Disclaimer: Artemis Fowl is the property of Eoin Colfer.

A/N: A huge hug for all reviewers. You're absolutely brilliant.


E37, Tara, Ireland

"Artemis, huh?" Mulch happily helped himself to the contents of the in-shuttle fridge. "An invitation, too? It better be an engraved gold card. It's only been eight years since I've seen the Mud Boy, hope he hasn't forgotten my address."

Holly flicked the starter switch, warming up the shuttle engines. The wall shook with the promise of an incoming flare and without the engine warm-up, the heated metal would expand and puff the shuttle like a popcorn kernel. "Eight years is a long time in human years, Mulch." She sounded a little sad.

The dwarf took a second to mull this over. "Huh. You're right. Let's see, eight years, eight years… I guess I'll be washing his dentures for him once we get up there?"

Holly rolled her eyes. Mulch could be such an idiot sometimes. "Give or take sixty years." Satisfied that the engines were smoothly running and raring to go, Holly chose a suitable helmet from the equipment rack, tugging lightly at the sizing straps. She pulled the contraption over Mulch's hairy head, then gave the dark dome a fond rap. "I'll be kicking myself for this later, but I think I'm glad to see you, Mulch. Nobody gets time to just hang out down here."

"That's a lie," protested the dwarf. "I came to see you just last month."

"Oh wait, that's right. And that was about the time I realized my old Neutrino was conveniently missing."

Mulch may have said that all the LEP hand-me-downs were 'donated'. This, in fact, was a slight stretch of the truth.

"Ah – Oh, I've got it now. 8 years would make our little Mud Boy almost 26 human years right? What is that, like Foaly's age, no… The Commander's? Mine?" Holly gave a badly hidden scoff. His eyes finally rested on Holly. "Oh wait… I think that would be yours, wouldn't it?"

He was right. Despite the fact that the People – specifically fairies and sprites – possessed life spans that far surpassed those of regular human beings (regular being the key word here – rumor had it that Methuselah recently celebrated his 2969th birthday in the Himalayas), they were still humanoid creatures, therefore overtly aging in a similar fashion, though at a different rate. Theoretically, Foaly had once explained, the maturity process was interchangeable – you'd hack off the appropriate number of years to get your equivalent human age. "Or you could just look at them," Foaly had joked. "For example, if you were a human, there's no way I'd let you into my bar." Har de har.

Holly pressed the visor button and the dark screen slid over Mulch's smirking mug. "Say guest for the username and LEP for the password. I'll send you what I've got and you can see our invitation for yourself. I'm warning you, though: it's no gold engraving."

Mulch took a few moments to review the footage, adding in some overly-dramatic gasps as he did so. Finally, he removed his helmet and whistled. "You're right it's no gold card. And this has to do with me in some terribly dangerous capacity, I reckon?"

"Hey, don't look at me. You heard the man: the usual suspects." Holly shrugged. "And wipe that stupid smile off your face, Diggums; you know as well as I do that this is probably one of Artemis' stupid schemes. Which means its going to get pretty ugly pretty fast."

"Heh. You're looking kind of tense there, Holly," diagnosed Mulch jovially. "Don't worry, it'll be like a party. A reunion party! And if old Artemis does anything wrong, you can always punch his pretty little nose in. It'll be just like old times."

"Oh, don't even start with me, Mulch," said Holly, smiling despite herself. "I'm still pretty miffed over getting thrown off the commercial shuttle back to Haven and having to walk the seventeen kilometers back because no taxi would take you."

The dwarf shrugged, appearing nonchalant. "Hey, it's not like I boarded that train back there ticketless out of my own free will, now did I?"

"They wouldn't have asked you for your ticket if you hadn't smelled so bad."

"Not entirely my fault," he explained, holding up one very stinky omnitool. "Partially yours, in fact. I had to bring the omnitool you gave me, seeing as it was gift from my favorite equipment donor, Holly Short. It's not my fault an Atlantean sea urchin peed all over it."

Holly didn't even bother gracing this with an answer. She just pointed a finger towards the in-ship bathroom. "Wash it. Now."

"Alright, alright," said Mulch, rolling his eyes. "I heard you." Elves. So darn temperamental.


Fowl Secondary Manor, Dublin, Ireland

Artemis had several things to do between the time he had sent his transmission and ETA of his invited guests. First and foremost, a call had to be placed to Cambridge, offering some explanation for his absence ("A sudden and – er – violent bout of stomach distress," he had been forced to settle on when the Dean of Science would simply not take no for an answer. Butler spent the entire conversation smirking in the corner). Following that, he sent Butler to drive the protesting Beckett to school, while Juliet headed out to the garden to harvest some fresh vegetables, saving her questions for later.

