The Artemis Fowl Files Page 3

  Unix cut selected straps, hauling Holly from the chair. He propelled her through the giant doorway, into the morning sunlight. Holly breathed deeply. The air was sweet here, but there wasn’t a moment to pause and enjoy it.

  “Why don’t you run, officer?” said Unix, his voice alternately high and low, as though half broken. “Run and see what happens.”

  “Yeah,” taunted Bobb. “See what happens.”

  Holly could guess what would happen. She would get another laser burst, this time in the back. She would not run. Not yet. What she would do was think and plan.

  They dragged and prodded Holly across two fields that sloped southward to the cliffs. The grass was sparse and rough, like clumps of missed beard after a shave. Flocks of gulls, terns, and cormorants appeared over the cliff line like fighter jets climbing to cruising altitude. Down past a thicket rampant with wildlife, Bobb stopped beside a low rock erupting through the earth. Just big enough to shelter one fairy from an easterly approach.

  “Down you go,’ he grunted, pushing Holly onto her knees.

  Once she was down, Unix clamped a manacle round her leg, hammering the spike on the other end into the earth.

  “This way, you can’t just take off,” he explained, grinning. “If we see you playing with your chain, then we knock you out for a while.” He patted the scope on the rifle strapped across his chest. “We’ll be watching.”

  The rogue fairies retraced their steps across the field, settling down into two hollows. They pulled sheets of cam foil from their packs, draping them over their frames. In seconds all that could be seen were two black-eyed gun barrels poking from beneath the sheets.

  It was a simple plan. But extremely clever. If the commander found Holly, it would seem as though she were setting herself up for an ambush. Just not a very good one. The second he showed himself, Unix and Bobb could nail him with rifle fire.

  There must be some way to warn the commander without endangering Trouble. Holly chewed it over. Use what nature provides. Nature was providing plenty, but unfortunately she couldn’t reach any of it. If she even tried, then Bobb and Unix would stun her with a low-level charge, without having to alter the basic structure of their plan. There was nothing much on her own person either. Unix had searched her from head to toe, even confiscating the digi-pen so she couldn’t try to use it as a weapon. The only thing they missed was the wafer-thin computer on her wrist, which was shorted out anyway.

  Holly lowered her arm behind the rock, peeling back the Velcro patch that protected her computer from the elements. She flipped the tiny instrument over. It seemed as though hydrogel had seeped into the seal, shorting out the electrics. She slid off the battery panel, checking the circuit board inside. A tiny drop of gel was sitting on the board, straddling several switches, making connections where there shouldn’t be any. Holly plucked a blade of coarse grass, using it to scoop up the drop. In less than a minute the remaining film of gel had evaporated and the tiny computer hummed into action. Holly quickly blacked out the panel on her chest, so Bobb and Unix wouldn’t spot the flashing cursor.

  So, now she had a computer. If she only had her helmet, she could send the commander an e-mail. As it was, all she could do was run some text across her chest.

  CHAPTER 4: BROTHERS WITH ARMS

  Tern Mór, Northern Peninsula

  JULIUS Root was surprised to find that he was breathing hard. There was a time when he could have run all day without breaking a sweat, and now his heart was battering his ribcage after a mere two-mile jog. He had parked the shuttle on a foggy cliff top on the island’s northern peak. Of course, the fog was artificial, generated by a compressor bolted onto the shuttle’s exhaust. The shuttle’s projection shield was still in operation, the fog was merely a backup.

  Root ran low, bent almost double. A hunter’s run. As he moved he felt the primal joy that only surface air could bring. The sea crashed on all sides; an everpresent behemoth, a reminder of Earth’s power. Commander Julius Root was never happier than when he was on the hunt aboveground. Strictly speaking, he could have delegated these initiations, but he wouldn’t give up these excursions until the first rookie beat him. It hadn’t happened yet.

