Becker had to admit, his mom was pretty good. She kissed him on the forehead, turned out the lights, and issued her usual farewell.

"Now sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite!"

But as soon as she closed the door Becker tossed the book aside, for there was really only one thing on his mind: when was his Mission going to come through? On the one hand, radio silence was a good thing, because that meant all was right in The Seems (and hence The World), but on the other, it was starting to make him nervous. Maybe they had found an error on his Practical and he hadn't been added to the Rotation. Or maybe his Blinker was on the fritz. Or worse yet, maybe someone in the Big Building had woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and realized, "Wait a minute. I can't put a twelve-year-old in a position as important as this."

With his mind racing, the young Fixer shut his eyes and tried to remember all the tricks he'd learned over the past three years. Don't stress out over what you can't control. Trust your Case Worker. And rest a.s.sured that everything happens according to Plan. The more he reminded himself, the more he felt his body starting to relax. The bed felt comfy beneath him. The pillows were soft and cool. And with a hearty yawn, he pulled the blanket tight and strapped himself in for another good night's sleep.

Two hours later, Becker sat up in his bed, mildly disturbed. On most nights he had little trouble sleeping and it usually only took a moment or two before he felt that pleasant feeling of "sliding across." But for some reason, on this night it didn't go that way. Every time he felt himself beginning to slide, he would invariably get bounced back. It was almost like someone had put up an invisible wall, a barrier to sleep that could not be surmounted no matter how hard he tried. Becker rolled over, changed pillows, repositioned his legs, even counted sheep, but nothing seemed to work.

Without warning, a light in the hallway flicked on and two small feet went chugging past his door. From the sound of sirens wailing, his little brother was back at "Juvee" again, yet this was of little concern. Benjamin often had trouble getting his Z's. It was only when he heard his mom and dad's voices chatting through the wall that his 7th Sense began to flare. Sense began to flare.

A lot of people talk about the 6th Sense-that it's ESP or talking to dead people, but those are actually your 10 Sense-that it's ESP or talking to dead people, but those are actually your 10th and 11 and 11th Senses. The 6 Senses. The 6th Sense is in fact your sense of humor and the 8 Sense is in fact your sense of humor and the 8th Sense is your sense of direction (both doled out in varying quant.i.ties), but the 7 Sense is your sense of direction (both doled out in varying quant.i.ties), but the 7th Sense is an entirely different animal. Sense is an entirely different animal.7 That's a feeling you get when something has gone wrong in The Seems and will soon affect The World. Few ever learn to cultivate it, but properly honed it is one of the Fixer's greatest a.s.sets, for the sensations can lead you straight to the source of the problem. Becker Drane was one of those few, and when he felt the hairs on his neck beginning to rise, he got out of the bed. That's a feeling you get when something has gone wrong in The Seems and will soon affect The World. Few ever learn to cultivate it, but properly honed it is one of the Fixer's greatest a.s.sets, for the sensations can lead you straight to the source of the problem. Becker Drane was one of those few, and when he felt the hairs on his neck beginning to rise, he got out of the bed.

From his second-story window there was a view of Highland Park, and he could see the Dranes were not alone in their affliction. Mrs. Chudnick lived next door and she was standing in her kitchen, warming up some milk. The Croziers were across the street, playing their own games of solitaire in each of their bedrooms. And Paul the Wanderer, who lived in his car (he was harmless so the cops let it slide) was reading War and Peace War and Peace by the dashboard light. In fact, all across the neighborhood lights were on and people were wide awake. by the dashboard light. In fact, all across the neighborhood lights were on and people were wide awake.

For Becker to be up at this hour was plausible-he was leading a dual life with double responsibilities and homework in two worlds-but the rest of these people were just ordinary citizens who were usually fast asleep by now. The feeling on the back of Becker's neck made its way to his stomach and would soon be causing a p.r.i.c.kly set of chills all over. This was the progression of the 7th Sense and it could only mean one thing: something had gone wrong in The Seems. Sense and it could only mean one thing: something had gone wrong in The Seems.

Something big.

Gandan Monastery, Suhbaatar Province, Outer Mongolia Precisely thirty-three seconds earlier, the inimitable Li Po's eyes opened upon the sacred temple that he called home. He'd been contemplating The Most Amazing Thing of All when his own neck hairs had raised, and now he waited serenely for Central Command to send out its Call.

"OMMMMMM."

As the chanting of the monks reverberated through the chamber, Fixer #1 on the Rotation wiped the sweat from his brow. He was the acknowledged master of the 7th Sense, and whatever was happening in The Seems during the eternal moment of Now, he was the first to feel it. But tonight, he couldn't get a lock on which Department had gone down. Sense, and whatever was happening in The Seems during the eternal moment of Now, he was the first to feel it. But tonight, he couldn't get a lock on which Department had gone down.

Perhaps it was Weather again. Or Time. Or maybe even . . .

Gordon's Bay Retirement Community, Cape Town, South Africa Nature. It had to be Nature. She had sent a memo about a patch of purple gra.s.s in Senegal, but the Big Building had ignored her, and now look what was happening.

