The Arctic Incident

“This is a Retimager. I’m considering going private with this baby.”


“And it does what exactly?”

Foaly activated a plasma screen on the holding-cell wall.

“You see these dark circles; these are the human’s retinas. Every image leaves a tiny etching, like a photo negative. We can feed whatever pictures we want into the computer and search for matches.”

Root didn’t exactly fall to his knees in awe. “Isn’t that handy?”

“Well, yes it is, actually. Observe.”

Foaly called up an image of a goblin, cross referencing it with the Retimager’s database.

“For every matching point we get a hit. About two hundred hits is normal. General shape of the head, features, and so on. Anything significantly above that and he’s seen that goblin before.”

One-eighty-six flashed up on the screen.

“Negative on the goblin. Let’s try a softnose.”

Again the count was under two hundred.

“Another negative. Sorry, Captain, but Master Fowl here is innocent. He’s never even seen a goblin, much less traded with the B’wa Kell.”

“They could have mind-wiped him.”

Foaly removed the seals from Artemis’s eyes. “That’s the beauty of this baby. Mindwipes don’t work. The Retimager operates on actual physical evidence. You’d have to scrub the retinas.”

“Anything on the human’s computer?”

“Plenty,” replied Foaly. “But nothing incriminating. Not a single mention of goblins or batteries.”

Root scratched his square jaw. “What about the big one? He could have been the go-between.”

“Did him already with the Retimager. Nothing. Face it, the LEP have pulled in the wrong Mud Men. Wipe ’em and send ’em home.”

Holly nodded. The commander didn’t.

“Wait a minute. I’m thinking.”

“About what?” asked Holly. “The sooner we get Artemis Fowl’s nose out of our business, the better.”

“Maybe not. Since they’re already here . . .”

Holly’s jaw dropped. “Commander. You don’t know Fowl the way I do. Give him half a chance, and he’ll be a bigger problem than the goblins.”

“Maybe he could help us with our Mud Man problem.”

“I have to object, Commander. These humans are not to be trusted.”

Root’s face would have glowed in the dark.

“Do you think I like this, Captain? Do you think I relish the idea of crawling to this Mud Boy? I do not. I would rather swallow live stink worms than ask Artemis Fowl for help. But someone is powering the B’wa Kell’s arms, and I need to find out who. So get with the program, Holly. There’s more at stake here than your little vendetta.”

Holly bit her tongue. She couldn’t oppose the commander, not after all he’d done for her, but asking Artemis Fowl for help was the wrong course of action, whatever the situation. She didn’t doubt for a minute that the human would have a solution to their problem, but at what cost?

Root drew a deep breath. “Okay, Foaly, bring him around. And fit him with a translator. Speaking Mud Man gives me a headache.”

*

Artemis massaged the puffy skin beneath his eyes.

“Sedative in the seals?” he said glancing at Foaly. “Micro needles?”

The centaur was impressed. “You’re pretty sharp for a Mud Boy.”

Artemis touched the crescent-shaped nodule fixed above his ear.

“Translator?”

Foaly nodded at the commander. “Speaking in tongues gives some people a headache.”

Artemis straightened his school tie. “I see. Now, how can I be of service?”

“What makes you think we need help from you, human?” growled Root around the butt of his cigar.

The boy smirked. “I have a feeling, Commander, that if you did not need something from me, I would be regaining consciousness in my own bed, with absolutely no memory of our encounter.”

Foaly hid his grin behind a hairy hand.

“You’re lucky you’re not waking up in a cell,” said Holly.

“Still bitter, Captain Short? Can’t we wipe the slate clean?”

Holly’s glare was all the answer he needed.

Artemis sighed. “Very well. I shall guess. There are humans trading with the Lower Elements. And you need Butler to track these merchants down. Close enough?”

The fairies were silent for a moment. Hearing it from Fowl suddenly brought the reality home to them.

“Close enough,” admitted Root. “Okay, Foaly, bring Mud Boy up to speed.”

The consultant loaded a file from the LEP central server. A series of Network News clips flashed up on the plasma screen. The reporter was a middle-aged elf with a forelock the size of a tidal wave.

“Downtown Haven,” crooned the reporter. “Another contraband seizure by the LEP. Hollywood laser disks with an estimated street value of five hundred ounces of gold. The B’wa Kell goblin triad is suspected.”

“It gets worse,” said Root grimly.

Artemis smiled. “There’s worse?”