The Octopus Effect

by Michael Reisman

  Simon exhaled in relief, and Flangelo stared at him with an amazed expression. “What . . . what happened?” he chirped weakly.

  “Simon!” Owen shouted with relief. “You saved him!”

  “And you’re okay!” Alysha added.

  Simon might have looked okay, if rather soggy, but in truth he was far from it. His mind was reeling. The last few days’ events had already been fairly stressful physically, mentally, and emotionally. But the last five minutes took things a bit too far.

  “I think that’s enough for today,” Simon said. And then he passed out, dropping to the muddy ground with a plop.

  CHAPTER 30

  GREAT MILEAGE IN CITY OR DESERT

  Owen, Alysha, and Flangelo rushed to Simon’s side.

  Owen was closest; when he reached Simon, he knelt into the mud and did his best imitation of a TV-drama paramedic. He checked Simon’s pulse, listened to his breathing, and pried open his eyelids to check his pupils.

  “Well?” Flangelo asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “How should I know? I’m not a doctor,” Owen said. “But he’s alive.”

  Alysha knelt beside Simon, too. “Look, if you got smacked around by a giant mammoth, drowned in a lake, and then miraculously healed a sabertooth wound, you’d need a nap, too.”

  “Not healed—undid,” Flangelo said, pointing at his undamaged clothes. “Maybe that was too much for him, though.”

  “He’s got two Books on his side and a ton of power,” Alysha said. “There’s probably nothing that can stop him. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

  Flangelo frowned. “I hope you’re right. But if being in the Union has taught me anything, it’s that even the weakest can hurt you and the strongest can get hurt.”

  Owen looked around at the mammoths and sabertooths scattered across the smoldering ground. He noticed several pairs of eyes staring out from the tree line and remembered the many other types of megafauna they’d seen before. “Maybe we should go someplace safer to talk about this?”

  “Is there a place we can hide out?” Alysha asked Flangelo.

  “Normally I’d say there were plenty, but I don’t know what might attack us.”

  “What about those huts we passed over in the desert?” Owen asked.

  Flangelo nodded. “It’s worth a try. Shame to backtrack, though.”

  “More of a shame to get eaten,” Alysha said. “Dealing with Sirabetta will have to wait until Simon recovers.”

  “You’re right. Follow me,” Flangelo said. He looked around. “And hurry.”

  “If we want speed, let’s just fly with Owen’s velocity,” Alysha said. “No offense, but he can move us much faster than you can go.”

  “Wow, lightning rod,” Flangelo warbled. “Did you just say ‘no offense’?”

  “What happened to ‘hurry’?” Owen asked.

  Owen and Alysha put on their backpacks and gave Simon’s to Flangelo to wear. The kids grabbed Simon’s arms and Flangelo put his hands on Owen’s shoulders; Owen used velocity to lift them, and his octopus camouflage kept them hidden. They soared into the air, keeping high above the ground to avoid any further danger or bad weather. They soon reached the border of the desert and landed outside one of the huts.

  “What’s the deal with these?” Alysha asked. “Can’t you make nicer homes?”

  “You’ll see,” Flangelo said, “so long as we can find one that’s empty.”

  Owen closed his eyes and concentrated on sensing velocity. He pointed to a hut. “That one. I can’t sense any movement inside; it’s either empty or everyone’s asleep.”

  “Wait here,” Flangelo chirped. He shifted to sparrow form and flew around the hut. He changed back to human form and entered. A few moments later he came out and waved to the kids.

  Moments later Alysha led the way while Owen used velocity to float Simon into the hut. It was, to put it mildly, quite nice. It was considerably larger on the inside; they’d walked into something the size of a small trailer made of mud and found they were in something the size of a spacious, well-decorated one-floor house.

  The temperature was perfect, but it took my link to my Chronicle subjects to fully appreciate this. To Flangelo, it was like the climate in a shady, slightly moist forest. To Alysha, a big fan of tennis, the air resembled the fading warmth of late afternoon on a sunny day. For Owen, happiest parked in front of his television, there was a slight chill to the air and a flat, still quality to the room that basically screamed naptime.

