The Arctic Incident

Butler instructed everyone to attach themselves to the Moonbelt, one per link. Floating slightly in the buffeting wind, the group maneuvered itself to the carriage doorway like a drunken crab.

It’s simple physics, Artemis told himself. Reduced gravity will prevent us being dashed against the Arctic ice. In spite of all his logic, when Root launched the group into the night, Artemis couldn’t hold back a single gasp. Later, when he replayed the incident in his mind’s eye, Artemis would edit out the breath.

The slipstream spun them beyond the railway sleepers, into a drift. Butler turned off the antigravity belt a second before impact. Otherwise they could have bounced away like men on the moon.

Root was first to detach, scooping handfuls of snow from the surface until his fingers reached the compacted ice below. He heard a click behind his shoulder.

“Stand back,” advised Butler, taking aim with his handgun. Root obliged, shielding his eyes with a forearm. Ice slivers could blind you just as efficiently as six-inch nails. Butler put a full clip into a three-inch spread, blasting a shallow hollow in the frozen surface. Instant sleet drenched the already sodden group. Root was checking the results before the smoke cleared. They had seconds left before Holly’s time ran out. After a certain time it mightn’t be wise to attempt a graft. Even if they could.

The commander jumped into the dip, sweeping aside layers of loose ice. There was a disk of brown among the white.

“Yes,” he crowed. “Earth!”

Butler lowered Holly’s twitching form into the hole. She seemed like a doll in his powerful hands. Tiny and limp. Root curled Holly’s fingers around the illegal acorn, thrusting her left hand deep into the shattered soil. He pulled a role of tape from his belt, crudely securing the finger to roughly its original position.

The elf and two humans gathered around and waited.

“It mightn’t take,” muttered Root nervously. “This sealed acorn thing is new. Never been tested. Foaly and his ideas. But they usually work. They usually do.”

Artemis laid a hand on his shoulder. It was all he could think to do. Giving comfort was not one of his strong points.

Five seconds. Ten. Nothing.

Then ...

“Look,” cried Artemis. “A spark.”

A solitary blue spark traveled lazily along the length of Holly’s arm, winding along the veins. It crossed her chest, climbed her pointed chin and sank into the flesh right between the eyes.

“Stand back,” advised Root. “I saw a two-minute healing in Tulsa one night. Damn near destroyed an entire shuttle port. I’ve never even heard of a four-minuter.”

They backpedaled to the lip of the crater, and not a moment too soon. More sparks erupted from the earth, targeting Holly’s hand as the area most in need of assistance. They sank into her finger joint like plasma torpedoes, melting the plastic tape.

Holly shot upright, arms swinging like a puppet. Her legs began to jerk, kicking invisible enemies. Then from her vocal cords came a high-pitched keening that cracked the thinner sheets of ice.

“Is this normal?” whispered Artemis, as though Holly could hear.

“I think so,” answered the commander. “The brain is running a systems check. It’s not like fixing cuts and bruises, if you know what I mean.”

Every pore in Holly’s body started to steam, venting trace radiation. She thrashed and steamed, sinking in a pool of slush. Not a pretty sight. The water evaporated, shrouding the LEP captain in mist. Only her left hand was visible, fingers a desperate blur.

Holly suddenly stopped moving. Her hand froze, then dropped through the mist. The Arctic night rushed in to reclaim the silence.

They inched closer, leaning into the fog. Artemis wanted to see, but he was afraid to look.

Butler took a breath, batting aside sheets of mist. All was quiet below. Holly’s frame lay still as the grave.

Artemis peered at the shape in the hole.

“I think she’s awake. . . .”

He was cut short by Captain Short’s sudden return to consciousness. She bolted upright, icicles coating her eyelashes and auburn hair. Her chest ballooned as she swallowed huge gulps of air.

Artemis grabbed her shoulders, for once abandoning his shell of icy composure. “Holly. Holly, speak to me. Your finger. Is it okay?”

Holly wiggled her fingers, then curled them into a fist.

“I think so,” she said, and whacked Artemis right between the eyes. The surprised boy landed in a snowdrift for the third time that day.

Holly winked at an amazed Butler.

“Now we’re even,” she said.

Commander Root didn’t have many treasured memories. But in future days, when things were at their grimmest, he would conjure up this moment and have a quiet chuckle.





Operations Booth


Foaly woke up sore, which was unusual for him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d experienced actual pain. His feelings had been hurt a few times by Julius’s barbed comments, but actual physical discomfort was not something he cared to endure when he could avoid it.