ASN: Artemis is not ours, and never will be...

AN: Depressed?

ASN: Kinda.

I missed Mother when she was ill. I never forgot about her predicament. I may have pushed it to the back of my mind during the fairy escapade last year, but I never completely forgot. And I am truly glad I made that deal with Captain Short to heal her. I do not regret that decision.

However, if I had known Mother would decide to send me to a counselor…

"Now, Master Fowl, let's talk, shall we?"

I sigh. These people, counselors and Mother, simply do not understand. My mind is a superior work; no mere school counselor could contemplate the way I function. I most likely know more and psychology than Doctor Po. I've certainly read more textbooks on the subject.

He is waiting for me to speak, so I inform him of the fact that his precious Victorian chair is a fake. Perhaps this will end the session early.

It doesn't work.

"Yes, Artemis, very clever. Just as your file says. Playing your little games. Now shall we get back to you?"

I straighten a crease in my trousers. He's already annoyed, and we've barely started. No doubt he'll be leaving by the end of the week. "There is a problem here, Doctor." I tell him.

"Really? And what might that be?"

"The problem is that I know the textbook answers to any question you care to ask." Of course, I know the typical incorrect answers as well, but that is a fact to be saved for another session.

Po scribbles for a least a minutes. I wouldn't be surprised if he was creating his shopping list. "We do have a problem, Artemis. But that's not it." he tells me.

I smile inwardly and wonder what new disorder I will be diagnosed with today. There are so many areas to choose from. Multiple personality disorder, maybe? Many think I'm a pathological liar. Enlighten me, Doctor Po.

"The problem is that you don't respect anyone enough to treat them as an equal."

Surprising. I didn't think any counselor would even venture in that direction. This doctor is smarter than the others.

That could be harmful in the long run.

"That's ridiculous." I tell him. "I hold several people in the highest esteem."

Po does not seem to believe me. When he asks, as I knew he would, I give him examples. Einstein, Archimedes. Men who understood the world, as I do. Then he asks for people I actually know.

Do I respect anyone I have met?

In all honesty…

"What? No example?" Po asks.

I shrug. "You seem to have all the answers, Doctor Po, why don't you tell me?"

Po begins to blabber about my biography, and how it explains a lot. That intrigues me. My biography tended to send most other counselors whimpering back to their mentors.

"Firstly, there's your associate, Butler. A bodyguard, I understand. Hardly a suitable companion for an impressionable boy."

Impressionable? Dear doctor, Butler is my bodyguard precisely to make sure I'm not impressionable.

"Then there's your mother. A wonderful woman in my opinion, but with absolutely no control over your behavior."

That is…actually, that's fairly accurate.

"Finally, there's your father. According to this, he wasn't much of a role model, even when he was alive."

That stings. Much more than I thought it would. He knows nothing about my father. He's never met him, and he has no idea what sort of a role model he is…and if I know anything, I know my father is alive. I inform Doctor Po of that.

"Really?" Po checks his sheet. "I was under the impression that he had been missing for almost two years. Why, the courts have declared him legally dead."

My heart is pounding, and under any normal circumstances, I might have lost my temper. I am Irish, after all. But I have to make an impression, so I keep my face a blank mask, revealing nothing. "I don't care what the courts say, or the Red Cross. He is alive, and I will find him."

Po makes another note—probably about my obsessive behavior—and continues probing.

"But even if your father were to return, what then? Will you follow in his footsteps? Will you be a criminal like him? Perhaps you already are?"

Now I am getting annoyed. "My father was no criminal. He was moving all our assets into legitimate enterprises. The Murmansk venture was completely aboveboard."

"You're avoiding the question, Artemis." Po says.

I'm tired of this. Less than a handful of sessions, and this counselor has found more weaknesses and made me angrier than all the others put together. Enough is enough.

"Why, Doctor?" I protest, trying to sound shocked and hurt. Judging from his suddenly intrigued look, I suppose I succeeded. "This is a sensitive area. For all you know, I could be suffering from depression."

"I suppose you could." Po agrees. He is attempting not to look excited and failing miserably. "Is that the case?"

No longer able to keep the smirk off my face, I hide in my hands. "It's my mother, Doctor."

"Your mother?"

"My mother, she…"

I hear a crack as Po leans forward in his chair. "Your mother, yes?"

"She forces me to endure this ridiculous therapy, when the so-called counselors are little better than misguided do-gooders with degrees."