  Nearly two hours later the commander paused, taking a deep swallow from a canteen. This hunt would have been much easier with a pair of mechanical wings, but in the name of fair play he had left the wings on their rack in the shuttle. He would not have anyone claim that he had beaten them with superior equipment.

  Root had searched all the obvious sites, and had yet to find Corporal Short. Holly had not been on the beach, or in the old quarry. Neither had she been perched in a treetop in the evergreen wood. Perhaps she was smarter than the average cadet. She would need to be. For a female to survive in Recon, she would have to rise above a lot of suspicion and prejudice. Not that the commander was tempted to cut her any slack. He would treat her with the same brash disdain that all his subordinates got. Until they earned something better.

  Root continued his search, senses alert to any change in his surroundings that could indicate he himself was being tracked. The two hundred or so species of birds that nested on Tern Mór’s crags were unusually active. Gulls screeched at him from overhead, crows followed his movements, and Julius even spotted an eagle spying at him from the heavens. All this noise made it more difficult for him to concentrate, but the distraction would be even worse for Corporal Short.

  Root jogged up a shallow incline toward the human dwelling. Short could not be inside the actual dwelling itself, but she could be using it for cover. The commander hugged the thicket, his dull green LEP jumpsuit blending with the foliage.

  Julius heard something up ahead. An irregular scraping. The noise of fabric against rock. He froze, then slowly twisted his way into the foliage itself. A disgruntled rabbit turned tail, wriggling deeper into the hedgerow. Root ignored the brambles dragging at his elbows, inching forward toward the source of the noise. It could be nothing, but on the other hand it could be everything.

  It turned out to be everything. From his shelter inside the thicket, Root could clearly see Holly hunkered behind a large rock. It wasn’t a particularly clever hiding place. She was sheltered from an easterly approach, but otherwise she was wide open. Captain Kelp was not visible, possibly filming from a raised vantage point.

  Root sighed. He was surprised to find that he was disappointed. It would have been nice to have a girl around the place. Someone new to shout at.

  Julius drew his paintball pistol, poking the barrel through spirals of briar branches. He would tag her a couple of times just to make an impression. Short had better wake up and do better if she ever wanted the Recon insignia on her lapel.

  There was no need for Root to use the sights on his helmet. It was an easy shot, barely twenty feet. And even if it hadn’t been, Root would not have used his visor. Short didn’t have electronic sights, so he wouldn’t use them either. This would give him even more to shout about after the failed initiation.

  Then Holly turned in the direction of the thicket. She still couldn’t see him, but he could see her. And even more important, he could read the words scrolling across her chest.

  TURNBALL + 2

  Commander Root drew his gun barrel back into the thicket, retreating into the blackness of the overgrowth.

  Root battled to contain his emotions. Turnball was back. And he was here. How was it possible? All the old feelings quickly resurfaced, lodging in the commander’s stomach. Turnball was his brother, and a nub of affection for him still remained. But the overriding emotion was sadness. Turnball had betrayed the People, and had been willing to see many of them die for his own profit. He had allowed his brother to escape once before; he would not let it happen again.

  Root wiggled backward through the thicket, then activated his helmet. He tried establishing a link with Police Plaza, but all he got on the helmet radio was white noise. Turnball must have detonated a jammer.

  Turnball may control the airwaves, bu
t he could not control the air itself. And any living thing would heat the air. Root lowered a thermal filter on his visor and began a slow grid search of the area behind Corporal Short.

  The commander’s search did not take too long. Two red slits shone like beacons among the pale pink of insect and rodent life teeming under the field’s surface. The slits were probably caused by a body-heat leakage from underneath two sheets of cam foil. Snipers. Lying in wait for him. These fairies were not professional. If they had been, they would have kept their gun barrels beneath the sheet until they were needed, thus eliminating the heat spill.

  Root holstered his paintball pistol, drawing instead a Neutrino 500. Usually in combat situations he carried a tri-barreled water-cooled blaster, but he hadn’t been expecting combat. He berated himself silently. Idiot. Combat does not arrange itself around schedules.

