The Octopus Effect

by Michael Reisman

  “What is going on with you?” Alysha demanded. “Some kids in your second period English class said the teacher ’s chalk couldn’t leave a mark on the blackboard!”

  Owen nodded. “And at least three kids walking through the halls smacked into lockers as if they’d jumped, but they swore they were just walking normally!”

  “I didn’t know I was doing it,” Simon moaned. “I can’t stop thinking about maybe getting us kicked out of the Union. Or, almost as bad, staying on as boss and having all those Order members—no, the entire universe—relying on me!”

  “You’ve got to stop this before someone gets hurt,” Alysha said. “And if you keep making these mistakes, it might convince those Board jerks to kick you off!”

  “You know what you need to do?” Owen asked. “Talk to Ralfagon.”

  Alysha snorted. “What, for crazy lessons? I mean, he’s nice, but still . . .”

  “He found a way to be Keeper of Physics for a long time,” Owen said. “And if anyone can understand what Simon’s dealing with, it’s him.”

  “Okay, good call, Speedy,” Alysha said. “Simon, you should go after school.”

  Simon shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Alysha turned Simon’s head to follow a student running out of the cafeteria. He was chasing part of his lunch—a small bag of cookies—as it floated away. “You’ve got to try something!”

  Simon gestured, and the cookies fell to the ground with a crunch. “I guess it couldn’t hurt, right?”

  Alysha and Owen looked at each nervously, thinking the same thing at the same time: could it?

  CHAPTER 10

  WHEN TROUBLE CALLS . . .

  I’d like to say that the rest of that day passed by uneventfully, but that would be a lie. Simon Bloom did manage to get his formulas under control in his classes, but the Viewing Screen changed scenes to show me a bigger danger brewing.

  The image on my Screen was of a home in Lawnville. It was a tidy place, with the kind of neatness that shows the owner was far too concerned with straightening up and not enough with actually living there. It was clearly the residence of someone with a rigidly controlling, cruelly forceful type of mind. A torturer, maybe. A dictator, perhaps.

  A telephone rang. A middle-aged, unremarkable-looking man stepped into his living room and grabbed the phone in the middle of the first ring. His name was Willoughby Wanderby, Order of Physics member and grade school gym teacher.

  “Wanderby here,” he said into the phone. His voice was commanding, unyielding, and basically not much fun to listen to.

  “The time has arrived.” The voice was distorted, making it impossible for me to get a bead on it. Male, yes; adult, certainly; but other than that, it was indistinct.

  Wanderby seemed equally confused. “What are you saying? Who’s this?”

  “I don’t repeat myself. This is the call you’ve been waiting for. Your mission is about to reach its next stage. Your true duty is upon you.”

  Wanderby didn’t exactly have a pleasant complexion normally, but the words he heard turned him startlingly pale. “I . . . I understand.”

  “Of course you do,” said the voice. “Now be quiet, listen, and understand more.”

  Wanderby was silent; whoever he was speaking to got all the obedience he wanted.

  “It happens tonight. Don’t delay and don’t fail. Understand?”

  Wanderby nodded, then realized he was on the phone and had to say yes.

  Before he could say it aloud, the voice responded. “Excellent. You know where to go after that. An instruction packet will arrive for you with additional details. Guard it with your life, because that’s exactly what you’ll lose if anything happens to it.”

  Wanderby nodded again, chilled at the threat and the realization that he was being watched. He waited for further instructions or words; a dial tone alerted him that his caller had already hung up.

  Wanderby stomped away to another part of his house with an unnerving look of resolve on his face. “It’s time, Sir,” he whispered. “It’s finally time.”

  My Viewing Screen image faded away, leaving me shaken and confused. What was all that about?

  There were too many unknowns going on in this Chronicle. Too many possible dangers. First Loisana’s mysterious—maybe dangerous—conversation. Then the bear-man Grawley and his jungle-controlling friend, Kushwindro, who were definitely up to no good. After that, a secret back-and-forth communication between Board members Janathus and Madda . . . what could they be up to? And finally, Willoughby Wanderby and his secret phone call.

  What did it all mean for Simon, Owen, and Alysha? And for me?

