With his shaved head and traditional garb, Po may have resembled the countless others who frequented this sanctuary, but he possessed a secret that only thirty-six others shared: though his chosen homeland wouldn't feel the brunt of the Glitch in Sleep for several more hours, if the situation in The Seems was not brought under control, a Ripple Effect could turn the countryside to chaos.

"R things as bad there as r here?" came the reply over Fixer-Chat came the reply over Fixer-Chat21. It was the Octogenarian (username: 80something) from her home in South Africa.

"Not yet," texted Numerouno, communicating in the only way his Vow of Silence allowed. texted Numerouno, communicating in the only way his Vow of Silence allowed. "But will b soon." "But will b soon."

"Told u this was mistake," a third username popped into the conversation-"hands"-aka No-Hands Phil. a third username popped into the conversation-"hands"-aka No-Hands Phil. "Not job 4 kids." "Not job 4 kids."

"Not fair," defended the Octogenarian. defended the Octogenarian.

"Truth hurts."

Po leaned against a crumbling statue, forever amused by his comrade's trademark "gruffness." Po also knew that Phil had enjoyed being "the new kid on the block," and perhaps his judgment was clouded by a slightly bruised ego.

"What was your score on the Practical, #36?" typed Fixer Po, waiting for a reply that he knew would never come. typed Fixer Po, waiting for a reply that he knew would never come. "What was #37's?" "What was #37's?"

Fixer #1 smiled, certain that No-Hands Phil was stewing in his own juices somewhere in the Caribbean, or wherever his boat was moored. But he couldn't deny that he too had reservations. Though Becker Drane had briefed for him on two separate occasions and always impressed with both his talent and his heart, the rumblings of Po's 7th Sense were truly starting to scare him. Sense were truly starting to scare him.

"Give kid chance," intervened the Octogenarian. intervened the Octogenarian. "He'll get job don. : -)" "He'll get job don. : -)"

Li Po was about to agree with her when Phil beat him to the punch.

"He bettr."

30 Custer Drive, Caledon, Ontario Half a world away, Anna and Steven Kaley nervously paced around their bright new living room. Though they had been there for over a month, boxes were still half unpacked and painters' tape lay in bundles on the hardwood floors.

"What do you think we should do?" asked Anna. A gla.s.s of Sleepytyme Tea was in her hand, but she was too upset to drink it.

"It'll pa.s.s." Her husband tried to comfort her. "This always happens to the new kid in town."

"But I think it's worse than we know. She's covering things up, just so we won't worry."

Steven leaned over and gave his wife a hug. The job in Toronto had seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime, and though he felt bad about uprooting his family, he had hoped for an easier transition.

"She's a tough kid, honey. She'll make it through-"

He stopped in midsentence as the door to the upstairs bedroom swung open and Jennifer came bounding down the stairs.

"Hey . . . have either of you guys seen my silver necklace?"

Jennifer was wearing sweatpants and an extra-large T-shirt-her typical nighttime attire-but she didn't seem to be tired at all.

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep, young lady?"

"I'm supposed to have traveled the world, but that hasn't happened yet either."

"Ha ha," jibed her dad. "Have you checked in your jewelry box?"

"I would if I could find it."

"Honey, I think it must be out in the garage," suggested her mom.

Jennifer rolled her eyes at her parents' lack of organizational skills, then went out back to take a look. The garage was a disaster area, with boxes stacked from ceiling to floor. One after another she sorted through the crates, and finally found her jewelry box amid the rubble, but there was no sign of her favorite necklace. She did, however, find something else that brought a smile to her face.

"Wow-I forgot about you."

The first two days of Jennifer's tenure at Gary Middle School hadn't been that bad. Sure, it wasn't easy to leave her friends behind and it was never fun to have the entire cla.s.s turn and look at you when the teacher announced, "We have a new friend," but all in all, it seemed like a relatively cool place. Until the morning of the third day.

That was when the whispering started between two other girls in the hall about Jennifer's "dirty" blond hair and cut-off shorts and anklets that she wore. In Vancouver, this was cool as well as comfortable, but here, people seemed to think it was weird. Though she was certainly thick-skinned enough to take a little razzing, it quickly escalated to something much, much worse.

