A/N: Hey there, guys, me again. (Six months, but at least it was faster than the last update.)
Many years of blood and sweat went into this one. (How many times did I almost completely rewrite this? Well, if you took all the writing I did and put it together, I'm pretty sure it would come to almost as many words as are posted on this story right now.) This is a key chapter for the entire story, and prominently featuring an OC, so I felt it particularly needed a lot of attention.
Hope you enjoy, see you at the end! :J
Chapter 13: The Goblin Savant
Awareness came to Savant slowly. He felt like he was clawing his way up through a thick, viscous pit of mud, but at last his vision sharpened into focus.
A bright light was shining in his face. Without eyelids, he couldn't block it out, so he grimaced and turned away.
"Ah, the patient lives. That's a relief. Like I have time for that kind of paperwork."
Savant lifted his head and looked around. The room was eerily dim, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was strapped to a table of some kind. Dozens of nodes had been suctioned to his scales on his head and chest, all attached to wires that ran back to several glowing plasmas screens that beeped with various readings.
Savant laid his head back down. It was starting to come back to him now. Captured—he'd been outmaneuvered by the LEP officer he had instantly recognized as Captain Short, and knocked unconscious. Now he was in some kind of LEP interrogation room, about to have all the information he had about the master extracted from his head. He knew all about the LEP's advanced technology and interrogation techniques—they would get what they wanted.
Savant could feel at his core that all his magic had been siphoned away, as per usual LEP interrogation procedure, and his hands had been clamped in Plexiglas vacuum cuffs, to prevent him from producing so much as a single spark of goblin fire.
Savant wished, not for the first time in his life, that he was dead. He knew that he had brought this upon himself. He had been ordered to kill the man and the girl, and he had had the opportunity. After crawling his way down one of the smokestacks and emerging in the fireplace undetected, he had seen his targets almost immediately. Savant had brought up the gun, getting ready to do as he had been ordered. But as his claw squeezed around the trigger, something had stopped him. The two were completely unaware of his presence, and he felt like an assassin, not a soldier.
His hesitation was enough to give the man time to realize they had an intruder, and his advantage was lost. Then, later, he could have easily killed Captain Short, but again, he had held back and let her go. She wasn't the target, he had decided. Both mistakes had cost him, and would now cost the master.
The master had saved him. Brought him out of the pit of despair and bitterness that had dominated his existence for so long. And now Savant was to repay the favor by betraying his secrets.
Savant's eyes flicked once again around the room, and he saw a figure standing by one of the smaller computer screens. He was tapping something into what appeared to be an old mudman-style keyboard. An odd looking swivel-chair stood some ways back, as though it had been kicked aside to allow easier, more energetic work.
The figure suddenly ceased typing, then turned on four clacking hooves to face Savant.
"Well, well," he said, and Savant recognized the face of Foaly, technical adviser to the LEP. Though the centaur was smiling, his voice was hard. "Ready for the interview? Don't worry, we'll keep the questions easy."
Savant didn't respond.
Savant heard the click of military boots on the steel tiles behind him, and a moment later an elf in full LEP-dress uniform, complete with a commander's cluster of silver acorns on the chest, came into view. Another well-known face Savant knew from trawling through LEP personnel files and looking through recently produced E-pamphlets. Commander Trouble Kelp.
"Now, let me tell you how this is going to work, goblin," said the commander, with all the belligerence fitting of an LEP authority figure. "We're going to ask the questions, you give us the answers. If you don't cooperate, we move to plan B."
Savant said nothing, but was sure the commander must sense the hatred radiating off him in waves. Elves—so full of moral superiority and self-righteous indignation at the perceived crimes of the world. They loved to coin all the phrases—"Smooth as a goblin's lie," "No such thing as an innocent goblin" —but in the end, they were the liars, they were the criminals, but no one could see it through their pretty words and statistics about goblin brain sizes.
Commander Kelp got right in his face. "Who are you working for?" he demanded. "What are you trying to achieve?"
Savant wrinkled his snout in distaste. Even if most of them didn't eat meat, he really hated the smell of elf breath.
However, as Savant stared back at the elf, a thought occurred to him. Fairy law forbade use of truth serums and the mesmer on other fairies, so there might be a way to mess them up a little, at least for the time being. Unfortunately, that would require him to do something rather unpleasant.
Savant forced his mouth to twist into an unnatural grin. "Don' know what you mean," he said, adding a nasal twang to his normal rasp. "I just do the same as you LEP idiots. I look out for number one."
If there was one thing elves felt certain of, it was that all goblins were dimwitted brutes. It made sense to play on that expectation, but Savant mentally grimaced. He'd had plenty of the dumb goblin routine at the Academy—every time there had been a role-playing exercise, he'd been slotted into the role of mugger stalking the lone victim through the bad part of town, or violent, desperate crook threatening the bank teller.
Commander Kelp's face had gone a shade of purple that would have put human royalty to shame. "You're in no position to be smart with us, goblin. If I have my way, you won't ever see the light of day again."
The centaur stepped in. "It's no advantage to you to hide what you've got on this," he said reasonably. "You said it yourself, you look out for you. So are you going to keep your mouth shut for some weasel who left you to get hung out to dry? If you give us something good, it could mean things will end up being slightly better for you. Not much better, but slightly. A few little comforts in the Peak. You might remember what the Peak is like."
Savant did know what Howler's Peak was like. He glanced in the centaur's direction. Apparently the LEP's technical adviser was a whole lot better at this than the commander. He made a good point. If Savant was the average self-serving, back-biting goblin, the logic might have been enough to get him to waiver. Savant supposed he could make up a story of some kind, but he had a feeling it would probably be full of holes. Better to just keep talking, that's what goblin criminals were good at.
"Don' ask me," said Savant. "Nobody told me nothin'. The demons jus' told me I'd get rewarded big. Then the dirty blëbers abandoned me first signa trouble. Shoulda listened to me ma. Never trust a demon." Savant was getting into his role now.
The centaur and elf both studied him for a minute, apparently trying to decide if he was telling the truth.
"Well," said the centaur finally. "Maybe you know more than you think. Time for plan B, I guess."
The centaur clopped over to a nearby worktable littered with wiring and half-assembled equipment. When he turned around, he was holding what looked like two plungers of the variety used to clean sinks. Savant felt his heart rate speed up. He knew those objects, he had seen them in a science E-zine he had read not too long ago. Although these were a bit smaller and a different color, a new model, he would recognize the parts of a Retimager anywhere.
With all the wires and nodes attached to his skin, it was inevitable that the centaur would see his increased heart rate on one of those glowing monitors. Sure enough, a moment later the centaur paused and his eyes flickered to the screen.
"Ah ha," he said. "Don't like my beautiful little invention, do you? Maybe that's just because you haven't been introduced properly. Mr. Psycho Goblin, meet my Retimager. Retimager, meet Mr. Psycho Goblin."
