The Arctic Incident (Artemis Fowl 2)

Artemis glanced at the Arctic landscape whipping past outside the carriage. Getting off the train wasn’t as easy as the commander made it sound.

Butler dropped nimbly through the overhead hatch, where he’d been keeping an eye on the goblin hit squad. “Nice to see you’re so limber,”commented Artemis dryly. The manservant smile.“Good to see you, too, Artemis.” “Well? What did you see up there?” said Root, interrupting the reunion. Butler placed a hand on his young master’s shoulders. They could talk later.

“The goblins are gone. Funny thing. Two of them dropped low for reconnaissance, then the other one shot them in the back.”

Root nodded. “Power play. Goblins are their own worst enemies. But right now, we’ve got to get off this train.” “There’s another bend coming up in about half a klick,” said Butler. “That’s our best chance.” “So, how do we disembark?” asked Artemis. Butler grinned. “Disembark is a pretty gentle term for

what I have in mind.” Artemis groaned. More running and jumping.

Operations Booth

Foaly’s brain was bubbling like a sea slug in a deep-fat fryer. He still had options, providing Cudgeon didn’t actually shoot him. One shot and it was all over. Centaurs didn’t have magic. Not a drop. They got by on brains alone. That and their ability to trample their enemies underfoot. But Foaly had a feeling that Briar wouldn’t plug him just yet. Too busy gloating.

“Hey, Foaly,” said the lieutenant. “Why don’t you go for the intercom? See what happens.”

Foaly could guess what would happen.

“Don’t worry, Briar. No sudden moves.”

Cudgeon laughed, and he sounded genuinely happy.

“Briar? First-name terms now is it? You mustn’t realize how much trouble you’re in.”

Foaly was starting to realize just that. Beyond the tinted glass, LEP techies were beavering away trying to track down the mole, oblivious to the drama being played out not two yards away. He could see and hear them, but it was one-way surveillance.

The centaur only had himself to blame. He had insisted that the Operations Booth be constructed to his own paranoid standards. A titanium cube with blastproof windows. The entire room was wireless, without even a fiber-optic cable to connect Operations to the outside world.

Totally impregnable. Unless of course you opened the door to throw a few insults at an old enemy. Foaly groaned. His mother had always said that his smart mouth would get him into trouble. But all was not lost. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. A plasma floor for instance.

“So what’s this all about, Cudgeon?” asked the Centaur, drawing his hooves off the tiles. “And please don’t say, world domination.”

Cudgeon continued to smile. This was his moment.

“Not immediately. The Lower Elements will suffice for now.”

“But why?”

Cudgeon’s eyes were tinged with madness. “Why? You have the gall to ask me why? I was the the Council’s golden boy! In fifty years I would have been chairman! And then along comes the Artemis Fowl affair. In one short day all my hopes are dashed. I end up deformed and demoted! And it was all because of you, Foaly. You and Root! So the only way to get my life back on track is to discredit both of you. You will be blamed for the goblin attacks, and Julius will be dead and dishonored. And as an added bonus, I even get Artemis Fowl. It’s as close to perfect as I could have hoped for.”

Foaly snorted. “Do you really think you can defeat the LEP with a handful of softnose weapons?”

“Defeat the LEP? Why would I want to do that? I am a hero of the LEP. Or rather I will be. You will be the villain of this piece.”

“We’ll see about that, baboon face,” said Foaly, activating a switch, that sent an infrared signal to a receiver in the floor. In half a second, a secret membrane of plasma would warm up. Half a second later a neutrino charge would spread across the plasma gel like wildfire, bouncing anyone connected to the floor off at least three walls. In theory.

Cudgeon giggled delightedly. “Don’t tell me. Your plasma tiles aren’t working.”

Foaly was flummoxed. Momentarily. Then he lowered his hooves and gingerly pressed another button. This one engaged a voice-activated laser. The centaur held his breath.

“No plasma tiles,” continued Cudgeon. “And no voice-activated laser. You really are slipping, Foaly. Not that I’m surprised. I always knew you’d be exposed for the donkey you are.”

