The Gravity Keeper

by Michael Reisman

  “So you touch metal and get a spark?” Owen asked. “Big deal; I can do that.”

  Alysha shook her head. “Slow down there, Speedy. Can you do this?” She unplugged the air hockey table from the wall outlet and spoke her formula in a different way. Electricity flowed out of her hand and into the plug. The table’s air jets turned on, making the plastic puck float above the table’s surface. “I can feel the electricity flowing through me.” She giggled. “It tickles, like really bubbly soda.”

  Owen walked over to the table. “Wow!”

  “Let’s see yours, Velocity Boy,” Alysha said. “Make the puck move.”

  Owen closed his eyes and spoke the words. “Let’s stop it first.” Just like that, the puck stopped moving. The air jets were still humming, but they were no longer making the puck drift.

  “Not bad, I guess,” Alysha said.

  Owen frowned. “Not bad? Try this.” He spoke a variation on the formula, and the puck zoomed along the table, streaking into the goal near Alysha with a loud clank. He raised his arms. “Gooooooal!” he shouted.

  The air jets sputtered out and Alysha frowned. “I didn’t have much electricity stored up.” She looked over to the outlet. “But I know where to get more!”

  “NO!” Simon and Owen both shouted.

  Alysha held up her hands. “I’ll be fine. I can actually sense the electricity in there; I can control how much I take.” She stood several feet away from the outlet and held her fingers out toward it. “I think I can just pull it out.” She frowned. “Better stand back, though, just to be safe.”

  Simon and Owen ran over to the billiards table and crouched behind it, barely keeping their eyes above the top so they could watch.

  Alysha concentrated and smiled as an arc of bluish electricity leapt from the outlet to her fingers. Holding the plug in her other hand, she focused, and the air hockey table turned back on with a whooshing noise.

  Alysha smiled proudly. “See? I’m like a human power plant!”

  Simon nodded as Owen and he returned to her side. “Cool.”

  “No, this is cool,” Owen said as he took the puck out of the goal and put it back onto the table. Using his velocity control, he made it zigzag around the table.

  “Oh yeah?” Simon said, and spoke his gravity formula. The puck suddenly became too heavy for the air jets to hold it up, and with a click, it hit the table.

  Owen made a big show of cracking his knuckles. “No problem.” He sent the puck sliding, only this time it made a light scraping noise.

  “Hey, don’t ruin the table!” Alysha said.

  “Hmm.” Simon spoke his friction formula, making the puck stick down. “Try and move it now!”

  Owen concentrated, and the puck moved a tiny bit but then stopped again. As Simon and Owen used both their formulas on it, it moved and stopped a few more times, started to vibrate, and finally popped up into the air. When it landed, it was a mangled ball of plastic—barely recognizable as a puck.

  “Guys, how am I going to explain that to my parents?” Alysha groaned.

  The lights flickered, making the kids look up in alarm.

  Simon frowned. “Sorry, Alysha—I guess we overdid it.”

  Alysha frowned. “No…the lights were my fault, I think.”

  Owen wrinkled his nose. “Anybody else smell that?”

  Alysha looked down and let out a small scream. “No!” There was smoke coming from her hand and along the plastic-coated wire of the plug. “I forgot I was still giving it juice. I gave it too much!”

  They all stomped on the smoldering cable, but the damage was done. The air was filled with the smell of burned plastic.

  There was a knock on the basement door. “’Lysh? You okay down there?”

  Alysha’s father came into the basement and waved at the smoke in the air. “Are you kids okay? What happened?”

  “I don’t know, Dad,” Alysha said. “We were just playing air hockey and the lights flickered. Next thing we knew…”

  Max kept waving at the air. “Maybe an electrical short? You’re lucky there wasn’t a real fire.” He stopped waving as the smoke dissipated. “Wasn’t too bad; didn’t even set off the smoke detector. But no more playing down here. I’m going to pull the fuses until we can get an electrician to look at the wiring.”

  Alysha flashed a guilty look at Simon and Owen. Simon grabbed the Book and tucked it into his backpack before Alysha’s dad noticed it.