  Trouble, no doubt.

  CHAPTER 11

  SOME DO FALL FAR FROM THE TREE . . .

  That day after school, while Willoughby Wanderby was making sinister plans, Simon went to Milnes University to see Ralfagon. He’d visited on a few Saturdays during the last five months, mostly to discuss his formulas or to spend quality time with the Book. This time, the Book was with him and was his . . . at least for now.

  Simon decided Milnes University, clear across town, was too far to walk to. With heavy clouds and fading daylight on his side, he took Owen’s and Alysha’s advice and used his gravity control to fly there. This time, Simon paid strict attention and didn’t have any run-ins with rogue balloons, so the trip only took minutes.

  He dropped down to the ground around the corner from the Department of Physics building, planning to walk through the main entrance. He marched to the double-glass doors and froze; there, coming right toward him, was his father!

  Five months before, Simon’s father had confided that he had a secret side project: examining the strange phenomena in and around Lawnville. To that end, Steven Bloom often met with Ralfagon Wintrofline—knowing him as ordinary Professor Ralph Winter—for help with his theories. (Little did Steven know that the phenomena were a result of the Order of Physics’s activities, especially those of Simon and his friends.)

  There was no mistaking Steven Bloom’s gray, frizzy hair; the belly pushing out at the misbuttoned short-sleeve, button-down shirt; or the squat frame. Fortunately, Steven rarely watched where he was going, including now. Simon had time to dash to the side of the building and gravity-leap to the top of the three-story roof.

  He peeked over the edge and watched his father head toward the parking lot. Simon scurried across the roof to the corner where Ralfagon’s third-floor office was. Seeing one of the windows was open, he increased the friction on his hands and knees and crawled off the roof. Between his extra friction and reduced weight, he easily climbed down the wall and swung himself into the office.

  “Nice landing,” a woman’s deep voice said.

  Simon whirled around in a panic but calmed quickly. “Eldonna!”

  Eldonna Pombina, the short, stout Order member who acted as Ralfagon’s university assistant, smiled warmly. “Ahem . . . you mean Donna, don’t you?”

  Simon nodded. When around Outsiders, Eldonna went by her non-Union name of Donna Pom. She was always there to greet Simon during his past visits; she usually had to wake Ralfagon up, too.

  “Good to see you, Simon. Close call with your father, though.”

  “How did you know?”

  Eldonna gestured to a computer monitor that showed images of the building’s outside. “Special formulas let us keep watch; they also help hide any Order activity from Outsiders.” She chuckled at Simon’s surprised look. “This way, no students or faculty notice when ‘Professor Winter’ accidentally rearranges a watercooler’s molecules into a massage chair.” She laughed. “True story.”

  “Ah, but who got to take that chair home?” Ralfagon limped in, dressed as always in his faded tan overcoat.

  The Book of Physics slipped out of Simon’s backpack and floated in front of him. It flashed blue at Ralfagon, who smiled and nodded. “Hello, old friend. And welcome, Simon. Eldonna, we’ll be in my office.”

  Simon was expecting to find Ralfagon�
��s office messy. The man often used formulas of motion to rearrange things without noticing, making Simon’s mistakes that day seem downright harmless. Today, however, the office was almost neat. Ralfagon noticed Simon looking around in wonder. “It took a great deal of concentration, but I couldn’t have things floating around with your father here.”

  “That’s what I’m here about,” Simon said. He explained his troubles from the day. “How do I control it?”

  “There’s a quick answer and a long one,” Ralfagon said. “The quick one is, you just do. The long one . . . is long.”

  Simon stared. “Um, okay. I’ve got some time.”

  Ralfagon shrugged. “Excellent. I’ve been looking forward to this . . . especially in light of your new position. Which makes you uncomfortable.”

  Simon paused, unsure if he should say it. Finally, “Yes! Can’t you change your mind? Maybe if we go to the Board together and convince them that we can work together, they’ll let us be co-Keepers. You can take charge again, but my friends and I can stay in the Order, too!”

  Ralfagon shook his head. “I doubt that’s an option. Besides, Janathus—though a soulless bureaucrat—may be right. I may be getting old and sloppy.” He gestured as he said this, and Simon had to duck as a chair drifted past. “See?”

