by John Hulme
Becker flushed red, which only betrayed the truth.
“You’re not serious?” Jackal seemed far more amused than annoyed. “Who came up with that lesson?”
“Fixer Blaque.”
“Jelani Blaque?” Jackal burst into good-hearted laughter. His friendship with the IFR’s head instructor was also the stuff of legend. “I can’t believe the old lion sold me out.”
Becker laughed too, glad to see that Jackal wasn’t taking it personally.
“He claims that the reason things went wrong that day was that you didn’t have a Mission Inside your Mission . . .”
“Jelani knows me well.” An unmistakable shadow passed over Jackal’s face. “He always did.”
“It turned out okay, though.” Becker tried to cheer Jackal up. “A backup Fixer figured a way to get things on schedule, and nobody in The World even realized what had happened.”
“Good. That’s good. I’ve often wondered what . . .” But Jackal’s voice trailed off, and for the first time since Becker met him, his eyes grew sad and tired. “Toss a few more logs on there, will ya?”
“No problem.”
Becker gingerly pushed aside the screen and used the brass tongs to rebuild the pile. The two Fixers were quiet for a time, listening to the crackle of burning wood, the tinkling of snowflakes against the windows. But #37 couldn’t remain silent for long.
“What happened to you, Tom? I mean, the Powers That Be authorized a search party to go into the melted Moments and bring you back, but they never found a thing.” Jackal’s only response was to stare even deeper into the flames, so Becker kept pushing. “Eventually, the decision was made to refreeze them and put them back in Daylight Savings. They declared you Lost in Time.”
“Not PIA17?”
Becker shook his head. “In fact, you’re still #7 on the Duty Roster.”
If this honor brought Jackal any belated sense of pride, his face didn’t show it.
“When I first fell into the pool, I thought I was drowning,” Jackal said, finally coming out of his daze. “But then suddenly I found myself on solid ground. This scientist in a laboratory was about to make the discovery of a lifetime, but before I could see what it was, the Moment fell apart. And me with it . . .”
“That’s exactly how it happened with us.” A sick feeling wormed its way into Becker’s gut, as for the first time since he ended up at Jackal’s cabin he remembered Shan Mei-Lin. “Every time a Frozen Moment was about to peak, the reality of the situation collapsed and we got kicked into another.”
Becker wanted to ask Jackal why he thought this Moment had not similarly collapsed, but something told him this was not the proper time.
“I don’t know how long I was falling. Months—maybe even years—felt as if I might be going mad. But then . . .” Jackal’s eyes slowly rose to the picture above the fireplace. “I ended up here.”
Becker’s eyes followed Jackal’s up to the painting.
“Who is she?”
“My wife.”
Almost on cue, Becker heard the sound of voices outside the house and footsteps crunching in the snow. Seconds later, the door was thrust open and into the den piled a blur of fur, giggles, and toboggans. Two children—a boy of nine and a girl about seven—were trying to tell their father about how he’d never believe the run they had on “Dead Man’s Fjord” but stopped short when they saw company in the den.
“Sander, Katia, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” Jackal pulled his two suddenly shy children over by his chair. “This is Becker Drane.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Becker was only a few years older than them, but it felt like a lot more.
“Go on, it’s okay.” At the urging of their father, the kids dutifully shook Becker’s bandaged hand. Sander looked just like his dad, right down to the square jaw and crystal blue eyes, but Katia was no doubt her mother’s daughter, with the same dark hair and beauty. “Where’s your mother and the Mistake?”
“They’re wondering why someone forgot to put out the recyclables,” said a woman’s voice by the door.
Outside of the fact that there was a rosy-cheeked toddler in her arms, it looked as if Tom Jackal’s wife had literally stepped from the painting above the fire. She was still wearing the same wool sweater and hat, and her hair was untouched by gray.
“More importantly,” she placed the child in a highchair by the dining room table, “they’re wondering what we’re having for dinner?”
