Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex

It must be Opal.

Artemis corrected himself: It is probably Opal. Don’t leap to conclusions.

It was infuriating to be stuck inside his own brain when there was so much going on in the world. His nano- wafer prototype, the Ice Cube, had been destroyed, and, more urgently, there was a probe headed for Atlantis that could potentially destroy the city, or at the very least allow a homicidal pixie to effect her escape.

“Let me out, won’t you?” Artemis shouted at the mind-screen, and the shimmering fours marshaled themselves into squares and sent a lattice of glittering wire flashing across the screen.

Artemis had his answer.

I was put in here by electricity, and now it’s barring my way.

Artemis knew that there were many reputable institutes around the world that still used electroshock therapy to deal with various psychotic illnesses. He realized that when Holly had blasted him with her Neutrino, the charge had boosted the Orion personality, making it the dominant one.

It’s a pity Holly wouldn’t shoot me again.

Holly shot him again.

Artemis imagined two jagged forks of white lightning skittering through the air and turning the screen white.

I shouldn’t feel any pain, reasoned Artemis hopefully, as technically I am not conscious at the moment.

Conscious or not, Artemis felt just as much agony as Orion.

Typical of the way my day has been going, he thought as his virtual legs collapsed underneath him.

The North Atlantic Ocean; Now

Artemis woke some time later with the smell of singed flesh in his nostrils. He knew he was back in the real world because of the harness digging into his shoulders and the choppy motion of the sea, which was making him nauseated.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking at Foaly’s rump. The centaur’s back leg was kicking spasmodically as he battled sleep demons. There was music playing somewhere. Familiar music. Artemis closed his eyes and thought, That music is familiar because I composed it. “Siren Song” from my unfinished Third Symphony.

And why was it important?

It is important because I set it as my ring tone for Mother. She is calling me.

Artemis did not pat his pockets searching for his phone, because he always kept his phone in the same pocket. Indeed, he always had his tailors sew a leather-flapped zipper into his right breast pocket so that his phone could not be mislaid. For if Artemis Fowl mislaid his modified phone, it would be a little more serious than if Johnny Highschool happened to lose the latest touch-screen model, unless Johnny Highschool’s phone happened to have enough tech inside it to easily hack any government site, a nice little laser pointer that could be focused to burn through metal, and the first draft of Artemis Fowl’s memoirs, which did a little more than kiss and tell.

Artemis’s fingers were cold and numb, but after a few attempts he managed to paw the zipper open and fumble out his phone. On screen the phone was playing a photo slideshow of his mother while the opening bars of “Siren Song” soared through the tiny speakers.

“Phone,” he said clearly, holding in a button on the casing to activate voice control.

“Yes, Artemis,” said the phone in Lily Frond’s voice, a voice that Artemis had picked simply to annoy Holly.

“Accept the call.”

“Of course, Artemis.”

A moment later the connection was made. The signal was weak, but that did not matter as Artemis’s phone had speech auto-fill software that was ninety-five percent accurate.

“Hello, Mother. How are you?”

“Arty, can you hear me? I’ve got an echo.”

“No. No echo on this end. I can hear you perfectly.”

“I can’t get the video to work, Artemis. You promised we would be able to see each other.”

The video-call option was available, but Artemis rejected it, as he did not think his mother would be heartened by the view of her disheveled son hanging from a harness in a crippled escape pod.

Disheveled? Who am I kidding? I must look like a refugee from a war zone, which is what I am.

“There’s no video network in Iceland. I should have checked.”

“Hmm,” said his mother, and Artemis knew that syllable well. It meant that she suspected him of something, but didn’t know what, exactly.

“So you are in Iceland?”

Artemis was glad there was no video feed, as it was more difficult to lie face-to-face.

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because the GPS puts you in the North Atlantic Ocean.”

Artemis frowned. His mother had insisted on a GPS function on the phone if she were to allow him to go off alone.

“That’s probably just a bug in the program,” said Artemis as he quickly tapped into the GPS application and manually set his location to Reykjavik. “Sometimes the locater is a little off. Give it another try.”

Silence for moment, but for the tapping of keys, then another hmmm.

“I suppose it’s redundant to ask whether or not you’re up to something? Artemis Fowl is always up to something.”

“That’s not fair, Mother,” protested Artemis. “You know what I’m trying to achieve.”

“I do know. My goodness, Arty, it’s all you can talk about. THE PROJECT.”

“It is important.”

“I know that, but people are important too. How’s Holly?”

Artemis glanced at Holly, who was curled around the leg of a bench, snoring quietly. Her uniform looked very battered, and there was blood leaking from one ear.

“She’s. . em. . fine. A little tired from the journey, but totally in control of the situation. I admire her, Mother, really I do. The way she handles whatever life throws at her and never gives up.”

Angeline Fowl drew a surprised breath. “Well, Artemis Fowl the Second, that is about the longest nonscientific speech I have ever heard you make. Holly Short is lucky to have a friend like you.”

“No she isn’t,” said Artemis miserably. “No one is lucky to know me. I can’t help anyone. I can’t even help myself.”

“That’s not true, Arty,” said Angeline strictly. “Who saved Haven from the goblins?”

“A few people. I suppose I had a part in it.”

“And who found his father in the Arctic when everyone else had given him up for dead?”

“That was me.”

“Well, then, never say you can’t help anyone. You’ve spent most of your life helping. Yes, you’ve made a few mistakes, but your heart is in the right place.”

“Thank you, Mother. I feel better now.”

Angeline cleared her throat-a little nervously, Artemis thought.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. There’s just something I need to tell you.”

Artemis felt suddenly nervous. “What is it, Mother?”

A dozen possible revelations ran through his head. Had his mother found out about some of his shadier operations?

She knew all about his various fairy-related schemes, but there was plenty of human stuff he hadn’t confessed to.

That’s the problem with being a semi-reformed criminal: you are never free from guilt. Exposure is always just a phone call away.

“It’s about your birthday.”

Artemis’s shoulders drooped with relief. “My birthday. Is that all?”

“I got you something. . different, but I want you to have them. It would make me happy.”