The Glitch in Sleep

by John Hulme

  “Worth its weight in gold, huh?”

  Fixer Blaque caught Becker admiring his shiny new Badge.

  “More.”

  The Instructor walked up beside him. With his formal attire and blue-tinted shades glinting in the sun, he was that much more impressive.

  “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  They took their plastic cups and strolled across the lawn toward Finnegan’s Pond.25

  “Is there something wrong, sir?”

  “Not at all, Cand—I mean, Fixer Drane. There’s just something I wanted to show you.”

  Halfway there, they crossed paths with Briefers Carmichael and Von Schroëder.

  “We right on your heels, yo.”

  “Ja, dogg. Wir sind right on your heelz.”

  “Wunderbar !” Becker laughed as C-Note and Frau Von Schroëder bumped fists. “I guess I’ll see you on the Flip Side.”

  “On the Flip Side,” they replied in unison.

  Fixer Blaque smiled, then led Becker down toward the gazebo by the water’s edge. “It’s good to have friends—especially on a job like this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The gazebo itself was painted white and Blaque pointed to the gold-plated dedication that was inscribed above the stairs:

  Dedicated to the Memory of Fixer Tom Jackal

  Lost in Time, 13,444

  All Gave Some. Some Gave All.

  “Tom was my best friend. Did you know that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He was a good man, and the best Fixer I ever met. Even though I know he’s in a Better Place, I miss him terribly.”

  A breeze blew in and light sparkled off the pond, and Becker could tell that Fixer Blaque had something to get off his chest, so he remained silent.

  “The last Mission we ever went on together was called ‘Hope Springs Eternal.’ ”

  Becker had never heard of that one but he was all ears. For him, hearing about legendary Missions was almost as good as going on them.

  “Back then, The World was full of despair, and everything they tried to do here in The Seems had failed to fix the problem. So a decision was made to send a group of Fixers to the Middle of Nowhere, in order to bring back some Hope.”

  “I thought the Middle of Nowhere was off-limits.”

  “It is.”

  Fixer Blaque took another sip of punch, then continued.

  “Three of us were chosen—me, Tom, and Lisa Simms, who I think you’ve served with before.”

  “Yes, sir. On the ‘Broken Heartstring.’ ”

  “Anyhow, we took the Train out to the End of the Line, and believe me, nothing can prepare you for what it’s like. Time, Nature, Reality—they don’t exist out there—it’s just an endless wasteland full of Nothing.”

  Becker could only imagine what that looked like, because the only people who had ever seen the Middle of Nowhere didn’t come back. This must have been the story behind the picture on Blaque’s “Wall of Fame.”

  “Tom and Lisa took the mountains, I took the dead riverbed, and for eighteen days we searched to no avail. But at sunset on the nineteenth day, I spotted something—a cave, with a strange flickering light inside of it. I probably should have waited for help, but there was no signal on my Receiver and not much time. So I went in on my own.”

  The way Blaque’s massive fingers were gripping the railing of the gazebo, it was like he was back inside that cave again.

  “I wish I could describe it to you. Hope, flowing like water from a spring in the rock—and so bright that I could barely stand to be in its presence.”

  Becker thought he noticed his Instructor wincing at the memory of an old wound.

  “Two jars I know I filled, but midway through the third I must have blacked out. The next thing I remember, Tom and Lisa were dragging me out of there. How they found me, I still have no idea—but we pulled it off. We brought back a little bit of Hope for The World.”

  “Cool.”

  Over by the ceremony, the crews had begun to break down the stands, and the crowd filtered back toward the monorail that would return them to their homes and jobs. The teacher watched them go for a time, before finally looking down at his student.

  “You’re one of the most talented Candidates I’ve seen at the IFR in a long, long time, Becker. Not just because of your skills and your 7th Sense but because of your dedication to the Mission. And make no mistake about it, you deserve to wear that Badge.”

  Becker felt his own rush of pride.

  “But sometimes I forget you’re only twelve years old.”

