The Time Paradox (Artemis Fowl 6)

I’m not surprised they’re quivering, she thought. And that’s only the beginning.

As she flew, she worked on her problem: how to get four humans out of the blast zone in as many minutes.

Until recently she would have had a second problem: the building itself. According to the fairy Book, fairies were forbidden to enter human buildings without an invitation. This was a ten-thousand-year-old hex that still had a little sting, causing nausea and loss of power to anyone who defied it. The law was an anachronism and a serious impediment to LEP operations, so after a series of public debates and a referendum, the hex had been lifted by demon warlock No1. It had taken the little demon five minutes to unravel a hex that had stumped elfin warlocks for centuries.

Back to the original problem. Four large humans. Big explosion imminent.

The first human was easy enough and the obvious choice. He was blocking the others and wore nothing but a towel and a tiny security guard’s cap, which perched on top of his skull like a nutshell on the head of a bear.

Holly grimaced. I have to get him out of my sight as soon as possible, or I may never forget this image. That Mud Man has more muscles than a troll.

Troll! Of course.

There had been several additions to the Recon kit while Holly had been in Limbo, most invented and patented by Foaly, naturally. One such addition was a new clip of darts for her Neutrino. The Centaur called them anti-gravity darts, but the officers called them floaters.

The darts were based on Foaly’s own Moonbelt, which generated a field around whatever was attached to it, reducing the earth’s gravitational pull to one fifth of normal. The Moonbelt was useful for transporting heavy equipment. Field officers quickly adapted the belt to their own specialized needs, attaching their prisoners to the pitons, which made them much easier to handle.

Foaly had then developed a dart that had the same effect as his Moonbelt. The dart used the fugitive’s own flesh to conduct the charge that rendered him almost weightless. Even a troll seems less threatening when it is bobbing in the breeze like a balloon.

Holly slipped the clip from her belt, using the heel of one hand to ram it into the Neutrino.

Darts, she thought. Back to the Stone Age.

The big security guard was square in her sights, his lip wobbling petulantly.

No need for laser sights with this Mud Man, she thought. I could hardly miss.

And she didn’t. The tiny dart pricked the man’s shoulder, and he quivered for a moment until the antigravity field encircled him.

“Ooh,” he said. “That’s a little . . .”

Then Holly landed beside him, grasped his pale thigh, and hurled him into the sky. He went faster than a popped balloon, leaving a trail of surprised O’s in his wake.

The remaining men hurriedly finished pulling on their pants; two tripped in their haste, banging heads before crashing to the ground. Plates of tomato-and-mozzarella rolls were batted aside; bottles of beer went spinning across the tiles.

“My sandwiches,” said one man, even as he struggled with his purple jeans.

No time for panic, thought Holly, silent and invisible among them. She ducked low, avoiding pale swinging limbs, and quickly loosed off three more darts.

A strange calm descended on the sauna as three grown men found themselves floating toward a hole in the roof.

“My feet are—” began the bespectacled man.

“Shut up about your feet!” shouted sandwich man, swiping at him with a fist. The motion sent him spinning and bouncing like a pinball.

Foaly overrode Holly’s MUTE.

“D’Arvit, Holly. You have seconds. Seconds! Get out of there now! Even your suit armor will not stop an explosion of this magnitude.”

Holly’s face was red and sweating in spite of her helmet’s climate control.

Seconds left. How many times have I heard that?

No time for subtleties. She lay flat on her back, tapping the readout on her Neutrino to select concussion beams, and fired a wide pattern blast straight up.

The beam bore the men aloft, as a fast-flowing river would bear bubbles, bouncing them off the walls and each other before finally popping them through the still-sparking circle in the roof.

The last man out looked down as he left, wondering absently why he was not gibbering in panic. Surely flying was grounds for hysteria?

That will probably come later, he decided. If there is a later for me.

In the steam of the sauna, it seemed to him that there was a small humanoid shape lying on the floor. A diminutive figure with wings, which leaped to its feet, then sped toward the flying men.

It’s all true, thought the man. Just like Lord of the Rings. Fantasy creatures. All true.

Then the island exploded, and the man stopped worrying about fantasy creatures and began worrying about his trousers, which had just caught fire.

