Title: Complexity
Author: Rachelle Lo
Category: Adventure/ Friendship/ Insanity
Summary: The Atlantis Complex as it could have been. Artemis conceals his insanity, Vinyáya lives, and wit kills 273 per year.
AN: Complete as of now, since it was just a thought, anyway. I respect Artemis more than Eoin does sometimes, at least in the Atlantis Complex, which was my least favorite book.
Complexity
by Rachelle_Lo
Vatnajoskull, Iceland.
Artemis sighed and tugged his sleeve in annoyance for the umpteenth time. What was it with fairies and their incredibly short attention spans, despite their long lives? (Fickle fey, indeed.)
Or how about their lack of trust in every venture he ever considered?
"I assure you this is a bona fide deal, Wing Commander," Artemis said politely, hiding his impatience. "If I might have your attention for the demonstration, please?" The last bit was directed at Foaly, who took childish pleasure in insulting every other word Artemis said.
Vinyáya brushed aside her silvery mane—an unprofessional length, he thought it—and nodded. "Show us, human."
Finally.
The presentation went over as well as could be expected for such a group—Holly's eyes glazed over for the technical portions, the centaur insulted humanity in general, and the Wing Commander seemed more concerned with her authority image than Artemis' plan.
Even so, Artemis thought it went well. Foaly was suitably shocked and a tad shamed ("Snow. Snow! D'arvit, why didn't I think of...?") as well he should be; he'd lived for hundreds of years with the People's technology, while Artemis still did not have access to as much, in years or devices. Vinyáya thought this was a historic moment, Artemis could see in her eyes, but kept her face smooth and her words unimpressed. A near enough victory, I suppose.
And Holly. . .maybe Holly could see right through him. She shouldn't be able to, but—
Three separate times. Thrice through the presentation those infernal number tics had plagued him, and each time Artemis had shoved them down.
Five, five, five! Number this, order that! Four is death: don't sit in that chair!
Such an idiotic disease.
The Atlantis Complex. An embarrassment to the psychological world. What kind of phobia manifested itself in number patterns? The hallucinations and paranoia were respectable symptoms, at least. Once Artemis had recognized the symptoms and diagnosed himself, it was a simple enough process to began administering his own electrotherapy. Privately, of course. No one needed to know what a close call it had been to full-blown insanity.
"Artemis?"
Holly was staring at him. Had he been daydreaming? He resisted the urge to slap his forehead, instead smiling at her. "I'm sorry, did you have a question?"
Wrong move. Artemis saw the centaur and Wing Commander blanch out of the corner of his eye. Oh, now he was being too nice?
Holly blinked at him. "Ah...yes, actually. Those nano-flakes—they don't look like real snowflakes. Surely someone will notice?"
Now Artemis' smile turned genuine. "Finally, an intelligent inquiry. Yes, they look nothing like real snowflakes at the moment—but that is only because I have neither the funds nor the technology to create other patterns. I have designed seven other 'nano-flakes', as you call them, but I need the People's assistance in manufacturing them. Human scientists may have the patience to notice, capture, and study one design, but eight or more? I highly doubt it would arouse suspicion, or if it did, would be accounted to the changing weather patterns."
Holly was staring at him again. What had he done now?
"Mud Boy, I salute you," Foaly said.
Artemis rolled his eyes. "Well, it's about time."
"A demonstration? Fabulous! I love demonstrations! Especially out in the freezing Icelandic snow!"
"Yes, I know, Foaly," Artemis said with the patient air of acknowledging a small, hyperactive child, ignoring Foaly's sarcasm. "That's why I'm doing this."
"Sadist," Foaly grumbled.
"I try."
Vinyáya's slitted eyes narrowed at the exchange, and just like that, the friendly atmosphere evaporated. "Get a move on, children. This is highly unprofessional."
Oh, yes, you're one to talk of 'unprofessional'. "Certainly, Commander," Artemis said aloud. One hand, clad in a V-glove, danced like a pianist's in mid-air. He frowned at his instrument's screen. He tugged off the V-glove and typed manually.
