The Octopus Effect (20 page)

“Word gets around among the discontent,” he answered.

“Fine. Let's see what you can do.” She turned to Preto and the three other Biology members standing nearby. “Preto, Kostaglos, Zillafer, Baharess . . . kill him.”

Preto reacted instantly; his body shimmered and shook. Wanderby stepped back, curious; what could a manta ray do in the middle of the cavern?

The answer came quickly. Where a muscular man once stood, there was now a part man, part manta ray. A man-ta ray, if you will. Most of Preto's front and his entire back were black, much like a manta ray's body. He had legs, arms, and a muscular torso, just as Preto's human form did. His facial features were recognizable, but his head was much wider, with no clear division between it and his neck. His mouth was manta ray-size, though the manta ray horns were gone now.

He still had those winglike fins, now extending down from the base of his neck like a cape and attached to the back of his arms. He also had the tail, which he used to lash out at Kender as if it were a whip.

Kender leaped back, narrowly avoiding the tail strike. He activated his own formula and, within seconds, was encased in his slate gray exoskeleton. He launched himself at Preto with startling speed and threw a punch—just one—that sent Preto hurtling back toward the cavern wall.

Preto spread his wings and glided up and away, narrowly avoiding the hard rock.

The three nearby Biology members, two women and one man, snapped into action. One of the women, Zillafer, inflated like a human version of a porcupine fish: balloonlike and spiny. Her feet and arms protruded from her body just enough for her to aim her bounces toward Kender.

That's as far as she got, though; Kender spun and kicked, sending her boinging backward. One of her legs smacked into the other woman's head before she could attack. That woman, Baharess, sank to the ground, stunned.

The male Bio member, Kostaglos, opened his mouth wider than a human mouth should go; he lifted his tongue, revealing two hollow tubes like a cobra has in its mouth. He shot twin streams of a clear liquid from those glands, aimed right at Kender's head.

Kender raised his arm, blocking the spittle. A sizzling noise rose from where it hit his arm, but Kender didn't react; his exoskeleton didn't have nerve endings. He leaped forward, smacking Kostaglos aside before he could attack again. The thin man was sent crashing into the cavern wall and did not get up.

Preto descended, soaring downward with his fists pointed straight out in front of him to deliver a double punch. Kender was too fast—he sidestepped the fists and connected with a fierce uppercut to Preto's jaw. Preto's head snapped back and his body flipped backward; he hit the cavern floor and lay where he fell, unconscious.

Wanderby spoke his own formula, starting Kender spinning in place. Incredibly, the armored man kept coming, holding on to his bearings enough to move forward between rotations. Wanderby increased the speed, and the massively armored enemy was slowed down . . . but he still advanced. Wanderby spied a large watercooler bottle and, speaking his formula again, spun it toward Kender.

It shattered wetly on Kender's exoskeleton. Though the impact knocked him back, he recovered quickly and kept coming. Wanderby reached out with his formula to grab the coffeemaker, its pot filled with steaming coffee. He spun that, sending it smashing hotly against the armored man. That clearly wasn't enough either. Wanderby looked around for other possible weapons: rocks, furniture, the fallen Order members.

Before he could act, Krissantha shouted, “Enough.”

Wanderby saw the look on Krissantha's face and obeyed, shutting down his formula. Kender stopped spinning and fell to the ground; he was back on his feet in a moment, ready for more action.

“I like your gusto,” Krissantha said. “I like your determination. And I like your strength. But I have the power to destroy your shell and reduce you to a pile of ash.”

Kender stood unmoving. “I didn't come to fight,” he said, his voice echoing out from within his shell. “I came to join the cause.”

“That,” Krissantha said, “is a good response. Welcome to the revolution.”

Gilio led the kids and Flangelo outside; it was time to go.

Owen looked around. “Is it still nighttime? It's pretty well lit, especially for being under an ocean.”

“I've arranged many bioluminescent life-forms inside and outside the dome,” Gilio said. “Mostly mosses and kelp that give off a natural glow. Deeper into the biomes where the animals live, there's just enough bioluminescence to simulate moon and starlight; I didn't want to disturb the natural day-night cycle of the life-forms. By day, special devices provide artificial sunlight so it's much brighter where appropriate. It's a complex world down here.”

“At least we'll always be able to see where we're going,” Simon said.

“Now, you'll have to cover a lot of ground quickly without being seen,” Gilio said. “You're searching for a needle in a haystack, but a very sharp needle in a very dangerous haystack.”

Simon explained his sense of space-time twisting, and Gilio nodded. “That'll be a big help. Can you tell where she is exactly?”

Simon turned around in a circle, feeling out the different twists in space-time across the expanse of the dome. The strongest tug came from the teleporting pool they'd used to get up to Gilio's mountain home, but he could feel much fainter pulling from the many other pools throughout the domain. He closed his eyes and concentrated, filtering out every other sense besides space-time.

There was so much to focus on, but he didn't let up until . . . “There!” Simon pointed. He felt a space-time distortion that was wildly different from all the others but familiar to him. “I think she's somewhere in that direction.”

