They arrived in minutes. Kender cleared away the vegetation at the entrance to the cavern, and they hurried to the sloping passage. Simon used friction to make the tunnel ultraslippery so they could move quickly. Kender and Cassaro fell a few times, but Targa was a natural.
They left the villains in the cavern and hurried back out to the jungle. Simon used his gravity-arms to yank on the rocky entrance. He strained for a few moments until, with a thunderous, dust-raising crash, the entrance collapsed. “I’ll clear that away when we get back,” he said.
“Hopefully my lungs will start working again by then,” Flangelo said, coughing.
“Okay, everyone form a circle and join hands,” Simon said. “Flangelo, stay human; it’ll be easier and faster.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Cassaro said.
“Sorry,” Simon said, “but they have a huge head start. From what Kender told us it doesn’t sound like they have any strong fliers, so maybe we can catch up . . . but only with speed.”
The seven of them linked hands, and Simon made them all weightless. “Ready, Owen?” he asked. Owen nodded, and Simon took a deep breath. “Brace yourselves.”
Simon used his gravity-arms to force the trees apart and tear through the leaves, branches, and vines of the jungle canopy. “Owen, now!”
Owen lifted them as a group, launching them straight up through the gaping hole in the rain forest Simon had made. In less than a minute they’d soared past the enormous trees and were above the entire jungle ecosystem.
“That way,” Simon said, pointing with one leg to direct Owen.
They streaked through the air, moving as quickly as they could while still being able to breathe. Their hair blew back, their clothes ruffled from the wind, and their cheeks started to push back from the pressure, but Owen didn’t let up.
The jungle whizzed by beneath them and the dome zoomed past above them. Targa, Kender, and Cassaro gazed up in awe; I could tell they’d never been so close to the top. An entire ocean held a few feet beyond their heads was an impressive sight.
The landscape below changed from jungle to low grasslands and, very quickly, to sand. “There!” Simon shouted, and Owen sent them soaring down to where the dome touched the beach.
It was a dizzying landing for Kender, Targa, and Cassaro, who weren’t used to this type of flight; Targa and Cassaro bumped into each other and almost fell over, while Kender leaned forward with his hands on his knees for a moment until he adjusted.
“Can you still feel her?” Alysha yelled.
“Yes,” Simon said. Then, “Oh no!” He ran to the edge of the dome and planted his hands against its curvature. “There they are!”
In the distance the black shape of a manta ray moved swiftly through the water. It was already far away, though; within seconds it was beyond the bioluminescent kelp around the dome. Past that boundary there was only the impenetrable blackness of the deep, dark ocean. The fleeing enemy was quickly gone from sight.
Simon could feel the space-time tug from Sirabetta dwindling, too. He turned to the Biology members. “How can we go after them? How can we go outside?”
“Kid,” Targa said, “that’s the ocean out there! Can you spell drown?”
Simon waved his hands. “I’ll be fine—I can breathe underwater!”
“Doesn’t matter; there’s nothing we can do,” Flangelo said with a low, sad whistle. “There isn’t an active transport point nearby; there’s no way in or out of the dome here. Besides, what about them?”
Flangelo pointed at the coral reef ringing the dome. As if injured, a small variety of marine life was drifting along at odd angles above the reef. There was a moray eel, a large stingray, a small shark, and a few other fish. Simon recognized one as Phineas.
“Oh no,” Owen said. “Are they okay?”
Targa squinted. “They’re breathing; I can see their sides moving.”
Phineas wiggled in the water and started to swim, though with a slight tilt—the aquatic version of a limp. He came next to the dome.
Simon put his ear to the wall of water and heard Phineas talking: the same formulas that let him talk through a vesicle clearly worked through the dome.
“I am sorry, friends. I was on my way to guard duty when they made their illegal breach. I gathered as many helpers as I could from the area”—he gestured with his spines to the sea life around him—“but we weren’t enough.”
“You tried your best, Phineas,” Simon said. “We’ll tell Gilio.”
“Many thanks,” the lionfish said. “And if you should cross fins with these villains, I only ask that you thrash them for me.”
