Fixer Blaque put his feet up on his desk, then quietly began to read.

Outside the Instructor's office, Briefer #356 smiled with his own satisfaction and headed back up to his dorm room. Now that he had delivered Becker's message, he needed to catch some shuteye of his own, but there was still one more thing he he wanted to do. wanted to do.

Simly picked up the phone and punched in Crestview 1-2-2.

"Grandpa?"

It took a second for Grandpa Milton to put in his Hearing Aide, because he was getting up there in years.

"Simly? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Grandpa-it's me. I just got back from my Mission." Simly closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive that moment in the Master Bedroom, when a set of chills had shot from his arms down to his toes. "You'll never guess what happened . . ."

30 Custer Drive, Caledon, Ontario Cool Canadian air blanketed the town of Caledon, and all of the intrepid night owls who walked the streets and filled the pubs and restaurants had packed it in for the night. But in the bedroom on 30 Custer, Jennifer Kaley had only been asleep for thirty minutes when she awoke with a start.

"Whoa."

It was one of those dreams that you remember with utter clarity and are almost caught inside of when you first wake up. She could still hear the gulls in the sky and feel the breeze off the Stream, and she tried to put her head back down on the pillow and get back into it before the real world rushed back in. But it was too late, because she felt more wide awake than ever.

Jennifer rolled over and looked at the clock, which read 4:32 a.m., and she couldn't believe that everything that happened inside her dream had taken place in a half hour (for it had seemed like a jam-packed day). Part of her thought about the boy in her dream and how odd it was that she had dreamed about someone she had never met before (though he was kind of cute). And the other part thought about everything he'd shown her and everything he'd said about this world and how it was connected to that one.

"What was the name of that place again?" she asked herself, but she couldn't for the life of her remember.

Almost immediately, Jennifer started to get depressed, because it was all beginning to fade-not just the scenery, but everything they had talked about and done. Only four hours from now there would be that awful moment of getting off the bus and walking into Gary Middle School, wondering who was going to pick on her this time. The kid in her dream had tried to tell her something that was supposed to make her feel better, but she couldn't remember that either, and whatever good feelings she had after she woke up slowly melted away.

She buried herself under her down comforter as if to hide, but even the soft goose feathers could not protect her from the day to come. Jennifer had almost completely forgotten everything that had happened to her inside her 532 when- "Waittaminit!"

She dove off the bed and ran to her closet to look for a flashlight, which she found amid her camping gear. As she hit the black b.u.t.ton, Jennifer hoped like anything that the batteries still had some life in them, and when a weak beam trickled out, she pointed it under her box spring.

"Be there . . . be there . . ."

The only memory she had left of the dream was of the Post-it note, stuck on the laptop computer in her Case Worker's office. But it couldn't have been real . . .

"If you're there I promise to eat Brussels sprouts for two-"

The moment her fingers slid into the small crack in the hardwood floor that she had no idea was there, she knew. Even before before those same fingers closed upon the silver necklace with the locket on the end. those same fingers closed upon the silver necklace with the locket on the end.

Goose b.u.mps running down her arms, she stood up and went to the window and looked out with wonder at the streets of Caledon. As she started to remember some of the places she had "visited" that night and some of the things that boy had told her, The World did did look slightly different. And if the Post-it note were real, then maybe, just maybe, her dream was real. And if that was real, then . . . look slightly different. And if the Post-it note were real, then maybe, just maybe, her dream was real. And if that was real, then . . .

Jennifer Kaley put the last present her grandmother ever gave her back around her neck and got into bed.

"The Seems! That's what it was called." She smiled and closed her eyes. "The Seems."

12 Grant Avenue, Highland Park, New Jersey All was quiet and dark in the bedroom of the older of the two Drane children, save for the sound of intermittent snoring. Becker #2 rolled over in his bed, blissfully asleep-and completely unaware that Becker #1 was on his way back up the elm tree outside his window.

The Fixer climbed in, trying not to disturb his sleeping counterpart, but the Me-2's auditory alarms were immediately tripped.

"Hey, dude," it said, popping up in bed. "How'd it go tonight?"

"Not bad for my first Mission." Becker shut the window behind him and dropped his Toolkit on the floor. "You?"

"A little fun and games with Benjamin, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"Well, I'm sorry to deflate you," Becker apologized, "but I need to get a Good Night's Sleep myself." That wasn't going to be easy, considering it was already 4:45 a.m., and he hadn't even begun to study for his quiz.

"No problem. It was nice being you, if only for a little while."