  The commander circled round behind the snipers, then put two bursts into them from a distance. This might not have been the most sporting course of action, but it was definitely the most prudent. By the time the snipers regained consciousness they would be shackled to each other in the back of a police shuttle. If by some chance he had stunned two innocents, then there would be no lasting aftereffects.

  Commander Root trotted to the first hide, drawing back the sheet of cam foil. There was a dwarf in the hollow beneath. An ugly little spud. Root recognized him from his Wanted sheet. Bobb Ragby. A nasty character. Just the kind of dim-witted felon Turnball would recruit to his cause. Root knelt by the dwarf, disarming him and zipping plasti-cuffs round his wrists and ankles.

  He quickly crossed the fifty yards to the second sniper. Another well-known fugitive: Unix B’Lob. The grounded sprite. He had been Turnball’s right-hand fairy for decades now. Root grinned tightly as he bound the unconscious sprite. Even just these two would be a good day’s work. But the day wasn’t over yet.

  Holly was surreptitiously worming the spike from the ground when Root arrived.

  “Can I give you a hand with that?” asked Julius.

  “Get down, Commander,” hissed Holly. “There are two rifles trained on you right now.”

  Root patted the guns slung over his shoulder. “You mean these rifles. I got your text. Well done.” He wrapped his fingers round the chain, yanking it from the earth. “The parameters of your assignment have changed.”

  You don’t say, thought Holly.

  Root used an omnitool to pop open the shackle. “This is no longer an exercise. We are now in a combat situation, with a hostile and presumably armed opponent.”

  Holly rubbed her ankle where the shackle had chafed. “Your brother, Turnball, has Captain Kelp in the human dwelling. He has threatened to feed him a Tunnel Blue spider if anything goes wrong with the plan.”

  Root sighed, leaning against the rock. “We can’t go inside the dwelling. If we do, not only will we get disorientated, but the arrest won’t be legal. Turnball is clever. Even if we did outsmart his goons, we couldn’t take the house.”

  “We could use laser sights and knock out the target,” suggested Holly. “Then Captain Kelp could walk out himself.”

  If the target had been anyone else besides his own brother, Root would have smiled. “Yes, Corporal Short. We could do that.”

  Root and Holly double-timed it to a ridge overlooking the human dwelling. The cottage was in a hollow, surrounded by silver birch trees.

  The commander scratched his chin. “We have to get closer. I need to get a clean shot through one of the windows. One chance may be all we get.”

  “Should I take one rifle, sir?” asked Holly.

  “No. You’re not licensed for weapons. Captain Kelp’s life is at stake here, so I need steady fingers on the trigger. And even if you did bag Turnball, it would blow our entire case.”

  “So what can I do?”

  Root checked the load in both weapons. “Stay here. If Turnball gets me, then go back to the shuttle and activate the distress signal. If help doesn’t arrive and you see Turnball coming, then set the self-destruct.”

  “But I can fly the shuttle,” protested Holly. “I have hundreds of hours on the simulators.”

  “And no pilot’s licence,” added the commander. “If you fly that thing, you may as well kiss your career good-bye. Set the self-destruct, then wait for the Retrieval squad.” He handed Holly the starter chip, which doubled as a locator. “That’s a direct order, Short, so take that insolent look off your face, it’s making me nervous. And when I get nervous I tend to fire people. Get the message?”

  “Yessir. Message understood, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Holly squatted behind the ridge while her commander threaded his way through the trees toward the house itself. Halfway down the hill, he buzzed up his shield, becoming all but invisible to the naked eye. When a fairy shielded, he vibrated so quickly that the eyes could not capture an image of him. Of course, Root would have to turn off his shield to take the shot at his brother, but that need not be until the last moment.

  Root could taste metal filings in the air, doubtless left over from the radio jammer that Turnball had detonated earlier. He stepped carefully over the uneven terrain until the front windows of the house were clearly visible. The curtains were open, but there was no sign of Turnball or Captain Kelp. Round the back then.

