“These memories are part of who I am,” responded Artemis.
He examined the vials on the table, selecting two.
“Now, everybody, it’s time to put these in. I’m sure the People are eager to wipe our minds.”
Foaly’s technical crew set up shop in the conference room, laying out a complex assembly of electrodes and fiber-optic cable. Each cable was connected to a plasma screen that converted brain waves to actual binary information. In layman’s terms, Foaly would be able to read the humans’ memories like a book and edit out what shouldn’t be there. Possibly the most incredible part of the entire procedure was that the human brain itself would supply alternative memories to fill the blank spots.
“We could do the mind wipes with a field kit,” explained Foaly, once the patients were assembled. “But field kits are just for blanket wipes. It would erase everything that’s happened over the past sixteen months. That could have serious implications for your emotional development, not to mention your IQ. So it’s better that we use the lab kit and simply erase the memories that pertain to the People. Obviously we will have to erase completely the days you spent in fairy company. We can’t take any chances there.”
Artemis, Butler, and Juliet were seated around the table. Technical gnomes swabbed their temples with disinfectant.
“I’ve thought of something,” said Butler.
“Don’t tell me,” interrupted the centaur. “The age thing, right?”
Butler nodded. “A lot of people know me as a forty-year-old man. You can’t wipe them all.”
“Way ahead of you, Butler. We’re going to give your face a laser peel while you’re unconscious. Get rid of some of that dead skin. We even brought a cosmetic surgeon to give your forehead a Dewer injection, to smooth out the wrinkles.”
“Dewer?”
“Fat,” explained the centaur. “We take it from one area, and inject it into another.”
Butler was not enthused at the idea. “This fat. It doesn’t come from my behind, does it?”
Foaly shuffled uncomfortably. “Well, it doesn’t come from your behind.”
“Explain.”
“Research has shown that of all the fairy races, dwarfs have the greatest longevity. There’s a miner in Poll Dyne who is allegedly over two thousand years old. Haven’t you ever heard the expression,‘smooth as a dwarf’s bottom’?”
Butler slapped away a technician who was attempting to attach an electrode patch to his head.
“Are you telling me that fat from a dwarf’s backside is going to be injected into my head?”
Foaly shrugged. “The price of youth. There are pixies on the west bank paying a fortune for Dewer treatments.”
Butler spoke through gritted teeth. “I am not a pixie.”
“We’ve also brought some gel to color any hair you may decide to grow in the future, and some dye to cover the cell corruption on you chest,” continued the centaur hurriedly. “By the time you wake up, your exterior will look young again, even if your interior is old.”
“Clever,” said Artemis. “I expected as much.”
Holly entered with Mulch in tow. The dwarf was wearing cuffs, and looking extremely sorry for himself.
“Is this really necessary?” he whined. “After all we’ve been through?”
“My badge is on the line,” retorted Holly. “The commander said to come back with you, or not at all.”
“What do I have to do? I donated the fat didn’t I?” Butler rolled his eyes. “Please—no.” Juliet giggled. “Don’t worry, Dom. You won’t rememer a thing about it.” “Knock me out,” said Butler. “Quickly.” “Don’t mention it,” grumbled Mulch, attempting to ub his behind. Holly uncuffed the dwarf, but stayed within grabbing distance. “He wanted to say good-bye. So here we are.” She udged Mulch with her shoulder. “So say good-bye.” Juliet winked. “Bye, Smelly.” “So long, Stinker.” “Don’t go chewing through any concrete walls.” “I don’t find that kind of thing funny,” said Mulch, with pained expression. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other again.” Mulch nodded at the technicians, busy firing up their ard drives. “If we do, thanks to these people, it’ll be the first time.” Butler knelt to the dwarf’s level. “You look after yourself, little friend. Stay clear of gobins.” Mulch shuddered. “You don’t have to tell me that.” Commander Root’s face appeared on a roll-down creen erected by an LEP officer. “Maybe you two would like to get married?” he barked. “I don’t know what all the emotion is about. In ten mintes you people won’t even remember this convict’s name!”
“We have the commander online,” said a technician, a tad unnecessarily.
Mulch stared at the button camera mounted on the screen. “Julius, please. Do you realize that all of these humans owe me their lives? This is an emotional moment for them.”