فصل سوم

Chapter 3: Nearly Departed

Police Plaza, Haven City, the Lower Elements

Captain Holly Short was up for a promotion. It was the career turnaround of the century. Less than a year had passed since she had been the subject of two internal affairs inquiries, but now, after six successful missions, Holly was the Lower Elements Police Reconnaissance squad’s golden fairy. The Council would soon meet to decide whether or not she would be the first female major in LEPrecon’s history. And to tell the truth, the prospect did not appeal to her one bit. Majors rarely got to strap on a set of wings and fly between land and stars. Instead, they spent their time sending junior officers topside on missions. Holly had made up her mind to turn down the promotion if it were offered to her. She could live with a smaller paycheck if it meant she could still see the surface on a regular basis.

Holly decided it would be wise to tell Commander Julius Root what she planned to do. After all, it was Root who had stood by her through the inquiries, and it was Root who had recommended her for promotion in the first place. The commander would not take the news well. He never took any kind of news well: even good news was received with a gruff thank-you and a slammed door.

Holly stood outside Root’s office on that morning, working up the courage to knock. And even though, at three feet exactly, she was just below the average fairy height, Holly was glad of the half inch granted by her spiky auburn hair. Before she could knock, the door was yanked open, and Root’s rosy-cheeked face appeared in the doorway.

“Captain Short!” he roared, his gray buzz cut quivering. “Get in here!” Then he noticed Holly standing beside the door. “Oh, there you are. Come in. We have a puzzle that needs solving. It involves one of our goblin friends.” Holly followed Root into the office. Foaly, the LEP’s technical adviser, was already there, close enough to the wall plasma screen to singe his nose hairs.

“Howler’s Peak video,” explained Root. “General Scalene escaped.”

“Escaped?” echoed Holly. “Do we know how?”

Foaly snapped his fingers. “D’Arvit! That’s what we should be thinking about, instead of standing around here playing I Spy.” “We don’t have time for the usual sarcastic small talk, Foaly,” snapped Root, his complexion deepening to burgundy. “This is a PR disaster. Scalene is public enemy number two, second only to Opal Koboi herself. If the journos get wind of this, we’ll be the laughingstock of Haven. Not to mention the fact that Scalene could round up a few of his goblin buddies and reactivate the triad.” Holly crossed to the screen, elbowing Foaly’s hindquarters out of the way. Her little talk with Commander Root could wait. There was police work to be done. “What are we looking at?” Foaly highlighted a section of the screen with a laser pointer. “Howler’s Peak, goblin correctional facility. Camera eighty-six.” “Which shows?”

“The visiting room. Scalene went in, but he never came out.”

Holly scanned the camera list. “No camera in the room itself?”

Root coughed, or it may have been an actual growl. “No. According to the third Atlantis convention on fairy rights, detainees are entitled to privacy in the visiting room.” “So we don’t know what went on in there?”

“Not as such, no.”

“What genius designed this system, anyway?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Root chuckled. He never could resist needling the smug centaur.

“Our horsey friend here designed the Howler’s Peak automated security system all on his own.” Foaly pouted, and when a centaur pouts, his bottom lip almost reaches his chin. “It’s not the system. The system is foolproof. Every prisoner has the standard subcutaneous seeker-sleeper in his head. Even if a goblin manages to miraculously escape, we can remotely knock them out, then pick him up.” Holly raised her palms. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that the seeker-sleeper is not broadcasting. Or, if it is, we’re not picking up the signal.” “That is a problem.”

Root lit a noxious fungal cigar. The smoke was instantly whipped away by an air recycler on his desk. “Major Kelp is out with a mobile unit, trying to get a fix on a signal.” Trouble Kelp had recently been promoted to Root’s second in command. He was not the kind of officer who liked sitting behind a desk, unlike his little brother, Corporal Grub Kelp, who would like nothing better than to be stuck behind a nice safe desk for the remainder of his career. If Holly was forced into promotion, she hoped she could be half the major that Trouble was.

Holly returned her attention to the plasma screen. “So, who was visiting General Scalene?” “One of his thousand nephews. A goblin by the name of Boohn. Apparently that means of noble brow in Goblin cant.” “I remember him,” said Holly. “Boohn. Customs and excise think he’s one of the goblins behind the B’wa Kell smuggling operation. There’s nothing noble about him.” Foaly opened a folder on the plasma screen with his laser pointer. “Here’s the visitor list. Boohn checks in at seven fifty, Lower Elements mean time. At least I can show you that on video.” A grainy screen showed a bulky goblin in the prison’s access corridor, nervously licking his eyeballs while the security laser scanned him. Once it was confirmed that Boohn wasn’t trying to smuggle anything in, the visitors’ door popped open.

Foaly scrolled down the list. “And look here. He checks out at eight fifteen.” Boohn left swiftly, obviously uncomfortable in the facility. The parking lot camera showed him reverting to all fours for a dash to his car.

Holly scanned the list carefully. “So you’re saying that Boohn checked out at eight fifteen?” “I just said that didn’t I, Holly?” replied Foaly testily. “I’ll say it again slowly. Eight fifteen.” Holly snatched the laser pointer. “Well, if that’s true, how did he manage to check out again at eight twenty?” It was true. Eight lines down on the list, Boohn’s name popped up again.

“I saw that already. It’s a glitch,” muttered Foaly. “That’s all. He couldn’t leave twice. It’s not possible. We get that sometimes, a bug, nothing more.” “Unless it wasn’t him the second time.”

