Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. The characters Artemis Fowl, Butler et al. are the property of Eoin Colfer. I only own this story's plot.

Child's Play

A gentle wind rolls across the Irish countryside, emphasizing the general peaceful atmosphere that is founded by a clear, azure sky, and several languishing cows. This utopian setting is quickly absorbed by a young boy, who sits in the midst of a sprawling front yard, creating a disturbingly obvious contrast from the general wealth of surrounding neighborhoods.

A normal five-year-old may feel a bit of sympathy for the fate of his countrymen, but Artemis Fowl has slightly more important things to do than bury his mind in a mission of charity. As a cloud slowly covers the sky, young Artemis looks to his faithful (so he believed, as his young mind still maintains vestiges of blind trust) bodyguard, proudly fingering his new weapon- some shiny amalgamation of chrome and steel Artemis still cannot comprehend to be a threat.

Artemis picks up a blade of grass and slowly mashes it between his fingers, sniffing it as he allows himself to descend into a simple state of childlike bliss. The moment passes, and Artemis looks up sharply to his guardian, Butler.

"Why, Butler," queries Artemis, "must I take the word of my teachers to be the definition of my reality?"

Butler looks up sharply from his weapon, vexed by the distraction. His lack of experience with children's disposition in general (especially as he felt that he had never really had a childhood of his own) had always limited the conversations between master and servant. However, several stern rebukes about "not providing a fitting companion for such an impressionable boy" from Artemis Senior (usually before he embarked on yet another "last" intercontinental endeavor) had quickly pierced his icy shell of indifference, along with the threat of decreasing his nearly nonexistent salary.

Butler thus responded, with an unnaturally honeyed voice, "Whatever do you mean?"

Artemis, looking up to his stoic bodyguard (who had assumed a relatively comfortable stance under a spreading chestnut tree), asked with a hint of irritation: "I mean, as I feel I have clearly stated, why must I take other's versions of how the world works and then be obliged to use it as my own?"

Butler, who had been directly commanded by Artemis Senior to instill a strong religious backbone into his son's raw mind, was a bit startled by this brash question. Speaking in a measured voice, so as to be sure that the child remembered his words and would not go about tossing his intrusive questions in the presence of his rather rigid father, replied, "Well, surely a child such as yourself would not be able to formulate a deep perspective upon the workings of our vast universe. Such advanced, arcane work is best left to your well-versed elders. As a child, you must simply try to understand what is taught. I assure you, time has proven that this method is perfectly functional."

As the sky darkened overhead, cumulonimbus clouds intruding upon the once-placid troposphere; Artemis wrinkled his brow in dissatisfaction. "But what of science? Am I to abandon my studies due to my supposed incapability?"

Butler moistened his lips and reviewed the words of his next utterance meticulously before issuing them: "Surely not, dear boy. You must imbibe that which is given to you so freely and selflessly. Why? Are you struggling in your studies? Does the terminology seem a bit garbled to you? Shall I summon your tutor early so that you may review further?"

Wind starts to blow more intensely across the manor's grounds, ruffling the young master's trademark Fowl raven hair. Artemis hurriedly retorts, "No, Butler- I think that would be... quite... unnecessary. It... isn't so much the terms, really… It's the application."

Butler shifts his gaze from his weapon's gleaming stock once more to the loquacious child, saying, "Surely you are not questioning the capabilities of your tutor; he has spent more time immersing himself in the knowledge of the ancients than all the years of your life combined, in the intellectual paradise of the Far East. Consider yourself lucky to be receiving such enlightened guidance, as what knowledge you possess now would certainly make those slobs in America shrivel in comparison. Do you know? Those imbeciles, even those thrice your age, would not know… Now what is it you are studying, dear boy?"

"Projectile physics, Butler," Artemis drawled, exhaling noisily.

As Butler scratches his head, trying to recall the specifics of that particular subject matter so as to not sound like a complete charlatan, eddies of manicured turf mingle in the winds, their undulating waves entering and leaving existence near-spontaneously.

