Author's Note:
Events in this chapter relate to the events in "The Artemis Fowl Files," more specifically Colfer's "LEPRecon" short story. If you do not know what happened in it, you may be reading a lot of this out of context. You can read the summary on the Artemis Fowl Wiki (on wikia).
Holly's Apartment
Holly awakened to the familiar feeling of a cold sweat covering her entire body, as well as the faint veil of fear that hung in the air alongside sorrow and regret, altogether casting upon her their ominous presence. The tension, the quickened heartbeat, the adrenaline, and the heightened senses—all of these primal responses were present, giving her energy to escape that which was inescapable. Her dreams, her past, her future.
The disorienting awakening had only made her open her eyes. Unlike the first time the nightmares had assaulted her, she remained still and calm, this time knowing exactly what was happening and, to a great extent, feeling little surprise. Even terrors could lose their effect over time. She stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the feeling of entrapment it gave off in the gloom, and only when her heartbeat returned to normal and her initial stress subsided did she sit up. She did so slowly, sighing despite herself, her hazel eyes half closed and her mouth curved downwards in a slight frown. Her perturbed expression lessened a little when she noticed the time—her slumbers had been gradually improving as of late. Still, these nightmares…
The nightmares came regularly, like storms by the sea, sometimes consecutively for weeks at a time, making it a near endless struggle between her and the darkness the preyed upon her in the night. They never improved in their intensity, nor did the wounds they opened in her heart heal; not enough time had passed for that to happen. It would be a long time before they were gone, and even when they were there would be scars in their place, aching with distant memory. Even still, despite the constant fear that she many times found in her dreams, she was learning to cope with it. Ever so slowly, over the weeks, she was gaining the upper hand. It just takes time to chain the demons of the heart and mind, because first one has to tame them, and they were so wild by their very nature.
Holly wiped the sweat from her brow and kicked her bed sheets aside, moving to a sitting position on the side of the bed. There she took a moment to feel the floor beneath her feet, to feel the reality around her and not the false one in her dreams, and a few seconds later she pushed herself up and stood in place, thinking about her current state in an analytical manner. The death of her mother had ultimately been the most traumatic experience in her life, and it came as no surprise to her that a degree of post-traumatic stress had risen from it. Months ago, when she had first dealt with its attacks, she had been nearly overwhelmed, but over time and with the help of others she had gained methods to help cope with it. She had a long way to go, but she was moving in the right direction, towards the one path in her life that shined so brightly. She was reminded of this as she passed the table upon which her mother's medals were framed, alongside a picture of her—one in which she was smiling radiantly. It was a shrine in a sense, dedicated to Coral, and she rarely touched it but to keep the dust off. Truly, in her decrepit apartment, it was a little piece of sacrosanct ground, brilliant even in the dark.
Holly smiled when she saw the picture of Coral, as she did every time, and after pausing to regard it she continued on to shower and get ready for the day. The confined space of her apartment irked her significantly as she went about this, but it was yet another thing she was training herself to get used to. Claustrophobia was another condition she had developed from the tragic loss of her mother, the reason being that Coral had suffered greatly within the oppressive confines of the Sirona. In the end, though she had many scars and ghosts marring her heart and mind, Holly needed to have the strength and determination to live in spite of them. She learned each any every day how to be stronger, not only for herself, but also in memory of her mother. Coral had been strong—so incredibly strong!—and Holly would accept nothing less from herself. This was part of her legacy, the footsteps in the snowy banks of life that she was intent on following.
Her morning ritual was efficient in every way, having her ready in no more than twenty minutes. Sometimes she would take longer, for the sake of enjoying a long shower, but today was not to be one of those days. In fact, the entire last month had been like that, because each and every morning there was something to get her up and going with a passion. This catalyst was evident when she opened her closet and regarded the uniform that hung there. No longer was the generic green uniform of an LEP corporal. It was something far better.
