The Time Paradox (12 page)

How could I have sold you to those madmen? he wondered.

The lemur suddenly committed itself and scampered onto Artemis’s shoulder. It seemed content to sit there while Artemis ferried it back to the service pylon.

As Artemis retreated, he kept his eye fixed on his younger self. He would never simply accept defeat like this. Neither of them would. Young Artemis’s eyes suddenly snapped open and met his nemesis’s stare.

“Shoot the animal,” he said coldly.

Butler was surprised. “Shoot the monkey?”

“It’s a . . . never mind. Just shoot it. The man is protected by his suit, but the lemur is an easy target.”

“But the fall . . .”

“If it dies, it dies. I will not be thwarted here, Butler. If I cannot have that lemur, then no one will have it.”

Butler frowned. Killing animals was not in his job description, but he knew from experience that there was no point in arguing with the young master. At any rate, it was a bit late to protest now, perched atop a pylon. He should have spoken up more forcefully earlier.

“Whenever you’re ready, Butler. The target is not getting any closer.”

Out on the cables, Artemis the elder could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Butler had drawn his pistol and was climbing over the rails to get a better shot.

Artemis had not intended to speak, as interaction with his younger self could have serious repercussions for the future, but the words were out before he could stop them.

“Stay back. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Oh, the irony.

“Ah, he speaks,” called young Artemis across the abyss. “How fortunate that we can understand each other. Well, understand this, stranger, I will have that silky sifaka or it will die. Make no mistake.”

“You must not do this. There’s too much at stake.”

“I must do it. I have no choice. Now send the animal over, or Butler will shoot.”

Through all of this, the lemur sat perched on fourteen-year-old Artemis’s head, scratching the stitching of his hood.

So the two boys who were one boy locked eyes for a long tense moment.

I would have done it, thought Artemis the elder, shocked by the cruel determination in his own blue eyes.

And so he gingerly reached up one hand and plucked the silky sifaka from his head.

“You have to go back,” he said softly. “Go back for the nice treat. And if I were you, I’d stick close to the big human. The little one isn’t very nice.”

The lemur reached out and tweaked Artemis’s nose, much as Beckett might have done, then turned and trotted along the cable toward Butler, nose sniffing the air, nostrils flaring as they located the sweet scent of Artemis’s goody bag.

In a matter of seconds it sat curled in the crook of young Artemis’s elbow, contentedly dipping its long fingers into the sap. The young boy’s face glowed with victory.

“Now,” he said, “I think it best that you stay exactly where you are until we leave. I think fifteen minutes should be fine. After that, I advise you to be on your way and count yourself fortunate that I did not have Butler sedate you. Remember the pain that you are feeling now. The ache of utter defeat and hopelessness. And if you ever consider crossing swords with me again, review your memory of this pain, and perhaps you will think twice.”

Artemis the elder was forced to watch as Butler stuffed the lemur into a duffel bag, and boy and bodyguard commenced their climb down the service ladder. Several minutes later the Bentley’s headlights scythed the darkness as the car pulled away from Rathdown Park and onto the motorway. Straight to the airport, no doubt.

Artemis reached up and gripped the winch handles. He was not beaten yet—far from it. He intended to cross swords with his ten-year-old self again just as soon as he possibly could. If anything, the boy’s mocking speech had fueled his determination.

Remember the pain?
thought Artemis. I hate myself. I really do.

CHAPTER 8

By the time
Artemis had made his way down from the pylon, Holly had disappeared. He’d left her by the tunnel mouth, but there was nothing in the spot now except mud and footprints.

Footprints, he thought. Now I suppose I need to track Holly. I really must read
The Last of the Mohicans
.

“Don’t bother following those,” said a voice from the ditch. “False trail. I laid it in case the big human took our LEP friend along for a snack.”

“That was good thinking,” said Artemis, squinting through the foliage. A shaggy shadow detached itself from a hillock and became Mulch Diggums. “But why did you bother? I thought the LEP were your enemy.”

Mulch pointed a stubby mud-crusted finger. “You are my enemy, human. You are the planet’s enemy.”

“And yet you are willing to help me for gold.”

“A
stupendous
amount of gold,” said Mulch. “And possibly some fried chicken. With barbecue sauce. And a large Pepsi. And maybe more chicken.”

“Hungry?”

“Always. A dwarf can eat only so much dirt.”

