Mayne folded his arms. “The unicorns are our cousins, Uncle. We should respect their tongue.”
Foaly moved closer to the case so the scanner could identify him and pop the locks.
“I do respect the unicorns, Mayne. But real unicorns cannot talk. That gibberish you’re spouting came from a miniseries.”
“Written by an empath,” said Mayne pointedly.
Foaly opened the case. “Listen, nephew, if you want to strap a horn to your forehead and go to conventions on the weekends, that’s completely fine. But today I need you in this universe. Understood?”
“Understood,” said Mayne, grumpily. His mood lifted when he saw what was in the case. “Are those Critters?”
“No,” said Foaly. “Critters are microorganisms. These are ARClights. The next generation.”
Mayne remembered something. “You were refused permission for trials with those, weren’t you?”
It irritated Foaly immensely that a centaur of his genius was being forced to justify himself to an assistant for the sake of relations with his sister.
“I got permission just now, from Commander Kelp. It’s all on video.”
“Wow,” said Mayne. “In that case, let’s see those little fellows in action.”
Maybe he’s not so bad, thought Foaly, keying in the activation code on an old-fashioned manual keyboard in the case.
Once the code was punched in, the case synched with the lab’s wall screen, splitting it into a dozen blank boxes. This was nothing particularly special, and would have absolutely no one clapping their hands and saying Ooooh. What would have people applauding and gushing was the swarm of miniature genetically modified dragonflies waking up inside the case. The insects shook their sleepy heads and set their wings buzzing, then lifted off in perfect synchronized formation to hover at Foaly’s eye level.
“Oooh,” said Mayne, clapping his hands.
“Just wait,” said Foaly, activating the little dragonflies’ sensors. “Prepare to be amazed.”
The cloud of dragonflies jittered as though suddenly charged, and their tiny eyes glowed green. Eleven of the twelve onscreen boxes displayed composite 3-D views of Foaly, stitched together from the viewpoint of each insect. Not only did the insects read the visible spectrum, but also infrared, UV, and thermal. A constantly updating stream of data scrolled down the side of the screens, displaying reams of information on Foaly’s heart rate, blood pressure, pulse, and gas emissions.
“These little beauties can go anywhere and see everything. They can glean information from every microbe. And all anyone can see is a swarm of dragonflies. My little ARClights could fly through the X-ray in an airport, and no one could tell they are stuffed with bio-tech. They go where I send them, and spy on who I tell them to.”
Mayne pointed at a corner of the screen. “That section is blank.”
Foaly harrumphed. “I did a trial in Fowl Manor. And Artemis somehow detected the virtually undetectable. I imagine my beauties are lying in pieces under an electron microscope in his laboratory.”
“I didn’t read that in any report.”
“No. I forgot to mention it. That trial wasn’t exactly an unqualified success, but this one will be.”
Foaly’s fingers were clicking blurs on the keyboard. “Once I program in the mission parameters, then my ARClights will have citywide surveillance restored in minutes.” Foaly instructed a single bug to land on his index finger. “You, my little fellow, are special, because you will be going to my home, just to make sure my beloved Caballine is all right.”
Mayne leaned in, peering at the little bug. “You can do that?”
Foaly wiggled his finger, and the bug flew off, winding sideways through a vent.
“I can do whatever I like. They are even coded to my voice. Watch.” Foaly leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “ARClight activation code alpha alpha one. I am Foaly. Foaly is my name. Immediate deployment to downtown Haven. Scenario three. All sections. Citywide disaster. Fly, my pretties, fly.”
The ARClights moved like a shoal of silver fish through water, gliding through the air in perfect synchronized flight, then forming into a tight cylinder and shooting through the vent. Their wings skittered against the chute wall, sending back data from every inch covered.
The theatricality appealed to Mayne’s graphic novel–loving sensibility.
“‘Fly, my pretties, fly.’ Cool. Did you make that up yourself?”
Foaly began analyzing the data that was already flooding in from his ARClights.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Every word a Foaly original.”