The Artemis Fowl Files - Eoin Colfer [6]
The commander returned to the cockpit: it was time to switch back over to manual for the landing.
The island looked like something from a horror film. Dark cliffs reared from the ocean, spumes of foam slapping at the waterline. A line of greenery hung on desperately, flopping untidily over the edge like an unruly fringe of hair.
Nothing good is going to happen here, thought Holly.
Trouble Kelp slapped her on the shoulder, breaking through the gloom. “Cheer up, Short. At least you got this far. A couple of days on the surface is worth any price. This place has air like you wouldn’t believe. Sweet as heaven.”
Holly tried to smile, but she was too nervous. “Does the commander usually handle initiations himself?”
“All the time. This is the first one-on-one though. Usually he tracks a half dozen or so, to keep himself amused. But you get him all to yourself, ’cause of the female thing. When you fail, Julius doesn’t want the equal-rights office to have any reason to complain.”
Holly bristled. “When I fail?” Trouble winked at her. “Did I say when? I meant if. Of course, if.”
Holly felt the tips of her pointed ears quiver. Was this entire trip a charade? Did the commander already have her report written?
They touched down on Seal Beach, which was remarkably devoid of seals and sand. The shuttle had a second skin of plasma screens that projected the surroundings onto the craft’s outer plates. To the casual observer, when Trouble Kelp popped the hatch, it would seem like a door in the sky.
Holly and Trouble hopped out onto the pebbles, scurrying forward to avoid the jet wash.
Root opened a porthole. “You’ve got twenty minutes to cry or say your prayers or whatever it is you females do, then I’m comin’ a callin’.”
Holly’s eyes were fierce. “Yessir. I’m going to start crying presently. Soon as you’re over the horizon.”
Root half smiled, half scowled. “I hope your skills can pay the checks your mouth is writing.” Holly had no idea what a check was, but she decided that now was not the time to say that.
Root gunned the engine, taking off over the hillside in a low, looping arc. All that was visible of the craft was a faint translucent shimmer.
Holly found that she was suddenly cold. Haven was completely air-conditioned, so her traffic suit did not have heating coils. She noticed Captain Kelp adjusting the thermostat on his computer.
“Hey,” Trouble said. “No need for two of us to be uncomfortable. I’ve already passed my initiation.”
“How many times did you get tagged?” Holly asked.
Trouble grimaced ruefully. “Eight. And I was the best in the group. Commander Root moves quickly for an old-timer, plus he has a couple of million ingots worth of hardware at his disposal.”
Holly turned up her collar against the Atlantic wind. “Any handy hints?”
“I’m afraid not. And once this camera starts rolling, I can’t even talk to you any more.” Captain Kelp touched a button on his helmet, and a red light winked at Holly. “The only thing I can say is that if I were you, I’d get moving. Julius won’t waste any time, so neither should you.”
Holly looked around. Make use of your environment, the manuals said. Use what nature provides. That maxim wasn’t much good to her here. The pebble beach was bordered by a steep rock face on two sides, with a steep mudslide incline on the third. It was the only way out, and she’d better take it before the commander had time to set himself up at the top. She double-timed it toward the slope, determined to make it out of this exercise with her self-respect intact.
Something shimmered in the corner of Holly’s eye. She stopped in her tracks.
“That’s hardly fair,” she said, pointing to the spot.
Trouble looked across the pebble beach. “What?” he asked, even though he was not supposed to talk.
“Look there. A sheet of cam foil. Someone is hiding on the beach. Do you have a little backup in case the corporal proves a bit quick for the old-timers?”
Trouble instantly realized the seriousness of the situation. “D’Arvit,” he growled, reaching for his