Upon exiting Beckett's bedroom, she had stumbled upon the latter part of Artemis' conversation. Needless to say, Juliet had been a tad confused. "Er, Artemis. This may seem like a stupid quesiton, but are you talking into your ring?"

He started, before catching himself and straightening carefully. "Oh, Juliet. Yes, I was."

"Okay. Why?"

"I was merely thinking. It appears as though time has given me a few subconscious habits."

"Huh." She mentally took note of his level of sanity. Fairly normal. This was strange, but even stranger was the distinct feeling that fluttered briefly through the pit of her stomach – a brief flash of terrible familiarity. The half-memory flickered and wavered, dissipating before it became tangible. Juliet blinked. "Are you having guests over?"

"Yes, I believe I will be. Would you mind fetching some fruits and vegetables from the garden before you go home?"

Juliet, like her older brother, had opted to return to the Fowl's for light duty – which included nothing more than generally watching the boys and helping Angeline with spa trips and dress runs. Following her acceptance into Dublin University for her Masters of linguistics, Artemis' parents had relinquished her service to their eldest son, who, living alone, required less attentiveness and purchased her a very snug condo one block from her campus. Which suited her and her new fiancé just fine.

Disregarding sundry activities (mostly legal of course) performed after-hours, Artemis now spent the majority of his time at Trinity College, working within the breakthrough and research development department in addition to occasionally teaching doctorate classes, despite being younger than the majority of his students. Artemis, in a surprise twist of events, had cited the rapport with other scientists as motivation for his decision to work for the university, and had startlingly found their feedback more useful than frustrating – an admission that had Butler secretly beaming with pride. In truth, amazing breakthroughs in the field of science had been achieved because of Artemis' decision to dedicate his considerable mental talents to the betterment of mankind. And Artemis' salary – not to mention the dozens of grants and patents he had amassed in his spare time – wasn't exactly hurting the Fowl fortune, either.

Once both Butlers had attended to their individual tasks, Artemis returned to his laptop and called up data on worldwide wealthy kidnappings within the last six months. The search engine had been his own design, of course, which utilized a quick content sweep instead of the usual popularity metrics to rank sites. It had a wider range than standard public use engines like Google or Yahoo, and could be tailored to indicate the importance of an issue with the appropriate search parameters.

Artemis opted for a pertinence sweep, which would yield the most relevant pages in minimal numbers – this gave the user a rough idea of the frequency of the term or issue. The more hits, the more serious the problem. There were several pages of sites. Artemis frowned. Not a widespread problem as of yet, but still not small enough for him to miss it. He would have to dedicate more time away from his latest endeavors to pay attention to current affairs.

Following that, Artemis ran a search once more, this time in information mode. This would yield more sites, some less pertinent than others – it was ideal for digging up information that could have slipped through most search nets. Once he had compiled a decent list of names, whereabouts, family inheritance, etc. etc., it was simple matter of running the information through a program – written by himself – to identify patterns in the data. Not entirely foolproof, of course, given the annoying tendency of mechanized equipment to overlook even simple visual patterns, but that was something he could easily remedy by personally going over the yielded results. And this was what he found:

For starters, the background information among victims and their families seemed apparently random. The pattern sweeper found hits, but for things like possessions and recent vacations, reoccurring names. Individual family industries were incredibly varied (this was expected, as some families were from very old money, indeed), as were the amount of the inheritances themselves. But the victims were all children, all under the age of fourteen. And, most importantly, they were all female.

Eleven kidnappings in all, including Sophie Marchix. Artemis tapped a finger against his lower lip before typing: LOCATION PATTERN.

A detailed map of the world appeared across the plasma screen, faint red lights illuminating the positions where the kidnappings took place. Artemis leaned in close, ignoring the superimposition of shapes created by the pattern program – they would mean very little for the relatively few abductions over such a wide location spread. The eleven dots winked tauntingly, relatively far apart across the diagram. One per continent? No, there were two in South Africa so far, ruling that theory out. The information plot was useless for a visual extrapolation.

Calling up a list of wealthy families with female heirs and their dwellings in his database (with fortunes over the 20 million Euro mark and its worldwide equivalents), Artemis entered the data into the program, setting it to consider only those locations for any further search. REOCCURENCE ESTIMATE, typed Artemis. COUNTRY/CONTINENT.