  “But won’t you miss it? Being Keeper? The formulas? The Book?”

  “I should be fine. Former Keepers usually enjoy a quiet retirement, keeping a few formulas so they can join in Order affairs from time to time. Will I miss my bond with the Book? Yes, very much. But I’ll feel better about it with such a worthy successor.”

  “Me? How am I worthy?”

  Ralfagon sighed. “Simon, you may not believe it, but I know you’re ready for this. Age doesn’t matter; all that matters is who you are and what you’re capable of. And you are capable of wonderful things. You saved my life, you stopped terrible villains, you brought your friends such power and joy.”

  “The Book did it all,” Simon protested. “It found me, it gave me the formulas . . . I’ve been lucky, that’s all.”

  “Oh, really?” Ralfagon said with a chuckle. “The Book and I have had many discussions about you, and neither of us came to that conclusion.” He gave Simon a long look. “You’re losing control of gravity and friction because they’ve become a part of you. When you don’t keep your mind under control, as I’ve stopped doing so well, they can slip out. But the real secret to using Union abilities is that your only boundaries are your intellect and your imagination. And you, my boy, are lacking neither.”

  “What do you mean? There’s so much I can’t do. I can’t even use space-time; I’m terrified of it. It turned Sirabetta into a thirteen-year-old; if I use it wrong, it could do a lot worse to me or my friends or my family.”

  “Simon, do you trust the Book? Completely?”

  “Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

  “Then trust in yourself, especially with space-time. I never used it because the Book warned me against it. Yet the Book wanted you to have it. And using that formula saved you and your friends. And the whole universe.”

  Simon remembered how hard that battle had been; he couldn’t deny that he was a little proud of having pulled it off. “I guess.”

  “Well, I know.” Ralfagon tapped his fingers on his desk. “Hmm, let’s try something—if you’ll forgive a little Newton humor.” He waved his hand, and in a flash of light, a bright red apple appeared in the air a few feet above Simon’s head.

  Simon mentally triggered his gravity formula to gently push and pull the apple in all directions at once—stopping it in midair—and then lower it to the desk.

  “Good,” Ralfagon said. “Now, I have no idea what you did with space-time to defeat Sirabetta,” Ralfagon said. “But there are higher laws than I know. Laws that only the Books know, and they only tell us what they choose. So let’s experiment; try doing to the apple what you did to Sirabetta.”

  Simon frowned. “But you’re eating it.”

  Ralfagon looked down; sure enough, he’d absently picked up the apple and taken a bite. “Oops, sorry,” he said, a bit of juice dribbling down his chin. “I skipped lunch.”

  Ralfagon put the apple down, wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, and nodded to Simon. “Now, focus on the apple, and let’s see what happens.”

  Simon stared at it intently and concentrated as he spoke the formula. The apple vibrated, rippled, and in an instant, was whole again.

  Ralfagon leaned forward to examine it. “Amazing! Not only did you restore the bite, but the taste of apple is gone from my mouth!” He looked down at his sleeve. It had been damp from him wiping his mouth, but now it was dry. “I remember eating it, I remember how it tasted; you didn’t affect my memory of it. Yet you undid the result of my actions.” He checked the clock on the wall. “And you didn’t affect the rest of the time-flow; it’s a localized time-reverse! Now, try making the apple older.”

  Simon closed his eyes and envisioned what he wanted to do. He repeated the formula and opened his eyes. The apple was still there, with no bite taken out and no apparent change. “See? I told you I’m no good at this.”

  Ralfagon leaned forward, eyes wide. “Don’t be so sure. Look!” He pointed to a spot on the desk several inches away from the apple. There, almost invisible against the beech-colored wood surface, was a tiny puddle of applesauce.

  Simon stared in awe. “I did that?”

  Ralfagon nodded. “I think you summoned a future version of the apple. Although I don’t understand why it would become applesauce . . . I was planning on eating the rest of the apple after you left.” He waved his hand. “I’m sure there’s some significance to it. In any event, you’ve done well. Very well.”