Artemis encumbers the poor, widowed gardener's job yet further by fiddling impatiently with the grass.

Butler, remembering nothing more than the rudiments of the subject at hand, cobbles together a simplistic understanding of the subject, and so declaims, "Well, aren't the Newtonian equations upon descent sufficient to show you how to solve problems given a typical scenario?"

Artemis looks up wearily from his lap and answers, "Are you referring, perhaps, to those quaint idealisms concerning Person A throwing a rock from a precise height of 20 meters, at a perfect angle of 45 degrees above the horizontal? Or, alternatively, Prof. Ming's 'modern problems' concerning the exact same scenario, except with 'relatable' figures involved, such as 'Bob' or 'Alice' as opposed to the generic 'Person A?'"

Butler frantically scours his weapon for invisible imperfections as his brain struggles to piece together a suitable reply: "Well, surely, the general theory is there... and the conceptual bits should be enough to propel you through any relevant problem in real life. By learning how to approach problems in general, the actual matter of solving.. is... well... child's play."

Artemis, ignoring the slight, responds casually, "So you say that this supposed general 'logic' should be sufficient to pull me through any problem. But how am I even to garner this logic in the first place?"

Butler, relaxing a bit as he feels that this argument is nothing but puerile resistance against the inevitable, retorts, "Have I not already explained this, my boy? Solving the problems so carefully hand-picked by your tutor, Prof. Lee Ming, should spark this sort of perspective towards real-life challenges."

Artemis looks back at his manservant in exasperation and snarls, "But I have already said this- the problems that I am presented with are little more than checks to establish that I have been at least semi-conscious while reading the corresponding passage in the textbook. They merely 'check for understanding'... but this so called understanding is little more than the ability to parrot the very facts that I have just read. In this way, the course's purpose is to render me little more than a siphon: drawing up mere facts from a tainted pool of knowledge, and then depositing them into perfectly-shaped grooves to prove that I have gained something. But have I? All that these facts seem to explain is that science is an isolated discipline... stuck in a world in which everything is what it seems. I can gain no perspective, because the problems contrast so greatly with what I see on a day-to-day basis"

It starts to rain lightly, fortuitously veiling Butler's profuse sweating. His damp weapon starts to slip in his hand, and he grasps it tightly as he formulates a reply. Desperately, he switches his approach, claiming, "But what of the science 'labs'? Surely, those novel interactive experiences that Prof. Ming has brought to us from his travels should provide you with all the practical immersion you wish."

"If only," Artemis snapped after Butler uttered the last syllable of his previous statement, "that were the case. The 'labs' are merely extrapolations of the aforementioned problems. What I find, at this level at least, is that the labs are nearly as idealized as the problems. I am told to demonstrate an overtly hypothetical scenario, conveniently requiring the facts that I have just learned in a blatantly obvious form. I am told, in essence, to assume the role of 'person A'... and in the process get even further distanced from the reality of science."

"But," replies Butler, too flustered to properly compose his next statement, "Doesn't the integration of the 'scientific method' also help you solve problems in real life? By having to identify a problem, create a hypothesis and eventually draw a conclusion (and naturally, repeating these steps until you acquire a satisfactory result), any scientific problem that stands before you can easily be dispelled."

Butler then looks sternly at his charge. "I do hope that you have memorized these steps... Prof. Ming assures me that the drilling of basic concepts such as these provides a firm foundation for future learning, which then may be drilled again, so providing a rock-solid..."

Artemis brushes off the interrogative like an irksome gadfly, and interrupts Butler's lecture, "Butler, do me a favor (not that you really have a choice): please fire your weapon at that holly tree over yonder."

Butler, surprised at this sudden change of subject, reluctantly obliges Artemis. His burly frame barely recoils as his gun discharges a sizable bullet. It soars upwind towards its target, creating a slightly wobbly arc in its wake. It misses the tree's bark by a few painful millimeters, and sounds of squawking are heard from the fowl that were heretofore residing within it. Butler winces.