If there was any difference between a Frozen Moment and the real World, Becker could not figure out what it was. The food Jackal laid on the table—a mix of venison, lamb, and three types of fish—was as good as (if not better than) any Becker had ever tasted, the homebrew just as cold (if not colder), and the company just as lively (if not livelier). As the laughter and good cheer filled the room, Becker couldn’t help but think that for someone Lost in Time, Tom Jackal had done pretty well for himself.
The entire family had been there the previous day when Tom returned from his fishing trip bearing a nearly frozen boy, and wanted to know all the juicy details. Since Becker wasn’t sure what his fellow Fixer had told them about The Seems, if anything, he quickly crafted an off-white lie about how he’d been hiking with his tour group from the United States and wandered off the path to explore what he thought were some ancient Viking ruins. The kids were intrigued by this, of course, telling Becker all about the old shack in the woods where Eric the Red was supposed to have summered, which only forced the Fixer deeper into his own tall tale.
“Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been waiting for them to change Columbus Day to Bjarni Herjolfsson Day.” Becker polished off his last piece of strawberry rhubarb pie. “Because he was the one who really discovered America.”
Jackal and Rhianna looked at each other and laughed, then checked their watches, almost at the exact same time.
“All right, you two,” the man of the house announced. “Time to hit the hay.”
Amid a chorus of “Aw, Dad, do we have to?” Jackal led the troop upstairs, but not before they pleaded with Becker, “Promise you’ll stay long enough for us to take you to Eric’s house?”
“I’ll do my best,” answered Becker, even though he knew the chances were slim. Half a day had gone by since he’d fallen into this Moment, and Becker knew it was time to get back to the Mission. But as Rhianna started to clear the table, he again chose to bide his time.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Becker gingerly picked up a few of the larger dishes and carried them to the sink. It was tricky with the bandages, but he managed to stack them in the crook of his arm. “Those are some awesome kids you have.”
“They are.” She smiled proudly. “And you’re not so bad yourself.”
As the warm water from the sink washed across the serving platters, Becker was reminded of the first time he Briefed for Lisa Simms, when he’d stammered and blushed his way through an entire Mission. It took a minute for him to get over how pretty Rhianna was too—yet she was so easygoing that Becker soon felt completely relaxed.
“So when is your tour group coming to pick you up?” she asked. “Your parents must be worried sick.”
“Excuse me?” Becker forgot for a moment what she was referring to, but scrambled back to his feet. “Oh yeah, yeah— um, I spoke with my history teacher, Mr. Gomez, a few hours ago and we’re gonna try to find a place to rendezvous in the morning.”
“I see.”
There was an awkward silence and Becker worried that the cat was out of the bag.
“You know, Becker, when you’ve been married for ten years, you become very adept at sensing when something’s not right with the person you’re married to. When they’re upset about something . . . when they’re hurt . . .” Rhianna handed Becker another clean plate. “And especially when they’re afraid.”
“I can imagine.” Becker dried the plate and placed it in the dish rack without looking up.
“And for the first time in many, many year
s, afraid is how my husband seems.” The sink was now empty, so Rhianna shut off the faucet and turned to Becker. “What do you think he’s afraid of?”
Becker could feel her eyes burning into his neck, and knew he had no choice but to finally look into them.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” said the Fixer, though he had a pretty good idea. “Maybe because I need his help.”
“With what?”
Becker wasn’t sure how to answer that question. He knew from the occasional arguments between his mom and dad how dangerous it was to get between a husband and wife, and besides, the details of his Mission were highly classified.
“Something very important.”
“I suppose The World needs Fixing again, eh?” Now Becker really didn’t know what to say, but thankfully she said it for him. “Of course I know what Tom used to do . . . there are no secrets between us.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if—”
She smiled, but her voice was quivering. “Are you here to take my husband away from his family?”
