Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Artemis Fowl Series, be it characters or plot, I do not own it, so please do not sue me. ;;
Review Replies:
me, obviously: Wow, I can't believe I didn't see that either. Why didn't anybody else tell me that I made a typo in Artemis' name in the TITLE! Thank you very much for pointing that out, it should be fixed sometime soon. And as for Foaly using Artemis... I'm not so sure about that... desperate times...
aperfectattitude: Thank you so much for your constant and wonderful reviews! I'll let you in on a little secret... it's the reviews that make me update so quickly! And the fact that it's the weekend and I have work that can be put off.
Chapter Four
Complications and Calls
Fowl Manor: Ireland
The Fowl family sat in what was Artemis the Second's study and news room. Artemis Fowl Senior sat in a large arm chair, Angeline and Madeline huddled together on a daybed, and Butler stood slightly behind them. Every gaze in the room bore intensely upon the wide screen television set into the opposite wall. The reporter had to shout over the noise of his surrounding area and other reporters. It was the former United Nations building in London, but now it belonged to the Protectorate, and now, the Protectorate was undergoing a shift in power.
A representative of the Protectorate at the podium released the news that New York City had been bombed once again, this time while rescue crews and investigative teams scoured the area. He also reported that the bombing had murdered many in the Science Division. Artemis Fowl Senior gripped the arms of the chair and Madeline threw her arms around her mother-in-law and hid her sobbing face in the fabric of Angeline's blouse. The Protectorate had always been governed by the council consisting of the leaders of each of the countries. Now, however, their representative reported that the council would no longer be the source of ultimate control.
"And without further ado, I relieve the podium of the Protectorate from the Protectorate's Council to the Master of Science."
Protectorate Building: London, England
The members of the press had been buzzing about the room, but now all quieted and all cameras focused on the now vacated podium. Behind the curtain to the small curtain, Artemis took deep breaths and held a hand over his stomach. His breathing slowly steadied and he reopened his eyes and set his face with a steely glare, the visage of composure once again, and he stepped out into the bright light of the cameras and screens.
Back at Fowl Manor, Angeline screamed and Artemis Fowl Senior shouted "He's alive! He's alive" over and over again, while Madeline failed to stop crying, this time, tears of joy.
Artemis willed himself to keep up his cruel glare intact in the light of a hundred video recorders and cameras flashing before him, and he was once again very glad he wore his sunglasses. He stepped up to the podium; he did not rest his hands on it, he did not bring any papers, but he did glare at the crowd with his pale lips set into a thin line. After the initial flurry of picture flashes died down to a few a second, Artemis began to speak.
"Earlier on in the week, a Japanese carrier jet dropped an atomic bomb on the American city of New York; around 8,000,000 are estimated dead and several thousands more are severely wounded. This was an attack on defenseless civilians; there were no major military outposts hit.
"Ambulances from all over New York State congregated outside the city limits to provide aide to the victims brought out by neighboring firemen, policemen, and soldiers. Upon hearing of the disaster, the First Science Division detoured to attempt to help in anyway we could. We landed within the city limits and began outside to search for any possible survivors within the high radiation zone. We found none. However, as we prepared to leave, we were granted a nasty surprise.
"Soldiers that were accompanying us began to shout and point behind us as we returned to the jet. We turned around to find a whole squadron of Japanese fighter jets looming on the horizon. Within minutes we were under heavy fire, and helplessly, we watched as a second Atomic Bomb dropped on the already decimated New York City," Artemis shifted a bit off his leg, the wrapping underneath his trim pants wrinkling. A twitch of a grimace quirked his face.
"I am Artemis Fowl the Second, the Irish contribution to the Protectorate's Science Division; of the thirteen scientists that ventured into the debris of New York City, I am the only one that remains," his ebony eyes roved the crowd of silent reporters and blinking cameras. He had come up to this podium knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but somehow, he found he could not form the words on his tongue. This was nothing like him. He had been an active participant of his high school's "mock-trial" team, and had done several public speeches. Instead, he now felt nauseous, and faint. He also felt his throat dry and tighten.
"I have been promoted to Master of the Science Division; this means, that I am now the acting head of the Protectorate. Before the demise of my comrades, we had a plan. A plan that threatened to overthrow the very foundations that the Empire is built upon: those of the atom," Artemis growled and raised a single finger as if scolding a small child.
"Empire, I know you are watching this. I know you are watching me, but know, the glass goes two ways: I see you too. And I have created a weapon greater than your capacity to believe! I have created a weapon that will wipe your baleful existence from this planet and absorb your very means of living into my Protectorate," Artemis slammed his open palm onto the podium, making it shake.