  “But what good is that? To not even know what I did?”

  “Simon, all you need is to be patient. And to practice. And to maintain concentration. And to be careful.” He paused. “Maybe I should write up a list.” He searched his desk for a pen.

  “Does it matter?” Simon asked. “I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed to use the formula after Sunday. Or if I’ll even be in the Union anymore. And if I am, I’m sure I’ll cause some disaster. If not with space-time, then with gravity or friction or another law.”

  Ralfagon shook his head. “The Book chose you for a reason. For your ability. Your strength. Your character.” He shrugged. “I think it really likes the sound of your name, too. Didn’t hurt, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “But I fear something bad is afoot in the Union. Something that will only get worse. And you, Simon Bloom, can put it right. Whether you believe it, whether you think you can, I know you will do it. The Book—your Book—knows it, too. Once you accept that, you will amaze everyone.”

  Ralfagon gestured, and the door to his office swung open. Eldonna was waiting outside. “Everything go okay, boys?”

  Ralfagon nodded, ignoring Simon’s frown and low-hanging head.

  Eldonna looked past them and saw the apple on the table. “Why, Professor Winter, you’ve got an apple. What a coincidence; I was thinking about making my special homemade applesauce. I’ll need a few dozen more apples, though; one apple would make barely any.”

  Simon and Ralfagon looked at each other and then back at the splotch of applesauce on the desk. That explained that.

  CHAPTER 12

  DIAL SIR FOR VILLAIN

  That Monday evening, Sara Beth Doe sat quietly in a corner of the Stoneridge Public Library. Simon Bloom would have been interested to know that she was relaxing through reading. She was deep into a book about a girl who defied her world’s rules, disguising herself as a man to become a knight of great skill and magical power.

  Sara Beth frowned as a shadow fell across her. She looked up and saw a man—average height, middle-aged, nothing special. But there was something about him . . .

  “Sara Beth,” the man said in a firm, almost commanding tone.

  “Do I know you?” He did seem familiar somehow.

  “Listen, th
ere’s nothing to worry about. I’m a teacher from an elementary school in Lawnville. I’ve come to help you. To save you,” he added in a hushed voice.

  That freaked her out. “Look, buddy, I’m no idiot,” she said. “Get out of here before I get a librarian to call the cops.”

  “Please, Sara Beth. I know who you are. Who you really are! I can tell you why you can’t remember anything . . . and I can even tell you about your tattoos.”

  Sara Beth glanced down at her covered arms and legs. Had this nut job been watching her? But what if he really did know something? What if he could help?

  “Fine, but get out of the way.” She gestured for him to move aside so she had a clear path to run. “And if you act creepy, I’m screaming. Loudly.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. But I want to help you, Sir.”

  “Did you call me ‘sir’?”

  “Sir. Sirabetta. That’s who you really are. Can’t you remember? Formerly Sara Beth Daly, you were a member of the Order of Psychology. You should have been Keeper. You tried to serve the greater good and were punished for it.”

  Sara Beth stared at him. What was this crazy person saying? “That’s it—get out of here.” But her voice had no conviction; something was nagging at her.

  The man made no move to leave. “The Union couldn’t keep you down; you had a way, some secret method of fighting off their memory wiping. A way to remember your true self. You gained tattoos of tremendous power.” He pointed to her arms and legs. “You found other people who wanted freedom from the strict rules and injustice in the Union. You were going to overthrow it, starting with Ralfagon Wintrofline.”

  “Ralph-a-gone?” she asked, numbly.

  “The Keeper of the Order of Physics. We put him in the hospital so you could take his Book, the Teacher’s Edition of Physics. That brat Simon Bloom got to it first.”

  Sara Beth shivered. That name. “Simon . . . Bloom?”

  “Yes! He and his friends stole the Book, took its powers, fought you, fought me, fought that idiot Mermon Veenie. They won. Somehow they defeated you, made you a child instead of your true age. Ruined your tattoos. But I’m here to set things right. Those fools in the Order of Physics never suspected where my loyalty truly lay. And your faithful followers are waiting for you to resume control. To lead us to glory. Now is the time, Sir. It’s time to restore your greatness!”