"Sylvia! It's your move!"

It took the Fixer known as "The Octogenarian" a moment to remember where she was and what she was doing there. Oh, yes. This was the final round of the annual GB Canasta Championship, and a crowd of onlookers anxiously waited to see if she and Morty could defend their t.i.tle.

"Gotta run, darlings!" Sylvia smiled and threw down the final meld for a clean knockout. "Time for my morning ma.s.sage."

Leaving her opponents (and the fans) in a state of shock, Fixer #3 adjourned to the Clubhouse and pulled a little black box from her oversized pocketbook. In her fifty years on the Duty Roster, Sylvia Nichols had seen all there was to see, but the thrill of another Mission about to go out never got old. She quickly toggled over to every Fixer's favorite Blinker screen: "MISSION IN PROGRESS."

So did Tony the Plumber, Mr. Chiappa, Anna-Julia Rafaella Carolina dos Santos, and thirty other Fixers around The World (and hopefully Tom Jackal), all of whom at this exact moment had stepped away from their dinner party or baccarat table or teachers' convention or walk on the beach or lifelong search for an ancient artifact to see what exactly had gone wrong, and what kind of job they were going to give the kid.

But one Fixer found out first.

12 Grant Avenue, Highland Park, New Jersey BLINK! BLINK! BLINK! BLINK! BLINK!.

In the middle of his sweaty palm, Becker's Blinker was flashing off the hook. He couldn't believe it was actually happening. And it was actually happening now!

"Time to make the doughnuts."

With a deep breath, he pressed the yellow "accept" b.u.t.ton and the box began to transform. A miniature-sized keyboard extended from the base and the view-screen expanded to twice its usual size. Audio came in first-a high whine settling to a low hum-followed by a fuzzy image, which gradually faded into view.

A double-sided wrench.

"Stand by for transmission."

Becker jacked in his headphones and locked his door as the Fixer logo was quickly replaced by a chiseled face with piercing blue eyes.

"Fixer 37, F. Becker Drane. Please report. Over!"

The Dispatcher wore a headset and uniform, and his buzz-cut was perfectly manicured. But he rarely engaged in small talk.

"37, present and accounted for!"

"Prepare for Verification."

A handprint appeared on the screen and Becker matched his palm to it. Light rolled over his lifeline and a computerized voice began to speak.

"Verification complete. Prepare for Personality Scan."

Almost everything else about a person can be replicated, except for his or her personality. A thin beam quickly examined Becker's interior world.

"Personality confirmed!"

The important part came next.

"Mission Report: Seems-World Time 24:27."

Becker pulled out his pad and waited for the details.

"Glitch reported-Department of Sleep. a.s.signment: Find and Fix!"

His pen froze inches above the paper.

"Excuse me, sir, but did you say Glitch?"

"Say again: Glitch reported-Department of Sleep. a.s.signment: Find and Fix!"

Becker was in a state of shock. A glitch in The World was just a common mechanical breakdown, but a Glitch in The Seems was a rare and serious threat. In fact, there hadn't been a confirmed Glitch in any department since the Day That Time Stood Still,8 and the Fixer who went on that Mission- and the Fixer who went on that Mission- "Do we have Mission confirmation?"

The sound of the Dispatcher's voice snapped him back into the present.

"Mission accepted and confirmed!"

"Your Briefer will meet you when you get to Sleep. Oh, and kid . . ." the corner of his mouth might've just turned up a little, the corner of his mouth might've just turned up a little, "welcome to the big leagues." "welcome to the big leagues."

And just like that, the signal went out, the screen folded down, and Becker was left alone in the darkness of his room.

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6. Quarterback of the Highland Park Owls football team (currently 06).

7. Note: The 9th Sense is not so easily explained, but it has a lot to do with interior design. Sense is not so easily explained, but it has a lot to do with interior design.

8. November 5, 1997.

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3.

The Mission Inside the Mission "Move, Becker. Move."

Back in his bedroom, precious seconds were ticking away, but Becker couldn't bring himself to take a step.

"What's wrong with you, dude?"

The simple fact of the matter was that he was terrified. Why couldn't he have just gotten a Foible or a Broken Window like Fixer #35? The Rotation was random in that way-no matter what the Mission was (except under the "Special Circ.u.mstances" clause that was used very infrequently), whoever was up next got whatever came up next. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he would have to take on a Glitch.

"Pull it together, Candidate Drane!" Thankfully, a familiar voice started booming in his head. Thankfully, a familiar voice started booming in his head. "Never be afraid to be afraid!" "Never be afraid to be afraid!"

Jelani Blaque was one of the greatest Fixers who ever lived, and Becker's Training under him had been so rigorous that it sometimes felt as if his Instructor was still right there, over his shoulder, shouting out encouragement.

"Remember your wa wa, for there is wisdom in the repet.i.tion!"

