The Lost Train of Thought (26 page)

“I saw an old, boarded-up tunnel when we were out at Contemplation, and I can be there in less than twenty.” Becker checked the mileage on the map against the speedometer on the train to make sure his calculations were correct. “All I need is someone to throw the switch at the End of the Line and kick me over to the right set of rails.”

The Second in Command’s silence said she was doing some calculating of her own.

“Even if you don’t totally derail, and even if the In-Betweener
tube hasn’t caved in, how are you planning to get the Thought off
the train? There’s no staff out there except for a handful of Provokers.
It’ll take you hours to unload it . . .”

Becker Drane gritted his teeth and pushed the throttle even farther.

“I’m not planning on unloading it.”

For the intrepid handful who’ve been lucky enough to make the leap across the In-Between, there is nothing quite like the feeling of being propelled at inconceivable speeds down an electrified Transport Tube. But back before this technology was invented, the Department of Transportation relied upon a different method of delivering Goods & Services to the newly operational World. Instead of being shipped via magnetic suction, the wares of Nature and Energy and Sleep were piled atop pallets and delivered by an automated freight train line.

They called it “the In-Betweener.”

“Just get as many boards off that tunnel as you can, all right?” shouted Becker into the locomotive’s built-in Receiver.

“We’re trying, sir, but there’s only five of us out here! Most of
our best people have been missing since that train went lost.”

Now that he’d left the Middle of Nowhere and turned the train toward Contemplation without derailing (barely), Becker’s lines of communication had opened up. He was trying to get a small crew of Thought Provokers to give his lunatic plan a chance of working, but it was easier said than done.

“Just make sure everybody’s outta the way in about ten minutes.” Becker’s Time Piece was happily working again. “’Cause I’ll be seeing you in eleven.”

Becker hung up, then ran a spot check of all the details. Speed? Check. Boiler pressure? Check. Way to maintain enough velocity for the Train of Thought to smash through the boarded-up old In-Betweener entrance at Contemplation, make it all the way across the In-Between without derailing, and still get the driver off the train alive? Not so check.

“Fixer Drane, come in, over.”

It was the Second in Command on the Calling Card again, and Becker pressed the green “answer” button with his right foot.

“The Transpo guys have done the math, and if you hit the tunnel
entrance at your current speed, momentum should carry the
train all the way across the In-Between whether it slips off the rails
or not.”

“What about the Tube? Won’t it shatter from the weight?”

“Transpo swears it’s good to go.”

“Then, um . . . what’s the problem?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Fixer Drane. I think you
knew the moment you came up with this idea.”

Eve Hightower hadn’t risen to the most powerful position in The Seems because she was dumb, and even if she had been, the singular flaw in Becker’s World-rescuing scheme was obvious. In-Betweener freights had been designed to deliver the payloads automatically, without drivers, and thus, they didn’t come with locomotives on the front. And locomotives were way too tall to fit through the tunnel that Becker was heading straight for.

“The engineer’s cabin will be sheared off the minute you hit
that entrance.”

“Don’t worry about me, Madame. I’ll figure out some way off.”

“I thought you said you lost your Toolkit.”

“I did. But Fixer Blaque always said, ‘A true Fixer never blames his Tools.’”

“Becker—”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Madame Second, but I just wanna make sure all the i’s are crossed and t’s are dotted before I focus on my rip cord strategy.”

Eve nodded and quickly confirmed that all of Becker’s suggestions for how to maximize the potential Fix had been carried out. The Department of Transportation was ready to calculate the train’s moment of impact with the Fabric of Reality to the millisecond. The Department of Reality would ensure that the train itself would disintegrate, while Time would be stopped Worldwide for thirty seconds, so people’s heads wouldn’t explode from the sudden rush of Thought and Big Ideas.

“I think that’s everything, Madame.”

The image of Eve Hightower nodded and seemed to lean sadly against the console of the train.
“You don’t have to do this,
Fixer Drane.”

“Then who will?”

Becker kept his hand on the throttle, his eyes focused on the parallel lines of steel that disappeared beneath him.

“But if I, um . . .”

This time it was Becker who struggled to find the words, and Eve to hear them.

“Anything.”

“I want you to carry out my sentence to the full letter of the law.” Becker worked up the courage to look her in the eyes. “Unremember Jennifer Kaley and my brother.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s gonna be hard enough on Benjamin if my Me-2 has to decommission itself.”

“Understood.”

“But before you unremember Jenny, I was working on this mix for her and I was hoping that . . . before I . . .”

“You want her to hear it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Me-2 knows where it is.”

“Done.”
Eve motioned toward someone not in her Calling Card’s view.
“Anything else?”

“Maybe put a call in to Henry Steele over at L.U.C.K., see if there’s any he can throw my way.”

“One step ahead of you. Steele says he’ll be waiting for you at
Flip’s—burgers on him.”

“All right, then. I better get going.”

“Jayson would’ve been proud of you, Becker. Plan knows I am.”

“Thanks, Madame Second. That means a ton.”

“I’ll call you back in ten minutes to celebrate.”

With a smile on her digitally projected face that said she might’ve even believed that, Eve Hightower hung up.

