Reboot - Part 1
Story two of Infinite Slides
by Nigel Mitchell

A room painted all in white, as cold and antiseptic as a block of ice. This was where a man sat, dressed in a white jumpsuit, at a small computer terminal. He typed on the keyboard in front of him and clicked the mouse, working furiously as sweat ran down his face. The text and graphics scrolling across the screen were reflected on the lenses of his glasses.

The man glanced over his shoulder and the single door behind him that marked the only exit. Then he whispered, "Okay, Masquerade, I'm in."

The inside of his glasses had an image projected onto it, one of a man's head silhouetted against a bright light which veiled it in shadow. The man spoke with a voice that was too deep and rich in timbre to be anything but artificially- enhanced.

"Very good," Masquerade said. "Now insert the disk. The program will encrypt itself onto it automatically."

The man in the glasses pulled a disk out of his jumpsuit and slid it into a slot beside the screen. There was a hum and a click and the disk was ejected into his hand again.

The man couldn't hold back a smile as he said, "It's done."

"Good," the shadowy man on his lenses said. "Now get out."

The man stood and began to walk quickly away from the terminal. The door opened automatically on his approach. The man walked out of it into a white corridor.

The corridor erupted in sirens. Red lights flashed on the ceiling. The man broke into a furious run.

"I thought you were taking care of that!" he yelled as he moved.

"I did," Masquerade said into his ear-piece. "If I hadn't tripped the alarms, the emergency lockdown systems wouldn't have been activated. Don't worry, I'll get you out. Turn left here."

The man turned down a corridor, skidding on the white tiled floor. As he ran, he found himself approaching a huge metal door that was sliding down into his path.

"I'm not gonna make it!" the man yelled.

Masquerade spoke softly. "Calm down. I told you, it's under control."

The door suddenly jerked to a halt two feet off the ground. The running man dropped to his stomach and slid underneath it. Once he was through, he could hear the footsteps of the guards pounding after him. But the door came alive again to slam down onto the floor, cutting off the guards who began to pound on it.

The man looked back at the door, gasping for breath as he whispered, "How did you do that?"

"The same way I did this," Masquerade said.

Behind him, a window clicked and swung open into the night. The man ran towards it and began to climb out of the building.

"I control the emergency lockdown systems," Masquerade said in his deep voice. "I'll use them to keep you from getting caught while you make your escape."

* * *

In a darkened room, the only light came from a wall of screens that flickered and danced with lines of text and graphics. Seated in front of the wall was a large armchair set before a row of keyboards. The sound of fingers clicking on keys filled the air, mingling with the beeps and hums of the computer systems.

One of the screens was showing the perspective of the escaping man. It was a wavering view of the wall, then swung away to show a spacious lawn that began to wobble as the owner of the camera ran.

>From within the depths of the chair, a soft voice spoke. "Always remember, Mr. Stanford, that I control the Internet. And in our time, the man who controls the Internet...controls the world..."

----

What if there was a world where the Russians ruled America? Or where the dinosaurs never died off? Or where women were in control instead of men?

These worlds do exist. Same planet, different universe. My friends and I have found the gateway to reach them. Now all we have to do...is find a way to get home....

SLIDERSsssss...Infinite Slidessss.... Based On The Original "Sliders" TV Series Created by Tracy Torme and Robert K. Weiss ------

REBOOT - Part One Written by Nigel G. Mitchell

The statue of Abraham Lincoln stood boldly in Golden Gate Park, its left arm raised in a wave. At its base, Rembrandt, Arturo, waited, scanning the lush surroundings with their gaze.

"They're late," Quinn said. "We don't have much time before the slide."

Arturo paced back and forth in front of the statue, his hands clasped behind his back. "I assume that your Miss Welles is usually quite punctual on these slides?"

Rembrandt shaded his eyes with a hand. "Yeah, she's always been Miss Punctuality. Maggie, on the other hand... she can be pretty unpredictable."

"Unpredictable is one way of putting it," Quinn murmured. "Dunno why they needed to have a girls' night out, anyway... oh, wait, here they come."

Wade and Maggie came into view over a hill. They were running at full speed, Maggie struggling to pull on her vest as she ran.

"What's going on?" Quinn yelled.

"What else?" Wade yelled back as they approached. "Little Miss Bimbo got us in trouble again!"

Maggie staggered to a halt near the statue, wheeled around to face Wade, and jammed a finger into her chest. "Hey, don't put all the blame on me. It wasn't my fault."

Wade leaned against the statue, gasping for breath between words. "Oh, yeah, right. So it wasn't your fault that you started a fling with a married man on this world?"

Quinn glared at Maggie, leaning over slightly. "You were having an affair?"

Maggie folded her arms. "Not an affair. I just flirted with him a little."

"And ended up taking off her shirt by the time I found her," Wade said. "If I hadn't gotten her out of his apartment in time, the guy's wife would've blown her brains out. As it is, she still came after us with a gun. I think we lost her though." Wade looked over her shoulder.

Quinn moved close to Maggie and glared down at her as he whispered, "I thought you were going to stop doing that kinda thing."

Maggie returned his glare with equal intensity as she whispered, "I told you, it wasn't my fault. I couldn't... help it."

Then she raised for voice so the others could hear her as she said, "Look, everyone just back off, okay? I needed to relax after Poison World. Just having fun."

"Well, your fun is gonna get you killed one of these days," Wade snarled. "And I just hope it doesn't take us with you."

There was a beeping in Quinn's pocket. He pulled out the timer and aimed it at an empty space. "Here we go, gang."

He pressed a button on the timer. It lanced out with a semi- transparent cone of energy that pierced empty space. With a roar of imploding air, the circular mouth of a wormhole opened. Blue light poured into its gaping maw as a blast of wind rushed out to strike the Sliders.

Quinn shielded his face with a hand as he yelled, "Let's go!"

"Ladies first," Wade yelled as she backed up and took a running leap at the wormhole. She disappeared into it in a flash of light.

"Musicians second," Rembrandt yelled and dove into the whirling portal.

"Physics professors third," Arturo roared as he plowed into the vortex.

Quinn took a few steps back as he yelled, "Guess that means military officers are fourth..."

A gunshot popped behind them. Quinn and Maggie looked back to see a woman running up from the hill, aiming a pistol at them as she screamed wildly.

"Lemme guess," Quinn said, "that's your fling's wife?"

"Yeah, she found me," Maggie said. "This slide didn't come a moment too soon."

She backed up and ran towards the wormhole. But as she neared it, another gunshot rang out. Maggie gasped and clutched at the back of her leg. Her run became an unsteady stagger. Maggie lost her balance next to the statue of Abraham Lincoln. Maggie fell.