  Hugging the wall, the commander crept along the cracked flagstone path to the rear of the cottage. Trees lined both sides of a narrow unkempt yard. And there, perched on a stool on the flagstone patio, was his brother, Turnball, face lifted to the morning sun without a care in the world.

  Root’s breath caught and his step faltered. His only brother. Flesh of his flesh. For a moment, the commander imagined what it would be like to embrace his brother and wash away the past, but the moment quickly passed. It was too late for reconciliation. Fairies had almost died, and still could.

  Root raised his weapon, training the barrel on his brother. It was a ridiculously easy shot for even a mediocre marksman. He could not believe that his brother had been stupid enough to expose himself in this way. As he crept closer, Julius was saddened by how old Turnball looked. There was barely a century between them, and yet his older brother looked as though he had barely enough energy to stand. Longevity was part of fairy magic, and without magic, time had taken a premature hold on Turnball.

  “Hello, Julius, I can hear you there,” said Turnball, without opening his eyes. “The sun is glorious, is she not? How can you live without her? Why don’t you unshield? I haven’t seen your face for so long.”

  Root relaxed his shield and fought to keep his aim steady. “Shut up, Turnball. Just don’t speak to me. You’re a convict-to-be, that’s all. Nothing more.”

  Turnball opened his eyes. “Ah, little brother. You don’t look well. High blood pressure. No doubt brought on by hunting for me.”

  Julius couldn’t help being drawn into conversation. “Look who’s talking. You look like a rug that’s been beaten once too often. And still wearing the old LEP uniform, I see. We don’t have ruffled collars any more, Turnball. If you were still a captain, you’d know that.”

  Turnball fluffed his collar. “Is that really what you want to talk to me about, Julius? Uniforms? After all this time.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk when I visit you in prison.”

  Turnball extended his wrists dramatically. “Very well, Commander. Take me away.”

  Julius was suspicious. “Just like that? What are you up to?”

  “I’m tired,” sighed his brother. ‘I’m tired of life among the Mud People. They are such barbarians. I want to go home, even if it is to a cell. You have obviously dispatched my helpers, so what choice do I have?” Root’s soldier’s intuition was pounding like a bell clapper inside his skull. He dropped the thermal filter in his visor and saw that there was only one other fairy in the dwelling. Someone tied in a sitting position. That must be Captain Kelp.

  “And where is the delightful Corporal Short?” asked Turnball casuall
y.

  Root decided to leave himself an ace in the hole, in case he needed it. “Dead,” he spat. “Your dwarf shot her when she warned me. That’s another charge you will have to answer for.”

  “What’s another charge? I only have one life to spend in captivity. You’d better hurry up and arrest me, Julius. Because if you don’t, I may go back inside the house.”

  Julius had to think quickly. It was obvious that Turnball had something planned. And he would probably make his move when Julius zipped on the cuffs. Then again he couldn’t make a move if he was unconscious.

  Without a word of warning, the commander hit his brother with a low-level charge. Just enough to knock him out for a few moments. Turnball slumped backward, a surprised look on his face.

  Root holstered his Neutrino and hurried toward his brother. He wanted Turnball trussed like a solstice turkey when he came to. Julius took three steps, then he didn’t feel so well. A pounding headache landed on him like a lead weight from a height. Sweat popped from every pore and his sinuses were instantly blocked. What was going on here? Root dropped to his knees, then all fours. He felt like throwing up, then sleeping for eight hours. His bones had turned to jelly and his head weighed a ton. Every breath sounded amplified and distant.

  The commander stayed in that position for over a minute, completely helpless. A kitten could have knocked him over and stolen his wallet. He could only watch as Turnball regained consciousness, shook his head to dislodge the afterbuzz, then began to smile slowly.

  Turnball rose, towering above his helpless brother. “Who is the smart one?” he shouted at his stricken brother. “Who has always been the smart one?” Root could not answer. All he could do was try to marshal his thoughts. It was too late for his body: that had betrayed him.