"Enough with the small talk, Foaly," snapped the commander. "Just hurry up and do the scan."
"Looks like he's hiding something," said the centaur. "But don't worry, we'll find out exactly what it is. Like I said, this is the new and improved version of the Imager. It'll be like watching a videotape."
Savant watched as the circular concave objects plunged straight toward his eyes.
Savant had always been fast. He'd always gotten the best scores in track exercises, and after he'd started taking his combat training seriously, he'd honed his skills until his reflexes were almost literally like lightning. However, whenever he was in a situation, he had found often it didn't feel so much that he was moving fast as everything had slowed down around him.
That's what it felt like now. The eye plungers fell slowly toward his head, closer and closer, as though in slow motion. But he could do nothing about it, unable to move or dodge. The result of his failure was going to be the unintentional treachery of his master right here, right now, and he was powerless to stop it.
How, after all Savant had been though, he had wanted to prove himself to the master, who was good enough to have given him this chance. He simply couldn't bear it. He could not bear for it to be proven that he was a worthless, stupid goblin after all.
As the plungers touched his scales, Savant felt the world spin and dim. But even as he slipped into unconsciousness, his brain continued to work, and dark memories of the past and the ones that would betray them swam unwillingly to the forefront of his mind.
Darkness. A stifling heat that seared his lungs with every breath, and filthy rock walls that seemed to close in around him. The only light was that of dim hallway lamps beyond the bars of the heavy steel door, though even it was often blocked by the hard face of a passing guard come to jeer. This place was not a prison. It was about as close to human hell as a fairy could get.
"So you say you're innocent, do you? That you were set up? Like I haven't heard that one before."
Savant stepped back, into the embrace of the deepest shadows. He retreated back, further and further. The cruel voice of the guard drifted after him.
"You said you intended to change what fairies thought of goblins, didn't you? You said you were going to be different, an honorable, noble goblin. But look at you now. A failure. A worthless no-good like all the rest."
Savant continued to move backward. The light from the barred window of the door grew faint, until he saw nothing but black. He felt the darkness wrap around him, and pull him back, deeper, and deeper...
Savant jerked, and sat up sharply on his cot, causing his thin skin-blanket to tumble onto the floor. His long tongue lolled out as he panted for breath, and he licked his eyes.
Just another nightmare. A nightmare about the Peak, as always.
Savant slowly laid back down and stared up at the low dirt ceiling of his hovel. Thirteen years he had spent in Howler's Peak, the goblin prison. Thirteen years of pacing back and forth in the darkness and playing over in his mind the events that had sent him there.
He had signed up for the LEP training program to become the first-ever goblin officer. Thanks to the political machinations of Internal Affairs, which was apparently cracking down on recruitment discrimination, he was accepted. There, another recruit had approached him. The Rat, as he was called, for his reputation for sneaking around and telling tales to the superiors about his fellow trainees. The Rat had suggested a partnership. They could appropriate some of the old equipment from the training facilities and sell it to the B'wa Kell, as surely Savant would have some useful connections.
Savant, assuming the elfin cadet was only trying to set him up, had simply refused and thought little more about it. As it turned out, the Rat was indeed intending to set him up, but not just to have a good story to tell the instructors. He had ambitions to make gold while he was training at the LEP, and he set it up for Savant to take the fall. In the end, it was his word against Savant's, and even an elf of such a dubious reputation as the Rat had more credibility in the eyes of the establishment than a goblin.
Savant's nightmares about his time in Howler's Peak were never so much about the darkness, the sulfuric air or claustrophobic tunnels. What pressed against his mind, trying to drag him to his knees, was the shadowy faces of the guards. The sense of being innocent, but having no one in the world to take his side, to believe he was not a liar like the rest. The sense that all his careful diligence and hard work for all these years as he struggled to make himself into a fairy worthy of respect had been for nothing.
Savant sighed, a low, hard sound that came out like a growl, and forced himself to roll off his cot. He was still breathing, still getting up every morning, as he had been for years since his release from the Peak. And every day, he always wondered how much longer that would last. Living like this, having failed at the only thing that had made his life worth living, without hope—this was no life.
Staying on all fours, Savant made his way to the tiny space that passed for a kitchen. He opened the cupboard and found the stash of old dried roots he had scavenged from a neighbor's recycle bin. The nice thing about living in the rundown part of the city was that most of the fairies didn't have in-house recycler units, and still had their trash picked up by Haven's army of automated collection bots.
Savant hated picking through garbage. He had always been a cleanly fairy by nature, and manic about keeping sanitary conditions in his home. He tried to make enough gold with odd temp jobs here and there to at least buy some of the cheaper foodstuff at the corner market, and he had a knack for making a few coins go a long way, but inevitably he ran into those lulls between jobs, and what little pittance he had dried up. Then he had to act like a rat, sniffing around, nosing through trash. That's what some of the fairies who caught him at his occupation called him as they kicked him in the side and shooed him away. Get out of here, rat. While the real rat was probably still at the LEP, still scamming the system and making it rich.
Savant decided he didn't feel like forcing down the old, filthy roots just now, in spite of the pangs of hunger that jabbed his stomach, and he closed the cabinet. His new job was starting in two days, and he should get paid by the end of next week. Maybe he wouldn't have to eat the roots. He'd gone longer. That was the advantage of having a reptilian metabolism.
Savant ambled back to his room, and went to the small bit of old broken furniture in the corner, which he had converted into a work desk. Carefully pulling out the rough, hand-carved drawer, he peered down at the tiny blue object inside.
A reading crystal, the one that had saved him from going completely insane at the Peak. One of the guards had thrown it to him to make him shut up begging for something to read. It was an old school reading crystal, so it was mostly textbooks, which Savant had inhaled voraciously, but it could also download news articles, which had allowed Savant to keep up with some of the world's current events. One item had caught his interest in particular. Another fairy in the LEP who, like him, was trying to set a new precedent, to be a maverick who would pave the way for future generations.
She succeeded, he thought. I failed.
Savant slowly slid the drawer closed. No, even the prospect of filling his mind with new information wasn't appealing today. The only thing he felt like doing was laying back down on his cot and letting himself drift back to sleep, with the hope he never woke up again.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Savant heard a muffled voice.
It better not be Skake again, he thought crossly. Kraw Skake was a recruiter for the B'wa Kell, who hadn't been in the least deterred by the dissolution of the crime ring with the failure of the revolution years ago.
"The B'wa Kell aint dead," he would say in a low, conspiratorial voice. "Them LEP morons think they got us beat, but they don't know nuthin 'bout goblins. There's new leadership now. I'm telling ya, a goblin your size, you'd be an enforcer by the end of the week. You won't have to lick out another muck can as long as you live. Trust me, the B'wa Kell takes care of its own."
