Author's Note: The next chapter of this should probably be up in approximately 3 days. And the next, 6 days. And it should all be completed a few days before the end of November, all 90 000 words or so. You see, I was going to do the NaNoWriMo competition, where you have to write a complete, 50 000 word novel in the month of November. But, me being my disorganized self, I hadn't finished planning any decent novel by yesterday so I decided to finish this story instead, since that's got a lot more purpose than a shitty fantasy novel with horrid characters. Then I can get started on Brevis, the sequel to this, which is going to be almost completely Liam-less and much more fun. For me writing that is, definitely not for the characters.
Black Holes
"The [string theory] seems to be able to give rise to many different universes, of which ours seems to be only one."
- From Scientific American November, 2003
The room was a large one, immense in all senses, stretching out in useless proportions. But that's the way it is in the houses of the aristocrats (Above or Underground) – all uselessness and space. Trouble mused that all the space was probably so that regular people would find it hard to find the lords and ladies, to pin down what they aren't doing that they should be. Trouble crinkled his nose at the air which had been filtered yet again, so that the germs that existed 'out There' couldn't come 'in Here'. The ceiling was huge above his head, probably at least 5 meters high - Sprites could have flying tournaments in here. The colonnades were decked with gold leaf, highlighting the intricate carvings and swirls. He thought it looked tacky. He preferred his Mother's trailer that they'd lived in when he was young.
"And so you are completely unaware as to where Commander Root may be, Captain Kelp?" Asked Chairman Cahartez, the Chairman's conical hat of office looking as ridiculous as it always did. Cahartez seemed to disapprove of Trouble's presence in his house as much as Trouble despised being there.
"As I've said before, Chairman, I did not speak to the Commander before he left, and I do not know who – if anyone – did. He could be on the moon for all we'd know." Useless information. Useless information that he had told them before over the phone, over a videolink even, but they had called him in for a meeting to be sure.
"Are you aware, Captain Kelp, that informing a fellow member of the Force as to personal whereabouts when leaving the Plaza on anything other than an official assignment while on shift is part of Police Protocol." That was Arbles, who was particularly stringent concerning regulations due to his brother's unfortunate demise in an illegal core-diving accident. He was the second Elf on the Council, when according to tradition his place was meant to be taken by a Centuar, as the Seven Lords and Seven races were supposed to be represented here. The Goblin position was filled by a Sprite, but that was to be expected. And the Goblins pretty much knew it was a good idea – or they would, if only any of them could read up on ancient traditions and find out that they were supposed to have a member of their race represented on the Council body.
"Yes, I'm well aware of this. Unfortunately, it seemed to have slipped Commander Root's mind. He's a very busy man, and under a lot of stress as the singular Commander of the Underground's police forces. Have the Council reached any decisions regarding this, including the introduction of more than the three regional Field Commanders?" Trouble couldn't help himself with the jibe. The Council had been promising reform for decades now, but if they agreed to change anything they would end up with less personal power, in fact, the power would be far more balanced. And why would they want that? They would keep with the promises for another few centuries at least, and then they'd reword them so it wasn't suspicious.
"That matter is still in debate, Captain. There are more important things to concern ourselves with right now." That was Cahartez again, of course. "Who would be able to contact the Commander? Who would be the most likely Person to have information about the Commander's whereabouts?"
"That would be Foaly the Centaur, head of LEP Technical Divisions, Sirs and Madam." Said Trouble, looking towards Wing Commander Vinyàya, supposedly the most sensible of the members. She was the Kry'rae representative of the Council, and even though they were not known for their sensibility, she was an exception highly praised. They were known for their compassionate nature, although the small sections of this race that lived in Haven were very secluded. The Kry'rae were a small, secluded group of fairies, who still lived very close to the surface, all in the Himalayas. They were scattered in village fairy-forts across India, Nepal, Bhutan and parts of China. A few of their race had once lived on the Japanese Islands, but they had all moved long ago. They were earthy, and not just the usual, stereotyped elfish level of being nature-bound; they would go dancing nude in the snow whenever they could, feeling the air's freedom as it skimmed across their bare limbs. Apparently Vinyàya had been one of their High Priestesses before being asked to join the Council.
