Becker and Simly were peering out of a fire exit and into the dark alley. Mist filled the air and an old Tinker pushed a cart down an uneven cobblestone road.

"They'll find her someday . . . they'll bring her back . . ." His cart was filled with sleep masks, earplugs, and even a Craftmatic adjustable bed. "The Plan is good . . . the Plan is good."

The Tinker disappeared into the fog, leaving only one other sign of life in the alley: a broken-down neon marquee, which swung back and forth on a single rusty hinge.

The Slmbr Paty "We can't go in there," whispered Simly.

"Why not?"

"My mom says it's a really rough joint."

"Don't worry. I got your back."

Beneath the sign was a muscular Bouncer, dressed all in black, and reading a copy of the Daily Plan Daily Plan.17 An underage student from the School of Thought was trying to con her way in, but he didn't even look up from the crossword. An underage student from the School of Thought was trying to con her way in, but he didn't even look up from the crossword.

"But I don't have a fake ID," Simly worried.

"You don't need one, you're twenty-seven."

"Oh yeah."

"Besides, we've got something much better than a fake ID."

Simly and Becker crossed the street and flashed the Fixer's Badge. The Bouncer held it up to the light, making sure it was legit, than stamped both their hands and lifted the velvet rope.

"Why do they they get to go in?" cried the teenage girl, still stuck out in the cold. get to go in?" cried the teenage girl, still stuck out in the cold.

"Because," said the Bouncer, filling in 32 Across.18 The inside of the Slumber Party was barely illuminated by gaslit Night Lights, scattered one to a table. Smoke filled the air and Seemsians from every department sat in booths and alcoves, drinking multicolored elixirs and speaking in hushed tones. Becker and Simly made their way past the band in the corner-a three-piece jazz ensemble that laid down a drowsy groove-and approached the mahogany bar.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

The bartender, who, judging by the tattoos on his arm, was a veteran of the Color Wars, seemed amused by the appearance of a twelve-year-old boy with a Tool-covered dork in tow.

"We're looking for someone in The Know."

Becker flashed his Badge again, hoping the barkeep could put him in touch with one of The Seems's most infamous secret societies-a criminal element that traded in Plan-sensitive information.

"Wish I could help you boys, but I ain't never heard of no Know."

"Listen, bubba." Becker had no choice but to play hardball. He leaned over the bar and pressed his nose right up against the larger man's face. "You know there's a Know and I know there's a Know and we both know The Know is known to hang out here."

The bartender stared back, giving him nothing at all.

"So unless you want me to bring my boys from the FDA down here and have them find out what you're really really serving, you better start singing, and I mean serving, you better start singing, and I mean now now!"

Simly couldn't believe what Becker was saying to this big, burly dude. After all, the kid could barely see over the bar to even talk to him. But he supposed that's part of what made Becker a Fixer.

"Check out the VIP area." The barkeep finally gave in. "Maybe you'll find what you're looking for back there."

As he walked away muttering, Becker winked at Simly, then gave him the bad news.

"Listen, Sim. We're gonna need to split up."

"We are?"

"Yeah, I need to be able to fit in a little better." Becker pulled off his Badge and messed up his hair with a handful of Goop. "Just stay here and see what you can find."

"No problem."

"And Sim?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to be cool."

"Cool? I'm cool." Simly was deeply offended. "Cool's my middle name."

They gave each other the Shake,19 then Becker disappeared into the throng. But as the Briefer turned around, he could feel the eyes of the entire club upon him. then Becker disappeared into the throng. But as the Briefer turned around, he could feel the eyes of the entire club upon him.

"Correction," he said to himself, reminded of the day he walked out at the YMSA pool without his bathing suit on. "My middle name is not cool. It's Alomonus."

In the back of the club was the cordoned-off VIP area, and Becker was able to slide through gracefully under his new cover as a hip young Case Worker on the go. No one questioned his credentials, simply by the way he carried himself and how he dropped bits of information that only someone who worked at the Big Building would ever know.

"So, anyway, I'm working on this love story between two people in Sector 906 and the whole thing depends on this woman getting a GNS, and boom! A Glitch puts the kibosh on the whole thing."

"Yeah, I heard about that," said a curious Cloud Picker. "Word is they brought in a Fixer."

"Those guys get all the good gigs," pretended Becker.

"Not to mention all the credit."

A lot of employees resented the appearance of a Fixer because it tacitly implied that they weren't capable of handling the job themselves. Becker let it go and was about to prod him for more info when there was a tug on the back of his shirt.

"You know all about that, don't you, Fixer boy?" Standing behind him was a Flavor Miner, smears of Chocolate Chip Mint and b.u.t.ter Pecan still on his oversized smock.

"What do you mean, Fixer boy?" asked the Picker.

"This guy's a company man all the way."

Becker was scrambling to save face as a crowd started to gather.

"Listen bro, I was just tryin' to-"

"We don't like your kind in here," coughed an unemployed Wordsmith, and a few Time Flies chimed in, working up the crowd into an angry froth.

"I'm not looking for any trouble."

"Well it's looking for you you."

Becker sized up the enemy and wished for a moment that he hadn't given his Toolkit to Simly for safekeeping.