Simon nodded. “Gladly.” The other fish and sea creatures started to stir as Simon turned away from Phineas; the brave guards were recovering. Still, Simon’s face fell—their enemies had gotten away and he had no idea where they were going. What could they do now?
WHAT THEY DID THEN
I watched as Simon used the Book to contact Gilio and ask him to meet the group back at the cavern. I could sense everyone’s tension as Simon and Owen cleared the cavern entrance; they figured the rogue Biology members might be looking for more trouble. They needn’t have worried. Most were still unconscious (or, as with Jaynu and Branto, sound asleep), and the others were eager to surrender.
When Simon collapsed the tunnel, he’d disrupted the cavern’s artifical lighting and climate control. Without that climate control, the place was as cold as you’d expect something to be at the bottom of the ocean—that is to say, quite. The few traitors that were awake and alert enough to be a possible danger were too busy huddling around the semiconscious Grawley—in battered and exhausted bear form—for warmth.
Alysha lit the place with an arc of electricity, and Simon had no trouble wrapping the collected villains in the firm grip of a gravitational field. It was almost ridiculously easy to transfer them to a special holding cell Gilio had arranged to keep them asleep until the Board of Administration was ready to deal with them.
Gilio had Simon, Alysha, and Owen over for a hearty meal and good night’s sleep; their traveling, battling, and chasing had made for an exhausting day. He told Flangelo, Kender, Targa, and Cassaro to join him the next morning for breakfast. Flangelo quietly chirped something about hoping there were no eggs there, but Gilio ignored him.
This left me with some downtime, and I wondered what to do. What could I do? How many times would I have to ask myself that? My job, I was realizing, was an exercise in admitting my own helplessness.
This never bothered me before when chronicling Simon Bloom’s life; in fact, there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing I had no responsibilities besides watching.
But now . . . now I wanted to be a part of it all. To do something useful. Or, at the very least, to understand more about what was going on. Frankly, it was embarrassing to be almost as clueless as those I watched.
As if in response to my wishes, my Viewing Screen changed scenes. Something was happening. Something important. To celebrate the occasion, I popped two pieces of different flavored gum in my mouth. I took a moment to appreciate why no company had ever marketed peppermint-banana gum, paused to spit out the poorly chosen combo, and watched the new scene take form.
CHAPTER 39
ANOTHER INK COMING
The image shifted to a place I could barely see, which was odd; the Screen had gizmos to counter lighting problems. It should even let me see infrared, ultraviolet, and other wavelengths of light not in the visible spectrum.
Now, though, I could make out a large room with heavy shadows. Several people walked into the room, but the darkness persisted; I could only see shapes.
“Let’s get this over with, LaCurru,” said a familiar, gruff thirteen-year-old girl.
The lights went on, revealing many devices with dials and wires; rubber tubes; glass vials and beakers with colorful liquids; and metal: tables, stools . . . even chains. It was a place decorated with style in mind, assuming that style was “Mad Scientist’s Lab.
”
Sirabetta, Aleadra, and two men entered. One man was average height and average weight with no hair on his head. Not only was he bald . . . but he also had no eyebrows or eyelashes. His skin was so white that most Narrators would call it alabaster or porcelain.
That wasn’t enough for my descriptive tastes; I’d say he was a full moon made flesh. Polished ivory crossbred with an albino rat fed a strict diet of white paint. Just to underline my point, I’ll add some adverbs: the man was luminously, gleamingly, blindingly pale. His eyes, by the way, were chestnut brown.
There was a gleam in those brown eyes that made the man seem a bit off. Unstable, in an active volcano sort of way. That barely maintained sanity, coupled with the assorted lab devices around the room, led me to believe he really was a mad scientist.
That, and the white lab coat he wore. Always a dead giveaway.
The other man stayed by the doorway, cloaked in shadow. Usually not the sign of a warm and sunny personality. I could tell he was tall, thin, and not afraid of the dark.
The mad scientist—LaCurru—gestured to a cushioned table, like in a doctor’s examination room. He used a sheet of tissue paper from a thick roll to cover it.