  Simon and Owen followed Alysha up the stairs while Max went to the fuse box.

  “Are you going to be in trouble?” Simon whispered.

  Alysha shook her head. “I doubt it; it was an accident. Sort of.”

  Owen shrugged. “Maybe we should go.”

  “Guess so,” Alysha said. “Let’s talk later. Maybe we can meet tomorrow?”

  “I think we should,” Simon said.

  As Simon and Owen walked down Alysha’s walkway, Owen was practically exploding with excitement. “I can’t believe how great this is! I have my own formula, and it is wild!”

  Simon chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, but remember what the Book said. Don’t go overboard with it. You don’t want to get worn out, right?”

  They rounded the corner and headed toward Town Plaza.

  “It’ll take some practicing, but we’ll be ready for anything,” Owen said.

  Simon nodded. The boys walked silently for a few blocks, both lost in thought about their formulas. They were jarred by nearby chirping. It was loud and forceful, like a bird shouting.

  “You think it’s Flangelo?” Owen asked.

  “Yup, but why is he just chattering at us?”

  They squinted in the dim dusk light as they tried to find Flangelo. They finally saw him up in a small tree, waving his wings from his perch.

  Simon laughed. “What’s the big deal, birdie? Don’t you wanna come down and talk like a person?”

  Owen snickered. “What a birdbrain.”

  The boys laughed while Flangelo the bird glanced skyward and shook his head before resuming his frantic chirping. As Simon and Owen got closer to the tree, they heard the screech of a car’s tires. They looked up and saw a shiny red car jerk to a halt a half block ahead of them.

  Before the boys could react to the sight of the car, the driver-side door opened and a familiar woman dressed in a black overcoat with the hood down stepped out.

  “Oh no!” Simon gasped.

  “You!” Sirabetta shouted as she stormed over to them.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE TATTOOED LADY

  Simon looked around for help, but there was nobody on the street, nobody looking through their windows, and the light was quickly fading. The boys were on their own.

  Simon spoke his gravity formula, increasing Sirabetta’s weight to many times normal and pinning her to the street.

  “Owen, let’s skate!” Simon spoke his friction formula on Owen’s and his feet. “We’ll go to Town Plaza—she might not attack around all those people!”

  Owen recovered from his shock enough to follow Simon; they spun around and zipped down the street away from Sirabetta. They pumped their legs hard, gliding over the road and leaning carefully so as not to tip over when they streaked around a corner.

  “I think we’ll be okay,” Simon panted. “She should be stuck for a little while.”

  “Wrong!” a voice shouted from above them.

  They both slid to a stop and gaped. Sirabetta was soaring through the air toward them. She was free of the increased gravity, and she could fly!

  Simon pointed back the way they’d come, and Owen nodded. The two started skating again, sprinting with all their might as they headed back toward Sirabetta’s car.

  Once again, running away didn’t help—Sirabetta flew quickly and landed on the street ahead of them. They tried to reverse directions, but this time, Owen toppled over, tangling in Simon’s legs and making him fall, too.

  Sirabetta read a blue tattoo from one arm. It glowed brightly, and in re
sponse, a big metal mailbox on the corner blew up. Pieces of twisted metal and charred letters flew in all directions.

  Simon and Owen looked up from the street, gaping in horror.

  Sirabetta walked toward them. “Like that? It’s one of my physics formulas; air pressure can make wonderful explosions. Now, give me the Teacher’s Edition!”

  Owen ground his teeth together. “No. Just leave us alone,” he said in a trembling voice.

  Simon locked eyes with Owen. “Velocity time,” he mouthed.

  Owen nodded and Simon whispered his formula, making Sirabetta weightless. Owen concentrated and spoke his own formula, launching Sirabetta into the sky as he increased her velocity many times. She spun end over end as she hurtled up through the air.

  Simon and Owen had barely gotten to their feet when they saw the airborne Sirabetta pull up the other sleeve of her coat. A blue tattoo glowed brightly as she read it, and she halted in midair; she’d overcome Owen’s formula. She swooped down to the street in front of the boys, defying Simon’s formula, too.

