by Eoin Colfer
“The fabric is actually woven from cam-foil, so you are virtually hidden all the time. It saves you using your magical shield,” explained Foaly. “Of course the function can be turned off. The wings are built into this suit. A completely retractable whisper design, a brand-new concept in wing construction. They take their power from a cell on your belt, and of course each wing is coated with mini-solars for aboveground flights. The suits also have their own pressure equalizers; now you can go directly from one environment to another without getting the bends.”
Root held the second suit before him. “These must cost a fortune.”
Foaly nodded. “You have no idea. Half of my research budget for last year went to developing those suits. They won’t replace the old suit for five years at least. Those two are the only operational models we have, so I would appreciate getting them back. They are shockproof, fire resistant, invisible to radar, and relay a continuous stream of diagnostic information back to Police Plaza. The current LEP helmet sends us basic vitals data, but the new suit sends a second stream of information that can tell us if your arteries are blocked, diagnose fractured bones, and even detect dry skin. It’s a flying clinic. There’s even a bulletproof plate on the chest, in case a human shoots at you.”
Holly held the suit before a green plasma screen. The cam-foil instantly turned emerald.
“I like it,” she said. “Green is my color.”
Trouble Kelp had commandeered spotlights left on-site by the movie company and directed them into the shuttleport’s lower level. The stark light picked up every floating speck of dust, giving the entire departures area an underwater feel. Commander Root and Captain Short edged into the room, weapons drawn and visors down.
“What do you think of the suit?” asked Holly, automatically keeping track of the various displays on the inside of her visor. LEP trainees often had difficulty developing the double focus needed to watch the terrain and their helmet screens. This often resulted in an action known as filling the vase, which was how LEP officers referred to throwing up in one’s helmet.
“Not bad,” replied Root. “Light as a feather, and you wouldn’t even know you were wearing wings. Don’t tell Foaly I said that; his head is swelled enough as it is.”
“No need to tell me, Commander,” said Foaly’s voice in his earpiece. The speakers were a new gel-vibration variety, and it sounded as though the centaur was in the helmet with him. “I’m with you every step of the way, from the safety of the shuttle, of course.”
“Of course,” said Root dourly.
The pair advanced cautiously past a line of check-in booths. Foaly had assured them that there was no possible danger in this area of the terminal, but the centaur had been wrong before. And mistakes in the field cost lives.
The film company had decided that the actual dirt in the terminal was not authentic enough, and so had sprayed piles of gray foam in various corners. They had even added a doll’s head to one mound. A poignant touch, or so they thought. The walls and escalator were blackened with fake laser burns.
“Quite a shooting match,” said Root, grinning.
“Slightly exaggerated. I doubt if half a dozen shots were fired.”
They proceeded through the embarkation area into the docking zone. The original shuttle used by the goblins in their smuggling runs had been resurrected and lay in the docking bay. The shuttle had been painted gloss black to make it seem more menacing, and a goblinesque decorated prow had been added to its nose.
“How far?” said Root into his mike.
“I’m transferring the thermal signature to your helmets,” replied Foaly.
Seconds later a schematic appeared in their visors. The plan was slightly confusing, as, in effect, they were looking down on themselves. There were three heat sources in the building. Two were close together, moving slowly toward the chute itself: Holly and the commander. The third figure was stationary in the access tunnel. Inches past the third figure, the thermoscan was whited out by the ambient heat from E37.
They reached the blast doors: seven feet of solid steel that separated the access tunnel from the rest of the terminal. Shuttles and eggs would glide in on a magnetized rail, to be dropped into the chute itself. The doors were sealed.
“Can you open these remotely, Foaly?”
“But of course, Commander. I have managed, quite ingeniously, to marry my operating system with the terminal’s old computers. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds . . .”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the commander, cutting Foaly off. “Just push the button, before I come out there and push it with your face.”
“Some things never change,” muttered Foaly, pushing the button.
