Part 14 (1/2)
”You're gonna be sorry for this,” threatened Becker, finally starting to come around.
”That makes two of us!”
The Fixer struggled mightily, trying to free himself from the confines of the chair, but the leather straps dug into his skin. Behind him, the needle on the Scaredy Cat moved up the meter from ”Mildly Disturbed” to ”Anxiety Attack” to ”I'm Totally Freaking Out, Man!” And there were many more settings still to go.
”Hold him down!”
While two Bed Bugs restrained his head, Marty jammed a funnel into Becker's mouth, and Seymour slowly poured ”Your Worst Nightmare” straight down his throat.
”Sweet dreams, kid.”
[image]
22. Fixer Fres...o...b..b Herlihy was mortally wounded when he tried to Fix a Glitch by himself, inadvertently triggering a devastating earthquake in Sector 81 (San Francisco, USA) in 1906.
23. Alannis Niboot and Al Penske (aka ”the Toolmaster”), who was the inventor of most of the Tools in the current editions of the Catalog.
[image]
8.
Ripple Effect When Becker awoke, it was four hours later and the Bed Bugs were nowhere to be found. He was still strapped into the Scaredy Cat and the needle had reached ”White Knuckles,” which was only one setting down from the highest possible level of fear. Luckily, Becker didn't remember much from his Nightmare- he rarely recalled his Dreams-but the evidence that something bad had happened was indisputable. His wrists were marked with deep strap burns, his s.h.i.+rt soaked with sweat, and his body sore from exhaustion, like he'd just climbed a mountain the day before.
”h.e.l.lo? Is anybody there?”
From somewhere deep in the recesses of the lab, it sounded like a party was going on. There was music, laughter, the clinking of champagne gla.s.ses, but Becker's invitation must have been lost in the mail.
”You got what you wanted! Now I have to get back to my Mission!”
The Bed Bugs must have been celebrating the success of their experiment, but in their jubilation they had neglected to double-check Becker's restraints. The leather on his right wrist had come a little bit loose-just loose enough for him to reach under his s.h.i.+rtsleeve and pull out his Finger Nail.
It was a silly Tool and many Fixers mocked it as something MacGyver might use, but Becker liked MacGyver because he always got out of a jam. As he frantically cut himself loose, his mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Four hours was an eternity to be out of action, and Dawn must've already come and gone. By the time Becker sawed his way through the final strap, the pit in his stomach had turned into a chasm.
”Becker to Simly! Simly, come in.”
Still nothing but static.
”Fixer #37 to Central Command, come in. Over!”
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Back in the Dreamatorium, Becker began to see that things were even worse than he had feared. There were no more bubbles floating through the air, just the evidence of soapy liquid on the floor where they had popped. He knew this was the result of the Dream he had unintentionally exploded, and to make matters worse, the machine that produced them had gone into shutdown.
”Prepare for Dreamatorium departure,” announced the voice of the computer as Becker stood above the Transport Tube. He needed to reconnect with his Briefer. He needed to talk to his superiors. And more than anything else, he needed to get the Mission back online. ”Dreamatorium departure in 3 . . . 2 . . .” ”Dreamatorium departure in 3 . . . 2 . . .”
When Becker's feet hit the ground, he grabbed for his Receiver, but he was rudely interrupted by the screeching of his Blinker.
194 MISSED CALLS.
Uh-oh. Someone had been trying to reach him for quite some time-a lot of someones-and judging by the red flag next to each communication, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what they had to say. He was about to suck it up and listen to the first one when he heard the sound of someone sobbing amid a pile of fallen pillowstones.
”Simly? Is that you?”
His Briefer didn't look up, his head tucked between his knees.
”Simly! What's wrong?”
”I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what to do.” Simly's voice was cracking and his eyes were red from crying. ”They wouldn't give me clearance to go in.”
”Just calm down and tell me what happened.”
Simly stood up and tried to dust himself off, but Becker could tell he was barely holding it together.
”When we lost contact, I tried to get a priority override, but they wouldn't give it to me. So after an hour, I had to call in for a backup team. I'm sorry, Becker, I didn't want to do that to you.”
”Don't worry, Sim. You did the right thing.”
”It didn't matter, though.” The Briefer was tearing at his hair. ”No backup teams were available!”
”What do you mean no backup teams were-?”
”By that time, the Glitch had left Sleep and infiltrated three other departments! It was moving so fast, n.o.body could even figure out where to start! You don't know what's happening over there, man. You just don't know . . .”
The enormity of the disaster came cras.h.i.+ng down upon the Briefer's shoulders and he fell back to the ground in tears.
”What happened up there, Becker?” He wept. ”Where were you?”
Night Watchmen's Station, Department of Sleep, The Seems RIPPLE EFFECT! RIPPLE EFFECT!.
When Becker returned to the Night Watchmen's station, he expected to see a bundle of activity, but all he found was the cavernous room, illuminated by red emergency lights and only a Skeleton Crew on duty. On each of their screens, the same awful message flashed again and again and again: RIPPLE EFFECT! RIPPLE EFFECT!.
RIPPLE EFFECT!.
Most of the Night Watchmen were staring numbly at their Windows, while over by the craft service table, NW #42 was weeping onto the shoulder of his supervisor.
”Can someone please tell me where I can find Night Watchman #1?” Becker asked.
A group of exhausted employees heard him, but instead of the instant respect he was granted upon first entrance, something else was in their eyes: a mixture of rage, contempt, and shock at what was taking place in The World they loved. And from the way they simply turned away, it was pretty obvious who they held responsible.