In the days that followed, the girls and and the boys began to make fun of her, and even those kids who would not normally bully anyone did so just to fit in with the pack. Lies were spread about why she had left her old school, caricatures drawn on the wooden desks, and several times she was locked in the bathroom, just for fun. Through it all, no one besides the teachers came to her defense. the boys began to make fun of her, and even those kids who would not normally bully anyone did so just to fit in with the pack. Lies were spread about why she had left her old school, caricatures drawn on the wooden desks, and several times she was locked in the bathroom, just for fun. Through it all, no one besides the teachers came to her defense.

But that only added fuel to the fire.

Jennifer climbed back onto her bed and opened the little red binder that she had lifted from the box of books. Inside were all of her photos from back in Vancouver-everything from the black-cat cake with the M&M's eyes that she and her babysitter had baked one Halloween to a shot of her beloved Gram, from whom her mother said she'd gotten her "independence." Each turn of the page brought a smile to her face, until she found one loose photograph amid the plastic sleeves.

"Hi, you guys."

It was a picture of her and Solomon and Joely, standing in a field of dandelions at the edge of Johnson's Park.

"Life sucks here. How're you doing?"

Solly and Jo were the youngest of seven kids in the Peterson family, who had lived next door to the Kaleys before Jennifer was even born. When she first moved to Caledon, she had been on the phone with them nonstop, but as the days wore on, the calls had become more infrequent, and she couldn't help but get the feeling that they were starting to drift apart.

"That's cool. Tell everybody I said hi, okay?"

Jennifer tacked the picture up above her bed and tried to hold on to to the memories as best she could. On that day, they had played in a concrete pipe and pretended it was a submarine, drawing b.u.t.tons and levers and controls in different colored chalk. But right now, that seemed like a long, long time ago.

She flipped off the light and crawled beneath the covers of her bed. For some reason she hadn't been able to sleep all night, but what did it matter anyway? When she woke up tomorrow it was going to be more of the same, if not worse.

Jennifer closed her eyes, laid her head down on the pillow, and for the first time since she moved from Vancouver to Caledon, the girl began to cry.

[image]

21. The private communications channel accessible only by active members of the Duty Roster.

[image]

7.

Your Worst Nightmare Dreamatorium, Department of Sleep, The Seems Back on the Mission, Thibadeau's tip had led Becker and Simly to the one Bedroom in the department that every Tireless Worker tried to get themselves transferred to. And judging by the way Becker's 7th Sense was tingling, it felt like his old friend had steered him in the right direction. Sense was tingling, it felt like his old friend had steered him in the right direction.

"I've never been in the Dreamatorium before," noted Simly, looking up through the gla.s.s Transport Tube that served as a front door.

"Well, tonight's probably not gonna be your night."

Due to the sensitivity and privacy of people's dream lives, this was one of the most highly secure Bedrooms in Sleep. Unfortunately for Briefer Frye, it required a clearance level of eight-plus, but he was relegated to a six.

"But you can't go up there by yourself!" Simly was apoplectic. If nothing else, Briefers were fiercely loyal to their Fixers and loathe to leave their side.

"Rules are Rules, my friend," answered Becker. "Trust me, I'd rather have you with me."

"You're a Fixer-use your priority override!"

"This is my first Mission, and I want to play it by the book."

"But they would never want you to face a Glitch on your own," implored the Briefer. "Especially after what happened on the Big One.22"

"There's no time for an argument right now. Dawn's gonna be here in"-Becker checked his Time Piece-"three and a half hours."

"But-but-" Simly could barely get the words out.

"This conversation is over. I've made my decision."

Becker felt bad about taking a hard line, but no matter how fond he was of his sidekick, he had to keep his professional distance.

"Fine." Simly took it hard as Becker swiped the graphite pad with his Badge. An automated voice replied: "Clearance level nine. Access granted."

On that note, a suction sound began to build inside the tube and Becker pulled down his Transport Goggles and stepped beneath it.

