“Then we’ve found the stealth shuttle,” said Holly.
“Exactly.”
The computer completed its scan quickly, building an on-screen model of the surrounding area. The gases were displayed in various whirling hues.
Artemis instructed the computer to search for anomalies. It found three: one with an abnormally high saturation of carbon monoxide.
“That’s probably an airport. A lot of exhaust fumes.”
The second anomaly was a large area with only trace elements of any gas.
“A vacuum, probably a computer plant,” surmised Artemis.
The third anomaly was a small area just outside the lip of E7 that appeared to contain no gas of any kind.
“That’s her. The volume is exactly right. She’s on the north side of the chute entrance.”
“Well done,” said Holly, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s get up there.”
“You know, of course, that as soon as we put our nose into the main chute system, Foaly will pick us up.”
Holly gave the engines a few seconds to warm up. “It’s too late to worry about that. Haven is more than six hundred miles away. By the time anyone gets here, we’ll either be heroes or outlaws.”
“We’re already outlaws,” said Artemis.
“True,” agreed Holly. “But soon we could be outlaws with no one chasing us.”
Police Plaza, The Lower Elements
Opal Koboi was back. Could it be possible? The thought niggled at Foaly’s ordered mind, unraveling any chain of thought that he tried to compose. He would not find any peace until he found out for certain. One way or the other.
The first place to check was the video footage from E37. If one began with the assumption that Koboi was indeed alive, then a number of details could be explained. Firstly, the strange haze that had appeared on all the tapes was not simply interference, but manufactured to hide something. The loss of audio signal, too, could have been orchestrated by Koboi to cover whatever had passed between Holly and Julius in the tunnel. And the calamitous explosion could have been Koboi’s doing and not Holly’s. The possibility brought tremendous peace to Foaly, but he contained it. He hadn’t proven anything yet.
Foaly ran the tape through a few filters without result. The strange blurred section refused to be sharpened, cloned, or shifted. That in itself was unusual. If the blurred spot was just computer glitchery, Foaly should have been able to do something about it. But the indistinct patch stood its ground, repelling everything Foaly threw at it.
You may have the hi-tech ground covered, thought the centaur, but what about good old lo-tech?
Foaly zoomed the footage to moments before the explosion. The blurred patch had transferred itself to Julius’s chest, and indeed at times, the commander appeared to be looking at it. Was there an explosive device under there? If so, then it must have been remotely detonated. The jammer signal was probably sent from the same remote. The detonation command would override all other signals, including the jammer. This meant that for perhaps a thousandth of a second before detonation, whatever was on Julius’s chest would become visible. Not long enough for the fairy eye to capture, but a camera would see it just fine.
Foaly fast-forwarded to the explosion and then began to work his way backward, frame by frame. It was agonizing work, watching his friend being reassembled by the reversed film. The centaur tried to ignore it and concentrate on the work. The flames shrank from orange plumes to white shards, eventually containing themselves inside an orange minisun. Then, for a single frame, something appeared. Foaly flicked past it, then returned. There! On Julius’s chest, right where the blur used to be. A device of some kind.
Foaly’s fingers jabbed the enlarge tool. There was a square foot metal panel secured to Julius’s chest with octo-bonds. It had been picked up by the camera for a single frame. Less than one thousandth of a second, which was why it had been missed by the investigators. On the face of the panel was a plasma screen. Someone had been communicating with the commander before he died. That someone had not wanted to be overheard, hence the audio jammer. Unfortunately, the screen was now blank, as the detonation signal which disrupted the jammer would also have disrupted the video.
But I know who it is, thought Foaly. It’s Opal Koboi, back from limbo.
But he needed proof. The centaur’s word was worth about as much to Ark Sool as a dwarf’s denial that he had passed wind.
Foaly glared at the live feed from the Argon Institute. There she was. Opal Koboi, still deep in her coma. Apparently.
How did you do it? Foaly wondered. How could you swap places with another fairy?
Plastic surgery wouldn’t do it. Surgery couldn’t change DNA. Foaly opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of equipment that resembled two miniature kitchen plungers.