"Please inform him – it is a him, right? - that we would like him on the case of the Commander's disappearing act at once. We can't have a missing Commander when the entirety of Haven is in an uproar over the AAA situation." Lord Joseph Peat, the Dwarf of the Council. Vinyàya said nothing.
This time Trouble's response was almost incredulous, but he hid his anger at this entire situation, at this Council. The news of Foaly's injuries weren't exactly hidden knowledge, especially within the ranks of the LEP, which technically the Council was part of. "Foaly was injured in the E1 Attack. He's in medical care. A stable condition, but unable to complete his job."
"Well, that's just the icing on the cake, isn't it? How can we be sure that Root's not been taken captive by AAA operatives? How can we know where Underground he is?" Lope, the pixie representative, rather tall for his race with an overlarge Roman nose.
"I'll try my very best to find out, Councilors. Foaly's underlings are well equip - they'll be able to find Root if anyone can. Am I excused?"
"Yes. Understand us, Kelp, we want progress on this AAA issue. As Commander-in-Absence it's your responsibility. We don't want the media giving us information before you do."
"As you said, Councilors. Thank you for your time."
Trouble bowed his way out of the room, leaving behind the idiotic Council, who were supposedly the best and brightest of the fairies. In Trouble's mind they truly shone; their bald heads were all polished up until they reflected the fluorescent lights at every angle. They hated him because he wasn't from their high hills of Haven, he wasn't one of the aristocrats, only shoved into the position of Second-In-Command after the disastrous incident with Cudgeon, which had thoroughly embarrassed the Council. He knew that Root had been of that crowd, the type who could trace his family back 9 generations, knowing the full name and many idiosyncrasies of his Great-Great-Great-Grandfather.
They didn't like Root either, though, but that was probably a clash of personalities more than anything else. They also didn't like that Root knew what he was doing, since it put them on edge.
Trouble did know something about where Root might be, but he wasn't going to tell those idiots because it would be completely detrimental to anything worthwhile that was happening both Underground and Above.
He strapped on his wings and flew over the streets, higher than the regulation height. He touched down outside the makeshift Police Plaza, where the bustle and movement of people was truly amazing in its severity.
"Kelp! Kelp!" Trouble turned around, brow creasing in question as Captain Vein – who he'd thought would be in the press-room controlling the statements – came running up from behind him. Vein pulled Trouble into small empty room - some type of storage facility - to give the message. "You were right. It was Fowl who gave the information about whatever got Root so agro, whatever it was about Holly. Fowl just rang Foaly and I picked it up. He's been trying to contact Foaly for some information. The Commander and Holly are with him, Above ground somewhere. Fowl said that he'll probably be able to heal Holly completely within a few hours. Root's at Elv'shæ fa'I, and they're going to use Ancient magic to try and heal Holly. Fowl said that it's probably the only way. But he wanted to get Foaly's opinion on it all."
Trouble breathed out, half-stunned. "Ancient Magic? Surely Root isn't that stupid?"
"Fowl said for me to tell Foaly that the disease is effectively… made of magic or something. So only stronger magic can beat it. It's something like that anyway. So this is all that can be done. Holly's gone critical as well."
"Oh, D'Arvit. Just… D'Arvit! I think I need to go tell this to Foaly. Damn." Trouble rubbed his temples with thumb and middle finger. "Can you tell Foaly? No, I need you here. I'll send Grub, he'll feel special doing it." Trouble sighed. "I hate command."
"Don't we all, Trouble? Don't we all? Well, if the Ancient magic works, Root'll be back down here in no-time and we can return to our blessed lack of responsibility as mere Captains." Vein tried to smile in an encouraging manner.