Her head struck against the marble base of the statue. She grunted and collapsed, rolling off onto the grass.

"Maggie!" Quinn yelled and ran to her.

He lifted her into his arms. She only lay there, limp, her arms and legs sprawling. Above her closed eyes, a trickle of blood began to run from her scalp.

Quinn looked up at the woman running towards them, her gun aimed for another shot. He swept Maggie into his arms and ran for the wormhole. As another bullet whizzed through the air, the two of them vanished with a flash of light.

* * *

The wormhole twisted and writhed through hyperspace, a river of light and colors. Then a new light approached, a light that grew brighter and brighter...

* * *

The wormhole opened with a howl. Wade came flying out, screaming, to land on the soft grass of the park. The minute she landed, she scrambled aside. She was in time to avoid Rembrandt, who landed and rolled on his back. Rembrandt grunted and staggered out of the path of the wormhole as Arturo exploded out of the wormhole to land on his back with a loud thump.

Arturo groaned and sat up, nursing his back. "I swear, I shall never get used to this..."

Wade cupped her hands over her mouth. "Look out, Max, the others are on their way!"

"Oh, blast!" Arturo yelled as he rolled onto his hands and knees and hurried aside.

Quinn came flying out of the wormhole. He turned in midair to land on his back, cushioning Maggie's landing with his own body. He lay there with her on top of him, gasping for breath. The wormhole softly closed above him with a whisper.

Arturo braced a hand on a knee and eased himself into a standing position. "I must thank you for that, Miss Welles. I'm still not used to sliding with more than two people."

Wade got to her feet, hunched over slightly from exhaustion. "Give it time. You'll get used to it."

Rembrandt looked around himself. "Sure is quiet in this city."

"Yes," Arturo said, then looked up at the Abraham Lincoln statue nearby. "And I shall avoid stating the cliché about it being too quiet. I say...I don't recall the Great Emancipator using a computer."

Rembrandt followed his gaze up to the statue of Lincoln, which was now seated in a chair, his hands hovering over the keyboard of a laptop computer.

Rembrandt chuckled. "Looks like this world decided to rewrite history. What you make of that, Q..."

He looked down at Quinn, who had Maggie cradled in his lap. He was brushing back her hair. As he did, the huge bleeding gash on her scalp became clearly visible.

Rembrandt's smile disappeared. "What happened to Maggie?"

"That lady caught up with her," Quinn murmured. "Shot her in the leg, she tripped...knocked her head on the Lincoln statue."

Wade shook her head as she folded her arms. "I told her she'd get herself in trouble one of these days."

Quinn shot her a fierce look. "This is serious, Wade. She's out cold, she could be hurt bad. We've gotta get her to a hospital."

Wade blinked. "Hey, Quinn, I didn't mean to be..."

"I know, I know. Sorry." Quinn got up, supporting Maggie's back and legs in his arms. "Come on, let's go find a phone."

He charged off across the park with Maggie while Arturo hurried after him. Wade exchanged a concerned look with Rembrandt, then followed.

* * *

The five of them walked through the San Francisco streets with the same reaction. They looked up one end of the street, then down the other. The road was empty. There weren't even any cars parked along its length. The shops like Moonatic Electronics were boarded up and spray- painted "Closed." The cool winds rippled a piece of grimy paper that danced along the curb.

"What's goin' on around here?" Rembrandt asked. "Looks like the city's been evacuated."

"Yeah," Wade said. "And I don't see any payphones around."

Arturo looked farther down the road, then gestured. "Well, this city doesn't seem to be deserted after all. Here comes someone."

He began to walk towards a man walking down the sidewalk towards them. The man's thin body was draped with a rumpled T-shirt and faded jeans. But his clothes were covered with machinery. He had a large black box strapped to one thigh, which was connected by wires to the keyboard strapped to one arm. The keyboard, in turn, trailed wires off the machine on his head.

He was walking with a slightly stumbling pace, focused not on his surroundings, but on the lenses of the large black headset covering most of his head. The lenses flickered with colors. One hand tapped furiously on the keyboard strapped to his wrist. The man kept walking as Arturo stepped into his path.

"Excuse me, my good man," Arturo said, giving him a bright smile. "My friends and I are new in town, and one of our group has suffered an injury. We were wondering..."

The man's gaze seemed to be on something past Arturo, but he still managed to turn and walk around the professor without slowing down. He continued up the street at the same jerky pace.

Arturo's smile collapsed into a frown. "Did you see that? The blistering idiot deliberately ignored me in favor of that...gadget of his."

Wade watched the man walk off down the street, then looked at Arturo. "It looked like one of those wearable computers they were developing back on my world."

"Well, why the devil is he walking down the street with it? And why didn't he take it off and show some courtesy to a stranger? How I long to go to a world with good manners."

"Okay, we're wasting time," Quinn said. "Let's keep going to the Lamplighter. If it's open, maybe we can find help there."

The Sliders began walking down the lonely street once again. Arturo continued to grumble with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Computers," Arturo murmured. "I have never trusted those infernal machines. Overgrown calculators robbing society of its intelligence, its skills, and its jobs. Not to mention training our children's thumbs instead of their minds."

"Yeah, we know," Rembrandt said. "You prefer slide rules, right?"

Arturo looked at him. "Why, yes, how did...oh, yes, of course. My double."

Wade kept her eyes roaming the tall, seemingly abandoned buildings surrounded them. "Well, don't knock computers, Max. They can do some pretty incredible things. Not to mention that they've saved our bacon more than a few times sliding."

"Say what you like about computers, Miss Welles. I, for one, would rather calculate Kerr's Formula For Superspatial Integrity to the level of three decimal places in my head than set one finger on the keyboard of one of those machines."

Wade was about to say something to him when Rembrandt held up a hand. He said, "Hey, guys...I hear music."

"This way." Quinn began running faster, Maggie bouncing in his arms.

They came to the Lamplighter Bar and Grill, or at least the place where the Lamplighter had been in their world. But in this world, it bore a large sign that read "Lamplighter.Com: The CyberCafe." Tinny music could be heard from inside.

"Cybercafe?" Arturo asked. "What the devil is a cybercafe?"

"We're about to find out." Quinn backed through the door and the others followed.

The Lamplighter was a sharp contrast to the desolation of outside. Inside, the place was bustling with activity. Men, women, and even children crowded every inch of the room. But all of them were hunched over the personal computers that were set up on every table. The music they had heard was a tinny repetitive tune that was coming from every monitor in the room.

Rembrandt spoke in a loud voice to be heard over the crowds and music. "Well, at least we know this city ain't deserted."

Quinn made his way through the crowds, trying not to jostle Maggie against anyone. He finally gave up and passed Maggie to Rembrandt, who cradled her in his arms. "You guys get a seat, I'll find a phone."

