The Time Paradox (14 page)

Root was surprised to find that he was actually touched. It wasn’t every day he was faced with such genuine emotion.

Look at me, he thought. Blubbering at a hologram. Wouldn’t Foaly love this.

“I . . . ’hem . . . I accept your thanks, and I believe them to be heartfelt. Although I don’t expect an expensive hologram call during every mission; just the once will be fine.”

“Understood, Commander.”

“And be careful in Hamburg. Make sure to check your equipment.”

“I will, Commander,” said Holly, and Root could have sworn she rolled her eyes, but it could have been another glitch in the program.

“Anything else, Captain?”

Holly reached out her hand; it shimmered and wavered slightly with the motion. Root was not sure what he was supposed to do. Hologram etiquette was very clear: hugging and shaking were not encouraged. After all, who wants to embrace a pixellated image?

But still the hand was there.

“Wish me luck, Commander. One officer to another.”

Root grunted. With any other subordinate he would have suspected toadying, but Captain Short had always impressed him with her candor.

He reached out his hand and felt a slight tingle as it touched Holly’s virtual digits.

“Good luck, Captain,” he said gruffly. “And try to tone down that maverick streak. Someday I won’t be around to help you.”

“Will do, Commander. Good-bye,” said Holly, and then she was gone. But in the seconds before her holographic image fizzled out, Julius Root could have sworn he saw rough holographic tears glint on her cheeks.

Stupid machine, he thought. I will demand that Foaly recalibrate the lot of them.

Holly stepped out of the holo-booth, which resembled an ancient shower unit with a rubber curtain. With the touch of a button it collapsed and self-sealed into the portable briefcase.

There were tears in her eyes as she strapped herself into the pilot’s chair and flicked off the autopilot.

Artemis squirmed slightly in the copilot’s chair.

“So, are we even?”

Holly nodded. “Yes. We’re even. But your elf-kissing days are over.”

“I see,” said Artemis.

“It’s not a challenge, Artemis. Over is over.”

“I know,” said Artemis neutrally.

The sat in silence for a while, watching low mountains speed across the desert toward them, then Holly leaned across and punched Artemis gently on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Arty.”

“You are most welcome. All I did was have an idea.”

Mulch emerged noisily from the bathroom, scratching and grunting.

“
Wooo-oh
, that’s better. Thank the gods for soundproofing, eh?”

Holly winced. “Close the door and let the extractor fan do its work.”

Mulch slammed the door with a flick of his heel. “I was thinking in there, you know, rooo-minating.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this.”

Mulch plowed on, regardless. “That little lemur. The silky whatever. You know who he reminds me of with that buzz-cut hairdo?”

They had all been thinking it.

“Commander Root,” said Holly, smiling.

“Yep. A miniature Commander Root.”

“Julius Junior,” said Artemis.

They crested the Atlas mountain foothills, and Fez was revealed like the heart of the land, its arteries clogged with vehicles.

“Jayjay,” said Holly. “That’s his name. Now, let’s go get him.”

She switched on the shuttle’s shield and initiated their descent into Fez.

CHAPTER 11

Holly inflated a cham-pod and suckered it to the shadowy underside of the stone balcony overlooking Fez’s leather souk. When the coast was clear, she and Artemis climbed through the tiny access port, wiggling into the blow-up seats. Artemis’s knees knocked against his chin, clicking his teeth.

“Like I said, you’re getting tall,” said Holly.

Artemis blew a raven lock from his eye. “And hairy.”

“Your hair was the only thing that stopped little Arty from recognizing himself, so be glad of it.”

Holly had liberated the cham-pod duffel bag from the Tara lockup along with a single Neutrino handgun and suitable disguises. Artemis wore a knee-length brown shirt and thong sandals, while Holly’s fairy characteristics were hidden by an abaya and head scarf.

The cham-pod was an old portable model and was basically a ball with a transparent outer layer that was inflated by a tank of chromo-variable gas, which could change color to imitate the background. That was about as high-tech as it got. No directional equipment, no on-board weaponry, just a one-way touch screen and two cramped seats.

“No air filters?” wondered Artemis.

“Unfortunately not,” said Holly, pulling her scarf across her nose. “What is that smell?”

“Diluted pigeon droppings,” replied Artemis. “It’s highly acidic and, of course, plentiful. The tannery workers use it to soften the hides before dyeing them.”

The leather souk spread out below them was a spectacular sight. Huge stone vats were arranged across the courtyard in honeycomb patterns, each filled with either vegetable dyes such as saffron or henna, or acidic softeners. The leather workers stood in the dye vats, thoroughly soaking each skin, including their own, and when the hide had attained the desired hue, it was stretched on a nearby rooftop to dry.

“People say that Henry Ford invented the production line,” said Artemis. “This place has been going for six hundred years.”

The souk was enclosed by high walls painted white but mottled by dye and dust. Ocher stains spread across the ancient brick like the faded map of some exotic archipelago.

“Why did Kronski choose the souk?” wondered Holly. “The stink is almost unbearable, and I say that as a friend of Mulch Diggums.”

