The Glitch in Sleep

by John Hulme

  “MISSION IN PROGRESS.”

  So did Tony the Plumber, Mr. Chiappa, Anna-Julia Rafaella Carolina dos Santos, and thirty other Fixers around The World (and hopefully Tom Jackal), all of whom at this exact moment had stepped away from their dinner party or baccarat table or teachers’ convention or walk on the beach or lifelong search for an ancient artifact to see what exactly had gone wrong, and what kind of job they were going to give the kid.

  But one Fixer found out first.

  12 Grant Avenue, Highland Park, New Jersey

  BLINK! BLINK! BLINK! BLINK! BLINK!

  In the middle of his sweaty palm, Becker’s Blinker was flashing off the hook. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. And it was actually happening now!

  “Time to make the doughnuts.”

  With a deep breath, he pressed the yellow “accept” button and the box began to transform. A miniature-sized keyboard extended from the base and the view-screen expanded to twice its usual size. Audio came in first—a high whine settling to a low hum—followed by a fuzzy image, which gradually faded into view.

  A double-sided wrench.

  “Stand by for transmission.”

  Becker jacked in his headphones and locked his door as the Fixer logo was quickly replaced by a chiseled face with piercing blue eyes.

  “Fixer 37, F. Becker Drane. Please report. Over!”

  The Dispatcher wore a headset and uniform, and his buzz-cut was perfectly manicured. But he rarely engaged in small talk.

  “37, present and accounted for!”

  “Prepare for Verification.”

  A handprint appeared on the screen and Becker matched his palm to it. Light rolled over his lifeline and a computerized voice began to speak.

  “Verification complete. Prepare for Personality Scan.”

  Almost everything else about a person can be replicated, except for his or her personality. A thin beam quickly examined Becker’s interior world.

  “Personality confirmed!”

  The important part came next.

  “Mission Report: Seems-World Time 24:27.”

  Becker pulled out his pad and waited for the details.

  “Glitch reported—Department of Sleep. Assignment: Find and Fix!”

  His pen froze inches above the paper.

  “Excuse me, sir, but did you say Glitch?”

  “Say again: Glitch reported—Department of Sleep. Assignment: Find and Fix!”

  Becker was in a state of shock. A glitch in The World was just a common mechanical breakdown, but a Glitch in The Seems was a rare and serious threat. In fact, there hadn’t been a confirmed Glitch in any department since the Day That Time Stood Still,8 and the Fixer who went on that Mission—

  “Do we have Mission confirmation?”

  The sound of the Dispatcher’s voice snapped him back into the present.

  “Mission accepted and confirmed!”

  “Your Briefer will meet you when you get to Sleep. Oh, and kid . . .” the corner of his mouth might’ve just turned up a little, “welcome to the big leagues.”

  And just like that, the signal went out, the screen folded down, and Becker was left alone in the darkness of his room.

  6. Quarterback of the Highland Park Owls football team (currently 0–6).

  7. Note: The 9th Sense is not so easily explained, but it has a lot to do with interior design.

  8. November 5, 1997.

  3

  The Mission Inside the Mission

  “Move, Becker. Move.”

  Back in his bedroom, precious seconds were ticking away, but Becker couldn’t bring himself to take a step.

  “What’s wrong with you, dude?”

  The simple fact of the matter was that he was terrified. Why couldn’t he have just gotten a Foible or a Broken Window like Fixer #35? The Rotation was random in that way—no matter what the Mission was (except under the “Special Circumstances” clause that was used very infrequently), whoever was up next got whatever came up next. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would have to take on a Glitch.

  “Pull it together, Candidate Drane!” Thankfully, a familiar voice started booming in his head. “Never be afraid to be afraid!”

  Jelani Blaque was one of the greatest Fixers who ever lived, and Becker’s Training under him had been so rigorous that it sometimes felt as if his Instructor was still right there, over his shoulder, shouting out encouragement.