Skake always targeted the goblin slums for recruitment. He would go after the poorest, most desperate goblins, talking up a new life of glory and riches, free from the tyranny of the LEP. Savant always ended up shoving him out the door. Savant may have been a bitter shell of a fairy, but still a part of him clung to his ideals. He would dig through garbage the rest of his miserable life before he fell to being a common thug.
Another rap at the door.
"All right," Savant growled, and he turned, heading for the door in the front room.
Pulling the old rotting wood open a crack, he peered outside.
A little sprite stood on the sagging front step, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"What do you want?" demanded Savant with a snarl. Adolescents from the next neighborhood over, who had somehow learned of his past with the LEP, had occasionally come to throw rocks and bits of old fruit at his hovel's facade, so he didn't care to see anyone under sixty-five within twenty meters of his living space.
The sprite was unaffected by Savant's sour expression, and in a chipper voice announced, "Package for you—" He paused to look down at the label. "Mr. F'Skell Savant. Just need you to sign this form. If you can't write, just put a squiggle." The sprite offered the package, and held out the digipad, stylus in hand.
Savant glanced at the box, wrapped in the cool, cucumber-green paper of the fairy delivery service. He looked back up at the sprite, suspicious. "I wasn't expecting any packages."
"Well," said the sprite, still cheerful as ever, "if you don't want it, then you can sign this line here." He pointed to the line just below the first.
Savant surveyed the package one more time, then turned his eyes to the digipad. He took the stylus and, after a moment's pause, signed the first line.
"Great," said the sprite, handing over the box and replacing the digipad in a pouch on his belt. "You have a nice day now, sir."
Humming to himself, he marched back up the filthy path to his postal hovertruck and trundled off.
Savant looked down at the box clutched in his claws. Probably a prank by some of the neighborhood kids again. Could be a nasty one. But he couldn't deny he was curious. And it wasn't like his life was so valuable there was much point in being too careful with it.
Savant retreated inside with the package in hand, and headed back to his room.
Savant sat down at his desk, setting the object down in front of him. He gazed for a moment at the even print of the address with his name and the street. There was no return address, though of course, he hadn't expected there to be.
Using a claw to slice open the wrapping, he peeled it back, then folded back the lid to look cautiously inside.
Nothing leaped out at him, nothing exploded. Instead, he saw a black tablet inside. Clearly it was some kind of sleek, cutting edge technology, but had no buttons or keys, only a flat surface. It looked to Savant like it might be a scanner of some kind. Perhaps a palmprint scanner. Tucked into the side was a sheet of paper, folded neatly into thirds.
Savant picked up the piece of paper and folded it out to find a short message written in elegant Gnommish script.
Dear Mr. F'Skell Savant,
I have a little puzzle for you. Do you think you can solve it in less than twenty-four hours? I will be hoping for positive results.
Sincerely,
Your Eternal Friend
The last four words were written in one of the Mud Man languages, the same graceful writing as the Gnommish. Savant snorted and turned the note over to find a string of indecipherable gibberish on the back, a series of more Mud Man letters stacked together in what appeared to be a random way.
A prank, he thought again. But still he could not stop himself being drawn in by the possibility of a challenge. He had always had a bit of a weakness for puzzles that allowed him to exercise his mental faculties.
Savant stared down at the letters, and knew it must be in some kind of code. The letters strung together were Roman, and because the signature was in English, he expected the message would be as well. The Roman alphabet contained twenty-six letters—possibly the code was as simple as each letter being designated one other letter equivalent, though it could also be that the code was based in some kind of algorithm, each letter based on its sequential placement plugged into some kind of mathematical equation that would result in a number corresponding to the correct letter of the code. That type of code could be difficult to crack without the right sophisticated computer program, and codebreaking wasn't Savant's area of expertise.
Savant's eyes went back to the note.
No, he thought. His instincts told him that the key to the code, whatever it was, would be hidden there. Concealed right in the open.
He only had to look over the note once more to notice that the Mud Man phrase, Sincerely, Your Eternal Friend, came out to twenty-six characters exactly.
Savant licked his eyeballs, as just the barest tremor of excitement bubbled in his chest. Using the wrapping the objects had arrived in as paper, he quickly made out a key, with the S of Sincerely corresponding to a, and the i corresponding to b, and on down the line. The code was not a straight forward one-to-one relationship for all the letters. The letter 'e' appeared five times in the short phrase Sincerely Your Eternal Friend, and so every time e appeared in the code, it could potentially stand for e, g, n, p, or x. However, based purely on context and what letters formed actual words and which did not, Savant found it was not difficult to guess which letters belonged in the sequence, and to his delight, a message slowly began to appear.
When Savant was finished, he sat back, allowing himself a moment to revel in a sense of satisfaction he had not felt for years. Then he leaned forward to read what the mysterious sender had to say.
If you are reading this now, then that means my suspicions about you were correct. Congratulations. As your prize, I will tell you how to make use of the seemingly useless device I have enclosed with this note. First make certain you are alone, then heat the surface and place your thumb at the bottom and wait for the scanner to identify you. All will be made clear.
Savant's mouth curled slightly and he looked all about at his shabby, dank surroundings. Make certain I am alone, he thought with a touch of self-mockery. That wouldn't be much of a challenge.
Savant turned his eyes back to the message in front of him, then his gaze flickered to the device. He carefully placed his clawed thumb right at the center along the bottom edge. However, he hesitated a moment. Perhaps this was still all an elaborate prank, perhaps someone even wanted to get rid of him. Maybe the Rat had decided he wasn't safe so long as Savant was alive. Doing as the message bade could be a mistake.
Savant's tail flicked, then he shook his head. He'd found out long ago that his existence was pointless, so for it to all come to an end in a singularly humiliating way now would hardly be something to lament. This was the greatest thrill he'd had in a long time. He might as well see it through.
Snorting a flicker of flame up one nostril, Savant blew it out carefully on the device, moving back and forth to make sure he spread the flames all over the entire surface of the tablet, as though blowing out the candles on a birthday cake.
As the heat touched the empty black surface, a second message, much longer than the first, slowly appeared in fiery letters. These were small and cramped, and Savant leaned in close to make them out.
Do not remove your index finger from the scanner until you have read and memorized the contents of this message. By this time you may be growing impatient with these games, but to keep our contact of the utmost secrecy, I am afraid they have been necessary.
But now I come to my point. I am aware of your history, and I am in great need of one with your talents. I would humbly request that you do the honor of meeting with me so that I may outline my proposition. Necessity dictates that it take place aboveground, and I have already made the necessary arrangements for you to make this trip. Tomorrow, a band of surface smugglers will be waiting for you near an abandoned chute not far from E1, on the western side. They have hired you on along with a few others as a routine guard for their latest job. Go with them in their stolen shuttle to the surface. In a lockup at the chute mouth, you will find a pair of Koboi Doubledecks, along with a moonometer. Slip away from the smugglers, and use the wings to proceed to the coordinates last programmed in the moonometer's navigation system.
