The Arctic Incident

The craft’s occupants clutched their armrests, and more than one closed his eyes. But not Artemis. He couldn’t. There was something morbidly fascinating about flying into an uncharted tunnel at a reckless speed, with only a kleptomaniac dwarf’s word for what lay at the other end.

Holly concentrated on her instruments. Hull cameras and sensors fed information to various screens and speakers. Sonar was going crazy, beeping so fast it was almost a continuous whine. Fixed halogen headlights fed frightening images to the monitors, and laser radar drew a green 3-D line picture on a dark screen. Then of course, there was the quartz windshield. But with sheets of rock dust and larger debris, the naked eye was next to useless.

“Temperature increasing,” she muttered, glancing at the rearview monitor. An orange magma column blasted past the fissure mouth, spilling over into the tunnel.

They were in a desperate race. The fissure was closing behind them, and expanding before the craft’s prow. The noise was terrific. Thunder in a bubble.

Mulch covered his ears. “Next time, I’ll take Howler’s Peak.”

“Quiet, convict,” growled Root. “This was all your idea.”

Their arguing was interrupted by a tremendous grating sound, and a shower of sparks that danced across the windshield.

“Sorry,” apologized Captain Short. “There goes our communications array.”

She flipped the craft sideways, scraping between two shifting plates. The plates crashed behind them. A giant’s handclap.

The magma’s heat coated the rock face, dragging the plates together. A jagged edge clipped the shuttle’s rear. Butler held his weapon. It was a comfort thing.

Then they were through. Spiraling into a cavern toward three enormous titanium rods.

“There,” gasped Mulch. “The foundation rods.”

Holly rolled her eyes.

“You don’t say,” she groaned, firing the docking clamps.

Mulch had drawn another diagram. This one looked like a bendy snake.

“We’re being led by an idiot with a crayon,” said Root, with deceptive calmness.

“I got you this far, didn’t I, Julius?” pouted Mulch.

Holly was finishing the last bottle of mineral water. A good third of it went over her head.

“Don’t you dare start sulking, dwarf,” she said. “As far as I can see we’re stuck in the center of the earth, with no way out and no communications.”

Mulch backed up a step. “I can see you’re a bit tense after the flight. Let’s all calm down now, shall we?”

Nobody looked very calm. Even Artemis seemed slightly shaken by their ordeal.

“That’s the hard bit over. We’re in the foundations now. The only way is up.”

“Oh, really, convict?” said Root. “And how do you suggest we go up exactly?”

Mulch plucked a carrot from the larder, waving it at his diagram. “This here is . . .”

“A snake?”

“No, Julius. It’s one of the foundation rods.”

“The solid titanium foundation rods, sunk in impregnable bedrock?”

“The very ones. Except one isn’t solid. Exactly.”

Artemis nodded. “I thought so. You cut corners on this work, didn’t you, Mulch?”

Mulch was unrepentant. “You know what building regulations are like. Solid titanium pillars? Do you have any idea how expensive that is? Threw our estimate right off. So me and cousin Nord decided to forget the titanium packing.”

“But you had to fill that column with something,” interrupted the commander. “Koboi would have run scans.”

Mulch nodded guiltily.

“We hooked up the sewage pipes to it for a couple of days. The sonographs came up clean.”

Holly felt her throat clench. “Sewage. You mean ...”

“No. Not anymore. That was a hundred years ago, it’s just clay now. Very good clay, as it happens.”

Root’s face could have boiled a large cauldron of water. “You expect us to climb through twenty yards of . . . manure.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Hey, do I care? Stay here forever if you want, I’m going up the pipe.”

Artemis did not like this sudden turn of events. Running, jumping, injury, okay. But sewage?

“This is your plan?” he managed to mutter.

“What’s the matter, Mud Boy?” smirked Mulch. “Afraid of getting your hands dirty?”

It was only a figure of speech, Artemis knew. But true nevertheless. He glanced at his slender fingers. Yesterday morning they had been pianist’s fingers, with manicured nails. Today they could have belonged to a builder.

Holly clapped Artemis on the shoulder.

“Okay,” she declared. “Let’s do it. As soon as we save the Lower Elements, we can get back to rescuing your father.”

Holly noticed a change in Artemis’s face. Almost as if his features weren’t sure how to arrange themselves. She paused, realizing what she had said. For her, the remark had been a casual encouragement, the kind of thing an officer said every day. But it seemed as though Artemis was not accustomed to being a member of a team.

“Don’t think I’m getting chummy, or anything. It’s just that when I give my word, I stick to it.”

Artemis decided not to respond. He’d already been punched once today.