"While I'm gone, get on the horn and find out anything you can about the Not-So-Great Depression. I think your source might have been on to something."

"Yes, sir!" Simly perked up. "I'll call the Librarian at the IFR and have her Blink me the Mission Report ASAP."

"And keep your head up, Frye. Just because you're not going up doesn't mean I won't need you."

Simly saluted with newfound pride.

"See you on the Flip Side, sir."

Becker felt the suction of the Transport Tube begin to pull at his shirt.

"On the Flip Side."

As Becker cruised through the curves of gla.s.s like chocolate milk through a twisty straw, he was all too aware that the sand was beginning to run out. Though The World contains twenty-four distinct Time Zones, The Seems only has one, and the arrival of Dawn initiates all Chains of Events scheduled to take place. But if Today didn't match up with Tomorrow, then the dreaded Ripple Effect would occur.

"Prepare for Dreamatorium arrival," announced the computer. announced the computer.

To be honest, Becker wished he was a little more prepared. He'd been to this Bedroom once before during Training, but it was more of a tour than a nuts-and-bolts education.

"Dreamatorium arrival in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . ."

The moment the Fixer popped from the Transport Tube- "Whoa"-he found himself surrounded by bubbles-purple and glistening and floating through the air-except these bubbles were the size of basketb.a.l.l.s. The Bedroom itself seemed built to accommodate them, for the walls were reinforced with pillows and there was not a sharp edge in sight. Becker was about to break out his Manual and do some further research, when- "Tally ho!"

His head snapped around at the sound of a m.u.f.fled shout. The voice had obviously come from inside the room, but no Tireless Workers were in sight.

"Higher, higher!" There it was again, louder this time. "They'll never suspect an aerial a.s.sault!"

It took Becker a moment to realize that the voice he was hearing was not coming from his radio or from anywhere else in the room, but from inside inside one of the bubbles. A closer inspection of the one nearest to his head revealed the source of all the noise. one of the bubbles. A closer inspection of the one nearest to his head revealed the source of all the noise.

A young boy no more than seven sat astride the saddle of a giant bird, flying through the sky toward a shimmering city of gla.s.s. In his hand was a scimitar, and behind him, an army of warriors on winged steeds of their own.

"Come, boys! We'll show these scoundrels who was meant to be the Ki-"

As the bubble was lost among its fellows, Becker quickly found that this was not an isolated phenomenon. Every single sphere in the room appeared to contain another world, utterly and completely unique from the rest . . . and that's when he remembered what these bubbles really were.

"Becker to Simly. Come in, Simly."

"Simly h . . . re. Wh . . . t's goi . . . g on up th . . . re?"

"This place is crawling with Dreams!"

That was no exaggeration. There was one with an old man inside, staring into a bathroom mirror at the visage of his younger self, who shook his head sadly. A chocolate Lab rolled about in an endless field of gra.s.s, with all the rawhide chew toys it could ever want. And a teenaged girl stood at home plate in a packed Yankee Stadium, with two outs and the bases full and the chance to etch her name into World Series lore.

Not all of the Dreams were fantastical, though. Many of them featured mundane scenarios such as people chatting or waiting for the bus, while others were so bizarrely constructed as to be indescribable. All of them floated aimlessly, like they had no dreamers to dream them.

"I got a bad feeling about this, Brief. None of them are being sent to Central Shipping at all."

". . . can't . . . hear . . . y . . . bre . . . ing up . . ."

The transmission was garbled, which was not unexpected, given the pillow-reinforced walls.

"Affirmative. Let me see if I can find better reception."

Becker put his Receiver back on the hook. It was bad enough that he had lost touch with his Briefer, but now his temples hurt and he felt a closeness in his throat. There was no other explanation for it-the Glitch was in this room and he now faced the prospect of Fixing it all by his lonesome.

To be fair, Becker considered calling in for backup. There were still a handful of active Fixers who had been a part of Clean Sweep and would have been more than happy to Leap into The Seems and lend their expertise. But he was a rookie, desperate to make his mark, and sometimes Pride can be your worst enemy.

So he rolled up his sleeves and decided to go it alone. "C'mon, baby. Come to papa . . ."