LUNA MINOR

By Eoin Colfer

THE ARTEMIS INTERSTELLAR SELF-WINDING SPACESHIP, THE DARK SIDE OF EARTH’S MOON.

ARTEMIS FOWL WAS FEELING SUPREMELY SMUG.

Artemis was no stranger to excessive pride, but years of misadventure and attempts on his life by those he had whipped into homicidal rages with his self-satisfaction had taught him to temper his smugness with caution.

But not today.

On this most momentous of days, Artemis Fowl the Second felt a certain Royal Swedish Academy owed him both of the year’s Nobel science prizes, but this was unlikely since he had, during his criminal youth, stolen eighteen Nobel medals, which was the amount Artemis believed he should have scooped, and had been denied by lesser scientists who were not fit to buff the lenses of his microscope, so to speak.

Artemis would, he decided, have to be content with a congratulatory word or two from someone he cared about and respected, and there were precious few of the former and even less of the latter.

His younger brother Myles was the most obvious candidate, as the eleven-year-old could certainly be said to be following in his big brother’s footsteps. Unfortunately, one of those footsteps was the very same pride which so often turned people against Artemis. In fact, Myles Fowl’s extended episodes of smugness made Artemis look positively humble in comparison. At his own fifth birthday party, Myles had loudly berated the hired magician for his ridiculously amateurish sleight of hand and wondered if the fellow might not unwittingly find more success as a clown. But, even so, Artemis realised that his news was so momentous that he was prepared to risk belittlement at the sharp tongue of a child whose prefrontal cortex was decidedly immature.

The Interstellar’s artificial gravity was not engaged, so Artemis hitched a ride on the bridge’s air-conditioning currents and floated across to the communications bank. In truth, he did not need to be at the bank as the radio was voice activated, but as he grew older Artemis found himself comforted by vintage design, such as stalk microphones, spoons and silk ties. In fact, Artemis was not exactly sure how old he was, as he had in the course of his adventures travelled through an Einstein-Rosen time bridge, spent a spell in limbo and been reborn into the body of a clone after his death. Artemis had consulted his parents and they decided that they would settle on him being twenty-one.

Artemis selected Myles’s name from the contacts list and put a call through using old-fashioned radio. As he was a mere two hundred and fifty thousand miles from Earth, the delay would be barely more than a second. He was working on a superluminal system, which would keep conversations natural when the radio lag grew irritating.

Myles did not pick up for several seconds, which was most irritating as Artemis knew his brother’s calls were routed through bone conductors in the arms of his graphene spectacles, which he wore at all times.

‘Myles Fowl,’ said the eleven-year-old. ‘What do you need this time, Doctor?’

Artemis’s irritation levels escalated for a couple of reasons. One, Myles insisted on referring to him as doctor even though Artemis rarely used the title himself, and two, Myles assumed that Artemis was calling because he needed help.

‘How are you, Myles?’ he asked.

‘I am busy, to be honest,’ snapped Myles. ‘There are idiots in the world who still cling to the Big Bang Theory, and I am attempting to enlighten them via several internet sites. So even though time may not be universal it is precious, brother mine, so if you would state your business?’

Artemis grimaced. Had he been so brash?

He suspected he had until quite recently, and would be still had it not been for the elf Holly Short, who had made him a better person simply by being his friend.

‘Of course, Myles. Rest assured I am not in need of assistance.’

‘One is delighted to hear it,’ said Myles, ‘as I am collecting seaweed for my brain-nourishing gel and so must harvest while the tide is low. I am simultaneously debating with several morons on the internet through my smart glasses.’

Artemis smiled. His brother was on the beach on the family’s Dalkey Island home happily arguing with strangers. He suddenly missed the island and everything on it.

‘You are busy,’ he said. ‘So I will deliver my news forthwith.’

‘That is appreciated, Doctor. Proceed directly to the point, if you please.’

Artemis took a breath, enjoying the moment. Myles was playing it very businesslike, but Artemis knew his little brother would be eager to hear his news, if for no other reason than to overreact with incredulous scorn.

‘The thing is, Myles, I have discovered water on the dark side of the moon.’

‘Boring,’ said Myles. ‘What is this? Kindergarten? There are monkeys who know there is water on the moon.’

At one time, Artemis would have been incensed by his brother’s flippant reaction, but now it made him smile. ‘And do the monkeys know that there are microbes in the water? Living beings? Aliens, if you will.’

Myles chortled. ‘Aliens? Even if there are microbes, they are not from another world, they are from a satellite of this world, so I think to categorise them as aliens is something of a stretch. And, while it is true that monkeys may not be aware of the existence of lunar microbes, I feel sure that dolphins have long suspected it.’

Myles could not know it, but Artemis was simply softening him up with these small nuggets of news, so his real announcement would have a greater impact.