Artemis didn’t know whether to giggle or groan. Mulch would always have trouble grasping the gravity of situations, or perhaps he liked to give that impression.

“Where’s Holly?”

Mulch nodded toward a grave-shaped mound of earth.

“I buried the captain. She was moaning quite loudly.

Arty
this and
Arty
that, with a few
Mothers
thrown in.”
Buried? Holly is claustrophobic.

Artemis dropped to his knees and scooped the earth from the mound with his bare hands. Mulch let him at it for a minute, then sighed dramatically.

“Let me do it, Mud Boy. You’ll be there all night.”

He strolled over and casually thrust his hand into the mound, chewing his lip as he searched for a specific spot.

“Here we go,” grunted the dwarf, yanking out a short branch. The mound vibrated then collapsed into small heaps of pebbles and clay. Holly was underneath, unhurt.

“It’s a complex structure called a na-na,” said Mulch, brandishing the twig.

“As in ...?”

“As in ‘Na-na-ne-na-na, you can’t see me,’” said the dwarf, then slapped himself on the knee, exploding in a fit of giggles.

Artemis scowled, shaking Holly’s shoulders gently.

“Holly, can you hear me?”

Holly Short opened bleary eyes, rolled them around for a while, then focused.

“Artemis, I . . . Oh gods.”

“It’s okay. I don’t have the lemur . . . Well, actually, I do. The other me, but don’t worry, I know where I’m going.”

Holly dragged at her cheeks with delicate fingers. “I mean,
Oh gods, I think I kissed you
.”

Artemis’s head pounded, and Holly’s mismatched eyes seemed to hypnotize him. She still had a blue eye, even though her body had rejuvenated itself in the tunnel. Another paradox. But though Artemis felt hypnotized, even slightly dazed, he knew he was not
mesmerized
. There was no fairy magic here.

Artemis looked into those elfin eyes, and he knew that this younger, somehow more vulnerable Holly felt the same way, at this particular tangle of time and space, as he did.

After all we have been through. Or maybe because of it.

A memory smashed the delicate moment like a rock thrown through a spiderweb.

I lied to her.

Artemis rocked backward with the strength of the thought.

Holly believes that she infected Mother. I blackmailed her.

He knew at that instant that there was no recovering from such a brutal fact. If he confessed, she would hate him. If he did not, he would hate himself.

There must be something I can do.

Nothing came to mind.

I need to think.

Artemis took Holly’s hand and elbow, helping her to stand and step from the shallow gravelike hole.

“Reborn,” she quipped, then punched Mulch on the shoulder.

“Oww.‘Why-for, miss, dost thou torment me?’”

“Don’t quote Gerd Flambough at me, Mulch Diggums. There was no need to bury me. A simple broadleaf across my mouth would have done.”

Mulch rubbed his shoulder. “A broadleaf desn’t have the same artistry. Anyway, do I look like a fern type of guy? I am a dwarf and we deal in mud.”

Artemis was glad of the banter. It gave him a minute to compose himself.

Forget your adolescent confusion about Holly. Remember Mother wasting away in her bed. There are less than three days left.

“Very well, troops,” he said with forced joviality. “Let’s move it out, as an old friend of mine would say. We have a lemur to catch.”

“What about my gold?” asked Mulch.

“I shall put this as simply as possible. No lemur, no gold.”

Mulch tapped his lips with eight fingers, and his beard hairs vibrated like the tendrils of a sea anemone. Thinking.

“How much is
stupendous
, exactly, in bucket terms?”

“How many buckets do you have?”

Mulch took this as a serious question. “I have a lot of buckets. Most of them are full of stuff, though. I could empty them, I suppose.”

Artemis almost gnashed his teeth. “It was a rhetorical question. A lot of buckets. As many as you like.”

“If you want me to go any farther down this monkey road, I need some kind of down payment. A good-faith deposit.”

Artemis slapped his empty pockets. He had nothing.

Holly straightened her silver wig. “I have something for you, Mulch Diggums. Something better than a stupendous amount of gold. Six numbers, which I will reveal when we get there.”

“Get where?” asked Mulch, who suspected that Holly was being melodramatic.

“The LEP equipment lockup at Tara.”

Mulch’s eyes glowed with dreams of sky-skis and dive bubbles, laser cubes and fat vacuums. The motherload. He’d been trying to crack an LEP lockup for years.

“I can have anything I want?”

