The Lost Train of Thought

by John Hulme

  Sophie’s gray eyes glistened with a youthful spirit that belied her almost inconceivable age. “You knew I couldn’t resist?”

  “I needed a way to get the Nowherians involved, so Eve would turn her attention away from the home front.” Samuel refilled his glass, and filled another for the Time Being. “And I knew there was only one mystery left in this world you hadn’t solved.”

  Sophie took a small sip and curled her nose at the strong flavor.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t solved it yet.”

  “The important word there is yet.”

  Samuel reached into his pocket, pulled out an exceedingly long and heavy brass key, and dangled it in front of his former mother-in-law.

  “How did you get that?”

  “Kalil has his spies in the Big Building. Did he not think I would respond in kind?”

  Sophie reached out for the key, but Samuel yanked it away like a teasing schoolboy. “Of course, you realize I’ll have to roll you under the bus with the others.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your daughter is well aware that Triton was whispering in the ears of the Powers That Be, and as Second in Command, I must expose and punish all traitors to The Seems.”

  “Do what you must, Samuel. Just . . . try to make it easy on Eve.” Sophie fell back in her chair again. “To find out that I was working for The Tide would be very painful for her.”

  “Not half as painful as it would be to find out who Triton is.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Part of me thinks she already suspects.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Samuel did the slightest of double takes, and Sophie didn’t miss it.

  “Who else could it be?”

  Realizing a battle of wits was futile, Samuel tossed Sophie the key.

  “There’s an air taxi waiting for you on the roof. The driver will fly you out to the Sticks, and feel free to crash at my place for as long as you want. But I warn you, as soon as tomorrow’s Daily Plan comes out, you’ll probably want to be as far away from The Seems as is Seemsianly possible.”

  Sophie cradled the heavy key, almost giddy at the possibilities of what it might unlock. But as she gathered her small duffle bag and prepared to head up to the roof, she couldn’t resist tweaking Samuel one last time.

  “If the Glitches hadn’t come, who would be in charge of The Seems right now? Samuel Hightower, or Triton?”

  The Second in Command burst into laughter and made his way around the desk.

  “But they did come, Mom.” He gave the grandmother to his only child a warm and familial kiss on the cheek. “That is truly the Most Amazing Thing of All.”

  They hugged each other warmly, and then the Time Being was gone.

  “Travel safe.”

  Samuel poured himself another drink, still undecided about whether or not to explode Sophie’s air taxi as soon as the dirigible took flight. After all, she was the only person who knew that he was Triton. On the other hand, maybe it was time for the plotting to stop. Ten years of recruiting people for an underground revolution without ever meeting them face-to-face had taken him exactly where he’d hoped it would, and damn if it wasn’t satisfying. Yes, he’d sold every single one of those people out to get here, but The World would no doubt be a better place for it. Just as soon as he rebuilt it from Scratch.

  At the bottom of a well-worn notepad was the final item on his list of things to do, and Samuel got down to the process of crossing it off. It involved a somewhat messy decision made by the Court of Public Opinion, which directly affected the approvals of an internship at the Big Building and a heroic Fixer’s last request. All Samuel needed to do was sign on the dotted line, and the rest, as they say, would be history.

  Caledon, Ontario, Canada

  The next afternoon, Jennifer Kaley hopped down the steps of her school bus and onto the corner of Gerard Avenue and Custer Drive. The moment the doors closed behind her, Jimmy the Driver peeled out and the kids cheered out their windows, but the girl with the dirty blond hair heard none of it. She simply turned up the music that was playing over her ear-buds and headed down the sidewalk for home.

  The Mission Mix had arrived yesterday, as it always did, in a small yellow envelope covered with hideous handwriting. Most people Jennifer knew who were into music traded songs electronically, but Becker Drane was nothing if not old school. He insisted upon sending her CDs with track lists and liner notes, and always with some kind of cool/goofy picture on the cover. But the one she was listening to now—“Mission Mix #10: I Dream of Jenny”—featured a pretty spectacular sketch drawn in crayon by a certain little brother.