"But what if…"
"Don't think negatively, Trouble. The whole situation, Under and Above, is enough depression for me, thanks. Be positive." But Vein didn't even pretend to be smiling anymore. Trouble didn't either. Too many things could go wrong. And too many probably would.
Foaly had tried to fight the morphine-like drugs that the nurse had administered to him, but, as always, they beat him and he was forced into horribly, blissful sleep. If he was feeling more himself he would have imagined Root making a joke about anyone wanting to drug him just so he'd shut up. But he didn't. He wasn't.
When he woke he fumbled around with the tail-end of sleep until his body felt awake enough to start sending demands and complaints to his brain. Perhaps the drugs had been a good idea, since it was all a bit more peaceful when pains weren't occupying all of his attention.
He heard something close by, and opened his eye in order to direct his displeasure towards the nurse. Again, as if once was not more than enough for an entire life-time, Grub Kelp was standing over him, his acne-ridden face at a proximity too close for comfort.
Foaly sighed, but only slightly. "Brought another batch of muffins, have you, Grub?"
"Foaly! I've been waiting for you to wake up. Are you feeling a bit better? I got a message from Trouble that I had to pass on to you, he couldn't come himself because there's too much going on at PP – well, not really PP, but you know what I mean." Foaly groaned, and not all of it was from the physical pain as he tried to move so he could view Grub better.
"What is it?"
"Well," Grub's voice dropped to a whisper, "Artemis Fowl called you, Foaly, sir. He's been trying to get onto you. He said that he'll probably be able to heal Captain Short within a few hours, and then Captain Short and the Commander can get back down here. And Trub's really happy about that, because the Council are ordering him about and stuff, and he says they're idiots so he doesn't want to listen to them and..."
Holly… And Foaly felt worse than he had in the… - how long had it been? Hours… days…? How long since E1 had been exploded? - He'd been so damn self-centered, so absorbed in his own pain, that he had completely forgotten about Artemis's message about someone attacking Holly with a biological weapon. He'd forgotten that the person who he would hesitantly call his best friend, if only because of a lack of anyone else to fill the position, was in a coma, possibly dying. While he lay here whinnying about a few injuries that didn't kill him, and weren't going to anytime soon.
That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
Foaly pushed his guilt to the side in order to see if he could do anything, even from his derogatory position in his hospital bed. "Did you get anything more in the message, Grub? Was there anything else? Does Fowl need any help – information, anything?"
"I… I think he wanted to talk to you about it all. Apparently they're trying to heal Holly using Ancient Magic, and… yeah. I think that's it." Grub smiled hopefully. "She's going to be alright, and that's really good. I think my brother likes her," Grub made the exaggerated finger movements meant to be quotation marks in the air beside his head, "'that way'."
"Good, good. I think I'd feel better if I could talk to Fowl myself. D'Arvit. I need my equipment to be able to do anything. This is hopeless."
"Um… Foaly? I hope you don't mind but I brought one of the laptops from your Ops Booth. I thought you might want it. I… I hope I didn't ruin anything or something." Grub pulled a slim silver computer from a bag he'd slung around his neck."
Foaly, if the idea didn't total repulse him, would have kissed Grub. But, thankfully, he didn't. "Thank you, Grub. You've been really helpful."
Grub beamed. "Happy to help. Do you need anything else, because I probably should be getting back to the Plaza – well, not the Plaza, but—"
"I know what you mean, Grub. I don't need anything else, but perhaps you could put the laptop on that table for me and bring it over here." Grub did as he was told. "Thanks again. Say thank you to your brother for me."
"Sure thing, Foaly. You're looking a lot better, you know."
And he felt better as well, even though he knew he should feel terrible about forgetting Holly. Well, he'd gotten over his depressing self-centered aspect a few weeks ago in order to save Fowl's butt, maybe he'd be able to do it again. He had a purpose now.
He opened the laptop with his right hand, and tried some awkward one-handed typing. It was horribly inefficient, but it was better than nothing.
He returned Artemis's call.