"Well?" Vinyáya said impatiently.
"There is an unidentified aircraft passing over us." Artemis' tone sharpened, and he looked into the Commander's eyes. "Is it one of yours?"
"There's nothing in the airspace, Mud Boy," Holly interjected, checking her visor. "Nothing but a shielded shuttle full of hurt for you, if you're trying to pull some kind of trick."
Artemis didn't bother joining in the banter. "No need for the rhetoric, Captain." He emphasized her professional title, professionalism being something that most present seemed to be lacking today. "There is—" He stopped. "It's descending."
Foaly had screwed a yellow monocle over one eye. "Mud Boy, there's nothing—"
"Run an atmospheric gas test. Check for a vacuum."
Holly's eyes lit up. "Like Koboi's stealth ore ship."
"Yes." A weight settled on Artemis' chest, suffocating his calm. He could hear his voice sharpen, see his vision tunnel. Fairy premonition was supposed to be unsurpassed, but Artemis could feel an all too human instinct—fear. He scooped up his little Ice Cube and stood quietly while the fairies bickered.
Foaly made a noise of surprise. "Well, what do you know. There is a ship."
"Open a communications link," Vinyáya ordered. "It has no authorization to be here."
"Well. . . it's a probe. There's no one aboard. So technically I can't—"
"Hack its systems," Artemis interrupted. He gazed at the sky, sweat beading at his temples. "It's from your space program, you should be able to."
"How do you—"
"Don't ask questions! Just do it!"
Artemis' outburst had the opposite of his desired effect—everyone stopped and stared at him. He wanted tear his hair. Did no one realize the severity of the situation? Could no one feel the dark foreboding?
"Artemis, do you know something we don't?" Holly said slowly.
Why yes, every day. He ignored them. "Foaly," he said softly.
Foaly must have—finally—realized something in Artemis' expression, because his horsey face whitened and he threw himself into his technology.
The probe was visible now, and it was in nowise as dainty as the term 'probe' implied. It was a behemoth cutting through the clouds, descending with an angry orange maw.
"Everyone into the shuttle," Vinyáya ordered, pulling up her collar and turning.
You're certainly a source of useless commands today. "Commander, If that craft hits it will have an impact blast of five or so miles," Artemis said. "Boarding would be—"
FIVE! FIVE! FOUR IS—
Oh shut up it's not ow
Artemis winced and put a hand to his forehead. Fourth time today. Lovely. Oh, and the ship had four engines. Great for his complex.
—death. . .
"There's orange energy, Foaly," Holly said. "Explain that." She leveled her Neutrino at the ship's charging energy bolt, a move that was a deadly threat to a large aircraft, naturally.
"It's a scientific probe," Foaly said. "The plasma bolt is an ice cutter, nothing serious."
Artemis wanted to cry. Might as well say: 'Oh, that's a meat cleaver. Nothing dangerous.'
An auburn elf appeared in the shuttle's doorway, "Commander, we have a situation," he called down in clipped tones. Vinyáya nodded, silver hair swinging, and headed toward the shuttle gangway.
Artemis began running. "Commander, the shuttle—!"
He could see it, the conjecture, the calculations, the angle, the aim, the probe's plasma targeting the most highly volatile area on the shuttle, the subsequent combustion, the chaos, the casualties, the terror—
And then it was no longer an hypothesis.
The probe spat an orange bolt directly into the shuttle's engine. The shuttle collapsed in the heat, crushing the inhabitants. Fire and smoke. The auburn elf in what had been a doorway couldn't be seen. Vinyáya—stupid elf—was still standing, searching for a path through the flames to her trapped men.
Artemis lunged, getting a good grip on the Commander's shoulders and driving her into the snow.
Not a second later, the shuttle's engine exploded, sending out a rolling wave of superheated air that sent Artemis and Vinyáya flying like moths in the wind. Artemis lost his grip on the Commander, and burning pain rocketed him into unconsciousness. He never felt his impact into the compacted, unforgiving Icelandic snow. A small mercy.