Po sighs and leans back in his chair. I lift my head, and note with satisfaction the dirty look he is giving the room.

Or specifically, the room's occupant.

"Very well, Artemis. Have it your way, but you are never going to find peace if you continue to run away from your problems."

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket before he can continue. Odd. Only one person knows my number, and he wouldn't call unless something important had occurred. I pull the hone from my pocket, fighting down any hints of panic. I have only been interrupted during the school day once. And that did not end well.

"Yes?"

"Artemis. It's me." Butler says.

Even in a potential crisis, I cannot hide the sarcasm. "Obviously. I'm in the middle of something here."

"We've had a message."

"Yes. From where?" Any number of people could be contacting the Fowls, but not very many would warrant a phone call.

"I don't know exactly. But it concerns the Fowl Star."

It almost feels like a bolt of lightening has made its way down my spine. I sit a little taller—not an easy task in such straight-backed chairs as these. "Where are you?"

'The main gate."

"Good man. I'm on my way." I stand. Doctor Po pulls his glasses off and glares.

"This session is not over, young man. We made some progress today, even if you won't admit it. Leave now, and I will be forced to inform the dean."

I ignore him. I could try to explain, but I do not want to waste the time. I need to plan, to think, and it is hard to do that when he's analyzing my every move.

Something big is starting. I can feel it.

As I walk to the gate, my excitement fades and I think about Doctor Po's questions. They annoyed me—and that annoys me. Butler sees me as I walk through the gate, and his brow furrows slightly.

"Problems, sir?"

I get into the car and open a bottle of still water. "Hardly, Butler. Just another quack spouting psycho-babble."

Butler can tell it upset me a little, and requests to have a word with him. A loyal bodyguard indeed.

"Never mind him now. What news of the Fowl Star?"

"We got an email at the manor this morning. It's an MPG."

I scowl. I can access emails on my mobile phone, but not MPG files. I will have to wait to see it.

When news seems this important, my patience tends to disappear.

"I thought you might be anxious to see the file, so I downloaded it onto this." Butler says, passing me the laptop. Excellent, Butler. I start it. The battery seems to be dead, for the screen is filled with white snow. Upon closer examination, I realize it is just that—snow. An innocent image of a snowy terrain.

I'm getting nervous.

The camera moves, showing a grey sky, then a black object in the distance. Slowly, as the camera approaches the object, in changes into the form of a man. He is tied to a chair. The jingle of the ice cubes makes me notice that my hands are shaking.

The man is dressed in rags, though they seem to be the remains of a fine suit. He is scarred, and looks generally abused. I am almost choking on each breath. This man…

The camera zooms in on a handwritten sign slung around the man's neck. It is in Russian, but I know what it means. The screen goes blank.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"Just the man, and the sign. That's it."

"Zdravstvutye syn." I murmur absently.

"Should I translate for you?"

"No, I know what it means." I say. And I know what it implicates… "Zdravsvutye syn: Hello, son."

The car is silent for several minutes as I fight to keep myself under control. If this was even close to being real…

"Do you think it's him, Artemis? Could that man be your father?"

I rewind the file and watch it again, freezing it on the man's face. Even with the scars, and the pain-filled eyes, he seems so familiar. I lightly touch the display, unconsciously trying to get closer.

"I think so, Butler. But the picture quality is too poor. I can't be certain." Butler says nothing, and I finally pull myself together. "I must pursue this, Butler."

You know what's coming next, of course?"

"Yes. A ransom demand." It's what all criminals do in a situation like this—including me. "This is merely the teaser, to get my attention. I need to cash in some of the People's gold. Contact Lars in Zurich immediately."

Butler disagrees. He informs me about the likelihood of surviving the payoff. I do not argue. He knows more about kidnapping and the Mafiya than I do.

"You're right, of course. I swill have to devise a plan."

I sit back in my seat. There are many ways I can proceed, many things I can do…and many ways this can turn out. I contemplate my options as we continue to drive, and then start asking Butler questions. He informs me that the MPG is untraceable, in any way, and I frown. What else can I do?

"How fast can we get to Russia?" I ask after a minute.

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how we go, legal or illegal."

"Which is quicker?" I respond.

Butler laughs, and that surprises me. He laughs less than I do. "Illegal is usually faster. Either way is going to be pretty slow. We can't go by air, that's for sure. The Mafiya is going to have foot soldiers at every air strip."

