The Glitch in Sleep (24 page)

“So . . . how was it
?
” Simly wanted the juicy details, but the look on the Fixer’s face said it all.

“Like a dream come true.”

HONK. HONK.

Appearing over the bluff was Dominic Dozenski, at the wheel of a white golf cart, accompanied by Casey Lake.

“Good news, Drane!” He skidded the cart to a stop. “The Court of Public Opinion cleared you of all charges!”

In all that had happened, Becker had forgotten that his career was nearly in ruins. Dominic handed him a signed Writ, exonerating him of the Rule of Thumb Violation. And it was better still:

“By the power vested in me, I hereby commend Fixer F. Becker Drane for his work on the Glitch in Sleep, and present him with this Special Commendation.” The Administrator handed Becker a glass orb, with a glittery substance inside. “An Ounce of Sleep!”

(That’s a lot.)

“And to Briefer Simly Alomonus Frye”—Dominic pulled out a smaller-sized orb and delivered it to Simly—“half an ounce! Well done, son.”

Stoked, Becker and Simly tucked away their prizes.

“Now I have to get back to Sleep, so if there’s nothing else?”

“I think that’s Mission accomplished.” Casey hopped out of the cart. “And tell the Tireless Workers they were aces tonight.”

“Will do. You all have a good night and I hope to never see you again.” Dominic quickly pulled a one-eighty and disappeared over a dune.

In the time since they’d repaired the broken Drowsenheim, Casey had a chance to shower and change into something more comfortable. Now she was wearing a sundress and sandals and looked ready for a bonfire or a dinner at a beachfront café.

“Nice work, #37,” Casey congratulated him. “And you too, #356. How ’bout I spring for burgers over at the Flip Side?”

That sounded great to both of the tired repairmen. The Flip Side was a beachfront burger joint owned and operated by retired Fixer Flip Orenz, who had hung up his Wrench for a spatula. It had tasty views and a tastier menu and had instantly become the hangout of choice for Fixers and Briefers alike. But Becker had a conflict of interest.

“I wish I could go with you guys, but I’ve got this quiz tomorrow and I haven’t studied at all.”

“Why don’t you let your Me-2 take the quiz?” suggested Simly. “I’m sure it could get you at least a B.”

“I would love to, trust me—but I couldn’t do that to my English teacher.”

The Briefer dropped his head, feeling the taste of the savory cheese fries slipping away.

“Are you sure we can’t get you to reconsider?” Casey pushed a little harder. “There’s supposed to be a good crowd tonight.”

“I hate to say it, Case—but I gotta take a Rain Check.”

Fixer Lake was bummed but respected Becker’s dilemma. “I guess it’s just you and me, Simly.”

“Sorry, sir, but protocol says the Mission isn’t over till the Fixer hits the Landing Pad.”

It killed Simly to say it, but the fact that he and Casey Lake were now on a first-name basis more than made up for the pain. (Wait ’til the guys on Third Reeves heard about this!)

“Suit yourself. But I’m gonna go grab myself an In-Between Burger—‘animal style!’ ” Casey took her freshly cleaned hair and tied it in a knot, then headed for the water taxi that passed directly by Flip’s. “Live to Fix, mates!”

“Fix to Live!” they replied.

And with that, Casey Lake was gone.

“She really is the best, isn’t she, sir?”

“Yeah.” Becker proudly put his arm around his Briefer’s shoulder. “She really is.”

Customs, Department of Transportation, The Seems

The lines in the Terminal had finally died down and it felt like a lifetime ago since Becker was there. Both he and Simly needed to come down from the Mission, and since they had a few extra minutes before Becker’s Departure, they stopped at the Food Court to grab a little chow.

“Great job, kid!” shouted the guy behind the counter of Out-of-This-World Wok. The teenage girl making pastries at Seemsabon was also duly impressed, and she wrote her phone number in frosting on one of the cakes.

“Call me sometime.”

Simly assumed that she was talking to Becker, but the Fixer insisted he had it all wrong.

“No, dude, she was totally digging you!”

“Really?”

“Heck, yes. If you don’t call her, I will.”