The centaur folded his arms defensively. “Don’t you think I thought of that? Everyone who enters or leaves Howler’s Peak is scanned a dozen times. We take at least eighty facial points of reference with each scan. If the computer says Boohn, then that’s who it was. There’s no way a goblin beat my system. They barely have enough brainpower to walk and talk at the same time.” Holly used the pointer to review the entry video of Boohn. She enlarged his head, using a photo-manipulation program to sharpen the image.

“What are you looking for?” asked Root.

“I don’t know, Commander. Something. Anything.”

It took a few minutes, but finally Holly got it. She knew immediately that she was right. Her intuition was buzzing like a swarm of bees at the base of her neck. “Look here,” she said, enlarging Boohn’s brow. “A scale blister. This goblin is shedding.” “So?” said Foaly grumpily.

Holly reopened Boohn’s exit file. “Now look. No blister.”

“So he burst the blister. Big deal.”

“No. It’s more than that. Going in, Boohn’s skin was almost gray. Now he’s bright green. He even has a camouflage pattern on his back.” Foaly snorted. “A lot of good camouflage is in the city.”

“What’s your point, Captain?” asked Root, stubbing out his cigar.

“Boohn shed his skin in the visitors’ room. So where’s the skin?”

There was silence for a long moment as the others absorbed the implications of this question.

“Would it work?” asked Root urgently.

Foaly was almost dumbstruck. “By the gods, I think it would.”

The centaur pulled out a keyboard, his thick fingers flying across the Gnommish letters. A new video box appeared on the screen. In this box, another goblin was leaving the room. It looked a lot like Boohn. A lot, but not exactly. Something wasn’t quite right. Foaly zoomed in on the goblin’s head. At high magnification it was clear that the goblin’s skin was ill-fitting. Patches were missing altogether, and the goblin seemed to be holding folds together across his waist.

“He did it. I can’t believe it.”

“This was all planned,” said Holly. “This was no opportunistic act. Boohn waits until he’s shedding. Then he visits his uncle and they peel off his skin. General Scalene puts on the skin and just walks out the front door, fooling all your scanners on the way. When Boohn’s name shows up again, you think it’s a glitch. Simple, but completely ingenious.” Foaly collapsed into a specially designed office chair. “This is incredible. Can goblins do that?” “Are you kidding?” said Root. “A good goblin seamstress can peel a skin without a single tear. That’s what they make their clothes from, when they bother wearing any.” “I know that. I meant, could goblins think of this all on their own? I don’t think so. We need to catch Scalene and find out who planned this.” Foaly dialed a connection to the Koboi-cam in the Argon clinic. “I’m going to check that Opal Koboi is still under. This sort of thing is just her style.” A minute later, he swiveled to face Root. “Nope. Still in dreamland. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’d hate to have Opal back in circulation, but at least we’d know what we were up against.” A thought struck Holly, draining the blood from her face. “You don’t think it could be him, do you? It couldn’t be Artemis Fowl?” “Definitely not,” said Foaly. “It’s not the Mud Boy. Impossible.”

Root wasn’t convinced. “I wouldn’t be throwing that word around so much, if I were you. Holly, as soon as we catch Scalene, I want you to sign out a surveillance pack and spend a couple of days on the Mud Boy’s trail. See what he’s up to. Just in case.” “Yes, sir.”

“And you, Foaly. I’m authorizing a surveillance upgrade. Whatever you need. I want to hear every call Artemis makes, and read every letter he sends.” “But, Julius. I supervised his mind wipe myself. It was a sweet job. I scooped out his fairy memories cleaner than a goblin sucking a snail out of its shell. If we were to turn up at Artemis’s front door dancing the cancan, he still wouldn’t remember us. It would take some kind of planted trigger to initiate even partial recall.” Root did not appreciate being argued with. “One, don’t call me Julius. Two, do what I say, horsey boy, or I’ll have your budget slashed. And three, what in Frond’s name is the cancan?” Foaly rolled his eyes. “Forget it. I’ll organize the upgrades.”

“Wise move,” said Root, plucking a vibrating phone from his belt. He listened for several seconds, grunting affirmatives into the speaker.

“Forget Fowl for the moment,” he said, closing the phone. “Trouble has located General Scalene. He’s in E37. Holly, you’re with me. Foaly, you follow us in the tech shuttle. Apparently the general wants to talk.” Haven City was waking up for morning trade. Although to call it morning was a bit misleading, as there was only artificial light this far underground. By human standards, Haven was barely more than a village, having fewer than ten thousand inhabitants. But in fairy terms, Haven was the largest metropolis since the original Atlantis, most of which lay buried beneath a three-story shuttle dock in the new Atlantis.

Commander Root’s LEP cruiser cut through the rush-hour traffic, its magnetic field automatically shunting other vehicles out of the way into slots in the slow lane. Root and Holly sat in the back, wishing the journey away. This situation was becoming stranger by the minute. First of all, Scalene escapes, and now his locator shows up and he wants to talk to Commander Root.

“What do you make of this?” asked Root eventually. One of the reasons he made such a fine commander was that he respected his officers’ opinions.

“I don’t know. It could be a trap. Whatever happens, you can’t go in there alone.” Root nodded. “I know. Even I am not that stubborn. Anyway, Trouble will probably have the situation secured by the time I get there. He doesn’t like waiting around for the brass to arrive. Like someone else I know, eh, Holly?” Holly half grinned, half grimaced. She had been reprimanded more than once for ignoring the order to wait for reinforcements.

