Artemis Fowl (Artemis Fowl 1)

“You know what we should do, Julius?”

He and Root had been in the Academy together, brought up in the same tunnel. Cudgeon was one of perhaps five fairies who called Root by his first name.

“I know what you think we should do.”

“We should blast the whole place.”

“What a surprise.”

“The cleanest way. One blue rinse and our losses are minimum.”

Blue rinse was the slang term for the devastating biological bomb used on rare occasions by the force. The clever thing about a bio-bomb was that it destroyed only living tissue. The landscape was unchanged.

“That minimum loss you’re talking about happens to be one of my officers.”

“Oh yes,” tutted Cudgeon. “A female Recon officer. The test case. Well, I don’t think you’ll have any problem justifying a tactical solution.”

Root’s face took on that familiar purple hue.

“The best thing you can do right now is stay out of my way, or else I may be forced to ram that blue rinse straight into that morass you call a brain.”

Cudgeon was unperturbed. “Insulting me doesn’t change the facts, Julius. You know what the Book says. We cannot under any circumstances allow the Lower Elements to be compromised. One time-stop is all you get, after that . . .”

The lieutenant didn’t finish his statement. He didn’t have to.

“I know what the Book says,” snapped Root. “I just wish you weren’t so gung ho about it. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say there was some human blood in you.”

“There’s no call for that,” pouted Cudgeon. “I’m only doing my job.”

“Point taken,” conceded the commander. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t often hear Root apologizing, but then it had been a deeply offensive insult.

Butler was on monitors.

“Anything?” asked Artemis.

Butler started; he hadn’t heard the young master come in.

“No. Nothing. Once or twice I thought I saw a flicker, but it turned out to be nothing.”

“Nothing is nothing,” commented Artemis cryptically. “Use the new camera.”

Butler nodded. Only last month, Master Fowl had purchased a cinecamera over the Internet. Two thousand frames a second, recently developed by Industrial Light and Magic for specialized nature shoots, hummingbird wings, and such. It processed images faster than the human eye could. Artemis had had it installed behind a cherub over the main entrance.

Butler activated the joypad.

“Where?”

“Try the avenue. I have a feeling visitors are on the way.”

The manservant manipulated the toothpick-sized stick with his massive fingers. A live image sprang into life on the digital monitor.

“Nothing,” muttered Butler. “Quiet as the grave.”

Artemis pointed to the control desk.

“Freeze it.”

Butler nearly questioned the order. Nearly. Instead he held his tongue and pressed the pad. On screen, the cherry trees froze, blossoms trapped in midair. More important, a dozen or so black-clad figures suddenly appeared on the avenue.

“What!” exclaimed Butler. “Where did they spring from?”

“They’re shielded,” explained Artemis. “Vibrating at high speed. Too fast for the human eye to follow . . .”

“But not for the camera,” nodded Butler. Master Artemis. Always two steps ahead. “If only I could carry it around with me.”

“If only. But we do have the next best thing. . . .”

Artemis lifted a headset gingerly from the workbench. It was the remains of Holly’s helmet. Obviously, trying to cram Butler’s head into the original helmet would be like trying to fit a potato into a thimble. Only the visor and control buttons were intact. Straps from a hard hat had been rigged to fit the manservant’s cranium.

“This thing is equipped with several filters. It stands to reason that one of them is anti-shield. Let’s try it out, shall we?”

Artemis placed the set over Butler’s ears.

“Obviously, with your eye span, there are going to be blind spots, but that shouldn’t hamper you unduly. Now, run the camera.”

Butler set the camera rolling again, while Artemis slotted down one filter after another.

“Now?”

“No.”

“Now ...”

“Everything’s gone red. Ultraviolet. No fairies.”

“Now?”

“No. Polaroid, I think.”

“Last one.”

Butler smiled. A shark that’s spotted a bare behind.

,

“Got em.”

Butler was seeing the world as it was, complete with LEPretrieval team sweeping the avenue.

“Hmm,” said Artemis. “Strobe variation, I would guess. Very high frequency.”

“I see,” fibbed Butler.

“Metaphorically or literally?” His employer smiled.

“Exactly.”

Artemis shook himself. More jokes. Next thing he’d be wearing clown shoes and turning cartwheels in the main hall.

“Very well, Butler. Time for you to do what you do best. We appear to have intruders in the grounds. . . .”

Butler stood. No further instructions were necessary. He tightened the hard-hat straps, striding brusquely to the door.

“Oh, and, Butler . . .”

“Yes, Artemis?”

“I prefer scared to dead. If possible.”

Butler nodded. If possible.

LEPretrieval One were the best and the brightest. It was every little fairy’s dream that one day he would grow up to don the stealth-black jumpsuit of the Retrieval commandos. These were the el

ite. Trouble was their middle name. In the case of Captain Kelp, Trouble was actually his first name. He’d insisted on it at his manhood ceremony, having just been accepted into the Academy.

Trouble led his team down the sweeping avenue. As usual, he took the point position himself, determined to be the first into the fray if, as he fervently hoped, a fray developed.

“Check in,” he whispered into the mike that wound snakelike from his helmet.

“Negative on one.”

“Nothing, Captain.”

“A big negatori, Trouble.”

Captain Kelp winced.

“We’re in the field, Corporal. Follow procedure.”

“But Mommy said!”

“I don’t care what Mommy said, Corporal! Rank is rank! You will refer to me as Captain Kelp.”

“Yessir, Captain,” sulked the corporal. “But don’t ask me to iron your tunic anymore.”

Trouble zeroed in on his brother’s channel, shutting out the rest of the squad.

“Shut up about Mommy, will you? And the ironing. You’re only on this mission because I requested you! Now start acting like a professional or get back to the perimeter!”

“Okay, Trubs.”

“Trouble!” shouted Captain Kelp. “It’s Trouble. Not Trubs, or Trub. Trouble! Okay?”

“Okay. Trouble. Mommy’s right. You’re only a baby.”

Swearing very unprofessionally, Captain Kelp switched his headset back to the open channel. He was just in time to hear an unusual sound.

“Arrkk.”

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Dunno.”

“Nothing, Captain.”

But Trouble had done a Sound Recognition in-service for his captain’s exam, and he was pretty sure the “Arrkk” had been caused by someone getting a chop across the windpipe. More than likely his brother had walked into a shrub.

“Grub? Are you all right?”

“That’s Corporal Grub to you.”

Kelp viciously kicked a daisy.

“Check in. Sound off in sequence.”

“One, Okay.”

“Two, fine.”

“Three, bored but alive.”

“Five, approaching west wing.”

Kelp froze.“Wait. Four? You there, Four? What’s your situation?”

“.................” Nothing except static.

“Right. Four is down. Possibly an equipment malfunction. Still, we can’t afford to take any chances. Regroup by the main door.”