"I'll come with you." Wade followed him through the Lamplighter.

Arturo scanned the crowded room and nodded. "Excellent. Leave us with the difficult task, did they?"

Rembrandt nodded his chin towards an empty table. "There's a table. Follow me, Professor."

"I've told you to call me Max," Arturo said as he followed.

The table was by the window, giving a view of the desolate street. It also supported a computer just like all the others in Lamplighter.Com. Rembrandt slid Maggie into a seat, trying to keep her upright. Arturo sat down and slipped on his glasses.

"I say," Arturo said, "let's have a look at this thing, shall we, and see what makes it so appealing to these people?"

The computer was displaying a colorful screen with the message "Welcome To Lamplighter.Com, Your Window To The World" in fancy text. Arturo reached over to click the mouse, and the screen disappeared, replaced by a menu.

"Email," Arturo read aloud, "World Wide Web, Newsgroups, Chat..."

Rembrandt was soaking a napkin in the glass of icewater on the table. He squeezed it out and began wiping blood off Maggie's forehead as he said, "Looks like an Internet connection."

"The Internet?" Arturo asked. "I find it hard to believe this many people would be here just to use a computer. Hello, what's this? Introduction..."

Arturo squinted at a smiley-face icon on the screen, moved the mouse's pointer to it, and clicked on it.

The screen filled with grainy, jerky footage of a man smiling. He began to speak, but his lips weren't quite synchronized with his words.

But his voice was clear as he said, "Welcome to Lamplighter.Com, an exciting new way to use the Internet. Why sit at home alone when you could be out at one of the hottest clubs around, soaking in the atmosphere as you browse the Net with T4 connections and Pentium330 MMX speed? Get hip, get cool, get Lamplighter.Com."

Arturo frowned at Rembrandt, who could only shrug back as he pressed the wet cloth to Maggie's wound.

* * *

Quinn and Wade climbed up the steps to the higher platform of the Lamplighter to approach the crowded bar. It resembled the usual bars on Earth, except that in front of every stool was a laptop computer. Men and women were seated on every seat, typing away.

Wade peeked over the shoulder of a well-dressed brunette. She could see the woman at the laptop was typing in a real-time chat program. She wrote:

FOXYLADY: Hi, NiceGuy, what do you do for a living?

Wade looked over the shoulder of the man in a slightly rumpled suit who was sitting next to her. He was typing:

NICEGUY: I'm an insurance salesman. How about you, Foxy?

Wade shook her head and looked up at Quinn. He was scanning the area behind the counter. Robotic arms were humming softly as they awkwardly took down bottles and poured drinks into glasses. But there was no human being behind the counter to be seen.

Quinn raised a hand. "Uh, excuse me, can I get a little help here? Where's the bartender?"

A monitor on one of the shelves behind the counter lit up. It filled with the grinning face of a young black man. The video was jerky and scratchy as he spoke.

"I'm Diggs, your bartender for the evening," Diggs said, "how can I help you?"

"You're the bartender?" Wade asked. "Shouldn't you be... tending bar?"

"I am," Diggs said. "Who do you think's controlling these arms?"

Wade and Quinn looked at the robot arms that were shaking up a martini, then pouring it into a waiting glass.

Wade glanced up at Quinn as she said, "Oh, you telecommute."

"Who doesn't?" Diggs said, then leaned closer to the camera. "Now how can I help you?"

"We need an ambulance," Quinn said. "Fast. Where can we find a payphone?"

Diggs blinked, then gave off a quick laugh that his face matched a few seconds later. "A payphone? Man, I ain't seen one o' those outside of a museum in six years. If it's a real emergency, why don't you just go to 911.Com? Now if you'll excuse me, I got other customers."

The screen went blank, and another screen on the other end of the bar lit up with Diggs' face. He began joking with another customer as he poured beer with his thin metal arms.

"No phones?" Quinn asked.

Wade nodded towards an empty stool with a computer in front of it. "Come on, I think I know what he's talking about."

Wade flicked on the computer and sat down on the stool in front of it. The screen lit up with the Lamplighter.Com homepage. It also brought up a message that had a menu of options listed next to it.

"It says for every five minutes we use the ISP, we need to order a drink," Wade said. "I'll just order us a beer, this shouldn't take long."

She clicked on the choices with her mouse, highlighting the "Beer" option. Quinn watched her work, then Wade stopped. He asked, "What's wrong?"

"We have to put in a credit card number," Wade said. "They don't accept cash. They sure don't make it easy to call for help in this place. Don't suppose you still have your card from home?"

Quinn reached for his wallet as he murmured, "Yeah, let's hope it works in this world."

Quinn fished his Visa card out of his wallet and Wade took it to copy down the number. A new window came up that scrolled with financial information.

Wade bit her lip, then clicked on the screen. "Okay, in this world, the credit account is registered to some guy named Jim Reiss. And he's only got five dollars, just barely enough to pay for the beer."

"Well, I hate to steal from anyone," Quinn said, "but we don't have much choice. Charge it."

Wade clicked the "yes" button on the window and it flashed a cheerful message "Your order is being processed."

One of the thin metal arms emerged from the back of the bar to hook onto the handle of a keg. Beer flowed into a mug. The mug was lifted and placed onto the bar.

A clock appeared on the upper-left corner of the computer screen. Wade nodded and clicked on the "WWW" icon as she said, "Okay, we've got our five minutes."

"Great," Quinn said. "Hurry up, Maggie's still out of it."

"I'm going as fast as I can, Quinn," Wade snapped.

Quinn grit his teeth in frustration and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Sorry, sorry...just a little nervous, that's all."

She clicked on the text window of the browser that came up and typed "911.Com." A new webpage sprang up headed "Welcome to 911.Com." Below it were the words "Select the Nature of your Emergency" with a list of menu options under various headings like "Breaking and Entering" and "Fire Alert." Wade clicked on the menu for "Medical Emergency" and clicked on "Unconscious Victim." Then she clicked on the "Send Help" button.

"Okay," Wade said. "It's done. Ambulance is on its way."

"Great. About time." Quinn charged away from the bar to the table where the others were seated. Wade closed down the webpage and got off the stool to hurry after him. She stopped and went back to grab the mug of beer.

Arturo was still peering at the computer screen through his glasses while Rembrandt pressed a wet napkin to Maggie's forehead. Maggie herself was still slumped in her chair, her head resting on Rembrandt's shoulder.

Quinn approached the table and sat down in a free chair. His eyes were locked on her. "How is she? Any change?"

Rembrandt shook his head. "Not yet, Q-Ball. She's still out cold. Bleeding's stopped, though."

Arturo pulled off his glasses and turned to look at Wade. "What took you so long?"