Seven months ago Holly had applied to join the LEP's renowned recon division, and against all the odds, after six months, she had gotten her chance to prove herself at an initiation headed by Commander Julius Root himself. That initiation had involved a mock operation aboveground, on the coastal Irish island of Tern Mór. That exercise had ended up being anything but mock. The events, which were still under investigation, were classified, but Holly knew it all as a witness. On that island they had encountered Julius' wayward brother, former LEP captain Turnball Root, who with a number of subordinates had attempted to capture them and put an end to the rivalry between him and his brother. Ultimately, by a combined effort, they had thwarted Turnball's plans and captured him alive. It was on that day that Holly had received her status as an LEPrecon officer. A month had passed since then.
Holly took her uniform from its hanger and began to put it on, though not without eyeing its rank insignia. Captain Holly Short…. It had a ring to it, surely, and Holly couldn't help but smile with a mixture of joy and sadness. She was now the same rank her mother had been in the LEPmarine. It was an odd feeling, being in her shoes, and Holly could not feel completely good about it, not with the bitterness of her sorrow tainting the waters of her ecstasy. Still, she was as happy as she could be at the moment, despite all of the pain in her heart.
Donning her uniform and service belt, the elf assumed the appearance of the recon officer she had become. Her neutrino—the latest model that none of the regular LEP personnel could get their hands on—was holstered on her right side, and opposite it on her left was the very same omnitool Coral had given her on her graduation day. It was the one thing that had not changed with regard to her equipment, and she liked it that way. Though many things change upon the swift rapids of life, a few remain, through it all, unchanged; even though floods may afflict a land and obliterate its surface, there will always remain that earth beneath it, the foundation upon which all else rises, and for Holly it was those little pieces of her past that formed sturdy ground for her future. There was nothing Holly wanted more than to have Coral with her wherever she went, even if such a presence was only in the gift she had given and the lettering on its side. Having lost so much, it meant everything to her, just as a parched wanderer may cherish but a few drops of water where there had once been lakes and rivers. It was beyond priceless.
Holly finished doing up her uniform, and then she looked in her mirror—into her own eyes, as if looking into the eyes of someone completely different than herself. Then, without a word or a gesture, she walked towards her door. Not a second later her communicator made an notifying sound, and she grabbed it from her belt with her shooting hand, drawing it as fast as she would a blaster.
"Captain Short here," she stated dutifully.
Foaly was on the other end, and the way he spoke indicated that something unexpected had just arisen.
"Commander Root wants you down at headquarters as soon as possible. Oh, and good morning Holly. How's the new uniform suiting you?"
Holly smiled a little—Foaly had been with her through all of the last seven months of sorrow, and had been one of the main reasons why her depression had not flourished. "Good morning to you too Foaly. It fits well enough, thanks." Then she became serious, her smile twisting into a compressed line. "Any idea what has arisen?"
"We're just getting all the details," the centaur replied. "Only Root knows everything so far. I know it's a serious matter though, because he's also calling in Retrieval One."
Holly frowned. Getting Captain Trouble Kelp's elite unit on board was certainly a sign. She wasted no time in leaving her apartment. "I am on my way."
"A cruiser is waiting for you."
"Thanks," Holly said as she rushed down the stairs—the sketchy elevator was too slow for her. When she emerged into the early morning of Haven's residential district, she was greeted by the sight of an LEP cruiser idling on the street. The officer at its wheel—a sprite named Chix Verbil—waved and smiled in a silly fashion, as if she did not notice him parked in the middle of an empty street flashing the lights as if they were in a human rave party. Holly had never met him before, but he would certainly talk enough about himself during the ten minutes it took to reach the plaza. Holly had never been happier to get out of a vehicle in her entire life.
Lower Elements Police Headquarters, Haven
The interior of the headquarters' main briefing room was alight with the glow of screens and holographic projections, which appeared in soft hues of green and blue. Seats ringed a central module, where a large map and applicable data were being holographically displayed, and it was there that Holly found herself, standing at attention before her commander, Julius Root. Foaly was standing a little further back, leaving only three of them in the large briefing room. It was a small but dreadfully serious meeting.
"Good morning Commander. Reporting as requested," Holly said as she approached Root. She was certain to present herself as stoic and prepared, matching her like-purposed attire.