"Le partir seul!"

A voice rang out from the midst of the shadows, and everyone turned to see the source: an edgy-looking guy in a suede jacket and Serengetti shades, sitting in a back booth all alone.

"I'll take care of this one myself."

Whoever he was, the guy commanded respect, because the crowd instantly dispersed. Becker was about to say thanks, when he was stunned to see who had rescued him from the mob.

A little older, s.h.a.ggier, and more grizzled. But definitely someone he knew.

"Thibadeau?"

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16. The "Dazzleberry" was sc.r.a.pped back in the Day by the Food & Drink Administration (FDA) for allegedly being "too sweet" (and tasty).

17. The leading newspaper in The Seems, including politics, World news, sports, arts &entertainment, the cla.s.sifieds, and The Jinx Gnomes The Jinx Gnomes-a popular comic strip about the crack unit dispatched to The World whenever a person overcelebrates a bit of good fortune.

18. Four letters: Aka "The Time Bandits," Justin and _ _ _ _ F. Time.

19. The IFR secret handshake, taught only to Candidates who have successfully pa.s.sed the Practical.

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5.

Thibadeau Freck The Stumbling Block, Inst.i.tute for Fixing & Repair, The Seems-One Year Ago "You're shanking it, Draniac!"

Becker looked over to Thibadeau Freck, his heart racing and sweat dripping in his eyes.

"Shank this, Napoleon!"

The two Candidates had reached the ninth (and final) level of the Stumbling Block-the IFR's infamous obstacle course-and now stood side by side, desperately trying to untie their Gordian Knot before the other did.

"This is what I love about you Americans," jibed Thib, testing the thick ball of interwoven rope with his fingers. "You put ketchup on your fries, you have bad cheese and even worse coffee, and still still you never give up!" you never give up!"

The wind at this height whipped across their faces, making it even more difficult to see what they were doing. The Stumbling Block was built like a wedding cake, with concentric circular platforms stacked on top of each other, each containing a unique Fixing challenge. Every Friday, the Candidates would face hurdles as disparate as Number Crunching to getting out from under an Impression, and as usual, Freck and Drane were first and second in the race up to the top. In recent weeks, however, the gap between them had begun to close.

"This reminds me of making monkey's fists at camp!" Becker studied his own ball of rope, a simulation of the real Gordian Knot, which in Reality held together both ends of the Spectrum. "And if I just do this this . . ." . . ."

Becker "pulled the rabbit through the hole" (as his waterfront director David Lincoln had taught him to do), unraveling a large chunk of the cord-and for the first time ever, took a narrow lead over his closest friend in Training.

"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Thibadeau, still perplexed by his own tangled mess. Adrenaline coursed through Becker as he realized that triumph was almost within his grasp.

"I would say congratulations to you"-the Frenchman almost seemed ready to concede-"but if I just do this this . . ." . . ."

At the bottom of the tangle, Thibadeau gave a single thread the gentlest of tugs, and all at once, his entire knot unraveled.

"Catch you on the Flip Side, mon ami mon ami !" !"

With a wink, Thibadeau scrambled up the ladder and disappeared to the top of the Block. Becker's heart sank, but he managed to pull himself together, for he didn't want to be overtaken by any of the other Candidates (who were no doubt right on his heels) and besides, how you handle defeat can be just as important as how you handle victory.

"Always the bridesmaid, never the bride," said Fixer Blaque, who was waiting for Becker when at last he reached the top.

"Yes, sir. I really thought I had him this time."

The best part of the Stumbling Block was the finish-win or lose, you ended on a roof deck stocked with snacks, beverages, and some of the tastiest views in The Seems. Blaque was already preparing the end-of-the-week feast on a charcoal grill for his exhausted Candidates, while Thib was lazing back and forth in a hammock, peeling a clementine.

"You did have me, Draniac." Thibadeau handed a slice to the depleted Becker. "The Agents of L.U.C.K. were just on my side today."

That was the cool thing about his rivalry with Thibadeau- no matter how hard they fought (and they fought hard), it never got in the way of their friendship. Becker grabbed the nearest hammock and positioned himself in the center of the netting. For a few tranquil moments, they just looked out at The Seems.

"Draniac, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, man." Becker jumped at the chance because Thib had never come to him for advice before. "Anything."

"Do you ever wonder . . . ," the Frenchman lowered his voice as if he didn't want Fixer Blaque to hear, "why they made The World the way it is?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you ever think that maybe they could have done a better job?"

Becker wasn't sure how to reply. He was still in awe of the very existence of The Seems, so he had never really thought much about it.

"Better? How much better could it be?"

"I don't know, dude. It just seems like a lot of things are wrong. Like hurricanes or this kid I saw at Charles De Gaulle airport a couple days ago who could barely talk because he had some terrible disease." Thib's eyes wandered to the Big Building, which towered through the clouds in the distance. "I wonder why they let those kinds of things happen."

"I don't know." Becker struggled to find the right thing to say. "I guess it's all part of the Plan?"

"Yeah, you're right. That must be it." Thibadeau shrugged it off like it was no big deal. "Hey, look-here comes the Swede!"