I turned down gold, Butler, continued Artemis, still unable to accept his own grand gesture. Me. I turned down gold.
Butler smiled, much more the smile of a friend than of a bodyguard. That doesnt surprise me one bit. You were becoming quite charitable before the mind wipe.
Artemis frowned. Of course you would say that, if you were part of the hallucination.
Mulch was eavesdropping on the conversation and couldnt resist a comment. Didnt you smell what I shot those trolls with? You think you could hallucinate that, Mud Boy?
Holly started the engines.
Hold on, back there, she called over her shoulder. Its time to go. The sensors have picked up some shuttles sweeping local chutes. The authorities are looking for us. I need to get us somewhere off the charts.
Holly teased the throttle, lifting them smoothly from the ground. If the shuttle had not had portholes, the passengers might not have noticed the take-off.
Butler elbowed Mulch. Did you see that? Thats a take-off. I hope you learned something.
The dwarf was highly offended. What do I have to do to get a bit of respect around here? You are all alive because of me, and all I get is abuse.
Butler laughed. OK, little friend. I apologize. We owe you our lives, and I for one will never forget it.
Artemis followed this interaction curiously. I would deduce that you remember everything, Butler. If, for a moment, I accept this situation as reality, then your memory must have been stimulated. Did I, perhaps, leave something behind?
Butler pulled the laser disk from his pocket.
Oh yes, Artemis. There was a message on this disk for me. You left yourself a message too.
Artemis took the disk. At last, he said. Some intelligent conversation.
Artemis found a small bathroom at the rear of the shuttle. The indoor toilet was only to be used in an emergency and the seat was made from a spongy material that, Mulch had assured him, would break down any waste as it passed through. Artemis decided he would test the filter at another time, and he sat on a small ledge by the porthole.
There was a plasma screen on the wall, presumably for in-restroom entertainment. All he had to do was slip the computer disk into the drive below the screen, and his fairy memories would be returned to him. A whole new world. An old one.
Artemis spun the disk between his thumb and forefinger. Psychologically speaking, if he loaded this disk, it meant that some part of him accepted the truth of all this. Putting the disk in the slot could plunge him deeper into some kind of psychotic episode. Not putting it in could condemn the world to a war between species. The fairy and human worlds would collide.
What would Father do? Artemis asked himself.
He loaded the disk.
Two files appeared on the desktop, marked with animated 3D gifs, something the fairy system had obviously added on. Both were tapped with the file names in English and the fairy language. Artemis selected his own file by touching the plasma screens transparent covering. The file glowed orange, then expanded to fill the screen. Artemis saw himself in Fowl Manor, sitting at his desk in the study.
Greetings, said the screen Artemis. How nice for to see me. Doubtless this will be the first intelligent conversation you have had for some time.
The real Artemis smiled. Correct, he replied.
I paused for a second there, continued the screen Artemis, to give you a chance to respond, thus qualifying this as a conversation. There will be no more pausing, as time is limited. Captain Holly Short is downstairs, being distracted by Juliet, but doubtless she will check on me soon. We depart for Chicago presently to deal with Mister Jon Spiro, who has stolen something from me. The price of fairy assistance in this matter is a mind wipe. All memories of the People will be erased forever, unless I can leave a message for my future self, thus prompting recall. This is that message. The following video footage contains specific details of my involvement with the fairy People. Hopefully, this information will get those brain-cell pathways sparking again.
Artemis rubbed his forehead. The vague, mysterious flashes persisted. It seemed as though his brain was ready to rebuild those pathways. All he needed was the right stimulus.
In conclusion, said the screen Artemis, I would like to wish you, myself, the best of luck. And welcome back.
The next hour passed in a blur. Images flashed from the screen, adhering to empty spaces in Artemiss brain. Each memory felt right, the instant Artemis processed it.
Of course, he thought. This explains everything. I had the mirrored contact lenses made so I could lie to thejairies and hide the existence of this journal. I fixed Mulch Diggumss search warrant so that he could return the disk to me. Butler looks older because he is older; the fairy healing in London saved his life, but cost him fifteen years.