The Glitch in Sleep (4 page)

“Orientation begins tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. and Fixer Blaque is very punctual, so I wouldn’t be late.”

Becker stood there in the snow with the packet in his hands, mystified.

“Smile, kid,” Dejanus said, turning and heading back to wherever he had come from. “Your application was accepted!”

Becker went home, and after a shower and some much-needed R & R, he unsealed the packet and examined the materials within. Packed neatly in bubble wrap were three distinct items: some kind of temporary ID card, a pair of what appeared to be ski goggles, and an offer letter, explaining to him the nature of the opportunity at hand.

According to the letter, The World he lived in wasn’t actually what he thought it was—it was something much, much better. And should he accept the offer, he would have a chance not only to find out what The World
really
was but to join the team responsible for keeping it safe. To be honest, Becker didn’t believe a word of it, but it did sound kind of cool. There were specific directions inside pinpointing the location of the nearest Door, via which he could attend the Orientation.

As Fate would have it, the next day was a snow day, and with a few hours to spare before his meeting with Amy, Becker considered the offer more seriously. Of course, there was the prospect of going to an undisclosed location at the behest of a strangely dressed man, which would have sent chills up the spines of every parent and educator in Highland Park. But Becker was his own man, and believed strongly in his street smarts and ability to escape from any potential hazard—though he brought along a little “protection” just in case.

That morning, he got on his bike, picked up a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from the Park Deli, and followed the directions to the back of Cleveland Avenue. This part of town was a strange netherworld—a cross between warehouse-type businesses, doctor’s offices, a small chocolate factory, and a marshland of thickets and weeds. According to the packet, the so-called Door was somehow located at the very back of Illuminating Experiences: Becker’s friend Connell Hutkin’s mother’s second husband Bernie’s lighting company, which had gone out of business not three years ago.

“Hello—anybody there?” Becker checked the fresh powder and saw one set of footprints leading to and from the abandoned plant. “You should know that I am heavily armed and extremely dangerous.”

No response except the wind and the tinkling of icicles in the trees.

Becker proceeded with caution, placing his hand on the Chinese star in his back pocket (the one he’d gotten at the Route 1 flea market before it got turned into a multiplex), and followed the footsteps around to the back. There was a stairway here that led down to a single black door, which looked suspiciously like the entrance to the basement or boiler room.

“If I’m not home in an hour, the police know where I am!”

Again, nothing but the wind in the weeds.

He threw another peek over his shoulder, then started the short but slow trip to the bottom of the stairs. The Door itself was still covered in snow, but when he wiped it off he was shocked to see the same logo that was printed on his packet— except faded and weathered from time. There was a swipe pad next to it and, following the instructions, Becker took out the temporary ID and slid it straight across. For a second there was no reaction, then a loud click emanated from the other side of the door.

Becker jumped and considered making a run for it before managing to pull his nerves together. He was still pretty scared, but now that feeling was mixed with something different: anticipation. He took one last look around the area, this time to make sure that no one could see what he was up to, then grabbed the handle and pulled the door wide open.

“Holy—” but the rest was lost in the roar.

Standing in front of him was the mouth of a blue tunnel, which apparently extended into infinity (as opposed to Illuminating Experiences). The tube itself seemed to crackle with electricity, and the noise inside was deafening. Hands shaking, Becker fumbled through his Orientation packet, but the instructions simply told him, “Put on your Transport Goggles™ and make the Leap!”

“Easier said than done,” he said out loud, but at this point Becker was pretty sure that Amy’s snowball had hit him in the head much harder than he’d first thought. Soon he’d be waking up on the ground with her and a few concerned neighbors asking, “Are you okay?” and then he’d tell them about this crazy dream he’d had when he was out cold. So he figured what the heck, there’s nothing to lose—and did what the packet suggested.

He jumped.

The In-Between

The voyage through the vast expanse of electromagnetic blue known as the In-Between has best been described as a combination of “being shot out of a cannon, sky diving, and getting turned inside out,” which is why the experienced commuter never eats a thing up to an hour before making the trip. Unfortunately for Becker Drane, it had only been twenty minutes since that bacon, egg, and cheese.

By the time he hit the first turn of the Transport Tube, Becker was blowing chunks all over his brand-new North Face parka. His knapsack had emptied itself midway through the Big Bend, and not even Carmen (the best barber in HP) could rescue what was happening to his hair. But even though Becker felt like his face was about to peel off from the sheer speed, he couldn’t suppress a “WHOOOOOOAA!!!!” at what was transpiring all around him.

Everywhere he looked were transparent blue tubes much like the one he was traveling through, only what was moving through those wasn’t people. It was packaged goods instead—crates, bags, even canvases rolled up like rugs—all stacked on giant palettes and stamped with the insignia of The Seems. What was inside the containers was impossible to say (for each item was sealed up tightly), but they were all meticulously arranged and headed in the opposite direction.

At this point in the game, Becker’s grip on reality (and thus his sanity) had begun to slip. There wasn’t much time to worry about it, though, because up ahead a small dot of white was quickly getting closer. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger until everything else in his field of vision was gone save the whiteness itself. There was a burst of cold air, a loud clap, and then . . .

WHAM!

Whatever force had been propelling Becker was gone, and he suddenly found himself on his hands and knees on some kind of soft rubber padding—but he was not alone. A loud burst of applause shot through the air and before he knew it, somebody was giving him a blanket, someone else was shaking his hand and patting him on the back, and still others were telling him how proud they were, what a great moment this was, that they were so glad he had come.