"Know, Empire, that I will use it. Do not force me. I want no more people to die unnecessarily. I want you to stop this nationalistic nonsense and surrender; I do not want to eradicate you from this world, but I will. You have seven days to surrender," Artemis' cruel glareswept over the roomas he eased back from the podium. The room was a stunned silence as he backed farther away and slunk behind the curtain, gasping for breath. Several Protectorate spokesmen congratulated him on a moving speech. Yet even as he struggled for breath he saw the fear in their eyes, he had been terrifying; he had even terrified himself. He cupped a hand over his mouth as he felt nausea overwhelming him and his knees buckled beneath him. The startled spokesmen, frightened by his sudden illness ran for a doctor, quite secretly. Artemis' vision swam as Protectorate guards and officials rushed over to him while others occupied the press. If Artemis was indeed ill, no one could know.
Government Hospital: London, England
Artemis awoke in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable bed. He tried to move but quickly stopped when he realized the number of medical instruments there were attached to him. He let out an exasperated sigh and let his head fall back on the pillow. He had fainted. He had actually fainted. He had never gotten so nervous he fainted before, it was so unlike him. He angrily pounded one of his fists on the bed in frustration. How could he do that with so much riding on him? He had to be strong. He was the mind behind the entire Protectorate, he could not fail now. He jumped as one of the monitors began to make a shrill beeping sound. Artemis covered his ears agitatedly, despite the tugging needles and wires. Then a familiar face opened the door and, after poking his head around the door, walked in.
"Doctor Burns?" Artemis tried to say, but his throat was so dry it barely came out a whisper.
"Yes, Master Fowl, I'm so sorry, I was hoping I wouldn't have to see you as a patient so soon again," Dr. Burns came up to the side of the bed with his clipboard in hand and silenced the monitor. "Please try and steady your breathing, your heartbeat is a little elevated," Dr. Burns jotted down several notes, glancing at the monitors then back to his clipboard.
"How are… how are you here? Am I back in New York?" Artemis swallowed.
"Is your throat sore? Dry? Here, I'll order some IV fluids," Dr. Burns made a call with the hospital phone, then turned back to Artemis. "I'm sorry about that, no, you're still in London. I just work for the Protectorate now, I'm your personal physician," he explained. He observed Artemis for a minute. "Tell me, how long have you been experiencing fainting spells? Dizziness, fatigue, nausea, dehydration?" Dr. Burns was suddenly all business. Artemis squinted at the light above his head and Dr. Burns followed his stare. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, and flipped off the light. "Now, back to my question," he leaned on the railing of the beds.
"I… I was just nervous," Artemis remarked incredulously and Dr. Burns shook his head. He leaned back and flipped through his papers.
"Artemis Fowl II, graduate summa cum laude of Saint Bartleby's School for Young Men, head of the Mock Trial team, Model Congress Team, Quiz Team, and Programming Club," Dr. Burns looked back at Artemis. "I don't think you were nervous," he stated quietly. "It happens to the best of us, always the most intelligent, always seeing what happens to others before anyone else, but last to see what happens to them," Dr. Burns was shaking his head and Artemis swallowed hard again.
"Fatigue. Nausea. Weakness. Fainting. So I'm stressed. I think anyone in my position would be," Artemis growled and Dr. Burns nodded.
"True, true, but would anyone develop bruises from a mere touch?" Dr. Burns pointed to Artemis' hand. Artemis lifted his hand, the one he had hit upon the bed, to find it already discolored. "And also, would any normally healthy young man… suddenly develop anemia?" Dr Burns held up a chart of blood tests showing a deficiency in the red blood cells. "Need I say more?"
"Radiation sickness. I have radiation sickness," Artemis gasped and the little doctor sullenly nodded.
"I just got these blood tests back from your first visit, your hemoglobin levels are undoubtedly lower now," Dr. Burns explained.
"No, I - I can't have radiation sickness. I was wearing the rad-suit, and under the blanket, I was totally covered," Artemis stuttered and Dr. Burns painfully shook his head again.
"I sent for your suit, so I could inspect it for possible defects," he turned around and rummaged through a cabinet before returning with a bag. "Aside from the tear in the leg, which did expose you to radiation, but not enough to act so quickly, I found something else," Dr. Burns pulled Artemis' helmet out of the bag. "A crack in your view plate," he turned it to the side and sure enough a crack nearly five inches long spanned the edge from mid-forehead to the ear and created an opening to the seam about a half an inch wide; it was near enough to the seam to be concealed from the front. Artemis dully fingered the hole.
"Amazing," he muttered dazedly. "How," he had to clear his throat, "How quickly am I progressing?"