“Whatever you can get onto a hovertrolley. One trolley.”

Mulch spat a marbled blob of phlegm into his palm.

“Shake on it,” he said.

Artemis and Holly looked at each other.

“It’s your lockup,” said Artemis, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s your mission,” countered Holly. “I don’t know the combination.” And then the trump. “We’re here for your mother.” Artemis smiled ruefully. “You, Captain Short, are getting as bad as me,” he said, and sealed the deal with a sopping handshake.

CHAPTER 9

Young Artemis made a video call from his PowerBook to the ancient town of Fez in Morocco. Even as he waited for the connection, Artemis silently fumed that it was necessary to make this intercontinental trip at all. Even Casablanca would have been more convenient. Morocco was hot enough without having to drive cross-country to Fez.

On screen a window popped open, barely containing the huge head of Dr. Damon Kronski, one of the most hated men in the world, but revered, too, in certain circles. Damon Kronski was the current president of the Extinctionists organization. Or as Kronski said in his most notorious interview:
The Extinctionists are not just an organi
zation. We are a religion.
Not a statement that endeared him to the peace-loving churches of the world.

The interview had run for months on Internet news sites and was sampled every time the Extinctionists made the headlines. Artemis had viewed it himself that very morning and was repulsed by the man he was about to do business with.

I am swimming with sharks, he realized. And I am prepared to become one of them.

Damon Kronski was an enormous man, whose head began its slope into his shoulders just below the ears. Kronski’s skin was translucent, redhead white with a scattershot of penny freckles, and he wore violet sunglasses that were clamped in place by the folds of his brow and cheeks. His smile was broad, shining, and insincere.

“Little Ah-temis Fowl,” he said with a pronounced New Orleans drawl. “You find your daddy yet?”

Artemis gripped the armrest of his chair, squeezing dents in the leather, but his smile was as shiny and fake as Kronski’s. “No. Not yet.”

“Well now, that’s a pity. Anything I can do to help, you be sure to let your uncle Damon know.”

Artemis wondered if Kronski’s amiable uncle act would fool a drunken half-wit. Perhaps it was not supposed to.

“Thank you for the offer. In a few hours we may be able to help each other.”

Kronski clapped his hands delightedly. “You have located my silky sifaka.”

“I have. Quite a specimen. Male. Three years old. Four feet in length from head to tail. Easily worth a hundred thousand.”

Kronski feigned surprise. “A hundred? Did we really say a hundred thousand euros?”

There was steel in Artemis’s eyes. “You know we did, Doctor. Plus expenses. Jet fuel is not cheap, as you are aware. I would like to hear you confirm it, or I will turn this plane around.”

Kronski leaned close to the camera, his face ballooning in the screen.

“I’m generally a good judge of character, Ah-temis,” he said. “I know what people are capable of. But you, I have no idea what you might do. I think it’s because you haven’t reached your limit yet.” Kronski leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “So, very well. One hundred thousand euros, as we agreed. But a word of warning . . .”

“Ye-es?” said Artemis, stretching the word to two syllables, in the New Orleans fashion, to demonstrate his lack of awe.

“You lose my lemur, my little silky, then you’d better be ready to cover
my
expenses. The trial is all set up, and my people don’t like to be disappointed.”

The word
expenses
sounded a lot more sinister when Kronski used it.

“Don’t worry,” snapped Artemis. “You will get your lemur. Just have my money ready.”

Kronski spread his arms wide. “I’ve got rivers of gold here, Ah-temis. I’ve got mountains of diamonds. The only thing I don’t have is a silky sifaka lemur. So hurry down here, boy, and make my life complete.”

And he hung up a second before Artemis could click the terminate-call button.

Psychologically, that puts Kronski in the power seat, thought Artemis. I must learn to be quicker on the mouse.

He closed the PowerBook lid and reclined his chair. Outside, sunlight was burning through the lower layers of mist, and jet trails drew tic-tac-toe patterns in the sky.

Still in busy airspace. Not for long. Once we hit Africa, the jet streams will thin out considerably. I need a few hours’ sleep; tomorrow will be a long and distasteful day.

He frowned.
Distasteful, yes, but necessary.

Artemis hit the recline button and closed his eyes. Most boys his age were swapping football cards or wearing out their thumbs on game consoles.
He
was in a jet, twenty thousand feet over Europe, planning the destruction of a species with a deranged Extinctionist.