Commander Root turned around from viewing the map, and nodded curtly. A fungus cigar was trapped between his teeth, exuding a swirling cloud of acrid smoke, which puffed out as he spoke. "Forgive me if I skip all the social protocols. We have work to do." He was an intimidating elf, brusque and grizzled alongside his usual dead-stern countenance, and though a part of Holly as inclined to shrink before his presence the rest of her did the opposite. In truth, she admired Julius more than anyone else in the world—anyone living at least—holding a great respect for him and his gargantuan reputation. Ever since she had met him at her initiation—and took part in the Tern Mór incident alongside him—she had been caught between liking and disliking his proclivities, for he was indeed an old-fashioned commander who was harder on female officers. But beneath all of that was something that Holly gravitated towards, something that made her determined, passionate, about working under him. And having lost all of her family, she seemed to be developing an attachment to him, though at present she did not notice it. In time, years and years later, he would be like a father to her.
"Time is of the essence, so I am going to make this quick," Root continued. He looked towards Foaly, while at the same time plunging his smoldering cigar into an ash tray, eliciting another pall of smoke. "Bring up the footage." The centaur complied wordlessly, displayed none of his usual flamboyance in the presence of his stern commander—he knew when it was best not to breach formality, and now was one of those times.
The holographic display was flanked by a number of screens, all of which suddenly began to display high-definition surveillance footage. Holly eyed the screens with a slight glare, not needing an explanation to know what was happening on them. Meanwhile, Commander Root spoke angrily—more so than usual—and pointed at the mug shot that came up an instant later.
"Approximately four hours ago, there was a riot at Haven's Selvoscura Correctional Facility. It was instigated by a group of goblin triads during the night, and somehow it got so out of hand that we had to use the DNA cannons to pacify it. Everyone was accounted for but one…" He nodded at the mug shot, which Holly recognized immediately. "A pixie, Talbot Bryth, managed to escape during the chaos. We do not know how, but he hacked the systems, stole a uniform and ID card, and walked right out the front door. I believe you have met him before, Captain."
Holly nodded, the memory still vivid in her mind. "Seven months ago, on traffic detail. He and his brother were smuggling shellfish. I apprehended them after a brief altercation."
"They were set to be in there for eighty years for their crimes—attempted murder being the worst of them," Root stated gruffly. "I really doubt they'd have made it out early on good behavior either."
"What of his brother?" Holly asked.
Root turned and looked at her, his face still contorted by his serious mood. "His brother was killed three months ago. Stabbed to death in his cell by a psychotic dwarf wielding a smuggled penknife. Blasted mess, shouldn't have happened."
This was unexpected, but not implausible. Holly only nodded solemnly—Jarmil had never been the type to last long in prison, not without his brother nearby to protect him. She felt bad, though it was not her fault he was dead; she just hated it when anyone died, for she abhorred murder more than anything else. She said nothing as her commander continued.
"Mr. Bryth used his stolen LEP gear to make it across the city without any issue. By the time the riot was pacified and order restored, he was long gone."
"And to make my day worse," Foaly interjected, "the slimy thug managed to fool all of the facial recognition cameras I have in the city. With an elementary trick no less…"
Root shot the centaur an irritated glance. "You can keep your wounded pride to yourself, Foaly." He was clearly in a very sour mood, because after shouting at the centaur he growled something under his breath. It was evident that something worse was getting at him, something terrible. He lit another cigar, puffed out a cloud of smoke, and spoke bitterly. "Two hours ago he reached Chute E1's shuttle port. Given the hour we had only the minimal staff there at the time. He gained access to our section of the hangar, and there just so happened to be a magma flare incoming. He took one of our pods and rode it all the way up to Tara." Julius paused, this time taking a very long drag from his fungus cigar. He spoke through the ghostly cloud of smoke that followed, with a suddenly solemn tone. "We had one officer on post at the launch site. There should have been two, but the other was called away on an emergency. He seemed to see Mr. Bryth for the impostor he really was, because he tried to stop him." He glanced up at a new surveillance feed, where the two could be seen standing only a few meters apart, weapons drawn. "Talbot killed him without hesitation. Shot him with his stolen neutrino set to lethal, even though he could have just stunned him."
