The Octopus Effect (18 page)

“Really?” Owen asked. “Why would that make anyone nervous?”

“You absorb it?” Alysha asked with a shudder. “Yuck!”

Gilio smiled. “It will feel strange, but you should adapt quickly enough.”

Simon held his page by the edges and held his palm over the shapes and squiggles on it. Before he touched them, they resolved into the image of an octopus surrounded by words explaining one facet of the octopus: its flexibility.
Weird
, he thought.
I haven't made contact yet.
Simon's mind bubbled with the memory of the full octopus DNA he'd seen in the Book. He remembered the different curves and the links between the two coils of the DNA double helix and the traits they represented.

This is going to be cool
, he thought. But before he could place his palm on the image, he jerked his head around at the sound of Owen yelping.
Or
, Simon thought,
it could be another disaster!

“It itches,” Owen shouted. He was jumping around and rubbing at his skin.

“Try to relax,” Gilio said. “It's nothing you can scratch; it's your body adjusting. You're growing things called
chromatophores
under your skin; they're what let octopi alter their appearance for nearly perfect camouflage. Your muscles and nerves are changing to keep up with those chromatophores.”

Owen groaned and dropped to the ground, rubbing his hands all over his body. “It hurts!” As he spoke, his body shimmered; different parts of him disappeared, blending in perfectly with the dirt around him. The camouflaging came and went, first in a few isolated patches and then in a wave that swept along his body from head to toe, then back up from toe to head. Then, suddenly, he was gone—all that remained was dirt.

“That's better,” a voice said from the empty space.

Simon, Alysha, and Flangelo leaned forward, squinting to see better. “Is it just me,” Alysha asked, “or is the camouflage working really, really well?”

“There's more to it,” Owen said, reappearing right next to Alysha.

She jumped back with a shriek. “Don't
do
that!”

“Sorry, it's just so easy to turn on and off.” As he spoke, he disappeared, reappeared, and then made different parts of his body do the same. “Look, it even works on my clothing!” He paused. “Good thing—I'd hate to have to go around naked.”

“Yes, we'd all hate that,” Flangelo said.

Alysha went back to her page, placing her palm firmly on the image there.

“Check this out,” Owen said, reaching out to Flangelo. His touched Flangelo's arm, and it disappeared.

Flangelo gasped. “My arm!” He gasped even more loudly when his entire body vanished. “I can't see myself!”

Owen let go, and Flangelo returned. “I can share the chromatophores with anyone I touch!” Owen said. “But how come it didn't hurt him like it hurt me?”

“The Book lets you go far beyond what normal octopi can do,” Gilio said. “When you're touching someone else, you're not changing them. You're actually spreading a thin coating of your own chromatophores over them. It's the same way you can camouflage your clothing.”

“Ugh.” Flangelo moaned. “You mean I had some sort of hyperboy slime covering me?” He smacked at his arms and clothing. “Please do not do that again.”

Alysha, meanwhile, was clutching at her face. She wasn't screaming or complaining, but it was clear she was in pain from the way she cradled her nose.

“You okay?” Simon asked.

At last, Alysha pulled her hands away from her face. “No, I'm hideous!”

Simon, Owen, and Flangelo stared while Gilio chuckled quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Simon asked.

“My nose,” Alysha moaned. “I can feel it. It's all . . . disfigured. And horrible.”

“You look exactly the same,” Owen said.

“Your changes are internal,” Gilio said. “You don't look any different, but you can use your jet propulsion when you want. Think it; your body will do the rest.”

“Really?” Alysha asked, gingerly feeling around her nostrils. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face in concentration. A burst of air surged out of her nose, shooting down and hitting the ground. It sent her zooming up into the air, screaming.

She stopped rising twenty feet up, and then started to fall back to the ground. She quickly shot out another burst of air, but she'd since moved her head; the air jet now hurtled her backward. She tumbled in midair and probably wasn't sure which way was up; her next air burst sent her up at a sharp diagonal.

“Helllllllp!” she shrieked.

Owen used velocity to halt her flight and bring her down gently. When her feet touched the ground, she plopped to the dirt and sat there, gasping.

“Thanks,” she said, finally. “That's trickier than you'd think. I think I'll need some practicing time.” She rubbed her nose. “Ew. Sure cleans out the nostrils, too.”

Simon and his friends all laughed at this. Before Simon could return to his own page and touch the image there, he felt a shooting pain throughout his body. He groaned and sank to the ground, dropping the paper as he did. Every part of him was burning up . . . not with fire but with internal motion. It felt as if his insides were shifting around.

Gilio, Alysha, Owen, and Flangelo rushed over to him. Gilio held up his hands to hold the others back. “Give him room,” Gilio said. “His internal organs, bones—everything—are changing. He might go into spasms, but he needs to ride them out.”

Instead, Simon rolled into a ball and lay there, unmoving. The squirming, shifting sensation made him feel as if he were riding a boat on heavy waves, only the rocking and swaying was all going on inside. Then, abruptly, it was over.