Root raised the soundproof barrier between them and the driver.

“We need to talk, Holly. About the major thing.”

Holly looked her superior in the eyes. There was a touch of sadness in them.

“I didn’t get it,” she blurted, unable to hide her relief.

“No. No, you did get it. Or you will. The official announcement is tomorrow. The first female major in Recon history. Quite an achievement.” “But, Commander, I don’t think that…”

Root silenced her with a wave of his finger. “I want to tell you something, Holly. About my career. It’s actually a metaphor for your career, so listen carefully and see if you can figure it out. Many years ago, when you were still wearing one-piece baby suits with padded backsides, I was a hotshot Recon jock. I loved the smell of fresh air. Every moment I spent in the moonlight was a golden moment.” Holly had no trouble putting herself in the commander’s shoes. She felt exactly the same way about her own surface trips.

“So I did my job as well as I could—a little bit too well, as it happened. One day I went and got myself promoted.” Root clamped a purifier globe around the end of a cigar so the smell would not stink up the car. It was a rare gesture.

“Major Julius Root. It was the last thing I wanted, so I marched into my commander’s office and told him so. ‘I’m a field fairy,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to sit behind a desk filling out e-forms.’ Believe it or not, I got quite agitated.” Holly tried to look amazed, but couldn’t pull it off. The commander spent most of his time in an agitated red-faced state, which explained his nickname, Beetroot.

“But my commander said something that changed my mind. Do you want to know what that was?” Root plowed on with his story without waiting for an answer. “My commander said, ‘Julius, this promotion is not for you; it’s for the People.’” Root raised one eyebrow. “Do you see what I’m getting at?” Holly knew what he meant. It was the flaw in her argument.

Root placed a hand on her shoulder. “The People need good officers, Holly. They need fairies like you to protect them from the Mud Men. Would I prefer to be zipping around under the stars with the wind in my nostrils? Yes. Would I do as much good? No.” Root paused to suck deeply on his cigar, the glow illuminated the purifier globe. “You’re a good Recon officer, Holly. One of the best I’ve seen. A bit impulsive at times, not much respect for authority, but an intuitive officer, nonetheless. I wouldn’t dream of taking you off the front lines if I didn’t think you could serve the LEP better belowground. Do you understand?” “Yes, Commander,” said Holly glumly. He was right, even if her selfish side wasn’t ready to accept it just yet. At least she had the Fowl surveillance to look forward to before her new job anchored her in the lower elements.

“There is a perk to being a major,” said Root. “Sometimes, just to relieve the boredom, you can give yourself an assignment. Something on the surface. In Hawaii, maybe, or New Zealand. Look at Trouble Kelp. He’s a new breed of major, more hands-on. Maybe that’s what the LEP needs.” Holly knew that the commander was trying to soften the blow. As soon as the major’s acorns were on her lapel, she wouldn’t get aboveground as much as she did now. If she was lucky.

“I’m putting my neck on the block here, Holly, recommending you for major. Your career so far has been, eventful, to say the least. If you intend to turn the promotion down, tell me now and I’ll withdraw your name.” Last chance, thought Holly. Now or never.

“No,” she said. “I won’t turn it down. How could I? Who knows when the next Artemis Fowl will turn up?” In Holly’s ears, her voice sounded distant, as though someone else were speaking. She imagined the bells of lifelong boredom clanging behind her every word. A desk job. She had a desk job.

Root patted her on the shoulder, his huge hand knocking the air from her lungs. “Cheer up, Captain. There is life belowground, you know.” “I know,” Holly said with an utter lack of conviction.

The police cruiser pulled in beside E37. Root opened the car door, began to disembark, then stopped.

“If it makes any difference,” he said quietly, almost awkwardly, “I’m proud of you, Holly.” And he was gone, out the door and into the throng of LEP officers training their weapons on the chute entrance.

It does make a difference, thought Holly, watching the commander instantly take command of the situation. A big difference.

The chutes were natural magma vents that stretched from the earth’s core to the planet’s surface. Most emerged under water, supplying warm streams that nurtured deep-sea life, but some filtered their gasses through the network of cracks and fissures that riddled the dry land surface. The LEP used the power of magma flares to propel their officers to the surface in titanium eggs. A more leisurely shuttle trip could be taken in a dormant chute. E37 emerged in downtown Paris, and until recently, had been the chute used by goblins in their smuggling operations. Closed to the public for many years, the chute’s terminal had fallen into disrepair. Currently, E37’s only occupants were the members of a movie company that was making a TV film about the B’wa Kell rebellion. Holly was being portrayed by three-time AMP winner Skylar Peat, and Artemis Fowl was to be completely computer generated.

When Holly and Root arrived, Major Trouble Kelp had three squads of tactical LEP arranged around the terminal’s entrance.

“Fill me in, Major,” ordered Root.

Kelp pointed to the entrance. “We have one way in, and no way out. All the secondary entrances have long since subsided, so if Scalene is in there, he has to go through us to go home.” “Are we sure he’s there?”

“No,” admitted Major Kelp. “We picked up his signal. But whoever helped him to escape could have sliced open his head and removed the transmitter. All we know for sure is that someone is playing games with us. I sent in a couple of my best Recon sprites and they came back with this.” Trouble handed them a sound wafer. The wafers were the size of a thumbnail and were generally used to record short birthday greetings. This one was in the shape of a birthday cake. Root closed his fingers around the wafer. The heat from his hand would power its microcircuits.