A number of lights flashed on throughout the map, plotting the likelihood of a reoccurrence based on inherent shape patterns and distances. Artemis opened up his mother's calendar overview and entered the information there into the program. His mother, a social butterfly and conscientious activist alike, always had a number of charity and social events planned. This would enable a time rank of the estimated reoccurrences. TIME PRECEDENCE, Artemis entered. IMMEDIATE MONTH.

This cut the number of dots by nearly seventy-five percent, the lights winking out unceremoniously. Artemis took the liberty of ignoring the further hits for the nearer ones, rationalizing that little diagnostic information-gathering could be done in such a scarce amount of time. That left situations in France, Italy, Monaco, Greece and Switzerland.

Artemis tapped a finger against his knee, thinking. He opened up his own personal calendar. Juliet had been adding events to it via the network; it would have a list of parties and gatherings for the next while.

There. Next week, a gala at the Monte Carlo ballroom run by the Galiboises. It seemed they had their potential next hit location.

At that moment, a brisk rapping came from the southern window, breaking Artemis' heavy concentration. He turned at the sound, to where a helmeted fairy was suspended mid-air, carrying a dwarf by the scruff of his neck.

"Nice place, Mud Boy," said Captain Holly Short. "Now are you going to let us in?"

Fowl Secondary Mansion, Dublin, Ireland

"Lookie there," said Mulch, helping himself to the stainless steel fridge in the ample kitchen. "The gang's all here."

Holly couldn't suppress a smile at the hairy behind. "We missed you too, Mulch."

"Who was talking to you? I'm referring to the contents of Fowl's marvelous fridge. Foie gras, sashimi, pont l'eveque, olive oil with truffles… Hoo boy. I've nothing had beetles and algae for the past five years –" The dwarf dipped a hairy finger into a bowl of divine tiramisu, sucking it thoughtfully. "Kind of makes you wonder whether going legit was worth it, eh Arty?"

"Absolutely," admitted Artemis, though for decidedly different reasons. None of the fairyfolk present, with their unfathomably long lifespans, possessed any external indication of age. This was expected, of course, but it still gave rise to an incessantly irrational sensation of nostalgia – Artemis couldn't help thinking that it was just like old times again, save for the fact that they seemed a little shorter than they used to.

Holly shot them both a withering look, then walked over and sideswiped Mulch's backside with her Neutrino.

"Out. Now. You don't get to partake of the digs until we hear what Artemis dragged us up here for." She turned to Artemis. "And it better be good. You have no idea about the kind of hurdles I'm leaping over to be here."

Mulch took a bite out of a pheasant leg. "Is that what you were leaping over? And here I thought it was out of glee."

Before Holly could cause vehemently voice her denial, the computer screen in the north corner of the room winked on, featuring the overinflated ego of one centaur and the said centaur himself. "AND LET THERE BE FOALY!" He declared, hairy arms opened wide.

"Har de har," deadpanned Holly, most unimpressed.

Artemis looked up from his laptop. "Foaly, you certainly seem… exuberant this morning." He checked his watch. "Or evening, I believe, for you."

"It's always night down here, just depends whether or not you want to get technical. You're still looking kind of skinny there, Artemis," Foaly grinned. "Must be all those extra inches stretching you thin."

Holly stifled a laugh. "He's just excited because he's got a baby on the way," she explained to Artemis.

"Really? My congratulations," offered Artemis, making a note to later discuss the matter at length with the centaur. The gestation period of such a rare species was uncharted territory indeed, at least aboveground.

Mulch let out a burp. "Aw shucks," he said mockingly. "This is so touching. Now we get a whole bunch of noisy, big-headed centaurs running amuck in the Underground."

"Mulch," warned Foaly lightly, pulling out the retractable keypad on his computer. "You'd better watch your maw, or I won't name him after you."

The dwarf blinked. "Really?"

Artemis smirked at his diminutive guest. "I sincerely doubt it, my friend. Now Foaly, I have the footage of the kidnapping here, if you require it."

"You read my mind, Mud Boy – er, Man. Holly's got the appropriate disk drive in her helmet, so hand it over to her. Don't want to run it through another set of archaic wires –" He scoffed, wiping a pretend tear of amusement from his eye. "So quaint."

Holly picked up the piece of equipment and moved over to where Artemis stood, hefting it between her hands. "You've gotten tall, Artemis," she noted, taking the CD from him and placing it into the helmet's slot. "I could still teach you a lesson or two, though."

