The Arctic Incident

It was quite possible that every enemy he had in the underworld was waiting outside that hatch, big nasty guns pointed at his head. At that point Artemis didn’t much care. He couldn’t bear one more of his own oxygen-depleted breaths or one more excruciating shock to his body.

So, Artemis Fowl poked his helmet through the plasma’s surface. He flipped the visor, savoring what could very well be his last breath. Lucky for him, the room’s occupants were looking at the view screen, watching his friends fight for their lives.

There are too many, thought Butler, rounding the corner to see a virtual army of B’wa Kell slotting fresh batteries into their weapons. The goblins, when they noticed him, began to think things like: Oh gods, it’s a troll in clothes! Or, Why didn’t I listen to Mom and stay out of the gangs?

Then Butler was above them, on the way down. He landed like the proverbial ton of bricks, but with considerably more precision. Three goblins were out cold before they knew they’d been hit. One shot himself in the foot, and several others lay down, pretending to be unconscious.

Artemis watched it all on the control room’s plasma screen, along with all the other occupants of the inner sanctum. It was entertainment to them. The goblin generals chuckled and winced as Butler decimated their men. It was all immaterial. There were hundreds of goblins in the building and no way into this room.

Artemis had seconds to decide on a course of action. Seconds. And he had no idea how to use any of this technology. He scanned the walls below him for something he could use. Anything.

There. On a small picture screen, away from the main console, was Foaly, trapped in the Operations Booth. The centaur would have a plan. He certainly had time to come up with one. Artemis knew that as soon as he emerged from the conduit, he was a target. They would kill him without hesitation.

Artemis dragged himself from within the tube, falling to earth with a thick slap. His saturated clothes slowed his progress to the monitor bank. Heads were turning, he could see them from the corner of his eye. Figures came his way. He didn’t know how many.

There was a reed mike below Foaly’s image. Artemis pressed the button.

“Foaly!” he rasped, globs of gel splatting onto the console. “Can you hear me?”

The centaur reacted instantly.“Fowl? What happened to you?”

“Five seconds, Foaly. I need a plan or we’re all dead.”

Foaly nodded curtly. “I’ve got one ready. Put me on all screens.”

“What? How?”

“Press the conference button. Yellow. A circle with lines shooting out, like the sun. Do you see it?”

Artemis saw it. He pressed it. Then something pressed him. Very painfully.

General Scalene noticed the creature flopping from the plasma pipe. What was it? A pixie? No. No, by all the gods. It was human.

“Look!” he cackled. “A Mud Man.”

The others were oblivious, too interested in the spectacle on screen. But not Cudgeon. A human in the inner sanctum. How could this be?

He seized Scalene by the shoulders. “Kill him quickly.”

All the generals were listening now. There was killing to be done.

The human stumbled to one of the consoles, and they surrounded him, tongues dangling excitedly. Sputa spun the human around to face his fate.

One by one the generals conjured fireballs around their fists, closing in for the kill. But then something made them completely forget the injured human. Cudgeon’s face had appeared on all the screens. And the B’wa Kell executives didn’t like what it was saying.

“Just when things are at their most desperate, I shall instruct Opal to return weapons control to the LEP. The B’wa Kell will be rendered unconscious, and you will be blamed for the entire affair, providing you survive, which I doubt.”

Sputa whirled on his ally.

“Cudgeon! What does this mean?”

The generals advanced, hissing and spitting.

“Treachery, Cudgeon! Treachery!”

Cudgeon was not unduly worried.

“Okay,” he said. “Treachery.”

It took Cudgeon a moment to figure out what had happened. It was Foaly. He must have recorded their conversation somehow. How tiresome. Still, you had to hand it to the centaur. He was resourceful.

Cudgeon quickly crossed to the main console, shutting off the broadcast. It wouldn’t do for Opal to hear the rest of it. Particularly the part concerning her tragic accident. He really would have to cut out this grandstanding. Still, no matter. Everything was on track.

“Treachery!” hissed Scalene.

“Okay,” admitted Cudgeon again. “Treachery.” And directly after that he said, “Computer, activate DNA cannons. Authorisation Cudgeon B. Alpha alpha two two.”

On her hoverchair, Opal spun with sheer joy, clapping her tiny hands in delight. Briar was sooo ugly, but he was sooo evil.