Eoin Colfer: Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex

Artemis frowned, upset that he had ad-libbed, and now could not be certain how many words were in his presentation. If he finished on a multiple of four that was not also a multiple of five, that could be very bad. Perhaps he should start again? But that was cheating, and the number gods would simply add the two speeches together and he’d be no better off.

Complicated. So hard to keep track, even for me.

But he would continue because it was imperative that THE PROJECT be presented now, today, so that THE PRODUCT could go into fabrication immediately. So Artemis contained the uncertainty in his heart and launched into the presentation with gusto, barely stopping to draw breath, in case his courage deserted him.

“Man is the biggest threat to Earth. We gut the planet of its fossil fuels then turn those same fuels against the planet through global warming.” Artemis pointed a V-finger at the enlarged screen, opening one video file after another, each one illustrating a point. “The world’s glaciers are losing as much as six feet of ice cover per annum, that’s half a million square miles in the Arctic Ocean alone in the past thirty years.” Behind him the video files displayed some of the consequences of global warming.

“The world needs to be saved,” said Artemis. “I realize now, finally, that I must be the one to save it. This is why I am a genius. My very raison d’être.”

Vinyáya tapped the table with her index finger. “There is a lobby in Haven, which has quite a lot of support, that says roll on global warming. The humans will wipe themselves out and then we can take back the planet.”

Artemis was ready for that one. “An obvious argument, Commander, but it’s not just the humans, is it?” He opened a few more video windows and the fairies watched scenes of scrawny polar bears stranded on ice floes, moose in Michigan being eaten alive by an increased tick population, and bleached coral reefs devoid of all life.

“It’s every living thing on or underneath this planet.”

Foaly was actually quite annoyed by the presentation. “Do you think we haven’t thought about this, Mud Boy? Do you think that this particular problem has not been on the mind of every scientist in Haven and Atlantis? To be honest, I find this lecture patronizing.”

Artemis shrugged. “How you feel is unimportant. How I feel is unimportant. Earth needs to be saved.”

Holly sat up straight. “Don’t tell me you’ve found the answer.”

“I think so.”

Foaly snorted. “Really? Let me guess: wrap the icebergs, maybe? Or shoot refracting lenses into the atmosphere?

How about customized cloud cover? Am I getting warm?”

“We are all getting warm,” said Artemis. “That is the problem.” He picked up the Earth hologram with one hand and spun it like a basketball. “All of those solutions could work, with some modifications. But they require too much interstate cooperation, and, as we all know, human governments are not good at sharing their toys. Perhaps, in fifty years’ time, things might change, but by then it will be too late.”

Commander Vinyáya had always prided herself on an ability to read a situation, and her instincts were loud in her ears like the roar of Pacific surf. This was a historic moment: the very air seemed electric.

“Go on, human,” she said quietly, her words buoyed by authority. “Tell us.”

Artemis used the V-gloves to highlight Earth’s glaciated areas and rearranged the ice mass into a square. “Covering glaciers is an excellent idea, but even if the topography were this simple-a flat square-it would take several armies half a century to get the job done.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Foaly. “Human loggers seem to be getting through the rain forests a lot quicker than that.”

“Those on the fringes of the law move faster than those bound by it, which is where I come in.”

Foaly crossed his front legs, which is not easy for a centaur in a chair. “Do tell. I am all ears.”

“I shall,” said Artemis. “And I would be grateful if you would stifle the usual expressions of horror and disbelief until I conclude. Your cries of astonishment every time I present an idea are most tiresome and they make it difficult to keep track of the word count.”

“Oh my gods!” exclaimed Foaly. “Unbelievable.”

Raine Vinyáya threw the centaur a warning look. “Stop acting the bull troll, Foaly. I’ve come a long way for this and my ears are very cold.”

“Should I pinch one of the centaur’s nerve clusters to keep him quiet?” asked Holly with barely a grin. “I have studied centaur incapacitation, as well as human, if we happen to need it. I could knock out everybody here with one finger or a sturdy pencil.”

Foaly was eighty percent sure that Holly was bluffing, but all the same he covered the ganglia over his ears with cupped fingers.

“Very well. I’ll keep quiet.”

“Good. Proceed, Artemis.”

“Thank you. But keep your sturdy pencil at the ready, Captain Short. I have a feeling that there could be some disbelief on the way.”

Holly patted her pocket and winked. “2B hard graphite, nothing better for a quick organ rupture.”

Holly was joking, but her heart wasn’t in it. Artemis felt that her comments were camouflage for whatever anxiety she was feeling. He rubbed his brow with a thumb and forefinger, using the gesture as cover to sneak a peek at his friend. Holly’s own brow was drawn in and her eyes narrow with worry.

She knows, realized Artemis, but what Holly knew, he could not say exactly. She knows that something is different, that the even numbers have turned against me. Two twos are four fairies spitting bad luck on my plans.

Then Artemis reviewed this last sentence, and for a second its lunacy was clear to him and he felt a fat coiled snake of panic heavy in his stomach.

Could I have a brain tumor? he wondered. That would explain the obsessions, the hallucinations, and the paranoia. Or is it simply obsessive-compulsive disorder? The great Artemis Fowl felled by a common ailment.

Artemis spared a moment to try an old hypnotherapist’s trick.

Picture yourself in a good place. Somewhere you were happy and safe.

Happy and safe? It had been a while.

Artemis allowed his mind to fly, and he found himself sitting on a small stool in his grandfather’s workshop. His grandfather looked a little sneakier than Artemis remembered, and he winked at his five-year-old grandson and said, Do you know how many legs are on that stool, Arty? Three. Only three, and that’s not a good number for you. Not at all. Three is nearly as bad as four, and we all know what four sounds like in Chinese, don’t we?

Artemis shuddered. This sickness was even corrupting his memories. He pressed the forefinger and thumb of his left hand together until the pads turned white. A trigger he’d taught himself to elicit calm when the number panic grew too strong. But the trigger was working less and less recently, or in this case not at all.

I am losing my composure, he thought with quiet desperation. This disease is winning.

Foaly cleared his throat, puncturing Artemis’s dream bubble. “Hello? Mud Boy? Important people waiting, get a move on.”

And from Holly. “Are you okay, Artemis? Do you need to take a break?”

Artemis almost laughed. Take a break during a presentation? If I did that, I might as well go and stand beside someone wearing an i’m with crazy T-shirt.

“No. I’m fine. This is a big project, the biggest. I want to be sure that my presentation is perfect.”

Foaly leaned forward until his already unsteady chair teetered dangerously. “You don’t look fine, Mud Boy. You look. .” The centaur sucked his bottom lip, searching for the right word. “Beaten. Artemis, you look beaten.”