Here it comes, brother, he thought.

‘I suppose you’re right about the microbes. But you may be interested to know that the moon has a moon.’

There was silence for a moment, made longer by the delay, and then Myles said, ‘I think there must be an echo on the line. I thought you said the moon has a moon.’

‘Why yes, brother,’ said Artemis lightly. ‘I said exactly that. I have discovered an inferior moon in geocentric orbit, forever in the shadow of the dark side. It is barely five miles above the surface and possibly was originally part of the main body, but it is a moon nevertheless. I have called it Luna Minor. Quite a find, I think you’ll agree. One might even call it a feather in the Interstellar’s cap.’

Myles was silent once more and Artemis could hear the waves lapping the shore near his brother, and he could almost hear the cogs turning in Myles’s brain engine as he searched for a way to undermine Artemis’s triumph.

And Myles did find a way. ‘Tell me, Doctor. How big is this moon? What is its exact diameter?’

Artemis played it casual. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere around six miles.’

Myles was having none of it. ‘Somewhere around? Somewhere around? That is akin to saying that the DNA of a chimpanzee is somewhere around that of a human. What is the exact diameter of your so-called moon?’

‘Six point zero nine miles,’ admitted Artemis. ‘But there is no formal literature dictating…’

‘Six miles, Doctor,’ said Myles sharply. ‘Six miles is the accepted minimum. The literature exists, as you well know, and it is only a matter of time before it is formalised.’

‘It’s still a moon,’ protested Artemis weakly.

‘Of course it is, Doctor,’ said Myles with maximum scorn. ‘For a few months at least.’ He called to his twin nearby. ‘Beck. Artemis thought he found a moon when all he found was a pebble in space. What a simpleton.’

Above the grinding of his teeth, Artemis heard Beckett’s feet crunching across the beach. There was a scuffle as Beckett wrestled Myles’s graphene spectacles off his face and shouted directly into the microphone.

‘Arty. How are you? Are your muscles turning to jelly? Did you get any superpowers in space?’

Artemis felt his mood lift in spite of Myles’s dismissal. One of Beckett’s teachers had written on his summer report that Beckett could ‘cheer up a statue’, which would prove to be the truth in about eight years’ time, in and adventure that would be filed by the Lower Elements Police under the title: The Fowl Twins meet the Atlantis Golem.

‘Hello, Beck,’ said Artemis. ‘To answer your questions, I am fine. My muscles are strong, thanks to Butler’s exercise regime, and no superpowers have manifested as yet, but I am optimistic.’

Beckett followed his question with a promise.’I vow that if I ever get into space I will pee my own name in zero gravity.’

‘I believe you, brother,’ said Artemis, wondering whether there had ever been twins who differed so wildly in almost every area of their personalities.

‘The full name,’ Beckett insisted. ‘Not just initials. I bet that if space peeing was a sport I would be the champion of the universe.’

‘Can we stop talking about this, Beck?’ Artemis pleaded. ‘You have already planted the image in my head.’

Artemis did not fill Beckett in on his discovery for the simple reason that Beck would not care. Beckett may have been a delightful, fun-loving chap, but he had about as much interest in scientific achievement as Artemis himself had in the televisual social experiment Love Island. Beckett would much rather climb a tree than take a mould sample from its bark to examine its multicellular filaments, a choice which Artemis found utterly bizarre.

So rather than discuss space rocks, which may or may not be moons, the brothers chatted amiably for a few minutes until Beckett disconnected to investigate a seagull that he swore was squawking the Mission Impossible theme tune, and Artemis found himself alone in space. Well, almost alone, his friend and bodyguard, Butler, was in a sleep pod one deck over, as he had placed himself in stasis to avoid being subjected to another scientific lecture.

Artemis’s heart swelled with affection following his conversation with the twins. Of course, this was a metaphorical swelling and not an actual swelling, as an actual swelling would mean he had developed instant cardiomegaly, which would be alarming. However, swollen heart notwithstanding, Artemis found that the yearning to crow just a little about his discovery was unfulfilled. Artemis knew that he should ignore this hubristic instinct, but it soon proved irresistible, and so the young Irishman made yet another call, but this time on an optical laser line so that the secure signal would be compatible with an LEP satellite, and from there be relayed deep underground to the communicator of his Lower Elements Police friend, Commodore Holly Short.

Holly, he reasoned, was the perfect person to call and, following the disastrous dressing down from Myles, who had most irritatingly made a valid point, Artemis could not fathom why he had not opted to call Holly in the first place. The elf was super-bright but not particularly competitive in the field of science, so she could appreciate the import of his discovery, but probably would not ask any tricky questions. Holly was one of those rare individuals who never seemed to have an ulterior motive, which was probably why she was one of only a handful of top-brass female officers in the LEP, though those numbers were rising every year.