  “Nimrod’s not here right now,” Benjamin Drane had said when she’d called Becker’s house last night. “But I’d be happy to take a message.”

  “How come he’s not answering his cell?” Jennifer implored, having left half a dozen messages since the envelope arrived.

  “How should I know? I’m not my brother’s keeper.”

  “But he is home from his Mission, right?”

  Since the package was postmarked yesterday in Highland Park, she figured Becker must’ve finally come back from The Seems and was trying to make up for the abrupt way he left by being mysteriously romantic.

  “I just told you he wasn’t home, didn’t I?” The nine year old had clearly reached his wit’s end with this conversation. “Who is this, again?”

  “Jennifer Kaley, Becker’s, um . . . friend from Canada.”

  “Well, Jennifer Kaley from Canada, I’m busy playing ‘Juvenile Delinquent II: Tried as an Adult’ right now, so if you don’t mind—”

  “Hold on, B. Can I talk to Me-2 for a second?”

  “Me who?”

  “Me-2!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please take us off your list!”

  Click.

  It was a weird moment then, and it still struck her that way now, bopping down the suburban streets of Caledon. Jennifer had spoken to Benjamin dozens of times, but from his tone of voice, it was as if he didn’t even know who she was. He even seemed like a different kid to her, not the sweet-natured artist who was her co-keeper of Becker’s big secret, but an annoyed (and annoying) nine-year-old brat. But she shook it off as the final song on the mix kicked in . . .

  Oh, to live on Sugar Mountain

  With the barkers and the colored balloons . . .

  It was the first song she and Becker had ever listened to together, on the night they met inside a Dream. Jennifer replayed the memory in her head as Neil Young sang the words, smiling as she recalled the thrill of holding the Fixer’s hand and literally flying through the air above The Seems. It had never occurred to her that this incredible world and the boy who showed it to her were real— only that she wished they were, and that the moment she shared with Becker on a rocky overhang overlooking the Stream of Consciousness could’ve lasted forever. In a way it had, because it was that same rocky overhang that adorned the cover of Jennifer’s new Mission Mix.

  “Guess that’s it for now,” the voice of Becker Drane said as soon as the song was over. “Can’t wait to see you again, and in the meantime, always remember—something somewhere is making sure you’ll always be okay . . .”

  He made the little sound of a drumroll . . .

  “And his name is Ferdinand.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes, just like she did several times inside that Dream, and whenever he got too new-agey on her. But in truth, she couldn’t have felt happier if she tried, and she couldn’t wait until the two of them could finally be together aga—

  Wow. That was weird. She totally lost her train of thought.

  “What was I just thinking about?”

  As Jennifer racked her brain, she arrived on her block to see a weird-looking man standing on the opposite corner. He definitely wasn’t from this neighborhood, and he didn’t look at all like any of the landscapers or kitchen contractors that were working on some of the houses on her street. In fact, the onl
y thing Jennifer knew for sure about the stranger with the three-piece suit and the leather attaché case was that he was staring directly at her.

  “You’re being paranoid,” she said to herself, calmly starting toward 30 Custer Drive. “He’s probably just a vacuum cleaner salesman.”

  But when she pretended to be getting something out of her book bag and looked back over her shoulder, Jennifer saw to her horror that the stranger had crossed the street and was heading in her direction. Even worse, no one on Custer seemed to be home—the only sign of life was a delivery van from something called “The Cleanup Crew,” which was unfortunately just pulling away. With thoughts of herself on the evening news, she picked up her pace, but the man in the suit did the same.

  “Ms. Kaley?” he shouted after her. “Ms. Jennifer H. Kaley?”

  Only when she was safely inside the house and locked behind the screen door did Jennifer turn to answer him.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself.” The stranger pulled a business card from his pocket and slid it through the mail slot. “Nick Dejanus, Director of Human Resources.”

  According to the card, Dejanus worked for a company called The Seems. The Seems? Where had Jennifer heard that name before? But before she could ask, the man started to wheeze and cough.