Wade was drinking the beer, but lowered the mug to speak. "We couldn't find a phone. Diggs said there are none outside of museums. The only way to call the paramedics was through a webpage."

"Yeah, and Diggs wasn't even here," Quinn said. "He was running the bar from home with a videophone and robotic arms."

Rembrandt dabbed at Maggie's forehead as he said, "No phones, long-distance bartenders, guys runnin' around wearin' computers on their heads...what kinda freaky world is this?"

Arturo pulled off his glasses and folded them carefully. "This fits in with what I've seen on this world so far. This is just a snap judgment, of course, but this city, perhaps even the world...its culture and technology seems to be dominated entirely by the Internet."

"The information superhighway," Wade blurted.

Arturo looked up at her. "What?"

Wade held out her hands, as if the meaning of her statement was obvious, the beer sloshing slightly in its mug. "That whole wired- up future that Bill Clinton promised a few years back. Where they predicted the Internet would take over, replace the phone and stuff. Hasn't happened yet in our world, but maybe in this world, it did."

"An interesting hypothesis," Arturo said. "One which well may prove correct."

A siren wailed outside the cybercafe. They all looked out the large window at the front of the shop. A red van marked "Paramedics" pulled up in front of Lamplighter.Com. Its tires squealed as it braked.

Quinn pulled up one of Maggie's arms and wrapped it around his neck. "There they are. Let's go. Remmy, gimme a hand."

"Right." Rembrandt took Maggie's other arm around his neck.

Between them, Quinn and Rembrandt half-carried and half- dragged Maggie unconscious through the Lamplighter. Wade hurried after them, trying to keep up as they weaved through the crowds. Arturo paused to slip one of the matchbooks from the cafe into his vest pocket, then followed.

* * *

The five of them burst out of the door of Lamplighter.Com into the cold and desolate street. The paramedic van's rumbling engine was the only sound in the ever-present silence of the city.

Quinn and Rembrandt ran towards the back of the van, trying not to jostle Maggie between them. Quinn reached the pair of doors in the back and pounded on them with his fist.

"Hey," he yelled, "we need some help out here!"

The doors clicked, then swung open. The interior of the van was lined with equipment. A stretcher lay in the center of the floor. But there was no one inside.

Wade and Arturo ran up to the passenger side. Wade banged on the window with her fist, yelling, "Hey, we need some help out here!"

Then she saw through the opaque glass of the window to the driver's seat. She froze and backed away from it.

She looked at Arturo standing beside her. "There's no one driving."

A screen in the back of the paramedic van lit up with a smiling face. The image was jerky and static as the woman spoke.

"Hi," she said, "and welcome to 911.Com's emergency mobile transport unit. Please place the subject to be transported onto the stretcher, making sure to secure the straps around his or her waist, arms, and ankles. Once the patient is secured, this vehicle will automatically drive to the nearest medical facility."

"This is nuts," Rembrandt muttered, but nodded at Quinn.

Together, they lifted Maggie higher. Between the two of them, they climbed into the van and lay Maggie flat on the stretcher. They fumbled with the belts hanging off it and snapped them onto Maggie.

Arturo stood at the back of the van, glaring into the cramped interior. "What the devil is this? Don't they have paramedics in this world?"

Wade shrugged and climbed into the back of the van. "I guess Diggs wasn't kidding. Everybody telecommutes in this world."

Rembrandt breathed heavily as he climbed in after her. "Yeah, well, if we get to the hospital and some gal on a screen tells me to put on a mask and a scalpel, I'm outta here."

The four of them settled in, trying not to jostle any of the medical equipment around them. Then the doors hissed closed. The van headed off down the streets, sirens wailing.

* * *

The paramedic van howled down the empty streets and skidded around a corner to pull into the driveway of a massive hospital. It passed a large sign that read "St. Jobs Memorial Hospital. Open 24 Hours."

The van skidded to a halt in the Emergency lane and its doors flew open. Quinn climbed out, then ran to the large glass doors of the hospital.

"Hey," he yelled as he pounded on the doors, "anybody in there? We need help!"

Shadows came towards the doors, then two men came running through them. Both were dressed in white paramedic uniforms, but also wore keyboards, headsets, and power packs of wearable computers. They charged over to the back of the van where Wade, Rembrandt, and Arturo were climbing out.

One of the paramedics held up his arm to a bar-code on the back of the van. A red light played over the bar-code, and the paramedic lowered his arm to type on it.

He gazed through the lenses of his headset as he said, "Okay, we've got a head-trauma, currently unconscious, possibly comatose. Vital signs fluctuating. We'll need medics in Trauma Room Two."

Then he climbed in and swiftly pulled a neck brace off a shelf on the interior of the van. He snapped the brace around Maggie's neck to hold her head still.

The second paramedic climbed into the van. Together, the two dragged Maggie out on the stretcher. The wheels of the stretcher unfolded once they left the floor of the van. They clattered as they struck the ground and locked into place. The paramedics rolled the stretcher up to the hospital doors.

When the stretcher reached the doors, they slid open with a gentle hiss. Voices poured out of the inside of the hospital. It was busy with activity as people ran from one place to another. A couple helped a young girl limp across the room. An elderly man walked with a woman of similar age who had bandages wrapped around her head.

The P.A. system blared above, saying, "Doctor Hamilton, please report to the screens in Emergency Room C on level two. Repeat, Doctor Hamilton, please report to Emergency Room C on level two."

"Finally," Quinn said, "people."

Quinn ran through the open doors into the hospital, following the paramedics who raced the stretcher down a nearby hallway. Nurses came running up to the stretcher and worked on Maggie with medical equipment. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her arm, wires were taped to her chest, and then Maggie disappeared from sight in a flood of personnel. It was just a mass of people that rushed her into one of the rooms marked "Trauma Room Two."

Quinn tried to follow, but as he passed the horseshoe-shaped reception desk, a voice called out to him. Behind the counter, propped up in a chair, was a screen with a woman's face on it. The woman smiled at Quinn as he approached the desk. The image moved in the stilted uneven manner that seemed the standard for video transmissions in this world.

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said. "Only medical personnel are allowed in the emergency room. If one of you will stay and fill out these forms..."

She pointed in the direction of a computer sitting on the desk. "Then the rest of you can wait and we'll call you when your friend's condition has stabilized."

Wade moved in front of the computer on the desk and began clicking keys. She winced as she said, "Hey, don't suppose any of you know Maggie's date of birth? Never mind, I'll just make something up. I guess we won't be on this world long enough for it to matter."

Arturo looked down the hallway again, a troubled expression on his face. "Yes. I suppose not."

Rembrandt slumped into a couch in the waiting room. "Man, I am beat."

