The Arctic Incident (17 page)

“What about these DNA stun cannons?” inquired Butler.

“Tricky,” admitted the commander. “If the cannon’s onboard computer doesn’t recognize you, you’re dead. They can be programmed to reject entire species.”

“Tricky,” agreed the manservant.

“I’m betting they’re not active,” continued Root. “First, if this place is crawling with goblins, they hardly came in through the front door. And second, if Foaly is being blamed for this little uprising, Koboi will want to pretend they had no weapons, just like the LEP.”

“Strategy?” asked Butler.

“Not much,” admitted the commander. “Once we turn the corner, we’re on camera. So down the corridor as fast as you can, hit anything that gets in your way. If it has a weapon, confiscate it. Mulch, you stay here and widen the tunnel, we may need to get out fast. Ready?”

Holly extended a hand.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”

The commander and manservant laid their hands on hers.

“Likewise.”

They headed down the corridor. Two hundred goblins versus our virtually unarmed three heroes. It was going to be close.

“Intruders,” squealed Opal Koboi delightedly. “Inside the building.”

Cudgeon crossed to the surveillance plasma screen.

“I do believe it’s Julius. Amazing. Obviously your hit team leader was exaggerating, General Sputa.”

Sputa licked his eyeballs furiously. Lieutenant Nyal would be losing his skin before shedding season.

Cudgeon whispered into Opal’s ear.

“Can we activate the DNA cannons?”

The pixie shook her head. “Not immediately. They’ve been reprogrammed to reject goblin DNA. It would take a few minutes.”

Cudgeon turned to the four goblin generals. “Have an armored squad come up behind, and another one from the flank. We can trap them at the door. There will be no way out.”

Cudgeon stared raptly at the plasma screen. “This is even better than I’d planned. Now, my old friend, Julius— it’s my turn to humiliate you.”

Artemis was meditating. This was a time for concentration. He sat cross-legged on a rock, visualizing the various rescue strategies that could be used when they returned to the Arctic. If the Mafiya managed to set up the drop before Artemis could reach them, then there was only one plan that could work. And it was a high-risk plan. Artemis searched deeper inside his brain. There must be another way.

He was disturbed by an orchestral noise emanating from the titanium column. It sounded like a sustained note on a bassoon. Dwarf gas, he reasoned. The column had reasonably good acoustics.

What he needed was a brainwave. One crystal thought that would slice through this mire he had become embroiled in, and save the day.

After eight minutes, he was interrupted again. Not gas this time. A cry for help. Mulch was in trouble, and in pain.

Artemis was about to suggest that Butler deal with it when he realized that his bodyguard wasn’t there. Off on his mission to save the lower elements. It was up to him.

Artemis poked his head into the column. It was black as the inside of an old boot, and twice as pungent. Artemis decided that an LEP helmet was his first requirement. He quickly retrieved a spare from the shuttle, and after a moment’s experimentation activated the lights and seals.

“Mulch? Are you up there?”

No reply. Could this be a trap? Was it possible that he, Artemis Fowl, was about to fall for the oldest ruse in the book? Entirely possible, he decided. But in spite of that, he couldn’t really afford to take chances with that hairy little creature’s life. Somewhere since Los Angeles, and against his better judgment, he had bonded with Mister Diggums. Artemis shuddered. This propensity for humane impulses was happening more and more since his mother’s return to sanity.

Artemis climbed into the tube, beginning his journey to the disk of light above. The smell was horrendous. His shoes were ruined, and no amount of dry cleaning could redeem the Saint Bartleby’s blazer. Mulch had better be in a lot of pain.

When he reached the entrance, he found Mulch writhing on the floor, face contorted in genuine agony.

“What is it?” he asked, peeling off the helmet and kneeling by the dwarf’s side.

“Blockage in my gut,” grunted the dwarf, beads of sweat sliding down his beard hairs. “Something hard. Can’t break it down.”

“What can I do?” Artemis asked, though he dreaded the possible replies.

“My left boot. Take it off.”

“Your boot? Did you say boot?”

“Yes,” howled the dwarf, pain stiffening his entire torso. “Get it off!”

Artemis couldn’t stifle a relieved sigh. He’d been fearing much worse. He hefted the dwarf’s leg into his lap, pulling at the climbing boots.