A sibilant voice issued from the tiny speaker, made even more reptilian by the cheap wiring.

“Root,” said the voice. “I would speak to you. I would tell you a great secret. Bring the female, Holly Short. Two only, no more. Any more, and many will die. My comrades will see to it…” The message ended with a traditional birthday jingle, its cheeriness at odds with the message.

Root scowled. “Goblins. Drama queens, the lot of them.”

“It’s a trap, Commander,” said Holly without hesitation. “We were the ones at Koboi Labs a year ago. The goblins hold us responsible for the rebellion’s failure. If we go in there, who knows what’s waiting for us.” Root nodded approvingly. “Now you’re thinking like a major. We’re not expendable. So what are our options, Trouble?” “If you don’t go in, many will die. If you do, you might.”

“Not a nice set of options. Don’t you have anything good to tell me?”

Trouble lowered his helmet’s visor, consulting a mini-screen on the Perspex. “We managed to get the terminal’s security scanners back online and ran substance and thermal scans. We found a single heat source in the access tunnel, so Scalene is alone, if it’s him. Whatever he’s doing in there, he doesn’t have any known form of weaponry or explosives. Just a few beetle bars and some good old H2O.” “Any magma flares due?” asked Holly.

Trouble ran his index finger along a pad on his left glove, scrolling down the screen on his visor. “Nothing for a couple of months. That chute is intermittent. So Scalene is not planning to bake you.” Root’s cheeks glowed like two heating coils. “D’Arvit,” he swore. “I thought our goblin troubles were over. I’m tempted just to send in tactical and take a chance that Scalene is bluffing.” “That would be my advice,” said Trouble. “He doesn’t have anything in there that could harm you. Give me five fairies, and we’ll have Scalene in a wagon before he knows he’s been arrested.” “I take it the sleeper half of the seeker-sleeper is not working?” said Holly.

Trouble shrugged. “We have to suppose it’s not. The seeker-sleeper didn’t function until now, and when we got here the wafer was left out for us. Scalene knew we were coming. He even left a message.” Root punched his palm with a fist. “I have to go in. There’s no immediate danger inside, and we can’t assume that Scalene hasn’t come up with a way to carry out his threat. I don’t have a choice, not really. I won’t order you to come with me, Captain Short.” Holly felt her stomach lurch, but she swallowed the fear. The Commander was right. There was no other way. This was what being an LEP officer was all about. Protecting the People.

“You don’t have to order me, Commander. I volunteer.”

“Good. Now, Trouble, let Foaly and his shuttle through the barricade. We may have to go in, but we don’t have to go in armed.” * * *

Foaly had more weaponry crammed into the back of a single shuttle than most human police forces had in their entire arsenal. Every inch of wall space had a power cable screwed into it or a rifle dangling from a hook. The centaur sat in the center, fine-tuning a Neutrino handgun. He tossed it to Holly as she entered the van.

She caught it deftly. “Hey, careful with that.”

Foaly snickered. “Don’t worry. The trigger hasn’t been coded yet. Nobody can fire this weapon until its computer registers an owner. Even if this weapon did fall into goblin hands, it would be useless to them. One of my latest developments. After the B’wa Kell rebellion, I thought it was time to upgrade our security.” Holly wrapped her fingers around the pistol’s grip. A red scanner light ran the length of the plastic butt, then switched to green.

“That’s it. You’re the owner. From now on that Neutrino 3000 is a one-female gun.” Holly hefted the transparent gun in her fist. “It’s too light. I prefer the 2000.” Foaly brought the gun’s specifications up on a wall screen. “It’s light, but you’ll get used to it. On the plus side, there are no metal parts. It’s powered by kinetics, the motion of your body, with a backup mini-nuke cell. Naturally it’s linked to a targeting system in your helmet. The casing is virtually impregnable, and if I do say so myself, it’s a cool piece of hardware.” Foaly passed a larger version of the gun to Root. “Every shot is registered on the LEP computer, so we can tell who fired, when they fired, and in what direction. That should save internal affairs a lot of computer time.” He winked at Holly. “Something you’ll be glad to hear.” Holly leered back at the centaur. She was well known to IA. They had already conducted two inquiries into her professional conduct, and would just love the opportunity to conduct a third. The one good thing about being promoted would be the looks on their faces when the commander pinned those major’s acorns to her lapel.

Root holstered his weapon. “Okay. Now we can shoot. But what if we get shot?” “You won’t get shot,” insisted Foaly. “I’ve hacked into the terminal scanners, I’ve planted a couple of sensors of my own, too. There’s nothing in there that can harm you. Worst-case scenario, you trip over your own feet and get a sprained ankle.” Root’s complexion reddened all the way down his neck. “Foaly, do I have to remind you that your sensors have been fooled before, in this very terminal, if I remember correctly.” “Okay, okay. Take it easy, Commander,” said Foaly under his breath. “I haven’t forgotten about last year. How could I with Holly reminding me every five minutes?” The centaur hefted two sealed suitcases onto a workbench. He keyed in a number sequence on their security pads and popped the lids. “These are the next-generation Recon suits. I was planning to unveil them at the LEP conference next month, but with a real-live commander going into action, you better have them today.” Holly pulled a jumpsuit from the case. It glittered briefly, then turned the color of the van walls.

