short by Holly’s sudden return to consciousness. She bolted upright, icicles coating her eyelashes and auburn hair. Her chest ballooned as she swallowed huge gulps of air.

  Artemis grabbed her shoulders, for once abandoning his shell of icy composure. ‘Holly. Holly, speak to me. Your finger. Is it OK?’

  Holly wiggled her fingers, then curled them into a fist. ‘I think so,’ she said, and whacked Artemis right between the eyes. The surprised boy landed in a snowdrift for the fourth time that day.

  Holly winked at an amazed Butler. ‘Now, we’re even,’ she said.

  Commander Root didn’t have many treasured memories. But in future days, when things were at their grimmest, he would conjure up this moment and have a quiet chuckle.

  OPERATIONS’ BOOTH

  Foaly woke up sore, which was unusual for him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d experienced actual pain. His feelings had been hurt a few times by Julius’s barbed comments, but actual physical discomfort was not something he cared to endure when he could avoid it.

  The centaur was lying on the Operations’ Security-booth floor, tangled in the remains of his office chair.

  ‘Cudgeon,’ he growled, and what followed was about two minutes’ worth of unprintable obscenity.

  When he had finally vented his anger, the centaur’s brain kicked in, and he hauled himself up from the plasma tiles. His rump was singed. He was going to have a couple of bald spots on his hind quarters. Very unattractive in a centaur. It was the first thing a prospective mate looked for in a nightclub.

  Not that Foaly had ever been much of a dancer. Four left hooves.

  The booth was sealed. Tighter than a gnome’s wallet, as the saying went. Foaly typed in his exit code. ‘Foaly. Doors.’

  The computer remained silent.

  He tried verbal. ‘Foaly. One two one override. Doors.’

  Not a peep. He was trapped. A prisoner of his own security devices.

  Even the windows were set to blackout, blocking his view of the Operations’ room. Completely locked out, and locked in. Nothing worked.

  Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. Everything worked, but his precious computers wouldn’t respond to his touch. And Foaly was only too well aware that there was no way out of the booth without access to the mainframe.

  Foaly plucked the tin foil hat from his head, crunching it into a ball.

  ‘A lot of good you did me!’ he said, tossing it into the waste recycler.

  The recycler would analyse the chemical make-up of the item, then divert it to the appropriate tank.

  A plasma monitor crackled into life on the wall. Opal Koboi’s magnified face appeared, plastered with the widest grin the centaur had ever seen.

  ‘Hello, Foaly. Long time no see.’

  Foaly returned the grin, but his wasn’t quite as wide. ‘Opal. How nice to see you. How are the folks?’ Everyone knew how Opal had bankrupted her father. It was a legend in the corporate world.

  ‘Very well, thanks. Cumulus House is a lovely asylum.’

  Foaly decided he would try sincerity. It was a tool he didn’t use very often. But he would give it a go.

  ‘Opal. Think about what you’re doing. Cudgeon is insane, for pity’s sake. Once he has what he wants, he will dispose of you in a heartbeat!’

  The pixie shook a perfectly manicured finger. ‘No, Foaly, you’re wrong.

  Briar needs me. He really does. He’d be nothing without me and my gold.’

  The centaur looked deep into Opal’s eyes. The pixie actually believed what she was saying. How could someone so brilliant be so deluded?

  ‘I know what this is all about, Opal.’

  ‘Oh, you do?’

  ‘Yes. You’re still sore because I won the science medal back in university.’

  For a second, Koboi’s composure slipped, and her features didn’t seem quite so perfect.

  ‘That medal was mine, you stupid centaur. My wing design was far superior to your ridiculous iris-cam. You won because you were a male. And that’s the only reason.’

  Foaly grinned, satisfied. Even with the odds so hugely against him, he hadn’t lost the ability to be the most annoying creature under the world when he wanted to be.

  ‘So what do you want, Opal? Or did you just call to chat about our schooldays?’

  Opal took a long drink from a crystal glass. ‘I just called, Foaly, to let you know I’m watching, so don’t try anything. I also wanted to show you something from the security cameras downtown. This is live footage by the way, and Briar is with the Council right now, blaming you for it. Happy viewing.’

  Opal’s face disappeared to be replaced by a high-angle view of downtown Haven. A tourist district, outside Spud’s Spud Emporium.

  Generally, this area would be thronged with Atlantean couples taking photos of each other in front of the fountain. But not today, because today the square was a battleground. The B’wa Kell was waging open war with the LEP and, by the looks of things, it was a one-sided battle. The goblins were firing their

  Softnose weapons, but the police were not shooting back. They just huddled behind whatever shelter they could find. Completely helpless.

  Foaly’s jaw dropped. This was disastrous. And he was being blamed for everything. Of course, the thing about scapegoats was that they could not be left alive to protest their innocence. He had to get a message to Holly, and fast, or they were all dead fairies.

  CHAPTER 10: TROUBLE AND STRIFE

  DOWNTOWN HAVEN

  Spud’s Spud Emporium was not a place you wanted to be on the best of days. The fries were greasy, the meat was mysterious and the milkshakes had gristly lumps. Nevertheless, the Emporium did a roaring trade, especially during the solstice.

