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.
“. . . 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.
“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 passengers 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 MC 2 .”
“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 bum 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!”
“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 Saturday 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 Coke-bottle glasses— which made his eyes look like a bug’s—but to the assortments of gadgets, devices, and other random tchotchkes that were strapped all over his body.
“The latest in Fixer technology, sir. And a few classics 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.
“. . . 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.
“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 passengers 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 MC 2 .”
“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 bum 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!”
“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 Saturday 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 Coke-bottle glasses— which made his eyes look like a bug’s—but to the assortments of gadgets, devices, and other random tchotchkes that were strapped all over his body.
“The latest in Fixer technology, sir. And a few classics 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.
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