  “H-how?” Simon stammered.

  “Neat trick, isn’t it?” Sirabetta pointed to the glowing tattoo on her forearm. “It’s a Physics formula that deals with the balance between kinetic and potential energy—energies of movement. With it, I can control my body’s motion: I can fly and resist other forces, so your gravity and velocity control can’t stop me.”

  She pulled up the bottom of her coat; her legs were covered with many more tattoos of varying colors. “On the other hand, I can do plenty to you,” she said, pointing to a blue tattoo.

  She read the formula, and the asphalt street melted, turning to molten tar in a wide circle around Owen and Simon. Sirabetta smiled. “Heat. Simple but effective, no? Try sliding through that. Now…the Teacher’s Edition!”

  Fumes rose from the bubbling blacktop; Simon and Owen shrank away from the heat and the nostril-stinging stench coming off the road.

  “But-the-Book’s-Simon’s-now! It-came-to-him-and-calls-him Keeper!” Owen pleaded.

  Sirabetta stared for a moment, looking shocked. “What? This boy…is the new Keeper? He’s bonded with the Book?” She snarled at Simon, “It’s meant for me, not you! But while you’re Keeper, I can’t risk killing you. I can make your life miserable, though. Or I can take care of you like I did Ralfagon.”

  Then she took a deep breath, as if fighting to control her anger. When she spoke again, she sounded almost calm. “Boys, this doesn’t have to be violent. If you give me the Book, I’ll leave you alone. Just let me have it!”

  Simon considered this for a moment, but what if she was lying? Like Alysha said, without the Book, they’d be toast. He tried stalling. “Why do you want it?”

  “That’s not your business. I have my needs.” Sirabetta winced and scratched at the glowing blue formula.

  “Do those tattoos hurt you?” Owen asked.

  “Yes, they hurt, you little brat,” Sirabetta snapped at him. She breathed deeply again. “These formulas aren’t imprinted. I stole them, and so they rebel against me.” She rubbed at the formula on her leg and groaned quietly. Her voice became almost pleading. “That’s why I need that Book! I’ll be able to imprint these Physics formulas and take some wretched tattoos off. Then I’ll get Biology, Chemistry, and all the others I’ll need. Then I can get what I deserve and make those fools in the Union pay for what they did!”

  “What’d they do?” Simon asked.

  Sirabetta shook her head. “This is not question-and-answer time. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will do what is necessary; I’ve come too far not to.” She gestured, and the intense heat from her tattoo formula spread. An even larger area of the street bubbled and burned. “I will get what I want.”

  Simon and Owen shuddered at the sight of the ruined street but didn’t move.

  They all turned at a honking sound. A car was driving up to them. Simon and Owen felt a quick burst of hope. Were they saved? Had help arrived?

  The driver stopped and honked his horn several times. It became clear to Simon and Owen—this was just an average Outsider. He wouldn’t be any help.

  The man rolled down his window and stuck out his head. “Get off the road!” he yelled. He sniffed and grimaced. “Ugh, what’s that smell?” He noticed the burning street and yelped. “Hey, there’s a fire! Lady, get your kids off the road and get away from there!”

  Sirabetta shook her head. She pulled up a sleeve and muttered, “Stupid Outsiders.” She read off a formula and the pavement bucked wildly. All the garbage pails in the area toppled; several manhole covers exploded into the air and clattered loudly to the street.

  The man gaped and threw his car into reverse, speeding back the way he had come.

  “Simon, did-you-see, did-you-see, did-you-see?” Owen whispered.

  “Yeah, I think that was the air pressure formula. We’re dead meat.”

  “No, her formulas. Her tattoos. Look!” Owen pointed at Sirabetta’s leg: the heat tattoo had stopped glowing when she used the air pressure one. “And the heat—it’s gone!” He gestured to the melted street around them. The bubbling had stopped. Steam rose as the street cooled.

  Simon scratched his head. “Why’d she do that?”

  “She can’t use two at once!” Owen whispered.

  “Hey, I think you’re right!”