Artemis was slightly groggy as he reached for his mobile. It was getting early; he needed his sleep it appeared. Or some caffeine, but he didn't want to stoop to the level of anything stronger than a nice Earl Grey. "Yes, Butler. Have you got it?"
"It's Foaly. You won't believe how hard it was to get a working connection from this damn hospital."
"Foaly! Are you…? Well, obviously you're well enough to be talking so…"
"Oh, according to Root I could talk underwater. According to Holly as well." A slight pause on the other end of the line. "How's Holly?"
"She's getting worse, Foaly. The antidote – which was some antibodies from humans – didn't work. Maybe the person who developed it didn't really know about your People. So it's both a good thing in terms of the Underground's security, and a horribly bad thing in terms of Holly's health. Hopefully Root's plan will work. The disease is attacking Holly's immune system, making her susceptible to a number of small pathogens ect. The disease is held together by magic, they couldn't get it to form naturally. Most of our biological weapons are natural in that the can occur in the environment. This can't. It's closer to chemical really. Well, except it's not." Artemis pulled himself from the couch, where he had just convinced himself to close his eyes for a moment in order to be better focused when he opened them again.
"And the solution is Ancient magic, right? That's the message Grub passed onto me. Artemis, it might work. But, then again, it might not work. We don't know enough about the Ancient magic and it… It might make it all worse. It's dangerous. Very dangerous. The People stay as far away from it as they can." Foaly wasn't bothered by sleep, and he'd just waved away another nurse more successfully than he had the last.
"The Commander didn't say anything." The both knew what they weren't saying, and they both knew that the Commander wouldn't reveal anything that he deemed the listener didn't need to know with any degree of urgency. He took too much on himself, because he didn't want anyone else to have to deal with it as well. Artemis knew the type, and thought of Butler. "What can you tell me about it? I need to know."
"It's… It's stronger than anything we fairies can cope with. It overruns our own magic – which is why it might work to disband the disease. But… it controls us. It can override our normal functions, and we can't exist on that type of plane for long. It's… it's like a drug for us. It's a high, and it does things. It can make us physically younger – which isn't quite the good thing you'd think it would be. It's a disease, caused by El'veis draíocht—"
"Draíocht? The magic?" Artemis interupted.
"Trust you to be fluent in Irish when the majority of your people despise learning the language. Yes. The magic causes a disease which forces a fairy to… go backwards, loose age. And, although it can stop, a fairy can get a remission and they stop growing younger… most of the time it doesn't. They revert backwards, moving through their life in reverse until they get to the age of about 20 – only a few years old by your standards. And then… the magic escapes. And they are left with nothing. Their high is gone, and they are immune to our magic now. And they die." Foaly let out a worked-up breath. "It even works on Centaurs, and we don't have much magic to speak of in the beginning. But we have enough." There was silence for a moment on the line, almost long enough to be worried, if Artemis wasn't able to hear the Centaur's breaths.
"Can you see why we fear it?"
Artemis nodded, imagining the process in his billion-pixel mind. "Yes, I can see why. But we'll have to expose Holly to the magic in order to attempt a healing. And… well, she'll die soon – within the day, probably – if we can't do this or it doesn't work as you and the Commander seem to think it might. When does the magic become more dangerous? Is there a point, an amount, where it's relatively harmless?"
"I don't know, Fowl." Foaly sighed, pulling up information from various networks. "I just don't know. We don't have the information on this type of thing because it's never been done."
"I will test the effects on a few samples. It won't be pot-luck, don't worry."
"I'm not worried, only obsessively anxious."
"That's the spirit, Foaly. I send you some drugs for the anxiety."
Foaly growled. "No more of those damn needles. You'd think we'd have gone past the need for needles long ago, but, apparently, we haven't."
"Root doesn't like needles as well." Artemis only smiled.
"If you need anything else, ring me. I'll be… doing nothing."
"I will."
Artemis snapped the phone shut. He vaguely wondered what the cost of a call from the Underground to Above was, and, for that matter, how it would show up on his phone statement.
