Artemis Fowl the Second clicked quietly away at his laptop. It was late at night; the only light came from the soft glow of the screen. Raven hair at a slant carefully framed a pale face with piercing blue eyes. Eyes that were forever watching.
A painting hung on his dormitory room wall, painted by Artemis himself. Artemis had started it as a forgery of an Arthur Rackham painting which depicted a fairy in flight. But it had soon taken on a life of its own and had turned out substantially different from Rackham's original. The original fairy was dressed in a gauzy material, had translucent wings, green eyes, and long red hair. Somehow, while Artemis was caught in the fervor of the painting, the fairy had acquired hazel eyes, shorter hair (which Artemis presumed was a pixie cut, of all things), black wings that seemed almost solid, and green clothing that shimmered and seemed to blend in with the night. The Rackham painting had been titled Lily. Disgusted, Artemis wanted to throw it away the unsuitable forgery, but he could not. Renamed Holly it graced the bare wall, the only decoration in the entire room.
The rest of the dormitory was a clutter of electronic paraphernalia and books. They had mostly been hastily piled on an empty bed that should have belonged to Artemis' roommate. The roommate, a Josh Anderson, had taken one look at Artemis and his laptop on the first day of school and requested a room change.
The clicking stopped and Artemis leaned back in his chair, satisfied. His blue eyes glittered, reflected on the display of an eBay auction.
Perhaps this would finally help him remember, Artemis mused. The rather large ring—the picture hadn't done it justice—was engraved with many symbols, which, at first glance, seemed Egyptian. After examining the picture closely on his own laptop, he deduced that at least seven of the "hieroglyphs" were not Egyptian at all. Artemis had the troublesome feeling that he had seen them before. There was also a hole in the ring, as if a part was missing. This time tomorrow I shall have the solid version in my hands, thought Artemis. It had been almost a year since Artemis had first discovered the mirrored contact lenses in his eyes, and at fifteen he had still not found out what enemy had placed them there. There was also the fact that for the past two years, he had been plagued by half-memories, glimpses of recognition of odd things, that when he investigated further upon, the memory disappeared. He knew that if he had a solid grasp on one of these things, then the rest of the memories would follow.
Three…two…one. The auction was over. Artemis smirked as he clicked Refresh, to see the text:
Bidding has ended for this item (blackcat13 is the winner)
What? Artemis thought angrily. A familiar scowl spread across his face as he clicked on the bidding history.
Bidding History (highest bids first)
blackcat13 Jul-12-03 09:39:36 PDT
artemisthehunter Jul-12-03 09:39:12 PDT
The blackcat13 person had only beat him with 2 seconds left until the auction had ended. Artemis clicked on the username and browsed the information offered. There was no name; the bidder only called herself the Black Cat (undoubtedly a female, Artemis couldn't think of any self-respecting male who would decorate their About Me page with curlicues and other feminine articles). "I am your bad luck—watch out!" proclaimed the page. The only worthy information other than more taunts was the location of the bidder—Ireland.
You just crossed the wrong person, thought Artemis Fowl II.
The Lower Elements, Operations Booth, Police Plaza, Haven CityFoaly settled in grumpily in his chair, his tail swinging noisily. "The LEP technical genius, more patented inventions than any fairy alive—and what is he doing? Grunt work."
"Shut up, Foaly, and get to work."
"Ah, is that you, Commander? I could tell by your lusty tones, Root—"
"Shut up, or your paycheck is going to shrink."
Foaly chuckled to himself as he turned off the intercom. Root threatened to cut his wages everyday, and he had yet to do it. After a few seconds of typing several short commands, his computer program—invented by Foaly, of course—started running a search of the Internet for anything remotely fairy-related. As usual, much of the stuff was mere human fancy—Foaly tagged the sites so they wouldn't show up again on his next search. He readjusted his foil cap as a personal site came up, flashing bright red.
"Hmm…" Foaly drawled.
There was a very blurry snapshot among others in what looked like a Rita Greenfield's online photo album of her visit to Disneyland, Paris. The snapshot was of a diminutive green creature—something that looked fairly like an elf, if you looked closely.
"Commander Root," Foaly spoke over the intercom.
"What?"
"I believe we have a situation."
Foaly could hear Root's breath over the intercom. "Classify."
"Digital picture. Blurry."
"Well, then delete it! Don't bother me unless it's an emergency, Foaly!" shouted Root, and then the connection was cut off.
"Emergency, Foaly! Emergency!" mimicked Foaly in his Operations Booth. He didn't get much entertainment from his work, other than making fun of Commander Root. In fact, ever since Artemis Fowl had been mind wiped, there had been little trouble for the People. Well, recently, many fairies appeared to have gotten sick, but it was, as Root kept on telling him, "just a bug going around."
Foaly hummed with a smile, still giddy over his last raise, as he hacked into Rita Greenfield's computer and site and removed the picture.
Another site flashed red. The scientific journal of Alexander Trasovan, a famous Russian scientist.
Foaly read the file, the smile wiped from his face. "D'arvit!" he swore.
"ROOT!" he shouted over the intercom.
"What now, Foaly?" scowled Root, who by this time was extremely annoyed.
"I'm sending you a file that was found on a scientific journal from Russia."
There was silence for a few minutes, and then Foaly could hear Root swearing over the intercom loud enough for the entire office to hear. At another time, Foaly would have found this extremely amusing.
But not today.
"What the heck does this mean, Foaly?" asked Root.
On the night of June 14, Alexander Trasovan and a group of explorers found two mysterious bodies frozen in ice off the Artic Circle. "This is nothing like we have ever seen," said one scientist, who wished to remain anonymous. "It's almost as if these things came out of a fairy tale."
The bodies were reptilian in nature, but had a humanoid structure with arms, legs, and opposable thumbs. Closer examination of the bodies and carbon testing revealed that they were fairly recent—they could have been frozen for longer than five years. Another unexplainable factor about the bodies is that the reptilian skin, mostly in the area of the mouth and nose, were fireproof.
Trasovan, who had long believed that another species mankind has never known about went into extinction some time ago, and was refused many times by the Russian government to pursue his investigations. With the new evidence of this other species, it is highly possible that Trasovan will get the grants.
An autopsy of the bodies revealed that the two "Goblins," as they were dubbed by Trasovan, did not perish because of the weather, but because of extreme laser exposure.
"It is imperative that we find this other species," said Trasovan, "It appears they already know about us. If they are advanced enough to use laser power, then they are most unfortunately a dangerous threat to mankind."
Trasovan believes that this other species dwells deep underground, although he has no proof. The bodies and the autopsies, however, are new scientific discoveries, and if the government grants Trasovan the money, then he will most likely commence the search for this species.
"Well, centaur? What does this mean?" Root's gruff voice brought Foaly back from nightmares of Mud Men descending upon Haven City, destroying everything.
"It means, Commander, that we have been discovered."
Author's Notes: yes, the two goblins discovered were D'Nall and Aymon, the two B'wa Kell goblins who were shot in the Artic Circle. J Kudos to anyone who can find the Harry Potter reference. Rita Greenfield is not it. Please review! All any comments/constructive criticism would be appreciated. If you read this story, but have not reviewed, to me, you don't exist. Boo. I will get depressed and will attempt to throw a horny toaster at you.