"Now arriving, Department of Love! Please stand clear of the closing doors!"

Becker held on to the pole as the train started up again and continued on its loop around The Seems. Because of the late hour, most of the pa.s.sengers were already on their commute home, but Becker's day had just begun.

"Now arriving, the Olfactory! Please apply nose plugs and stand clear of the closing doors!"

"As if nose plugs would stop that smell . . ."

A rider next to him was gripping one of the hanging straps, eyes red and drooping from a long day on the job.

"How'd it go today?" asked Becker.

"Basic Reality Check, hit the W and make sure green is green, red is red, E still equals MC2."

"That must be an awesome job."

"Ahh, 'nother day, 'nother dollar. How 'bout you?"

Becker thought about telling him about his Mission, but he didn't want to b.u.m him out at the end of his shift.

"Same ol', same ol'. World needs its goods and services."

"They got it good over there, don't they?"

"Tell me about it."

"Now arriving, the Jitney! Transfer for service to Here, There, Everywhere, Alphabet City, and Crestview.11 Please stand clear of the closing doors!" Please stand clear of the closing doors!"

"Catch you on the Flip Side," said the Reality Checker, as he headed home for the evening.

"On the Flip Side."

Becker peered out the window, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The Big Building was all lit up at the center of the loop, and he couldn't help but wonder what was being planned that very moment. For the sake of his Mission, he hoped it was something good.

"Now arriving, Department of Sleep! Please keep your voice down and stand clear of the closing doors!"

"Simly Alomonus Frye, Briefer #356, reporting for duty, sir!"

Before Becker had even stepped onto the platform, a tall, lanky Seemsian in his mid-twenties was standing at full salute.12 "At ease, Simly," said Becker to his Briefer. "I know who you are."

The two had been at the IFR together, and though they hung out in different circles, everyone knew Simly Frye. While most Candidates spent their off time chilling in the Game Room or on the Nature Trail, Simly was a staple at the Library, constantly studying up on some arcane Tool or following a poor Instructor around the halls, begging for details about this Mission or that. Truth be told, you might not want to hang out with him on a Sat.u.r.day night, but you couldn't ask for a more capable Briefer.

"What on earth are you wearing, dude?"

Becker wasn't referring to Simly's c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses- which made his eyes look like a bug's-but to the a.s.sortments of gadgets, devices, and other random tchotchkes that were strapped all over his body.

"The latest in Fixer technology, sir. And a few cla.s.sics from back in the Day. For example, check out this-"

Becker stopped him before he could start.

"Forget I asked."

They hopped on the escalator and began ramping up to Sleep.

"Can you believe this, sir? You and me? A Glitch?" Simly was a bundle of nerves. "There hasn't been a Glitch in The Seems since the Day That Time Stood Still and the Fixer who-"

"I know what happened."

"Yes, sir. Of course you do."

At the top of the escalator was a sprawling factory, with an elegant courtyard situated out front. Trees and benches were laid out geometrically, giant Night Lights cast a gentle glow, and in the middle, a granite sculpture celebrated the Department of Sleep's famed insignia: a single closed eye.

"Cool. I've never been to this department before," admitted Simly.

"I've only been here a couple of times myself," seconded Becker, "but those were on Field Trips-never on a Mission."

They stopped to read a quotation that was engraved beneath the sculpted eye:

Now, blessings light on him that first invented sleep! It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot. It is the current coin that purchases all the pleasures of the world cheap, and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool and the wise man, even.

-Miguel de Cervantes, 1605 W.T.14 "Who's that guy?" asked Simly, far more versed in Seemsian literature than that of The World.

"He's this dude from Spain who wrote a book called Don Quixote. Don Quixote. I read it in my Best Books Ever cla.s.s. Well, at least I read the I read it in my Best Books Ever cla.s.s. Well, at least I read the Cliff Cliff ' 's Notes."

Simly was impressed.

Becker radioed in. "Drane to Central Command, come in, over?"

His orange Receiver was back in working order, the short circuits repaired from the Portuguese rainstorm.

"We read you, Fixer Drane."

"I have Briefer acquisition and we are ready to proceed."

"Understood. Permission granted to enter department."

Almost immediately a silent alarm sounded, and the industrial-sized doors to Sleep began to slide apart.

Central Shipping, Department of Sleep, The Seems "Thank the Plan you're here!"

From the observation deck above, a small man in a Department of Sleep hard hat came trundling down the stairs. He was the Foreman of Central Shipping, and he'd been anxiously waiting for them.

"A Glitch in Sleep! I can't believe this is happening!"

The middle manager was beside himself, so Becker took a page from Casey Lake and stayed on an even keel.

"Just relax and tell me what went wrong."

"The system was running like clockwork, until we noticed a Blip," recounted the Foreman. "At first we thought it was just a blown Exhaustion Pipe, but then the Insomnia spread like wildfire, and the next thing we knew, we had a Sleepless Night on our hands!"

The Foreman looked both ways to make sure that no one else was listening, then leaned in to Becker's ear.

"Do you think it could be The Tide?"