I frown. "Are you sure it's the Mafiya?"

Butler is sure. We continue to talk, going over IDs and a rough time schedule. Luckily, mother and Juliet are in Nice for a week. We should be done and home by the time they return. And that also means about eight days away from school. A welcome respite.

"We could go straight to the airport from Fowl Manor, the Lear jet is stocked. At least we can fly as far as Scandinavia, and we can try to pick up a boat from there. I just have to pick up a few things from the manor first."

I can only imagine what sort of 'things' my bodyguard wants. Anything ranging from sharp and pointy to large with many bullets. "Good. The sooner the better. We've got to find these people before they know we're looking. We can monitor email as we go."

"You know Artemis, we're going up against the Russian Mafiya. I had dealings with these people before. They don't negotiate. This could get bloody. If we take these gangsters on, people are going to get hurt. Most likely us."

I nod, not really listening. I need a plan. Something impressive, something that has never been tried before.

We arrive at the Manor, and Butler gets out, asking if I need anything. I ask for caviar—odd, I know—and he smiles. He leaves, and I begin to work on an email for the principal. It's not very tactful…so I address it from Mother, and can't help but smile. I would like to see Principal Guiney's face when he reads it, but I cannot. There are too many pressing things to do.

Butler appears, opens the door, and after a second, he gets into the car. I place my phone into its pocket calmly.

I do not have time for this.

"Captain Short, I presume. Why don't you stop vibrating, and settle into the visible spectrum?"

There is a pause, and then a fairy slowly appears. She does not look happy, and there is a big, slightly familiar gun in her hands.

"Really, Holly, is that necessary?" I ask, trying to keep a smirk off my face.

She snorts. "Well, let's see. Kidnapping, actual bodily harm, extortion, conspiracy to commit murder. I'd say it's necessary."

Murder? When did I conspire to commit murder? Surely she's not talking about the business with Commander Root and the exploding whaler, is she? It was less of a murder attempt and more of attempting to make a point.

Which I made quite clearly, I believe.

I'll think it about later, when I have time. I smile at the unamused elf. "Please, Captain Short. I was young and selfish. Believe it or not, I do harbor some doubts over that particular venture."

She doesn't seem to believe me. "Not enough to return the gold?"

"No." I admit. "Not quite."

"How did you know it was me?" he asks, changing subject abruptly.

I steeple my fingers. "There were several clues." I say. "One, Butler did not conduct his usual bomb check under the car. Two, he retuned without the items he went to fetch. Three, the door was open for several seconds, something no good security man would permit. And four, I detected a slight haze as you entered the vehicle. Elementary, really." I really guessed on whether it was her or not…which other fairy would get so close without shooting me?

I think she prefers to use her fists.

She scowls at me. "Observant little Mud Boy, aren't you?"

"I try. Now, Captain Short, if you would be so kind as to tell me why you are here." I don't think I warrant a surprise visit like this. Not without being suspected of something.

"As if you don't know." she snaps.

I don't know, but I can guess. Interesting. "Obviously something I am being held responsible for." I raise an eyebrow. If the fairies believe I am responsible, that would mean… "There are humans trading with the People."

"Very impressive." she says a little nastily. "Or it would be, if we didn't both know that you're behind it." She nods at the laptop. "And if we can't get the truth out of you, I'm sure your computer files will prove most revealing."

All right. This has been most entertaining, but I have more pressing matters. I close the laptop deliberately. "Captain. I realize there is no love lost between us, but I don't have time for this now. It is imperative that you give me a few days to sort out my affairs."

Holly shakes her head once. "No can do, Fowl. There are a few people underground who would like a word."

I'm glad for them, but I cannot take the time to—wait. Perhaps I can… I shrug. "I suppose, after what I did, I can't expect any consideration."

"That's right. You can't."

"Well then," I sigh, "I don't suppose I have a choice."

She smiles, a smile with a feral hint behind it. "That's right, Fowl, you don't."

"Shall we go?" I suggest meekly. However…this might actually end up being rather helpful. The fairies have certain abilities, not to mention technology, that no one, Mafiya or not, would be expecting.

"Why not?" Captain Short turns to Butler. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, heavier. "Drive south. Stay on the back roads."

That's a helpful little hint. "Tara, I presume. I've often wondered where exactly the entrance to E1 was." I say.

"Keep wondering, Mud Boy." Captain Short grumbles. She speaks again—

Everything goes black.