Among the revelry of his comrades, Night Watchman #1 took off his headset, sliding back into his Aeron chair, exhausted. Down on his Window, the Ice-Fisherman in Irkutsk, the twins playing pattycake, even the Salesman in the small motel were finally fast asleep. And in Istanbul, Turkey, a young architect named Dilara Saffet had been jerked from her nap only minutes after it had begun. Strangely refreshed, she followed the scent of jasmine tea down the narrow stairs and out onto the street, not realizing that if she didn't turn around in a matter of seconds, she would literally collide with Atakar Bayat (aka Ati the Postman), who was scrambling to catch a mouse that had scared the donkey who dragged the cart belonging to the spice peddler's son.

The Night Watchman crossed his legs and put his hands behind his head and patiently waited for the final stroke to go down.

The Slumber Party, Department of Sleep, The Seems Meanwhile, over on the east side of Sleep, the once-mellow Slumber Party had turned into a wild victory rave-strangers were hugging each other, weeping, promising that now that their prayers had been answered, they would definitely change their ways.

Back in the VIP area, however, a lone figure sat quietly in a private alcove booth. A host of emotions coursed through the ex-Candidate, prompting him to take another sip of his Certain Tea. On the one hand, there was everything he had sworn to do in the days that lay ahead, but on the other was the pride he felt for his old friend. The friend who would soon become his enemy.

"Way to go, Draniac," toasted Thibadeau Freck, raising his gla.s.s high. "Way to go."

[image]

28. a la K.I.T.T. vs. K.A.R.R.

29. Patent pending.

[image]

12.

A Dream Come True Sleep Deprivation Tank, Department of Sleep, The Seems Once the crisis was over, the Glitch was carefully transferred from the palm of Becker's Helping Hand to the Sleep Deprivation Tank, a secure holding cell in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the department. It was now locked inside a carrying case, with holes in the side, providing proper ventilation and allowing the menace to speak, should it desire counsel or have any last requests.

"You like gadgets, right, kid?" At the moment, it was trying to reason with Simly, who had been instructed to keep guard over the creature while his superiors arranged for extradition. "The Attak-Pak? Take it! Just get me out of this box!"

"My orders are to hold you for shipment to Seemsberia."

"You don't understand," pleaded the Glitch. "This is all just a big misunderstanding. I'm on a Cla.s.sified Mission from Quality Control to test the system and make sure everything's up to par. Here-the papers are in my back pocket."

The Glitch motioned for Simly to reach inside, but he was not so easily fooled and quoted from the Manual instead: "Page 103, Paragraph 2. 'Glitches are duplicitous creatures: crafty and persuasive. Never, ever listen to a Glitch.' "

"Especially this one," added Fixer Lake, as she and Becker stepped into the Tank with the Glitch's transfer papers in hand.

"Lake, you gotta believe me-it's not what you think!"

"Then what is it?"

"I tried to be good. I swear. After what happened between us, I said to myself, that's it, no more Glitching up the works. I gotta become a productive member of society."

Casey rolled her eyes as the Glitch's voice took on a conciliatory tone.

"I moved to the Outskirts, where I wouldn't be tempted to hurt anyone again. I even started a farm. We grew Fruits of Labor and zucchini and it was a good life-I mean, I was building something, right? Instead of destroying! But then . . ."

A dark shadow moved across its face.

"I started to get those . . . urges again."

Against his better judgment, Becker was actually starting to feel sorry for the Glitch, and Simly couldn't help it either.

"First, it was just a few innocent fantasies-a little ma.s.s destruction here or there-and I tried to bury myself in work. But no matter what I did, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was living a lie-that I wasn't being who I was meant to be! I mean, aren't I part of the Plan? And if everything in the Plan is good, then aren't I good, no matter what I do?"

"The Plan still allows for free will." Casey took a page from the School of Thought. "Who and how to be is your choice."

"Then I choose to be . . . me!"

The Glitch started pounding on its cage with all three hands, gnashing its teeth, and spitting out expletives that cannot be reprinted herein. The a.s.sembled parties waited for the little ogre to finish its tantrum, but it never got the chance, for there was a knock at the office door.

"Don't worry. We'll take it from here."

Two Guidance Counselors from Seemsberia strolled in, exuding a pleasant and easygoing vibe. Unlike prisons in The World, Seemsberia is known for its success in rehabilitating wayward souls (though Glitches are some of the toughest Cases (yet also the most rewarding).

"Come now, Glitch. Is this really necessary?"

The Glitch finally took a breather from trying to trash its cell.

"I'll show you what's necessary, you two-bit quack."

The Counselors shook their heads, as if they had seen this kind of behavior before.

"Once we get you back in a more 'comfortable' setting, I think you'll find some of the new treatments most invigorating."

"Especially getting in touch with the Inner Child . . ."

"He works wonders."

Casey and Becker shook hands with the prison staff and the transfer of custody was complete.

"Fixer-don't let them do this to me," the Glitch was pleading with Becker. "They're gonna turn me into a marshmallow up there!"

"I'm sorry, bro, but it's for the best. You'll finally be able to get the help you need."

"But maybe I'm part of the natural order! How will you know if The Seems is working right if it's not constantly being tested by a Gli-"

But the door slammed, and with it, the Glitch's reign of terror had come to an unceremonious end.

"Well, I guess that's a wrap," chirped Simly. "Hoagies on me at the Briefer's Lounge."

"Not yet, Sim." Becker slung his Toolkit back over his shoulder. "There's still one more thing I have to do."