He realized that he really needed to get some sleep if he wasn't going to be completely useless.
Butler swore.
Root's crumpled form was convulsing, but his hands were clasped closed tightly, tight enough so that his knuckles were stained white with effort. His face was changing; at some moments it was young, line-less, a distant creature who had been named Julius. And then it was old, the false image of a scraggly grey beard appearing on his chin, the skin of his neck becoming slack, his hairline receding until he had a bald dome sticking out of a few strands of grey that appeared to be struggling to hide it. Occasionally, he appeared as Butler expected him to appear, but that was only a moment among many.
Butler didn't stand still, watching the fairy in convulsions. He scooped the tiny body up in is arms and tried to find his way out of the mist, if mist it was. If there was such a thing as direction any more…
He just keep moving, not caring for creating expressive, yet wrong, turns of phrase to describe the area around him, because anything he said at some later date wouldn't be accurate. It was too inhuman to be described using a human language. It wasn't truly of the fairy world either.
He moved through the fog, trying to ignore the possible meanings of Root's convulsions and changing appearance, because Butler knew that he wouldn't like any of the conclusions he made. They would also all be wrong, most likely, and detrimental to the current mission. Which had rapidly changed from being one of defeating a disease, to being one of saving the Commander from whatever it was that was happening.
And then, finally, after however long, because time and distance were truly one and the same right now, melding and turning and confusing, Butler reached a barrier. It wasn't holding him back, it was only holding the magic confined. He moved through it and the air was clear. Root breathed out, the first time he could do this properly since all the not-quite-air that he'd been breathing before had been passing through decades and millennia before being released. He was himself, the self of Year of Our Lord 2002 even. The stars were still shining above, and the imposing shape of Stonehenge was sitting on the hill behind him. They were on the opposite side to where they had started, from where they had entered the fort. They were also inside the fence.
This wasn't really a problem, because Butler simply took the wire-cutters from his inside pocket once again, deactivated any electrical devices in the vicinity with a short-circuiting device that Artemis had 'appropriated' from fairy technologies, and cut through the wire. Once outside, he lay the Commander down on the ground. His face was back to normal: It was unchanged – or perhaps there was another line or two angling out from his closed dark eyes. It was staying still in time once more at least, and that had been the most obvious problem. Root's hands were still clasped tightly together, around the Ancient magic that had existed in that place for at least a few thousand years; Butler didn't know how long.
He wondered if metal would be able to contain it, because he could see the whitening of the Commander's knuckles and he already knew that it wasn't the most average of substances from the display within Stonehenge. He almost smiled as he thought of Lex Luthor tricking Superman by putting the kryptonite in a lead safe; he'd had quite a passion for comics when he was a child. He pulled a small waterproof box of an unusual alloy from an inside pocket, removed the survival kit contents to other pockets and knelt beside the elf. He wondered for a moment how this could be done in the easiest and most simple way, judging that the best would be if Root was conscious but this state seemed to be eluding him for the moment. It was probably more important that the magic was taken out of his hands and some possibly be lost rather than wait any longer.
He flipped open the case with a thumb, then cupped his own, overly large hands over the Commander's clenched fists. He eased the hands open, even though the pressure caused Root to turn his head to the side, the knuckles to lock. The magic hovered there, a tight, compact ball of magic. It shimmered, and he felt as though it should appear white, but it didn't seem to have a colour at all, it was closer to… a black hole, it was energy, gravity, matter, all squished into a space too small. A ball of… energy, Butler realized, pure energy; like sunlight concentrate, just add water. A wisp – but wisp implied a lack of substance, when this was as far from the truth as was possible - edged towards Butler's ring finger, as though curious, as though somehow... sentient.
Butler scooped the ball of black hole into the case and snapped it shut, thinking that Artemis would find it incredibly interesting even if it couldn't cure the Brambling girl and Captain Short. He also … felt … that if the magic felt the urge to escape its prison nothing would be able to stop it.
