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Holly wiggled her fingers, then curled them into a fist.
“I think so,” she said, and whacked Artemis right between the eyes. The surprised boy landed in a snowdrift for the third time that day.
Holly winked at an amazed Butler.
“Now we’re even,” she said.
Commander Root didn’t have many treasured memories. But in future days, when things were at their grimmest, he would conjure up this moment and have a quiet chuckle.
Operations Booth
Foaly woke up sore, which was unusual for him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d experienced actual pain. His feelings had been hurt a few times by Julius’s barbed comments, but actual physical discomfort was not something he cared to endure when he could avoid it.
The centaur was lying on the Operations Booth floor, tangled in the remains of his office chair.
“Cudgeon,” he growled, and what followed was about two minutes’ worth of unprintable obscenity.
When he had finally vented his anger the centaur’s brain kicked in, and he hauled himself from the plasma tiles. His rump was singed. He was going to have a couple of bald spots on his hindquarters. Very unattractive on a centaur. It was the first thing a prospective mate looked for in the nightclubs. Not that Foaly had ever been much of a dancer. Four left hooves.
The booth was sealed. Tighter than a gnome’s wallet, as the saying went. Foaly typed in his exit code.
“Foaly. Doors.”
The computer remained silent. He tried verbal.
“Foaly. One-twenty-one override. Doors.”
Not a peep. He was trapped. A prisoner of his own security devices. Even the windows were set to blackout, blocking his view of the Operations room. Completely locked out, and locked in. Nothing worked.
Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. Everything worked, but his precious computers wouldn’t respond to his touch. And Foaly was only too well aware that there was no way out of the booth without access to the mainframe.
Foaly plucked the tinfoil hat from his head, crunching it into a ball.
“A lot of good you did me!” he said, tossing it into the waste recycler. The recycler would analyze the chemical makeup of the item, then divert it to the appropriate tank.
A plasma monitor crackled into life on the wall. Opal Koboi’s magnified face appeared, grinning the widest grin the centaur had ever seen.
“Hello, Foaly. Long time no see.”
Foaly returned the grin, but his wasn’t quite as wide.
“Opal. How nice to see you. How are the folks?”
Everyone knew how Opal had bankrupted her father. It was a legend in the corporate world.
“Very well, thanks. Cumulus House is a lovely asylum.”
Foaly decided he would try sincerity. It was a tool he didn’t use very often. But there was a first time for everything.
“Opal. Think about what you’re doing. Cudgeon is insane, for pity’s sake. Once he has what he wants, he will dispose of you in a heartbeat!”
The pixie shook a perfectly manicured finger.
“No, Foaly, you’re wrong. Briar needs me. He really does. He’d be nothing without me and my gold.”
The centaur looked deep into Opal’s eyes. The pixie actually believed what she was saying. How could someone so brilliant be so deluded?
“I know what this is all about, Opal.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yes. You’re still sore because I won the science medal back in university.”
For a second Koboi’s composure slipped, and her features didn’t seem quite so perfect.
“That medal was mine, you stupid centaur. My wing design was far superior to your ridiculous iris-cam. You won because you were a male. And that’s the only reason.”
Foaly grinned satisfied. Even with the odds so hugely against him, he hadn’t lost the ability to be the most annoying creature under the world when he wanted to be.
“So what do you want, Opal? Or did you just call to chat about our school days?”
Opal took a long drink from a crystal glass.
“I just called, Foaly, to let you know I’m watching, so don’t try anything. I also wanted to show you something from the security cameras downtown. This is live footage by the way, and Briar is with the Council right now, blaming you for it. Happy viewing.”
Opal’s face disappeared to be replaced by a high-angle view of downtown Haven. A tourist district, outside Spud’s Spud Emporium. Generally, this area would be thronged with Atlantean couples taking photos of each other in front of the fountain. But not today, because today the square was a battleground. The B’wa Kell were waging open war with the LEP, and by the looks of things, it was a one-sided battle. The goblins were firing their softnose weapons, but the police were not shooting back. They just huddled behind whatever shelter they could find. Completely helpless.