  At this precise moment, Captain Trouble Kelp would almost have preferred to be inside the fast-food joint, choking down a rubbery burger, than outside it dodging lasers. Almost.

  With Root out of the picture, field command fell to Captain Kelp. Usually this was a responsibility he would have relished. But then again, usually he would have had the benefit of transport and weapons. Thankfully they still had communications.

  Trouble and his patrol had been rousting B’wa Kell hot spots when they were bushwhacked by a hundred members of the reptilian triad. The goblins had positioned themselves on the rooftops, catching the LEP squad in a deadly crossfire from Softnose lasers and fireballs. Pretty complex thinking for the B’wa Kell. The average goblin found simultaneous scratching and spitting a challenge. They had to be getting their orders from someone.

  Trouble and one of his junior corporals were pinned down behind a photo booth, while the remaining officers had managed to take cover in

  Spud’s Emporium.

  For the moment, they were keeping the goblins at bay with tasers and buzz batons. The tasers had a range of ten metres, and the buzz batons we
re only good for close quarters. Both ran on electric batteries and would run out eventually. After that they were down to rocks and bare fists. They didn’t even have the advantage of shielding as the B’wa Kell was equipped with LEP

  combat helmets. Older models certainly, but still fitted with anti-shield filters.

  A fireball arced over the booth, melting through the asphalt at their feet.

  The goblins were wising up. Relatively speaking. Instead of trying to blast through the booth, they were lobbing missiles over it. Time was short now.

  Trouble tapped his mike. ‘Kelp to base. Anything on weapons?’

  ‘Not a thing, Cap,’ came the reply. ‘Plenty of officers with nuthin to shoot

  ‘cept their fingers. We’re charging up the old ‘lectric guns, but that’s gonna take eight hours minimum. There are a coupla body-armour suits over in Recon. I’m having ‘em double-timed over to you right now. Five minutes. Tops.’

  ‘D’ArvitF swore the cap tain. They were going to have to move. Any second now this booth would fall apart and they would be sitting ducks for goblin fire. Beside him the corporal was quivering in terror.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ snapped Trouble. ‘Pull yourself together.’

  ‘You shut up, Trub,’ retorted his brother, Grub, through wobbly lips. ‘You were supposed to look out for me. Mummy said.’

  Trouble waved a threatening finger. ‘It’s Captain Kelp while we’re on duty, Corporal. And for your information, I am looking out for you.’

  ‘Oh, this is looking out for me, is it?’ whined Grub, pouting.

  Trouble didn’t know who annoyed him more, his kid brother or the goblins.

  ‘OK, Grub.This booth isn’t going to last much longer. We’ve got to make a break for the Emporium. Understand?’

  Grub’s wobbling lip suddenly stiffened considerably. ‘No chance. I’m not moving. You can’t make me. I don’t mind if I stay here for the rest of my life.’

  Trouble raised his visor. ‘Listen to me. Listen. The rest of your life is going to be about thirty seconds. We have to go.’

  ‘But the goblins, Trub.’

  Captain Kelp grabbed his brother by the shoulders. ‘Don’t you worry about the goblins. You worry about my foot connecting with your behind if you slow down.’

  Grub winced. He’d had that experience before. ‘We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, brother?’

  Trouble winked. ‘Of course we are. I’m the captain, aren’t I?’

  His little brother nodded, lip losing its stiffness.

  ‘Good. Now you point your nose at the door and go when I say. Got it?’

  More nodding. Grub’s chin was bobbing faster than a woodpecker’s beak.

  ‘Right, Corporal. Standby. On my command. ."

  Another fireball. Closer this time. Rising black smoke from Trouble’s rubber soles. The captain poked his nose around the wall. A laser burst almost gave him a third nostril. A steel sandwich board spun around the corner, dancing with the force of a dozen charges. Foto Finish the sign said.

  Or Fot Finish to be precise. The V had been blasted out of it. Not laserproof then. But it would have to do.

  Trouble snared the revolving board, draping it over his shoulders.

  Armour, of sorts. The LEP suits were lined with micro-filaments that would dissipate neutrino blasts or even sonic bursts, but Softnoses hadn’t been used below ground for decades, so the suits hadn’t been designed to withstand them. A burst would tear through the LEP uniform like so much rice paper.

  He poked his brother in the back. ‘Ready?’

  Grub may have nodded, or it may have been that his entire body was shaking.

  Trouble gathered his legs beneath him, adjusting the sandwich board across his chest and back. It would withstand a couple of rounds. After that, his own body would be providing cover for Grub.

  Another fireball. Directly between them and the Emporium. In a moment, the flame would sink a hole in the tarmac. They had to go now.

  Through the fire.

  ‘Seal your helmet!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just seal it, Corporal.’

  Grub did. You could argue with a brother, but not a commanding officer.

  Trouble placed a hand on Grub’s back and pushed. Hard. ‘Go, go, go!’

  They went, straight through the white heart of the flame. Trouble heard the filaments in his suit pop as they tried to cope with the heat. Boiling tar sucked at his boots, melting the rubber soles.