  “Breathe much?” Jennifer inquired, starting to relax.

  “My wife bought me a membership to the Department of Health Club, but with all this political upheaval, I’ve been too busy to go.” The man dropped his hands to his knees, clearly regretting the decision. “At least the nearest Door is in those woods nearby.”

  “Door to where?”

  “I’m sorry. You’d think after six years on the job, I would know how to do this already.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a laminated piece of 81.2-by-11 paper that was connected to what appeared to be a book report. “Is this your handwriting?”

  Jennifer looked at the perfectly color-coded spiral notebook. “Yup. That’s me.”

  And that’s when it all came back to her. The box at Paradise Records. The Seemsian Aptitude Test and “the Best Internship in The World.” But that had been months ago and she hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Then, on behalf of the Powers That Be, I would like to extend you the opportunity for an internship at the Big Building.” Before Jennifer could ask what that was, the man stuffed an oversized envelope through the slot, with the same four-color logo that was printed on his card. “Orientation begins tomorrow at eight a.m., but Second in Command Hightower is pretty easygoing, so don’t sweat it if you’re a few minutes late.”

  She stood behind the screen with the packet in her hands, mystified.

  “Becker always said you’d make a perfect Case Worker,” Dejanis said, before sadly turning and heading back to wherever he had come from. “Maybe he’ll be right.”

  As Jennifer Kaley watched the stranger slowly vanish into the streets of suburbia, she took another look at her SAT, then shouted out one final question.

  “Who’s Becker?”

  Epilogue

  The bottom curve of the sun was just dipping into the ocean when Becker Drane stumbled out of the tide and onto the safety of the shore. He’d been swimming for what felt like hours, and even with the current on his side his arms felt like two wet pieces of spaghetti. But as he relished the warm sand against his cold cheek, Becker allowed himself a flash of pride in the simple fact that he hadn’t drowned out there. Maybe his breaststroke wasn’t what it was when he medaled at the Rutgers Pool swim meet, but at least he was still breathing.

  It took the Fixer fifteen minutes to push himself to his knees, and another ten to get back to his feet. Walking was another story, but Becker was in no hurry to do that anyway, since his first order of business was figuring out where he was (not to mention how he’d gotten there). Though he appeared to be alone amid the high dunes and even higher cliffs, the sand itself was littered with footsteps and the outlines of blankets and towels. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that a whole bunch of swimmers and sunbathers had just been—

  “’Scuse me, bud.”

  Becker wheeled to see an older man in a Hawaiian shirt, methodically waving a metal detector over the sand. He wore headphones over his ears as well, and judging by the way he knelt and started digging a hole in the sand, he’d just picked up a signal.

  “Litterbugs,” he muttered, uncovering a crushed-up can of Tab. “Whatever happened to ‘give a hoot, don’t pollute’?”

  As the beachcomber stuffed the can into the plastic bag that dangled from his fanny pack, Becker jumped into his field of vision.

  “Excuse me, sir? But can you tell me where I am?” he asked. “I think I’m a little lost.”

  The man pulled off his headphones, irritated by the intrusion.

  “Wish I could help you, kid, but there’s gold in them thar hills.” He threw a thumb back over his shoulder. “Talk to that fella on the boardwalk. Been waiting here for hours, so chances are he’s part of your Welcome Committee.”

  In a bit of a daze, Becker noticed for the first time the old-fashioned boardwalk that bordered the beach a few hundred yards away. But when he saw who was sitting on the wooden steps leading up to it, he instantly snapped out of it.

  “That’s what I thought.” The treasure hunter gave a salute, then slapped his headphones back on. “Have a good one, kid.”

  As man and metal detector disappeared in search of loot, the sopping-wet teen limped toward the boardwalk, his eyes even wider than his mouth.

  “Po . . . is that you?”

  Indeed it was. The immortal Li Po, #1 on the Duty Roster and master of the 7th Sense, wearing not his traditional gi and Toolkit but a short-sleeved button-down shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts.

