All For One
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright July 1996

This document can be freely distributed with the condition that it is not modified or sold in any way. Some characters and elements of this story are the property of St. Clare Entertainment, used without authorization. The author receives no compensation from the distribution of this work.

Author's Note: It was inspired by the short, but deeply introspective and character- oriented Sliders fanfiction written by Diana Jones which changed my view of how SLFIC could be written. I'd also like to acknowledge that some technical elements mentioned in this story are entirely my invention with no basis on the show whatsoever.

PART ONE

That night, Quinn sat at the small table in a corner of their room at the Dominion Hotel. A nearby window was filled with the darkness of night, the glass streaked with the pouring rain. It was calming in a way, but Quinn ignored it. His immediate concern was the timer he had open on the table next to him. He had reset the counter display to show a graph. Quinn was intently studying the graph, writing careful notations in a notebook he had carried with him for the last fifteen slides. The extra mass had been a risk Quinn had been willing to take. It was too important not to.

The others were scattered around the hotel room. Wade lay back on the couch, watching TV. Arturo was sitting by a lamp, reading a copy of Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew." Rembrandt was making his presence known by the swishing crunch coming from the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Quinn glanced up from his work to look at the others. Tension was a shroud hanging over the room. They had been stuck in this hotel for the last three days because of the heavy rains. The next window of opportunity was in two. The close confinement had already begun to take its toll.

Even before Rembrandt walked into the living room, Quinn knew the fight was about to begin again.

Rembrandt hummed "Tears In My Pillow" to himself as he scrubbed his teeth with a green toothbrush. He moved to Wade's side to look at what she was watching.

"What's this?" he asked around his brush.

"Baywatch," Wade murmured.

Rembrandt pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. "On tape? Haven't you already seen this one?"

"There's nothing else on."

Rembrandt ducked back into the bathroom to spit and rinse. When he came back out again, he pointed at the TV with the toothbrush. "Well, turn to channel nine. There's a special on the Spinnin' Topps comin' on."

Wade glared up at him. "Hey, I was here first."

"But you've already seen this."

"So? You *lived* the Spinning Topps. Is there anything about it you don't know already?" "I said, no." Wade settled back to glare at the TV.

Rembrandt snatched up the remote off the coffee table and shut off the VCR. As he changed the channel of the TV, Wade shot upright.

"Hey!" she yelled. "Gimme that!"

Arturo looked up at the two of them over the rim of his glasses. He was about to settle back to his book when he did a double-take at Rembrandt's toothbrush.

"Mr. Brown," he said, "is that my toothbrush?"

Rembrandt looked down at the object in his hand. "Yeah."

Wade made a grab for the remote. "I said, give it back!"

Arturo closed his book. "Good lord, man, what the devil are you doing brushing your teeth with my toothbrush?"

"I lost mine in the last slide. Haven't had a chance to get a new one. Don't worry, I'll wash it after I use it." Rembrandt raised the remote higher as Wade made another swipe for it. "Wade, you been hoggin' the TV for hours. I just wanna watch one show."

"I said, no!" Wade yelled. "I was here first!"

Quinn tightened his grip on his pencil and tried to go back to work. These calculations were so delicate...

"Wash it?" Arturo asked. "That's not the point, Mr. Brown. Have you no decency? Or a sense of other people's property? Why didn't you ask me?"

Wade stood up on the couch so she could twist the remote out of Rembrandt's hand. When she had wrenched it free, she aimed the remote at the VCR like she was trying to stab it and turned it back on.

"Hey!" Rembrandt yelled. "What's the idea, Wade?"

Wade jammed her thumb into her chest. "I said, I was here first. Wait your turn." She flopped back down onto the couch.

Rembrandt turned back to Arturo. "Professor, I did ask you, remember? I asked you last night."

"Yes," Arturo said, "when I was half-asleep. And if I recall, I said nothing. That meant no."