The news was enough to make Holly boil on the inside, and seeing the footage before her—the confrontation and the almost casual way in which Talbot shot the officer—made her fury almost bubble over. She clenched her teeth a she watched the officer fall over like a sack of bricks, a hole scorched through his upper chest. It was impossible to tell who the officer was, because he had a helmet on and his name badge was too small to make out in the video. Holly felt compelled to ask, even though she was afraid of what she would hear. "Who was he?"
Root remained glaring at the screen, betraying only the anger for what he saw. "Corporal Finn Underwood."
Holly felt shock rush through her. Finn, the young recruit who had been her partner on traffic duty for nearly the entirely of her deployment, had been killed in cold blood. She had known him well enough, and had depended on him while on the job; between them they had shared some very interesting experiences, including regular encounters with fish smugglers. Nothing could describe the astonishment that struck Holly at that moment, throwing her off canter and filling her with unpleasant feelings. She started to feel a little sick, but more than anything there was anger and sorrow, mixing together like water and poisonous solvent, forming a black admixture in her heart. She clenched her fists until they shook, and her eyes, locked into a glare, observed the footage of her partner being shot through the heart and falling dead. She watched as Talbot smoothly holstered his pistol and crouched over the body, looting it of a few items before callously stepping over it towards the launch tubes. There seemed to be no remorse in Talbot's heart. He had committed murder as if it were nothing.
Commander Root regarded Holly as she went through this change, and there was sympathy in his brown eyes, coupled with a rare show the sadness he felt beneath his solid veneer. "Corporal Underwood set off an alert before he was killed. That is the only reason we are able to act on Talbot's escape this soon. It took courage for him to step in that murderer's path. Great courage…"
Holly merely nodded, struggling to regain her composure. There were too many dead heroes haunting her mind, their faces and their words. When would it end? Never. Not as long as bravery, selflessness, and loyalty remained in the hearts of the few who donned a uniform in service of others. Holly's posture remained straight and firm even as her expression wavered. In her inner affliction she awaited her commander's orders. Root was eager to proceed, driven by anger and determination alike.
"That is why I am giving you the first shot at this mission, Captain. I anticipated that you would volunteer for it anyway and not take no for an answer." That was the crystalline truth, and they all knew it. "You also know the fugitive better than we do, even if that is only by the merit of a single encounter. He is armed and extremely dangerous, equipped with our own technology. I do not want you to engage him if possible, rather find his location and report it in. Retrieval One is currently organizing to provide support for you in case of a confrontation." He paused, his demeanor changing by a fraction into a more personal one. "However, if you should be in the right position, do not hesitate to take him down. I want that bastard brought back to Haven in chains. He will pay for what he has done for the rest of his miserable life."
These were Holly's thoughts exactly. Though she was a professional operative, she was still filled with the burning desire to bring this murderer to justice, especially since he had killed a friend of hers. She would have to control herself, she noted, as emotions could wreak havoc in high-stress situations. "You can consider it done, Commander," she said firmly. "I will not rest until he is in custody."
"Do not underestimate him," Julius cautioned. "Corporal Underwood's alert gave Tara some forewarning about the fugitive. We had fifteen officers up there ready to arrest him the moment he exited his pod. They did not succeed. Talbot was not in the pod when it arrived."
"Did he have a set of wings?" Holly asked.
"Unfortunately he stole one of those as well. He bailed out of the pod using the emergency eject, and then flew to Tara discreetly. While our officers were surrounding his pod, he was making his way through the station. He was spotted by a guard while exiting, but he opened fire on those who tried to pursue him, injuring seven in total."
D'arvit… Holly thought, envisioning it in her head.
"That is why I am cautioning you, Captain," Root said sternly. "You have carried out three successful recons thus far, but with relatively low-risk targets. This is about as hot as it gets. When you located the fugitive, do not engage unless you must. Otherwise wait for Captain Kelp and his team."
"Yes sir," Holly said automatically.