There Savant stopped. The print was so small and cramped, reading it was a strain. However, he looked over what he had read already again with fascination. Following these instructions would be more complex than the writer made it sound. He had never smuggled anything before, so he didn't know how to interact with smugglers, or what they would expect from him. After all, he gathered that the writer had gotten Savant hired, but these smugglers were not a party to what was going on. Then he was supposed to use a pair of wings to take him to a specific destination. Although he had read extensively how wingpacks were operated and even how to make one of his own, he had never actually used one before, not once. When he had signed up with the LEP, he had dreamed of flying, but he had never gotten the chance. Either the one who had written this letter had no idea of Savant's inexperience, or this was part of the test.
Savant read on.
As you likely know, tomorrow is December the twenty-fourth. Perhaps you may think the timing slightly melodramatic, but I have a soft spot for irony, given that this is the anniversary of the day when San the Deluded once attempted to satisfy the greed of our ancestors to prevent war. The restaurant I have chosen for our meeting will be closed for the holidays, but the back way will be unlocked for the time of our appointment. Seven o'clock local time, after dark. I look forward to meeting with you, my friend. And remember, it is never too late to realize one's potential.
The message was signed this time, Your friend, the Peacemaker. Careful to keep his thumb on the same spot, Savant turned the tablet over to see if there was any more writing on the back, but he found nothing. He studied the contents carefully for several minutes, before at last he withdrew his hand. Immediately the device hissed and dissolved in a bubbling pool of acid, forming a small, shallow crater in his desktop.
Savant picked up the paper note from his desk and gazed at it briefly. It contained nothing incriminating, but Savant sent a tiny flare sparking along the smooth surface.
As he sat, watching the paper blacken and curl, he thought about the mysterious message for a long time.
This could be a trap, he thought. Perhaps someone at the LEP was irritated Savant had been allowed out of Howler's Peak, and this was all a scam to trick him into doing something illegal so he would get thrown back there. It might even be the Rat again. However, Savant didn't think so. Because no one at the LEP had ever addressed him like the strange writer of this letter, with such formality and sophisticated language. With respect.
If this was for real, and if Savant was interpreting the underlying message correctly, this could be the beginning of something. Something more important than he'd ever experienced before.
I have a soft spot for irony...
Savant felt a chill as the words replayed themselves in his mind. The writer had not actually told Savant what his proposition was, or why he was in need of someone with Savant's talents. But that allusion to San the Deluded and a war between the People and humans—and the ironic signature Peacemaker—Savant knew, even if he didn't want to.
No, he thought. I can't be a part of such insanity. And there was something else, too—the author of the message had said our ancestors, which implied that his mysterious correspondent was actually a human. This was serious. Dangerous. He shouldn't just pretend he'd never seen the message, he should go straight to the LEP station and report it. Whatever this human meant to do, maybe he could still be stopped before lives were lost, before stability and peace were threatened once again.
Savant's eyes flickered down to the packaging where he had written the translated code, the only remaining piece of evidence of the mysterious message. Then he reached out a hand and, snapping his fingers, sent a second tiny ball of flame flickering over that, too.
He had known from the beginning he wouldn't really consider going to the LEP. If he had thought for a moment they would believe him, and wouldn't sneer in his face and call him a lying goblin, or accuse him of being part of the conspiracy, maybe he would have, even after what they had done to him. But it was pointless. Going to them wouldn't save anyone.
Savant had spent his entire life trying to make the system work. He had lived by all the rules, walked the straight and narrow path even when those around him deviated and turned away. Yet he had touched no one in a positive way, made no friends or allies, or changed the mind of a single fairy about goblins. The only difference between himself and every other goblin who had gone down the proper goblin path of liar and backstabbing criminal was that he had suffered more.
The words of the writer played through his mind again. I am aware of your history...I look forward to meeting with you, my friend.
No one had ever spoken to him with such respect, no one had ever sought him out because they recognized his abilities. And so, he felt just the smallest spark in the back of his mind, the tiniest desire to meet this person who had spoken to him in such a way.
However, if he did go, if he did consider joining forces with this individual, it would make him the criminal they had all always believed him to be. It would undo everything he had ever done in his life, all the struggles he had undergone, the sacrifices he had made. Perhaps to go up there, lured by the prospect of honor and esteem, would make him just another self-serving, stupid goblin.
Savant opened the desk drawer, and picked up his old dingy crystal. He set it on the desk and leaned forward in his chair, ready to spend another afternoon lost in reading. However, as his finger brushed the surface of the crystal, activating it, the last article he had been looking at appeared, hovering in the air. Savant's gaze flickered down to the caption. LEP Captain Short thwarts latest Koboi plot.
The article was from a few years ago. After the goblin insurrection, one of the masterminds behind it, lauded inventor and CEO Opal Koboi, had broken out of prison, then framed Captain Short for the murder of her own supervisor, Commander Julius Root. It came out in the end that the mad pixie intended to help the Mud People discover the existence of their subterranean neighbors, but thanks to the intervention of Captain Short and a few allies, the collision between the species was prevented. Savant had read the article over and over again.
That could have been me, he had often thought. It wasn't the media attention he envied, or being thought a hero by the public at large. It was being able to do something worthwhile, the actual being a hero and being proved justified in the end.
Savant gazed down at the article now, and felt all the longing he had felt all through the years rush back. He didn't want to be admired or patted on the back. But he wanted to help. If someone was in danger, he wanted to be in a position to step in, to use what he could do to be of assistance.
He felt his heartbeat speed up, and his eyes sharpened. Maybe he could go up there to meet this person. But not to become an ally. Maybe the LEP would do nothing if he went to them, but perhaps it wasn't too late for him to act on his own. Perhaps the mysterious sender of this message was his own personal Opal Koboi.
His eyes flickered once again to his filthy, squalid surroundings, the broken furniture and empty corners, where he had been living out day by day this meaningless, purposeless existence for the last six years. And he decided.
I will go, he thought. And I will not come back here. Either I will be like Captain Short, or I will die trying.
Savant huddled in the darkness beside the cobblestone wall. He concentrated on breathing deeply in and out, in and out, and drew in the sheet of camfoil draped over his entire body a little closer.
Of all fairies, goblins hated the cold the most. They were cold-blooded, and without their magical fire to keep them warm, a goblin could easily die of exposure on a night like tonight.
Still Savant remained where he was. He had been waiting nearly forty-five minutes for the designated time of meeting to arrive, and even though he had already found the back entryway of the restaurant unlocked, as promised, and could have waited inside, Savant disliked how much that placed him at the mercy of the individual he was here to meet. So instead he crouched among the rubbish bins of the adjacent buildings, carefully watching the swinging door of the entrance to the meeting place. Although his position wouldn't provide much cover from sniper fire, the camfoil he had stolen from the smugglers' goods made him invisible to the naked eye. Not that that would necessarily save him if this mysterious individual had access to fairy technology.