“Since birth Kronski has suffered from anosmia,” Artemis explained. “He has no sense of smell. It amuses him to conduct his business here, as whoever he happens to be meeting will be virtually assaulted by the smell from the acid vats. Their concentration is shattered and his is unaffected.”

“Clever.”

“Fiendishly. The area is a tourist attraction, so many people will pass through, but none hang around for too long.”

“So plenty of spectators but not many witnesses.”

“Apart from the locals, and Kronski doubtless has a dozen of those on his payroll who will see what he wants them to see.” Artemis leaned forward, his nose brushing the plastic portal. “And here is our fiendish Extinctionist now. Right on cue.”

The souk below was thronged with leather workers and merchants, long since inured to the sharp odor of the vats. Groups of die-hard tourists flitted through, determined to capture the scene on their cameras but unwilling to suffer the heat and smells for longer than a few shutter clicks.

And among them all, serene and smiling, strode Dr. Damon Kronski, dressed in a preposterous tailored camouflage suit, complete with a general’s peaked hat.

Holly was sickened by the man and how obviously he relished his surroundings.

“Look at him. He loves this.”

Artemis did not comment. He had sold the lemur and judged that to be a crime worse than Kronski’s. Instead he searched the souk for a smaller version of himself.

“There I am. West corner.”

Holly switched her gaze to locate young Artemis. He stood almost hidden by a huge tiled urn brimming with mint-green dye. The sinking sun was a chopped silver disk on its surface.

Artemis smiled.
I remember standing in that exact spot so the glare would distract Kronski. It is the only vat touched by the sun at this time. A little payback for the smell. Childish, perhaps, but then, I was a child.

“It looks like your memory is accurate on this occasion,” said Holly.

Artemis couldn’t help but be relieved. His recollection had been hit-and-miss up to now.

He straightened suddenly.
Hit-and-miss. How could I not have seen it? These memory malfunctions could only mean one thing.

No time to pursue that thought now. The exchange was afoot.

Artemis tapped the touch screen with his index finger, expanding a section and closing in on a plinth at the center of the souk. The low table stone was grooved and curved from centuries of being piled high with hides. Wet henna glistened on its surface and dribbled down its sides like blood from a head injury.

“There,” said Artemis. “That’s where we agreed to make the exchange. Kronski lays the suitcase on the rock. I hand it over.”

“
Him
. The lemur is a male, and his name is Jayjay,” said Holly, making it real.

“I hand over Jayjay. Then we go our separate ways, simple as that. There were no complications.”

“Perhaps we should wait until after the handoff?”

“No. What happens afterward is an unknown quantity. At least now we have some foreknowledge.”

Holly studied the scene with a veteran’s eye. “Where’s Butler?”

Artemis touched another point on the screen. It rippled slightly, flexed, and enlarged his selection.

“In that window. Watching over everything.”

The window was a high rectangle in the flaking white wall, painted black by shade and depth.

“You think you’re invisible, don’t you, my friend,” Holly whispered, then highlighted the window with a thumb and activated a night-vision filter. In the sudden glow of body heat, a hulking figure appeared in the window, still as stone except for a beating heart.

“I remember that Butler wanted to make the exchange, but I talked him out of it. He’s up there right now, fuming.”

“Butler fuming is not something I want to see up close.”

Artemis laid a hand on her shoulder. “Then don’t get too close. A distraction is all we need. I wish there had been an LEP jumpsuit in that lockup. If you were invisible to man
and
machine, I would be more comfortable with this.”

Holly twisted her chin, calling her magic, and blobs of her disappeared until there was nothing left in the seat but haze.

“Don’t worry, Artemis,” she said, her voice sounding almost robotic because of the vibration. “I have been on missions before. You are not the only smart one in the souk.”

Artemis was not in the least cheered by this. “All the more reason to be careful. I wish there’d been a set of wings in the terminal. What sort of lockup doesn’t have wings?”

“Potluck,” said Holly, her voice floating through the expandable seal that operated as a doorway. “We got what we got.”

“We got what we got,” repeated Artemis, following Holly’s progress down the steps and across the courtyard with the infrared filter. “Terrible grammar.”

* * *

Ten-year-old Artemis felt as though he had been dipped in a jar of honey and left to bake on the surface of the sun. His garments had molded themselves to his skin, and a tornado of flies revolved around his head. Artemis’s throat was sandpaper dry, and he could hear his breath and pulse as though he were wearing a helmet.

And the stench. The stench was a hot wind gusting in his nose and eyes.

I must persevere, he thought with a focused determination beyond his years. Father needs me. Also, I refuse to be cowed by this odious man.

The souk was a confusing kaleidoscope of pumping limbs, splashing dye, and evening shadows. And from Artemis’s point of view, things were even more confusing. Elbows flashed past, urns rang like bells, and the air was shattered by sharp bolts of French and Arabic above his head.

Artemis allowed himself a moment to meditate. He closed his eyes and took shallow breaths through his mouth.

Very well, he thought. To business, Dr. Kronski.

Luckily the doctor was enormous, and as Artemis made his way through the souk, he quickly spotted Kronski on the opposite diagonal.