"I thought it meant yes. And you wouldn't have been half- asleep if you haven't drunk all that wine." Rembrandt turned back to Wade. "So when's my turn, girl? Next Tuesday?"

Arturo threw his book onto the floor, rising to his full height. "Mr. Brown, are you calling me an alcoholic?"

"Your turn," Wade sneered, "is when I say it's your turn. And that'll be when pigs fly, thanks to that little stunt you pulled."

"No, professor," Rembrandt said. "I'm just sayin' you had a little too much to drink last night, that's all."

He walked over to the VCR. He reached behind the TV and yanked out the VCR's plug. Rembrandt held up The End.

"*Now* it's my turn," Rembrandt snarled.

Wade scrambled off the couch to stand in front of him, her eyes blazing. "Plug that back in, right now."

Arturo thrust a finger at Rembrandt. "The only reason I drank that much last night is that there is nothing else to do in this forsaken hotel. I am sick to death of this place. I am sick of sliding. And I am sick of you, Mr. Brown, and your lowbrow idiosyncracies."

Rembrandt glared at him, then down at Wade. "No."

Wade balled up one hand into a fist. "Remmy, I swear..."

Quinn wrote down one last number in his notebook. He felt a chill sweep over him as he read it. He looked up.

"Guys," Quinn whispered.

"You're gonna fight me over an episode o' 'Baywatch?'" Rembrandt asked Wade.

"Guys," Quinn said.

"I am sick of all of you," Arturo roared.

"No," Wade yelled, "I'm gonna fight over you being a selfish jerk again. Now, plug it back in or I'll..."

"Guys!" Quinn yelled.

The others stopped. They glared at Quinn, all breathing hard.

"Oh, what is it, Mr. Mallory?" Arturo asked. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Quinn stood up. "Sorry, guys, I hate to interrupt you killing each other, but I thought you'd like to know...I found a way home."

Wade lowered her fist. "What?"

Quinn held up his notebook, tapping frantically on a page. "Okay, you all know the guidance system's been erased, right? We don't know the coordinates to home, and that's why we can't get there. But I've been tracking the timer's tachyon emissions. The emissions that allow it to stay connected to our machine back home. It's a faint transmission, but I noticed that it fluxed, getting weaker and stronger over time in a wavelength..."

"Get to the point, Mr. Mallory," Arturo said.

Quinn slammed his book shut, letting it rest by his side. "Fine. Tonight, the emissions'll be strong enough to get a fix on our world. It'll only be for about two seconds, but during that two seconds, I'll be able to open a bridge that'll lead straight to home."

"Home?" Wade whispered. "We're going home?"

Rembrandt clapped his hands and yelled, "Yes! I knew it! I knew you wouldn't let us down, Q-Ball! No more hotels, no more lousy food, no more runnin' from monsters..."

"No more you," Arturo snarled. "I'll finally be able to go back home and forget this motley crew ever existed."

Rembrandt's smile faded into a cold glare. "Yeah? Well, the same here, pal. I didn't wanna get involved with you guys, anyway."

"Oh, brother," Wade said. "Have you said that enough times, Rembrandt? How many times do we have to say it was an accident?"

"Enough to get me home." Rembrandt strode towards Quinn, gesturing with the toothbrush. "Okay, Q-Ball, should we start packin' or what? I mean, how's this gonna work? When do we slide?"

Quinn swallowed. This was the part he had been dreading. "It'll, uh, be in about three minutes, guys. But there's one problem."

Arturo took a step towards him. "Problem? What problem?"

"The window to home will only last a couple of seconds," Quinn said. "That's not long enough for all of us to go. In fact, to tell the truth, only one of us will be able to go home."

The others were silent, staring at Quinn. He could see the same thought turning in all their minds. Rembrandt was the only one who could bring himself to say it.

"Okay," Rembrandt said, trying to sound cheerful, "so, who's it gonna be?"

Quinn tapped his notebook with a finger, his eyes roaming the others. "That's the question, gang. Which one of us goes home?"

