Artemis Fowl: the time paradox

Back to business.

‘It’s a fake,’ called Artemis, holding high the crumpled flesh-coloured bandage. ‘It came off in my hand.’

Holly obligingly presented her profile to the web cam. No more pointed ear.

Outrage was the dominant reaction from the Extinctionists.

Kronski had tricked them all or, even worse, he had been bamboozled by a boy.

Artemis held the supposed fake ear aloft, squeezing it as though he were strangling a poisonous snake.

‘Is this the man we want to lead us? Has Doctor Kronski displayed sound judgement in this case?’

Artemis threw the ‘ear’ to the ground. ‘And supposedly this creature can hypnotize us all. I rather think her mouth is covered so she cannot speak.’

With one sharp movement, he ripped the tape from Holly’s mouth. She winced and shot Artemis a dour glare, but then quickly dissolved into tears, playing the part of human victim to perfection.

‘I didn’t want to do it,’ she sobbed.

‘Do what?’ Artemis prompted.

‘Doctor Kronski took me from the orphanage.’

Artemis raised an eyebrow. The orphanage? Holly was ad-libbing.

‘He told me if I had the implants, then I could live in America. After the operation I changed my mind, but the doctor wouldn’t let me go.’

‘An orphanage,’ said Artemis. ‘Why, that’s bordering on the unbelievable.’

Holly’s chin dropped. ‘He said he’d kill me if I told.’

Artemis was outraged. ‘He said he’d kill you. And this is the man steering our organization. A man who hunts humans as well as animals.’ He pointed an accusing finger at a bewildered Kronski. ‘You, sir, are worse than the creatures we all despise, and I demand you release this poor girl.’

Kronski was finished and he knew it. But something could still be salvaged from this mess. He still had the group’s account numbers and he was the only one with the combination to the compound safe. He could be out of this place in two hours with enough riches to last a few years. All he had to do was somehow stop this Pasteur boy hamming it up.

And then he remembered. Ham!

‘And what about this?’ he shouted, brandishing Holly’s gun. ‘I suppose this is fake too.’

The Extinctionists drew back. Cowering behind their seats.

‘Absolutely,’ sneered Artemis. ‘A child’s toy. Nothing more.’

‘Would you stake your life on it?’

Artemis appeared to hesitate. ‘N-no need for dramatics, Doctor. Your cause is lost. Accept it.’

‘No,’ snapped Kronski. ‘If the gun is real, then the creature is real. And if she is not real, as you insist, then you have nothing to fear.’

Artemis summoned his courage. ‘Very well, do your worst.’ He stood squarely before the tiny needle barrel, offering his chest.

‘You are about to die, Pasteur,’ said Kronski, without much sympathy.

‘Perhaps I would be, if you could squeeze your chubby finger into the trigger guard,’ said Artemis, almost as if he were goading the doctor into action.

‘To hell with you, then!’ barked Kronski, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing much happened. A spark and a slight hum from the inner workings.

‘It’s broken,’ gasped the doctor.

‘You don’t say,’ said Artemis, who had remote-destructed the Neutrino’s charge pack from the shuttle.

Kronski raised his palms. ‘OK, boy. OK. Give me a moment to think.’

‘Just let the girl go, Doctor. Save a shred of dignity. We don’t execute humans.’

‘I am in charge here. I just need a second to gather myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is not how she said it would go …’

The doctor rested his elbows on the lectern, rubbing his eyes beneath the round tinted spectacles.

How she said it would go? thought Artemis. Were there unseen forces at work here?

While Artemis was puzzling and Kronski’s world collapsed around his ample shoulders, mobile phones began to ring in the banqueting hall. A lot of people were receiving messages all of a sudden. In moments the room rang with a discordant symphony of beeps, brrrs and polyphonic tunes.

Kronski ignored this strange development, but Artemis was anxious. He had things under control now and did not need anything to redress the scales, or for that matter tip Kronski over the edge.

The reactions to the incoming messages were a mixture of shock and glee.

Oh, my God. Is this true? Is it real?

Play it again. Turn up the volume.

I don’t believe this. Kronski, you fool.

That’s the last straw. We are a joke. The Extinctionists are finished.

Artemis realized that all these messages were in fact the same message. Someone had an Extinctionists’ database and was sending them all a video.

Artemis’s own phone trilled gently. Of course it would, he had put his fake identity on every Extinctionist database he could find. And as his phone was still linked to the giant screen, the video mail began to play automatically.

Artemis recognized the scene immediately. The leather souq. And the main player was Kronski, standing on one leg, squealing with a high-pitched ruptured-balloon intensity. Comical was not the word for it. Ridiculous, farcical and pathetic were words that came close. One thing was certain, having seen the video, no one in their right mind could respect this man ever again, much less follow his lead.

While the video played, a short message scrolled below the picture.

Here we see Doctor Damon Kronski, the president of the Extinctionists, displaying surprising balance for a man his size. This reporter has learned that Kronski turned against animals when he was mauled by an escaped koala at one of his politician father’s rallies in Cleveland. Witnesses to the mauling say that young Damon ‘squealed so sharp he coulda cut glass’. A talent the good doctor does not seem to have lost. Squeal, baby, squeal.

Artemis sighed. I did this, he realized. It’s just the kind of thing I would do.

At another time, he would have appreciated this touch, but not now. Not when he was so close to freeing Holly.

Speaking of Holly.

‘Artemis, get me out of here,’ she hissed.

‘Yes, of course. Time to go.’

Artemis rifled his pockets for a handy wipe. Inside the wipe were three long, coarse hairs donated by Mulch Diggums. Dwarf hairs are actually antennae that dwarfs use to navigate in dark tunnels, and have been adapted by the resourceful race to serve as skeleton keys. No doubt, Holly’s Omnitool would have been handier, but Artemis could not risk losing that to security. The wipe had kept the hairs moist and pliable until they were needed.

Artemis removed the first hair, blew a speck of moisture from its tip and inserted it into the cage lock, working it through the cogs. As soon as he felt the hair harden in his fingers, he turned the makeshift key and the door sprang open.

‘Thank you, Mulch,’ he whispered, then went to work on Holly’s centrally locked cuffs. The third hair would not even be needed. In seconds Holly was free and rubbing her wrists.

‘Orphanage?’ said Artemis. ‘You don’t think that was overdoing it?’

‘Boo hoo,’ said Holly briskly. ‘Let’s just get back to the shuttle.’

It was not to be that straightforward.

Kronski was being herded into a corner by a group of Extinctionists. They harangued and even prodded and poked the doctor, ignoring his arguments, while overhead the video message played again and again.

Oops, thought Artemis, closing his phone.

Inevitably perhaps, Kronski cracked. He batted his tormentors aside like bowling pins, clearing a circle of