The Arctic Incident (Artemis Fowl 2)

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

“Right Corporal. Standby. On my command . . .”

Another fireball. Closer this time. Black smoke rose 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. Photo Finish the sign said. Or Phot Finish to be precise. The o 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. Armor, 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 underground for decades. A burst would tear through the LEP uniform as if it were 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 tar-mac. 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 toward 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 yards to go.

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 okay?”

“Fine,” answered the senior warlock paramedic, rolling Trouble onto 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 had nightmares about.

Captain Kelp struggled up onto 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. “Okay, people. Listen up. Retreat to Police Plaza.”

The troops froze. Even Grub caught himself in midsob. 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 maneuver. It was still running away. And who would have thought that order would ever come out of Trouble Kelp’s mouth.

Arctic Shuttleport

Artemis and his fellow travelers took shelter in the shuttleport. 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’s very important to move the index finger the way you intend to move it, especially if you’re firing a weapon.

They huddled around a glow cube in the deserted departures 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 was transparent 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 reverses the compressor. Half a gallon of water is blasted at the flames. More effective than a hundred gallons poured. We call them fizzers.”

“Very good,” said Artemis dryly. “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 that I don’t look after my officers.”

“Clever,” admitted Artemis.

“And the best thing is,” said the commander, pocketing 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 color surged 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 that this mission was top secret. Not even your Council 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,” interjected 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 comm

ander 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 LEP. 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 underground.”

“The B’wa Kell against the LEP?” scoffed Holly. “No problem.”

“Generally, that may be true,” agreed Artemis. “But if your weapons are out . . .”

“Then so are theirs,” said Root.

Artemis moved closer to the glow cube. “Worst case scenario: Haven has been taken by the B’wa Kell and the Council members are either dead or imprisoned. Quite honestly, things look grim.”

Neither fairy responded. Grim hardly did the situation justice. Disastrous was closer to the mark. Even Artemis was slightly disheartened. None of this was helping his father.

“I suggest we rest here for a while, pack some provisions, and then proceed toward Murmansk as soon as we get some cloud cover. Butler can search this man Vassikin’s apartment. Perhaps we will be lucky, and my father will be there. I realize that we are at a slight disadvantage without weapons, but we still have surprise on our side.”

No one spoke for several moments. It was an uneasy silence. Everybody knew what should be said, but nobody wanted to say it.

“Artemis,” said Butler eventually, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’re in no shape to go up against the Mafiya. We don’t have any firepower, and our colleagues need to get underground, so we don’t have any magic. If we go in there now, we’re not coming out. Any of us.”

Artemis stared deep into the heart of the glow cube.