Holly answered on the first ring.

‘Hey, Artemis. Good morning. Is it morning where you are? It’s morning here. Or simulated morning at any rate.’

Artemis smiled at the sound of his friend’s voice. In fact he had used it as the voice of NANNI, the Nano Artificial Neural Network Intelligence system, which he had built and programmed to watch over Dalkey Island while he was gone.

‘I can see a sliver of the sun, dear friend,’ he said. ‘If that qualifies as morning.’

‘The sun,’ said Holly, and her voice was wistful. ‘The actual sun. It feels like forever since I took a night flight.’

‘Commodores don’t fly missions,’ said Artemis. ‘The perils of promotion.’

Holly laughed. ‘Well now, you see, Mud Boy. I took a leaf out of your book to deal with that. I pulled an Artemis.’

‘An Artemis?’ said Artemis. ‘Named for me, or the goddess of the hunt?’

‘Named after you, of course, unless the goddess of the hunt is an Irish mastermind.’

Artemis was curious as to what trait defined him.

‘And what does to pull an Artemis mean exactly?’

‘It means,’ said Holly, ‘that you find an unconventional solution to a problem. In this case, I volunteered to mentor a few specialists.’

Unconventional solutions, thought Artemis. That would do.

‘Commodores don’t usually mentor,’ he said, ‘but I imagine mentors often shadow the rookies on practice missions above ground, correct?’

‘Correct,’ said Holly. ‘I pulled an Artemis. And next week I will shadow my first candidate.’

Artemis felt that, in the name of politeness, he should ask a question or two before dropping the Lunar Minor news.

‘These specialists — anyone interesting?’

Holly did not need so much as a second to consider it. ‘One girl in Recon. Lazuli Heitz. Wonderful aptitude across the board, but a little impetuous.’

Artemis saw an opportunity for revenge. ‘It sounds as though this Lazuli Heitz is pulling a Holly.’

‘Oh, very good. Burned from space by Artemis Fowl. Why are you calling anyway? No offence, but you’re not a small-talk kind of human, Arty. You only call me when you’ve done something marvellous that I simply must hear about.’

There was more than a grain of truth in this, but Artemis objected nonetheless. ‘That’s not the case, Holly. I love small talk. Also chitchat. And I am very fond of idle banter.’

Holly laughed. ‘Is that so? The last time you called was to explain how you had taken the Fowl family motto: Our Protected Nest…’

‘Aurum Potestas Est,’ corrected Artemis. ‘Gold is power.’

‘Yes. That. And you explained that by coating the Interstellar’s solar panels with gold foil you had made that motto the literal truth. I think you expected me to give you a medal.’

‘Someone should give me a medal,’ said Artemis. ‘Or a certificate, at the very least.’

‘So what is it this time?’ Holly wondered. ‘Have you turned Butler into a mushroom? Or maybe you can open wormholes with your mind?’

Artemis was in fact working on a brainwave amplifier that could possibly have real-world applications, but that was for another call.

‘Nothing quite so dramatic,’ he said, then coughed to herald the big news. ‘The thing is, I’ve discovered a second moon—’

Holly cut him off. ‘Moon,’ she said. ‘That’s Foaly’s department. He can’t get enough of moons. You two should sit opposite each other and form some kind of moon echo chamber. Just let me get him.’

‘No,’ blurted Artemis, really not sure if he could endure a second bubble-bursting. The centaur Foaly was the LEP’s technology consultant and possibly the only person who could keep up with Artemis on most subjects, and trot ahead of him on a few. ‘There’s no need, really. I’m sure Foaly is busy.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ said Holly. ‘He’s right here, eating carrots. I could do with a break from the noise if I’m honest. So you guys talk moons and I can actually get some work done.’

Artemis glowered at the microphone. ‘No, Holly, really. It’s nothing…’

But his protests were to no avail, as Foaly’s slightly warbling voice travelled from the Lower Elements through a relay satellite and across two hundred and fifty miles of space.

‘Mud Boy, how are things in the black void of space?’

‘Technically, it’s not a void, Foaly, as you well know.’

‘As I well do,’ said Foaly. ‘There are all kind of rays floating around out there. And all kinds of strange humans too. Now what’s this I hear about a moon?’

Artemis pinched his brow, a stress tell which he usually suppressed, but with Butler in stasis there was no one to call him on it.

‘I’m not certain if it’s even a moon. The diameter is only six point zero nine..’

‘Artemis Fowl is not completely certain? I hope we recorded that. But I’m teasing because that does sound like a moon to me,’ said Foaly. ‘Anything over four point three is acceptable so long as it’s in orbit. We even classified a four point two once because of its density.’