* * *

With all four men in the air, Holly decided that it was time to get herself as far from the supposed island as possible. She jumped from a squatting position, engaged her wings in the air, and shot into the morning sky.

“Very nice,” said Foaly. “You know they’re calling that move the Hollycopter, don’t you?”

Holly drew her weapon, urging the weightless men farther away from the island with short bursts.

“Busy staying alive, Foaly. Talk later.”

Foaly said. “Sorry, friend. I’m worried. I talk when I’m worried. Caballine thinks it’s a defense mechanism. Anyway, the Hollycopter. You did the same takeoff during that rooftop shoot-out in Darmstadt. Major . . . I mean . . . Commander Kelp caught it on video. They’re using the footage in the academy now. You wouldn’t believe how many cadets have broken their ankles trying the same trick.”

Holly was about to insist that he please shut up when Shelly ignited his methane cells, decimating his old shell and sending tons of debris hurtling skyward. The shock wave took Holly from below like a giant’s punch, sending her pinwheeling. She felt her suit flex to avoid the impact, the tiny scales closing ranks like the shields of a demon battalion. There was a slight hiss as her helmet plumped the safety bags protecting her brain and spinal cord. The screens in her visor flickered, jumped, then settled.

The world spun by her visor in a series of blues and grays. The Artificial Horizon in her helmet did several revolutions, end over end, though Holly realized that in actuality she was the one revolving, and not the display.

Alive. Still alive. My odds must be getting short.

Foaly broke in on her thoughts. “. . . heart rate is up, though I don’t know why. One would think you’d be used to these situations by now. The four humans made it, you will be delighted to know, since you risked your life and my technology to save them. What if one of my floaters had fallen into human hands?”

Holly used a combination of gestures and blinks to fire short bursts from several of her wings’ twelve engines, wrestling back control of her rig.

She opened her visor to cough and spit, then answered his accusation.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. And all LEP equipment is fitted with remote-destruct. Even me! So the only way your precious floaters were ever going to fall into human hands was if your technology failed.”

“Which reminds me,” said Foaly, “I need to get rid of those darts.”

Below was pandemonium. It seemed as though half of Helsinki’s inhabitants had already managed to launch themselves in various crafts, and a veritable flotilla was heading toward the explosion site, led by a coast guard vessel, two powerful outboards churning at its stern, nose up for speed. The kraken itself was obscured by smoke and dust, but charred fragments of its shell rained down like volcanic ash, coating the decks of the boats below and draping a dark blanket over the Baltic Sea.

Twenty yards to Holly’s left, the floating men bobbed happily in the air, riding the last ripples of explosive shock, pants hanging in tattered ruins from their waists.

“I am surprised,” sa

id Holly, zooming in on the men. “No screaming or wetting themselves.”

“A little drop of relaxant in the dart.” Foaly chuckled. “Well, I say a little drop. Enough to have a troll missing his mommy.”

“Trolls occasionally eat their mothers,” commented Holly.

“Exactly.”

Foaly waited until the men had dropped to within ten feet of the ocean’s surface, then remote-detonated the tiny charge in each dart. Four small pops were followed by four loud splashes. The men were in the water no more than a few seconds before the coast guard reached them.

“Okay,” said the centaur, obviously relieved. “Potential disaster averted, and our good deed done for the day. Kick up your boots and head back for the shuttle station. I have no doubt that Commander Kelp will want a detailed report.”

“Just a second, I have mail.”

“Mail! Mail! Do you really think this is the time? Your power levels are down, and the rear panels of your suit have taken a severe pasting. You need to get out of there before your shield fails altogether.”

“I have to read this one, Foaly. It’s important.”

The mail icon flashing in Holly’s visor was tagged with Artemis’s signature. Artemis and Holly color-coded their mail icons. Green was social, blue was business, and red was urgent. The icon in Holly’s visor pulsed a bright red. She blinked at the icon, opening the short message.

Mother dying, it read. Please come at once. Bring No1.

Holly felt a cold dread in her stomach, and the world seemed to lurch before her eyes.

Mother dying. Bring No1.

The situation must be desperate if Artemis was asking her to bring the powerful demon warlock.