Artemis Fowl: the time paradox

‘No need for the bag,’ said a voice. ‘I will defend the creature.’

Heads turned to locate the speaker. It was a slender young man with a goatee and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing tinted glasses and a lightweight linen suit.

Kronski had noticed him earlier, but could not put a name to the face, which disturbed him.

‘And you are?’ he asked, while swivelling his laptop so that the built-in camera was aimed at this stranger.

The young man smiled. ‘Why don’t we give your identification software a moment to whisper the answer to you.’

Kronski thumbed enter, the computer captured an image and five seconds later plucked membership details from the Extinctionists’ file.

Malachy Pasteur. Young French-Irish heir to an abattoir empire. Made a sizeable donation to the Extinctionists’ coffers. His first conference. Like all the attendees, Pasteur was thoroughly vetted before his invitation was issued. A valuable addition to the ranks.

Kronski was all charm.

‘Master Pasteur, we are delighted to welcome you to Morocco. But, tell me, why would you wish to defend this creature? Her fate is almost certainly sealed.’

The young man walked briskly to the podium. ‘I enjoy a challenge. It is a mental exercise.’

‘Defending vermin is an exercise?’

‘Especially vermin,’ retorted Pasteur, lifting the lid on his laptop. ‘It is easy to defend a servile, useful animal like the common cow. But this? This will be a hard-fought battle.’

‘A pity to be crushed in battle so young,’ said Kronski, his lower lip hanging with mock sympathy.

Pasteur drummed his fingers on the podium. ‘I have always liked your style, Doctor Kronski. Your commitment to the ideals of Extinctionism. For years I have followed your career, since I was a boy in Dublin, in fact. Lately, however, I feel that the organization has lost its way, and I am not the only one with this notion.’

Kronski ground his teeth. So that was it. A naked challenge to his leadership.

‘Be careful what you say, Pasteur. You tread on dangerous ground.’

Pasteur glanced at the floor below him, where ice water still sloshed in the pit beneath. ‘You mean I could sleep with the fishes. You would kill me, Doctor? A mere boy. I don’t think that would bolster your credibility much.’

He’s right, fumed Kronski. I can’t kill him; I must win this trial.

The doctor forced his mouth to smile. ‘I don’t kill humans,’ he said. ‘Just animals. Like the animal in this cage.’

Kronski’s many supporters applauded, but that still left many silent.

I was wrong to come here, Kronski realized. It is too remote. Nowhere for private jets to land. Next year I will find somewhere in Europe. I will announce the move as soon as I crush this whelp.

‘Allow me to explain the rules,’ continued Kronski, thinking, Explaining the rules puts me in charge, giving me the upper hand, psychologically speaking.

‘No need,’ said Pasteur brusquely. ‘I have read several transcripts. The prosecutor puts his case, the defender puts his case. A few minutes of lively debate, then each table votes. Simple. Can we please proceed, Doctor? No one here appreciates their time being wasted.’

Clever, young man. Putting yourself on the same side as the jury. No matter. I know these people and they will never acquit a beast, no matter how pretty she is.

‘Very well. We shall proceed.’ He selected a document on his desktop. His opening statement. Kronski knew it by heart, but it was comforting to have the words easily accessible.

‘People say that we Extinctionists hate animals,’ began Kronski. ‘But this is not the case. We do not hate poor dumb animals, rather we love humans. We love humans and will do whatever it takes to ensure that we, as a race, survive for as long as possible. This planet has limited resources and I, for one, say we should hoard them for ourselves. Why should humans starve when dumb animals grow fat? Why should humans freeze when beasts lie toasty warm in their coats of fur?’

Malachy Pasteur made a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. ‘Really, Doctor Kronski, I have read several variations on this speech. Every year, it seems, you trot out the same simplistic arguments. Can we please focus on the creature before us tonight?’

A tittering ripple spread among the banquet guests, and Kronski had to struggle to contain his temper. It seemed he had a battle on his hands. Very well, then.

‘Most amusing, boy. I was going to take it easy on you, but now the gloves are off.’

‘We are delighted to hear it.’

We? We? Pasteur was swinging the Extinctionists his way without them even knowing it.

Kronski summoned every last drop of charisma from inside himself, flashing back to his youth, to those long summer days spent watching his evangelist daddy whip up the crowds inside a canvas tent.

He raised his arms high, each finger bent back until the tendons strained.

‘This is not what we are about, people,’ he thundered. ‘We did not travel all this way for some petty verbal sparring. This is what the Extinctionists are about.’ Kronski pointed a rigid finger at Holly. ‘Ridding our planet of creatures like this.’

Kronski shot a sideways glance at Pasteur, who was leaning, chin on hands, a bemused look on his face. Standard opposition behaviour.

‘We have a new species here, friends. A dangerous species. It can make itself invisible, it can hypnotize through speech. It was armed.’

And, to much oohing from the crowd, Kronski drew forth Holly’s Neutrino handgun from his pocket.

‘Do any of us wish to face a future where this could be pointed in our faces? Do we? The answer, I think, is clearly no. Now, I’m not going to pretend that this is the last one of its kind. I feel certain that there are thousands of these fairies, or aliens, or whatever, all around us. But does that mean we should grovel and release this little creature? I say no. I say we send a message. Execute one and the rest will know we mean business. The governments of the world despise us now, but tomorrow they will come banging down our door for guidance.’ Time for the big finish. ‘We are Extinctionists, and our time is now!’

It was a good speech and drew wave after wave of applause, which Pasteur rode out with the same bemused expression.

Kronski accepted the applause with a boxer’s rolling of the shoulders, then nodded towards the opposite podium.

‘The floor is yours, boy.’

Pasteur straightened and cleared his throat …

… Artemis straightened and cleared his throat. The fake beard glued to his chin itched like crazy, but he resisted the impulse to scratch it. In a fair arena, he would destroy Kronski’s arguments in about five seconds, but this was not a fair arena, or even a sane one. These people were bloodthirsty, jaded billionaires, using their money to buy illicit excitement. Murder was just another service that could be purchased. He needed to handle this crowd carefully. Push the right buttons. First of all he had to establish himself as one of them.

‘When I was young, and the family wintered in South Africa, my grandfather would tell me stories of a time when people had the right attitude towards animals. We kill ’em when it suits us, he said to me. When it serves our purposes. This is what the Extinctionists used to be about. A species was not protected unless we humans benefited from its survival. We kill when it benefits us. If an animal is using the planet’s resources and not directly contributing to our health, safety and comfort, we wipe it out. Simple as that. This was an ideal worth fighting for. Worth killing for. But this …’ Artemis pointed at the pit below him and Holly in her cage. ‘This is a circus. This is an insult to the memory of our ancestors, who gave their time and gold to the Extinctionists’ cause.’

Artemis worked hard on his eye contact, connecting with as many people as possible in the audience. Lingering for a moment with everyone.