There was only one way to find out what was going on here. He would have to ask Opal directly.
When Foaly arrived at the institute, Dr. Argon was reluctant to allow him into Opal’s room.
“Miss Koboi is in a deep state of catatonia,” said the gnome peevishly. “Who knows what effect your devices will have on her psyche. It’s difficult, nigh impossible, to explain to a layfairy what damage intrusive stimuli may have on the recovering mind.”
Foaly whinnied. “You had no trouble letting the TV networks in. I suppose they pay better than the LEP. I do hope you are not beginning to view Opal as your personal possession, Doctor. She is a state prisoner, and I can have her moved to a state facility any time I like.”
“Maybe just five minutes,” said Jerbal Argon, tapping in the door’s security code.
Foaly clopped past him and plonked his briefcase on the table. Opal swung gently in the draft from the doorway. And it did seem to be Opal. Even this close, with every feature in focus, Foaly would have sworn that this was his old adversary. The same Opal who had competed with him for every prize at college. The same Opal who had very nearly succeeded in having him blamed for the goblin uprising.
“Get her down from there,” he ordered.
Argon positioned a bunk below the harness, complaining with every step. “I shouldn’t be doing physical labor,” he moaned. “It’s my hip. No one knows the pain I’m in. No one. The warlocks can’t do a thing for me.”
“Don’t you have staff to do this sort of thing?”
“Normally, yes,” said Argon, lowering the harness. “But my janitors are on leave. Both at the same time. Normally I wouldn’t allow it, but good pixie workers are hard to find.”
Foaly’s ears pricked up. “Pixies? Your janitors are pixies?”
“Yes. We’re quite proud of them around here, minor celebrities, you know. The pixie twins. And of course they have the highest respect for me.”
Foaly’s hands shook as he unpacked his equipment. It all seemed to be coming together. First Chix, then the strange device on Julius’s chest, now pixie janitors who were on leave. He just needed one more piece of the puzzle.
“What is it you have there?” asked Argon anxiously. “Nothing that could cause any damage.”
Foaly tilted the unconscious pixie’s head backward. “Don’t worry, Argon. It’s just a Retimager. I’m not going in any farther than the eyeballs.”
He held open the pixie’s eyes one at a time, sealing the plunger like cups around the sockets. “Every image is recorded on the retinas. This leaves a trail of microscratches that can be enhanced and read.”
“I know what a Retimager is,” snapped Argon. “I do read science journals occasionally, you know. So you can tell what the last thing Opal saw was. What good will that do?”
Foaly connected the eyepieces to a wall computer. “We shall see,” he said, endeavoring to sound cryptic rather than desperate.
He opened the Retimager’s program on the plasma screen, and two dark images appeared.
“Left and right eyes,” explained Foaly, toggling a key until the two images overlapped. The image was obviously a head from a side angle, but it was too dark to iden
tify.
“Ooh, such brilliance,” gushed Argon sarcastically. “Shall I call the networks? Or should I just faint in awe?”
Foaly ignored him. “Lighten and enhance,” he said to the computer.
A computer-generated paintbrush swabbed the screen, leaving a brighter and sharper picture behind it.
“It’s a pixie,” muttered Foaly. “But still not enough detail.” He scratched his chin. “Computer, match this picture with patient Koboi, Opal.”
A picture of Opal flashed up on a separate window. It resized itself and revolved until the new picture was at the same angle as the original. Red arrows flashed between the pictures, connecting identical points. After a few moments the space between the two pictures was completely blitzed with red lines.
“Are these two pictures of the same person?” asked Foaly.
“Affirmative,” said the computer. “Though there is a point zero five percent possibility of error.”
Foaly jabbed the PRINT button. “I’ll take those odds.”
Argon stepped closer to the screen, as though in a daze. His face was pale, and growing paler as he realized the implications of the picture.
“She saw herself from the side,” he whispered. “That means ...”
“There were two Opal Kobois,” completed Foaly. “The real one, that you let escape. And this shell here, which can only be ...”