the alley and through the door with the faded grandfather clock was a long, dimly lit hallway with public restrooms on the side and an ordinary black swipe pad at the end. Anyone with clearance of eight or above could gain access to a second corridor, which led to a spiral staircase that had another black swipe pad at the bottom, which demanded clearance of nine to gain entrance to the sprawling underground bunker where the machinery of Time Management was housed.
“Clear a path,” shouted Briefer Shan, a little louder than necessary. “Fixer coming through.”
The first corridor had been empty, but the second was lined with Minutemen, whose job it was to handle the very Essence of Time. This was one of the most dangerous positions in the entire Seems, given to only the most sturdy of souls. But today they looked ashen-faced and shaken, and very few could muster up the courage to look Chiappa in the eye as he passed.
“Go get ’em, chief,” said the obvious leader of the group, his visor popped open to reveal a sweat-soaked face. “This one’s got your name written all over it.”
“I’ll do my best, Millsy.”
A few others offered words of encouragement, but for the most part the stricken employees just chewed their Trouble Gum™. Like Chiappa, they had dreaded this day, but had never believed it would actually come.
“Thank the Plan you’re here!”
At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a man of light complexion, with bright blue eyes and wispy blond hair . . . also known as Permin Neverlåethe, Administrator of the Department of Time. Like all of his rank, Permin wore a three-piece suit and a pocket watch, but his Time Piece™ was unique in that it showed World Time in all four thousand and twelve Sectors.
“Good to see you again,” said Fixer Chiappa, shaking the Administrator’s hand. “If only it were under better circumstances.”
“Lucien, how could this have happened?” If Permin had been any whiter, he would have been transparent. “I thought we destroyed the blueprints!”
“We did,” said Fixer #12. “Yet here we are again.”
On that terrible Day That Time Stood Still, it was Permin Neverlåethe, then a manager at Daylight Savings, who assisted Chiappa in constructing the mechanism that restarted The World. But though their Mission had been successful, it had not come without a price.
“I knew this would come back to haunt us.” Permin was on the verge of tears. “We should have never built it in the first place!”
“Of course we should have, Permin.” Chiappa put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Now, just calm down and tell me what happened.”
Though the gears of Time were quite a sight to behold, they were largely ceremonial. This system of towering cycloids, dangling weights, and brass pinions no longer pumped the Essence of Time. Yet, for obviously symbolic reasons, The Tide had chosen this hallowed ground on which to strike their latest blow.
“The first anomaly caught us completely off guard,” said Administrator Neverlåethe over the roar of the spinning gears. “It looked like just a Slowdown in a few of the Sectors, but then it happened again—followed by a couple Speedups.”
Slowdowns and Speedups were malfunctions that involved elements of The World moving through Time at wildly different rates. They were usually caused by flow-management issues in the pipeline that pumped Time over to Reality, but were typically resolved before anyone in The World would notice.
“We thought we had things under control,” Permin continued. “But then there was a Timeout for four minutes and twenty seconds!”
“I thought that was weird,” added Briefer Shan. “I was rereading Ulysses and the next thing I knew I was lying in bed. I didn’t even know how I got there.”
Chiappa had had a similar experience. He’d been peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink and suddenly found himself seated at the dinner table—but he had written it off as
“Clear a path,” shouted Briefer Shan, a little louder than necessary. “Fixer coming through.”
The first corridor had been empty, but the second was lined with Minutemen, whose job it was to handle the very Essence of Time. This was one of the most dangerous positions in the entire Seems, given to only the most sturdy of souls. But today they looked ashen-faced and shaken, and very few could muster up the courage to look Chiappa in the eye as he passed.
“Go get ’em, chief,” said the obvious leader of the group, his visor popped open to reveal a sweat-soaked face. “This one’s got your name written all over it.”
“I’ll do my best, Millsy.”
A few others offered words of encouragement, but for the most part the stricken employees just chewed their Trouble Gum™. Like Chiappa, they had dreaded this day, but had never believed it would actually come.
“Thank the Plan you’re here!”
At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a man of light complexion, with bright blue eyes and wispy blond hair . . . also known as Permin Neverlåethe, Administrator of the Department of Time. Like all of his rank, Permin wore a three-piece suit and a pocket watch, but his Time Piece™ was unique in that it showed World Time in all four thousand and twelve Sectors.
“Good to see you again,” said Fixer Chiappa, shaking the Administrator’s hand. “If only it were under better circumstances.”
“Lucien, how could this have happened?” If Permin had been any whiter, he would have been transparent. “I thought we destroyed the blueprints!”
“We did,” said Fixer #12. “Yet here we are again.”
On that terrible Day That Time Stood Still, it was Permin Neverlåethe, then a manager at Daylight Savings, who assisted Chiappa in constructing the mechanism that restarted The World. But though their Mission had been successful, it had not come without a price.
“I knew this would come back to haunt us.” Permin was on the verge of tears. “We should have never built it in the first place!”
“Of course we should have, Permin.” Chiappa put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Now, just calm down and tell me what happened.”
Though the gears of Time were quite a sight to behold, they were largely ceremonial. This system of towering cycloids, dangling weights, and brass pinions no longer pumped the Essence of Time. Yet, for obviously symbolic reasons, The Tide had chosen this hallowed ground on which to strike their latest blow.
“The first anomaly caught us completely off guard,” said Administrator Neverlåethe over the roar of the spinning gears. “It looked like just a Slowdown in a few of the Sectors, but then it happened again—followed by a couple Speedups.”
Slowdowns and Speedups were malfunctions that involved elements of The World moving through Time at wildly different rates. They were usually caused by flow-management issues in the pipeline that pumped Time over to Reality, but were typically resolved before anyone in The World would notice.
“We thought we had things under control,” Permin continued. “But then there was a Timeout for four minutes and twenty seconds!”
“I thought that was weird,” added Briefer Shan. “I was rereading Ulysses and the next thing I knew I was lying in bed. I didn’t even know how I got there.”
Chiappa had had a similar experience. He’d been peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink and suddenly found himself seated at the dinner table—but he had written it off as
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