The lieutenant settled into a swivel chair, propping his feet on the computer bank. “So have you figured it out yet?”

Foaly thought. Who could it be? Who could beat him at his own game? Not Cudgeon, that was for sure. A techno fool if there ever was one. No, there was only one person with the know-how to deactivate the booth’s safety measures.

“Opal Koboi,” he breathed.

Cudgeon patted his head. “That’s right. Opal did a little reprogramming during the upgrading work. And the funny thing is, the Council footed the bill. She even charged for the spy cameras. Even now, the B’wa Kell are preparing to launch their attack on the city. LEP weapons and communications are down, and the best thing is that you, my horsy friend, will be held responsible. After all, you have locked yourself in the Operations Booth in the middle of a crisis.”

“Nobody will believe it!” protested Foaly.

“Oh, yes they will, especially when you disengage the LEP security, including the DNA cannons.”

“Which I won’t be doing anytime soon.”

Cudgeon twirled a matte-black remote between his fingers. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you anymore. Opal took your little operation apart, and wired the whole lot into this little beauty.”

Foaly swallowed. “You mean . . .”

“That’s right,” said Cudgeon. “Nothing works unless I press the button.”

He pressed the button. And even if Foaly had had the reactions of a sprite, he would never have had time to draw up all his hooves before the plasma shock blasted him right out of his specially modified swivel chair.

Arctic Circle

Butler instructed everyone to attach themselves to the Moonbelt, one per link. Floating slightly in the buffeting wind, the group maneuvered itself to the carriage doorway like a drunken crab.

It’s simple physics, Artemis told himself. Reduced gravity will prevent us being dashed against the Arctic ice. In spite of all his logic, when Root launched the group into the night, Artemis couldn’t hold back a single gasp. Later, when he replayed the incident in his mind’s eye, Artemis would edit out the breath.

The slipstream spun them beyond the railway sleepers, into a drift. Butler turned off the antigravity belt a second before impact. Otherwise they could have bounced away like men on the moon.

Root was first to detach, scooping handfuls of snow from the surface until his fingers reached the compacted ice below. He heard a click behind his shoulder.

“Stand back,” advised Butler, taking aim with his handgun. Root obliged, shielding his eyes with a forearm. Ice slivers could blind you just as efficiently as six-inch nails. Butler put a full clip into a three-inch spread, blasting a shallow hollow in the frozen surface. Instant sleet drenched the already sodden group. Root was checking the results before the smoke cleared. They had seconds left before Holly’s time ran out. After a certain time it mightn’t be wise to attempt a graft. Even if they could.

The commander jumped into the dip, sweeping aside layers of loose ice. There was a disk of brown among the white.

“Yes,” he crowed. “Earth!”

Butler lowered Holly’s twitching form into the hole. She seemed like a doll in his powerful hands. Tiny and limp. Root curled Holly’s fingers around the illegal acorn, thrusting her left hand deep into the shattered soil. He pulled a role of tape from his belt, crudely securing the finger to roughly its original position.

The elf and two humans gathered around and waited.

“It mightn’t take,” muttered Root nervously. “This sealed acorn thing is new. Never been tested. Foaly and his ideas. But they usually work. They usually do.”

Artemis laid a hand on his shoulder. It was all he could think to do. Giving comfor

t was not one of his strong points.

Five seconds. Ten. Nothing.

Then ...

“Look,” cried Artemis. “A spark.”

A solitary blue spark traveled lazily along the length of Holly’s arm, winding along the veins. It crossed her chest, climbed her pointed chin and sank into the flesh right between the eyes.

“Stand back,” advised Root. “I saw a two-minute healing in Tulsa one night. Damn near destroyed an entire shuttle port. I’ve never even heard of a four-minuter.”

They backpedaled to the lip of the crater, and not a moment too soon. More sparks erupted from the earth, targeting Holly’s hand as the area most in need of assistance. They sank into her finger joint like plasma torpedoes, melting the plastic tape.

Holly shot upright, arms swinging like a puppet. Her legs began to jerk, kicking invisible enemies. Then from her vocal cords came 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 steamed, sinking in 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 Captain Short’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 okay?”