The access tunnel smelled like a blast furnace. Ancient swirls of melted ore hung from the roof, and the ground underfoot was cracked and treacherous. Each footfall punctured a crust of soot, leaving a trail of deep footprints. There was another set of footprints leading to the shadowy figure huddled on the ground a few feet from the chute itself.
“There,” said Root.
“Got him,” said Holly, resting the bull’s-eye of her laser sight on the figure’s trunk.
“Keep him covered,” ordered the commander. “I’m going down.”
Root advanced along the tunnel, keeping well out of Holly’s line of fire. If Scalene did make a move, Holly would need a clear shot. But the general (if it was him) squatted immobile, his spine curled along the tunnel wall. His frame was covered by a full-length hooded cape.
The commander turned on his helmet PA, so he could be heard above the howl of core wind.
“You there. Stand facing the wall. Place your hands on your head.”
The figure did not move. Holly had not expected it to. Root stepped closer, always cautious, knees bent, ready to dive to one side. He poked the figure’s shoulder with his Neutrino 3000.
“On your feet, Scalene.”
The poke was sufficient to knock the figure sideways. The goblin keeled over, landing faceup on the tunnel floor. Soot flakes fluttered around him like disturbed bats. The hood flopped to one side, revealing the figure’s face: most important, the eyes.
“It’s him,” said Root. “He’s been mesmerized.”
The general’s slitted eyes were bloodshot and vacant. This was a serious development, as it confirmed that somebody else had planned the escape, and Holly and Root had walked into a trap.
“I recommend we leave,” said Holly. “Immediately.”
“No,” said Root, leaning over the goblin. “Now that we’re here, we might as well take Scalene back with us.”
He placed his free hand on the goblin’s collar, preparing to haul him to his feet. Later, Holly would record in her report that it was at that precise moment when things began to go terribly wrong. What had been a routine, albeit strange, assignment, suddenly became an altogether more sinister affair.
“Do not touch me, elf,” said a voice. A hissing goblin voice. Scalene’s voice. But how could that be? The general’s lips had not moved.
Root reared back, then steadied himself. “What’s going on here?”
Holly’s soldier’s sense was buzzing at the base of her neck.
“Whatever it is, we won’t like it. We should go, Commander, right now.”
Root’s features were thoughtful. “That voice came from his chest.”
“Maybe he had surgery,” said Holly. “Let’s get out of here.”
The commander reached down a hand, flipping Scalene’s cape aside. There was a metal box strapped to the general’s chest. The box was a foot square with a small screen in the center. There was a shadowy face on the screen, and it was talking.
“Ah, Julius,” it said in Scalene’s voice. “I knew you’d come. Commander Root’s famous ego would not allow him to stay out of the action. An obvious trap, and you walked straight into it.”
The voice was definitely Scalene’s, but there was something about the phrasing, the cadence. It was too sophisticated fo
r a goblin. Sophisticated and strangely familiar.
“Have you figured it out yet, Captain Short?” said the voice. A voice that was changing. Slipping into a higher register. The tones were no longer male, not even goblin. That’s a female talking, thought Holly. A female that I know.
A face appeared on the screen. A beautiful and malicious face. Eyes bright with hate. Opal Koboi’s face. The rest of the head was swathed in bandages, but the features were only too visible.
Holly began to speak rapidly into her helmet mike. “Foaly, we have a situation here. Opal Koboi is loose. I repeat, Koboi is loose. This whole thing is a trap. Cordon off the area, sixteen-hundred-foot perimeter, and bring in the medical warlocks. Someone is about to get hurt.”
The face on the screen laughed, tiny pixie teeth glinting like pearls.
“Talk all you want, Captain Short. Foaly can’t hear you.
My device has blocked your transmissions as easily as I blocked your seeker-sleeper and the substance scan that I assume you ran. Your little centaur friend can see you, though. I left him his precious lenses.”
Holly immediately zoomed in on Opal’s pixelated face. If Foaly got a shot of the pixie, he would figure out the rest.
