A/N: Here comes the un-prettiness with the start of the next part of the story. Please excuse the sharp contrast with the last chapter.
Artemis Fowl: The Book of Ages
The Real World
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-Robert Frost
Artemis Fowl II. Captain Holly Short.
Human. Fairy.
These two never met. They never became friends. How could they have? Their kinds were- are- enemies by nature.
A kidnapper befriending his target? How absurd.
Leprechaun gold was nothing more than an Irish legend after all. A genius of Master Fowl's caliber knows better than to fantasize about such things.
Yes, that was all it was. A fantasy.
A fluke in the otherwise seamless operation of the intricate clockwork of the universe. A self-contained, chaotic world, resting on nothing but a small, frail paradox. An impossible sequence of events.
That never happened.
This is the way the present looks.
This is the real world.
Earth Time Stream
Chicago, United States
The relentless ringing woke the man roughly from his sleep.
He moaned lightly and tiredly as he tried to cover his face with satin sheets, to block out the terrible noise. It wouldn't stop though. So he gave up, and flung the sheets off with a grunt. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, the thin, short man grumbled under his breath as he walked unsteadily towards the only phone in the room.
He had been having such a nice dream too.
In it, he was drinking a steaming hot cup of coffee, made from fresh beans picked right off the fields of Columbia. Gold bracelets jingled like wind chimes every time he set the porcelain cup down and replaced his hand on the shoulder of the person to his right. Oh yes, there was that too- the pair of bombshell blondes who sat on either side of him, gently cooing sweet things into his ears. They might have been twins, and they were certainly at least two decades younger than he was, possibly three. But he didn't care. After the coffee came a juicy medium-rare steak. Coffee and steak, maybe a strange combination, but it didn't matter to him.
Never too much of a good thing- or as it may be good things.
The last piece of his little paradise didn't exist in the scene physically. It was actually just an assurance. In his dream, he knew he had absolute and utter financial security. Or maybe that was putting it too lightly. It was probably more apt to say that he had billions upon billions of US dollars in secret, private, and tightly locked Swiss and Caribbean accounts. That assurance, in and of itself was better than the coffee, better than the steak, and better than the girls.
Outside of his dream though, the man eyed the caller ID name on the glowing screen of his phone. He grimaced. One look and he was suddenly reminded that while he actually did have the billions- if nothing else in his dream- he could just as quickly lose them.
One wrong word was all it took.
"… hello?" Despite the cloudiness that was still being chased from his mind, the man's voice was clearly guarded.
The person at the other end of the line didn't sound nearly so tired and his tone was casual; his accent was not American. Even through the telephone, his words sounded like an icy wind moving across the cold Siberian tundra. Right now, it was blowing softly.
"Your man in Riyadh backed out."
The listener in Chicago took a half second before his tired mind woke up and realized what the other was saying. He cursed under his breath.
"Damn, my people told me Ismail was good."
"So…" came the frosty voice again, "what are you going to do about it?"
"Look, you know my network in the Mid-East isn't nearly as big as I wan' it to be…" he trailed off, unsure of what exactly it was that he could do about it.
"I need those oil fields, and I want them soon." The cold voice suddenly paused, as if waiting for a response. Abruptly, he spoke again and his tone abruptly became considerate, and a fraction of a degree warmer. "Oh… perhaps I have called you at a bad hour."
The caller made it sound like he had just realized it, but the Chicago man was not fooled. Nothing went past this individual without him knowing. But he played along, like he had for years now. It was the only sensible thing he could do.
"Yeah, it's" he glanced at the glowing LCD clock by his bed, "just after two in the morning here." He yawned loudly as if trying to prove his point.
"Ah… I apologize." The voice didn't sound the least bit sorry. "But please, do give me a response quickly. You know how much I hate missing opportunities like this."
"Sure thing, I'll have a friend of a friend moving things over there soon. I'll call you back tonight." He thought his tone might have given away the fact that he wasn't sure in the least.
"You do that, and do remember the Russians while you do." The voice sounded once again like bitter enduring permafrost when it said the last bit. "Goodbye Jon."
The phone clicked dead.
Jon Spiro stared at its faint outline through the darkness with a deep grimace carved into his wrinkling features.
The Russians. Who could forget that? No reminder necessary there.
It was an excellent motivator for him to act quickly.
And that he did. He didn't even get a chance to sleep again that night.
Industrial District, Haven City
Lieutenant Colonel Holly Short slumped back against a metal wall of corrugated iron, feeling the ancient flakes of rust peel off against the back of her uniform. The cold hard concrete beneath her felt good. At least it gave her aching legs a break from their torturous use today.
She ripped the beaten and singed helmet from her head, shaking her tangle of shoulder-length auburn hair back into place as she did. Her lungs moved automatically to take in large gulps of the stale filtered air, letting her smell the metallic scent hanging in the room as it rushed past her nostrils.