Commander Root nodded, still glaring at everything with a beet-red face. He turned to Foaly. "Fill Holly in on the technical mumbo jumbo."
Foaly frowned a little. "It's not mumbo jumbo, Commander, it's very respectful scientific information…"
"Just push the button and talk before I push it with your face," Root retorted sharply.
"What a thankless job I have, woe is me," the centaur muttered under his breath as he typed a few things into his datapad. The holographic map changed location, focusing in on the region where Tara was located. A number of red markers lit up in a perceivable line, which went west from the terminal and into the Irish countryside. Foaly was visibly perturbed as he spoke. "He was smart enough to remove or disable all of the tracking equipment in the LEP gear he stole. All that remains are traces of the markers and signals that were implanted, whispers as it were, and they are difficult to pinpoint right after a magma flare. All I have are these pinpointed locations, where I managed to detect faint signals. I have not received any more pings since the initial search, so I am assuming that our friendly fugitive has done more modifications to the gear."
Holly was listening intently, and with crossed arms she forwarded her deduction. "He can still be tracked."
"Yes he can," Foaly said with an unintentional grin. "We have devices that can work on the surface to better target these whispers. We need an operative on the ground to do this, which is where you come in." He centaur walked over to a table and retrieved a small device—no larger than a television remote—which he promptly handed to Holly. "This will be detect any residual traces of his passage. Don't ask me how it works, because I still haven't patented it yet and there are ears everywhere. Just press the button and bam! Well, not that dramatic, but it's still cool. It's already calibrated, so you're good to go."
With the device in her hand, Holly examined it a little. "How far can its readings reach out to?"
"One kilometer at present, depending on the environmental conditions of course. That is why time is of the essence, as otherwise the traces will dissipate completely."
"Then let's not waste any more time," Holly growled, holstering the device in a slot on her belt.
Commander Root was of the same opinion. "There is a magma flare schedule to arrive in twenty minutes. I want you on it. A pod has been prepped for drop, and Tara is expecting your arrival." He paused to take a long drag on his cigar, and then puff the smoke out in ethereal swirls. "Remember, Captain, do not engage unless there is a clear opening to do so, and keep your unorthodox methods to a minimum." Another pause, this time to look Holly over with harsh, piercing eyes, evidently to keep her attention. "Talbot is highly mobile, which is why I am sending you to recon his location—not to go in guns blazing like some human action hero wannabe. If we waited for a larger force to be mobilized, he may well be on the other side of the planet by then, and I am not interested in conducting a worldwide hunt for this sack of shit. So get out there and give me a reason to not regret giving you that badge."
"Yes sir," Holly replied.
The old commander nodded, still eyeing her with his calculating gaze. "You proved yourself very well Tern Mór, Captain. Here is your chance to do so again. Dismissed."
"Roger that," Holly said, saluting quickly before turning on her heel and striding towards the door. She was now set on her task, locked on like a bloodhound, her target clear and her path set. Nothing would stop her now. In all of her previous recon missions she had displayed a terrifying level of dedication and tenacity, and she had hunted down her prey no matter how many obstacles they had thrown in her path; all ingenuity and criminal cleverness failed before her intelligence and strength. She had not been so personally invested in those missions either, and thus this one, so connected to her heart, was destined to be carried out with unprecedented precision. Though there were many uncertainties on the surface for an officer like her, Holly knew one thing for certain: Talbot had made the biggest mistake of his life, and she would be the one to make him realize it.
Haven Terminal, Chute E1
The hot air of the terminal blasted against Captain Short as she strode through the massive hangar that the LEP used for its ships. She walked swiftly, but she did not run; she balanced her urgency with the control of a professional soldier, resisting haste when there was no need. She still had eight minutes until the magma flare arrived, plenty of time. She was suited up in her personalized recon gear, which was one of the most expensive pieces of attire the LEP had in its inventory, and held at her side was her helmet. She left the latter off for now, letting her auburn hair blow about in the wind, fiery and wild. Equally as fiery was her expression, her visage contorted by seriousness and her hazel eyes filled with resolve. Everything about her screamed determination and danger, and that was the truth. She was very determined, and extremely dangerous to those who dared to rise against her. This is the way she usually approached a mission, but this one was much different than the others. This one was personal.