Savant checked the old moonometer that had been in the lockup with the wings. Five minutes until seven, and still no sign of anyone entering the building. Either the message writer had no qualms about being fashionably late, or he intended to be exactly on time, right down to the second.
The critical moment was coming, but still Savant could not resist taking a moment to glance down at the pack strapped to his back. The wings were retractable, so at the moment he couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. It had been quite an experience, flying through the sky. It had been terrifying, particularly when the navigator in the old moonometer—the likely more sophisticated navigation system in the Doubledecks disabled, presumably to avoid being picked up on fairy satellites—glitched and went off briefly. He was clumsy and awkward in the air, and in spite of his extensive knowledge of the workings of artificial fairy wings, using them was something else entirely. But even so, he didn't think he had ever experienced anything more exhilarating.
Savant heard the tinkling of a door chime from the front of the restaurant, and he lifted his head in time to see the tailcoats of a figure walk straight in through the front door.
Savant felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest, then in his throat. Slowly he climbed to his feet. He powered up his shield and pulled off the camfoil, folding it into a square and slotting it into an empty compartment for storage on the wingpack. Then with perfect silence, he crept around to the restaurant, and slipped in through a back window.
His feet made no sound as he landed on the tile floor of the restaurant kitchen. His eyes flickered over the shadowy equipment around him, the stoves and baking appliances. Then he swiftly stalked down the row and exited into a wide open dining space, an assortment of small tables and booths, each set with a variety of seasonings and candles. Large windows ringed the room, and at the moment the blinds were pulled low.
It was in this room Savant spotted the mysterious stranger he was to meet. The figure was seated at one of the tables off to one side, his back to Savant.
Though Savant had not so much as breathed since he had entered, the moment he set foot on the threshold the stranger said in the ingratiating tones of a well-bred dinner host, "Ah, there you are. Please come in, my friend. I've kept a place for you."
Savant did as the human suggested—for indeed his contact was a human, as he had suspected. His gaze flitted briefly over the chairs and tables, looking for concealed fairies or other hostiles, but he saw nothing.
Savant turned his eyes then to study the one who had called him here. A hint of moonlight seeping in around the edges of the nearest blind cast a faint silhouette around all the objects in the room, but his contact had seemingly chosen a spot furthest from any light. Savant could make out the stiff shoulders of a greatcoat, collar turned up to shield against the unheated restaurant chill, and he saw a briefcase resting on the floor nearby, but otherwise, he could make out little in the gloom.
"Come, please sit down," said the human affably, gesturing to the chair opposite him. He still did not turn around.
Savant advanced cautiously. When he reached the table, he alighted easily onto the chair's seat, and he was a little surprised by the fluidity of his own movement. The past several years since his release from the Peak he had done some sporadic physical training here and there, but for the most part he had let himself go. But with the tasks the smugglers had had him do, and flying out here, he could already feel his training and natural skills coming back to him.
Savant chose to crouch rather than sit, preferring the added height. However, he did not lift his eyes right away. A quiver of fear passed through him. He imagined he was sitting across the table from a demon, and for a moment he was gripped with the irrational sense that once he looked into its eyes, he would find his soul bound in an irrevocable contract. For the moment he instead focused on the stranger's hand, pale as that of a corpse, the long thin fingers resting lightly near the ceramic grip of one of the restaurant candleholders.
"You did not use the door I left open for you, I notice," said the human conversationally. "Never trust an unknown contact, very good military sense. And the camfoil, that was clever, I did not anticipate that. The more I see of you, the more assured I am that you are indeed the one I have been looking for."
Savant didn't answer. Instead, he quickly scanned the room once more, looking everywhere but at the human sitting in front of him. He didn't know why he had taken the camfoil, or kept searching the shadows for foes. He had already known this enemy would have a way of seeing through the foil, and he knew that there were lookouts planted outside—he had seen them earlier when he scoped out the surrounding area. A man out smoking on his apartment balcony for far too long, a couple who had passed by the restaurant five times in the last hour. And there were probably more he hadn't seen. No doubt they were watching right now, ready to put a concentrated laser pulse in his head if he did anything that seemed to threaten the one they worked for.
Savant didn't know why he had come here. Had he hoped to act as assassin and stop this person? Did he plan to pretend to join up, then wait until the right moment to foil the plan, whatever it was? No, he had known from the beginning he would be one step behind this mastermind. He had never completed his training, and hadn't done anything to further it for so long. And he had no experience in the underworld. So what had he hoped to accomplish?
"It is certainly dark in here, isn't it?" commented the human. "Would you mind?" The long fingers curled around the candleholder grip, and he offered it to Savant.
Savant hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, to avoid giving any outside sharpshooters cause to put a quick end to him, extended his arm and with a light snap of his fingers set the wick to burning.
Savant's eyes flickered to the windows, and he wondered if the candlelight would be visible to anyone outside. However, with the blinds drawn tight and the street lamps outside, he doubted it. The light appeared bright to him here, when he was sitting right next to it, but it was small, insignificant and barely visible to anyone at a distance.
Savant gazed down at the candle for a moment, watching the wax melt at the blue base of the flame. His tongue flickered out to moisten his eyes. He couldn't delay anymore.
Taking a deep, silent breath, and forcing himself to comprehend for the first time that this was really happening, Savant lifted his eyes and looked up at the human sitting before him.
Savant's gaze was met with a thin, pale face, black hair slicked back from a broad forehead. The face was shockingly young, yet with something not quite so young in the eyes, which glimmered two separate colors in the darkness.
I was right, he thought.
"Well," said Artemis Fowl lightly, his features cast in sharp relief by the candle flame. "That is certainly an improvement. If at all possible, I prefer my dealings not to be in total darkness."
Savant didn't answer.
Savant, of course, knew all about the infamous Artemis Fowl, the human who had discovered the existence of the People and successfully extorted a large sum of fairy gold. Savant had read the articles when it had first happened. Ironically, Captain Short had been at the center of the mess.
At the time, for a human to know about the fairies and to be allowed to walk free was unprecedented, but unfortunately Fowl was protected by the laws of the Book, a fact of which he seemed to have been counting on from the beginning. He was seen as a dangerous adversary, public enemy number one.
Yet as the years went by, and Fowl had involved himself in more and more fairy affairs, the goblin insurrection, the Koboi escape, the Hybras landing, and his actions actually saved the People again and again, he came to be warily regarded as a kind of ally. Captain Short, who had been Fowl's determined enemy at first, seemed later instead to have struck up a kind of uneasy friendship, and it was a common assumption now that Short had somehow tamed him.
