Mulch was eavesdropping on the conversation and couldn’t resist a comment.
‘Didn’t you smell what I shot those trolls with? You think you could hallucinate that, Mud Boy?’
Holly started the engines.
‘Hold on, back there,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It’s time to go. The sensors have picked up some shuttles sweeping local chutes. The authorities are looking for us. I need to get us somewhere off the charts.’
Holly teased the throttle, lifting them smoothly from the ground. If the shuttle had not had portholes, the passengers might not have noticed the take-off.
Butler elbowed Mulch. ‘Did you see that? That’s a take-off. I hope you learned something.’
The dwarf was highly offended. ‘What do I have to do to get a bit of respect around here? You are all alive because of me, and all I get is abuse.’
Butler laughed. ‘OK, little friend. I apologize. We owe you our lives, and I for one will never forget it.’
Artemis followed this interaction curiously. ‘I would deduce that you remember everything, Butler. If, for a moment, I accept this situation as reality, then your memory must have been stimulated. Did I, perhaps, leave something behind?’
Butler pulled the laser disk from his pocket.
‘Oh yes, Artemis. There was a message on this disk for me. You left yourself a message too.’
Artemis took the disk. ‘At last,’ he said. ‘Some intelligent conversation.’
Artemis found a small bathroom at the rear of the shuttle. The indoor toilet was only to be used in an emergency and the seat was made from a spongy material that,
Mulch had assured him, would break down any waste as it passed through. Artemis decided he would test the filter at another time, and he sat on a small ledge by the porthole.
There was a plasma screen on the wall, presumably for in-restroom entertainment. All he had to do was slip the computer disk into the drive below the screen, and his fairy memories would be returned to him. A whole new world. An old one.
Artemis spun the disk between his thumb and forefinger. Psychologically speaking, if he loaded this disk, it meant that some part of him accepted the truth of all this. Putting the disk in the slot could plunge him deeper into some kind of psychotic episode. Not putting it in could condemn the world to a war between species. The fairy and human worlds would collide.
What would Father do? Artemis asked himself.
He loaded the disk.
Two files appeared on the desktop, marked with animated 3D gifs, something the fairy system had obviously added on. Both were tapped with the file names in English and the fairy language. Artemis selected his own file by touching the plasma screen’s transparent covering. The file glowed orange, then expanded to fill the screen. Artemis saw himself in Fowl Manor, sitting at his desk in the study.
‘Greetings,’ said the screen Artemis. ‘How nice for to see me. Doubtless this will be the first intelligent conversation you have had for some time.’
The real Artemis smiled. ‘Correct,’ he replied.
‘I paused for a second there,’ continued the screen Artemis, ‘to give you a chance to respond, thus qualifying this as a conversation. There will be no more pausing, as time is limited. Captain Holly Short is downstairs, being distracted by Juliet, but doubtless she will check on me soon. We depart for Chicago presently to deal with Mister Jon Spiro, who has stolen something from me. The price of fairy assistance in this matter is a mind wipe. All memories of the People will be erased forever, unless I can leave a message for my future self, thus prompting recall. This is that message. The following video footage contains specific details of my involvement with the fairy People. Hopefully, this information will get those brain-cell pathways sparking again.’
Artemis rubbed his forehead. The vague, mysterious flashes persisted. It seemed as though his brain was ready to rebuild those pathways. All he needed was the right stimulus.
‘In conclusion,’ said the screen Artemis, ‘I would like to wish you, myself, the best of luck. And welcome back.’
The next hour passed in a blur. Images flashed from the screen, adhering to empty spaces in Artemis’s brain. Each memory felt right, the instant Artemis processed it.
Of course, he thought. This explains everything. I had the mirrored contact lenses made so I could lie to the fairies and hide the existence of this journal. I fixed Mulch
Diggums’s search warrant so that he could return the disk to me. Butler looks older because he is older; the fairy healing in London saved his life, but cost him fifteen years.
The memories were not all proud ones. I kidnapped Captain Short. I imprisoned Holly. How could I have done that?
He could not deny it any longer. This was all true. Everything that his eyes had seen was real. The fairies existed and his life had been intertwined with theirs for more than two years. A million images sprouted in his consciousness, rebuilding electric bridges in his brain. They strobed behind his eyes in a confusing display of colour and wonder. A lesser mind than Artemis’s might have been utterly exhausted, but the Irish boy was exhilarated.