  “Hello, Becker. I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again.”

  Becker’s head felt like it was about to blow clean off his shoulders, and not just because Li Po had addressed him verbally for the first time ever. The famed Fixer had been missing for almost a week now, but here he was, somehow teleported from the Middle of Nowhere to the shores of what for all the world looked like Point Pleasant or Cape Cod.

  Just as Becker himself had been.

  “What happened to you, Po? I mean, we couldn’t find you anywhere!”

  “I had waited all my life to see the Most Amazing Thing of All, and once I did, well . . . there was nothing left for me to do.” Fixer Po rubbed his bald head and relished the slightly burned feeling on top. “But I must admit, the swim was unexpectedly refreshing.”

  Becker nodded and turned back toward the ocean, trying to retrace his own voyage to this mysterious place. During his brief career, he had tumbled between realities before—from Dreams and Frozen Moments to both sides of the In-Between—but never as harshly as this. Perhaps he’d been sucked into the tunnel with the runaway Train of Thought and been accidentally propelled to some distant corner of The Seems. Or perhaps this was all his own Dream, and he’d momentarily awake to find himself in a bed at the Department of Health surrounded by the second team, their smiling faces an equal mixture of worry and relief.

  But there was also another explanation.

  “Po?”

  “Yes, Becker?”

  “I, um . . . there’s something I need to know.”

  “I figured you might.”

  Becker’s mouth had become so dry that he couldn’t manage the words, so he inhaled the clean and salty air instead. Waves were lapping gently against the shore, while a trio of palm trees swayed easily overhead. Out on the water, a lone seagull skimmed across the surface, and Becker was sure he could hear music and people laughing from somewhere up above the boardwalk. All of these sights and sounds melted away his fear, and with one last deep breath, he turned to the Fixer beside him and found the courage to ask—

  “Is this A Better Place?”

  Appendix A

  Glossary of Terms

  A Better Place: Where
people go when they die.

  Action Park: The (now closed) water-and motor-themed amusement park in Vernon Township, NJ, whose popularity was accompanied by unsafe rides, zoned-out attendants, and questionable patrons. (But it was awesome.)

  Animal Affairs: The department in The Seems responsible for Leopard Spots, Lions’ Roars, maps for Carrier Pigeons, updates on the secret plan among squirrels to overthrow humankind and force all other life forms into indentured servitude in the nut mines, etc.

  Attak-Pak®: A silver backpack or “anti-Toolkit” used by Glitches to wreak havoc on the machinery of The Seems.

  Back Scratcher: One who toils in the back country of the Middle of Nowhere, searching and sifting for precious grains of Scratch.

  Bargain Hunters: A loose band of mercenaries specializing in the buying and reselling of precious materials to a small segment of The Seemsian upper crust. (Usually at a great profit.)

  Brainstorm: A phenomenon, peculiar to the Middle of Nowhere, where gusting winds and shifting sands kick up large quantities of unrefined Scratch. When combined with human or Seemsian Thought, virtually anything imaginable can come to life. See also: Brainstorming.

  Brainstorming: An extreme sport pioneered back in The Day in which participants intentionally enter a Brainstorm to turn their wildest fantasies and fears into reality.

  Buzz Kills: Gnatlike insects indigenous to the Middle of Nowhere known to kill your buzz with theirs.

  Care Giver(s): Highly qualified medical personnel dispatched from the Department of Health to handle any and all life-threatening emergencies.

  Cleanup Crew: A division of Human Resources responsible for “humanely unremembering” people of what they know about The Seems and collecting all hard materials that might leave a paper trail.

  Clink, the: The sheet-metal holding tank adjacent to the Pokey where Seemsberia’s most dangerous arrivals are housed during processing.

  Cloud(s) of Suspicion: Nasty bulbous puffs known to settle over The World at random intervals, causing large-scale mistrust and fear.

  Day, the: The time before the Beginning of Time, when The World was under construction.