  Then they were through, stumbling towards the double doors. Trouble scrubbed the soot from his visor. His men were waiting, huddled behind riot shields. Two paramedic warlocks had their gloves off, ready to lay on hands.

  Ten metres to go.

  On they ran.

  The goblins found range. A hail of charges sang through the air around them, pulverizing what was left of the Emporium’s shop front. Trouble’s crown lurched forward as a slug flattened itself against his helmet. More charges.

  Lower down. A tight grouping between his shoulder blades. The sandwich board held.

  The impact lifted the captain like a kite, slapping him into his brother, and carrying them both through the decimated double doors. They were instantly hauled behind a wall of riot shields.

  ‘Grub,’ gasped Captain Kelp, through the pain and noise and soot. ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ answered the senior warlock paramedic, rolling Trouble on to his stomach. ‘Your back on the other hand, is going to have some lovely bruises in the morning.’

  Captain Kelp waved the warlock away. ‘Any word from the commander?’

  The warlock shook his head. ‘Nothing. Root is missing in action and

  Cudgeon has been reinstated as commander. Even worse, now they’re saying

  Foaly is behind this whole thing.’

  Trouble paled, and it wasn’t from the pain in his back. ‘Foaly! It can’t be true.’

  Trouble ground his teeth in frustration. Foaly and the commander. He had no choice, he would have to do it. The one thing he had nightmares about.

  Captain Kelp struggled up on to one elbow. The air above their heads was alive with the buzz of Softnose bursts. It was only a matter of time before they were completely overrun. It had to be done.

  Trouble took a breath. ‘OK, people. Listen up. Retreat to Police Plaza.’

  The troops froze. Even Grub caught himself in mid-sob. Retreat?

  ‘You heard me!’ snarled Trouble. ‘Retreat. We can’t hold the streets without arms. Now move it out.’

  The LEP shuffled to the service entrance, unaccustomed to losing. Call it retreat, call it a tactical manoeuvre. It was still running away. And who would have thought that order would ever come out of Trouble Kelp’s mouth?

  ARCTIC SHUTTLE PORT

  Artemis and his fellow travellers took shelter in the shuttle port. Holly made the journey slung over Butler’s shoulder. She protested loudly for several minutes until the commander ordered her to shut up.

  ‘You’ve just had major magical surgery,’ he pointed out. ‘So just stay quiet and do your exercises.’ It was vital that Holly manipulate her finger constantly for the next hour or so to ensure the right tendons got reconnected.

  It was very important she move her index finger the way she intended to use it later, especially as she would be firing a weapon.

  They huddled around a glow cube in the deserted departure lounge.

  ‘Any water?’ asked Holly. ‘I feel dehydrated after that healing.’

  Root winked, something that didn’t happen very often. ‘Here’s a little trick I learned in the field.’ He popped a flat-nosed shell from a clip in his belt.

  It seemed to be made from perspex and filled with clear liquid.

  ‘You won’t get much of a drink from that,’ commented Butler.

  ‘More than you’d think. This is a Hydrosion shell: a miniature fire extinguisher. The water is compressed into a tiny space. You fire it into the heart of a fire and the impact reve
rses the compressor. Half a litre of water is blasted at the flames. More effective than a hundred litres poured. We call them Fizzers.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Artemis drily. ‘If you could use your weapons.’

  ‘Don’t need ‘em,’ said Root, drawing a large knife. ‘Manual works just as well.’

  He pointed the shell’s flat tip at the mouth of a canteen and popped the lid. A fizzing spray jetted into the container.

  ‘There you are, Captain. Never let it be said I don’t look after my officers.’

  ‘Clever,’ admitted Artemis.

  ‘And the best thing is,’ said the commander, pocketing I the empty

  Fizzer. ‘These things are completely reusable. All I have to do is stick it in a pile of snow and the compressor will do the rest, so I won’t even have Foaly on my case for wasting equipment.’

  Holly took a long drink and soon the colour surged I back to her cheeks.

  ‘So we were ambushed by a B’wa Kell hit team,’ she mused. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means you have a leak,’ said Artemis, holding his hands close to the cube’s warmth. ‘It was my impression I that this mission was top secret. Not even your Council I was informed. The only person who isn’t here is that centaur.’

  Holly jumped to her feet. ‘Foaly? It can’t be.’

  Artemis raised his palms. ‘Logic. That’s all it is.’

  ‘This is all very well,’ interrupted the commander, ‘but it’s conjecture. We need to assess our situation. What have we got, and what do we know for sure?’

  Butler nodded. The commander was a being after his own heart. A soldier.

  Root answered his own question. ‘We’ve still got the shuttle, provided it’s not wired. There’s a locker full of provisions. Atlantean food mostly, so get used to fish and squid.’

  ‘And what do we know?’

  Artemis took over. ‘We know that the goblins have a source in the LER

  We also know if they tried to take out the LEP’s head, Commander Root, then they must be after the body. Their best chance of success would be to mount both operations simultaneously.’ Holly chewed her lip. ‘So that means ‘That means there is probably some kind of revolution going on below ground.’