  “Remember your ìwà, for there is wisdom in the repetition!”

  “Remember my ìwà,” Becker closed his eyes. “Remember my ìwà.”

  Ìwà was Yoruba for “practice,” which Blaque demanded constantly of his Candidates. Every day at the beginning of Training, they would practice their Procedures, and though it sometimes got tedious, the benefits of this technique were now becoming clear.

  “Take out your Toolkit and commence equipment check!”

  The newest and youngest of the Fixers finally got his right foot to take a step . . . then his left . . . then reached down under his bed to remove his brand-new Toolkit. It was a Toolmas-ter 3000™, the latest in the messenger-bag style, complete with deluxe Tools, reinforced pockets, and plenty of extra Space.9 He opened the flap to confirm that everything he needed for the Mission was ready and waiting.

  “Then deploy your Me-2™!”

  In Becker’s humble opinion, the Me-2 was one of the cleverest Tools to ever come out of the Shed. It looked like an inflatable life vest, but when he pulled the two red tabs, it blew up to become a life-sized replica of . . . himself! On the back was a dial with various settings—“At Work,” “At Play,” “Auto-Pilot”—and Becker set his to “Asleep” and placed it in his bed. Instantly it began to breathe in and out with a slight, well-executed snore.

  “Next, implement your exit strategy!”

  When he had been stuck at the beach for Labor Day, Becker had busted out his Me-2 underwater and made a swim for it. And when he couldn’t escape from Rachel Adler’s bat mitzvah that day, he’d been forced to slip away during the height of the limbo contest and slide out through the kitchen door. But tonight he just had to make sure that his mom and dad and Benjamin didn’t hear him crawl out the second-story window, climb down the branches of the backyard elm tree, and fire up his Trek hybrid.

  “And last but not least, prepare to make the Leap!”

  As Becker pedaled feverishly down Harrison Avenue and back toward Cleveland, the malady that afflicted The World was obvious in every house along the way. TVs were flickering at desperate families. Board games were being removed from shelves. Even Dr. Kole was busy in his duplex on North Second, putting the finishing touches on tomorrow’s killer quiz. It was times like this that Becker wished the Skeleton Key proposal had been ratified in The Seems. That initiative had called for an abandonment of the old Door system—in which portals were scattered throughout The World, often in plain sight— and the issuing of special keys that could open a seam anywhere in the Fabric of Reality. This would have been especially useful for Fixers and Briefers (who needed to get across at a moment’s notice), but the referendum was summarily shot down by those resistant to change and a coalition of the Unwilling.

  Becker cruised to a halt at the back of Illuminating Experiences, and though he had made the Leap over a hundred times by now, this time felt very much like the first. He waited for a late-night jogger to pass by, her fluorescent vest glinting under a single streetlight, then quietly made his way through the leaves and back to the landing of the stairs.

  Someone had recently painted graffiti over the symbol on the door and, given the praises to Black Sabbath and Satan, Becker chalked it up to his friend Leo, a real juvenile delinquent, but with a heart of gold. Becker laughed and this helped him relax a little bit, but as he reached forward and swiped his brand-new laminate, Becker couldn’t get rid of the dryness in his mouth.

  “Now there’s one last thing, Candidate . . .”

  Fortunately, Fixer Blaque’s voice was still ri
nging in his ears.

  “When in doubt, always remember . . . The World is counting on you!”

  Becker pulled down his Transport Goggles and yanked the door ajar. Blue light spilled over his face and the highways and byways of the In-Between lay sprawled out before him.

  “And so am I!”

  Customs, Department of Transportation, The Seems

  When Becker arrived at the Landing Pad, his Transport Goggles were covered in frost. Though the trip through the In-Between was gnarly, it also had its perks. If you kept your head about you (and didn’t smash into anything), you could get a great preview of what was heading for The World that day— Shooting Stars, Twists of Fate, Big Ideas—all prepackaged and ready to be enjoyed.