Wade looked from one person to the next. Their silence seemed to anger her. "Oh, come on. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Yes," Arturo said quickly. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"

Wade turned to glare at him. "I meant Quinn. You thought I was gonna say you, didn't you?"

"Certainly not," Arturo said. "Of course, Quinn is the most obvious choice. When he returns, he can repair the sliding machine, and bring us home."

Rembrandt pointed at Quinn, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, yeah, yeah, that's a great idea. You just slide home, then come get us, right? Then we all go home."

Quinn shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's, uh...it's not that simple, guys. What if I can't fix the sliding machine?"

Rembrandt's grin faded. "Well..I guess we just keep slidin' by ourselves, huh? Bound to get home sometime."

"Perhaps," Arturo said. "But I'm beginning to see Mr. Mallory's point. It's been proven time and again that I do not have the technical expertise to run the timing device on my own. If it was damaged, as it has been before, then I would be unable to repair it. We would never be able to get home."

"The professor's right," Quinn said. "It can't be me. I have to be able to help whoever stays behind."

Wade folded her arms, hunching her shoulders slightly with unease. "Then...I guess it's between us three, huh, guys?"

Rembrandt looked at Wade. Then he looked at Arturo. Arturo shifted his eyes to Rembrandt, then down to Wade.

Rembrandt pointed at Arturo. "You knew it all along, didn't you, professor?"

"What?" Arturo asked.

"Wade was right," Rembrandt said. "You think you're the obvious choice."

Arturo's face darkened. "Mr. Brown, I..."

"And you're right," Rembrandt said. "Quinn's gotta stay behind to take care of us. But you're the only other one who has a chance o' fixin' the slidin' machine back home. So it's gotta be you who goes."

Wade closed her eyes. "He's...he's right. You go, professor. I'm... I'm sorry I got mad at you. I guess I wasn't thinking straight."

Arturo blinked, then lowered his eyes to the floor. "I'm...I'm honored, my friends, that you would...give me this chance. But I'm afraid I...can't go, either. As I said, I do not have the technical skill to repair the timer. I certainly do not have the ability to repair the sliding machine. Sending me home would be futile."

Arturo smiled and wrapped an arm around Quinn's neck. "Besides, I serve as a backup mind for Mr. Mallory. Many's the time I have aided you in your work, eh, my boy?"

Quinn grinned. "Sure did, professor. I couldn't have built the sliding machine without your theories, and we couldn't have gotten this far without you."

Arturo laughed and clapped him on the back.

Wade and Rembrandt looked at each other. Rembrandt held out his hands towards her.

"I guess it's between you and me, sweetheart," Rembrandt said.

Wade dropped her eyes. "No, it's not, Remmy. You go. It's like you've always said. We chose to get into this mess. You didn't. If anybody deserves to go home, it should be you."

"She's right," Arturo said, his smile becoming rigid. "You truly are the innocent in this affair. Go, my friend. Go home, rebuild your career, and live a long, healthy life."

"Yeah," Quinn said, "and tell somebody about us, huh? Maybe you can get something going back home, bring some minds in on rescuing us."

Rembrandt held up his hands. "Now, wait a minute, wait a minute, guys. I...I know I talk big about wantin' to go home, but this...this slidin' stuff's been a blast. I mean, what've I got back home? I got no career. I been gone for over two years. All my bookings've probably been cancelled. I'd be surprised if my manager even speaks to me again."

"Oh, come on," Wade said. "It worked last time we thought we got home. Your career was bigger than ever."

"Yeah, because I was a slider. But without you guys, I got no proof o' where I been. What I've been doin'. I start tellin' people I was on another planet, they'll lock me up in the nuthouse."

Rembrandt shoved his hands in his pockets. "Nah, man. I'd... rather stick with you guys. Who knows? Maybe we'll run into another world where I'm a superstar or find a new paradise. Or maybe we'll get home. There's...nothin' home for me without you."