Again Koboi laughed. Opal was genuinely enjoying herself. “Oh very good, Captain. You were always a smart one. Relatively speaking, of course. Show Foaly my face and he will initiate an alert. Sorry to disappoint you, Holly, but this entire device is constructed from stealth ore and is practically invisible to the artificial eye. All Foaly will see is a slight shimmer of interference.”
Stealth ore had been developed for space vehicles. It absorbed every form of wave or signal known to fairy or man, and so was virtually invisible to everything but the naked eye. It was also incredibly expensive to manufacture. Even the small amount necessary to cover Koboi’s device would have cost a warehouse full of gold.
Root straightened quickly. “The odds are against us here, Captain. Let’s move out.”
Holly didn’t bother with relief. Opal Koboi wouldn’t make things that easy. There was no way they were just walking out of here. If Foaly could hijack the terminal’s computers, then so could Koboi.
Opal’s laugh stretched to an almost hysterical screech.
“Move out? How very tactical of you, Commander. You really need to expand your vocabulary. Whatever next? Duck and cover?”
Holly peeled back a Velcro patch on her sleeve, revealing a Gnommish keyboard. She quickly accessed her helmet’s LEP criminal database, opening Opal Koboi’s file in her visor.
“Opal Koboi,” said Corporal Frond’s voice. The LEP always used Frond for voice-overs and recruitment videos. She was glamorous and elegant, with flowing blond tresses and inch-long manicured nails that were absolutely no use in the field. “LEP enemy number one. Currently under guard in the J. Argon Clinic. Opal Koboi is a certified genius, scoring over three hundred on the standardized IQ test. She is also a suspected megalomaniac, with an obsessive personality. Studies indicate that Koboi may be a pathological liar, and suffers from mild schizophrenia. For more detailed information, please consult the LEP central library on the second floor of Police Plaza.”
Holly closed the file. An obsessive genius and a pathological liar. Just what they needed. The information didn’t help much; it pretty much told her what she already knew. Opal was loose, she wanted to kill them, and she was smart enough to figure out how to do it.
Opal was still enjoying her triumph. “You don’t know how long I have waited for this moment,” the pixie said, then paused. “Actually, you do know. After all, you were the ones who wrecked my plan. And now I have you both.”
Holly was puzzled. Opal may have serious mental issues, but that could not be confused with stupidity. Why would she prattle on? Was she trying to distract them?
The same thing occurred to Root. “Holly! The doors!”
Holly whirled around to see the blast doors sliding across, the sound of their engines masked by core wind. If those doors closed they would be completely cut off from the LEP, and at the mercy of Opal Koboi.
Holly targeted the magnetic rollers along the doors’ upper rim, sinking blast after blast from her Neutrino into their mechanisms. The doors jerked in their housings, but did not stop. Two of the rollers blew out, but the massive portals’ momentum carried them together. They connected with an ominous bong.
“Alone at last,” said Opal, sounding for all the world like an innocent college fairy on her first date.
Root pointed his weapon at the device belted around Scalene’s middle, as if he could somehow hurt Koboi.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“You know what I want,” replied Opal. “The question is, how am I going to get it? What form of revenge would be the most satisfying? Naturally, you will both end up dead, but that’s not enough. I want you to suffer as I did. Discredited and despised. One of you at least; the other will have to be sacrificed. I don’t really care which.”
Root retreated to the blast doors, motioning for Holly to follow. “Options?” he whispered, his back to Koboi’s device.
Holly raised her visor, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. The helmets were air-conditioned, but sometimes sweating had nothing to do with temperature.
“We have to get out of here,” she said. “The chute is the only way.”
Root nodded. “Agreed. We fly up far enough to clear Koboi’s blocker signal, then alert Major Kelp.”
“What about Scalene? He’s mesmerized to the gills; he can’t look after himself. If we do escape, Opal is not going to leave him around as evidence.”
It was basic criminal logic. Your typical take-over-the-world types are not averse to knocking off a few of their own if it means a clean getaway.