Sirabetta climbed up, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts. It took me a moment to realize what was strange about that sight. Then it hit me—I was seeing bare skin. Her tattoos were gone!
“Removing the old tattoos was simple for someone of my talent and knowledge,” LaCurru said. “My esteemed Keeper Lombaro couldn’t have done it,” he muttered, “yet my special solvent made short work of them.” He frowned. “Putting new ones on will be challenging, even for me. It’ll be a long night, Sir; brace yourself for more pain.”
“We’ve done this before,” Sirabetta said. “It’s a pain I know well. Just make sure you do it right. Aleadra, be ready to do your part: make sure they adhere to my skin and attach to my nervous system properly. And make the changes we talked about.”
The ageless woman nodded. “I’ve done it before, too. Remember, we both have special gifts from him.” She gestured to the figure still standing in shadow. “But can your thirteen-year-old form handle the strain? With the changes you want, these are going to hurt a lot more than before. Especially when you use them.”
Sirabetta clenched her teeth. “Oh, I’ll handle it. I have even more reason to bear the suffering than I did before. And remember,” Sirabetta said to LaCurru, “arrange them the way I said.”
“Maybe we don’t have to do this. Are you sure our forces failed?” Aleadra asked.
“I’ve gotten word from Willoughby Wanderby,” the thin, tall man said from the shadows in a cold and emotionless voice. “The others were captured, but he escaped.”
“I knew before Wanderby called in,” Sirabetta said. She noted LaCurru’s puzzled look. “An ability left over from my days in the Order of Psychology.”
“That sounds useful,” LaCurru said. “How does it work?”
“I can displace my consciousness,” Sirabetta answered. “Send part of my awareness somewhere else. It came in handy both times the Union wiped my memories, though I needed help bringing them back. It also lets me sense what’s happening beyond where my physical form is. That’s really hard to do, though, and it doesn’t always work. But it was enough to let me watch part of the brats’ battle with our forces.”
“You always were a marvel,” the hidden man said. Once again his voice was flat, but there might have been a hint of something . . . pride, perhaps? “But surely Bloom and his friends will guess you’d go to Chemistry? It’s the rational next step.”
“Not everyone is as rigidly logical as you,” Sirabetta said. “And the captured Biology members didn’t know the plan. Now, have you brought what I need?”
The thin man nodded and handed several sheets of paper to LaCurru. The mad scientist took them gingerly . . . even fearfully . . . though it wasn’t clear if he was afraid of the papers or the man handing them over. Or both.
“Is that all you need from me?” the shadowy man asked.
LaCurru nodded. “Yes, thank you. I wouldn’t have needed to bother you at all, but the old papers disintegrated after I tattooed her last time.”
“As it must be,” the other man responded emotionlessly. “These are only meant to be used as backups for the Books. There are many in my organization who wouldn’t approve of our using these papers for this purpose. If they were even to discover I’d taken them, it would be a disaster. At least before we’re ready.”
LaCurru nodded. “I was wondering about the other Board—”
“Never refer to them aloud,” the shadowy man said, his voice extra cold.
“Of course not!” LaCurru said quickly. “My apologies.”
“It is unwise to mention them—it might draw their attention.” While the man’s voice had been emotionless before, it somehow became even more so, like something lifeless managing to die twice over. “It is bad enough that I had to return here. See to it that I never have to again.”
“Enough chatting, gentleman,” Sirabetta said, irritation plain in her voice. “I have some suffering to do . . . before I can share it with others.”
LaCurru gulped and held up one of the pages he’d gotten from the hidden man. “We’ll start with this one,” he said. With his other hand he picked up what resembled a yellow, thick-handled pen with a sharp, yellow, glowing point. He touched the point of the pen onto the surface of the paper, and the tip became multicolored.
“Sir, please give me your palm,” LaCurru said.
Sirabetta closed her eyes, and Aleadra put her hands on her shoulders, ready to aid the process. The pen was about to touch Sirabetta’s palm when she clenched it into a fist.