Simly horked the digits out of Becker’s hands and swore to himself that this time he would finally get up the courage to dial.

“So, there’s one thing I still can’t figure out,” Becker admitted, carrying his tray to a two-top.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Back in the Master Bedroom . . . how did you get a read on where the Glitch was hiding?”

The Briefer shrugged, as if there were only one explanation.

“L.U.C.K.”

“The residue of Design.” Becker laughed, and Simly couldn’t argue with that.

“Seriously, sir—thank you for your advice about the 7
^th
Sense. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I felt something back there.”

“I’m not surprised, Sim. You’ve got the skillz to pay the billz.”

That meant everything to Simly.

“You too, sir. You did an awesome job.”

“Muchas gracias.”

Up on the Departures screen, Becker Drane’s name was moving toward the front, and soon he would be cleared for entrance back into the In-Between.

“I guess this is it, dude.” They got up from the table and dumped their trays in the receptacle marked “Trash,” which would soon be recycled into Good Energy. “Now don’t forget to take care of that one last thing we talked about.”

“No problem, sir. Simly Frye is on the job.”

“Passenger F. Becker Drane to Landing Pad for Seems-World
Transport. Passenger F. Becker Drane.”

Simly snapped to an official Salute.

“Briefer 356 signing off!”

“It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Frye!”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

The final boarding call sounded again and so the two parted ways, Simly back toward his dorm room on Third Reeves and Becker to the Landing Pad, to make the return Leap. The end of a Mission is always bittersweet, because on the one hand you’re psyched to bask in the glow of a job well done, but on the other, you know it might be a while before you get called in again. Becker wished that he could drag it out just a little bit longer, at least long enough to see the look on his old Instructor’s face, but Worldly concerns were calling, so he cued up his Mission Mix to track #9, snapped on his Transport Goggles, and pulled the straps up tight.

Office of the Head Instructor, IFR, The Seems

The sound of keys jangled outside the thick cherrywood door, and in walked the imposing figure of Fixer Jelani Blaque. His IFR mug spilled steam off the top, and he was still on his Receiver with his wife.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, honey. We’re going through the new SATs this evening and we might have to burn some Midnight Oil.”

Fixer Blaque had relocated from The World to The Seems after his retirement from active duty, and now lived with his family in the coveted Head Instructor’s Cottage on the grounds of the IFR.

“Do you want me to send you a care package from Mickey’s?” asked Sarah Blaque, referring to her husband’s favorite deli.

“Only if they have the good pastrami.”

“I’ll see what I can do . . .”

“You’re my hero. (No pun intended.)”

Blaque hung up, thankful beyond thankful that he had walked into the Department of Health that day and met the pediatrician who became his betrothed. He had spent many months in the hospital following “Hope Springs Eternal,” for the completion of that Mission did not come without a price. But few of his colleagues (and none of his Candidates) knew the secret that lay behind the blue-tinted Eye Glasses™, which had been specially designed for him by Al Penske himself.

The retired Fixer sat down, dwarfed by the massive stacks of paper that Human Resources had piled on his desk. He was about to pull the first one off the top when he noticed something else amid the clutter. Blaque reached out and picked up the small glass orb with his callused hand, along with the note that was left underneath it.

Dear Fixer Blaque,

I just completed my first Mission, and thanks to you, it turned out okay. It wasn’t just the Glimmer of Hope you gave me (though that came in pretty handy too) but everything you ever taught me. I felt like you were there on the Mission with me, every step of the way, which is why I wanted you to have this. I know those Candidates can sometimes cause a lot of sleepless nights . . .

Take care and give my best to Sarah and the kids.

F. Becker Drane (aka #37)

Blaque shook the little container and listened to the sound of the dust sifting back and forth inside. Becker was not the first Fixer he had trained, nor would he be the last, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying. He allowed himself to savor the feeling for just a brief second before his own Training took hold, as it always did. He focused back into the Now and pulled the first Seemsian Aptitude Test off the highest pile.

Name:
Shan Mei Lin

Address:
No. 23 Shifuyan Dongcheng-Qu, Beijing, China

Telephone (optional):
(Lin never gave out her cell)

Fixer Blaque put his feet up on his desk, then quietly began to read.