  In other words, rather than adjusting the room to the inhabitants’ needs, the hut was adjusting each inhabitant’s body to make them feel comfortable. Quite a neat trick.

  Flangelo walked up to a large window on the wall opposite the door. He tapped the side of a large black box beneath the window; the box unfolded like a flower’s petals. Something vaguely like a steering wheel formed, and Flangelo tapped the center. He touched his foot to a raised rectangle on the floor, and the entire hut jerked forward.

  After that initial sense of movement, there was no indication that they were going anywhere. Only the window-view of barren ground and windswept dunes whipping by made it clear that they were crossing the desert.

  Flangelo talked to the kids over his shoulder as he drove the hut. “There are things like these in a few other biomes, too; they’re all very cozy inside. Some Order members live in the midst of nature, some have real houses like Gilio’s. Almost nobody lives in these cruisers; they’re mainly for comfortable travel.”

  “And Biology formulas make them possible?” Alysha asked.

  “I’m sure Gilio got Ralfagon and some folks from the Craftsmen’s Guild to change the space inside of them and make them move around.”

  “Why do you need these when you have the water-teleport things?” Owen asked.

  Flangelo looked away from the window, and for a moment, the hut veered wildly to the side. He quickly turned his gaze back to the window and spoke over his shoulder. “The pools go between biomes, not within them. Places like the forests or mountains don’t have these cruisers; they can’t exactly fit between trees or boulders. But for the tundra, the polar region, the grasslands, and especially the desert, they’re essential.”

  A few minutes later, Flangelo parked the cruiser-hut behind a large sand dune; he tapped the center of the steering wheel-thing and turned away from the window.

  “We should be safe here. There aren’t many animals that would or could look for us here. I’d like to see a mammoth try to cross the desert.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Owen said.

  “We’ll keep an eye on the view-port, just to be sure,” Flangelo said.

  They helped Simon drink some water, and he opened his eyes. “What happened?”

  “You passed out,” Alysha said. “Right after you did something incredible.”

  Simon smiled. “That space-time formula’s not bad, huh?”

  “Very not bad,” Flangelo said. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “And thanks for saving ours,” Alysha said to Flangelo. “If you hadn’t stepped in front of that sabertooth . . .”

  “Okay, okay,” Flangelo said. “Let’s not get gushy.”

  “Looks like you got the plasma working,” Simon said to Alysha.

  She smiled and nodded. “I’m not in a hurry to try it again, but yeah. I guess we all kinda kicked butt.”

  “How did you do that whole not-drowning thing?” Owen asked.

  “That sort of happened underwater,” Simon said. “I might have a few more tricks,” he said, thinking of how he threw that last sabertooth. “If I can figure them out.”

  Simon looked away for a moment, his mind abuzz. He did have a lot to figure out about the changes he was going through, but he knew one thing: he was doing okay. Better than okay—he was getting stronger and more capable. Was that enough?

  “Hey, Flangelo, we still haven’t seen this tough new formula you were bragging about,” Alysha said. “But you did nice work distracting
those things, at least.”

  “You’ll see me in action the next time we’re in trouble, I swear,” Flangelo said.

  Simon turned his attention to the part of his mind that could sense space-time. By concentrating he felt that distinctive Sirabetta signal; he was almost positive she hadn’t been restored to her normal age. Yet. “I think you’ll have a chance to prove that,” he said to Flangelo. “We all should eat and rest up; our formulas won’t be much use if we’re exhausted.” He thought about Sirabetta and whatever other surprises were waiting for them. “And we’re going to need our strength tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 31

  A CALL TO ARMS

  Once they’d eaten, Alysha, Owen, and Flangelo went to the hut’s sleeping quarters. But Simon lingered in the kitchen and pondered how different throwing that sabertooth had felt compared to his normal use of gravity. He squinted in the dim light and noticed a half-eaten snack bar twenty feet away. He thought about reaching for it but was careful not to activate his gravity formula.