  “Yes, sir. Sometimes I do too.”

  The Instructor laughed heartily, a sound Becker always loved because it was so infectious. But it didn’t last long, for now was the time he’d chosen to deliver his most precious gift.

  “There comes a moment in the life of every Fixer when everything you’ve tried has failed, and there’s nowhere left to turn—and trust me, it happens to us all—but when that moment comes for you, Becker, I want you to remember . . .”

  Fixer Blaque reached into his pocket and pulled out a souvenir from the most dangerous Mission of his career.

  “You’ll always have this.”

  Office of the Administrator, Department of Sleep, The Seems

  “Where in the name of the Plan did you get that?”

  Even the great Casey Lake was blown away by the sight of what Becker was holding.

  “Graduation present.”

  “Beats a Williams-Sonoma gift card.”

  “I’ll say.”

  In the palm of Becker’s hand was a small glass cube, with a tiny speckle of light inside it.

  “What is it?” asked Simly.

  “A Glimmer of Hope,” answered Casey, as if she’d seen one before.

  Becker had stashed it in the Secret Compartment of his Toolkit for a rainy day, like when he was on his twenty-fourth Mission, dangling from the Edge of Sanity. But he would never have a twenty-fourth (not to mention a second) without completing his first.

  “It’s . . . beautiful,” Dominic marveled, briefly under the spell of the precious substance. “But this doesn’t change anything! We’ve still got a Glitch in Sleep that needs to get Fixed!”

  “Not for long,” said Becker, newfound confidence beginning to build.

  “It’s too late for fancy footwork now, kid! You’re off the job!” The Administrator reached out to yank Becker’s Badge off his chest, but Casey slapped his hand away.

  “Not so fast, mate. Unless I hear a better idea, this is the only chance we’ve got.”

  Dominic’s face turned bright red, but taking on Casey Lake was a far different cry than challenging a rookie Fixer on his first assignment.

  “Fine! But if the Ripple Effect hits, it’s on your head, not mine!”

  “So be it.” Casey seemed to relish the opportunity. “It’s your show now, Fixer Drane.”

  With all eyes on him, Becker placed the cube on Dominic’s desk and tried to remember the instructions that Fixer Blaque had given him. He opened the small latch that kept the cover closed, and as if on cue, the tiny Glimmer gently rose into the air.

  “Now, everybody clear your thoughts because we don’t want to cross any signals.”

  The only way to activate a Glimmer of Hope is to hope for what you want with everything you’ve got, and if the thoughts are pure enough, it’s almost certain to come true. The only problem, though, is that you can’t fool Hope—you really have to feel it. So Becker looked back upon the Mission and called to heart everything that he was hoping for most that night.

  “Do you need help hoping, sir?” asked Simly, thinking of his Mission Inside the Mission—the salesman in the Emmaus motel.

  “No, dude. This one’s on me.”

  Becker closed his eyes and began to hope for all that he was worth. He hoped for the woman in Turkey, that the Events conspiring in her favor would not be compromised, and that she would meet the lonely post
man who was her perfect match. Then he hoped for Simly’s hope—that Anatoly Svar would be able to make the drive home in time for his daughter’s birthday.

  “It’s working!” shouted Simly, and sure enough the Glimmer rose higher and grew even larger. Becker’s flow was almost interrupted by his Briefer’s exuberance, but he managed to focus by hoping for Jennifer Kaley, that she would get her Dream after all, and that tomorrow would be a better day.

  “What’s going on?” cried Dominic, as exquisite white light filled the room.

  “Cover your eyes!” shouted Casey, slapping on her own pair of Night Shades.

  But Becker barely heard them, for he was shaking violently and utterly transfixed by his last (but not least) hope: for some sign—a signal, a hint, a foreshadowing, a clue—that would lead them straight to the Glitch so that all of his other hopes could ultimately come true.

  All at once, the light swelled to an unbearable brightness, and everyone in the room fell to the floor lest they be blinded by the possibilities of what might be.