Foaly’s jaw dropped. This was disastrous. And he was being blamed for everything. Of course, the thing about stool pigeons was, they could not be left alive to protest their innocence. He had to get a message to Holly, and fast, or they were all dead fairies.
CHAPTER 10
TROUBLE AND STRIFE
Downtown Haven
Spud’s Spud Emporium was not a place you wanted to be on the best of days. The fries were greasy, the meat was mysterious, and the milk shakes had gristly lumps. Nevertheless, the emporium did a roaring trade, especially during the solstice.
At this precise moment, Captain Trouble Kelp would almost have preferred to be inside the fast-food joint choking down a rubbery burger than outside it dodging lasers. Almost.
With Root out of the picture, field command fell to Captain Kelp. Usually this was a responsibility he would have relished. But then again, usually he would have had the benefit of transport and weapons. Thankfully, they still had communications.
Trouble and his patrol had been scouring B’wa Kell hot spots when they were bushwhacked by a hundred members of the reptilian triad. The goblins had positioned themselves on the rooftops, catching the LEP squad in a deadly crossfire from softnose lasers and fireballs. Pretty complex thinking for the B’wa Kell. The average goblin found simultaneous scratching and spitting a challenge. They had to be getting their orders from someone.
Trouble and one of his junior corporals were pinned down behind a photo booth, while the remaining officers had managed to take cover in Spud’s Emporium.
For the moment they were keeping the goblins at bay with lasers and buzz batons. The lasers had a range of ten yards, and the buzz batons were only good for close quarters. Both ran on electric batteries and would run out eventually. After that they were down to rocks and bare fists. They didn’t even have the advantage of shielding, since the B’wa Kell were equipped with LEP combat helmets. Older models certainly, but still fitted with anti-shield filters.
A fireball arced over the booth, melting through the asphalt at their feet. The goblins were wising up. Relatively speaking. Instead of trying to blast through the booth, they were lobbing missiles over it. Time was short now.
Trouble tapped his mike. “Kelp to base. Anything on weapons?”
“Not a thing, Cap’,” came the reply. “Plenty of officers, with nuthin’ to shoot ’cept their fingers. We’re charging up the old ’lectric guns, but that’s gonna take eight hours minimum. There are a coupla body armor suits over in recon, I’m having ’em double-timed over there right now. Five minutes. Tops.”
“D’Arvit,” swore the captain. They were going to have to move. Any second now this booth would fall apart, and they would be sitting ducks for goblin fire.
Beside him the corporal was quivering in terror.
“For heaven’s sake,” snapped Trouble. “Pull yourself together.”
“You shut up,” retorted his brother Grub through wobbly lips. “You were supposed to look out for me. Mommy said.”
Trouble waved a threatening finger. “It’s Captain Kelp while we’re on duty, Corporal. And for
your information, I am looking out for you.”
“Oh, this is looking out for me, is it?” pouted Grub.
Trouble didn’t know who annoyed him more, his kid brother or the goblins.
“Okay, Grub. This booth isn’t going to last much longer. We’ve got to make a break for the emporium. Understand?”
Grub’s wobbling lip suddenly stiffened considerably.
“No chance. I’m not moving. You can’t make me. I don’t mind if I stay here for the rest of my life.”
Trouble raised his visor. “Listen to me. If you stay, the rest of your life is going to be about thirty seconds. We have to go.”
“But the goblins, Troub’.”
Captain Kelp grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Don’t you worry about the goblins. You worry about my foot connecting with your behind if you slow down.”
Grub winced. He’d had that experience before.
“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, brother?”
Trouble winked. “Of course we are. I’m the captain, aren’t I?”
His little brother nodded, lip losing its stiffness.
“Good. Now you point your nose at the door, and go when I say. Got it?”