Arturo sat next to him. "Likewise, Mr. Brown. This has been entirely too much excitement for me."

Wade smirked as she kept her eyes focused on the computer screen, then said, "Yup, Maggie Beckett strikes again."

Quinn was leaning against one wall of the waiting room, but raised his head to glare at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Quinn," Wade murmured, "you know exactly what I mean."

Rembrandt closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, boy, here we go..."

Quinn held up his hand and looked down at Rembrandt. "No, Rembrandt...let her talk. Let's go, Wade, out with it. What's your problem?"

Wade stopped typing and spun around to face him. She cocked one leg to stand with her hips slightly shifted to one side. "My problem is Captain Maggie Beckett. She's been nothing but trouble from day one, and I can't believe we're still hauling her around with us now that Rickman's gone."

"Wade, you just have to give her a chance..."

Wade sneered as she said, "I gave her a chance. Lots of chances. And Maggie's blown it. She's rude, selfish, arrogant, and bossy. She chases guys like dogs chase cars. And despite all her so-called military training, she doesn't act like any soldier I've ever seen. She's just dragging us down, Quinn, and I can't understand why you put up with her." Quinn stared at her, then said, "I put up with her because we're all in this together. She's part of the team."

Wade shook her head and turned back to the computer. "Not my team, Quinn. And she never will be."

Wade typed a few more letters, then clicked the ENTER key. "There. Paperwork's done. I'm gonna see if I can find the Dominion and get some rest. Who's with me?"

"I could certainly do with a nap." Arturo began easing himself onto his feet.

"Yeah, and somethin' to eat," Rembrandt said as he stood up and stretched.

Quinn looked down the hallway of the emergency rooms. "I'm gonna hang around here, keep an eye on Maggie. I'll call you if anything happens."

"Suit yourself." Wade walked past him out the door of the hospital.

Arturo and Rembrandt passed Quinn, avoiding his gaze. Rembrandt gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked by, nothing more.

When all three of them were gone, Quinn sat down in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room. He stared down at the floor as the clatter and conversation of the hospital buzzed around him.

Then Quinn cradled his face in his hands as he whispered, "Not again. Please...not again."

* * *

Arturo and Rembrandt jogged after Wade as she strode out of the hospital onto the sidewalk.

"Hey, wait up," Rembrandt breathed. "Don't you think you were a little harsh back there?"

Wade spoke without looking back or slowing down. "Nope. I was actually pretty restrained. There's a whole lot more I could say about her. About how sick I am of her put-downs, her attitude, her clothes, the way she and Quinn..."

Wade stopped and looked up and down the street. She threw up her hands. "What's a gal gotta do to get a cab in this place?"

Arturo and Rembrandt slowed to walk up alongside her. They exchanged a look, then Arturo gestured towards one end of the street. On the corner was a small glass-walled booth.

Arturo strode down the empty street towards it. "Perhaps this is the payphone we've been looking for."

Wade followed as she said, "I thought Diggs said there are no payphones left here."

Arturo slowed as he approached the booth, finally coming to a stop. He glared into the booth's interior. "And he was apparently correct. This is not a telephone, it is another blasted computer."

Wade looked into the booth, where a keyboard and monitor were set up instead of a telephone. An AT&T sign hung above the screen, which was blinking the words "Insert 25 cents per minute of access."

Arturo bowed out of the way of the booth's entrance. "I believe this is your department once again, Miss Welles. I must admit, your familiarity with computers will serve us well here."

Wade stepped into the booth as she said, "Yeah, I just hope I don't get carpal tunnel before we slide outta here."

Rembrandt fished around in his pocket and handed her a quarter. She slipped it into the slot by the monitor and worked quickly to bring up a city directory on the San Francisco.Com webpage that appeared. She began to operate the mouse and cycle through the menus.

* * *

In their hotel room at the Dominion, Rembrandt walked out of the bathroom in a robe, briskly drying his hair with a towel. He walked into the living room, where Arturo stood watching Wade typing on a computer set up on a table.

"Yes, _sir,_" Rembrandt said, "nothin' like a hot shower to clear out the ol' brain cells. So how's the history lesson goin', guys?"

Wade kept her eyes on the screen as she said, "Not too bad. The entire Library of Congress is online, so we just browsed a few history books."

"Indeed," Arturo said, "however, since I know little about computers, I will allow Miss Welles to enlighten us."

Wade glanced over her shoulder to grin up at him, then turned back to the screen as she said, "Well, from what I can tell, the big change came in 1987. That's when the World Wide Web caught on and gave the Internet this big, major boost in popularity. But in this world, President Bush not only made that big deal about the information superhighway, he did something about it. The government sunk billions into building up this huge cable Internet infrastructure in America, and other countries followed suit."

"So the Internet's been around for a decade?" Rembrandt said. "I'd have thought the technology would be fancier."

Arturo nodded. "Well, the Internet existed for decades before the general public in our worlds became aware of it, Mr. Brown. But you're actually right, it should be more advanced here, considering the focus the Internet is given. We're not entirely sure why that is not the case.

Wade looked up at him. "The big computer technology firms like IBM and Hirohito began squabbling over standards and hardware patents in court. Their legal battles have stopped a lot of computer hardware research. That's one reason, there might be others."

Wade shook her head as she looked back at the computer. "But it's really incredible. The Internet's replaced the telephone, movie theaters, TV, radio, everything. You can do practically everything over the Internet. Talk to each other, shop for clothes and groceries, even get married. Most jobs here allow you to telecommute. And you know, they don't fight physical wars in this world anymore? Governments attack each other's computers instead. Information warfare. The Gulf War was fought over Saddam Hussein trying to hack into the computers that controlled Kuwait's oil fields. And since the government can get instant feedback from almost everyone in America, it's now a true democracy. It's fantastic."

"Yes, it's just wonderful," Arturo growled. "A world full of people who interact with each other through a video screen. I must say, I find this Earth highly deficient in humanity."

Wade swiveled in her chair to glare at Arturo. "Max, just because you're a technophobe, you can't look down on everybody else."

"And why not? You can't seriously believe this world has any lasting benefits. Take a look out the window at the empty streets. The Internet is breeding a race of introverts who see their environment through a glowing screen. Something I saw developing in our own Earth, I might add."

"Well, I think this place has gone a bit overboard, but they have the right idea."

Before Arturo could respond, the computer chimed and brought up a small icon of a telephone ringing on the screen. Wade clicked on it with her mouse pointer. A window popped up showing a black-and-white video image of Quinn.

Quinn's voice emerged from the computer's speakers. "Hi, guys. How's it going?"

Wade smiled. "Great. I've finally got this world's computer interface figured out. We shouldn't have any more trouble with it."