“Nice boots,” he commented.

“Rodeo Drive,” gasped Mulch. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sorry.”

The boot slid off, revealing a not-quite-so-designer sock, complete with toe holes and darned patches.

“Little toe,” said Mulch, eyes closed with pain.

“Little toe what?”

“Squeeze the joint. Hard.”

Squeeze the joint. Must be a reflexology thing. Every part of the body corresponds to an area of the foot. The body’s keyboard so to speak. Practiced in the Orient for centuries.

“Very well. If you insist.”

Artemis placed his finger and thumb around Mulch’s hairy toe. It could have been his imagination, but it seemed that the hairs parted to allow him access.

“Squeeze,” gasped the dwarf. “Why aren’t you squeezing?”

Artemis wasn’t squeezing because his eyes were crossed, looking up at the end of the laser barrel stuck in the middle of his forehead.

Lieutenant Nyle, who was holding the weapon, couldn’t believe his luck. He’d single-handedly captured two intruders, plus he’d discovered their bolt hole. Who said hanging back to avoid the fighting didn’t have advantages? This was turning out to be an exceptional revolution for him. He’d be colonel before shedding his third skin.

“On your feet,” he ordered, panting blue flames. Even through the translator it sounded reptilian.

Artemis stood slowly, lifting Mulch’s leg with him. The dwarf’s back flap flopped open.

“What’s wrong with him anyway?” asked Nyle, bending in for a closer look.

“Something he ate,” said Artemis, and squeezed the joint.

The resulting explosion knocked the goblin off his feet, sending him tumbling down the corridor. There was something you didn’t see every day.

Mulch hopped to his feet.

“Thanks, kid. I thought I was a goner, there. Must’ve been something hard. Granite maybe, or diamond.”

Artemis nodded. Not ready for words.

“Those goblins are dumb. Did you see the look on his face?”

Artemis shook his head. Still not ready.

“Do you want to go look?”

The tactless humor snapped Artemis out of his daze.

“That goblin. I doubt he was on his own.”

Mulch buttoned up his back flap. “Nope. A whole squadron of ’em just went past. This guy must have been trying to avoid the action. Typical goblin.”

Artemis rubbed his temples. There must be something he could do to help his friend. He had the highest tested IQ in Europe, for heaven’s sake.

“Mulch, I have an important question for you.”

“I suppose I owe you one, for saving my hide.”

Artemis draped an arm around the dwarf’s shoulder.

“I know how you got into Koboi Labs. But you couldn’t go back that way, the flare would have gotten you. So, how did you get out?”

Mulch grinned. “Simple, I activated the alarm, then left in the LEP uniform I came in.”

Artemis scowled. “No, there must be another way. There has to be.”

The DNA cannons were obviously out of commission. Root was just starting to feel optimistic when he heard the thunder of approaching boots.

“D’Arvit. You two keep going. I’ll hold them here as long as I can.”

“No, Commander,” said Butler. “With respect, we only have one weapon, and I can hit a lot more with it than you.

I’ll take them coming around the corner. You try to get the door open.”

Holly opened her mouth to argue. But who was going to argue with a man that size?

“Okay. Good luck. If you’re wounded, lie as still as you can until I get back. Four minutes, remember.”

Butler nodded. “I remember.”

“And, Butler?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“That little misunderstanding last year. When you and Artemis kidnapped me.”

Butler gazed at the ceiling. He would have stared at his shoes, but Holly was in the way.

“Yes, that. I’ve been meaning to talk to . . .”

“Just forget it. After this, all square.”

“Holly, move it out,” ordered Root. “Butler, don’t let them get too close.”

Butler wrapped his fingers around the gun’s molded grip. He looked like an armed bear.

“They better not. For their sake.”

Artemis climbed up on a hover trolley, tapping one of the overhead conduits that ran the length of the corridor.

“This pipe appears to run along the entire ceiling struc-ture. What is it, a ventilation system?”

Mulch snorted. “I wish. It’s the plasma supply for the DNA cannons.”

“So why didn’t you come in this way?”

“Oh, a little matter of there being enough charge in every drop of plasma to fry a troll.”

Artemis placed his palm against the metal.

“What if the cannons weren’t operational?”

“Once the cannons are deactivated, the plasma is just so much radioactive slop.”