Rembrandt looked down at Wade. A roll of thunder swept through the skies over the hotel.

"But you," he said. "You got everythin' back home. A job, a family, friends. And you can tell people about us, send in the cavalry. Wade, you go."

Quinn watched her, feeling a tightness in his chest. He had been dreading the thought of any of them leaving the group, but Wade had been his most feared. He might never see her again. But if there was a chance of getting her out of this nightmare, Quinn couldn't be selfish enough to deny it to her.

Quinn looked down at the timer. He had reset it for the new window of opportunity. It was counting down from ten seconds.

"Here we go, guys," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Get ready, Wade."

Wade looked up at Rembrandt. Her eyes glistened, then a tear rolled down her cheek. Her face screwed up in a grimace until she threw herself into Rembrandt's arms.

"I can't go home," she sobbed. "I don't wanna leave you guys. I may never see you again. I'll miss you so much..."

Rembrandt wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. "I...I'd miss you, too."

"As would I." Arturo strode forward to join the group hug.

Quinn felt a rush of emotion, a mixture of sadness and relief. He moved into the hug, wrapping his arms around Wade and Arturo. They all savored the closeness of each other, bonded together physically and emotionally, as they had been since their sliding began.

Quinn's timer beeped. He broke the embrace to press the button. The transparent beam of energy lanced out to pierce the wall of the hotel room.

It expanded into a glowing blue vortex. All of them watched as it was suspended in the air for a brief, glorious moment. Quinn thought he could hear voices, the voices of his mother, his home, his life. He knew it was his imagination, but it seemed so real. From the looks on everyone's face, he knew they heard their own voices, too.

Quinn felt the urge to run. To jump into the wormhole. To go home, regardless of all they had discussed. But then he looked at the others. And knew that he couldn't leave them behind.

The wormhole's roar faded. The vortex collapsed into a point of light that faded away.

"So that's that," Rembrandt sighed.

"Maybe," Quinn said. "Another window could open again."

Arturo grinned, still holding the others. "And what then, eh? Another discussion ending in a ridiculous burst of emotions?"

He laughed, and the others laughed with him, grateful for the relief of tension. Wade stepped away from the others, wiping off her face with her palms.

Arturo sighed, then said, "No. I...I think we've learned something here."

"Yeah." Wade smiled up into the faces of the others, one by one. "If we're gonna go home, we're gonna go home together."

"And if we ain't goin' home," Rembrandt said, "then we're gonna slide together."

Arturo held out a hand, palm down. "To the Four Musketeers."

Quinn clapped his hand over the professor's, grinning. "One for all."

Wade slapped hers firmly down on his. "And all for one."

Rembrandt shook his head, still laughing, and rested his hand on Wade's. "Man, I never thought somethin' so corny would be so true."

They stood there for a moment, their hands together, smiling at each other. Then Arturo broke the bond, drawing his hand away.

He went back to his chair and picked up his book again. "Well, that was an interesting little adventure, wasn't it?"

Rembrandt sighed and looked down at the toothbrush still in his hand. "Yeah, makes you think. We ain't got it so bad, after all. At least we got each other."

Arturo peered down at his book as he murmured, "Yes, but you still owe me a new toothbrush, Mr. Brown."

Wade pointed at Rembrandt. "Yeah, and I'm still watching 'Baywatch.'"

Then she grinned. "Later. Watch your show, Remmy. I'd like to see it, too. I don't know that much about your career."

Wade sat down on the couch, scooting over to give Rembrandt room. He sat down next to her, leaned back, and changed the channel. They began to watch a grainy black-and- white film of the Spinning Topps dancing on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Quinn sat down at his table. He looked down at his notebook with all its recordings of the tachyon emission levels. The levels might rise to a suitable point again. It was their key to one of them getting home.

Quinn picked up the notebook, felt the coarse, grainy texture of the cardboard cover, then tossed the book into a garbage can.

The End