daydreaming or a “senior moment.”
“A skippage of that magnitude is no accident,” said the Fixer. “The Tide must have infiltrated the department and blocked the flow of Time.”
Permin dropped his head in a mix of sadness and disgust, for this was a very proud department, as the sign above the entrance to Time Management declared:
3,650 DAYS WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT
“Now I realize it was all just a distraction,” Neverlåethe pointed to a crawl space between three of the largest gears. “One of the tour guides spotted it when he was dusting up for today’s show.”
Tucked in between the whirring clockworks was a complex device that bore an eerie similarity to Chiappa’s original invention. The timer was a simple alarm clock, which was duct taped to a titanium freezer caked with ice and frost. Inside were no doubt those missing trays of Frozen Moments, and the freezer itself was surrounded by several bags of fertilizer, stamped with the logo of the Department of Nature. Last but not least, there was a long black cylinder wired to the entire contraption.
“What’s up with the tube?” shouted Briefer Shan above the din.
“It’s a different kind of casing than the one we used,” Chiappa observed. “But it looks like a Second Splitter to me.”
“I could be wrong, my friends,” Permin pointed to the smallest hand on the alarm clock, which sat stationary just above the number three. “But I think it’s set to go off in twenty-seven minutes.”
“Twenty-six minutes and forty-seven seconds, by my calculations,” corrected Briefer Shan.
“Either way, we’d better get in there,” Chiappa announced, resisting the impulse to shoot Shan a look of annoyance. “And we’d better shut down these gears.”
As Permin instructed his managers to bring the ancient mechanism to a halt, Fixer and Briefer gathered their respective equipment.
“Lucien!” Administrator Neverlåethe was still shouting even though the gears had gone quiet. “I don’t think I can . . .”
“It’s okay, Permin,” Chiappa let him off the hook. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“It’s just . . . Heidi and the children, they depend upon me . . .”
“I know that. You’ve done all you can here.”
Permin nodded and looked like he was trying to say something, maybe an effort to save face or just a warning to his old friend. But before he could come up with the words—
“Get out of here, you old sandman,” Chiappa interjected with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ve got work to do.”
As Shan Mei-Lin began to unfold her Tool Table™, she was anxious to get cracking. Being the fastest Candidate ever to make it to Briefer, she fully expected to be the fastest Briefer ever to make it to Fixer as well. Sure, there had been younger Fixers than her, like Casey Lake and Becker Drane, but never had anyone moved up the ranks with such meteoric speed. And though she was stuck working with an old fart like Chiappa, this was the perfect opportunity to distinguish herself on a high-profile Mission.
“Give me Those Things That Look a Lot Like Tweezers That You Use to Cut Wires With™,” requested Mr. Chiappa.
The entire chamber had been cleared of all personnel (as had the corridors above), and with the gears turned off, the only sounds left were the clanking of Tools and the ticking of the alarm clock. Briefer Shan handed over Those Things and watched as her Fixer snipped a blue wire that connected the freezer to the fertilizer. The bomb itself was covered with a host of such wires, in many different colors.
“How do you know which one to cut?” asked Briefer Shan.
“Most of these are just dummy wires meant to throw us off the trail,” Chiappa explained. “But we’ve gotta clear them out before I can figure which ones are important.”
Briefer Shan couldn’t help but notice Chiappa’s hand trembling as he cut the excess cords. Though she had studied the Mission Report from the Day That Time Stood Still at length,
“A skippage of that magnitude is no accident,” said the Fixer. “The Tide must have infiltrated the department and blocked the flow of Time.”
Permin dropped his head in a mix of sadness and disgust, for this was a very proud department, as the sign above the entrance to Time Management declared:
3,650 DAYS WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT
“Now I realize it was all just a distraction,” Neverlåethe pointed to a crawl space between three of the largest gears. “One of the tour guides spotted it when he was dusting up for today’s show.”
Tucked in between the whirring clockworks was a complex device that bore an eerie similarity to Chiappa’s original invention. The timer was a simple alarm clock, which was duct taped to a titanium freezer caked with ice and frost. Inside were no doubt those missing trays of Frozen Moments, and the freezer itself was surrounded by several bags of fertilizer, stamped with the logo of the Department of Nature. Last but not least, there was a long black cylinder wired to the entire contraption.
“What’s up with the tube?” shouted Briefer Shan above the din.
“It’s a different kind of casing than the one we used,” Chiappa observed. “But it looks like a Second Splitter to me.”
“I could be wrong, my friends,” Permin pointed to the smallest hand on the alarm clock, which sat stationary just above the number three. “But I think it’s set to go off in twenty-seven minutes.”
“Twenty-six minutes and forty-seven seconds, by my calculations,” corrected Briefer Shan.
“Either way, we’d better get in there,” Chiappa announced, resisting the impulse to shoot Shan a look of annoyance. “And we’d better shut down these gears.”
As Permin instructed his managers to bring the ancient mechanism to a halt, Fixer and Briefer gathered their respective equipment.
“Lucien!” Administrator Neverlåethe was still shouting even though the gears had gone quiet. “I don’t think I can . . .”
“It’s okay, Permin,” Chiappa let him off the hook. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“It’s just . . . Heidi and the children, they depend upon me . . .”
“I know that. You’ve done all you can here.”
Permin nodded and looked like he was trying to say something, maybe an effort to save face or just a warning to his old friend. But before he could come up with the words—
“Get out of here, you old sandman,” Chiappa interjected with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ve got work to do.”
As Shan Mei-Lin began to unfold her Tool Table™, she was anxious to get cracking. Being the fastest Candidate ever to make it to Briefer, she fully expected to be the fastest Briefer ever to make it to Fixer as well. Sure, there had been younger Fixers than her, like Casey Lake and Becker Drane, but never had anyone moved up the ranks with such meteoric speed. And though she was stuck working with an old fart like Chiappa, this was the perfect opportunity to distinguish herself on a high-profile Mission.
“Give me Those Things That Look a Lot Like Tweezers That You Use to Cut Wires With™,” requested Mr. Chiappa.
The entire chamber had been cleared of all personnel (as had the corridors above), and with the gears turned off, the only sounds left were the clanking of Tools and the ticking of the alarm clock. Briefer Shan handed over Those Things and watched as her Fixer snipped a blue wire that connected the freezer to the fertilizer. The bomb itself was covered with a host of such wires, in many different colors.
“How do you know which one to cut?” asked Briefer Shan.
“Most of these are just dummy wires meant to throw us off the trail,” Chiappa explained. “But we’ve gotta clear them out before I can figure which ones are important.”
Briefer Shan couldn’t help but notice Chiappa’s hand trembling as he cut the excess cords. Though she had studied the Mission Report from the Day That Time Stood Still at length,
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