The Arctic Incident

“Commander, undo Butler’s Moonbelt and strap yourselves on. I’m going to haul you both out of there.”


“Roger, Holly. Do you need a piton?”

“If you can get one out to me.”

“Standby.”

A piton dart jetted through a gap in the icy bars, landing a foot from Holly’s boots. The dart trailed a length of fine cord.

Holly snapped the piton into the cord receptacle on her own belt, making sure there were no kinks in the line. Meanwhile Artemis had dragged himself from the drift.

“This plan is patently ridiculous,” he said, brushing the snow from his sleeves. “You cannot hope to drag their combined weight with sufficient velocity to both break the icicles and avoid being crushed.”

“I’m not going to drag them,” snapped Holly.

“Well, then, what is?”

Captain Short pointed down the track. There was a green train winding its way toward them.

“That is,” she said.

There were three goblins left. Their names were D’Nall, Aymon, and Nyle. Three rookies vying for the recently vacated lieutenant’s spot. Lieutenant Poll had handed in his resignation when he’d strayed too close to the avalanche and been swatted by a one-ton pane of transparent ice.

They hovered at a thousand feet, well out of range. Of course, they weren’t out of fairy weapon range, but LEP weapons weren’t operational at the moment. Koboi Laboratories upgrades had seen to that.

“That was some hole in Lieutenant Poll,” whistled Aymon. “I could see right through ’im. An’ I don’t mean that like he was a bad liar.”

Goblins didn’t get too attached to each other. Considering the amount of backstabbing, backbiting, and general vindictiveness that went on in the B’wa Kell, it didn’t pay to make any special friends.

“What you think?” asked D’Nall, the handsome one, relatively speaking. “Maybe one of you guys should take a spin down there.”

Aymon snorted.“Sure thing. We go down and get sparked by the big one. Just how dumb do you think we are?”

“The big one is out of the picture. I sparked him myself. Sweet shot.”

“My shot set off the avalanche,” objected Nyle. The baby of the gang. “You’re always claimin’ my kills.”

“What kills? The only thing you ever killed was a stink worm. And that was an accident.”

“Rubbish,” sulked Nyle. “I meant to kill that worm. He was buggin’ me.”

Aymon swooped between the two. “All right. Keep your scales on the pair of you. All we gotta do is throw a few rounds into the survivors from up here.”

“Nice plan, genius,” sneered D’Nall. “Except it won’t work.”

“And why not?”

D’Nall pointed below with a manicured nail.

“Because they’re boarding that train.”

Four green carriages were winding in from the north, dragged along by an ancient diesel engine. A maelstrom of snow flurries coiled in its wake. Salvation, thought Holly. Or perhaps not. For some reason the mere sight of the clanking locomotive set her stomach bubbling with acid. Still, she was in no position to be choosy.

“It’s the Mayak Chemical train,” said Artemis.

Holly glanced over her shoulder. Artemis seemed even paler than usual.

“The what?”

“Environmentalists worldwide call it the Green Machine, something of an irony. It transports spent uranium and plutonium assemblies to the Mayak Chemical Combine for recycling. One driver locked up in the engine. No guards. Fully loaded, this thing is hotter than a nuclear submarine.”

“And you know about this because . . .”

Artemis shrugged. “I like to keep track of these things. After all, radiation is the world’s problem.”

Holly could feel it now. Uranium tendrils eating through the rad-gel on her cheeks. That train was poison. But it was her only chance of getting the commander out alive.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Holly muttered.

The train was closer. Obviously. Motoring along at about ten klicks. No problem for Holly on her own, but with two men down and one next-to-useless Mud Boy, it was going to take quite a feat to get on board that locomotive.

Holly spared a second to check on the goblins. They were holding steady at a thousand feet. Goblins were no good at improvisation. This train was unexpected, it would take them at least a minute to work out a new strategy. The big hole in their fallen comrade might give them further pause for thought.

Holly could feel the radiation emanating from the carriages, burning through the tiniest gap in the radiation gel, prickling her eyeballs. It was only a matter of time before her magic ran out. After that, she was living on borrowed time.

No time to think about that now. Her priority was the commander. She had to get him out of here alive. If the B’wa Kell were brazen enough to mount an operation against the LEP, there was obviously something pretty big going on underground. Whatever it was, Julius Root would be needed to spearhead the counterattack. She turned toward Artemis.

“Okay, Mud Boy. We’ve got one shot at this. Grab onto whatever you can.”