"Well, you didn't show any immediate symptoms other than the anemia, your symptoms have finally appeared and it's been about… five days."
"Five days? I thought it was four."
"You were unconscious for half a day," Dr. Burns explained. "So, I would say, you have a week or so," he said reluctantly. If Artemis were prone to profanity he would have cursed as he reached up and rubbed his forehead.
"A week," Artemis repeated.
"Or so," Dr. Burns added with a feeble smile. Artemis glared at him.
"Get my clothes," Artemis ordered and began to sit up.
"No, no, you mustn't move!" Dr. Burns squealed but Artemis found the strength to push him away.
"You work for the Protectorate now, correct? Then as Master of the Science Division, I order you to do as I say!" Artemis snarled as he dangled his bare feet off the bed. "Now get my things!" he ordered and the poor doctor ran out of the room. Artemis then went to disconnecting himself to all of the monitors, making sure to turn them all off first, so he would not be surrounded by screeching alarms. He rubbed his eyes and slowly slid off the bed to his feet. He wobbled a bit at first but soon became steady.
He walked to the bathroom and turned on the dreaded light. He squinted and leaned onto the sink, blinking furiously at the mirror. He almost failed to recognize himself when his vision cleared. His skin was stretched tightly across his face and dark circles lined his eyes as if he had been beaten. His bloodless lips thinned into an agitated line as he reached back and turned off the light once again. After the darkness soothed over him, he turned on the water and bent down to wash his face. He had little trouble washing his face, combing his hair, and making himself look presentable (well, as presentable as one could be in a hospital gown). He then walked cautiously to the stiff chair and sat down. There was a hint of dizziness tugging at the back of his skull, but he otherwise felt find, he told himself. Dr. Burns finally came back with yet another bag and a worried expression. He reluctantly handed Artemis the bag and watched as Artemis disappeared into the bathroom.
Artemis smiled as he pulled a fresh Armani suit on and donned on his sunglasses. After straightening a few stray hairs, he opened the door to the bathroom stepped out.
"Master Fowl, you really shouldn't do anything stressful," Dr. Burns wrung out his hands. Artemis looked the doctor up and down, then pushed a few more stray hairs from his forehead.
"Doctor, everyone dies eventually, it's all just a matter of when, and if I have to die in a week, then by God this war is going to be over by then," Artemis affirmed and strode past the small doctor. He ignored the gawking stares as he walked with long strides through the hospital corridors, and he took out a very special communicator: it was the one Holly had given to him. After exiting the hospital and maneuvering into a nearby, conveniently deserted alleyway, he flipped open the communicator and called Holly. Her confused face appeared on the screen.
"Holly," his voice was oozing authority, "I need to talk to Foaly," he ordered. Holly's eyebrows furrowed, her huge eyes narrowed and her bottom jaw jutted out.
"What for?" she asked and arched an eyebrow suspiciously.
"Holly, please, I need this fast," Artemis' voice changed dramatically, going from dictatorial to almost pleading. Holly's eyebrows rose but an expression recognizable as concealed worry appeared on her face.
"Alright, I'm going to patch you through," she conceded and her hand appeared on screen, typing something in.
"Thank you," Artemis sighed and Holly looked back at him.
"Artemis?"
"Yes?"
"Are you okay?" she asked and a smile appeared on his face.
"No, but I will be soon enough," he said cryptically. Before Holly could say anything else, her image disappeared and was replaced with that of Foaly.
"Hello Artemis, how's it going?" he asked cheerfully.
"Not too well," Artemis replied truthfully.
"Ah, that's no good. I was watching you little speech earlier, that was very good, I must say, very convincing. Hey, what's this new ultimate weapon thing you have anyway? It sounds interesting," Foaly talked quite animatedly. Artemis smiled eerily and paused. Foaly stopped fidgeting and pursed his lips. "I don't like the look of that," Foaly stated and Artemis chuckled.
"Foaly, how long have we known each other?" Artemis asked.
"Um, a little over ten years?" Foaly replied cautiously.
"And we've always respected each other for our respective genius, right?" Artemis nudged and Foaly's eyes narrowed.
"Yea…" Foaly hesitantly muttered.
"And now I need you to do me a favor," Artemis' ebony eyes seemed to bore a hole through the screen as he stared unblinkingly at the centaur.
"What is it?" Foaly asked, morbidly curious and immediately regretted asking. Artemis' vampire smile was back.
Author's Note: gasp I still can't believe I'm doing this. Now didn't I tell you to pay attention to small details? (of course I think I told you the chapter AFTER the crack was inflicted... heh heh) Can anybody guess what favor Artemis is going to ask? It could be very predictable, I think, but you never know. ;-p
