Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [22]
Holly held the suit before a green plasma screen. The cam-foil instantly turned emerald.
“I like it,” she said. “Green is my color.”
Trouble Kelp had commandeered spotlights left on-site by the movie company and directed them into the shuttleport’s lower level. The stark light picked up every floating speck of dust, giving the entire departures area an underwater feel. Commander Root and Captain Short edged into the room, weapons drawn and visors down.
“What do you think of the suit?” asked Holly, automatically keeping track of the various displays on the inside of her visor. LEP trainees often had difficulty developing the double focus needed to watch the terrain and their helmet screens. This often resulted in an action known as filling the vase, which was how LEP officers referred to throwing up in one’s helmet.
“Not bad,” replied Root. “Light as a feather, and you wouldn’t even know you were wearing wings. Don’t tell Foaly I said that; his head is swelled enough as it is.”
“No need to tell me, Commander,” said Foaly’s voice in his earpiece. The speakers were a new gel-vibration variety, and it sounded as though the centaur was in the helmet with him. “I’m with you every step of the way, from the safety of the shuttle, of course.”
“Of course,” said Root dourly.
The pair advanced cautiously past a line of check-in booths. Foaly had assured them that there was no possible danger in this area of the terminal, but the centaur had been wrong before. And mistakes in the field cost lives.
The film company had decided that the actual dirt in the terminal was not authentic enough, and so had sprayed piles of gray foam in various corners. They had even added a doll’s head to one mound. A poignant touch, or so they thought. The walls and escalator were blackened with fake laser burns.
“Quite a shooting match,” said Root, grinning.
“Slightly exaggerated. I doubt if half a dozen shots were fired.”
They proceeded through the embarkation area into the docking zone. The original shuttle used by the goblins in their smuggling runs had been resurrected and lay in the docking bay. The shuttle had been painted gloss black to make it seem more menacing, and a goblinesque decorated prow had been added to its nose.
“How far?” said Root into his mike.
“I’m transferring the thermal signature to your helmets,” replied Foaly.
Seconds later a schematic appeared in their visors. The plan was slightly confusing, as, in effect, they were looking down on themselves. There were three heat sources in the building. Two were close together, moving slowly toward the chute itself: Holly and the commander. The third figure was stationary in the access tunnel. Inches past the third figure, the thermoscan was whited out by the ambient heat from E37.
They reached the blast doors: seven feet of solid steel that separated the access tunnel from the rest of the terminal. Shuttles and eggs would glide in on a magnetized rail, to be dropped into the chute itself. The doors were sealed.
“Can you open these remotely, Foaly?”
“But of course, Commander. I have managed, quite ingeniously, to marry my operating system with the terminal’s old computers. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds . . .”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said the commander, cutting Foaly off. “Just push the button, before I come out there and push it with your face.”
“Some things never change,” muttered Foaly, pushing the button.
The access tunnel smelled like a blast furnace. Ancient swirls of melted ore hung from the roof, and the