Compared to the seemingly prehistoric LEP recruitment posters barely hanging by tiny dabs of glue throughout the district, Holly Short was not exactly a picture of the ideal police officer. They showed a taller-than-average elf with a slick new uniform and a shiny white helmet tucked under a well-muscled arm, an intimidating laser blaster fitting snugly against a leg strap, and a gleaming golden badge pinned proudly on his chest.
Holly couldn't have looked like that even if she tried- and even if she ignored the fact that she wasn't male or bursting with muscles.
Her faded green uniform hung loosely over her thin but lithe frame, the fireproofing layer on the back of the pant legs long worn off and the edges of the cloth itself were starting to come off, smelling like ashes as they did. The decades-old Neutrino that was secured against her waist was decorated with nearly as many scars as her helmet, though the dings and scratches hadn't gotten to the gun's workings like they had to the helmet's electronics. It was a wonder that her shield filters even worked anymore.
She still had a badge, not that it carried any authority in the city anymore. In fact, she rarely wore it. In most instances these days, it was more of a giant "SHOOT ME" sign than anything else.
She closed her eyes and forced her face to compose itself.
"Commander," she said, calmly, but firmly, without opening her eyes, "can I please know now why I just went running halfway across the city, risking nearly my whole fire team just to get a few stinkin' crates?"
Commander Julius Root gave a low, bitter chuckle a few feet away, which seemed dry as it echoed along the iron walls.
"Sorry about that Holly, you know how it is-"
Holly cut him off.
"Yes, yes. If I or any of my teammates get captured its better if we don't have information because if we do, this that and the other thing, blah, blah, blah and somebody blows my brains out with a giant Mud Man handgun… yeah, I know."
Though her eyes were still shut, she could almost see Julius' face twist into a wince at her cutting words. They were true words though, and Holly did nothing to seem apologetic for saying them.
"I wish you wouldn't put things like that Holly," said Root with a tone that was equal parts resignation and annoyance.
The sound of wood creaking made the Lieutenant turn and crack an eye open.
"Mind giving me a hand here?"
The elf reluctantly picked up her sore limbs to stand behind her commander, who was holding a long metal crowbar against one of the crates. She grabbed the end of the metal.
"On three?" asked Julius.
"Or we could just push now," replied Holly.
Root muttered something about impatient young ones- which the Lieutenant promptly ignored- before turning back to face the box.
They pushed.
The wood complained loudly with splintering sounds before giving way, and the cover fell of with a dull clacking against the concrete floor.
The commander quickly dropped the crowbar and started to gingerly remove the cardboard packing from inside the box. Holly began to help and a small, grim smile appeared on her face when she saw something in the box.
The metallic shine of the butt of a gun appeared through the packaging. This was good; the teams' Neutrinos were starting to get sluggish with age. New guns would be pretty helpful about now.
But Holly realized something was wrong as soon as she started pulling the weapon out. By her trained hand, she knew several things in the split second before she could fully see the emerging item.
First, the handle was too dense, not suited for a light gun.
Second, the trigger had no extra buttons; no adjustments to the firepower.
Third, the whole thing was too long and too heavy.
The elf gave an audible gasp when she finally had the thing in her hands. Though she held it with some reverence, she looked at it like it was a diseased carcass.
This was no Neutrino.
She was holding a brand-new, semi-automatic Softnose laser rifle.
Next to her, Julius Root was calmly placing a second Softnose on a half-empty rack, which until then had held mostly broken-down electric stun guns.
"Commander…" started Holly sharply.
"Yeah?" asked Root, not stopping what he was doing.
"What the hell is this?" This time, her tone was low, cutting, and accusatory.
The commander's eyes flashed over to her direction and he quickly dropped the gun he was holding onto the rack.
"I thought you might react like this. That's the other reason I didn't tell you what you were getting. Atlantis restarted Softnose production after Haven's administrative sector fell. They had a few to spare." he said softly with a hint of guilt in his voice.
"You thought I'd react like this?!" Holly nearly shouted. "Root, I'm holding a killing machine in my hands!"
Julius frowned deeply. Holly never called him by his last name.
"You know, it's basically the same as a Level Five Neutrino burst…" he commented.
The Neutrino series had, since it was invented (by Foaly of course), held several different levels of laser power at a user's disposal. These could range from a mild sting, to a concussive blast, to an enemy-vaporizing final form.
"Right," snapped Holly, "but you know that nobody's Neutrino can hold enough of a charge anymore to use a Level Five without the gun exploding and there hasn't been an incident that needed it in the field even when our guns could handle it! This kind of…" she shuddered, "power, without the choice to even use it without killing or maiming… it's just irresponsible! Insane!"
Root turned slowly towards the Lieutenant, his face already red to the point of almost glowing. You could have probably fried an egg against his cheeks if you tried long enough.