“The fabric is actually woven from cam-foil, so you are virtually hidden all the time. It saves you using your magical shield,” explained Foaly. “Of course the function can be turned off. The wings are built into this suit. A completely retractable whisper design, a brand-new concept in wing construction. They take their power from a cell on your belt, and of course each wing is coated with mini-solars for aboveground flights. The suits also have their own pressure equalizers; now you can go directly from one environment to another without getting the bends.” Root held the second suit before him. “These must cost a fortune.”

Foaly nodded. “You have no idea. Half of my research budget for last year went to developing those suits. They won’t replace the old suit for five years at least. Those two are the only operational models we have, so I would appreciate getting them back. They are shockproof, fire resistant, invisible to radar, and relay a continuous stream of diagnostic information back to Police Plaza. The current LEP helmet sends us basic vitals data, but the new suit sends a second stream of information that can tell us if your arteries are blocked, diagnose fractured bones, and even detect dry skin. It’s a flying clinic. There’s even a bulletproof plate on the chest, in case a human shoots at you.” Holly held the suit before a green plasma screen. The cam-foil instantly turned emerald.

“I like it,” she said. “Green is my color.”

Trouble Kelp had commandeered spotlights left on-site by the movie company and directed them into the shuttleport’s lower level. The stark light picked up every floating speck of dust, giving the entire departures area an underwater feel. Commander Root and Captain Short edged into the room, weapons drawn and visors down.

“What do you think of the suit?” asked Holly, automatically keeping track of the various displays on the inside of her visor. LEP trainees often had difficulty developing the double focus needed to watch the terrain and their helmet screens. This often resulted in an action known as filling the vase, which was how LEP officers referred to throwing up in one’s helmet.

“Not bad,” replied Root. “Light as a feather, and you wouldn’t even know you were wearing wings. Don’t tell Foaly I said that; his head is swelled enough as it is.” “No need to tell me, Commander,” said Foaly’s voice in his earpiece. The speakers were a new gel-vibration variety, and it sounded as though the centaur was in the helmet with him. “I’m with you every step of the way, from the safety of the shuttle, of course.” “Of course,” said Root dourly.

The pair advanced cautiously past a line of check-in booths. Foaly had assured them that there was no possible danger in this area of the terminal, but the centaur had been wrong before. And mistakes in the field cost lives.

The film company had decided that the actual dirt in the terminal was not authentic enough, and so had sprayed piles of gray foam in various corners. They had even added a doll’s head to one mound. A poignant touch, or so they thought. The walls and escalator were blackened with fake laser burns.

“Quite a shooting match,” said Root, grinning.

“Slightly exaggerated. I doubt if half a dozen shots were fired.”

They proceeded through the embarkation area into the docking zone. The original shuttle used by the goblins in their smuggling runs had been resurrected and lay in the docking bay. The shuttle had been painted gloss black to make it seem more menacing, and a goblinesque decorated prow had been added to its nose.

“How far?” said Root into his mike.

“I’m transferring the thermal signature to your helmets,” replied Foaly.

Seconds later a schematic appeared in their visors. The plan was slightly confusing, as, in effect, they were looking down on themselves. There were three heat sources in the building. Two were close together, moving slowly toward the chute itself: Holly and the commander. The third figure was stationary in the access tunnel. Inches past the third figure, the thermoscan was whited out by the ambient heat from E37.

They reached the blast doors: seven feet of solid steel that separated the access tunnel from the rest of the terminal. Shuttles and eggs would glide in on a magnetized rail, to be dropped into the chute itself. The doors were sealed.

“Can you open these remotely, Foaly?”

“But of course, Commander. I have managed, quite ingeniously, to marry my operating system with the terminal’s old computers. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds—” “I’ll take your word for it,” said the commander, cutting Foaly off. “Just push the button, before I come out there and push it with your face.” “Some things never change,” muttered Foaly, pushing the button.

The access tunnel smelled like a blast furnace. Ancient swirls of melted ore hung from the roof, and the ground underfoot was cracked and treacherous. Each footfall punctured a crust of soot, leaving a trail of deep footprints. There was another set of footprints leading to the shadowy figure huddled on the ground a few feet from the chute itself.

“There,” said Root.

“Got him,” said Holly, resting the bull’s-eye of her laser sight on the figure’s trunk.

“Keep him covered,” ordered the commander. “I’m going down.”

Root advanced along the tunnel, keeping well out of Holly’s line of fire. If Scalene did make a move, Holly would need a clear shot. But the general (if it was him) squatted immobile, his spine curled along the tunnel wall. His frame was covered by a full-length hooded cape.

The commander turned on his helmet PA, so he could be heard above the howl of core wind.

“You there. Stand facing the wall. Place your hands on your head.”

The figure did not move. Holly had not expected it to. Root stepped closer, always cautious, knees bent, ready to dive to one side. He poked the figure’s shoulder with his Neutrino 3000.

“On your feet, Scalene.”

The poke was sufficient to knock the figure sideways. The goblin keeled over, landing faceup on the tunnel floor. Soot flakes fluttered around him like disturbed bats. The hood flopped to one side, revealing the figure’s face: most important, the eyes.

“It’s him,” said Root. “He’s been mesmerized.”

The general’s slitted eyes were bloodshot and vacant. This was a serious development, as it confirmed that somebody else had planned the escape, and Holly and Root had walked into a trap.

“I recommend we leave,” said Holly. “Immediately.”