“Wait—I’m sensing something!” Sirabetta said. She opened her eyes. “It’s Bloom’s Narrator—he’s watching us!”
“Are you certain?” the thin man asked from the shadows.
Sirabetta nodded. “I started to detach my awareness to help deal with the pain the tattooing would bring. I felt his presence; he’s narrating all this.”
“I don’t have a shielding device, has he seen me?” the shadowy man asked.
“I don’t know,” Sirabetta said. “LaCurru designed this lab to be able to block out spies; it should at least limit the Historical Society. But you’d better go, to be safe.”
The man backed into the doorway and pulled out what looked like an ordinary clipboard. He tapped it a few times with a thin, black stick. “Very well. You have all the tools you need for your mission, Sirabetta. Do not fail again.” He tapped the clipboard again and disappeared in a flash of multicolored light.
“I don’t trust him,” Aleadra said.
“You should’ve thought of that thirty-three years ago,” Sirabetta said.
“Nobody likes a smart aleck,” Aleadra said.
“I don’t trust him either, but he’s serving our purpose. When we’re done, will it matter?” Sirabetta angled her head so she was looking right at me, and then she glared. “But first, our observer has gotten too much information as it is; I’ll have him taken care of soon. For now, block him out, LaCurru, and then get back to work on my tattoos.”
LaCurru reached for a switch on the wall. “Yes, Sir,” he said. Then he flipped the switch, and I was left staring at the blank Viewing Screen.
Sirabetta had two more allies, and she was about to get her tattoos back! Plus she could sense me, and one of her allies had a way to block my narrating abilities!
I was shaking. From confusion? From worry? From fear? All of them, I realized. And, of course, the usual helplessness.
“Not this time,” I whispered to myself. I had an idea—a way that might save Simon and his friends. And, as so often was the case, salvation rested with pizza.
CHAPTER 40
DEFINITELY NOT THIRTY MINUTES OR LESS
It was Friday morning; Simon and his friends were at Gilio’s, chatting over the remains of breakfast.
Kender,
no longer in his exoskeleton, looked sheepishly at his Keeper. “Sorry to say, Gilio, but there were plenty of rumors of dissent in the Order.”
“I’ve been a fool,” Gilio said with a shake of his head. “I’ve long suspected this but did nothing. Clearly I’ve isolated myself too much from my people.”
“Most of the traitors were new members,” Targa said. “Maybe because they hadn’t fully established loyalties to you yet?”
“Makes sense,” Flangelo said. “New members usually only have one Biology ability and could be greedy for more.”
“Doesn’t explain Preto, though,” Gilio grumbled. “He’s been a member since before I was Keeper. I even taught him that silly half-man, half-manta form.”
“How did you infiltrate the traitors?” Flangelo asked Kender, Targa, and Cassaro.
“It was easy once we found out kids were in the dome,” Targa said.
“There are lots of toadstools in the grasslands they walked through,” Cassaro said. He noticed the kids’ perplexed looks. “Oh, I’m able to sense things through fungi.”
“Right, so we knew you were here and exactly where you were,” Targa said.
“And none of the Order members has their kids living in the domain,” Kender added. He nodded to Simon, Alysha, and Owen. “Union rules: no parents can tell their children about their secret until they’re of age and have passed certain Union tests.”
“That’s a stupid rule,” Alysha said.
“Yeah,” Owen said. “Just because we’re not allowed to drive or do fancy grown-up stuff doesn’t mean kids can’t do a lot of other things!”
“Indeed,” Gilio said. “A pity your talents don’t include grammar or syntax.”
“So we still don’t know who controlled the mammoths and oryx?” Simon asked.
“As I said before, nobody in my Order should be able to,” Gilio said.
“A lady sent different insects after us, and there was that gibbon guy,” Owen said.
“Demara’s communication ability only lets her control insects,” Gilio said. “And Najolo can command gibbons because he can transform into an alpha of their species. A leader. It’s the same with Flangelo; when you last fought Sirabetta, he was able to command sparrows in Dunkerhook Woods because he took the role as alpha of their flock. If he found a flock of emu, he’d be able to do the same.”
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