I know it all now, he thought. I beat Koboi before, and I will do it again. This determination was fuelled by sadness. Commander Root is gone. She took him from his People.
Artemis had known this earlier, but now it meant something.
There was one other thought, more persistent than the rest. It crashed into his mind like a tsunami.
I have friends? thought Artemis Fowl II. I have friends.
Artemis emerged from the bathroom a different person. Physically, he was still battered, bruised and exhausted, but emotionally he felt prepared for everything that lay ahead. If a body-language analyst had studied him at that moment, they would have observed his relaxed shoulders and open palms and would have concluded that this was (psychologically speaking) a more welcoming and trustworthy individual than the one who had entered the bathroom an hour earlier.
The shuttle was parked in a secondary chute, off the beaten track, and its occupants were at the mess table. A selection of LEP field ration packs had been torn open and devoured. The biggest pile of foil packs was stacked in front of Mulch Diggums.
Mulch glanced at Artemis and noticed the change immediately. ‘About time you got your head in order,’ grunted Mulch, struggling from his chair. ‘I need to get into that bathroom urgently.’
‘Nice to see you too, Mulch,’ said Artemis, stepping aside to allow the dwarf past.
Holly froze, a sachet of juice halfway to her mouth. ‘You remember him?’
Artemis smiled. ‘Of course, Holly. We have known each other for over two years.’
Holly jumped from her chair and clasped Artemis by the shoulders.
‘Artemis. It’s great to see you. The real you. The gods know we need Artemis Fowl right now.’
‘Well, he’s here and ready for duty, Captain.’
‘Do you remember everything?’
‘Yes, I do. And first of all, let me apologize for that “consultant” business. That was very rude. Please forgive me.’
‘But what made you remember?’ wondered the elf. ‘Don’t tell me a visit to the bathroom jogged your memory.’
‘Not exactly.’ Artemis held up the computer disk. ‘I gave this to Mulch. It is my video diary. He was supposed to return it to me on his release from prison.’
Holly shook her head. ‘That’s not possible. Mulch was searched by experts. The only thing you gave to him was the gold medallion.’
Artemis angled the disk so that it caught the light.
‘Of course,’ groaned Holly, slapping her forehead. ‘You passed off that disk as the gold medallion. Very clever.’
Artemis shrugged. ‘Genius, actually. It seems merely clever in hindsight, but the original idea was pure genius.’
Holly cocked her head. ‘Genius. Of course. Believe it or not, I actually missed that smug grin.’
Artemis took a breath. ‘I am so sorry about Julius. I know our relationship was a rocky one, but I had nothing but respect and admiration for the commander.’
Holly wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She said nothing, just nodding.
If Artemis needed another reason to go after Opal Koboi, the sight of the elfin captain so disturbed was it.
Butler ate the contents of a field ration pack in one mouthful. ‘Now that we’re all reacquainted, we should try to track Opal Koboi down. It’s a big world.’
Artemis waved his fingers dismissively. ‘No need. I know exactly where our would-be murderer is. Like all megalomaniacs, she has a tendency to show off.’
He crossed to a plastic computer keyboard on the wall, calling up a map of Europe.
‘I see your Gnommish has come back to you,’ sniffed Holly.
‘Of course,’ said Artemis, enlarging part of the map. ‘Opal revealed a little bit more of her plans than she knew. She let two words slip, though one would have been sufficient. She said that her human name was to be Belinda Zito. Now, if you wished to lead the humans to the fairy People, who better to have adopt you than the renowned billionaire environmentalist Giovanni Zito?’
Holly crossed the shuttle deck to the screen. ‘And where would we find Mister Zito?’
Artemis tapped a few keys, zooming in on Sicily.
‘At his world-famous Earth Ranch. Right here in Messina Province,’ he said.
Mulch stuck his head out of the bathroom. The rest of him was mercifully hidden behind the door. ‘Did I hear you talking about a Mud Man named Zito?’
Holly turned towards the dwarf, then kept right on turning. ‘Yes. So what? And for heaven’s sake close the door.’
Mulch pulled the door so only a crack remained. ‘I was just watching a bit of human television in here, as you do. Well, there’s a Zito on CNN. Do you think it’s the same person?’
Holly grabbed a remote control from the table.
‘I really hope not,’ she said. ‘But I’d bet my life it is.’