Look at that poser. A camouflage suit! Does he honestly believe himself a general in some war against the animal kingdom?

Artemis himself drew surprised stares from the locals. Tourists were not unusual in the souk, but lone ten-year-old boys in formal suits, carrying monkey cages, were rare in any part of the world.

It is a simple matter. Walk to the center and set down the cage.

But even walking through the souk was not simple. Workers bustled through the lanes between vats, laden with dozens of sopping hides. Strings of dye flew through the air, striping the clothes of tourists and other workers. Artemis was forced to tread carefully and give way several times before he eventually reached the small clearing at the center.

Kronski was there before him, perched on the tiny stool that folded out from the top of his hunting cane, puffing on a thin cigar.

“Apparently I’m missing out on half the experience,” he said, as though they were simply continuing a conversation. “The best part of a cigar is the aroma, and I can’t smell a thing.”

Artemis was silently infuriated. The man looked completely comfortable, with barely a drop of sweat on his brow. He forced himself to smile.

“Do you have the money, Damon?” At least he could annoy the good doctor by neglecting his title.

Kronski did not seem annoyed. “Got it right here, Ahtemis,” he said, patting his breast pocket. “A hundred thousand is such a trifling amount, I managed to stuff every last note into my suit pocket.”

Artemis could not resist a jibe. “And what a lovely suit it is.”

Kronski’s violet-colored glasses flashed in the last rays of the sun. “Unlike your own, my boy, which appears to be losing its
character
in this heat.”

It was true, Artemis felt that the only thing holding him upright was the dried sweat on his spine. He was hungry, tired, and irritable.

Focus. The end justifies the sacrifices.

“Well, obviously I have the lemur, so can we please proceed.”

Kronski’s fingers twitched, and Artemis could guess what he was thinking:
Take the lemur from the boy. Just grab it. No need to part with the hundred thousand.

Artemis decided to nip this kind of thinking in the bud. “In case you’re entertaining any rash notions of reneging on our agreement, let me just say one word to you:
Butler
.”

One word was enough. Kronski knew Butler’s reputation but not his whereabouts. His fingers twitched once more, and then were still.

“Very well, Ah-temis. Let’s get this business over with. I’m sure you appreciate that I need to inspect the merchandise.”

“Of course. And I’m sure that
you
appreciate that I will need to see a sample of your currency.”

“Why, of course.” Kronski wiggled his hand into a pocket and withdrew a fat envelope brimming with purple five hundred euro notes. He carelessly selected one and passed it across to Artemis.

“Gonna smell it, are you, Ah-temis?”

“Not exactly.” Artemis flipped open his cell phone and selected a UV and magnetic currency scanner from its augmented menu. He passed the note in front on the purple light, checking for the watermark and metal strip.

Kronski pressed a hand to his heart. “I am wounded, boy, injured, that you think I would cheat you. Why, it would cost more than a hundred thousand to forge a hundred thousand. A good set of plates cost twice that.”

Artemis closed the phone. “I am not a trusting person, Damon. You’ll learn that about me.” He placed the cage on the stone plinth. “Now, your turn.”

In that moment, Kronski’s entire attitude changed. His offhand nature vanished, to be replaced with a giddiness. He smiled and tittered, tiptoeing to the cage like a child to a Christmas tree.

Perhaps a normal child, thought Artemis sourly. Christmas morning held no surprises for me, thanks to the X-ray scanner on my cell phone.

Obviously the prospect of extinguishing the life’s spark of another species excited Kronski hugely. He leaned over the cage daintily, squinting through the airholes.

“Yes, yes. All
appears
to be in order. But I will need to take a closer look.”

“A hundred thousand euros buys you all the closer looks you need.”

Kronski tossed the envelope to Artemis. “Oh, take it, you tiresome boy. You really distress me, Ah-temis. A boy like you can’t have many friends.”

“I’ve got one friend,” retorted Artemis, pocketing the money. “And he’s bigger than you.”

Kronski opened the box just enough to grab the lemur by the scruff of the neck. He hoisted the animal aloft like a trophy, checking him from all angles.

Artemis took a step back, casting suspicious glances around the souk.

Perhaps nothing is going to happen, he thought. Perhaps those creatures were not as resourceful as I believed. I may have to be content with the hundred thousand for now.

And then the resourceful creatures arrived.

Holly did not have wings to fly, but that did not mean she couldn’t cause havoc. There had been no weapons in the LEP lockup beyond the single Neutrino, but there had been some mining equipment, including a few dozen blaster buttons, which Holly was now sprinkling into the unattended dye vats around the souk, with a double helping underneath Butler’s window.

Though she was invisible, Holly took extra care with her movements, as shielding without a suit was wild magic indeed. Any sudden gestures or collisions could cause her body to vent magical fireworks, which would look strange igniting out of thin air.

So—softly, softly was the way to move.

Holly dropped the last of the buttons, feeling totally vulnerable in spite of her invisibility.

I miss Foaly’s guidance, she thought. It’s nice to have an all-seeing eye.

As if he could read her mind, Artemis’s voice came from the mike-bud in her ear. Another gift from the lockup.