by John Hulme
“Simly, duck!” warned Becker, a second before the Briefer was ensnared in a Web of Deceit®.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled through the fibrous strands. “Go on without me!”
The sight of his Briefer wrapped in gummy coils infuriated Becker to no end, and he whipped out his Return to Sender™ and hurled it at the Glitch with everything he had.
The fiend ducked, unaware that Becker wasn’t actually trying to hit it, only to entrap it in the boomerang’s magnetic pull. At first, the Fixer felt a surge of excitement as the Tool headed back with enemy in tow, but triumph turned to terror when the Glitch reversed the Attak-Pak’s polarity and sent the projectile screaming back at its owner with twice the original speed. It caught Becker square in the chest and drove him violently backward, burying him deep in a mountain of Sleep.
“Who’s next?”
Casey Lake’s answer was to leap into the air with the help of her Jumping Jacks™ and catch the Glitch with a roundhouse kick to the face. When the imp recovered its bearings, the hatred of recognition was burning in its yellow eyes.
“You!”
Casey dropped to her feet and assumed a catlike stance.
“We meet again.”
It was true. They had faced each other before—on the last day of Clean Sweep, when Casey was just a Briefer. That battle had nearly killed her, but when she regained consciousness between the Rock and the Hard Place, the Glitch had vanished, leaving behind only a single drop of blood.
“I’ve learned much since our last encounter, Lake.”
“As have I.”
They squared off like two mighty Ninja, preparing to settle an unsettleable score. And then, with a terrible fury, they attacked.
As the epic battle raged, sparks and shards of flying metal rained down upon Simly, who from his vantage point inside the Web of Deceit could only catch snapshots of the fray. Clouds of smoke and Sleep billowed all around him and it was impossible to see who was winning. He tried to find Becker in the melee but his Fixer was still lost beneath the pile of Sleep.
Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and everything went deathly silent.
“Casey?” called out Simly, searching through the rubble. “Casey?”
“I’m sorry, she can’t come to the phone right now.”
Only the Glitch remained, broiling with the lust of battle, and virtually unscathed.
“Can I tell her who’s calling?”
Outside the Decompression Chamber, the Captain of the Night Patrol stood guard with his men.
“Stay focused, men. This is not a drill.”
The security force known as the Night Patrol was made up of a small group of Sleep professionals, augmented by ordinary workers who volunteered mostly for the generous benefits package.
“I didn’t sign up for this, Cap. I was only supposed to work two weekends a year.”
“Well,” said the crusty survivor of the Uphill Battle, “I guess you picked the wrong weekends.”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“What was that?”
The pounding on the door came from inside the Master Bedroom, prompting the Captain to immediately hush his squad.
“Identify yourself!”
“Open up, you idiot! It’s me, Dominic, your boss!”
“Sorry, sir. We have strict orders not to let anyone in or out of that room without the personal sign-off of a Fixer.”
“The Fixers have signed off—for good! Now open this door or you’ll be dredging Sour in the Flavor Mines for the rest of your natural life!”
“Maybe you should open it, sir,” suggested the rookie. “He sounds a little pis—”
“Shut up, son. For all we know, that could be the Glitch in there, impersonating the Administrator!”
The Captain considered his options, then shouted back through the door.
“I’m sorry, whoever you are . . .”
“. . . but orders are orders!”
Back in the foyer, Dominic’s heart sank.
“But you don’t understand. They’re gone . . . they’re all . . .”
The sound of the whirring propeller returned to the Sleep-filled air and Dominic swiveled his head to see what was coming.
“Please! You’ve got to get me out of here! It’s—”
“Leaving so soon?”
Materializing out of the haze came the miniscule abomination, and Dominic made a desperate run for it, but there was little he could do.
“Please! I just paid off my mortgage!”
As the Glitch dipped and dove, it pulled out a roll of duct tape and zipped around the Administrator, wrapping him from head to toe like a mummy. Dominic fell to the ground, unable to move or even speak, for the only part of his body uncovered were his eyes—open just enough to see the Glitch lowering a spinning circular saw blade directly toward his head.
“Time to take the dirt nap!”
Dominic’s cries for help were muffled. No one could hear him scream, until . . .
“Hey, half-pint!” The Glitch turned to see a shrouded figure emerging from a cloud of yellow dust. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
Fixer #37 stood his ground, bruised but undaunted, one hand poised behind his back and the other motioning for the Glitch to bring it on.
“With pleasure!”
Issuing a blood-curdling battle cry, the Glitch launched itself into the air and went hurtling toward Becker. It flipped a switch on its Pak, and dozens of weapons descended—swords, knives, scissors, even a Louisville Slugger borne by mechanical arms—but the Fixer refused to flinch.
The Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea is known primarily for his famous paradox, “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”28 and the answer to this age-old riddle was about to be resolved. But at the last possible moment, Becker dove out of the way, narrowly escaping with his head still on his shoulders. As the Glitch whizzed past him, he rolled to his feet and finally pulled out the Tool he’d been concealing behind his back.