Perhaps I am too young for all this.

Age was immaterial. Without his efforts, Artemis Fowl Senior would be lost forever in Russia, and that was simply not going to happen.

Butler’s voice came over the jet’s intercom. “All quiet up front, Artemis. Once we get out over the Mediterranean, I’m going to put her on autopilot for an hour and try to wind down. . . .”

Artemis stared at the speaker. He could sense that Butler had more to say. Nothing but static and the beep of instruments for a moment, then . . . “Today, Artemis, when you told me to shoot the lemur, you were bluffing. You
were
bluffing, weren’t you?”

“It was no bluff,” said Artemis, his voice unwavering. “I will do whatever it takes.”

Access to the Tara shuttleport was hindered by several steel doors, various scans and codes, tamper-proof biolocks, and a 360
⁰
surveillance network at the entrance, which is not as easy to set up as it is to say. Of course, all of this could be bypassed if one knew a secret way in.

“How did you know I had a secret way in?” pouted Mulch.

In response, Artemis and Holly simply looked at him as though he were an idiot, waiting for the penny to drop.

“Stupid time travel,” muttered the dwarf. “Told you all about it myself, I suppose.”

“You will,”confirmed Holly.“And I don’t see what you’re so upset about. It’s not as if I can report you to anyone.”

“True,” admitted Mulch. “And there is all that lovely loot.”

The three sat in a stolen Mini Cooper outside the boundary fence of the McGraney farm, underneath which was concealed the Tara shuttleport. Thirty thousand cubic feet of terminal hidden by a dairy farm. The first light of dawn was diluting the darkness, and the lumpy silhouettes of grazing cows ambled across the meadow. In a year or two, Tara would become a bustling tourist hub for the fairies, but for the moment, all tourism had been suspended since the Spelltropy outbreak.

Mulch squinted at the nearest beast through the back window. “You know something, I’m a tad peckish. I couldn’t eat a whole cow, but I’d put a fair dent in one.”

“Mulch Diggums hungry. Stop the presses,” commented Artemis drily. He opened the driver’s door and stepped onto the grassy verge. A light mist clung to his face, and the clean smell of country air ran through his system like a stimulant.

“We need to get going. I have no doubt that the lemur is already twenty thousand feet in the air.”

“That’s a nimble lemur,” sniggered the dwarf. He climbed over the front seat, tumbling onto the verge.

“Nice clay,” he said, giving the ground a lick. “Tastes like profit.”

Holly stepped from the passenger seat and sideswiped Mulch’s behind with her loafer.

“There will be no profit for you if we can’t get into the terminal unseen.”

The dwarf picked himself up. “I thought we were supposed to be friends. Easy with the kicking and the punching. Are you always this aggressive?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“Of course I can. I said so, didn’t I? I’ve been running around this terminal for years. Ever since my cousin—” Artemis butted in on the conversation. “Ever since your cousin Nord, if I’m not mistaken. Ever since Nord was arrested on pollution charges, and you broke him out. We know. We know everything about you. Now, let’s move on with the plan.”

Mulch turned his back to Artemis, casually unbuttoning his bum-flap. This action was among the worst insults in a dwarf’s arsenal. Second only to what was known as the Tuba, which involves a cleaning of the pipes in someone’s direction. Wars have been fought over the Tuba.

“Moving on, chief. Stay here for fifteen minutes, then make your way to the main entrance. I would take you with me, but this tunnel is too long to hold things in, if you catch my drift.” He paused for a wink. “And if you stand too close, that’s exactly what you’ll be catching.”

Artemis smiled through gritted teeth. “Very well. Most amusing. Fifteen minutes it is, Mr. Diggums, the clock is ticking.”

“Ticking?” said Mulch. “Fairy clocks haven’t ticked for centuries.”

Then he unhinged his jaw and leaped with astonishing grace, diving into the earth like a dolphin slicing through a wave, but without the sunny disposition or cute grin.

Though Artemis had seen this a dozen times, he could not help being impressed.

“What a species,” he commented. “If they could take their minds off their stomachs for a few minutes, they could rule the world.”

Holly climbed onto the hood of the car, rested her back against the windshield, feeling the sun on her cheeks.

“Maybe they don’t want to rule the world. Maybe that’s just you, Arty.”

Arty.

Guilt gnawed at Artemis’s stomach. He gazed at Holly’s fine familiar features and realized that he couldn’t keep lying to her any longer.