Of the few humans who knew of the People, Artemis Fowl was the only one known to be able to speak and write in fluent Gnommish, and so Savant had suspected from the beginning that it might be he who had sent the note. Savant had recently read in an article that Fowl had lost his mind and was undergoing treatment for Atlantis Complex, but if accounts of the human were to be believed, clearly he would not be above making up such a story for the purpose of some gain.
"Now," said Fowl. "Let us get down to business, shall we? I have..." He glanced at the dark-faced silver watch on his wrist. "...precisely thirty-four minutes until I must wander back to my caretakers, oblivious to where I have been. You see, I have a psychological disorder which can leave me disoriented, and even cause temporary memory loss."
He smiled at Savant as though they were sharing a private joke, and Savant understood that, as he had surmised, the psychological disorder was merely a cover, a ready-made excuse that could explain any odd behavior without raising suspicion.
"I must admit, so far you have exceeded my expectations on every count," said the human. "I set out to determine if the rumors I heard about your intelligence were true. That little puzzle I sent you—while I didn't believe you would take the full twenty-four hours if you were as clever as they say, I certainly didn't expect you would have it done in less than one."
Savant didn't react, but inwardly he took note. So Fowl had known when he solved it.
Fowl was still smiling politely. "Oh yes, the moment the tablet's message was activated, I was notified. I was also notified when you showed up to the meeting site to accompany the smugglers. Of course, they were an ordinary band of criminals who don't know anything about me, but I have a contact among them, the one who recommended you to the others. Naturally he doesn't know he's working for a human, but he provides me all the most useful bits of information from the underground for a price. I make it a point to befriend fairies in every quarter. I like to have easy access to information."
Savant opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was something he wanted to say, but it was ridiculous. He knew his own mind and motivations, and he wanted to sneer at how pathetic he was. And yet, he could feel his tongue burning in his mouth with the urge to speak.
Fowl seemed to notice Savant's internal struggle, and he said, smiling, "Yes? I must admit, I have been looking forward to this meeting. If the ease with which you have passed my series of little tests is any indication, you are far more accomplished and clever than even the circulations about you give you credit for."
Savant hesitated a moment longer. Then he gave in to himself and said in a low voice, "I am not more intelligent than other goblins. The cleverest among our kind simply choose not to be clever. Knowledge and intelligence are marks of disgrace among our people, a sign of corruption by the elves. I was not perceptive enough to realize that for a long time."
Fowl leaned forward, intrigued. "I see. You theorize that your kind are not less intelligent, rather, they are socially encouraged in that direction. But what of the studies done on the matter? I once heard from a friend whose scientific background I more than respect that it has been proven that by their physiology goblins are less capable of higher levels of thought than other fairies. They have brains physically no larger than those of rats. How do you answer that?"
Perhaps it might have seemed strange to another fairy that Fowl was pursuing this topic when he claimed to be limited on time. However, Savant knew what this human was doing. Fowl must have known that Savant was not a talker, that getting him to say anything was a struggle. So he was intentionally getting things started with something of vital interest to Savant, something that made him want to open his mouth when normally he could have easily sat through entire conversations without the urge to say even a single word.
Savant knew what Fowl was doing, and yet, he could not help but succumb to it. For years he had churned these things over in his mind, arguing, arguing, but never with anyone to listen. Now he had an audience, and a highly intelligent one at that.
"Scientists gain knowledge in fields outside their own discipline by reading the works of other scientists," said Savant, voice still low. "Likely your friend hasn't done any research in the area himself, only read the findings of others. The subject of goblin intelligence wouldn't be his area of expertise."
Savant hesitated, a part of his brain signaling for him to clam back up, but now that he was started he found he couldn't stop, and he continued, "Have you ever read the human histories from the last century? The civil rights movements, to win equality for females, and humans of different skin colors. If you observe the writings from earlier time periods, you will find ample references to scientific indications that these groups are mentally inferior. Female brains are, on average, physically smaller than male brains, so they used to say."
Fowl smiled. "I know some females who wouldn't be at all pleased at that observation." He leaned back in his chair. "Your view is quite interesting. This will bear further investigation, when I have time. You say you are not more intelligent than other goblins, but I am forced to disagree. You see these things, understand them. You are clearly a cut above most goblins, and most fairies for that matter. Had you been allowed to complete your training with the LEP, you would have gone far."
Savant's eyes flickered down to the candle, still burning in the darkness. The wax had melted, forming a hot pool around the tiny flame. "The LEP," he muttered with derision, his rasping voice barely audible.
Fowl caught the words and, still smiling politely, but with an edge of sadness now, said, "Ah. You don't like the LEP much, do you my friend?"
Savant continued to stare at the candle.
Fowl absently smoothed a wrinkle on the tablecloth. "I know. As I said, I know your history, Mr. Savant. You trained with the LEP to become an officer. But you were expelled and sent to Howler's Peak before you were able to complete that training."
Savant had long since taught himself never to argue or try to defend himself by claiming he had done nothing wrong when the subject of Howler's Peak came up. He'd almost learned not to care what anyone else thought, about being understood. And yet, he found he wanted to reply. He found he wanted to tell this human the truth.
It was ridiculous, of course. He'd only met this human less than half an hour ago, and he was only too aware of what a manipulative liar this one in particular was rumored to be. But being spoken to in this way, with courtesy, with intelligence, did something inside him. He had come to never expect equality or respect, but now that he had this taste of it, he wanted more.
Fowl's smile widened slightly. "Yes, I know what you want to say. Don't worry, I already know. I told you, I am aware of your history. The LEP keeps files on all its personnel, past and present, and in the past few months I have spent many hours searching out officers or former officers who may have reason to be disgruntled. But your case, Mr. Savant, quickly emerged as particularly interesting.
"In all the records I could locate of your past examinations, both in your years of early schooling and at the LEP Academy, you scored abnormally high. Not simply high for a goblin, but high for any fairy. It was noted that it was generally believed that you achieved those results through underhanded means, but you were never caught in the act, not once. Were the version of events that you cheated every test you ever took true, I couldn't help but think that alone would prove you an incontestable genius."
Savant didn't react, but in his chest he felt an involuntary flicker of something like excitement. He had been waiting for this, for someone other than himself to point out that fact. It was the first time someone else laid out the plain logic so simply and clearly, with such assurance. It was the first time someone had taken his side.
Savant froze that thought where it was, and took a silent, steadying breath. No, he told himself. This human is the enemy. He knows of your years of deprivation of acknowledgment and approval, and he has been flattering you up until now to invite your trust. You came here to find out how to stop his plans, whatever they might be.
Savant forced himself to get a handle on his emotions. He gazed steadily at the human, waiting in silence for him to continue.