Gilio stared along the line of Simon's wavering finger. “Hmm. Lots of ground to cover that way,” Gilio said. “First, desert. Then, depending on which way you veer, either there's dry, wintry savannah, or wetlands. After that, you've got more possibilities.” He pointed to one direction. “If you angle that way, you get taiga, tundra, and mountain regions. Evergreens and snow leading to extreme cold and barren land with little life.”

Simon pointed in a slightly different direction. “It's more like that way.”

“Ah,” Gilio said. “Wetlands, then a wide expanse of rain forest. Jungle.”

“Wonderful,” Flangelo said with a shake of his head.

“It's better than going back to Savannah,” Owen said.

“
A
savannah,” Flangelo said. “Not Georgia, remember?”

“Whatever, as long as we don't see any more Komodo dragons,” Alysha said.

Gilio nodded. “You should be fine. While you're doing that, I'll send word to certain Order members and animals in the dome that I trust. I'll check in every direction in case your extra sense is wrong, Bloom. I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“That's gross!” Owen said.

“I mean spies,” Gilio said. “If they've seen or heard anything unusual, I'll send a messenger-bird to you. Flangelo can understand and speak to them.”

“Meanwhile, we follow Flangelo?” Alysha asked.

“I'm afraid so,” Flangelo trilled.

Gilio looked Simon, Owen, and Alysha in the eyes. It wasn't hard—he wasn't very tall. “The camouflage works better when you're not in bright lights. Also, I wouldn't talk to anyone. Or get in anyone's—or any thing's—way.” He frowned. “Flangelo, keep them in the air as much as possible, okay?”

Alysha chuckled. “Nice pep talk, thanks.”

Gilio took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Bloom, a word, please?” Simon and he stepped away from the others. “There are definitely strange things afoot, and I don't like it. Frankly, the Board must be having a fit—I'm surprised they haven't stepped in yet.” He paused. “They must know
something
, and yet . . .” He shook his head. “In any event, your friends are going to need you to guide them. You're all very capable, but you are their leader. Keep your wits about you, be prepared for anything. And please,” he said, looking away for a moment, “please be careful.”

Simon nodded awkwardly—he was touched by Gilio's words, but he wasn't enjoying being reminded of how much responsibility he was carrying. He followed Gilio back to the others. “Ready?” Simon asked. They nodded. “Owen, do your thing.”

Owen took Simon's and Alysha's hands, then triggered his octopus ability. With a mental command, he spread his chromatophores out to Simon and Alysha. A wave of color swept over them so they matched the appearance and texture of the dirt and air around them.

It was impressive and, I have to admit, a challenge to my narrating ability. I knew Simon and his friends were there and I knew they couldn't see one another. I could detect their feelings and surface thoughts, and I could sense a few things about them; for example, Owen's shoelaces were untied. As far as my eyes—watching them on my Viewing Screen—were concerned, though, the three kids had disappeared. As long as they kept physical contact with Owen, they, too, would be flawlessly camouflaged.

Simon eliminated their gravity to make them weightless, and Owen used velocity to raise them off the ground.

“Okay, Flangelo,” Simon said. “You take the lead and we'll fly right behind you. I'll let you know if we need to change direction or if we start to get separated. Don't worry that you can't see us; you'll be able to hear us just fine.”

“Lucky me,” Flangelo warbled.

And with that, he turned into his sparrow form and took to the air followed by a perfectly camouflaged trio of youths. They soared off the mountaintop and swooped toward the ground. Flangelo flew as hard and as fast as he could, flapping his wings with all his might. Owen had no trouble keeping up; no matter how fast Flangelo went, Owen was moving at the speed of speed itself. He could go as fast as he wanted.

The first ecosystem they had to cross was the desert that surrounded Gilio's mountain. It's widely known that deserts are not fun to be in or, more to the point, to cross. They're dry and sandy with dunes, which are basically hills and valleys made of—you guessed it—sand. There are also long stretches of barren rock, which aren't much more fun than the dunes, but at least they're generally less sandy.

It was relatively dark for the first hour or so, and so the temperature was cool . . . even cold. As daybreak arrived, that changed. Whatever methods Gilio had used in designing the dome worked incredibly well—it really seemed as if the sun were rising. The air got steadily warmer until it became almost stifling. Flying became a lot less fun.

The heat and dryness made it, well, dry and hot, and the air that whipped past them (or, to be more accurate, that they whipped through) stung their faces. The sand occasionally blowing in their eyes, noses, and mouths didn't sweeten the experience either. At least Simon managed to lessen their friction with the air (called drag), so much of the stinging sand and air went around them.

Cruising over the desert, they saw a lot of spiny cacti in a variety of shapes, and the occasional desert animal. These weren't terribly exciting to look at, though. Scorpions scuttled, tarantulas crawled, snakes slithered, kangaroo rats hopped, lizards . . . crawled, too. (There are only so many verbs to describe that motion.) Hawks soared above; on occasion they circled, swooped down, and ate some unfortunate critter that wasn't scuttling, crawling, slithering, hopping, or crawling fast enough.

After seemingly endless hours, Simon could see the terrain starting to change. The way it felt to Simon's space-time sense, they'd be going across the wetlands and then the tropical rain forest. And that's where he hoped—and feared—they'd find the object of their quest.