Ooof. Becker couldn’t deny that from the moment he met Jackal, he’d been hoping the legend would come to his aid and help him Fix the damage wrought by the Time Bomb. But the last thing he wanted to do was break this woman’s heart.
“I . . .”
“What are you two talking about?”
Becker and Rhianna turned to see the man of whom they were speaking, standing at the bottom of the stairs, a storybook still in hand.
“Nothing,” lied Rhianna, turning off the faucet. “We were just finishing up the dishes.”
“Excellent.” Jackal could sense the tension between his wife and the boy but decided to ignore it. “I was going to see if our guest felt like walking off a little of this meal?”
“I’d love to,” responded Becker.
“Just make sure you dress warm.” Rhianna hung the dishtowel on the fridge, then she smiled and kissed Becker on the cheek. “And don’t stay up too late.”
She gently touched her husband on the shoulder, then made her way upstairs. Tom watched her go, then quietly turned to Becker.
“Shall we hit the road?”
The night sky above Greenland was crystal clear, and Becker felt as if he had never seen so many stars in his life. The wind and snow had tapered off sometime during dessert, and as the two Fixers tramped through the fresh powder, the woods took on the look of a gingerbread world.
“. . . and so my plan is basically to put the Split Second back together before it turns The World to dust.” Becker was now wearing a borrowed peacoat, gloves, and boots (he was roughly the same size as Sander), and though his hands were warm, they still throbbed with pain. “I just need to get back on the trail and isolate which Moment it’s bouncing around in.”
“It’s a decent strategy,” Jackal assured his young peer. “Unfortunately, it’ll never work.”
“What do you mean?”
Tom shrugged, as if the answer was obvious.
“You’ll never catch up to the Second if you chase it. You have to make it come to you.”
“Oh.” Despite his full year of active duty, Becker had the distinct impression that he was now out of his league.
“Your best bet is to put together a Containment Field—say, ten-feet square—and make sure the floor is made out of grass, not dirt, so the Essence of Time doesn’t seep through. Then take a handful of Firsts and Thirds and scatter them inside. The Split Second will be drawn to it like a magnet.”
“That’s it?”
“Catching it is the easy part.” Jackal chuckled, then bent over to pick up a stick. “The problem is how to put the two halves of the Second back together without getting fried in the process. I’m not sure it’s even possible.”
Becker could tell that #7 had caught the old Fixing bug so he figured now was the perfect time to ask. “Help me Fix this thing, Tom.”
“Me?” Jackal laughed, but in the same mirthless manner that his wife had smiled in the kitchen. “I’m a cautionary tale, remember?”
“You’re the best that ever lived!”
“What about Li Po? Or the Septuagenarian?”
“She’s the Octogenarian now.”
“Good for her!” This time Jackal’s laughter felt a little more real. “Surely she or one of the others could help out more than a washed-up old Welshman.”
“Maybe so.” #37 stopped in his tracks. “I just never thought I’d hear a Fixer try to pass the buck to someone else. Especially Tom Jackal.”
It was a low blow, and Becker knew it. But Jackal simply threw the stick into the night and continued walking.
“When Jelani was teaching you about the Day That Time Stood Still, did he ever mention why I had no Mission Inside the Mission?”
Becker thought back upon the lesson, and shook his head no.
“Not surprising. He may have been my best friend, but there are some things every man keeps to himself . . .”
The woods grew dark and deep and the thin deer trail they had been following vanished beneath the drifting snows. But Jackal seemed to know exactly where they were going.
“Fixing . . . is the best job in The World, but it can also be the loneliest. The pressure, the stakes, the 25/7 hours. Sometimes there’s not room for anyone else in that world, and even if there was, would you want to bring them in?”
Becker could more than relate, having seen many of his friendships in Highland Park grow distant, and the one person he wanted to bring into his world—Jennifer Kaley—had been banned from it.
“By the time I fell into that pool of melting Moments . . . ,” Jackal confided, “there was nothing left in my heart to wrap a Mission Inside a Mission around.”