"Not the target you were aiming for, I believe" Artemis remarks dryly

Butler blusters, "But... I..." He then looks at his weapon again, and slaps himself on the forehead

"Oh... I forgot. It's a new weapon... Artemis Fowl Senior would not let me fire it when you were present (oh dear)... So the results were quite unexpected. It shames a proud marksman like me to say it... But that was a fluke."

Artemis claps his hands triumphantly, and responds, "But, I am assured that you checked the specifications of this weapon before... *ahem*.. Acquiring it?"

Butler looks down at Artemis, his embarrassment forgotten, and declares supremely, "Well, of course... You wouldn't expect a professional such as myself to simply walk in the front door of a corner-store and pick a gun I fancy on sight? No, my boy, in my discipline we always verify the precise details of a serious transaction."

Artemis continues, "You, walk in the front door? Hardly... But, am I right in assuming that among these specifications was the speed of firing expected from your weapon?"

Butler casually affirms Artemis' statement.

Artemis, in an equally casual tone, responds, "Yet I know you to be, as you previously stated, a proud marksman. You are very diligent in your accuracy, and have hours of assiduous practice at the firing range under your belt. A gun is to you merely an extension of your hand, the intuition of your marksmanship second nature. Surely you did not intend to miss that shot in the presence of a child such as myself, and did put some amount of effort to try and seem a competent marksman, and so a competent protector, to me?"

Butler then claims, "Well, naturally I did not intend that sort of error to occur... I treat every shot of mine as a work of art... An attempt at perfection per se."

Artemis leans forward. "But you did not realize that science could greatly increase your odds of making an accurate shot?"

Rain starts to come down in torrents now, rendering all of Butler's previous buffing of his gun futile, as the object in question is now utterly drenched.

Butler unintentionally mimes shooting his gun again, as he tries to wrap his mind around Artemis's challenge, "Use... Science? But how? I have no textbook with me as you plainly see... No tables, no formulas currently on hand. To be true, I am not even sure of what problem you are referring to!"

Artemis slowly stands up, his thin frame bearing the brunt of the now-raging wind, "So... I see that you are not able to see the issue of making an accurate shot as a scientific problem! Can you not see that, using the given of firing speed, the distance to the target that I am sure your keen eyes could fathom, you might be able to deduce the correct angle of firing to hit the holly tree?"

Butler's eyes widen as he attempts to comprehend Artemis's declaration. "A... problem... just like that? But how would one be able to recognize the circumstance, the givens and the conclusion with no indication whatsoever?"

Artemis continues his challenges, "And who, may I ask, instructed you upon trajectory physics?"

Butler stutters, "Uh, why, that would be Madame Lack. She is Prof. Ming's own teacher, and Madame Ko's cousin...but..."

Artemis shouts triumphantly and, in the most sudden and unpredictable action he will ever perform for the first decade of his life, jumps up and seizes Butler's shirt sleeves (grabbing his shirt lapels would have a more striking effect, but their relative heights renders such a task impossible).

"Exactly! Professor Ming's, and your knowledge is merely a reflection of your tutor's! I am the same to Lee Ming.. except for one crucial difference... I think for myself. So, now, Butler, what is the use of studying my precious textbook Newtonian laws of gravity and initial velocity? Where have persons 'A' and 'B' gone, hm? All those hard-spent years of textbook reading, of note-taking, of problem-solving- wasted! The memorization, with no gratification... taught as an isolated discipline, displayed with the contrast of your ability to handle your gun versus making scientific calculations to aid its functionality. With the 'knowledge' in Lee Ming's curriculum, how could I ever hope to succeed in real life, where problems, as you have just said, arrive spontaneously and in various forms? Useless!" Artemis finishes with a flourish of his hands, accidentally tearing off one of the shirt-sleeve buttons from Butler's suit.

Butler nods hurriedly, and promptly executes what his Sensei would've called a "strategic retreat", consenting to Artemis's declarations in a manner that would shame even the most passive of negotiators. There was a tutor that needed some 'talking' to.

Thankfully, at least, the storm had abated... The sky was clear once more, and so was Artemis's brow.