  “Whoa!” he whispered to himself. The snack rose up in the air and floated toward him, exactly as if he were using an invisible arm to pick it up. A very long invisible arm.

  Simon looked around the room at other items, like his sneakers, his backpack, some discarded napkins. He closed his eyes, folded his arms, and thought about picking up the items. His arms never moved, but he had the sensation of grabbing four of them. When he opened his eyes, he saw those items move through the air to him.

  The strangest thing was that Simon felt as if he’d picked them up, even though his arms were still folded. When he closed his eyes again, he could imagine—almost sense—four more arms. Simon opened his eyes and, with a thought, made the items he’d grabbed float to wherever he willed them. He could feel disruptions in normal gravitation; the objects’ movements were connected to his gravity formula. But how?

  Book, he thought, using his mental connection to the Teacher’s Edition of Physics. Do you know what’s going on?

  The Book took its time. Simon imagined it stroking its chin or rubbing its forehead while debating what to do; the image was limited by the Book’s lack of chin, forehead, or fingers to stroke or rub.

  Finally, the Book responded. Why didn’t you drown?

  Because I grew gills, Simon thought back.

  And how did you do that?

  Simon was much too tired to deal with puzzles. I don’t know. When the Book didn’t respond, Simon gave it some real consideration. Because of the octopus DNA? Maybe when I touched it, I somehow absorbed it all?

  The Book didn’t move, but Simon felt the mental equivalent of a nod. And what else do octopi have besides gills?

  They can do what Alysha and Owen can, they’re flexible, they can spew ink. Eww, can I do that? There was no answer. Fine, what else? They can lose a limb and grow it back, they . . . He paused and whispered aloud, “They have eight arms.”

  If there was a way for the Book of Physics to think a smile at him, it surely was.

  But I don’t have eight arms. He waved his two arms around. Just these. Trust me, I’d notice more. And he really, really hoped he wouldn’t grow them. That would be not only gross, but he’d also have to get custom-made shirts!

  After a pause, the Book sent a quiet thought. Must all arms be flesh and bone?

  Simon stared blankly for a moment, then closed his eyes again. There they were again—four arms he couldn’t see or even feel. But he knew they were there.

  See, the octopus DNA had changed parts of Simon’s body, but it had also changed the way his mind worked. He could now think like an octopus. That didn’t mean he’d start daydreaming about seafood and avoiding fisherman’s nets but, rather, that he could apply his attention the same way octopi could.

  Simon, being human, only had two arms and two legs, but he also had control of great forces. Without even realizing it, he used one of those forces to fill in for the four arms that were missing from his octopus-self. So while his flesh and blood arms and legs were just flesh and blood, his extra four arms were extensions of pure gravity.

  Simon opened his eyes again and, at last, saw the new limbs. He held them in front of his face and twisted them around, examining them from every angle. They were nothing like his human arms: they looked just like octopus arms, except they were entirely made up of distortions in the gravitational field around him. He found he could use them as solid arms to pick things up or wrap around things to squeeze. This led to a big mess with a juice box. He also found he could use them as hollow tubes of gravitational pull that sucked things in through the walls of the tube (which worked well to clean up the spilled juice).

  I don’t know if I should be thrilled or freaked out, Simon thought to the Book. They moved like octopus arms, coiling and uncoiling restlessly unless he focused on them. That was another thing about octopi—each arm has its own mini-brain that lets it act independently. So Simon only had to think about moving an item in the room, and one of the gravity arms would launch into action. With effort Simon could make them stay still, but he preferred letting them coil and uncoil. It was an amazing sensation, like discovering a color he’d never noticed or a great new part of a book hidden between two familiar chapters.

  Definitely thrilled, he decided. This was it! These arms could give his friends and him the edge they’d need if they ran into more danger. And he was quite sure they would. Once again, he thought of the Book’s warning: the end of things as he knew it.