"And concerning your arrest," Fowl went on. "You were indited on charges of stealing and selling LEP training equipment and weapons, I understand. Occasionally the details of a case are muddled and the truth is difficult to discern, but for yours, there was clearly little evidence to support the charges. All the prosecution had was some missing equipment, and a statement from a single witness. This witness, you will be interested to learn, was later written up on multiple occasions for selling fungus cigars and kegs of sim-beer, both of which are forbidden at the LEP training academy, and since becoming an LEP private, has lived very well for himself, in spite of the typical starting LEP salary. The LEP does not see these things as a red flag, but to me, it seems his ambition for lucrative side-businesses is clear. Not to mention a few key former B'wa Kell members have escaped on his watch."
Fowl tapped a finger on the table, an almost incredulous smile tugging at his lips. "It seems the LEP would have done well to listen to your side of things, and investigate a little more thoroughly. But, as usual with the LEP, they failed to do so. Now they count a crooked officer among their ranks, and you lost thirteen years of your life. Do you know that we humans have a term for what happened to you, when a flaw in the system leads to an unjust conviction? We call it railroading. My friend, you were railroaded."
Savant was quiet. No doubt Fowl had dealt with many misused and embittered individuals before, those with stories not so different from Savant's. He probably had said something like this a thousand times before. Yet Savant still couldn't stop the burning in his chest, the irresistible relief, the euphoria. He wanted to keep this memory in his mind forever, this moment when finally someone looked him in the face and explained all the things he thought himself that he had come to believe no one else could ever see.
"Yes, I know all that," said the human. "From your records, I've been able to fill in some of the gaps. However, there is still one thing your records did not tell me, which I must ask."
Savant grunted in approval for the human to continue.
"Obviously you wanted to use your talents. You joined the LEP and scored outstandingly in all areas. You were clearly a cut above the rest. If the LEP did not appreciate it, surely you could have found someone else who would. The triads, for instance. Of course they are largely dissolved now, but that was some time after your release. With your combined prowess and physical ability, you could have risen in the ranks quickly. Instead, when you left prison, you disappeared. Withdrew from the world. Why is that?"
Savant gazed at the burning candle, a bead of wax trickling down the side. He imagined he could actually see the candle growing shorter, as it moved to burn down to nothing.
This human is the enemy, he told himself. But what did that matter? This could be his last chance to finally explain himself, to be understood. What did it matter, if it was to an enemy? No one else had ever asked him that question before.
"Because—" he began. "Because the reason I attempted to join the LEP was that I wanted to be a part of the People. I wanted to be of aid to the helpless and weak. I didn't want to do nothing but destroy."
And that is why I will not join you.
Savant sat back on his haunches, and a deep sense of satisfaction and peace settled over him. He knew most likely if he refused to join Fowl, he would be killed. But he found that in this moment, he didn't mind. He had gotten to say what had been inside him all along. He had not said everything of course, but that was because he didn't need to. Fowl understood him in a way everyone else he had ever met couldn't, and even if Fowl only meant to understand him enough to use him, it was more than anyone ever had.
To Savant's surprise, Fowl seemed pleased by that answer. "I see," he said. "It isn't enough to accumulate wealth, or to gain prestige, or wield great power for its own sake. You have standards. You have higher goals."
Fowl checked his watch. Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair. "Well then, now that I have gotten to know you better. Let us move on to the real reason for our rendezvous, shall we?"
Savant's gaze dropped back briefly to the burning candle, then he looked back up as Fowl continued.
"I am glad to hear you are not a mercenary," said Fowl. "I have quite enough of those. You may not believe this, but the fact is that I am the same as you. You may have heard the Fowl family motto, which I have always lived by: Gold is power. But few are aware of the reason why we would pursue such power. The truth is, possessing power for its own sake, to be respected or feared for no other reason than to revel in having that power, holds absolutely no interest for me."
The human sat forward again, lacing his fingers together. The burning candle lit one side of his face and cast the other in shadow.
"What I want," he said softly, but with utter conviction, "is the power to change the world. You have been treated abominably, my friend, but you are not the only one. The many systems that govern this world are flawed, indolent, corrupt, inefficient—those systems need to be changed so there cannot be such rampant injustice among either of our species. I think you understand as much as anyone how much this world needs to be saved. And I intend to be the one to save it."
Savant considered that for a long moment. At last, he said slowly, "And you would like my help to achieve this power?"
Fowl nodded once. "I need agents. Operatives I can rely on to carry out military maneuvers. There will be many who try to stop me from reaching my goals, so I must have the power to combat them."
"And what is it you intend to do?" said Savant in a low rasp.
Fowl smiled slightly. And then he told him.
As Savant listened to the human outline the basic tenets of his plans, Savant couldn't help but feel the inherent insanity of it. It was brutal, ruthless. And yet, looking into the human's eyes, for the first time a part of him couldn't help but believe. Believe that Fowl might really want to make the world a better place, and be able to do it.
"And that is it," he completed. "It is less complicated than some of my past plans in its basic form, but in the execution of the details, it is quite daunting. I need those who will support me, humans and fairies. I need those who believe in my cause. From your answer concerning the triad, I appreciate the difficulty for you in making this decision. I know well the sacrifice I am asking you to make, but know it is for a great purpose. I am not a destroyer, Mr. Savant. I am a builder. I will build an empire and bring peace to this world."
Savant did not know how to respond. He did not want to believe in these callous, extreme methods. However, perhaps Fowl was right. This world was sick, rotting at the core. It needed to be saved. And if he turned down this offer and Fowl did let him go back home, what would be waiting for him there? A pointless life of wasting away in squalor and filth, despising those who had done it to him.
At last Savant asked, "What about your other allies? What about Captain Short?"
Fowl rested a hand on the table. "As I'm sure you can understand, I prefer not to give details concerning any other allies besides those you have already seen. But I will tell you that none of my current closest allies—likely soon to be former allies—know the arrangements I have been making, or about these plans. Not even my inseparable bodyguard. He would not understand." He hovered a crooked finger in front of his mouth. "I suppose you could say I am building my arsenal up from scratch, though I do not like to admit so."
Savant nodded slowly. Captain Short did not know of this. She was a highly skilled operative, someone Fowl had often relied on in the past. Clearly then Fowl believed she simply could not be persuaded to cooperate in such an enterprise. She was too heroic, too honorable.
So what am I then? Savant wondered. He had wanted to be a hero like Captain Short. He had wanted to be good, courageous and noble. But he had never gotten that chance. He had never done anything for anyone.
Savant looked back up at Fowl, meeting his gaze.
Fowl's hand had dropped from his mouth, and he was smiling again. It was a snake's smile, luring him in with its gentleness, yet replete with underlying calculation and guile.
"I fully admit," Fowl said, "I have done unspeakable things. And I will do more before this is over. I will have to betray all my allies, all who believed in me. Many people, both fairies and humans, will have to die, innocent as well as guilty. I will show unbending ruthlessness. And if you join me, at times I will be forced to ask you to do the same."