Rembrandt leaned closer to the camera mounted about the monitor. "How's Maggie?"

Quinn's expression sank. "Still no change. Doctor's say she's in a coma. She could come out of it at any time... or never."

Rembrandt closed his eyes. Arturo shook his head and turned away. Only Wade continued staring at the computer, her expression unchanged.

"How long do we have before the slide?" she asked.

"Almost a week," Quinn said. "She may come out of it before then."

Wade stared at the screen, light flickering delicately over her grim expression. "And if she doesn't?"

Quinn's eyes were locked on the computer camera. "She will. She has to. But guys, we've got another problem. She doesn't even exist in this world, so Maggie has no insurance. And the hospital bills are gonna rack up. We have enough for the hotel room and some change, but not enough to cover Maggie's stay. If she doesn't snap out of this soon, we're gonna have to scrape up some serious cash."

Wade rolled her eyes. "Terrific."

Rembrandt rubbed his chin. "Guess we'll have to get some jobs in this world. I'll get a paper, scout the want ads."

Wade grinned and turned back to the computer. "Hey, remember where we are, Remmy. Hang on, I'll load up Jobsearch.Com."

Wade double-clicked on the Microscape Explorer icon that brought up the web browser. The others watched her type and click until a webpage of job offers scrolled down the screen.

Quinn watched from the small grainy window in a corner. "How's it going?"

Wade bit her lip, then said, "Well, it won't be as easy as I thought. All these jobs require computer skills and experience in K++ programming, which I've never even heard of. Let's see if I can narrow the search a bit...okay, only one job left. Pizza deliveryperson. Huh, I guess even in this world they know a pizza's not a pizza unless it's delivered to your door by a real person. One position open."

"Okay," Rembrandt said, "I'll take it. I could do with the exercise. Where do we call?"

Wade grinned. "No need. I can sign you up online."

Wade clicked and typed in data on the form that popped up, then finally leaned back. "There you go. Says to report to this address tomorrow morning."

"Okay, great," Quinn said. "I'll call if anything comes up. Later, gang."

His window disappeared.

Rembrandt yawned and headed towards one of the bedrooms. "Guess I better rest up if I'm gonna be ridin' around tomorrow. Night, guys."

"Sleep well, Mr. Brown," Arturo said, then added, "I suppose I should turn in as well. This world's Internet obsession is grating on my nerves."

Wade grinned up at Arturo. "Oh, come on, professor. We just researched the history of this world and got a job without leaving the room. Computers aren't so bad."

"Yes, I'm sure it's very efficient for some things, but I see nothing that this so-called 'information superhighway' can offer me."

Wade smirked. "Oh, really."

She turned towards the computer and typed rapidly. "Let's see...how about I type 'quantum theory' into the search engine and see what we get."

Arturo leaned over the table, frowning at her. "Oh, come now, Miss Welles. I don't have time to read the mindless drivel that some lifeless college student puts..."

A webpage came up on the screen. Arturo froze, his eyes scanning the page. Then he whispered, "Good heavens. That is the most startling interpretation of the structure of hyperspace that I have ever seen. What is this?"

"It's an article from an online scientific journal." Wade got up and offered the chair to Arturo. "Wanna take a look around?"

Arturo puffed his chest and glared at the chair, then reluctantly sat down. "Well...perhaps for a moment. Merely to examine this article, and then I shall return to my..."

Arturo frowned and tapped the screen. "I say, this is interesting. I've never seen a mathematical formula like this before. It says here that it is based on the Latecian model. I've never heard of such a thing, I wonder what that is."

Wade leaned over his shoulder as she said, "Well, the word's highlighted. That means it's a hyperlink. Click on it."

Arturo shot her a look, then navigated the mouse to position the pointer on the hyperlink and clicked on it. A new page came up that caused him to take a deep breath. "Extraordinary. In this world, a mathematician named Lucius Latec created a whole new form of mathematics in the early 1900s, one which can only now be applied to computing the structure of the fourth dimension in three-dimensional terms. If I could master this form, it might lead to a resolution of a quantum theory I have been trying to resolve since graduate school."

Wade grinned as she patted him on the shoulder and walked away from him. "Have fun, Max."

Arturo gave her a vague wave, but his eyes were wide and fixed on the glowing screen of the computer in front of him.

* * *

Rickman fired the gun, and the bullet seemed to come out of the barrel in slow-motion. It seemed to take hours for the tiny metal projectile to cross the room, heading towards Arturo's chest. Arturo himself stood in front of Quinn, without a trace of fear, seeming almost proud as he watched death rushing towards him.

Then Arturo turned and looked at Quinn. His eyes were heavy and sad. "Why didn't you save me, my boy? Why didn't you take the bullet instead of me?"

Quinn looked at the professor, his eyes wide with horror. "It was too fast, I tried to stop you, I really tried..."

"You didn't try hard enough. Not nearly enough. You brought me into this whole sliding mess...and because of you...I'll never see my home again."

Arturo faced the bullet again. It moved slowly into the professor's chest, almost gently. Arturo screamed as he looked down at the bullet penetrating his chest.

* * *

Quinn sat up with a scream of his own. His face glistened with sweat. Then he looked down at the chair he was sitting in. He looked around himself at the empty hospital waiting room, then down at his watch.

He slumped back into his chair with a sigh. Then a voice said, "Mr. Mallory?"

Quinn looked up at a videoscreen on the wall beside him. A man was looking back at him from it. In the background behind him was the interior of a living room and a kitchen.

The small camera lens beside the screen pointed itself at Quinn with a soft hum. "Are you all right, Mr. Mallory?"

Quinn rubbed his cheek. "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. Just had a nightmare, that's all."

The man nodded. "Well, I'm Doctor Ross Kelley. You're here for a Captain Margaret Beckett, correct?"

Quinn sat up higher. "Yeah. Is something wrong?"

Quinn could hear Dr. Kelley flip through some papers off-camera. "Well...that's what I'd like to talk to you about. You see, Miss Beckett regained consciousness a few minutes ago."

Quinn broke into a smile. "Really? That's great."

Kelley looked up at him. "Yes...but I've been monitoring Miss Beckett from home, and I ordered a few CAT scans while she was unconscious. I discovered something very unusual. Let me show you..."

Kelley turned offscreen. Quinn heard the clicking of keys. Then the doctor's face winked off, replaced by a three- dimensional computer-generated graphic of a human brain. It was spotted and streaked with various shades of red, blue, and green. It turned slowly on an axis.

Kelley's voice returned. "What you're seeing here is a model of Beckett's brain, taken shortly after she arrived. Now, notice the various colors. They show areas of cerebral activity. But notice this dark area here..."

The model turned until the right side of the brain was visible. A large portion of it wasn't colored at all, but was only a midnight black.