By this point the terminal's enormous blast doors were closing, cutting the hangar off from the looming expanse of the chute itself; it cut off the hot wind as well, eliminating the turbulence Holly had to walk through. Passing through a security checkpoint, Holly then ascended a fast gravity lift that took her to the pod launch area. She emerged out into the hallway that followed.
The hallway was short, well lit, and occupied by several armed guards—unlike the night before—and at its end was a series of launch tubes, each one accessing a pod that would subsequently be launched into the chute. Holly had been here many times and was used to the whole process of being launched in a titanium egg into the mouth of a magma flare, yet now it felt horrendously different, the very air feeling—and tasting—like some place out of a surreal memory. It was no mystery why this was, Holly knew. Hours ago Talbot, that heartless pixie, had walked this very ground, his heart filled with murder and his hand on his gun. Holly walked slowly to the far end, all the while looking at the floor. She stopped short of the launch tubes, still gazing at the floor, still remembering.
Only a few hours ago her partner had been standing on this spot, face to face with his killer, screaming for him to drop his weapon. His body was now in a morgue somewhere in Haven, and his family notified no doubt. Holly knew exactly how they would feel when they realized that Finn was dead. She knew all too well how much it hurt. The blood had yet to be cleaned up—it stained the ground a dark crimson, coagulated and solidifying in the warm air. Holly stared at it for a long moment, cast in dreadful thought, all the while feeling a sorrowful disgust rise in her chest. Blood was so visibly hidden in life, and yet so evident in death, like something unearthed only by great turmoil. She could not help but wonder what had went through Finn's head when he was on that ridge between life and death. Had he been afraid? Certainly. But what else had been there, alongside his terror? Holly would never know. Death cuts short everything, and casts all into a concealing mist.
He won't get away, I promise, Holly thought, making a pledge to her fallen comrade. Then, concealing her sadness, she proceeded past the guards—who had been watching sympathetically—and went up to the launch tube that was flashing a green light. The pod was ready, and the flare was only a few minutes away. It was time to drop into hell, quite literally. After donning her helmet, Holly jumped into the opening and, after a brief slide, found herself seated in the oppressive confines of one of the titanium pods. It was incredibly small, the space she was in, and it was only natural that her claustrophobia began to make her heart beat faster, rising from the depths of her being to torment her. She was used to this as well, and instead of panicking as she would have long ago, she breathed steadily and focused on strapping in. When all was ready the elf flicked several switches on the control panel and then sat back to wait. A moment later she heard a muffled noise and felt the pod moving.
The drop pod was moved off of the loading racks—where hundreds of other pods sat dormant—and sent through a series of blast doors, taking it from the safety of the terminal out into the danger of the scalding-hot chute. The magma flare illuminated the depths with a hellish fire, and the very earth rumbled as it approached with appalling speed. Over this pit of hellfire Holly's pod dangled, and then, all of the sudden, it dropped.
Holly felt the sensation of falling, and she could envision the depths beneath her, alight with fire and molten rock. The pod was designed to dampen all of the deadly forces outside and protect the occupant from the g-force that would follow, just like the LEP shuttles. Only when the pod was struck by the wall of magma and fire did Holly feel a jolt, a change of direction, and constant vibrations. Now she was going up at supersonic speed, carried by a wave of crimson, a harbinger of the earth's natural fury. It would take less than half an hour to reach the surface. In forty minutes she would be in the fields of Ireland, hunting down a murderer. She waited patiently until then, preparing herself for what would come. On the surface there was no telling what may happen, and Holly always made sure that she knew the risks—just as Coral had, whenever she had set out in the Sirona to save the world. This tangent of thought made her expressions change a little, from stoicism into a mixture of sadness and resolve. Again, in her footsteps, she followed. The question was, where would they take her? Even the noble paths in life are shrouded in mystery, and no matter how well one knows the reason for choosing that certain way—for picking a single path out of a billion potentialities—they never know, nor can expect, the lines it will cross or the depths to which it will venture.