“Radioactive?”

Mulch tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “Actually, Julius reckons the cannons
have
been turned off.”

“Any way to be certain?”

“We could open this unopenable panel.” Mulch ran his fingers along the curved surface. “Ahh, see here. A micro keyhole. To service the cannons. Even plasma needs recharging.”

He pointed to a tiny hole in the metal, which could have been a speck of dirt, it was so small.

“Now, observe a master at work.”

The dwarf fed one of his chin hairs into the hole. When the tip reappeared, Mulch plucked the hair out by the root. The hair died as soon as Mulch plucked it, stiffening in rigor mortis, and retaining the precise shape of the lock’s interior.

Mulch held his breath, twisting the makeshift key. The hatch dropped open.

“That, my boy, is talent.”

Inside the pipe, an orange jelly pulsed gently. Occasional sparks roiled in its depths. The plasma was too dense even to spill from the hatch, and retained its cylindrical shape.

Mulch squinted through the wobbling gel.

“Deactivated, all right. If that stuff was live, our faces would be getting a nice tan about now.”

“What about those sparks?”

“Residual charge. They’d give you a bit of a tingle, but nothing serious.”

Artemis nodded.“Right,”he said, strapping on the helmet.

Mulch blanched. “You are not serious, Mud Whelp? Do you have any idea what will happen if those cannons are activated?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“It’s probably just as well.” The dwarf shook his head bewildered. “Okay. You’ve got thirty yards to go, and no more than ten minutes of air in that helmet. Keep the filters closed, the air may get a bit stale after a while but it’s better than sucking plasma. And here, take this.”He plucked the stiffened hair from the keyhole.

“What for?”

“I presume you will want to get out again at the other end. Or hadn’t you thought of that, Genius Boy?”

Artemis swallowed. He hadn’t. There was more to this heroism thing than rushing in blindly.

“Just feed it in gently, remember it’s hair, not metal.”

“Feed it in gently. Got it.”

“And don’t use any lights. Halogen could reactivate the plasma.”

Artemis felt his head beginning to spin.

“And make sure you get foamed as soon as you can. The antirad canisters are blue. They’re everywhere in this facility.”

“Blue canisters. Anything else, Mister Diggums?”

“Well, there are the plasma snakes. . . .”

Artemis’s knees almost collapsed. “You’re not serious?”

“No,” Mulch conceded. “I’m not. Now, your reach is about one and a half feet. So calculate for sixty pulls and then get out of there.”

“Slightly under one and a half feet I’d say. Perhaps sixty-three pulls.” He placed the dwarf hair inside his breast pocket.

Mulch shrugged. “Whatever, kid. It’s your skin. Now, in you go.”

The dwarf interlaced his fingers, and Artemis stepped into the makeshift stirrup. He was considering changing his mind when Mister Diggums heaved him into the plasma. The orange gel sucked him in, enveloping his body in a second.

The plasma coiled around him like a living being, popping bubbles of air trapped in his clothing. A residual spark brushed his leg, sending sharp pain through his body. A bit of a tingle?

Artemis gazed out through the orange gel. Mulch was there giving him the thumbs-up. Grinning like a loon. Artemis decided that if he made it through this lunacy, then he would have to place the dwarf on the payroll.

Artemis began to crawl blindly. One pull, two pulls . . . Sixty-three seemed a long way off.

Butler cocked his weapon. The footsteps were earsplitting now, bouncing off the metal walls. Shadows stretched around the corner, ahead of their owners. The manservant took approximate aim.

A head appeared. Froglike. Licking its own eyeballs. Butler pulled the trigger. The slug punched a melon-sized hole in the wall above the goblin’s head. The head was hurriedly withdrawn. Of course, Butler had missed on purpose. Scared was always better than dead. But it couldn’t last forever. Twelve more shots to be precise.

The goblins grew braver, sneaking out farther and farther. Eventually, Butler knew he would be forced to shoot one.

Butler decided that is was time to get to close quarters. He rose from his haunches, making slightly less noise than a panther, and hurtled down the corridor toward the enemy.

There were only two men on the planet better educated in the various martial arts than Butler, and he was related to one of them. The other lived on an island in the South China Sea, and spent his days meditating and beating up palm trees. You really had to feel sorry for the B’wa Kell.