“No,” said Root, leaning over the goblin. “Now that we’re here, we might as well take Scalene back with us.” He placed his free hand on the goblin’s collar, preparing to haul him to his feet. Later, Holly would record in her report that it was at that precise moment when things began to go terribly wrong. What had been a routine, albeit strange, assignment, suddenly became an altogether more sinister affair.

“Do not touch me, elf,” said a voice. A hissing goblin voice. Scalene’s voice. But how could that be? The general’s lips had not moved.

Root reared back, then steadied himself. “What’s going on here?”

Holly’s soldier’s sense was buzzing at the base of her neck.

“Whatever it is, we won’t like it. We should go, Commander, right now.”

Root’s features were thoughtful. “That voice came from his chest.”

“Maybe he had surgery,” said Holly. “Let’s get out of here.”

The commander reached down a hand, flipping Scalene’s cape aside. There was a metal box strapped to the general’s chest. The box was a foot square with a small screen in the center. There was a shadowy face on the screen, and it was talking.

“Ah, Julius,” it said in Scalene’s voice. “I knew you’d come. Commander Root’s famous ego would not allow him to stay out of the action. An obvious trap, and you walked straight into it.” The voice was definitely Scalene’s, but there was something about the phrasing, the cadence. It was too sophisticated for a goblin. Sophisticated and strangely familiar.

“Have you figured it out yet, Captain Short?” said the voice. A voice that was changing. Slipping into a higher register. The tones were no longer male, not even goblin. That’s a female talking, thought Holly. A female that I know.

A face appeared on the screen. A beautiful and malicious face. Eyes bright with hate. Opal Koboi’s face. The rest of the head was swathed in bandages, but the features were only too visible.

Holly began to speak rapidly into her helmet mike. “Foaly, we have a situation here. Opal Koboi is loose. I repeat, Koboi is loose. This whole thing is a trap. Cordon off the area, sixteen-hundred-foot perimeter, and bring in the medical warlocks. Someone is about to get hurt.” The face on the screen laughed, tiny pixie teeth glinting like pearls.

“Talk all you want, Captain Short. Foaly can’t hear you. My device has blocked your transmissions as easily as I blocked your seeker-sleeper and the substance scan that I assume you ran. Your little centaur friend can see you, though. I left him his precious lenses.” Holly immediately zoomed in on Opal’s pixelated face. If Foaly got a shot of the pixie, he would figure out the rest.

Again Koboi laughed. Opal was genuinely enjoying herself. “Oh very good, Captain. You were always a smart one. Relatively speaking, of course. Show Foaly my face and he will initiate an alert. Sorry to disappoint you, Holly, but this entire device is constructed from stealth ore and is practically invisible to the artificial eye. All Foaly will see is a slight shimmer of interference.” Stealth ore had been developed for space vehicles. It absorbed every form of wave or signal known to fairy or man, and so was virtually invisible to everything but the naked eye. It was also incredibly expensive to manufacture. Even the small amount necessary to cover Koboi’s device would have cost a warehouse full of gold.

Root straightened quickly. “The odds are against us here, Captain. Let’s move out.” Holly didn’t bother with relief. Opal Koboi wouldn’t make things that easy. There was no way they were just walking out of here. If Foaly could hijack the terminal’s computers, then so could Koboi.

Opal’s laugh stretched to an almost hysterical screech. “Move out? How very tactical of you, Commander. You really need to expand your vocabulary. Whatever next? Duck and cover?” Holly peeled back a Velcro patch on her sleeve, revealing a Gnommish keyboard. She quickly accessed her helmet’s LEP criminal database, opening Opal Koboi’s file in her visor.

“Opal Koboi,” said Corporal Frond’s voice. The LEP always used Frond for voice-overs and recruitment videos. She was glamorous and elegant, with flowing blond tresses and inch-long manicured nails that were absolutely no use in the field. “LEP enemy number one. Currently under guard in the J. Argon Clinic. Opal Koboi is a certified genius, scoring over three hundred on the standardized IQ test. She is also a suspected megalomaniac, with an obsessive personality. Studies indicate that Koboi may be a pathological liar, and suffers from mild schizophrenia. For more detailed information, please consult the LEP central library on the second floor of Police Plaza.” Holly closed the file. An obsessive genius and a pathological liar. Just what they needed. The information didn’t help much; it pretty much told her what she already knew. Opal was loose, she wanted to kill them, and she was smart enough to figure out how to do it.

Opal was still enjoying her triumph. “You don’t know how long I have waited for this moment,” the pixie said, then paused. “Actually, you do know. After all, you were the ones who wrecked my plan. And now I have you both.” Holly was puzzled. Opal might have serious mental issues, but that could not be confused with stupidity. Why would she prattle on? Was she trying to distract them?

The same thing occurred to Root. “Holly! The doors!”

Holly whirled around to see the blast doors sliding across, the sound of their engines masked by core wind. If those doors closed they would be completely cut off from the LEP, and at the mercy of Opal Koboi.

Holly targeted the magnetic rollers along the doors’ upper rim, sinking blast after blast from her Neutrino into their mechanisms. The doors jerked in their housings, but did not stop. Two of the rollers blew out, but the massive portals’ momentum carried them together. They connected with an ominous bong.

“Alone at last,” said Opal, sounding for all the world like an innocent college fairy on her first date.