Four minutes to go . . . make that three minutes and fifty-eight seconds of driving a hundred miles an hour straight toward what amounted to a brick wall. The moment he let go of the throttle that speed would drop precipitously, which meant he needed to hold on to it until about fifteen seconds prior to impact. Not a lot of time for a rip cord strategy, even if he had one.

It would take only three seconds to dive out the side door of the cabin, but there was nothing inside the locomotive he could use to cushion his fall. No, a better bet was to head for the roof. Maybe six seconds to climb the ladder, four to sprint back to the car behind him, nine to cut off the tarpaulin that he was almost positive had been draped over the carload of Thought, six more to pull it tightly into the form of a parachute, and no more than two to dive over the side, where he would float gently and safely to the ground. Of course, that all added up to a minimum of twenty-seven seconds, but who was counting?

Outside his windshield, the railroad tracks sliced due south through the rocky canyons on the edge of the Middle of Nowhere. Soon those tracks would pass the same sign welcoming all visitors to “Where the Thinking Process Begins!” that he and Hassan had gathered under two days ago. He laughed at the memory of how spooked they were by the eerie silence— Becker had known so little about his teammate then, and knew so much about him now. About all his fellow Fixers, who he hoped more than anything were opening up serious Cans of Buttwhuppin’™ on a bunch of Nowherians right now.

With two minutes to go, Becker pulled the rubber handle dangling over his head, sending a sharp whistle of steam into the air. The crew of Thought Provokers up at Contemplation would’ve undoubtedly heard him coming by now, but he wanted to make sure they weren’t anywhere near the tunnel when he came screaming through. Most of the train would vanish directly into the In-Between in a matter of seconds, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be plenty of shrapnel flying around. Not to mention the train’s conductor.

On some level Becker knew that, worst-case scenario, he’d be going to A Better Place, where long-lost loved ones would be waiting to greet him on the shore, along with a lifetime of Frozen Moments. His entire account would arrive from Daylight Savings about two days after he did, giving him the chance to re-experience the best moments from his life of fourteen years. Like his ninth birthday party, when his mom and dad brought him and Benjamin and all their best friends to Action Park. Or the time he and Thibadeau hung out in Thib’s dorm room at the IFR one Saturday afternoon and did nothing but lie on the floor and listen to
The Wall
from start to finish. Or every time he got some Time with Amy Lannin.

But he knew the first Frozen Moment he would melt and step inside of was that night in Alton Forest when he kissed Jennifer Kaley for the very first time. Or more truthfully, she kissed him, because he’d been too much of a wimp to make the first move. Becker knew in that one moment that he was going to break whatever Rule he needed to to be with her, and he’d never regretted that decision even once. The only thing he
did
regret was that he almost certainly would never be seeing Jennifer Kaley again, not in the real World anyway.

And that hurt.

Yet standing there on the train and careening toward a collision with a boarded-up mineshaft, it wasn’t the fact that he had A Better Place to go that made him feel okay. It was the fact that when he spun over the totality of his life, with all its twists and turns and good things that turned out to be bad and bad things that turned out to be good, the part of him that believed in the Plan outweighed the part that didn’t. Yeah, maybe it was only 51% to 49%, but at
this
moment, that 2% made all the difference.

His mind cleared and focused only on what was happening right now. The “Welcome to Contemplation” sign passing on his right and the mining colony rapidly approaching ahead and the train’s odometer, which said Becker had to let go of the throttle and make a run for it in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

Then he was climbing up the ladder and onto the roof of the locomotive and leaping into the car behind him and thank the Plan, there
was
a tarp on there and it didn’t take nearly as long to get there and cut it as he thought it would . . .

. . . and he grabbed the four corners of the tarp and made a parachute and the last thing Becker remembered as he jumped off the train was the screeching sound of metal being torn apart like paper and the feeling of splashing into cold, salty water . . .

. . . then everything went dark.

27.
After years of fruitless research, funding to strip the number 13 of its destructive properties has been officially suspended. Superstition, a sub-department of the Department of Everything That Has No Department, issues the following warning: “The prime numeral 13 has been proven to possess properties both unpredictable and unsound. Those encountering the cursed integer in elevators, motels, or books are advised to proceed with extreme caution.”

14
Triton

Office of the Second in Command, The Big Building, The Seems

Two days later, Thibadeau Freck sat outside the boardroom that was serving as the temporary office of the new Second in Command. The Frenchman wore jeans with a blazer and a tie, and with his thick black beard shaved off, cut quite a handsome figure to the young interns who worked on this floor. The only things that gave them pause were the scars visible on his neck and face, and a certain sadness that was draped over him like a blanket. Of course, when they got a look at the name on his laminated Badge, everyone knew exactly where that blanket had come from.

As Thib crossed his legs and perused the morning’s
Daily
Plan
, he tried to remember the name of the Fixer who sat on the couch across from him. The middle-easterner wore semiformal attire as well, his silk suit perfectly tailored and his shoes the soft black shine of quality leather. Thibadeau remembered seeing the man’s face inside a pack of Fixer trading cards, and up on the group portrait of the active Duty Roster that hung at the IFR, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Several lifetimes, in fact.