  Book, Simon thought to it. Can you tell me anything more about that? There was no response. That was okay—Simon would just practice more with his new power.

  “Whoever’s moving stuff around—knock it off,” a grumpy voice warbled.

  Simon sighed. Or he could get some sleep now.

  CHAPTER 32

  GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO

  Miles away in the cavern beneath the jungle, Aleadra and Sirabetta had not budged from that small chamber in the back. Aleadra sat cross-legged facing Sirabetta, who was stretched out on the mattress. Their eyes were closed, their jaws were tight, and their faces were beaded with sweat. The air was stale and the mood was tense, as if they were in the middle of a big exam and had forgotten to study. Or bring pencils.

  Aleadra’s eyes snapped open, and she stared off into the distance. “They’ve won another victory,” she said with a grunt.

  Sirabetta kept her eyes closed. “Who?”

  “Your enemies. Those children. They defeated some beasts I sent after them.”

  “Are you sure about that? You’re not Keeper anymore,” Sirabetta said. “You might be mistaken.”

  “I’m positive. You’re not the only one who has powers she shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, then good,” Sirabetta said, opening her eyes at last. “I want to take care of Simon Bloom myself. I want to see the look in his eyes when he falls!”

  “My, my, aren’t you the bloodthirsty one,” Aleadra said. I couldn’t tell whether she was saying this with concern or pride. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your chance soon—they’re headed this way.”

  “Perfect,” Sirabetta said. “As long as we’re ready for them.” She hesitated; when she next spoke, it was as a nervous teen. “We’ll be ready, right? This’ll fix me?”

  “I’ve been preparing for this ever since you were changed,” Aleadra said. “Of all the Biology abilities I’ve regained, my best are those dealing with the physical form.” Her voice softened. “I’m here to make you better. And I’m almost done.”

  “I don’t feel any different,” Sirabetta said.

  “It’s as if I’ve spent this whole time finding the right key and learning how to fit it in the lock,” Aleadra said, her voice wavering with fatigue. “Now I need only turn it.”

  She closed her eyes and held her hands, palms down, over Sirabetta’s head and heart. She spoke a long chain of words, presumably several Biology commands. Sirabetta’s body glowed bright green, shimmered, and then shook.

  Sirabetta let
out a whimper as her entire body changed. “It hurts,” she cried. “Why does it hurt so much?”

  “Let me describe what I’m doing to you,” Aleadra said, keeping her tone soothing. “I’m aging you twenty years, which means shedding your dead cells and adding new ones as your body matures. I’m making your muscles, your organs, your internal systems, everything—even those tear ducts you’re using right now—develop, and I’m making sure they work properly. At the same time”—Aleadra paused, breathing heavily—“my formulas are giving you the nourishment you need.” She exhaled slowly. “It’s not as easy to do as it sounds, so try not to disrupt the process.”

  “Okay,” whispered Sirabetta. “But please, do a good job.”

  “I always do,” Aleadra whispered back. Sweat was pouring from her forehead. Minutes passed until, finally, she sank down, collapsing onto the edge of Sirabetta’s mattress. “Finished,” she murmured.

  Sirabetta unclenched her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you have!” She stood up and looked at her hands, her arms, her legs, her torso: all were as they should be for a thirty-three-year-old woman. The blotches of color on her skin had been replaced, too, with dozens of tattoos properly spaced along her arms and legs. “Beautiful!” Sirabetta shouted, triumphant. “You’ve done it!”

  Aleadra looked up and smiled. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you so much,” Sirabetta whispered. “You didn’t let me down this time.”

  She rubbed at the tattoos, each one tingling at her passing touch. She winced; with their return came the pain they brought. Because they were not imprinted as formulas should be for Union members, they constantly struggled against her control.

  Sirabetta activated a painkiller tattoo, one of her many Biology powers, and sighed at the relief it brought. “Now,” she said, “I’m ready to crush my enemies.”

  Suddenly, Sirabetta lurched forward. She clutched her stomach, and her face twisted into a grimace, but the only sound she could make was a pained moan.