  There was a flash, a crack, and a VWORPLE. And when they opened their eyes, the Glimmer of Hope was gone.

  But in its place was something else.

  24. This masterpiece, painted by the Original Artist, depicts the twelve founding members of the Powers That Be gathered around their conference table in the Big Building, with the chair at the head of the table conspicuously empty.

  25. Named after Michael Finnegan, the inventor of salt-free water for lakes, streams, and ponds.

  10

  The Glitch in Sleep

  At the Black Market, held on Saturdays and Sundays between nine and six, the erstwhile shopper can purchase virtually any substance manufactured in The Seems—from Epiphanies and Sighs of Relief to Last Straws and Pleasant Surprises—if they are willing to pay the price. But of all the commodities found on the portable tables and fold-up stands, few are harder to come by than Sleep.

  Sitting on Dominic’s desk, where the Glimmer of Hope had been, was a small amount of the precious dust. It was a light yellow, with the occasional silver sparkle, hermetically sealed inside a plastic sleeve. A single closed eye was stamped upon the face, indicating its authenticity, not to mention the location of manufacture.

  “It can’t be!” whispered Dominic, still blinking away the spots from his eyes. “The Master Bedroom is impregnable— even to a Glitch.”

  “Maybe it slipped in through one of the Refreshment Ducts,” posited Becker.

  “Too small,” countered Casey. “But it could’ve come down through the Twinkler System.”

  “No way. No how.” The Administrator became indignant. “I personally oversaw the construction of that entire room!”

  “Then why don’t you give them a call,” Casey prodded.

  “Fine! But this is a complete waste of Time.”

  As Dominic picked up the intercom, Simly lifted the packet of Sleep and stared at it closely. “I don’t understand.”

  “The Glimmer’s pointing to the one Bedroom I never thought the Glitch could penetrate.” Becker tucked the empty case into his Toolkit for Posterity. “But then again, Hope never lies.”

  “This is Administrator Dozenski to Master Bedroom, Master Bedroom come in.” Dominic listened for a response, but when he spoke again, it was without the same assurance. “Master Bedroom, please respond!”

  The Administrator slowly lowered the Receiver.

  “No answer.”

  That was all the confirmation Casey needed and she quickly seized command.

  “I want a Level 5 lockdown through the entire department, four sets of Pajamas™, and Night Patrol placed on every conceivable way in or out of that room!”

  “Done!” Dominic started scrambling to fill Casey’s requests. “But if it’s in the Master Bedroom, it may already be too—”

  “You let us worry about that.”

  Becker grabbed his gear and readied himself for action. Though he was still technically going to Court tomorrow, he had much more important things on his mind.

  “Now how do we get there?”

  Decompression Chamber, Department of Sleep, The Seems

  Up an ornate spiral staircase lay the entrance to the Master Bedroom, where the substance of Sleep was mixed and manufactured. But before entering, one must endure decompression,26 for though the individual ingredients are essentially harmless, when combined, they produce an extremely intoxicating effect. Hence, all necessary precautions must be taken when risking exposure to the powerful compound.

  “These don’t look like pajamas,” noted Simly as he stepped into the thick, protective suit. “They don’t even have the little feets!”

  “They’re not supposed to,” answered Dominic, pulling on his thick orange gloves. “Pajamas were designed to protect my Tireless Workers from the hazmats that lie beyond that door.”

  Simly gulped and buckled his boot one extra notch.

  “Commence Sleep Decompression,” said the computer, and a gauge on the wall dropped from yellow to orange. Becker and Casey were already geared up to the hilt and sifting through their Toolkits for the latest in Anti-Glitch technology. One by one they clicked on their extensions and removed the safeties, while Simly fiddled with his Briefcase.

  “What do you guys think I should bring?”

  “Just yourself, kid.” Becker smiled, making an obvious reference to the classic Fixer Training film Don’t Be a Tool, and Simly forced a grin. But the tension in the air was palpable.

  “Sleep Decompression complete.”

  The light on the meter hit green and everyone felt their ears simultaneously pop.