A gust of wind rippled through the pine needles, and a few icicles fell to the ground.
“But then I tumbled into this place . . .” He motioned to the rolling countryside of Myggebungen, the province where the Jackal family had staked their claim. “And for once, the Agents of L.U.C.K.18 were on my side.”
Even in the darkening forest, Becker could see Tom’s face lighting up at the Memory.
“When Rhianna walked out of the forest, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And before we even said a word to each other, I knew. I just knew . . .”
The pathway Jackal was carving through the powder suddenly sloped, forcing them to hold onto branches and trees as they descended into a frost-covered glade.
“I guess I must have interrupted the Frozen Moment she was about to have . . . because unlike all the others I’d been to, this one never fell apart.” Jackal jumped the last few feet of the slope, as if to prove to himself the ground was solid. “And after those first few years—when I waited for it to crumble and send me falling away from everything I loved—I finally accepted that this was my life. And that it was okay for me to be . . . happy.”
“But Tom,” said Becker, not wanting to be the one to say it. “None of this is real.”
“Isn’t it?” Jackal picked up some snow and let it filter through his fingers. “This snow is cold . . . the laughter of Sander and Katia rings in my ears . . . and when the sun rises and I see my wife beside me, it feels more real than anything I’ve ever known.”
Becker couldn’t argue with what Jackal was saying, especially with the feast still stuffing his belly, and how close he’d come to freezing to death.
“Nothing . . . ,” whispered Jackal, and Becker at last heard the fear that Rhianna had sensed in her husband, “. . . not even the very destruction of the World—will make me leave that all behind.”
The older man stopped before a tall, snow-covered mound and Becker could tell they’d finally reached his chosen destination.
“Where are we?”
Tom reached forward and when he brushed away the first layer of snow, Becker could not believe what he saw.
“A Door?”
Indeed, Jackal had uncovered one of the Doors that since the beginning of Time (and until the ratification of the Skeleto
n Key) had served as the gateways between The World and The Seems. And just like the one at an abandoned lighting factory in Highland Park, New Jersey, the Door was stamped with the logo of The Seems.
“Amazing, isn’t it? Every Frozen Moment is like a snapshot of the entire World.” Jackal pointed to the east. “If we hiked two hundred miles that way, we would come to the city of Nuuk. And if we boarded a plane and flew to the town where you lived, there would probably be another you there. In ten years of exploring this place, I’ve yet to find the limit . . .”
Becker’s mind bent as far as it could to grasp how this was possible.
“This Door is right where the Manual said it would be, and I’d wager it somehow leads directly back to The Seems.”
Fixer #7 looked down at #37, and made it clear that it was time for him to depart. But Becker wasn’t quite ready to go.
“Can’t you help me fix Time, then come back when the Mission is over?”
“I don’t know what you know about Frozen Moments, but they can only be entered once.” Jackal dropped his head, somewhere between resignation and shame. “The moment I walk through that door, I’ll never be able to return.”
“Then what am I gonna do?”
There was a long beat of silence and Becker saw on Jackal’s face that part of him did indeed long for the pressure, the stakes, the 25/7. Somewhere in the distance, an owl’s cry echoed through the trees.
“The only person I can think of who can help you Fix Time . . . ,” Jackal’s voice betrayed that even he wasn’t sure his idea was a good one, “. . . is the person who invented it.”
Becker shook his head, disappointed that this was the best the living legend could do. “But no one knows where she is.”
“Somebody must know. A Case Worker . . . one of the Powers That Be. Everybody leaves a trail.” Jackal smiled at the irony of his statement. “I did.”
As Fixer Drane nodded and prepared to depart, Jackal reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a dusty Fixer’s Badge. It depicted him wearing the jacket and the helmet he’d pulled from the chest of mementos, and when Tom slid it across the black swipe pad, there was a loud click on the other side . . .