The Glitch in Sleep (20 page)

“Carry on.”

Becker nodded, then steeled his nerves for the final barrier.

“Those Things That Look a Lot Like Tweezers That You Cut Wires With™!”

Simly was about to repeat it, then just looked at Becker, like, “You gotta be kidding me,” and handed them over. With remarkable quickness and precision, the young Fixer began snipping wires and working his way down to the core. But the closer he got, the more the reactor rattled and shook.

“It’s going into meltdown!” cried Simly, frightened by the violence of the shaking.

“Not tonight it isn’t.”

Beneath the tangled mess was one final wire, tucked into a deep recess and seemingly impossible to reach.

“Dweezer Extension™.”

But Simly was still frozen with terror.

“Dweezer Extension!”

Casey slapped Simly across the face.

“Thank you, sir. May I have another?”

“Just stay in the game, mate.”

“Sorry, sir.” Simly pulled the necessary Tool off the table.

Becker affixed the extension and lowered Those Things That Look a Lot Like Tweezers That You Cut Wires With deep into the recess, just like he had when he snooked the funny bone the last time he played
Operation
. Except this was no game.

“Now the second I snip this wire, get ready to move in.” He blinked away the sweat from his eyes and prepared to make the cut.

But from within the Drowsenheim, a new sound emerged— something sparking—followed by a fierce blue light. It was now or never, so Becker squeezed the Dweezer’s handle and split the final wire.

The last shell casing popped off . . .

There was a flash of blinding blue . . .

And finally . . .

Once and for all . . .

There it was . . .

The Glitch in Sleep.

26
. Sleep can only be manufactured at under 16 hectopascals (6 millibars [8 kgf/cm2]).

27
. The Seemsian day contains 25 hours (one extra, just in case).

11

Ripple Effect (Reprise)

“What were you expecting?” asked the Glitch, smugly flipping up its visor. “Some sort of two-bit Bleep?”

The Glitch was only four inches tall but with its scraggly hair, jagged-toothed maw, and mad, jaundiced eyes, it was certainly terrifying. The picture in Becker’s Manual didn’t do it justice, and it also didn’t feature the curious aluminum jet-pack strapped securely to its back. An acetylene torch extended from the pack and its owner was currently using it to carve a path into the reactor core.

“Freeze!” shouted Simly, holding it at bay with a Veiled Threat™.

“Anything you say, kid,” sported the little monstrosity, dropping the torch and raising its hands in the air. The Briefer got ahead of himself, however, failing to realize (or remember) that Glitches are masters of deception—and have
three
arms, the last of which was surreptitiously reaching for a small button near its chest. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Look out!” screamed Casey, as a thick cloud of black smoke belched from one of the tailpipes of its pack and filled the chamber. With Fixer Lake’s Portable Vacuum already expended, she and the others had no recourse but to stumble through the smog and try to recover their bearings.

“Where is it?”

“Where did it go?”

The smoke was too thick to navigate, but they could hear something whirring like a helicopter all around them. And then—

“There!”

The Glitch had rematerialized
outside
the glass enclosure, a propeller extending from the top of its pack and over its tiny misshapen head.

“Fix this!”

It flashed the same vulgar gesture on all three of its hands, then zipped up into the rafters and disappeared from view.

“Drane to Night Patrol!” Becker pulled his Receiver off his belt. “Night Patrol, come in!”

“Night Patrol here, sir. We read you loud and clear!”

“The Glitch is on the loose inside the Master Bedroom. I repeat, nothing comes in or out of this room without a personal okay from me or Fixer Lake.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

“And remember,” Casey chimed in, “this bugger’s got a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock, so don’t try to wrestle it yourselves!”

“Understood!”

“Fixers over and out!”

Becker hung up while Casey pumped her Fists again, activating their ionic charge.

“C’mon, mates. This time we better stick together.”

Glitches had been part of the system ever since back in the Day, and no one truly knew how or why they had originated—only that they were constantly gumming up the works. For countless years, they plagued Jayson and his ilk until the Powers That Be finally said enough is enough. Operation Clean Sweep (in which all Fixers and Briefers participated) was green-lit soon after, and by and large it was a rousing success—rounding up all but a few of the craftiest stragglers and locking them away in a maximum security prison.

What was the story behind this one, Becker wondered as the team fanned back toward R & D. Was it a new Glitch, never before seen, which heralded the coming of a second terrible onslaught? Or an old one, which had survived Clean Sweep and sworn revenge for that ignominious defeat? Regardless, it had to be neutralized, because a check of his Time Piece revealed that Dawn was less than thirty minutes away.

“We’re running out of Time, boss!” whispered Simly. “If we don’t get the Drowsenheim back online—”

“One step at a time,” answered Becker, focusing on the now. “Glitch first, Drowsenheim second, then we save The World.”

Casey hushed them both, then pointed straight up, as if she had a lock on their quarry. But unfortunately it was their quarry who had a lock on them.

“You’re too late!” A voice dripping with insanity rained down from above. “Sleep is mine! Then Nature! And soon I shall tear apart the very Fabric of Reality itself!”

Becker’s mouth went dry as the Glitch’s threat mirrored his own Worst Nightmare.

“The Plan is on my side this time, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it! Nothing!”

Once again, a psychotic guffaw echoed from up above.

“Delusions of grandeur,” said Casey. “This is gonna be just as easy as it was when we took down your mates during Clean Sweep!”

“Who dares to speak of that day? The agony of a thousand Glitches still rings inside my ears!”

“Don’t worry, bitzer,” needled Fixer Lake. “You’ll be seein’ them soon enough—when we take you back to Seemsberia!”

“Never!”

Incensed, the Glitch came rocketing down from the rafters.

The hunters scattered, and a chaotic battle of wills ensued.

The IFR’s finest were at the top of their game, wielding the latest innovations from the Toolmaster—Sand Traps™, Spheres of Influence™—but they had more than met their match in the Glitch.

Its Attak-Pak® was like an anti-Toolkit, stocked with every possible gadget and weapon imaginable.

“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.