Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex

Four hands went up. Two belonging to the same person, who was desperate not to be left behind.

“Too late,” said Turnball, and gestured for his three chosen acolytes to stand by him. “Come closer; we need a group hug.”

Hugging was not a habit anyone who knew Turnball Root would ever associate with him. The captain had once shot an elf for suggesting a high five, and so it was an effort for Bobb and Ching to keep the shock from their faces. Even Unix raised a jagged eyebrow.

“Oh, come now, gentlemen, am I as scary as all that?”

Yes, Bobb wanted to scream. You are scarier than a dwarf mom with a long-handled spoon. But instead he twisted his mouth into something approximating a smile and stepped into Turnball’s embrace. Unix drew close too, as did Ching.

“Aren’t we the strange bunch?” said Turnball cheerily. “Honestly, Unix. It’s like hugging a plank. And you, Mr. Ragby, you really smell very bad. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Ragby mumbled an admittance. “A few. Me dad, all those who were my mates.”

“I’m not the first, then, thank goodness. I don’t mind confirming bad news, but I hate to break it.”

Bobb Ragby wanted to cry: for some reason this inane chatter was terrifying.

A rumble rolled through the metal skin of the shuttle. The noise grew rapidly louder until it filled the small space. From nothing to everything in five seconds.

“Two minutes are up,” shouted Turnball. “Time for the faithful to go outside.”

The hull above the small group’s heads glowed red suddenly, as something melted it from the outside. Several alarms pulsed into life on the view screen’s heads-up display.

“Wow,” shouted Turnball. “Total chaos all of a sudden. What could be going on?”

The section overhead was molten now, and it should have dripped down on the group, searing their flesh, but somehow it was siphoned off. Blob by white-hot blob, a large circle of the roof was sucked away until there was nothing holding the sea out except some kind of gel.

“Should we hold our breath?” asked Bobb Ragby, trying not to sob.

“Not much point, really,” answered Turnball, who loved toying with people.

It’s nice to know more than everybody else, he thought. Then four amorphobots, who had merged into one large gelatinous blob, dropped a fat tentacle into the shuttle’s interior and sucked up Captain Root and his gang, clean as a dwarf sucking a snail from its shell. One second they were there, and the next, nothing remained but a slight smear on the deck and the echo of slobbering slurp.

“I am so glad I stayed where I am,” said one of the remaining prisoners, who had never served with Turnball. He had, in fact, earned his six-year sentence for making clever copies of collectable cartoon-character spoons. “That blobby thing looked creepy.”

None of the others spoke, as they had immediately realized what catastrophe would result from the blobby thing breaking its seal around the large hole in the hull.

As it happened, the expected catastrophe never got a chance to occur, because as soon as the amorphobots vacated the space, the hole was filled by the rogue probe, which had deviated suddenly from its course to plow through the shuttle, burying it deep into the bedrock of the ocean floor, mashing it completely. As for the people inside the shuttle, they were mostly liquefied. It would be months before any remains were found, and even longer before those remains could be identified. The impact crater was more than fifty feet deep and at least the same across. The whiplash shock rippled across the seabed, decimating the local ecology and stacking half a dozen rescue crafts on top of each other like building blocks.

The giant amorpho-blob bore Turnball and his cohorts swiftly from the impact site, perfectly mimicking the motion of a giant squid, even sprouting gel-tacles, which funneled the water in a tight cone behind it. Inside the main body of gel, two fairies were perfectly calm: Turnball could fairly be called serene, and Unix was as unperturbed by this latest marvel as he was by anything that he had seen in his long life. Bobb Ragby, on the other hand, could in truth be called terrified out of his tiny mind. While Turnball had summoned the amorphobots and had a fair idea of what to expect, as far as Ragby was concerned, they had been swallowed by a jelly monster and were being carried off to its lair to be consumed during the long cold winter. All Ching Mayle could think was one sentence over and over again: I’m sorry I stole the candy cane, which more than likely referred to an incident that was significant to him and to whomever he’d stolen the candy cane from.

Turnball reached into the jumble of electronics in the amorphobots’ belly and pulled out a small cordless mask, which he slipped over his face. It was possible to speak through the gel, but the mask made it infinitely easier.

“Well, my brave lads,” he said. “We are now officially dead and free to take a shot at stealing the LEP’s most powerful natural resource. Something truly magical”.

Ching snapped out of his candy-cane loop. He opened his mouth to speak, but realized quickly that while the gel somehow fed oxygen to his lungs, it didn’t support speech so well without a mask.

He gargled for a moment, then decided to pose his question later.

“I can guess what you were about to say, Mr. Mayle,” said Turnball. “Why in heavens would we want to tangle with the LEP? Surely we should stay as far away from the police as possible.” An amber light in the belly of the bot cast sinister shadows across the captain’s face. “I say no. I say we attack now and steal what we need from right under their noses, and while we’re about it spread a little destruction and mayhem to cover our tracks. You have seen what I can do from a prison cell-imagine what might be possible from the freedom of the wide world.”

It was difficult to argue with this point, especially when the fairy making the point controled the gel-robot thing that was keeping everyone alive and no one else knew if they could speak or not. Turnball Root always knew how to pick his moment.

The amorphobot dropped quickly behind a jagged reef, escaping the worst of the shock wave. Slivers of rock and lumps of coral tumbled down through the murky water but were rejected by the gel. A squid ventured too close and was treated to a lick with an electrified gel-tacle. And as the walls of a towering undersea cliff flashed by in stripes of gray and green, Turnball sighed into his mask, the sound amplified and distorted.

I am coming, my love, he thought. Soon we will be together.

He decided against saying this aloud, as even Unix might think it a little melodramatic.

Turnball realized with a jolt that he was completely happy, and the cost of that happiness bothered him not a jot.

CHAPTER 8 RANDOMOSITY

Artemis Fowl’s Brain; Seconds Before Holly Short Shoots Him for the Second Time

Artemis observed and considered from the confines of his own brain, watching through the booby-trapped wall in his imagined office. The scenario was interesting, fascinating, in fact, and almost distracted him from his own problems. Someone had decided to hijack Foaly’s Mars probe and aim it directly at Atlantis. And it could not be coincidence that the probe had stopped off in Iceland to take care of Commander Vinyaya and her finest troops, not to mention the Fairy People’s wiliest, and only, human ally: Artemis Fowl.

There is an elaborate plan being played out in front of us, not just a series of coincidences.

It wasn’t that Artemis didn’t believe in coincidences- he just found a series of them hard to swallow.

There was one main question, as far as Artemis could see: Who benefits?

Who benefits if Vinyaya dies and Atlantis is threatened?

Vinyaya was well known for her zero-tolerance approach to crime-so many criminals would be delighted to have her out of the way-but why Atlantis?

Of course, the prison! It must be Opal Koboi: this was her bid for freedom. The probe triggers an evacuation that gets her outside the dome.

Opal Koboi, public enemy number one. The pixie who had incited the goblins to revolution and murdered Julius Root.