Root pointed his weapon at the device belted around Scalene’s middle, as if he could somehow hurt Koboi.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“You know what I want,” replied Opal. “The question is, how am I going to get it? What form of revenge would be the most satisfying? Naturally, you will both end up dead, but that’s not enough. I want you to suffer as I did. Discredited and despised. One of you at least; the other will have to be sacrificed. I don’t really care which.” Root retreated to the blast doors, motioning for Holly to follow. “Options?” he whispered, his back to Koboi’s device.

Holly raised her visor, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. The helmets were air-conditioned, but sometimes sweating had nothing to do with temperature.

“We have to get out of here,” she said. “The chute is the only way.”

Root nodded. “Agreed. We fly up far enough to clear Koboi’s blocker signal, then alert Major Kelp.” “What about Scalene? He’s mesmerized to the gills; he can’t look after himself. If we do escape, Opal is not going to leave him around as evidence.” It was basic criminal logic. Your typical take-over-theworld types are not averse to knocking off a few of their own if it means a clean getaway.

Root actually growled. “It really tugs my beard to put us in harm’s way over a goblin, but that’s the job. We take Scalene with us. I want you to sink a few charges into that box around his waist, and when the buzzing stops, I throw him over my shoulder and we’re off up E37.” “Understood,” said Holly, lowering the setting on her weapon to minimum. Some of the charge would be transferred to Scalene, but it wouldn’t do much more than dry up his eyeballs for a couple of minutes.

“Ignore the pixie. Whatever she says, keep your mind on the job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Root took several deep breaths. Somehow it calmed Holly to see the commander as nervous as she was. “Okay. Go.” The two elves turned and strode rapidly toward the unconscious goblin.

“Have we come up with a little plan?” said Koboi, mocking them from the small screen. “Something ingenious, I hope. Something I haven’t thought of?” Grim-faced, Holly tried to shut out the words, but they wormed their way into her thoughts. Something ingenious? Hardly. It was simply the only option open to them. Something Koboi hadn’t thought of? Doubtful. Opal conceivably could have been planning this for almost a year. Were they just about to do exactly what she wanted?

“Sir…” began Holly, but Root was already in position beside Scalene.

Holly fired six charges at the small screen. All six impacted on Koboi’s pixelated features. Opal’s image disappeared in a storm of static. Sparks squeezed between the metal seams and acrid smoke leaked through the speaker grid.

Root hesitated for a moment, allowing any charge to disperse, then grabbed Scalene firmly by the shoulders.

Nothing happened.

I was wrong, thought Holly, releasing a breath she did not realize she’d been holding. I was wrong, thank the gods. Opal has no plan. But it wasn’t true, and Holly didn’t really believe it.

The box around Scalene’s midriff was secured by a set of octo-bonds, eight telescoping cables often used by the LEP to restrain dangerous criminals. They could be locked and unlocked remotely, and once cinched, could not be removed without the remote or an angle grinder. As soon as Root leaned over, the octo-bonds released Scalene and whiplashed around the commander’s torso, releasing Scalene and drawing the metal box tight to Root’s own chest.

Koboi’s face appeared on the reverse side of the box. The smokescreen had been just that: a smokescreen.

“Commander Root,” she said, almost breathless with malice. “It looks like you’re the sacrifice.” “D’Arvit!” swore Root, beating the metal box with the butt of his pistol. The cords tightened until Root’s breath came in agonized spurts. Holly heard more than one rib crack. The commander fought the urge to sink to his knees. Magical blue sparks played around his torso, automatically healing the broken bones.

Holly rushed forward to help, but before she could reach her superior officer, an urgent beeping began to emanate from the device’s speaker. The closer she got, the louder the beep.

“Stay back,” grunted Root. “Stay back. It’s a trigger.”

Holly stopped in her sooty tracks, punching the air in frustration. But the commander was probably right. She had heard of proximity triggers before. Dwarfs used them in the mines. They would set a charge in the tunnels, activate a proximity trigger, and then set it off from a safe distance, using a stone.

Opal’s face reappeared on the screen.

“Listen to your Julius, Captain Short,” advised the pixie. “This is a moment for caution. Your commander is quite right: the tone you hear is indeed a proximity trigger. If you come too close, he will be vaporized by the explosive gel packed into the metal box.” “Stop lecturing and tell us what you want,” snarled Root.

“Now, now, Commander, patience. Your worries will be over soon enough. In fact they are already over, so why don’t you just wait quietly while your final seconds tick away.” Holly circled the commander, keeping the beep constant, until her back was to the chute. “There’s a way out of this, Commander,” she said. “I just need to think. I need a minute to sort things out.” “Let me help you to sort things out,” said Koboi mockingly, her childlike features ugly with malice. “Your LEP comrades are currently trying to laser their way in here. Of course they will never make it in time. But you can bet that my old school chum, Foaly, is glued to his video screen. So what does he see? He sees his good friend Holly Short apparently holding a gun on her commander. Now why would she want to do that?” “Foaly will figure it out,” said Root. “He beat you before.”

Opal remote-tightened the octo-bonds, forcing the commander to his knees. “Maybe he would figure it out at that. If he had time. But unfortunately for you, time is almost up.” On Root’s chest, a digital readout flickered to life. There were two numbers on the readout. A six and a zero. Sixty seconds.

“One minute to live, Commander. How does that feel?”

The numbers began ticking down.

The ticking and the beeping and Opal’s snide sniggers drilled into Holly’s brain. “Shut it down, Koboi. Shut it down, or I swear I’ll…” Opal’s laughter was unrestrained. It echoed through the access tunnel like the attack screech of a harpy.

“You will what? Exactly. Die beside your commander?”