It looked like a spear gun, except instead of a point at the end, there was a large Kevlar hand, shaped like a baseball glove or the hand from the Hamburger Helper box. Becker aimed and fired, and the hand exploded toward the Glitch, connected to the base via an extending metal cable.
The Glitch caught site of the projectile in its rearview mirror and tried to execute a dangerous barrelroll.
“Nooo!”
But it was a perfect shot.
The hand snatched the Glitch and roughly yanked it from its Attak-Pak. Then, with the touch of the button, the cord retracted like a tape measure, dragging the cause of all the night’s troubles kicking and screaming back toward the Fixer, who nabbed it.
Ferdinand Becker Drane.
“Gotcha!”
Usually, when you’re on a major odyssey to find something and you finally get it, it turns out to be a letdown because it’s supposed to be “all about the journey” and stuff. But in this case, Becker had to admit he felt pretty gosh darn—
“Agghgh fhgjdu fh ejdgghd!”
The Glitch was trying to say something, but the index finger of the Tool was covering its mouth so Becker pulled it aside.
“Impressive,” admired the Glitch. “I never saw this one in the Catalog.”
“It’s not in the Catalog,” answered Becker. “I made it myself in Shop.”
“What do you call it?”
“The Helping Hand.29”
“I hope you got an A.”
“C+.”
“Bummer.”
Even though they had just been locked in mortal combat, mutual respect seemed to pass between them.
“Well, kid, you got me.”
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of the computer’s voice echoing through the Master Bedroom.
“Alert! Alert! Arrival of Dawn in eighteen minutes. Alert!”
“Too bad it’s not gonna do you any good.”
Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“All right, people, listen up!”
His entire staff was now on hand—all four shifts of the Seemsian day—and they were prepared to do whatever it took.
“Our people are up there right now trying to fix the Drowsenheim, but that’s out of our control. All we can do is be ready when it goes back online—to get the Good Night’s Sleep sealed, packed, and shipped to every person in The World!”
As a result of the Glitch everything had to be repackaged, because there was no way to tell which components in each box had been compromised in some way, shape, or form. The entire department had scrambled to get the new parcels ready, but they were still missing the one element that no Good Night’s Sleep can do without.
“Everybody in position and wait for me to give the word!”
The Tireless Workers stepped to the rows of conveyor belts and assumed their posts. Before them were open boxes (labeled and addressed) and empty hooks that dangled in midair. Hooks that hopefully, Plan willing, would soon be carrying the priceless envelopes themselves.
“All set, #9?”
“Last time I double-fisted was the All-Nighter!” Over by the Main Hatch, Inspector #9 held up two fully inked stampers instead of one. “This is gonna be fun!”
“That’s what I wanna hear.”
Satisfied that his team was ready, the Foreman picked up his Receiver and called up to the Master Bedroom.
“We’re all set down here, boss!”
Master Bedroom, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“Well done!” said Dominic, still trying to pull the last piece of duct tape from his mustache. “Stand by for further instructions.”
Inside the reactor chamber, Becker was replacing the outer shell of the Drowsenheim and sealing the core up tight.
“Lightning Bolts™!”
“Lightning Bolts!”
Simly handed him four electric bolts, which instantly screwed themselves into place.
“All set,” said Fixer Drane. “Let’s blow this taco stand.”
Behind the protective glass, Dominic was joined by Casey, who had taken the brunt of the Glitch’s arsenal but lived to tell the tale.
“How you holdin’ up, Lake?”
“Haven’t had a beating that good since I tried to surf the Winds of Change.” Casey chuckled appreciatively, then waited for Becker and Simly to get to safe ground. “Engaging Drowsenheim 4000!”
A deep rumble shuddered through the floorboards and the reactor coughed and hiccupped for a moment as if it might not turn over, but soon it settled into a peaceful hum.
“Well done, #37.”
Casey gave Becker the thumbs-up, then grabbed the intercom.
“Lake to Packaging. The Drowsenheim is back online!”
“I repeat—the Drowsenheim is up!”
Over at Packaging, the Tireless Workers had finally awoken and stood poised to resume their duties.
“Affirmative! Packaging ready and waiting!”
Down the length of the ebonite table were rows of small faucets, and after a moment of gurgling, Sleep began to pump in perfectly apportioned amounts (Snooze levels lowered and Refreshment raised to account for lost Time). The Workers filled the sleeves once again, and the generator that sent the hooks toward Central Shipping kicked slowly into gear.
“Alert! Alert . . .”
“. . . Dawn arrival in 3.4 minutes. Alert!”
“We’re not gonna make it!” shouted Dominic, firing up the security monitor. “She’s coming down the hall!”
On the small closed-circuit TV, a little girl with blond pigtails and a big smile was walking down a long corridor, escorted by Security Guards from the Big Building. In her hand was a slim attaché case, which contained the Plan for the brand-new Day. On her lapel, she wore a Badge, handwritten in red crayon, that simply stated: “Dawn.”