"I don't doubt it, Holly," he retorted with a smile.

"And smiling now, too," Mulch cut in. "Will the wonders ever cease?"

Foaly's clicking had come to a stop. "If you're all done with the witty repartee, I'll need you to hit the orange button on the disc reader, Holly."

Artemis stepped around Mulch and moved closer to the screen, never one to miss another technological upgrade. "If I may inquire, Foaly: what exactly are you intending to do with the footage?"

"And here I thought you'd never ask…" The centaur cracked his knuckles in glee. "Think 'frame extrapolation'."

"Really? Most incredible."

"Absolutely. See, any Mud Man camera has a fairly low number of frames, on average - relatively speaking, of course. That high-priced number you used to bust the retrieval squad back in the day was high-end to you, but still pretty darn archaic for us."

"Still cooked your goose back then, though," noted Mulch.

Foaly gave him a dirty look. "Er… yes, I suppose. Anyway, these taping devices – CCTV, camcorders, whatever you want – essentially do one thing: translate a real, visual image to a picture equivalent. Long story short, if a conversion has happened via Mud Man electronics, it means that something was lost along the way. Always. That's where that little baby comes in." He pointed towards Holly's helmet. "It sweeps the disk for residual data rubbed off in translation, static, magnetic, what have you, and compiles it into an image. There's no guesswork involved here, since we're cobbling together real data – think less like reading between the lines and more like reading the writing indentation marks on the 2nd or 3rd sheet in a pad of paper. I could even collect magnetic ruboff from the actual camera, if you had it, but it looks like we'll just have to make do with the disk."

Artemis nodded in professional admiration. "Absolutely astonishing, Foaly. And what does your frame-extrapolation show?"

"Just one second while I call it up…"

The centaur's words tapered off as the image developed on the screen, an uncharacteristically serious look replacing his cocky grin. "Oh, D'Arvit," he cursed.

Holly was reaching the end of her rope. "Cut the theatrics. What do you see?"

A ping sounded as the file transferred through to Artemis' laptop. OPEN? It prompted. Yes.

The file contained a sequence of scenes, presumably taken within the 1.14 timeframe of the actual kidnapping proper. But this breakdown was different – beside the shots taken from the camera were two green-framed pictures, one before each screenshot and one after: the extrapolated images. It was remarkable really, thought Artemis. The uncompensated quality of the pictures boasted the exact same resolution as their official predecessors. The black and white footage depicted the explosion of glass and water, frozen for screenshot after screenshot until – there.

"Foaly, can you compensate this for me?"

The centaur shook his head, looking a little dismayed. "Uh, no. Trouble's got to okay it first. Apparently we don't want to put anything there that might not have been there in the first place." He snorted. "You over-compensate a speck of dust just one time and suddenly you're 'tampering with the evidence'. Ahem. Anyway. Here, I'll enlarge it for you."

A few commands later, one particular image was magnified on Artemis' computer, still showing remarkable resolution. The zoomed-in scene showed the exact same image as all the frames that preceded it: the recoiling patrons, the traveling glass, Myles' huddled and cringing heap on the herringbone floor, the priceless chandeliers in mid-swing.

And then: in a corner of the relative chaos, what was unmistakably the outline of a beautiful dress, topped by Sabine's dark-haired head, half-in and half-out of the tall window. And in plain view of the camera, one slender, unknown arm, dragging the young girl out.

By the next frame, both girl and mysterious arm were completely gone – and all before one shard of glass had touched the floor.

"Oh gods," breathed Holly.

Artemis moved closer to the screen, scrutinizing the incriminating appendage carefully. Slender, small-fingered, fine-boned; likely a female's.

"It's human," said Holly. "Look at the size."

"That may be true," countered Artemis, tapping the screen. "But look here. A prominent nub on the back of the shoulder. Vestigial, perhaps. And definitely not humanoid."

Holly bit her bottom lip as Mulch edged in closer for a glimpse of their mysterious kidnapper, a chicken bone protruding from his mouth. Foaly winced at the missed clue. "You're right, Artemis, though it kills me to say it. A small protrusion on the shoulder blade, vestigial. There should a mirroring one on the opposite shoulder."

"Not human," concluded Holly, absently thinking of the twin nubs on her own upper back.

"Correct," agreed Artemis. "It appears as though our kidnapper is a fairy."


Reading's not a spectator sport, guys. Think you have super plot ideas in mind? Pairing requests? Please drop me a line!