by John Hulme
Note to self: Remember to send J. K .
hint that necklace she lost =
under bed in floorboard crack.
“This is wild . . . ,” said Jennifer, staring at her life up on the wall.
“Yeah, Case Worker is a great job, but they have a lot of restrictions. They can’t mess with your life or invade your privacy, but if you let them they can really help you out.”
“Cool.”
Clara had a cheap clock from Seems Club on her wall, and Becker noticed that another thing he’d preprogrammed into the Dream was about to unfold. He slid the window open and invited Jennifer to come to the edge.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s a Dream—I figured we would fly to the next spot.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Trust me.” He reached out for her hand. “This is gonna be sweet.”
She thought it over for a second, but everything else had gone pretty good so far, and someone told her once that when you fall in a Dream, you wake up before you hit the ground.
“Carpe diem,” she said, and together they climbed out on the sandstone ledge. The wind was whipping back and forth, and far below they could barely make out the monorail, which looked like a toy train.
“What are we waiting for?” asked Jennifer, now fully on board.
“Hold on a sec.” Becker had a giddy smile on his face. “I planned something special for 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .”
Out of nowhere a song kicked in, as if playing on invisible speakers. Becker had debated between “I’m with You” and “Flight of the Bumblebee” when sifting through the music section of the Spice Rack, but had chosen “Sugar Mountain,” because he expected a smooth and mellow flight.
“You like this song?”
“Totally.”
“But isn’t the guy who sings it, like, four hundred years old?”
Becker was bummed, because he’d thought it was a pretty good call.
“I could probably change it if you want?”
“No, I’m just teasing you.” She smiled and punched him on the shoulder. “I love Neil Young.”
They took one last look over the side before Jennifer leaped into the air.
“See you at the bottom!”
When they finally landed, they pretty much spent the rest of the day chilling out on the Field of Play and enjoying a first-class picnic. Twinkies were served with knife and fork, Soft Drinks™ provided as beverage, and outside of an Ultimate Frisbee game between the two sides of the Coin, they pretty much had the run of the place. Jennifer told Becker all about her gram and how cool she was and that even though it sucked that she had died, Jennifer always felt like she carried her around with her wherever she went. The whole time, Becker couldn’t help thinking about how much she reminded him of Amy Lannin, which made him kind of sad but also made him kind of happy too.
Unfortunately, a Dream can only last so long, even though Time doesn’t work the same way there as it does in Reality (you can spend six hours in a Dream and it’s only two minutes of Sleep). And Becker remembered the Pleasant Dreamer’s warning, so he knew it was almost time to wrap things up.
“Wow,” said Jennifer, following the Fixer to the top of a craggy hill. “That’s pretty awesome.”
For his grand finale, Becker had chosen the Point of View, a thin jut of rock that overlooked the Stream of Consciousness. Soon, each would have to go back to their respective worlds, but neither were in any hurry to leave.
“I wish I could just stay here in this Dream forever,” Jennifer mused, hair blowing across her face from the breeze.
“You can.”
“What do you mean?”
Becker couldn’t help noticing how pretty she looked to him—even more so than when he first “met” her on the Window in the Night Watchman’s station—and it almost caused him to forget what he was trying to say.
“That’s the thing about 532. It’s supposed to make you feel better Tomorrow, not just Today.”
“But tomorrow I have to go back to school.” The harsh reality of Reality was creeping back into Jennifer’s state of mind.
“But now it could be different . . . because now you know about The Seems.”
“The Seems is just a Dream, Becker.”
“No, it’s not.”
Jennifer gave him a look, like, “Dude, please give me a break.”
“I swear!”
She could tell he wasn’t kidding, and part of her wanted it to be true. In fact, a lot of her wanted it to be true, but there was still something bothering her about the whole idea.
“You know . . . if The Seems is so great and they have a Plan and everything . . . then . . . then why is this happening?” She was referring to her situation at school, which Becker had witnessed firsthand. “I mean, you don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day and know you’re gonna have to deal with that.”
Becker nodded and gazed down at the rippling water, as a single sculler whisked gently past them on the Stream. Somehow he knew this moment was coming. It came for him when Amy died and again when Thibadeau disappeared and sometimes it still came Today, when he saw all the things that didn’t make sense in The World.
“That’s a good question. And I actually asked my teacher at the IFR the exact same thing once, when I was going through a really tough time.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said that no one, not even a Case Worker, can tell you what lies at the heart of the Plan—and beware of anyone who says that they can.” Those were his Instructor’s words verbatim, on the day when he was called off the Beaten Track to hear the tragic news about Thib. “But Fixer Blaque seemed to think it was something good.”
Now it was Jennifer’s turn to search for answers in the rippling water.
“I wish I could believe that.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Becker shrugged his shoulders. “Tomorrow, when you wake up, pretend that maybe The World isn’t what you thought it was. That the trees and the leaves and the wind—and even you—are all part of the most magical place ever created, and something, somewhere, is making sure you’ll always be okay.”
But Becker’s new friend just rolled her eyes.
“Honest! I tried it and, yeah, it’s not always easy, but the more you do it, the more you realize it just might be real.” Becker kicked the dirt under the bench, trying to get the words out right. “Because sometimes you have to believe in something before it comes true.”
Jennifer looked over at him with a wry grin, but she could tell he really meant what he was saying.
“Do you really think that’ll work?”
“I know it will.”
“But what if it doesn’t?”
“Then I owe you another Dream.”
There was so much more he wanted to tell her—like about the Plans for the Future and the Most Amazing Thing of All— but he didn’t want to push his luck. He hoped that at least he had given her a little something that would make Tomorrow better than Today.
“Well, I’d better get going,” said Becker.
“Is this the end?”
“Almost. But you’ll remember everything that happened— or at least the important parts.”
The sun had almost set now, cutting the Islands in the Stream across in shadow. They both got up from the bench and for the first time, Becker seemed a little awkward to Jennifer— not this mighty Fixer anymore, but just a boy, about the same age as her.
“Thank you for an amazing Dream.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Will I ever see you again?”
After spending the whole day with Jennifer, he realized how prescient the Dream VP’s words were about the difficulties of adhering to the Golden Rule. But he couldn’t tell her no.
“You can Plan on it.”
She laughed and Becker slid his hands in his pockets, not sure what to do with either of them.
“Get going already!”
With a shy half-wave good-bye, th
e Fixer turned around and executed a perfect swan dive straight into the Stream of Consciousness. Jennifer cautiously leaned over the edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of Becker one last time . . .
But he never came up for air.
1430
A Good Night’s Sleep
The Stream of Consciousness, The Seems
Becker’s head popped out of the water, gasping for oxygen, and he was still slightly disoriented from his entrance back into The Seems. The only way out of someone else’s Dream is through the Stream of Consciousness, for it’s the one thing that connects all of us to each other.
“Over here!”
By a small red boathouse at the edge of the water, Simly and the Pleasant Dreamer who’d helped Becker reconstruct the 532 were anxiously waiting for him to swim to shore.
“That was cutting it close, sir.”
“You’re telling me.”
Becker stepped out of his wet clothes and they immediately wrapped him in a blanket, just to make sure he didn’t catch a chill.
“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 7th 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.