Root actually growled. “It really tugs my beard to put us in harm’s way over a goblin, but that’s the job. We take Scalene with us. I want you to sink a few charges into that box around his waist, and when the buzzing stops, I throw him over my shoulder and we’re off up E37.”
“Understood,” said Holly, lowering the setting on her weapon to minimum. Some of the charge would be transferred to Scalene, but it wouldn’t do much more than dry up his eyeballs for a couple of minutes.
“Ignore the pixie. Whatever she says, keep your mind on the job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Root took several deep breaths. Somehow it calmed Holly to see the commander as nervous as she was. “Okay. Go.”
The two elves turned and strode rapidly toward the unconscious goblin.
“Have we come up with a little plan?” said Koboi, mocking them from the small screen. “Something ingenious, I hope. Something I haven’t thought of?”
Grim faced, Holly tried to shut out the words, but they wormed their way into her thoughts. Something ingenious? Hardly. It was simply the only option open to them. Something Koboi hadn’t thought of? Doubtful. Opal conceivably could have been planning this for almost a year. Were they just about to do exactly what she wanted?
“Sir . . .” began Holly, but Root was already in position beside Scalene.
Holly fired six charges at the small screen. All six impacted on Koboi’s pixelated features. Opal’s image disappeared in a storm of static. Sparks squeezed between the metal seams and acrid smoke leaked through the speaker grid.
Root hesitated for a moment, allowing any charge to disperse, then grabbed Scalene firmly by the shoulders.
Nothing happened.
I was wrong, thought Holly, releasing a breath she did not realize she’d been holding. I was wrong, thank the gods. Opal has no plan. But it wasn’t true, and Holly didn’t really believe it.
The box around Scalene’s midriff was secured by a set of octo-bonds, eight telescoping cables often used by the LEP to restrain dangerous criminals. They could be locked and unlocked remotely, and once cinched, could not be removed without the remote or an angle grinder. As soon as Root leaned over, the octo-bonds released Scalene and whiplashed aroun
d the commander’s torso, releasing Scalene and drawing the metal box tight to Root’s own chest.
Koboi’s face appeared on the reverse side of the box. The smokescreen had been just that: a smokescreen.
“Commander Root,” she said, almost breathless with malice. “It looks like you’re the sacrifice.”
“D’Arvit!” swore Root, beating the metal box with the butt of his pistol. The cords tightened until Root’s breath came in agonized spurts. Holly heard more than one rib crack. The commander fought the urge to sink to his feet. Magical blue sparks played around his torso, automatically healing the broken bones.
Holly rushed forward to help, but before she could reach her superior officer, an urgent beeping began to emanate from the device’s speaker. The closer she got, the louder the beep.
“Stay back,” grunted Root. “Stay back. It’s a trigger.”
Holly stopped in her sooty tracks, punching the air in frustration. But the commander was probably right. She had heard of proximity triggers before. Dwarfs used them in the mines. They would set a charge in the tunnels, activate a proximity trigger, and then set it off from a safe distance, using a stone.
Opal’s face reappeared on the screen.
“Listen to your Julius, Captain Short,” advised the pixie. “This is a moment for caution. Your commander is quite right: the tone you hear is indeed a proximity trigger. If you come too close, he will be vaporized by the explosive gel packed into the metal box.”
“Stop lecturing and tell us what you want,” snarled Root.
“Now, now, Commander, patience. Your worries will be over soon enough. In fact they are already over, so why don’t you just wait quietly while your final seconds tick away.”
Holly circled the commander, keeping the beep constant, until her back was to the chute. “There’s a way out of this, Commander,” she said. “I just need to think. I need a minute to sort things out.”
“Let me help you to sort things out,” said Koboi mockingly, her childlike features ugly with malice. “Your LEP comrades are currently trying to laser their way in here. Of course they will never make it in time. But you can bet that my old school chum, Foaly, is glued to his video screen. So what does he see? He sees his good friend Holly Short apparently holding a gun on her commander. Now why would she want to do that?”