More cracks. More ribs broken. The blue sparks of magic circled Root’s torso like stars caught in a whirlwind.

“Go now,” he grunted. “Holly. I am ordering you to leave.”

“With respect, Commander. No. This isn’t over yet.”

“Forty-eight,” said Opal in a happy singsong voice. “Forty-seven.”

“Holly! Go!”

“I’d listen if I were you,” said Koboi. “There are other lives at stake. Root is already dead; why not save someone who can be saved?” Holly moaned. Another element in an already overloaded equation.

“Who can I save? Who’s in danger?”

“Oh, no one important. Just a couple of Mud Men.”

Of course, thought Holly: Artemis and Butler. Two others who had put a stop to Koboi’s plan.

“What have you done, Opal?” said Holly, shouting above the proximity trigger and core wind.

Koboi’s lip drooped, mimicking a guilty child. “I’m afraid I may have put your human friends in danger. At this very moment they are stealing a package from the International Bank in Munich. A little package I prepared for them. If Master Fowl is as clever as he is supposed to be, he won’t open the package until he reaches the Kronski Hotel and can check for booby traps. Then a bio-bomb will be activated, and bye-bye obnoxious humans. You can stay here and explain all this; I’m sure it won’t take more than a few hours to sort out with Internal Affairs. Or you can try to rescue your friends.” Holly’s head reeled. The commander, Artemis, Butler. All about to die. How could she save them? There was no way to win.

“I will hunt you down, Koboi. For you, there won’t be a safe inch on the planet.” “Such venom. What if I gave you a way out? One chance to win.”

Root was on his knees now, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. The blue sparks were gone; he was out of magic.

“It’s a trap,” he gasped, every syllable making him wince. “Don’t be fooled again.” “Thirty,” said Koboi. “Twenty-nine.”

Holly felt her forehead throb against the helmet pads. “Okay. Okay, Koboi. Tell me quickly. How do I save the commander?” Opal took a deep theatrical breath. “On the device. There’s a sweet spot. One inch diameter. The red dot below the screen. If you hit that spot from outside the trigger area, then you overload the circuit. If you miss, even by a hair, you set off the explosive gel. It’s a sporting chance; more than you gave me, Holly Short.” Holly gritted her teeth. “You’re lying. Why would you give me a chance?”

“Don’t take the shot,” said Root, strangely calm. “Just get out of range. Go and save Artemis. That’s the last order I’ll ever give you, Captain. Don’t you dare ignore it.” Holly felt as though her senses were being filtered through three feet of water. Everything was blurred and slowed down.

“I don’t have any choice, Julius.”

Root frowned. “Don’t call me Julius! You always do that just before you disobey me. Save Artemis, Holly. Save him.” Holly closed one eye and aimed her pistol. The laser sights were no good for this kind of accuracy. She would have to do it manually.

“I’ll save Artemis next,” she said. Holly took a deep breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger.

Holly hit the red spot. She was certain of it. The charge sank into the device, spreading across the metal face like a tiny bushfire.

“I hit it,” she shouted at Opal’s image. “I hit the spot.”

Koboi shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought you were a fraction low. Hard luck. I mean that sincerely.” “No!” screamed Holly.

The countdown on Root’s chest ticked faster than before, flickering through the numbers. There were mere moments left now.

The commander struggled to his feet, raising the visor on his helmet. His eyes were steady and fearless. He smiled gently at Holly. A smile that laid no blame. For once there wasn’t even a touch of feverish temper in his cheeks.

“Be well,” he said, and then an orange flame blossomed in the center of his chest.

The explosion sucked the air from the tunnel, feeding on the oxygen. Multicolored flames roiled like the plumage of battling birds. Holly was shunted backward by a wall of shock waves, the force impacting every surface facing the commander. Microfilaments blew in her suit as they were overloaded with heat and force. The camera cylinder on her helmet popped right out of its groove, spinning into E37.

Holly herself was borne bodily into the chute, spinning like a twig in a cyclone. Sonix sponges in her earpieces sealed automatically as the sound of the explosion caught up with the blast. The commander had disappeared inside a ball of flame. He was gone, there was no doubt about it. Even magic could not help him now. Some things are beyond fixing.

The contents of the access tunnel, including Root and Scalene, disintegrated into a cloud of shrapnel and dust, particles ricocheting off the tunnel walls. The cloud surged down the path of least resistance, which was of course directly after Holly. She barely had time to activate her wings and climb a few meters, before flying shrapnel drilled a hole in the chute wall below her.

Holly hovered in the vast tunnel, the sound of her own breathing filling the helmet. The commander was dead. It was unbelievable. Just like that, at the whim of a vengeful pixie. Had there been a sweet spot on the device? Or had she actually missed the target? She would probably never know. But to the LEP observers, it would seem as though she had shot her own commander.

Holly glanced downward. Below her, fragments from the explosion were spiraling toward the earth’s core. As they neared the revolving magma sphere, the heat ignited each one, utterly cremating all that was left of Julius Root. For the briefest moment the particles twinkled gold and bronze, like a million stars falling to earth.

Holly hung there for several minutes, trying to absorb what had happened. She couldn’t. It was too awful. Instead she froze the pain and guilt, preserving it for later. Right now, she had an order to follow. And she would follow it, even if it was the last thing she ever did, because it had been the last order Julius Root ever gave.

Holly increased the power to her wings, rising through the massive charred chute. There were Mud Men to be saved.