The Arctic Incident

Root’s facial tones alternated from pastel pink to turnip purple.

“Civil rights!” he spluttered. “You’re talking to me about civil rights! Isn’t that just typical.”

Then, strangely, he calmed down. In fact, he seemed almost happy. Those who were close to the commander knew that when he was happy, somebody else was about to be extremely sad.

“What?” asked Mulch suspiciously.

Root lit one of his noxious fungus cigar.

“Oh, nothing. Just that you’re right, that’s all.”

The dwarf squinted. “I’m right? You’re saying, in front of witnesses, that I’m right.”

“Certainly you are. Putting you in the line of fire would violate every right in the book. So instead of cutting you the fantastic deal that I was about to offer, I’m going to add a couple of centuries to your sentence and throw you in maximum security.” Root paused, blowing a cloud of smoke at Mulch’s face. “In Howler’s Peak.”

Mulch paled beneath the mud caking his cheeks. “Howler’s Peak? But that’s a—”

“A goblin prison,” said the commander. “I know. But for an obvious escape risk such as yourself, I don’t think I’d have any trouble convincing the board to make an exception.”

Mulch dropped into the padded gyro chair. This wasn’t good. The last time he’d been in a cell with goblins, it hadn’t been any fun. And that had been in Police Plaza. He wouldn’t last a week in the general population.

“So what was this deal?”

Artemis smiled, fascinated. Commander Root was smarter than he looked. Then again, it would be almost impossible not to be.

“Oh, now you’re interested?

“I might be. No promises.”

“Okay, here it is. One-time offer. Don’t even bother bargaining. You get us into Koboi Labs, and I give you a two-day head start when this is over.”

Mulch swallowed. That was a good offer. They must be in a whole lot of trouble.





Police Plaza, Haven City


Things were heating up at Police Plaza. The monsters were at the door. Literally. Captain Kelp was running between stations, trying to reassure his men.

“Don’t worry, people, they can’t get through those doors with softnoses. Nothing less than some kind of missile ...”

At that moment a tremendous force buckled the main doors, like a child blowing up a paper bag. They held. Barely.

Cudgeon came rushing out of the tactical room, his commander’s acorns glinting on his breast. With his reinstatement by the Council, he had made history by becoming the only Commander in the LEP to have been appointed twice.

“What was that?”

Trouble brought up a front view on the monitors. A goblin stood there with a large tube on his shoulder.

“Bazooka of some kind. I think it’s one of the old wide-bore softnose cannons.”

Cudgeon smacked his own forehead. “Don’t tell me. They were all supposed to have been destroyed. A curse on that centaur! How did he manage to sneak all that hardware out from under my nose!”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Trouble. “He fooled all of us.”

“How much more of that can we stand?”

Trouble shrugged. “Not much. A couple more hits. Maybe they only had one missile.”

Famous last words. The doorway shook a second time. Large chunks of masonry tumbled from the marble pillars.

Trouble picked himself off the ground, magic zipping a gash on his forehead.

“Paramedics, check for casualties. Have we got those weapons charged yet?”

Grub hobbled over, hampered by the weight of two electric rifles.

“Ready to go, Captain. Thirty-two weapons. Twenty pulses each.”

“Okay. Best marksfairies only. Not one shot fired until I give the word.”

Grub nodded, his face grim and pale.

“Good, Corporal, now move it out.”

When his brother was out of earshot, Trouble spoke quietly to Commander Cudgeon.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Commander. They blew the Atlantis tunnel, so there’s no help coming from there. We can’t get a pentagram around them to stop time. We’re completely surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned. If the B’wa Kell breach the blast doors, it will be over in seconds. We have to get into that Operations Booth. Any progress?”

Cudgeon shook his head. “The techies are working on it. We have sensors pointed at every inch of the surface. If we hit on the access code, it will be blind luck.”

Trouble rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. “I need time. There must be a way to stall them.”

Cudgeon drew a white flag from inside his tunic.

“There is a way ...”

“Commander! You can’t go out there. It’s suicide.”

“Perhaps,” admitted the commander. “But if I don’t go, we could all be dead in a matter of minutes. At least this way, we’ll have a few minutes to work on the Operations Booth.”

Trouble considered it. There was no other way.

“What have you got to bargain with?”

“The prisoners in Howler’s Peak. Maybe we could negotiate some kind of controlled release.”

“The Council will never go for that.”