The Octopus Effect (24 page)

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Aleadra stared, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of Sirabetta's entire body rippling like a lake in a storm. “No!” Aleadra shouted. She leaned forward and held her hands out, speaking formula after formula. “Stop!” she gasped as the rippling continued.

It was no use; with a burst of white light and a puff of dusty-smelling air, Sirabetta's body snapped back to her thirteen-year-old self. She dropped down to her knees and wept into her palms, one of which was once again covered with a useless splotch of multicolored ink.

Aleadra placed a hand on the crying girl's shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“What happened? Why am I like this again?”

Aleadra exhaled wearily. “I'm not sure.”

“So what do we do now?” Sirabetta whined.

Aleadra sipped some water. “Now we rest a bit. Then we try again and we keep trying until we get it right.”

“Again? How much longer is this going to take?”

“Teenagers today—no patience,” Aleadra said with a cluck of her tongue.