Savant's eyes dropped, mind working, considering. Then, slowly, he raised them again.
"I have suffered," said Savant at last. "My life has been worth nothing. But even if I wanted to save those who have lived as I have, to do so by creating more suffering, more injustice, that is something I cannot do. I cannot ever have the life I wanted, but I cannot steal it from others either. So you may as well kill me now."
Fowl nodded, his eyes focused on Savant, never wavering. "You have a noble spirit," he said softly. "Courageous. You are not unlike a hero from a storybook. I have met others like you. Even I, too, have occasionally entertained thoughts of being like those heroes, those who save the day, but do so without resorting to the barbarous methods utilized by their enemies. However, experience has repeatedly shown me the unpleasant truth that noble goals cannot always be achieved through virtuous methods alone."
Fowl let out a long breath, and he suddenly looked a little tired. "You see, Mr. Savant, what separates a true hero, as defined by the happy fantasy world of storybooks, from others, is that, as he saves the day, he finds a way to do so without marring his conscience. No one innocent ever pays the price for his actions, and he even saves the life of his enemy, or tries to. Once he steps over the line, he in no longer a true hero, but a fallen one, a figure of tragedy. However, real life is not a storybook. Many have been forced to sacrifice their consciences for the sake of the greater good, and many more will have to do so in the future. But a true hero would sacrifice the world before he would sacrifice his conscience."
Fowl closed his eyes briefly, and Savant could see the light of the candle playing on his pale features. "Please don't mistake my meaning," he said softly. "I have known those who live as true heroes, and they have my greatest respect. They possess a kind of courage I cannot help but admire, courage as you have, my friend. Captain Short is among them. She has forgiven me when I have been beyond forgiveness, and thanks to her, I escaped the greed and selfishness of my childhood."
Fowl breathed deeply, and when he opened his eyes, they were hard. "However, I cannot be the same. In this world, there are always those occupations which are undesirable, unpleasant, so I will take it upon myself to carry them out. That is my contribution, my service to this world. Perhaps I may consider myself a hero of sorts, but of a different kind from Captain Short."
His hard eyes locked on Savant. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, almost gentle, but the steel in his eyes never changed. "So, my friend. Will you join me? Will you sink to my level, become a servant of this world who must live out his days working in darkness?"
Savant did not immediately reply. Instead, he gazed at the candle. A few more beads of wax had spilled over the sides and as they fell into shadow, they hardened once again.
Savant could not deny the ring of truth in many of Fowl's words. He had spent his life attempting to follow a path of goodness and uprightness, but in the end he had gained nothing, helped no one. And if he returned home now, that would not change. He would likely live out the remainder of his days just as he was now. Was that what he wanted? To live and die for nothing, all in the pursuit of some illusory vision of perfect nobility and heroism?
Savant gazed back at the human for a long moment, studying his face, trying to discern how sincere he was. Often the successful leaders in history were those who knew how to speak of grand ideals, but behind the magnificent show were callous and merely hungry for power. All these grand words were appealing, but they could mean nothing.
He knew that. Yet Savant also knew that a choice lay before him, black and white. He could join this human in his cause, or not. And if he did join, he couldn't do it partway. Savant had trained to be a soldier, and a soldier did not question his commanding officer, not without risk of causing a breakdown in the entire chain of command. A soldier simply carried out his orders as instructed, as was his duty. And Savant had always considered himself nothing if not a good soldier.
For so many years, Savant had kept a list in his mind, a list of those characteristics which defined an individual he found worthy of respect. Someone selfless, brave, kind, thoughtful, stoic, loyal—all those characteristics he had struggled to cultivate in himself. He had had a choice, and he had chosen to live those things out the best he was able.
I still have a choice, Savant thought. I can still be those things, or most of them, whether I choose to serve Fowl or not. I am in control.
Savant looked up at Fowl. For a long time he had been looking for a mentor. Someone to help him realize his potential, someone he might look up to, and follow with absolute loyalty. He had hoped to find a sympathetic instructor in the Academy, but in the end, he had been thrown out before he had the chance.
Fowl was certainly not what he had been looking for. However, the human was highly intelligent, capable of putting to use those resources available to him in an effective way, and he was capable of showing understanding. He understood Savant, sympathized with him, far more than anyone else ever had.
Savant stood on the cusp, the precipice. The thoughts swirled in his mind, the endless list of pros and cons teetering back and forth like an unbalanced scale, and he knew that scale must tip one way or another. But which way? Which way was right?
Fowl's voice from just a few moments ago drifted back to him. "There are always those occupations which are undesirable, unpleasant, so I will take it upon myself to carry them out. That is my contribution, my service to this world..."
Savant stared into the candle flame. What was the greatest act of nobility and heroism? To sacrifice oneself. And if that was the greatest noble act, surely even greater was to make the sacrifice without glory or honor, with no hope of being acknowledged for that sacrifice. That was the role of the loyal, truly selfless servant.
I am in control of who I am, he thought. And this is my choice.
Savant gazed at the tiny, insignificant flame a moment longer, flickering in the overwhelming darkness around it. He really didn't need the flame to see. The ambient light from the moonlight outside was more than enough, and probably for Fowl, too. Savant reached forward, and with his clawed fingers, snuffed it out. He raised his eyes steadily to Fowl's.
"Then, Master Fowl. Please tell me what you would like me to do."
A/N: Another long chapter this time, though this section turned out not half so long as it was originally. (This was actually two chapters at one time, the first one focusing more on Savant's early life and joining the LEP Academy, and the second half on how things went wrong before moving on to the first meeting with clone Artemis. However, I felt strongly that most of it was really bogging the flow of the story down, not to mention when it came down to it I felt like a lot of the detail was unnecessary and not really that interesting, so I did my best to aggressively cut what I could.)
Incidentally, in my mind, Howler's Peak was in fact later renovated to meet stricter health and safety regulations, after a civil rights activists' group ran a program on the poor conditions on PPTV, and the resultant public outcry. (At the time, privacy for visitation was also added, to match the rights given to prisoners at other state facilities.) This happened almost right after Savant's release, though Savant, who was living cloistered in his hovel for years, was never aware of it.
On a complete side note—I'm honestly super excited for all the new Artemis Fowl stuff coming out. (I wasn't really expecting to ever see anything new Artemis Fowl after the final book came out, but we're getting two new books [The Fowl Twins], a new graphic novel [another adaptation of the first book, this time by Disney], and of course, the movie next year.) Already I think there's been renewed interest in the fandom, and with the movie, I'm particularly excited to see how they handle rendering Haven, I thought it looked pretty impressive in the trailer.
Thanks so, so much for reading, I was a little amazed to see some of you come back after so long. If you have a chance, let me know what you thought this time around, and hope to see you next chapter!
Posted 12/4/18