  “Enough chatting, boys,” Sirabetta shouted. “Let me make this easier for you.” She repeated that last formula, and a part of the street near them blew apart. Pieces of asphalt scattered in all directions. “The explosions will keep getting closer until you give me the Book, or…” Instead of finishing her sentence, she spoke the formula again. The blacktop just a few feet away exploded, showering them with shattered fragments of the street. “You’ll be going home in pieces.”

  CHAPTER 23

  GOING OUT WITH A BANG

  Simon and Owen flinched away from the destruction. There was no way they could run—the ground around them was being torn apart, and beyond that, the street was still melted and sticky. They were trapped.

  Explosions rang out closer and closer and then stopped. “No. That’s not the way. I don’t want to risk damaging the Book.” Sirabetta sighed. “Come on, kids! I’m trying to give you a choice,” she snarled. “Something I never had. No more games. Will you give me the Book?”

  Simon and Owen, too scared to speak, shook their heads. No.

  “Still you reject my kindness? Fine.” Sirabetta looked back to the formula on her leg; it resumed its glow as she gestured with both hands. The lawns nearest Owen and Simon ignited, and soon all the grass on the block was on fire. Then the street began to bubble again in earnest, causing black smoke to billow upward.

  The strip of asphalt between Simon and Owen started to burn, separating the boys. They moved farther from each other and coughed at the toxic fumes coming off the street. Sirens shrieked in the distance; someone had called the police and fire departments.

  Sirabetta frowned at Simon. “No help will reach you in time. Like I said, I won’t risk the Book and I won’t kill you, Keeper. However, I can destroy this little one.” She pointed at Owen.

  Then Owen screamed and jumped around as his sneakers burst into flame!

  “No!” Simon shouted. He spoke his gravity formula, and Sirabetta braced herself for the effect.

  When nothing happened, she laughed. “You’re losing your touch, boy.”

  Simon looked on with concern as Owen stamped his feet wildly, trying to put out the flames.

  Sirabetta snapped her fingers, and Owen’s sneaker fires went out. “Have I made my point? Are you ready to give up?”

  She shrieked as something struck her leg. It was a metal lid from one of the toppled garbage pails. “What kind of trick is this?” Sirabetta pulled off the lid and tossed it away, but it stopped several feet away in midair and spun back to her. She groaned as it smacked into her stomach. Then she turned and gulped—a manhole cover was hurtling toward her.

  “What…wh
at have you done?” Sirabetta asked. She quickly found a tattoo—this one silver—below the knee of her other leg. She pointed as she spoke the formula; the tattoo glowed as a softball-size ball of light flew from her outstretched hand. It whizzed at the rapidly approaching metal disk and exploded on impact, shattering the manhole cover into pebble-size pieces.

  She turned back to the boys but then shrieked as the metal chunks struck her in the back. She swatted at them but couldn’t brush them off—they only slid along her body. Another manhole cover scraped off the blacktop down the block and zoomed toward her. Sirabetta repeated the silver formula. The globe of light cracked the cover in two, flinging both pieces away.

  Simon and Owen stared in the other direction, and Sirabetta whipped around to see various small items from the neighborhood flying through the air toward her. There were fragments of charred envelopes and jagged pieces of metal from the big mailbox, fallen trash cans (and their contents), litter from the street, and even seared toys that had been left out on one of the lawns before it burned.

  Sirabetta switched legs so she could read from her heat tattoo; the oncoming paper burned to ash, the plastic melted, and the mailbox shards glowed bright red, then white, before dissolving at what must have been horrifically high temperatures.

  She turned back to Simon and Owen, fists clenched, but suddenly screamed out in pain as two heavy slabs of metal—the halves of the second broken manhole cover—slammed into her. The impact knocked her over, and she fell to the ground with a clank. “What have you done to me?” she screamed in fury.

  “Simon, what did you do to her?” Owen whispered with awe.

  “Affecting her weight wasn’t working, so I made her the center of attraction for the area’s gravity. It’s spreading slowly, but everything that’s not bolted down—except us—is going to fall toward her as if she was the ground.”