He checked the Commander's heartbeat for 15 seconds before picking the elf up gently and moving towards the rented car. Hopefully the magic would be able to help, they'd wonder about it later.
There was a knock on the Brambling's front door, and Marcus (it was more logical that the Butler family were zombies, or the manservants from Transylvania who always seemed to be named Igor, rather than human, since they never seemed in desperate need for rest) opened it to see his cousin and the Commander outside, the elf looking slightly dazed, as if just woken from a deep sleep, but very determined. It had been almost 6 hours since they had left the house, and Artemis had finally succumbed to the temptation that caffeinated coffee had presented, the clock reading 4:21 am. Liam was dozing on a couch, not intentionally, having just thought to rest his eyes for a moment.
When all three entered the Library/workshop Artemis moved towards them at once. "Did you get it, Butler?" he asked, not really caring for formalities.
"We did. But there was--"
Butler looked down at the Commander, barely a twitch of the eyes really, not noticeable to anyone who had not been in his presence for the entirety of their life, and stopped himself.
"Nothing important, I'm sure." Butler pulled the case from his pocket once more, handing it over to Artemis. "Here it is. It's… as safe as it's likely to be to open it. It holds itself together somehow."
"Thank you, Butler, Commander. Hopefully it'll work."
But the Commander had moved towards the bed Holly lay in, sweat upon her forehead, her skin coloured in sickly grey tones, her breathing shallow, but each breath too far apart. "Holly's got worse."
"Yes, but I think we should wait for a while still before administering this." Artemis tapped the case with a manicured fingernail. "I don't want to be so severely sleep deprived and working with this. Also, I managed to get onto Foaly an hour or so ago. He's…"
The Commander turned back from his Captain, looking up at Artemis. Artemis continued. "There was a terrorist attack in the lower station of E1. By a group, the AAA?" Root sucked a breath in through his nose.
"D'Arvit." He rubbed a hand across his hair, then paused, pulling at the strands in frustration. "D'Arvit!" He punched a fist into the matress of Holly's human-sized bed, where she was dwarfed. "I have to get back down there, the whole of Haven will be in a panic state. We'll have to heal Holly now, we can't wait for sleep. I'll give you some magic, it'll be able to take away some of your fatigue."
"That's not it, Commander," Artemis continued. "Foaly was injured in the attack. He's in hospital. The attack came just after he'd delivered the message and antidote up here. He's not critical; I spoke to him myself. They had to amputate one of his legs and the nerves in his left arm were crushed. But he's all right."
Root closed his eyes, slowly sitting down on the side of Holly's bed. "I think I need a human swearword. I need something truly crude, vulgar."
"Fuck?"
"Yes. Fuck. Fuck, fuckity, fuck."
"Foaly told me about the El'veis draíocht. What it does, or at least can do."
Root looked up at him once again. "Fuck... Well, you'll know to be careful."
Artemis didn't bother to say anything about the Commander going to fetch the magic in the first; there wasn't really any point. "Can you give me some magic?"
Root caught Artemis's wrist, concentrated, and let a few cobalt blue sparks move from his fingertips to the underside of the wrist. "That's pretty much all my magic gone now."
"I'll have to complete some tests to see how much of the magic we'll need to heal Holly and the girl. Go to the oak bend while I do that. It's probably 17 km South West, perhaps a little more. I promise to not administer the magic until you get back. How fast can you travel on those wings?"
"178.7 kilometres per hour." Artemis raised an eyebrow. "I hold the airspeed record. Holly's been trying to beat it for years now." Root looked down at his Captain once more. "I hope this works. I don't want some hot-shot flyboy beating my record instead of her."
"You can get back here in approximately 12 minutes, 25 seconds, given a full minute to find the site and the acorn. I'll hold you to that, Commander."
"What deity saw fit to give you a mind like yours if that was all you were going to do with it?" But the Commander was already strapping on his pair of mechanical wings, pulling his helmet on to his head, experiencing a jolt as he realized that Foaly wasn't going to be on the other side of the intercom.