“Stay frosty,” offered Casey. “It’s London to a brick that if the Good Night’s Sleep gets out the door before she gets in, we’re good to go.”
Dawn could not slow down, of course, for once she left Sleep, she was then expected at Time and Weather and Nature and lastly at Miscellaneous, where the little bells and whistles were hung upon the branches of the Plan.
“Talk to me, Jonesy!” Dominic shouted into his Receiver.
Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“Central Shipping up and running!” reported the Foreman.
All around him, the Shipping floor was a bustle of activity—workers running to and fro, conveyor belts in motion.
“What about the Good Night’s Sleep?”
Down at the Hatch, Inspector #9 was pumping like a steam engine, while long-anticipated packages were ejected into the In-Between and rushed over to The World.
“On its way, boss!”
Master Bedroom, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“The Good Night’s Sleep is on its way!”
Back at the Master Bedroom, the good news was greeted with sighs of relief, but they were not out of the woods yet.
“Did we get it out fast enough?” asked Simly, wondering if the Chains of Events had slipped beyond failsafe. “Did we stop the Ripple Effect?”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Dominic pointed to the monitor where Dawn, under heavy guard, was in the process of exchanging Yesterday for Today. If the Good Night’s Sleep had reached its destinations in time, then the Plans for the two days would match up, but if not . . .
“Warning! Chains of Events disassembling! Ripple Effect to commence in thirty seconds! Warning!”
“Hold on!” screamed Casey, as everyone grabbed on to the nearest something. Becker knew that in every department in The Seems the same exact scene was being repeated—terrified employees closing their eyes and whispering silent prayers—but in The World it was just the opposite. Sleeping or not, people were going about their business, completely oblivious to the fact that their lives could change irrevocably in a matter of . . .
“10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . .”
“Anybody got any cool weekend plans?”
The others looked at Casey, as if she had a kangaroo loose in the top paddock, but she just cracked up like she was having the time of her life.
“6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . .”
The computer stopped for a long, terrible, undisclosed amount of time.
Simly chewed his knuckles . . .
Dominic swallowed a Tums . . .
And Becker, for some reason, thought about the time his mom, dad, he, and Benjamin all went walking around Lake Mendota and found a four-leaf clover.
“Ripple Effect averted! Ripple Effect averted! Chains of Events reassembling! All systems proceeding as planned!”
Becker’s heart started beating again, and he fell to one knee, overcome with relief. Casey grabbed Simly and planted a huge kiss on his lips (which nearly killed the poor Briefer and turned him a shade of crimson that Color Coordinators would kill to get their hands on). Amid the cheers and embraces, Dominic grabbed the departmentwide intercom.
“Attention, Department of Sleep . . .”
Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“. . .This is your Administrator speaking!”
Down in Central Shipping, the staff stopped what they were doing, and even Inspector #9 had frozen in her tracks.
“. . . the Ripple Effect has been averted!”
The room burst into joyful cries.
“I repeat . . .”
Night Watchmen’s Station, Department of Sleep, The Seems
“. . . the Ripple Effect has been averted and the Glitch in Sleep is Fixed!”
Among the revelry of his comrades, Night Watchman #1 took off his
headset, sliding back into his Aeron chair, exhausted. Down on his Window, the Ice-Fisherman in Irkutsk, the twins playing pattycake, even the Salesman in the small motel were finally fast asleep. And in Istanbul, Turkey, a young architect named Dilara Saffet had been jerked from her nap only minutes after it had begun. Strangely refreshed, she followed the scent of jasmine tea down the narrow stairs and out onto the street, not realizing that if she didn’t turn around in a matter of seconds, she would literally collide with Atakar Bayat (aka Ati the Postman), who was scrambling to catch a mouse that had scared the donkey who dragged the cart belonging to the spice peddler’s son.
The Night Watchman crossed his legs and put his hands behind his head and patiently waited for the final stroke to go down.
The Slumber Party, Department of Sleep, The Seems
Meanwhile, over on the east side of Sleep, the once-mellow Slumber Party had turned into a wild victory rave—strangers were hugging each other, weeping, promising that now that their prayers had been answered, they would definitely change their ways.
Back in the VIP area, however, a lone figure sat quietly in a private alcove booth. A host of emotions coursed through the ex-Candidate, prompting him to take another sip of his Certain Tea. On the one hand, there was everything he had sworn to do in the days that lay ahead, but on the other was the pride he felt for his old friend. The friend who would soon become his enemy.
“Way to go, Draniac,” toasted Thibadeau Freck, raising his glass high. “Way to go.”
28. À la K.I.T.T. vs. K.A.R.R.
29. Patent pending.
12
A Dream Come True
Sleep Deprivation Tank, Department of Sleep, The Seems
Once the crisis was over, the Glitch was carefully transferred from the palm of Becker’s Helping Hand to the Sleep Deprivation Tank, a secure holding cell in the basement of the department. It was now locked inside a carrying case, with holes in the side, providing proper ventilation and allowing the menace to speak, should it desire counsel or have any last requests.