"Cool. I'm sure you'll get another chance soon."

Becker flipped the dial on the back of its neck to "Off " and air began to hiss out of the release valve.

"Oh, by the way-I almost forgot." The Me-2 was already half the size of its previous self. "I left you a little something by the . . ." but it crumpled before it could finish the thought.

Becker gently rolled the Me-2 into a ball and stuffed it back into his Toolkit, then listened throughout the house, just to make sure that his work on the other side had had its desired effect over here. His mom and dad were certainly conked out, but there was still a light on in Benjamin's room. When Becker opened the door, he found his little brother pa.s.sed out among his easels and brushes, a crayon in his hand. He was almost finished with the picture the Me-2 had a.s.signed-a drawing of a Fixer saving the day-and Becker couldn't help but get a little choked up when he saw the heroic portrait of #37.

"Yo, Beavis-get back in your bed!"

But the child was completely out cold.

The same could be said for the rest of Highland Park, for when he looked out the same second-story window that earlier had revealed so much trouble, the neighborhood was quiet and the lights dimmed to black. Even Paul the Wanderer was happily sawing Z's in the backseat of his Cutla.s.s Sierra, a dog-eared copy of Infinite Jest Infinite Jest resting on his chest. resting on his chest.

"Sweet."

Everyone else in The World had been taken care of, and so now it was time for Becker to get a little R & R himself. The only problem was, he was totally unprepared for the day to come, which was starting to become a regular occurrence. He remembered his mother's admonition about only being able to save The World if it didn't get in the way of his studies, but he was so tired that the thought of reading even one of the "Best Books Ever" was more than he could stomach. There was a slim chance that he could cram during homeroom, but he was already contemplating his latest alibi when he noticed something sitting on his desk.

Tucked inside the brand-new copy of Dr. Kole's weekly selection was a single slip of paper, covered with handwriting that was eerily similar to his own. It read:

Likely questions and answers for quiz on I Am the Cheese.

"Nice job, Me!" Becker made a mental note to activate the Me-2 the next time the family did something fun, like go to Carolier Lanes or even Point Pleasant. He set his alarm clock for 7:30 sharp, slapped on his pajamas (not the kind that protect you from hazmats), and finally, finally finally, got into his own bed.

"Ahh . . ."

There was nothing like the feeling of getting under the covers after a long night's work, especially when you know firsthand all the goodies that are coming your way. A fresh-baked Yawn slipped out of his mouth, and he pulled up his blanket and dug his head into the pillows. What a Mission it had been-a Glitch on his first time in the big leagues. Who would have thought?

It was impossible for Becker not to replay all of the evening's adventures in his mind, from the moment his Blinker went off to seeing Thibadeau again to making someone else's Dream come true. But thankfully, the Zonker 111 he'd installed at WDOZ was doing its job, for he could feel the waves of Slumber calling him back home.

This time, there would be no tossing and turning-no repositioning the legs, no turning the pillow over to make sure the other side was cool. Only that soft, sweet paradise just before . . . before . . .

Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems The rhythmic sounds of the conveyor belts had replaced the whooping alarms and chugged in perfect time with the sounds of Inspector #9's stamp. Though she wasn't double-fisting anymore, that didn't mean she took her job any less seriously.

"Hold on a second!" The row of boxes clipped to a halt as she picked one off the line and flattened out the address label so it wouldn't peel away during transit. "All right, fire it up!"

Two behind that one was another package filled with its own unique contents, just like all the rest. Inside were the combined efforts of the Tireless Workers, the Pleasant Dreamers, and the Snorchestra-all in close coordination with Case Worker #15443, who had never met the person to whom this box was addressed but cared about him deeply just the same.

F. Becker Drane Sector 33-514 12 Grant Ave.

BEDROOM #2.

With a heavy hand, Inspector #9 stamped the package for shipment, and the final barrier to exit had been crossed. The Hatch light turned green, the door to the In-Between slid open, and at long last, Becker's Good Night's Sleep was on its way.

The Hatch door noiselessly closed and the next package came up for delivery.

30. Superst.i.tion, a sub-department of the Department of Everything That Has No Department recommends against unauthorized use of the number 13.

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Epilogue.

The Flip Side, Safe Harbor, The Seems Casey Lake tipped the water taxi driver and stepped onto the rickety dock that led to the Flip Side. Draped with Christmas lights and featuring live calypso three nights a week, the beachfront burger joint was reserved for a private party on this occasion, as evidenced by the sign that had been tacked to the thatched roof of the hut: CONGRATULATIONS, BECKER!.