  “Helmets on,” advised Dominic, jiggling his own into place. “Seal and pressurize.”

  All four pressed the same button on the front of their suits, and glass visors slid down over their faces. But as Becker reached for the reinforced door to the Master Bedroom, the excitement that was coursing through his veins was also tempered with apprehension. On the other side was the Glitch they’d been pursuing all night, and no one, not even Casey, seemed anxious to face it.

  “Never be afraid to be afraid, boys,” said Fixer Lake, double-pumping her Fists of Fury™. “Now let’s go kick this little knocker’s butt!”

  Master Bedroom, Department of Sleep, The Seems

  When they walked in the door, nothing was as they expected it to be. The foyer of the Master Bedroom was filled with a strange yellow glitter, almost like a fog, and Becker slowly let it roll through his orange-gloved fingers. There could be little question what it was.

  “Sleep.”

  Though the Tireless Workers who manned this post were on duty 25/727, they were nowhere to be found. In fact, there was barely a peep, save the motorized hum of distant freezer units and the air conditioner above.

  “I don’t understand,” whispered Dominic. “There’s supposed to be a security detail here at all times.”

  By the front door were a series of hooks, each with a name label underneath it, but most of the Pajamas that usually hung there were already checked out. Simly stepped over to the employee time clock and pulled the most recent card.

  “Roy Ponsen clocked in at 04:17.”

  That meant whatever had happened had happened just minutes ago.

  “Are you feeling that?” asked Becker.

  “Right where it hurts,” answered Casey. Both of them were getting major pangs in their 7th Sense, but for the senior Fixer it was far more than that. Not only did the magnitude of the shiverings trouble her in a deep and serious way but also their familiarity.

  “I hate to say this, but there’s a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to cover it, so maybe we should split up?”

  “Agreed,” said Becker, studying the hallways that branched off from the foyer. The Master Bedroom was essentially a suite—a bunch of small satellite chambers (where the bathrooms and walk-in closet might be) surrounding central sleeping quarters—but instead of the requisite heart-shaped bed, in the center stood the S
eems-renowned Drowsenheim 4000. “I’ll head for R & D.”

  “I’ll check the output logs,” announced Casey. “Simly, why don’t you take Inventory?”

  “Inventory? You mean, by myself?”

  “No, I mean with the other Simly.”

  “What about me?” chimed in Dominic, in no hurry to go anywhere at all.

  “You stay here by the door,” ordered Becker, and this time the Administrator didn’t talk back. “We’ll let you know when we have something.”

  The trio gave each other the Shake for good measure, then headed down separate corridors and disappeared into the fog.

  “Hello?” asked Becker, cautiously entering the area set aside for Research & Development. “Anybody here?”

  R & D was where some of the brightest minds in the department tirelessly sought to perfect the formula for Sleep, and it was laid out like a think tank. There were couches to blow off steam, a ping-pong table, and a water cooler filled with Inspiration—all to foster brazen new ideas. And on a chalkboard was written a series of mathematical formulas:

  S = (r + t)/s

  I = ((Stress + Caffeine + Overthinking + π) * NSA)

  Cure for I = S + (Pieces of Mind + Element J + ????)

  From the look of the disheveled room, a session had recently taken place, but there was no one around, only a thin layer of yellow on the floor. On his belt, the Receiver began to vibrate on silent.

  “Lake to Drane, come in.”

  “What do you got?”

  “Nada.”

  “Me neither,” but Becker saw several sets of footprints leading to the heart of the Master Bedroom, “at least not yet . . .”

  BLIP . . . BLIP . . . BLIP . . . BLIP . . .

  Over at Inventory Simly held his repaired Glitchometer and pointed it at the giant vats that stored the ingredients to Sleep. Refreshment, Twinkle, and Snooze were the three basic building blocks, and due to the ever-increasing demand for Sleep in The World, inventory had to be kept at the highest possible levels. But if the Glitch had infiltrated one of the drums, Simly’s device was registering nothing.