"Holly," he began in a slow, controlled voice, "these aren't the good ol' days anymore when smugglers were the worst we had to deal with. This isn't the Haven you grew up in anymore." He took a deep, shaking breath. "You think I like the fact that we had to retreat from our own headquarters?" His arms gestured widely at the cavernous space of the warehouse around them. "That I like sitting here in this place with barely enough protection to hold off a Mud Man squadron while they run amuck in half the city, leaving the rest in ruins?
"No, I hate it, and I hate the fact that we have to use these things," he pointed a calloused finger at the Softnoses next to him.
"But we're at war, girl, and whether you want it or not, you're part of it. And I will not lose another person out there because his ancient Neutrino dies in the middle of a firefight! If some Mud Scum gets an arm blasted off to save one of my people, so be it!"
This time, even the ever-headstrong Holly Short sobered up. She looked away from the commander, her eyes losing their usual fire. A silence came and went in the room.
"I…" she stuttered, taking a shaking breath "I'm sorry Commander… that was… out of place. I… understand. Sorry, I just… really don't like this. I know it's true, I just don't want to admit it."
Root gave a low sigh and tried to speak in a comforting tone.
"I know Holly. You don't have to like it, you just have to endure."
The Lieutenant nodded dully and moved to drop the Softnose onto the rack without a word.
"Don't," said Root, "you're one of my best sharpshooters. Keep that one with you."
Holly stared at him then the gun for a few long moments before slinging its strap over her back. Her hands were trembling a little and she felt like the gun push against her as if it weighed several tons.
Root shook his head and rubbed his temples with a pained expression on his face. He reached into a side pocket to fish something out, but his hands came up empty.
"I could really use a cigar right about now," he muttered.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
The man named Hunter sat brooding in the back of a long blacked-out vehicle. His manicured fingers supported his chin as he stared out to the passing streets of the metropolis, which, aside from the excess of desert plants, would have looked just like any other major city, with glass, steel and concrete abounding. At least the buildings would have looked it- the people and their clothes were another story.
If he had been outside, he would have been immediately identified as a foreigner by all who saw him and given a wide berth. Being too light-skinned and wearing a Western style suit would probably give it away, even if his slightly accented Arabic didn't.
But since he was in a car, nobody knew that he wasn't just some native businessperson. Other cars gave his a wide berth anyway.
A dark stretch limo on the streets of Riyadh tended to have that kind of effect.
The vehicle looked empty except for the driver and this man. The only amenities were a thin LCD screen on one side and a dry bar, which, of course, stored no alcohol.
Business had not gone well. Spiro's source in the royal family hadn't delivered and he was walking away without the rights to the land he came for. He sighed. Oh well, it wasn't like the place was going to disappear overnight, and he was sure that as soon as he got what he needed, it would quickly make up for the delay.
A high, almost musical voice seemed to come from nowhere.
"Can we please get out of this disgusting country now? The sun is just horrible for my skin. I think I got sunburned out there."
Hunter loosed a wintry chuckle and responded into thin air as if that was completely normal.
"I would believe you, only I don't think it's possible to get sunburned when the only time you went outdoors was eight feet through a shaded entrance, all eight feet of which you rushed through in about two seconds."
A figure materialized from the empty space, standing in the middle of the limo with both hands at its tiny waist. Its frame was small enough to be a child, but the high cheekbones, adult body proportions and intelligent glint in its eyes made it obvious that she was no child.
"I told you that you didn't need to come. You could have stayed in Haven or even back on the surface in Europe, no need to be here. But we will be leaving. Immediately, in fact," said the man, giving the pixie an amused look.
The pixie jutted out her lower lip a bit at the slight jab, but didn't respond. She seemed to study the man's face before finally giving in to a frown and speaking.
"You know I hate it when you wear those contacts. You still don't trust me?"
Hunter tilted his head and looked at her again through the mirrored lenses, smirking.
"Then you must always hate me, because you've never seen me without them before. And to answer your question, no, I don't. I'll stop wearing them after and if you're going through with the pituitary operation."
"When I'm done with the operation," corrected the fairy, "I told you, it's next week."
The man shrugged.
"You know how it is. I have to take what precautions I can, when I can."
He saw her glower at him even as she started to sit down on the plush seat next to him. Her head just barely missed reaching his shoulder, but that would change quickly if what she said about the operation was true.
He gave her a dark smile, reaching an arm across her back gently.
"Don't worry Opal, you were right the first time, we have the same goals and we're both very good at what we do. We're good for each other."
With that, she could not disagree. Not at all.
Opal Koboi smiled back, trying to make her own expression as sinister as the other's. But she didn't smile back just to look evil. Despite her complaints, things had been going along very well both underground, and above.
A/N: For those of you who are groaning 'not Opal again!,' I sympathize. Therefore, she will not play that big of a role here. And now, I will spend the next week or so dodging questions. So, what do you think of the real world?