To be honest, all of it was kind of a blur, except the one unforgettable image of a tall black man, with blue-tinted sunglasses and a welcoming grin on his face. Becker figured he must have been somebody important, because the crowd parted as he approached and put a hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

“Well done, Mr. Drane,” the man said in a thick African accent. “I knew you would make it.”

But before Becker could respond, he totally passed out.

Orientation, The Institute for Fixing & Repair, The Seems

Of the sixty-one persons who’d been tapped by Nick Dejanus, five threw out the packet without ever opening it, eight woke up the next morning with cold feet, ten turned back at the sight of the Door, and fifteen opened the Door but couldn’t bring themselves to walk through it.
⁴
That left twenty-three brave souls who’d placed the strange pair of goggles that had been included with the package over their eyes and summoned up the courage to make the Leap.

“The first thing I want to say to each and every one of you is, ‘
Ìkíniàríyöìkí ayö fún àlejò
Seems,’ which in my native language of Yoruba means ‘Welcome to The Seems!’ ”

The same imposing figure who greeted Becker on the Landing Pad now stood in front of a lecture hall, still wearing his blue shades, along with a sweatsuit bearing the initials: “IFR.” On the one hand he looked chiseled out of hard obsidian, but on the other, his voice and manner betrayed a deep warmth of spirit.

“I know what many of you must be going through. To find out The World is not what you thought it was can be a very disconcerting thing.”

The group of attendees quickly nodded in agreement. They were a motley collection from every corner of the globe, most of whom still looked white as ghosts from the shock of the journey they had just endured.

“My name is Fixer Jelani Blaque and I will be your guide this day—and hopefully your Instructor for the length of your Training.”

A woman in her mid-forties who had spent the last half hour puking her guts out raised her hand and spoke in German.

“Entschuldigen Sie mich, geehrter Herr, aber Training für,
was?”

“
Aktivieren
Sprecheneinfaches™
Sie bitte Ihr, Frau Von
Schroëder
,” suggested Fixer Blaque. Frau Von Schroëder affixed a small plastic tip to her tongue and began to speak in a language that everyone could understand.

“I’m sorry, but I was just wondering where we are exactly?”

“Yeah, yo,” spoke up a med student from south-central LA. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on up in this joint!”

From the sound of the grumbles, the rest of the crowd seconded this emotion, but Fixer Blaque had been expecting this. He simply smiled and leaned forward on the podium.

“Kevin, kill the lights!”

The lights dimmed and a flat-screen monitor slowly descended from the ceiling. It took a moment or two for the projector to warm up before an image of The World appeared—pristine and shining in green, brown, and blue.

“On the other side of The World, through the Fabric of Reality and across the In-Between, is a place we call The Seems.”

Onscreen, an animation kicked in, mirroring the voyage they’d all just taken and ending with a sweeping overhead shot of what looked like a massive corporate complex.

“Here in The Seems, it is our job to build the World you live in from Scratch. From the Department of Weather . . .”

The campus was replaced by images of Weathermen throwing the switches that control the Rain and Snow.

“To the Department of Energy . . .”

A huge magnet was being positioned to ensure that Gravity kept its hold.

“To the Department of Time . . .”

Brass gears were being oiled and cranked by hand.

“Everyone does their best to make The World the most amazing place it can be.”

The image shifted to a conference-room table, where a group of high-level executives pored over complex flow charts and graphs.

“As you can imagine, this is quite an extensive operation, and usually things run exactly according to Plan. But sometimes things go wrong, big things that the people in various departments can’t handle on their own.”

The screen changed to a picture of the sky, which was falling, and a team of ordinary workers who were unable to hold it up.

“And that’s when they call in one of us.”

Up came an exterior shot of the building they were in right now, which was newer and more modern looking than the rest.

“Here at the IFR, Candidates are given a mastery of the very inner workings of The World and trained to repair the machines that generate Reality itself.”

And last but not least, the telltale symbol of a double-sided wrench materialized.

“And though you may not know it yet, each of you contains something within you that has called you to be at this place, at this moment in Time. It will be my job to take that spark and shape it into what we here call . . . a Fixer.”

As the lights came up and the Instructor shuffled through his papers, the dazed Candidates sized each other up. There was a shepherd from Kashmir, a computer scientist from New Zealand, a mechanic from Azerbaijan, and even a nine-year-old boy from Highland Park, New Jersey—who had thankfully been revived and given a new set of clothes.

“Tu t’appelle quoi?”

Someone elbowed Becker from the seat next to him.

“Huh?”

It was a cool-looking French teenager in a suede jacket and bandanna. He motioned an apology and attached his own Sprecheneinfaches.

“What’s your name, dude?”

“Oh. Becker . . .” Becker slid the translation device over his tongue as well. “Becker Drane.”

“Thibadeau Freck.”

They shook hands, and immediately Becker felt a whole lot more comfortable. Everybody else in the audience was like “What’s this little boy doing here?” but Thibadeau looked at him like there was no question he belonged.

“Pretty trippy, huh?”

“Tell me about it.”

Fixer Blaque cleared his throat and called everybody back to attention.

“Now please leave your belongings on your chairs. There is a lot I have to show you.”

When the tour was over, the Instructor gathered the shell-shocked Candidates on the Field of Play—a huge green expanse at the center of the complex—and shared with them a few parting thoughts. First and foremost, he explained that most of the people who worked in The Seems were born there. But being from The World made one uniquely qualified for the particular job of Fixer, which is why Human Resources only recruited from the other side.