Becker put a finger to his lips, because he didn't want to foster rumor and innuendo. The Tide was a shadowy organization bent on overthrowing the Powers That Be and a.s.suming control of The World. For the last few months its attacks had increased, both in scope and in frequency, culminating with the a.s.sault on the Rain Tower during Becker's final Mission as a Briefer. But whether it were involved in this was still too early to tell.

"Don't worry," Becker rea.s.sured him. "That's what we're here to find out."

As the Foreman led them across the factory floor, Simly pulled out his Briefing and began to take notes on Central Shipping. The components of Sleep proper were manufactured in other parts of the department, then carried here via a complex latticework of conveyor belts, tubes, hooks, and ramps before finally being stuffed into little brown boxes, each with its own destination address.

Jami Marmor Sector 302 Sector 302 MALLEGBERG HOTEL, Room 204 MALLEGBERG HOTEL, Room 204

David Bauer Sector 12 Sector 12 Nir Etzion Kibbutz Nir Etzion Kibbutz Third Cabin, Top Bunk, White Sleeping Bag Third Cabin, Top Bunk, White Sleeping Bag Ariff Ng Ariff Ng Sector 904 Sector 904 Carroll 16B, Desk #5 Carroll 16B, Desk #5 University Of Malaysia University Of Malaysia

Each box was completely unique and designed for a specific individual, which explains why on some nights you get a little Sleep and on some nights you get a lot. Once they were packed, the boxes were sealed and twined, stamped "Good Night's Sleep" "Good Night's Sleep" by Inspector #9, then they began their final journey down and out an exit hatch, through the In-Between, and ultimately to each and every recipient in The World. by Inspector #9, then they began their final journey down and out an exit hatch, through the In-Between, and ultimately to each and every recipient in The World.

Tonight, however, the exit hatch was shut tight. Boxes of Good Night's Sleep were bunching up at the door, and Tireless Workers raced to gather them before they hit the floor. Alarms were sounding and panic was in the air.

Night Watchmen's Station, Department of Sleep, The Seems "It's more serious than we thought." Night Watchman #1 adjusted his headset and toggled through his Cases. "And it's only getting worse."

Becker and Simly crowded closer to the Night Watchmen's flat-panel Window. It was his (and his staff 's) task to watch over the sleepers of The World, and make sure everything went according to Plan. Which, unfortunately, it was not.

"Check this one out."

Down on his LCD monitor, a married couple in Greenland were tossing and turning in their bed. Apparently, their inability to Sleep had provoked a nasty fight, complete with thrown plates and comments they would soon regret.

"Was this expected to happen?" inquired Becker.

"Negative. Totally uncalled for." Night Watchman #1 took another sip of his day-old coffee. "And take a look at Sector 4."

An old man in Katmandu was juggling in bed, while two identical twins were busy playing patty-cake.

"Or Sector 12 . . ."

In Irktusk, Russia, an ice-fisherman was desperately trying to catch those last few Z's before heading back onto the lake, but with absolutely no luck at all.

"Pull up Sector 33, Grid 514." Becker threw in his own request, and the Watchman focused in on Highland Park. Everyone from his hometown was there: Dr. Kole, Mrs. Chudnick, Paul the Wanderer. And at 12 Grant Avenue, Becker's mom and dad and Benjamin were all still wide awake.

"Other than you you," the Night Watchman flipped to Becker's room, where his Me-2 was snoring happily away, "no one in the entire World is even getting a wink."

Suddenly, another alarm split the air. And this one sounded like trouble.

"I've got a Chain of Events slippage!"

"What?" Becker and Simly gazed upward to see another row of Night Watchmen. And another row above them. "What Sector?"

"1904!"

Night Watchman #1 flipped to Sector 1904 and there was a man in a small motel desperately trying to get some rest.

"Uh-oh."

"What is it?"

"That salesman has been on the road for two weeks and he's trying to make it home for his daughter's birthday. But if he doesn't get some Sleep tonight, he might pa.s.s out at the wheel!"

"I've got a Slippage in 906!"

In this Sector, a lonely woman in Istanbul was supposed to get a nap so she would wake up just in time to feel a gentle breeze with the scent of jasmine on it, which might cause her to walk outside and b.u.mp into the humble postman who had always wondered if he would ever find his one true love. But if she couldn't get to Sleep, that whole ball of yarn would come undone.

"Slippage in 1743!"

"Another one?"

Becker was starting to get concerned, for Chains of Events were a tricky and complex business. They were put together by Case Workers in the Big Building, sometimes after years of thinking and strategizing, and then locked into the Plan via rubber cement. If you ever saw one in person it would look like a double helix, complete with interlocking pieces and small white tags attached to each event, describing its focus, purpose, and level of importance. But-and this is a big but-if they began to come apart, one could affect the other, and so on and so forth (for all events are interconnected). And if enough Chains were compromised, then the unthinkable could take place.

"Ripple Effect," said Becker, and just the mention of the words cast a pall into the room.

"Plan forbid," said Night Watchman #1. "But if the Glitch continues unchecked and we can't get Sleep back online, it's a distinct poss-"

"I've got a slippage in 26!"

"No!"

"Slippage in 1804!"

"601!"

"302!"