  “Laminate and purpose for your visit?”

  Becker flashed his Badge, and the Customs Official flinched, knowing that if a Fixer was in attendance, something big must be afoot.

  “This way, sir!”

  The Terminal was bustling, packed with Quality Control, Agents of L.U.C.K., and tourists on their way back from The World.10 Though they were all waiting on the typically long debriefing line, no one seemed annoyed that Becker was sliding by them via “Express.” That’s because they had all been in The World when the Glitch hit and were keenly aware of its drastic effects.

  “. . . it’s about time.”

  “. . . hasn’t been a Glitch since . . .”

  “. . . a bit young to be a Fixer?”

  The idle chatter didn’t help Becker’s confidence, so he tuned it out because he had a job to do. He quickly made his way through the crowd and boarded the first monorail that stopped at the Department of Sleep.

  “Now arriving, Department of Love! Please stand clear of the closing doors!”

  Becker held on to the pole as the train started up again and continued on its loop around The Seems. Because of the late hour, most of the passengers were already on their commute home, but Becker’s day had just begun.

  “Now arriving, the Olfactory! Please apply nose plugs and stand clear of the closing doors!”

  “As if nose plugs would stop that smell . . .”

  A rider next to him was gripping one of the hanging straps, eyes red and drooping from a long day on the job.

  “How’d it go today?” asked Becker.

  “Basic Reality Check, hit the W and make sure green is green, red is red, E still equals MC2.”

  “That must be an awesome job.”

  “Ahh, ’nother day, ’nother dollar. How ’bout you?”

  Becker thought about telling him about his Mission, but he didn’t want to bum him out at the end of his shift.

  “Same ol’, same ol’. World needs its goods and services.”

  “They got it good over there, don’t they?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Now arriving, the Jitney! Transfer for service to Here, There, Everywhere, Alphabet City, and Crestview.11 Please stand clear of the closing doors!”

  “Catch you on the Flip Side,” said the Reality Checker, as he headed home for the evening.

  “On the Flip Side.”

  Becker peered out the window, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The Big Building was all lit up at the center of the loop, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was being planned that very moment. For the sake of his Mission, he hoped it was something good.

  “Now arriving, Department of Sleep! Please keep your voice down and stand clear of the closing doors!”

  “Simly Alomonus Frye, Briefer #356, reporting for duty, sir!”

  Before Becker had even stepped onto the platform, a tall, lanky Seemsian in his mid-twenties was standing at full salute.12

  “At ease, Simly,” said Becker to his Briefer. “I know who you are.”

  The two had been at the IFR together, and though they hung out in different circles, everyone knew Simly Frye. While most Candidates spent their off time chilling in the Game Room or on the Nature Trail, Simly was a staple at the Library, constantly studying up on some arcane Tool or following a poor Instructor around the halls, begging for details about this Mission or that. Truth be told, you might not want to hang out with him on a Saturday night, but you couldn’t ask for a more capable Briefer.

  “What on earth are you wearing, dude?”

  Becker wasn’t referring to Simly’s Coke-bottle glasses— which made his eyes look like a bug’s—but to the assortments of gadgets, devices, and other random tchotchkes that were strapped all over his body.

  “The latest in Fixer technology, sir. And a few classics from back in the Day. For example, check out this—”

  Becker stopped him before he could start.

  “Forget I asked.”

  They hopped on the escalator and began ramping up to Sleep.

  “Can you believe this, sir? You and me? A Glitch?” Simly was a bundle of nerves. “There hasn’t been a Glitch in The Seems since the Day That Time Stood Still and the Fixer who—”

  “I know what happened.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course you do.”

  At the top of the escalator was a sprawling factory, with an elegant courtyard situated out front. Trees and benches were laid out geometrically, giant Night Lights cast a gentle glow, and in the middle, a granite sculpture celebrated the Department of Sleep’s famed insignia: a single closed eye.