“It’s a pity we had to steal this car,” continued Holly, eyes closed. “But the note we left was clear enough. The owner should find it without a problem.”

Artemis didn’t feel so bad about the car. He had bigger nails in his coffin.

“Yes, the car,” he said absently.

I need to tell her. I have to tell her.

Artemis put a toe on the Mini’s front tire and climbed onto the hood beside Holly. He sat there for a few minutes, concentrating on the experience. Storing it away.

Holly glanced at him sitting next to her. “Sorry about earlier. You know, the thing.”

“The kiss?”

Holly closed her eyes. “Yes. I don’t know what’s happening to me. We’re not even the same species. And when we go back, we will be ourselves again.” Holly covered her face with her free hand. “Listen to me. Babbling. The LEP’s first female captain. That time stream has turned me into what you would call a teenager again.”

It was true. Holly was different: the time stream had brought them closer together.

“What if I’m stuck like this? That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

The question hung in the air between them. A question heavy with insecurity and hope.

If you answer this question, it will be the worst thing you have ever done.

“It wasn’t you, Holly,” Artemis blurted, his forehead hot, his calm cracked.

Holly’s smile froze, still there but puzzled. “What wasn’t me?”

“You didn’t infect my mother. I did it. It was me. I had a few sparks left over from the tunnel, and I made my parents forget I’d been missing for three years.”

Holly’s smile was gone now. “I didn’t . . . but you told me . . .” She stopped in midsentence, the truth washing across her face like a disease.

Artemis pressed on, determined to explain himself.“I had to do it, Holly. Mother is dying . . . will be dying. I needed to be certain of your help. . . . Please understand . . .”

He trailed off, realizing that there was no explaining away his actions. Artemis allowed Holly several minutes to fume, then spoke again. “If there had been another way, Holly, believe me.”

No reaction. Holly’s face was carved in stone.

“Please, Holly. Say something.”

Holly slid from the hood, her feet connecting solidly with the earth.

“Fifteen minutes are up,” she said. “Time to move out.”

She strode across the McGraney boundary without a backward glance, legs cutting twin swathes in the green-black grass. Dawn sunlight shimmered on the tip of each blade, and Holly’s passage set a surging ripple of light flashing across the meadow.

Extraordinary, thought Artemis. What have I lost?

There was nothing to do but trudge after her.

Mulch Diggums was waiting for them inside the holographic bush at the shuttleport’s concealed entrance. In spite of a thick coating of mud, his smug expression was easy to read.

“You won’t be needing an omnitool, Captain,” he said. “I got the door open all on my lonesome.”

Holly was more than surprised. The shuttleport’s main door needed a twenty-digit code, plus a palm-print scan, and she knew that Mulch was about as technologically minded as a stink worm. Not that Holly wasn’t relieved, as she had anticipated a thirty-minute slog resetting the log once she opened the door herself.

“So ...tell me.”

Mulch pointed down the corridor toward the subterranean escalator. A small figure was spread-eagled on the ramp, his head covered in a blob of shining goo.

“Commander Root and his heavy mob have cleared out. Only one security guard left.”

Holly nodded. She knew where Julius Root had gone. Back to Haven to wait for her report from Hamburg.

“The guard was on his rounds up here when I tunneled in, so I swallowed him briefly and gave him a lick of dwarf spit. Everyone reacts differently to the phlegm helmet. This little pixie tried to escape. Slapped the sensor, spouted the code, then staggered around a bit before the sedative got him.”

Artemis pressed past into the access tunnel. “Perhaps our luck is finally turning,” he said, certain he could feel Holly staring daggers into the back of his head.

“A pity he didn’t open the lockup,” sighed Mulch. “Then I could have double-crossed you two and made off with the shuttle.”

Artemis froze. “Shuttle?” he braved Holly’s hostile gaze to ask. “A shuttle, Holly. Do you think we could still beat my younger self to Morocco?”

Holly’s eyes were flat, and her tone was neutral.“It’s possible; it depends on how long it takes me to cover our tracks.”

The shuttle was what LEP pilots would call a snowgood, as in
Snowgood for anything but the recycling smelter
. Butler, Artemis knew, would have been more straightforward in his assessment of the vehicle.

He could hear the big bodyguard’s voice in his head.
I have driven some heaps in my time, Artemis. But this pig is ...