Dreamatorium, Department of Sleep, The Seems Though the Bed Bugs and Pleasant Dreamers have always been kept in separate laboratories, the entire division of Dreaming had six months ago been put under the auspices of a new Vice President. At first, she was perceived as a corporate taskmaster, for Dreaming had always been a very casual operation where art was valued over science and dogs and foosball tables were de rigueur de rigueur. But to the contrary, she turned out to be a very effective manager and showed the staff that productivity and creativity are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

"This is highly irregular," said the VP, intimidating in her gray pinstriped power suit. "Especially considering the charges that are pending against you."

"I know, ma'am," agreed Becker. "I'm hoping it might help my case."

"Call me Carol."

"This one is very close to my heart, Carol." Becker watched as she tapped her pencil on the table, debating the merits of his request. "I would consider it a personal favor."

That may have swung the balance, for such a thing from a Fixer is not so easily given.

"Okay," she relented, catching a strand of blond that had fallen out of her tightly pulled-back hair. "But there are some ground rules you'll have to follow."

"Understood."

"First, the so-called negative elements of a #532 cannot be removed from the sequencing. They're essential for creating the necessary emotional stakes, so the end-game of the Dream can have its desired payoff."

"Yes, that was my bad. I figured that part out after the fact."

Carol gave him a little extra stare to make sure the lesson had sunk in.

"Second, entering into a Dream World can be quite dangerous. It's a very seductive place, and you may find yourself experiencing the temptation to stay."

Becker promised to take that into account.

"Third and lastly, I'm sure you're aware of the restrictions of the Golden Rule, and given your obvious level of emotional attachment on this Case, I have significant concerns about-"

"I understand what you're getting at, Carol, but I a.s.sure you, it will not be a problem." Becker smiled, a.s.suming his most professional demeanor yet. "I've already broken enough Rules for one night."

Carol seemed satisfied and checked the slim Time Piece on her wrist.

"Come with me."

Dreamatorium, Department of Sleep, The Seems The Vice President returned Becker to the bubble room, where he'd made his critical mistake and where he hoped to have the opportunity to set the record straight. Towering above him was the Dreamweaver, again churning out the soapy amorphous realms that would soon be inhabited by the dreamers of The World.

"Give it a second, boss." Becker was accompanied by a junior Pleasant Dreamer, who had been a.s.signed to help him construct a 532 to replace the one he had destroyed. "Back in High School still has a few more drops to go." still has a few more drops to go."

One of the canisters containing the golden dream fluid was still feeding into the machine and Becker patiently cradled his own container in his hand. Synthesizing the new 532 had been a surprisingly easy process, mostly because the basic solution was already premixed, but he had thrown in a few of his own special touches from the Spice Rack.

"You're good to go."

As a bubble floated by with a forty-five-year-old freshman trying out for the school play inside, the PD began to frisk Becker thoroughly.

"Watch the hands there, buddy."

"Just making sure you don't have any sharp edges."

The Fixer had stripped down to the bare minimum-not even his Badge-and with his track jacket and old school corduroys looked for all intents and purposes like a regular kid from Highland Park again.

"Anything else I need to know?" asked Becker.

"Just get out of there before she wakes up. Or else . . ."

"Got it."

The PD clicked Becker's canister into the machine, and the brightly colored fluid began to drain. It traveled down the filtration pipes, mixed with the soapy detergent, then slowly worked its way up to the billows, where it was finally expelled as a bubble with a fully realized world inside. Becker tucked his arms in tight and waited as the shimmering sphere gently floated toward his body.

"Here goes nothing."

Dream 532 (b) Once he was fully engulfed, Becker opened his eyes and took in the reality that he, in part, had designed. It was the same playground that he'd witnessed before, with the same teachers chatting by the same wire fence and the same sounds of children permeating the air. Despite his training and experience, the Fixer had never been inside someone else's Dream before, and he was amazed at the attention to detail. The freshness of the air and the feeling of the sun on his face was as good, if not better, than the real thing.

"Who are you?"

Becker turned to see a fourth grader drawing a house in the dirt with a stick, who seemed shocked to have witnessed a kid with s.h.a.ggy hair stepping directly out of a tree and into his lunchtime recess.

"I'm a Fixer from The Seems."

The child was dumbfounded (yet impressed), and Becker just winked and headed on his way.

To be honest, Becker had hoped to arrive after after the bullying had begun so he didn't have to watch it happen all over again, but there was no such luck. It was even worse in person, as again the crowd gathered and the water balloon flew, and this time he could literally hear it slap her in the face. It took all of his combined Training to keep his composure and resist the urge to go down there and bust some heads, but he couldn't make the same mistake twice. the bullying had begun so he didn't have to watch it happen all over again, but there was no such luck. It was even worse in person, as again the crowd gathered and the water balloon flew, and this time he could literally hear it slap her in the face. It took all of his combined Training to keep his composure and resist the urge to go down there and bust some heads, but he couldn't make the same mistake twice.

"See you later, alligator," said the meanest of the mean girls, and the mob begrudgingly dispersed.

This is where Becker had interceded last time and he watched as the girl with dirty blond hair and green eyes picked herself off the ground and found her way to a lonely bench. This time, however, someone came over to greet her.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Jennifer Kaley looked up at Becker, her hair still wet and her eyes streaked from crying. She shook her head no, a.s.suming this stranger was just another foe who'd come to add insult to injury.

"I saw what happened before."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Me too."

Jennifer didn't exactly seem interested in talking to some random kid, and after what had just taken place, Becker didn't blame her.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" the Fixer asked.

"It's a free country."

He took that as an invitation, then watched as the crow he'd inserted into the Dream as a nice distraction landed on top of the jungle gym right on cue.

"I'm Becker."

He reached out a hand, and after a long period of silent debate, she finally took it.