A group of humans appeared on the screen. They were gathered in what looked like a prefabricated laboratory, and each wore a white coat. One stood out from the rest. He was in his mid-forties, with tanned skin, strong, handsome features and long, dark hair curling over his collar. He wore rimless glasses and a lab coat. A striped
Versace shirt protruded from under his white lapels.
‘Giovanni Zito,’ said Artemis.
‘It is incredible, really,’ Zito was telling a reporter in slightly accented English. ‘We have sent crafts to other planets, and yet we have no idea what lies beneath our feet. Scientists can tell us the chemical make-up of Saturn’s rings, but we don’t honestly know what lies at the centre of our own planet.’
‘But probes have been sent down before,’ said the reporter, trying to pretend he hadn’t just picked up this knowledge from his earpiece.
‘Yes,’ agreed Zito. ‘But only to a depth of about nine miles. We need to get through to the outer core itself, over one thousand eight hundred miles down.
Imagine if the currents of liquid metal in the outer core could be harnessed.
There’s enough free energy in that metal to power mankind’s machines forever.‘
The reporter was sceptical — at least, the real scientist speaking in his earpiece told him to be sceptical. ‘But this is all speculation, Doctor Zito. Surely a voyage to the centre of the Earth is nothing but a fantasy? Possible only in the pages of science fiction.’
A brief flash of annoyance clouded Giovanni Zito’s features. ‘This is no fantasy, sir, I assure you. This is no fantastical voyage. We are sending an unmanned probe, bristling with sensors. Whatever is down there, we will find it.’
The reporter’s eyes widened in panic as a particularly technical question came through his earpiece. He listened for several seconds, mouthing the words as he heard them.
‘Doctor Zito, eh… This probe you are sending down, I believe it will be encased in one hundred million tonnes of molten iron at about five and a half thousand degrees Celsius. Is that correct?’
‘Absolutely,’ confirmed Zito.
The reporter looked relieved. ‘Yes. I knew that. Anyway, my point is, it will take several years to gather so much iron. So why did you ask us here today?’
Zito clapped his hands excitedly. ‘This is the wonderful part. As you know, the core probe was a long-term project. I had planned to accumulate the iron over the next ten years. But now, laser drilling has revealed a deep ore body of haematite, iron ore, on the bottom edge of the crust, right here in Sicily. It’s incredibly rich, perhaps eighty-five per cent iron. All we need to do is detonate several charges inside that deposit and we will have our molten iron. I have already secured the mining permits from the government.’
The reporter asked the next question all on his own. ‘So, Doctor Zito, when do you detonate?’
Giovanni Zito removed two thick cigars from his lab coat pocket.
‘We detonate today,’ he said, passing a cigar to the reporter. ‘Ten years early.
This is a historic moment.’ Zito drew the office curtains, revealing a fenced-off area of scrubland outside the window. A metallic section of piping protruded from the earth in the centre of the half-mile-square enclosure. As they watched, a crew of workmen clambered out of the piping, moving hurriedly away from the opening. Wisps of gaseous coolant spiralled from the pipe. The men climbed into a golf trolley and exited the compound. They took shelter in a concrete bunker at the perimeter.
‘There are several megatons of TNT buried at strategic points inside the ore body,’ explained Zito. ‘If this was detonated on the surface, it would cause an earthquake measuring seven on the Richter scale.’
The reporter swallowed nervously. ‘Really?’
Zito laughed. ‘Don’t worry. The charges are shaped. The blast is focused down and in. The iron will be liquefied and begin its descent to the Earth’s core, carrying the probe with it. We will feel nothing.’
‘Down and in? You’re sure about that?’
‘Positive,’ said Zito. ‘We are perfectly safe here.’
On the wall behind the Italian doctor a speaker squawked three times. ‘Dottori Zito,’ said a gruff voice. ‘All clear. All clear.’
Zito picked up a black remote detonator from the desk.
‘The time has come,’ he said dreamily. He looked straight into the camera. ‘My darling Belinda, this is for you.’
Zito pressed the button and waited, wide-eyed. The room’s other occupants, the dozen or so scientists and technicians, turned anxiously to various readout panels and monitors.
‘We have detonation,’ announced one.
Nine miles below ground, forty-two shaped charges exploded simultaneously, liquefying one hundred and eighteen million tonnes of iron. The rock content was pulverized and absorbed by the metal. A pillar of smoke blew out of the cylindrical opening, but there was no detectable vibration.
‘The probe is functioning at one hundred per cent,’ said a technician.