A smattering of patrons were gathered, for though the message had been Blinked regarding the postponement of the traditional first-Mission surprise party (to a nonschool night), a few Fixers and Briefers (and one Agent of L.U.C.K.) were willing to celebrate with or without the young man of the hour.

"Nice job, Lake," said No-Hands Phil from his stool at the counter. "I skipped a pig roast on Jost Van d.y.k.e to come to this!"

"I tried," replied Casey, ordering her burger medium rare. "The kid's serious about his schoolwork."

"Don't mind Phil." At a table overlooking the water, the Octogenarian was locked in a serious game of mah-jongg with her friend Tony the Plumber. "He's just jealous that Drane got a Glitch and he got a Cloud of Suspicion."

"Jealous, my b.u.t.t. I coulda Fixed that Glitch with my hands tied behind my back."

"I didn't think you had any hands," cracked Tony, resting his cards on his generous belly.

"Ha, ha," grumbled Phil, then continued griping to Flip by the grill. Contrary to popular belief, Phil actually had hands, but he claimed to Fix so well he didn't need them (as in "Look, Ma! No hands!").

Down by the water, the mighty Li Po cast another reel and waited for the telltale tug of a Compliment or Fluke. Though his face was tranquil and serene, he knew of the ominous day that was approaching. But since he had not spoken a word in more than twenty-five years, he allowed the one to whom he'd pa.s.sed the Torch to speak instead.

"So have you guys heard the news?" asked Casey, taking a seat at the table with Fixers #3, #26, and #31. "And I don't mean Becker not making the party."

"What news?" asked Tony, not looking up from the tiles. "We didn't get any Blinks."

The Octogenarian shook her head.

"I only heard because I b.u.mped into someone in The Know on my way here." Casey pulled her chair in closer, and her face unexpectedly darkened. "Apparently, while we were all caught up in this Glitch thing, someone made off with fifty trays of Frozen Moments from Daylight Savings."

"Someone?" But the Octogenarian knew exactly whom she meant. "What would they want with those?"

"By themselves, nothing. But combined with enough fertilizer, and if they're ever able to get their hands on a Split Second . . ." Casey's voice dropped to a whisper. "They might have the necessary components to build themselves a Time Bomb."

Suddenly, no one was hungry anymore.

"Mama mia." Tony slouched in his chair and threw his hand on the table. "And I was just about to drop the kong."

"Tell me about it." Casey's eyes gazed out over the cove. She wondered how things had gotten so daggy in The Seems, and what they were going to do about- "Look on the bright side, everybody." The Octogenarian, no matter what problem she faced, always maintained her sunny disposition. After all, she had made it back from the Point of No Return and claimed victory at the Jaws of Defeat. "The rise of The Tide just means our Missions are going to be that much more fun."

Her tablemates glanced at each other, wondering if the old lady had finally lost her marbles-but then they realized she was right. Fixers weren't in this business because it was easy. They were in it because it was hard. And the harder the better.

"To the Time Bomb!" Tony the Plumber raised his vanilla shake. "And to whoever's lucky enough to Fix it."

The others hadn't ordered drinks, so they clinked their burgers instead. Even though no one would ever hope for such a thing to happen, all three secretly wished that if it did, they would be the one to get the Call-for on such Missions are legends made.

"To the Time Bomb!"

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Appendix A Glossary of Terms 7th Sense: An innate sense or feeling that something in The Seems has gone wrong and will soon affect The World. Fixers often use this skill to track the location and/or nature of a Malfunction. An innate sense or feeling that something in The Seems has gone wrong and will soon affect The World. Fixers often use this skill to track the location and/or nature of a Malfunction.

Agents of L.U.C.K: Members of a covert team charged with spreading the life-changing substance to its appropriate Sectors in The World. ( Members of a covert team charged with spreading the life-changing substance to its appropriate Sectors in The World. (See also L.U.C.K.) L.U.C.K.) Alphabet City: The urban center where much of the Seemsian workforce live. Once an edgy neighborhood, property values have skyrocketed as a result of gentrification. The urban center where much of the Seemsian workforce live. Once an edgy neighborhood, property values have skyrocketed as a result of gentrification.

Awesomeville: The most popular amus.e.m.e.nt park in The Seems. Attractions include: an Awesome Place to Eat, Awesome Things to Do, and the Most Awesome Ride Ever. The most popular amus.e.m.e.nt park in The Seems. Attractions include: an Awesome Place to Eat, Awesome Things to Do, and the Most Awesome Ride Ever.