Simon uncurled and stood up; he felt the difference immediately. Just rising off the ground felt weird. His muscles, joints, and bones seemed to be made of gummi candy—they were soft and twisty, yet still tough and solid somehow. His shoulders, neck, elbows, hips, and legs had a rubbery feel to them. Experimentally, he grabbed his left arm in his right hand and pulled it around his neck. He was able to bend it at an impossible angle and wrap it around several times.

“That's . . . gross,” Alysha said.

“Says the girl who shoots air through her nose,” Owen said.

Simon let go of his arm, and it returned to its normal shape, but slowly. It didn't snap back like a rubber band but instead slid back like one of those squishy stress balls. He bent over backward completely, so the back of his head was touching the back of his legs. He placed his palms flat on the ground and stood that way for a moment.

“You know,” he said, “this is probably the weirdest thing I've ever done.”

“And that's saying something,” Flangelo trilled. “Can you stop now, please? It's making me a little queasy.”

Simon returned to his normal stance. He tried walking and felt his arms swinging too much. Worse, his body sagged slightly with every step. He walked around a bit more, and everything normalized, though there was a light bounce to each step, as if the ground was a bit springy. But it wasn't—
he
was. “Much better,” he said.

“It's not something you need to activate,” Gilio said. “When you need that flexibility, you'll have it.”

“It's funny,” Simon said. “I didn't even touch what you wrote on my page!”

“What?” Gilio asked. “Are you sure?”

“I was too busy watching Owen and Alysha deal with their changes.”

“That can't be,” Gilio said. “It's a physical transfer; that's how it works. Wait, you
did
touch the whole octopus DNA helix in my Book.” He tapped a finger against the Book, deep in thought. “Hmm. Does your nose feel different? Or your skin? Like you can jet-propel or camouflage yourself, too?”

Simon shook his head. “Aside from this whole bendy thing, I feel fine.”

“It should be impossible for you to absorb the entire octopus DNA from that touch. Only I, as Biology Keeper, can. Perhaps you did touch the images on the page but didn't realize it, distracted as you were by your friends. Yes, that must be it.”

Simon tried not to stare as the Keeper fidgeted with his glasses, clearly bothered. Almost as if he were trying to convince himself of what he'd said to Simon. He didn't blame Gilio—all sorts of rules were breaking around him, some for better and some—like the oryx and Komodo attack—for worse. Was this what the Book had meant when it warned Simon about the end of things as he knew it? Why was it happening? Was there something—or someone—behind these changes? And if so, who?

Finally, Gilio glanced at his watch. “It's gotten late.”

Simon checked his own watch. “What time zone are we in?”

“We're off the coast of Argentina. It's the same time zone you came from, but farther south. And
very
far down.” He paused. “Perhaps you should get some rest now.”

“The longer we wait, the more chance Sirabetta has to get away,” Alysha said.

“Ralfagon and I examined Sirabetta shortly after you caught her,” Gilio said. “Simon's space-time formula scrambled her in a way neither of us knew how to undo. If reversing it is possible for anyone but you, it won't be easy or quick.”

Simon nodded. “Maybe we
should
have a meal, at least. With the day we've had and these new powers, we could use the recharge.”

They followed Gilio to the front entrance. Simon glanced back and noted how huge the domed area was. How long would it take to search so many different environments? Was their search hopeless? Would they be too late? Was it already?

He absently bent his wrist back in the wrong direction, marveling at how easy and painless it was.
I hope we're in time
, he thought.
And that we're ready for what happens next.
But he feared they wouldn't be. That it would be him, now the big leader, who would let them all down.

Gilio's house was basically like any other house. True, all houses have their differences—carpet color, type of furniture, whether they're made of straw or sticks or brick—but Gilio's didn't seem extraordinary.

Of course, it was atop a mountain located in a dome of hardened water under an ocean and was only reachable via a space-bending puddle hidden inside a huge hollow tree. But there's nothing like a kitchen with a space-saver microwave, an ice maker fridge, and a pedal-opening garbage pail to make you ignore the Octopus Garden just out the window and to the right.

Dinner was a rather mundane affair, too. Chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, mixed vegetables, orange juice. It was very tasty, though.

Flangelo didn't have any chicken. When Owen asked him why, he huffed. “I'm a vegetarian, and I especially wouldn't eat other birds . . . flightless or not.”

Owen looked down at the wing in his hands, shrugged, and resumed eating.

“Gilio, why aren't
you
a vegetarian or a vegan or something?” Alysha asked. “Aren't you friends with all the animals here?”

“I'm in charge of them all, but who said I was friends with them?” Gilio said. “There are a lot of rude chickens in the world. And what about vegetables? I assure you they're not thrilled about the variety of salad dressings.”

Simon froze with his carrot-laden fork. “You mean vegetables can think?”

“A few plants in the garden asked the same thing about you,” Gilio said with no hint of a smile. “Anything that's alive can think in a manner of speaking. They just might not do it in a way that makes sense to you. It's a shame that we need to eat to live, but the food chain is what it is, love it or not. Just be glad that humans are at the top.”