  “Cool. I’ve never been to this department before,” admitted Simly.

  “I’ve only been here a couple of times myself,” seconded Becker, “but those were on Field Trips—never on a Mission.”

  They stopped to read a quotation that was engraved beneath the sculpted eye:

  Now, blessings light on him that first invented sleep! It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot. It is the current coin that purchases all the pleasures of the world cheap, and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool and the wise man, even.

  —Miguel de Cervantes, 1605 W.T.14

  “Who’s that guy?” asked Simly, far more versed in Seemsian literature than that of The World.

  “He’s this dude from Spain who wrote a book called Don Quixote. I read it in my Best Books Ever class. Well, at least I read the Cliff ’s Notes.”

  Simly was impressed.

  Becker radioed in. “Drane to Central Command, come in, over?”

  His orange Receiver was back in working order, the short circuits repaired from the Portuguese rainstorm.

  “We read you, Fixer Drane.”

  “I have Briefer acquisition and we are ready to proceed.”

  “Understood. Permission granted to enter department.”

  Almost immediately a silent alarm sounded, and the industrial-sized doors to Sleep began to slide apart.

  Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems

  “Thank the Plan you’re here!”

  From the observation deck above, a small man in a Department of Sleep hard hat came trundling down the stairs. He was the Foreman of Central Shipping, and he’d been anxiously waiting for them.

  “A Glitch in Sleep! I can’t believe this is happening!”

  The middle manager was beside himself, so Becker took a page from Casey Lake and stayed on an even keel.

  “Just relax and tell me what went wrong.”

  “The system was running like clockwork, until we noticed a Blip,” recounted the Foreman. “At first we thought it was just a blown Exhaustion Pipe, but then the Insomnia spread like wildfire, and the next thing we knew, we had a Sleepless Night on our hands!”

  The Foreman looked both ways to make sure that no one else was listening, then leaned in to Becker’s ear.

  “Do you think it could be The Tide?”

  Becker put a finger to his lips, because he didn’t want to foster rumor and innuendo. The Tide was a shadowy organization bent on overthrowing the Powers That Be and assuming control of The World. For the last few months its attacks had increased, b
oth in scope and in frequency, culminating with the assault on the Rain Tower during Becker’s final Mission as a Briefer. But whether it were involved in this was still too early to tell.

  “Don’t worry,” Becker reassured him. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  As the Foreman led them across the factory floor, Simly pulled out his Briefing and began to take notes on Central Shipping. The components of Sleep proper were manufactured in other parts of the department, then carried here via a complex latticework of conveyor belts, tubes, hooks, and ramps before finally being stuffed into little brown boxes, each with its own destination address.

  Jami Marmor

  Sector 302

  MALLEGBERG HOTEL, Room 204

  David Bauer

  Sector 12

  Nir Etzion Kibbutz

  Third Cabin, Top Bunk, White Sleeping Bag

  Ariff Ng

  Sector 904

  Carroll 16B, Desk #5

  University Of Malaysia

  Each box was completely unique and designed for a specific individual, which explains why on some nights you get a little Sleep and on some nights you get a lot. Once they were packed, the boxes were sealed and twined, stamped “Good Night’s Sleep” by Inspector #9, then they began their final journey down and out an exit hatch, through the In-Between, and ultimately to each and every recipient in The World.

  Tonight, however, the exit hatch was shut tight. Boxes of Good Night’s Sleep were bunching up at the door, and Tireless Workers raced to gather them before they hit the floor. Alarms were sounding and panic was in the air.

  Night Watchmen’s Station, Department of Sleep, The Seems

  “It’s more serious than we thought.” Night Watchman #1 adjusted his headset and toggled through his Cases. “And it’s only getting worse.”

  Becker and Simly crowded closer to the Night Watchmen’s flat-panel Window. It was his (and his staff ’s) task to watch over the sleepers of The World, and make sure everything went according to Plan. Which, unfortunately, it was not.