"As you can see, a vast area of Miss Beckett's brain was entirely inactive. I can't guess as to how that could happen, but what's even more strange is the results of the other scans I ordered in the course of the next few hours. Watch."

The brain flickered, replaced by another model. This one had the same black area, but it was noticeably smaller. Then the brain flickered again, and the area shrank again, surrounded by reds. Then the brain flickered once more. The black portion was only a few centimeters wide. Then the flicker came once more, and the portion was alive with swirling colors.

Kelley reappeared on the screen, looking gravely at Quinn. "As you can see, the inactive portion of her brain is now fully active."

Quinn stared at Kelley, his eyes narrowed. "How could that happen?"

"Well, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that the head injury Miss Beckett suffered must have somehow reactivated the dead area of her brain. I've never seen anything like it."

"Any idea what could have caused her head to get like that in the first place?"

Kelley sighed. "Well...no. It might have been a stroke, but to affect such a large area suddenly should have killed her. I suspect it must have been some external factor that caused this sort of damage. I'm actually looking forward to questioning Miss Beckett about this, but thought you would want to talk to her first. I'd also like an explanation of this..."

Kelley tapped keys, bringing up an X-ray that obviously a side view of a human skull and spine. An arrow appeared and moved to a dark spot on the vertebrae. "This right here...it looks like a puncture wound, like something was inserted into the back of her neck. Most likely a needle of some kind."

Quinn's face collapsed. He stared at the image for a few seconds, then said, "Yeah. Yeah...it looks that way, doesn't it? I'd like to talk to Maggie about it."

"No problem. I'll print you out a copy of the scans. She's in recovery room 324."

Kelley looked at something off-camera and Quinn could hear the clicking of a mouse button. A few seconds later, glossy sheets of paper hummed out of a slot with the brain-scan photos. Quinn pulled them out, nodded thanks, and jogged down the corridor to Maggie's room.

* * *

The lights of the hospital room had been turned off, leaving it shrouded in darkness. A ray of light broke through as Quinn pushed open the door. He slipped his head through the open doorway and peered inside.

There was a soft whispery sound filling the room, barely audible. It was only when Quinn heard a sharp inhalation of breath, followed by the sound again that he realized it was the sound of someone crying.

Following the shadowy contours of the bed, a single shaft of moonlight fell through the window. It landed on a figure sitting hunched-over in the bed, brown hair falling to cover the face. The rounded shoulders trembled as tears fell onto the bed with gentle taps.

Quinn leaned farther into the room, carrying the brain scan pictures in one hand. "Maggie? Is that you?"

Maggie looked up suddenly. Her brown hair fell away to reveal her face in the bluish light. Beneath the bandage wrapped around her head, her eyes were red and swollen. The cheeks below them glistened in the dim light. Her mouth was trembling and curved downwards in an expression of terror.

"Mallory," she choked, "get out of here, don't look at me..."

Quinn stepped further into the room, silhouetted against the door. "Beckett? What's wrong?"

Maggie screamed, her fingers curling until they resembled claws. "I said get out here! Leave me alone!"

Then she collapsed into heaving sobs. Maggie clutched her face as tears trickled down her fingers. "Oh...oh my g...what's happening to me...I can't stop...can't stop thinking..."

Quinn reached over to a switch and snapped on the lights in the room. Maggie flinched, but settled back into her tearful misery. Quinn approached the bed slowly until he stood at the end, looking down at her.

"What's wrong, Maggie?" he asked. "What can't you stop thinking about?"

Maggie shuddered for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes to look up at Quinn. "I can't stop thinking...about my husband. David. He...he was so brilliant. And good to me...and so kind...even when I ignored him...to concentrate on my career... and he took me back...when I asked him to. And...and how he used to kiss me...right here..."

She touched the side of her neck with a finger. "And...and now...he's de-de-dead...Rickman killed him...in cold blood. For...nothing." She hunched over, sobbing again, her entire body heaving.

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed. "I know, it's gotta be tough. You're just facing it now..."

Maggie whipped her head up to look at Quinn. She grabbed his arm, clutching it so tightly that Quinn winced in pain.

"But it's not just him," Maggie said. "It's...it's my house. I had a house on my world. David and I had a house in San Francisco, we...we spent years paying the mortgage, fixing it up, making it just right. And we'd just installed a nursery...for...anything that might come along. And now it's gone."

Maggie's eyes were fierce, studying Quinn's face with an urgency he had never seen before. "It's...gone. Along with my barracks...my base...my friends...my family...my country. Other countries, too. England, South America, Switzerland... Paris..."

Her eyes softened, turning distant. "I always wanted to go back to Paris. I was stationed there in '92. The countryside was so beautiful, Quinn...so...beautiful."

Quinn gently tried to peel her fingers off his arm. "It's okay. We can go to Paris on the next world where we have time..."

Maggie gripped his forearm even harder. "But it won't be my Paris, Quinn. It'll have...I dunno...a Hitler statue where the Eiffel Tower is supposed to be or they'll...speak Esperanto or there'll be a...Burger King where my favorite cafe is supposed to be. Or maybe, just maybe, we'll find a world where Paris is exactly the same as it was in my world."

Maggie shook her head. "But it won't be my Paris. It'll never be my Paris. Because my Paris is gone. My whole planet is gone."

Maggie's eyes softened and sparkled with tears. Her voice cracked. "Everything I ever had is gone...and I'm never getting it back. And one day...you'll get home. But no matter how long I slide, I'll never get home. Because my home is gone...forever..."

She hunched over and tears flowed down her face again as she gave off choked sobs.

Quinn rested his hand on hers, pressing his palm against it. "Maggie, what happened to you? Why is this all hitting you now?"

Maggie sniffed and looked up at him with wide eyes. "I...I don't know. I mean...I woke up. And I was in this hospital... and the nurse on the screen explained how I hit my head and went into a coma, but...what really hit me was everything I'd lost. And I don't know why it's affecting me so much now...but I also wonder why it never did before."

Maggie blinked and looked around the hospital room. She sniffled and wiped off her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Where are we, anyway? What kind of world is this?"

"It's run by the Internet. It's all over the place. No phones, no TVs, just computers and modems."

Maggie sniffed again as she sat up straighter. "Great. A world full of nerds. What's the status report? Any snafus?"

Quinn blinked. "Any what?"

"Casualties," Maggie repeated. "Are any members of our team injured? Have we established a base of operations for this world? What's our ETD? Come on, Mallory, gimme a status report."

Quinn looked down at the papers in his hands. "Uh, well...no injuries except for you. The others are staying at the Dominion, and we slide in a few days, almost a week."

