The effect was immediate. The acid ate through the metal like lava through ice. Fairy technology. Best under the world.
The padlock pinged open, exposing the hatch to the wind’s power. The hatch flipped upward, and Artemis tumbled through onto a pallet of barrels. Not exactly the picture of a gallant rescuer.
The train’s motion shook him from the barrels. Artemis landed face up, gazing at the triple-triangle symbol for radiation stamped on the side of each container. At least the barrels were sealed, though rust seemed to have taken hold on quite a few.
Artemis rolled across the slatted floor, clambering to his knees alongside the door. Was Captain Short still anchored there, or was he alone now? For the first time in his life. Truly alone.
“Fowl! Open the door, you pasty-faced mud weasel!”
Ah well. Not alone, then.
Covering his face with a forearm, Artemis drenched the carriage’s triple bolt with fairy acid. The steel lock melted instantly, dripping to the floor like a stream of mercury. Artemis dragged the sliding door back.
Holly was hanging on grimly, her face steaming where radiation was eating through the gel. Artemis grabbed her waistband.
“On three?”
Holly nodded. No more energy for speech.
Artemis flexed his digits. Fingers, don’t fail me now. If he ever got out of this, he would buy one of those ridiculous home gymnasiums advertised on the shopping channels.
“One.”
The bend was coming. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. The train would slow down or derail itself.
“Two.”
Captain Short’s strength was almost spent. The wind rippled her frame like a wind sock.
“Three!”
Artemis pulled with all the strength in his thin arms. Holly closed her eyes and let go, unable to believe she was trusting her life to this Mud Boy.
Artemis knew a little something about physics. He timed his count to take advantage of swing, momentum, and the train’s own forward motion. But nature always throws something into the mix that can’t be anticipated.
In this case the something was a slight gap between two sections of the track. Not enough to derail a locomotive, but certainly enough to cause a bump.
This bump sent the carriage door crashing into its frame like a five-ton guillotine. But it looked as if Holly had made it. Artemis couldn’t really tell because she had crashed into him, sending them both careering into the wooden siding. But she seemed to be intact, from what he could see. At least her head was still attached to her neck, which was good. But she did seem to be unconscious. Probably trauma.
Meanwhile, Commander Root had just activated his piton-cord winch when he received a most unexpected poke in the eye.
Artemis knew that he was going to pass out too. He could tell by the darkness eating at the corners of his vision.
He slipped sideways, landing on Holly’s chest. This had more severe repercussions than you might think. Because Holly was also unconscious, her magic was on autopilot. And unsupervised magic flows like electricity. Artemis’s face made contact with the fairy’s left hand, diverting the flow of blue sparks. And while this was good for him, it was most definitely bad for her. Because although Artemis didn’t know it, Holly needed every spark of magic she could muster. Not all of her had made it inside the train.
The goblin D’Nall removed a small rectangular mirror from his tunic, and checked to see that his scales were smooth.
“These Koboi wings are great. You think we’ll be allowed keep ’em?”
Aymon scowled. Not that you’d notice. Goblin lizard ancestry meant that facial movement was pretty limited. “Quiet, you hot-blooded fool!”
Hot-blooded. That was a pretty serious insult for one of the B’wa Kell.
D’Nall bristled. “Be careful, friend, or I’ll tear that forked tongue right out of your head.”
“We won’t have a tongue between us if those elves escape!” retorted Aymon.
It was true. The generals did not take disappointment well.
“So what do we do? I got the looks in this outfit. That must make you the brains.”
“We shoot at the train,” interjected Nyle. “Simple.”
D’Nall adjusted his Koboi DoubleDex, hovering across to the squad’s junior member.
“Idiot,” he snapped, administering a swift slap to the head. “That thing is radioactive, can’t you smell it? One stray burst and we’ll all be ash floating on the breeze.”
“Good point,” admitted Nyle. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Aymon throttled down, descending to five hundred feet. It was so tempting. One tightly focused burst to take out the elf clinging to the carriage, another to dispatch the human on the roof. But he couldn’t risk it. One degree off target, and he’d sucked his last stink-worm spaghetti.
“Okay,” he announced into his helmet mike. “Here’s the plan. With all the radiation in that carriage, chances are the targets will be dead in minutes. We follow the train for a while just to make sure. Then we go back and tell the general we saw the bodies.”
D’Nall buzzed down beside him. “And do we see the bodies?”
Aymon groaned. “Of course not, you fool! Do you want your eyeballs to dry up and fall out?”
“Duh.”
“Exactly. So are we clear?”
“Crystal,” said Nyle, drawing his softnose Redboy handgun. He shot his comrades from behind. Close range, point blank. They never had a chance. He followed their bodies to earth on full magnification. The snow would cover them in minutes. Nobody would be stumbling over those particular corpses until the polar caps melted.
Nyle holstered his weapon, punching in the coordinates for the shuttle terminal on his flight computer. If you studied his reptilian face carefully, it was just possible to make out a grin. There was a new lieutenant in town.
CHAPTER 9
NO SAFE HAVEN
Operations Booth, Police Plaza
Foaly was sitting in front of the LEP mainframe waiting for the results of his latest search. Extensive laser brushing on the goblin shuttle had revealed one complete and one partial thumbprint. The complete print was his own. E
asily explicable, as Foaly personally inspected all retired shuttle parts. The partial print could well belong to their traitor. Not enough to identify the fairy who’d been running LEP technology to the B’wa Kell, but certainly enough to eliminate the innocent. Cross-reference the remaining names with everybody who had shuttle-part access, and the list got considerably shorter. Foaly twitched his tail contentedly. Genius. No point in being humble about it.
At the moment, the computer was crunching through personnel files with the partial print. All Foaly could do was twiddle his thumbs and wait for contact with the surface team. The magma flares were still up. Very unusual. Unusual and coincidental.
Foaly’s suspicious train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Search complete,” said the computer, in Foaly’s own tones—a little vanity. “Three hundred and forty-six eliminated. Forty possibles remaining.”
Forty. Not bad. They could easily be interviewed. Another opportunity to use the Retimager. But there was another way to narrow the field.
“Computer, cross-reference possibles with level-three clearance personnel.” Level-three clearance would include everybody with access to the recycling smelters.
“Referencing.”
Cudgeon knocked on the booth’s security glass. Now, technically Cudgeon shouldn’t be allowed in Ops, but Foaly buzzed him through. He could never resist having a crack at the ex-commander. Cudgeon had been demoted to lieutenant following a disastrous attempt to replace Root as Recon head honcho. If it hadn’t been for his family’s considerable political clout, he would have been booted off the force altogether. All in all, he might have been better off in some other line of work. At least he wouldn’t have had to suffer Foaly’s constant teasing.
“I have some e-forms for you to initial,” said the lieutenant, avoiding eye contact.
“No problem, Commander,” chuckled the centaur.
“How’s the plotting going? Any revolutions planned for this afternoon?”
“Just sign the forms please,” said Cudgeon, holding out a digi-pen. His hand was shaking.
Amazing, thought Foaly. This broken-down shell of an elf was once on the LEP fast track.