Artemis felt his shoulders relax. ‘Well then, it seems as though I may indeed have a moon on my hands. I must admit, Foaly, that I am rather proud to have made such a find so early in the voyage. I had expected to make important discoveries, of course, but in the first week?’ He paused then said with rather more emotion than was usually associated with Artemis Fowl, ‘Perhaps I don’t say this often enough, Foaly, but it is good to share this news with someone who understands. What is it the young people say? Someone who gets it.’

Foaly snickered, which is not just a turn of phrase. He actually snickered, one of his more equine traits. ‘I am honoured indeed. This is a day of days. Did you just call me an equal?’

Artemis considered this. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Foaly. We are like-minded, how about that?’

Another snicker from Foaly. ‘That will do perfectly well, Artemis. By the way, where is this magnificent new moon? I didn’t think you were far enough out to detect undiscovered astronomical bodies.’

‘That’s the amazing thing,’ said Artemis with a scientist’s enthusiasm for his subject. ‘It’s right here, camouflaged by Luna’s field. Luna Minor, as I named it, is virtually skimming the surface and I imagine it will impact some time in the future, which could have an effect on our tides.’

‘Ah,’ said Foaly, ‘oh.’ Then, for good measure, he repeated it with a slight variation. ‘Ah, ah, oh.’

‘Ah, oh?’ said Artemis. ‘Either you are referencing the introduction to the song “I Can Talk” by Two Door Cinema Club or you have some information to share on the Luna Minor subject.’

‘As it happens, I do have some information on that subject,’ said Foaly, ‘but it can wait.’

Artemis’s shoulders tightened once more. ‘No, please share, Foaly. I insist.’

Foaly sighed into the microphone at his end. ‘We may have discovered that a few hundred years ago.’

‘Ah,’ said Artemis. ‘Oh.’ Then: ‘You wouldn’t be saying that to irritate me, I suppose?’

‘That is a fair question,’ admitted Foaly, ‘since I often do say things to irritate you, but no, on this occasion, it’s the truth. Actually, that moon is called the Nord Star.’

‘Do you mean the North Star? I think you’ll find that name is taken.’

‘I wish I meant the North Star,’ said Foaly with sincere regret. ‘It’s called Nord after Nord Diggums, Mulch’s cousin. He was on the science vessel we sent up there. Nord decided he would claim the rock for the dwarf families by using the recycling tank pressure hose to etch his own name on the surface of the little moon’s dark side, which is hidden in the moon’s dark side.’

Artemis was dismayed that any celestial object should be so disfigured. ‘You’re saying that the dwarf Nord Diggums peed his own name in space.’ And he wondered what were the odds that the subject of space toiletry should rear its head twice in such a short period.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ said Foaly. ‘Sorry to rain on your parade, so to speak.’

Artemis felt ill. Not only had he not discovered the mini-moon but its very surface had been sullied by a dwarf who would no doubt become Beckett’s best friend should they ever meet.

‘You are simply relaying information,’ he said weakly, ‘and I have a policy of not condemning and information courier for the contents of his info dump.’

‘Don’t shoot the messenger in other words,’ said Foaly.

‘Precisely,’ said Artemis and terminated the call without so much as a goodbye.

It was rude, he knew, but that could not be helped at the moment, for he was too upset to prolong a conversation that could only go downhill. He would call back later and apologise to the centaur.

Artemis free-floated on the bridge for several minutes, enveloped in the funk of his own disappointment, and then he had an idea.

There was still someone he could tell about Luna Minor without any fear of dismissal or argument.

Artemis flipped over and pulled himself along the handrail to the stasis chamber where Butler had taken refuge from his employer and friend. The bodyguard’s vitals were steady and his features calm.

‘Sorry, old friend,’ said Artemis, wiping condensation from the glass of Butler’s chamber. ‘Someone has to hear this news.’

Artemis clipped a carabiner to the stasis tube so that he would not float away during his lecture, and began:

‘Earlier today, I, Artemis Fowl the Second, was the first person… the first human to locate and classify the hidden moon which I have named Luna Minor. Preliminary scans reveal that the mantle of Luna Minor is largely composed of orthopyroxene and clinopyroxene. The crust, as you might expect, is mostly oxygen, silicon, magnesium, iron, calcium, and aluminium. But it’s in the trace elements where things get interesting. There is titanium, of course, along with potassium and hydrogen, but what’s this? Gold, old friend. Gold that may have bled through from the core. Imagine that, Butler. A moon with a heart of gold. You will pardon my flowery rhetoric, but if that is the case then it is possible that we have found a refuelling station for our solar panels and our scientific mission can be extended indefinitely.’

And, as he talked pure science, Artemis’s features relaxed, but inside the chamber, if a person looked very closely, it seemed, and perhaps this was simply an optical illusion caused by the curvature of the glass, as though Butler’s brow furrowed in a pained frown.