Outside the Instructor’s office, Briefer #356 smiled with his own satisfaction and headed back up to his dorm room. Now that he had delivered Becker’s message, he needed to catch some shuteye of his own, but there was still one more thing
he
wanted to do.

Simly picked up the phone and punched in Crestview 1-2-2.

“Grandpa?”

It took a second for Grandpa Milton to put in his Hearing Aide™, because he was getting up there in years.

“Simly? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Grandpa—it’s me. I just got back from my Mission.” Simly closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive that moment in the Master Bedroom, when a set of chills had shot from his arms down to his toes. “You’ll never guess what happened . . .”

30 Custer Drive, Caledon, Ontario

Cool Canadian air blanketed the town of Caledon, and all of the intrepid night owls who walked the streets and filled the pubs and restaurants had packed it in for the night. But in the bedroom on 30 Custer, Jennifer Kaley had only been asleep for thirty minutes when she awoke with a start.

“Whoa.”

It was one of those dreams that you remember with utter clarity and are almost caught inside of when you first wake up. She could still hear the gulls in the sky and feel the breeze off the Stream, and she tried to put her head back down on the pillow and get back into it before the real world rushed back in. But it was too late, because she felt more wide awake than ever.

Jennifer rolled over and looked at the clock, which read 4:32 a.m., and she couldn’t believe that everything that happened inside her dream had taken place in a half hour (for it had seemed like a jam-packed day). Part of her thought about the boy in her dream and how odd it was that she had dreamed about someone she had never met before (though he was kind of cute). And the other part thought about everything he’d shown her and everything he’d said about this world and how it was connected to that one.

“What was the name of that place again?” she asked herself, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember.

Almost immediately, Jennifer started to get depressed, because it was all beginning to fade—not just the scenery, but everything they had talked about and done. Only four hours from now there would be that awful moment of getting off the bus and walking into Gary Middle School, wondering who was going to pick on her this time. The kid in her dream had tried to tell her something that was supposed to make her feel better, but she couldn’t remember that either, and whatever good feelings she had after she woke up slowly melted away.

She buried herself under her down comforter as if to hide, but even the soft goose feathers could not protect her from the day to come. Jennifer had almost completely forgotten everything that had happened to her inside her 532 when—

“Waittaminit!”

She dove off the bed and ran to her closet to look for a flashlight, which she found amid her camping gear. As she hit the black button, Jennifer hoped like anything that the batteries still had some life in them, and when a weak beam trickled out, she pointed it under her box spring.

“Be there . . . be there . . .”

The only memory she had left of the dream was of the Post-it note, stuck on the laptop computer in her Case Worker’s office. But it couldn’t have been real . . .

“If you’re there I promise to eat Brussels sprouts for two—”

The moment her fingers slid into the small crack in the hardwood floor that she had no idea was there, she knew. Even
before
those same fingers closed upon the silver necklace with the locket on the end.

Goose bumps running down her arms, she stood up and went to the window and looked out with wonder at the streets of Caledon. As she started to remember some of the places she had “visited” that night and some of the things that boy had told her, The World
did
look slightly different. And if the Post-it note were real, then maybe, just maybe, her dream was real. And if that was real, then . . .

Jennifer Kaley put the last present her grandmother ever gave her back around her neck and got into bed.

“The Seems! That’s what it was called.” She smiled and closed her eyes. “The Seems.”

12 Grant Avenue, Highland Park, New Jersey

All was quiet and dark in the bedroom of the older of the two Drane children, save for the sound of intermittent snoring. Becker #2 rolled over in his bed, blissfully asleep—and completely unaware that Becker #1 was on his way back up the elm tree outside his window.

The Fixer climbed in, trying not to disturb his sleeping counterpart, but the Me-2’s auditory alarms were immediately tripped.

“Hey, dude,” it said, popping up in bed. “How’d it go tonight?”

“Not bad for my first Mission.” Becker shut the window behind him and dropped his Toolkit on the floor. “You?”

“A little fun and games with Benjamin, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”