"Remember my wa, wa," Becker closed his eyes. "Remember my wa wa."

wa was Yoruba for "practice," which Blaque demanded constantly of his Candidates. Every day at the beginning of Training, they would practice their Procedures, and though it sometimes got tedious, the benefits of this technique were now becoming clear. was Yoruba for "practice," which Blaque demanded constantly of his Candidates. Every day at the beginning of Training, they would practice their Procedures, and though it sometimes got tedious, the benefits of this technique were now becoming clear.

"Take out your Toolkit and commence equipment check!"

The newest and youngest of the Fixers finally got his right foot to take a step . . . then his left . . . then reached down under his bed to remove his brand-new Toolkit. It was a Toolmas-ter 3000, the latest in the messenger-bag style, complete with deluxe Tools, reinforced pockets, and plenty of extra s.p.a.ce.9 He opened the flap to confirm that everything he needed for the Mission was ready and waiting. He opened the flap to confirm that everything he needed for the Mission was ready and waiting.

"Then deploy your Me-2!"

In Becker's humble opinion, the Me-2 was one of the cleverest Tools to ever come out of the Shed. It looked like an inflatable life vest, but when he pulled the two red tabs, it blew up to become a life-sized replica of . . . himself! On the back was a dial with various settings-"At Work," "At Play," "Auto-Pilot"-and Becker set his to "Asleep" and placed it in his bed. Instantly it began to breathe in and out with a slight, well-executed snore.

"Next, implement your exit strategy!"

When he had been stuck at the beach for Labor Day, Becker had busted out his Me-2 underwater and made a swim for it. And when he couldn't escape from Rachel Adler's bat mitzvah that day, he'd been forced to slip away during the height of the limbo contest and slide out through the kitchen door. But tonight he just had to make sure that his mom and dad and Benjamin didn't hear him crawl out the second-story window, climb down the branches of the backyard elm tree, and fire up his Trek hybrid.

"And last but not least, prepare to make the Leap!"

As Becker pedaled feverishly down Harrison Avenue and back toward Cleveland, the malady that afflicted The World was obvious in every house along the way. TVs were flickering at desperate families. Board games were being removed from shelves. Even Dr. Kole was busy in his duplex on North Second, putting the finishing touches on tomorrow's killer quiz. It was times like this that Becker wished the Skeleton Key proposal had been ratified in The Seems. That initiative had called for an abandonment of the old Door system-in which portals were scattered throughout The World, often in plain sight- and the issuing of special keys that could open a seam anywhere in the Fabric of Reality. This would have been especially useful for Fixers and Briefers (who needed to get across at a moment's notice), but the referendum was summarily shot down by those resistant to change and a coalition of the Unwilling.

Becker cruised to a halt at the back of Illuminating Experiences, and though he had made the Leap over a hundred times by now, this time felt very much like the first. He waited for a late-night jogger to pa.s.s by, her fluorescent vest glinting under a single streetlight, then quietly made his way through the leaves and back to the landing of the stairs.

Someone had recently painted graffiti over the symbol on the door and, given the praises to Black Sabbath and Satan, Becker chalked it up to his friend Leo, a real real juvenile delinquent, but with a heart of gold. Becker laughed and this helped him relax a little bit, but as he reached forward and swiped his brand-new laminate, Becker couldn't get rid of the dryness in his mouth. juvenile delinquent, but with a heart of gold. Becker laughed and this helped him relax a little bit, but as he reached forward and swiped his brand-new laminate, Becker couldn't get rid of the dryness in his mouth.

"Now there's one last thing, Candidate . . . . . ."

Fortunately, Fixer Blaque's voice was still ringing in his ears.

"When in doubt, always remember . . . The World is counting on you!"

Becker pulled down his Transport Goggles and yanked the door ajar. Blue light spilled over his face and the highways and byways of the In-Between lay sprawled out before him.

"And so am I!"

Customs, Department of Transportation, The Seems When Becker arrived at the Landing Pad, his Transport Goggles were covered in frost. Though the trip through the In-Between was gnarly, it also had its perks. If you kept your head about you (and didn't smash into anything), you could get a great preview of what was heading for The World that day- Shooting Stars, Twists of Fate, Big Ideas-all prepackaged and ready to be enjoyed.

"Laminate and purpose for your visit?"

Becker flashed his Badge, and the Customs Official flinched, knowing that if a Fixer was in attendance, something big must be afoot.

"This way, sir!"

The Terminal was bustling, packed with Quality Control, Agents of L.U.C.K., and tourists on their way back from The World.10 Though they were all waiting on the typically long debriefing line, no one seemed annoyed that Becker was sliding by them via "Express." That's because they had all been in The World when the Glitch hit and were keenly aware of its drastic effects. Though they were all waiting on the typically long debriefing line, no one seemed annoyed that Becker was sliding by them via "Express." That's because they had all been in The World when the Glitch hit and were keenly aware of its drastic effects.

". . . it's about time."

". . . hasn't been a Glitch since . . ."

". . . a bit young to be a Fixer?"

The idle chatter didn't help Becker's confidence, so he tuned it out because he had a job to do. He quickly made his way through the crowd and boarded the first monorail that stopped at the Department of Sleep.