"Terrific. Well, I hope you've set up some sort of defense plan. No telling what we're gonna face on this world." Maggie leaned forward, then winced and clutched her temple. "Ow. It feels like there's a boulder in my brain and it's rolling around my skull."

Maggie blinked and frowned deeper. "That's funny. I... I suddenly...I suddenly remember...training. Yeah...the training I got in the Marines."

"What's so funny about that?"

"That's the thing...I just realized that...I didn't remember it before. It's...it's like there was this wall in my mind I didn't even know I had, and now it's gone, and my memories are just flooding out." Maggie leaned towards Quinn. "Mallory...what's happening to me?"

Quinn stared into her eyes and saw the fear and confusion within them. Emotions that were on his own face as well. "I'm not sure, Maggie. But I think it has something to do with this."

Quinn held up the time-lapsed pictures of Maggie's brain, the multi-colored images glinting with reflected light.

Maggie looked down at the computer-generated images on the sheets of paper Quinn held. "What are those?"

Quinn began to shuffle through them. "CAT scans. The doctor took them while you were out. They show your brain activity since you arrived until now."

Maggie watched Quinn arrange the pictures on the bed. "I don't get it."

"It's just a theory. Look here." Quinn pointed at one page that showed her brain with a large dark area. "This is how it looked when you came in. The dark area means no brainwave activity. Now..."

Quinn moved his finger to the next, following a path across them. "See how the dark area gets smaller and smaller? The doctor said that's been happening ever since you hit your head. And now...the area is completely active again." Quinn tapped the last image.

Maggie slowly slid a hand up her face and through her hair. "You mean...there was a part of my brain that wasn't working?"

"Exactly. And now it is. That might be why you're getting memories back."

Maggie rubbed the side of her head as she continued to stare at the pictures. "But...how could that happen?"

Quinn watched Maggie carefully as he laid the last of the pages down on the bed for her to see. "That's...what I hope you can answer. See this?"

It was the X-ray of her spine. He pointed at the small puncture wound. "The doctor said it looks like a needle was inserted into the back of your neck and punctured your spine. Now, who do we know who stuck needles into the back of people's necks?"

Maggie's eyes rose up slowly from the X-ray until they locked onto Quinn's. Her confusion was burned away, replaced by searing anger as she snarled, "Rickman."

"Exactly. He might have had something to do with this. But... I'm not sure." Quinn rubbed his chin and stared at the floor. "I can't remember a time on this whole slide when he might have had a chance to stick you. Can you?"

Maggie lowered her eyes down to the X-ray again. "No. But...there was a time...before the slide."

Quinn looked up at her. "What?"

Maggie sat up a little higher on the bed, then winced and closed her eyes. After a moment, she took a deep breath, then said, "It was a year after I first joined Rickman's team at the base. We did all sorts of things there, it was one of the largest research and development centers for the government. The sliding machine was just one of hundreds of areas of technology we worked on over the years. So when Rickman started his own project...I didn't think anything of it. Figured it was just one of those things."

Quinn watched her closesly as he asked, "What was the project?"

Maggie opened her eyes and looked at him under her brow. "He never told us, said it was top secret. But he set up shop in the largest lab on the base, called in the biggest names in neurology and botany, and spent all his time in there."

"Neurology and botany," Quinn murmured, then looked up at her again. "Sciences of the brain. And plants."

"Exactly. Now that I think about it, that must have been when Rickman was working on a cure for his brain fungus. He was using the resources of the base to do it."

"So where do you come in?"

Maggie leaned back in the bed and closed her eyes. "Well, I was just a young recruit back then. Just joined the intelligence division, eager to please and make my mark. One day, Rickman put out word that he wanted volunteers to draw samples of spinal fluid for the project. I thought it was a good opportunity to show I had team spirit, so I... volunteered."

Maggie turned her head to look towards the window. And in the panes of glass, light reflected back at them, forming shapes. Shapes that seemed to take on a form. As she spoke, Quinn imagined that he could see what she described within it.

A younger version of Maggie, smartly-dressed, walking through a laboratory filled with complex equipment. And human brains. Everywhere, bubbling tanks within which floated disembodied, lumpy pink brains. Some had wires trailing out of them. Others glowed softly. And men in white lab coats studied them and instruments connected to them.

"When I arrived at the lab," Maggie said, "I was surprised to see that I was the only volunteer. And a little glad. Figured this way, Rickman would notice me. And he did."

Quinn could see Maggie walking up to a man who turned to show the grim, stony face of Colonel Angus Rickman. Rickman glared at Maggie, his steely eyes roaming her like a lion studying a gazelle.

"I expected one of the scientists to draw the fluid," Maggie continued, "but Rickman did it himself...said he didn't trust the others to handle something that... delicate..."

Quinn imagined Maggie and Rickman walking up to a table loaded with chemical equipment. Rickman picked up a syringe and motioned for Maggie, who spun on her heel so that she was facing away from him.

Maggie's voice cracked as she said, "I felt the injection. It was...painful...more than I expected. I thought he was drawing out fluid and when it was over, I tried to forget it. But...now that I think about it...what if he didn't draw something out?"

Quinn imagined Rickman's face curling into a snarl as he reached for a test tube and slid the needle's tip into it. He drew back the plunger, filling the needle's barrel with a yellowish fluid. When the barrel was full, Rickman held up the syringe and moved towards Maggie with gleaming eyes.

"What if," Maggie whispered, "he put something in?"

Rickman raised Maggie's hair aside to expose the back of her neck. And jammed the needle into it. Quinn imagined Maggie jerking violently at the impact, gasping loudly, and it was a real gasp as Maggie sat up in her hospital bed.

Maggie clapped a hand onto the back of her neck and looked up at Quinn. Her upper lip quivered for a moment, then she said, "That's it, Quinn. That was the moment when I changed. He must have injected me with something...maybe something he hoped was a cure for his fungus, and needed me to test it on."

Maggie closed her eyes, her entire body beginning to tremble as she said, "But that's when I changed, Quinn. That very evening. That's when I began focusing on my career and almost lost my husband. That's when my monthly performance scores in marksmanship started dropping. And that's...when I started sleeping...with Rickman." She said the last word with an audible growl.

Quinn stared at her as if through new eyes. "Why didn't you ever mention this before?"

Maggie looked at him with a cold menace. "Because I didn't remember it before. It was one of the memories I lost."

"So that's it. When he injected you with that stuff, it must have shut down a portion of your brain. And the brain injury must have re-established connections somehow. I guess it was a good thing, after all."

Maggie looked away and the expression on her face deepened. Quinn could see her breathing growing more intense, quicker, and deeper.

"Maggie," Quinn said, "are you okay?"

Maggie snarled, "Rickman...killed my husband...did nothing to stop the deaths of billions on my world...and now, he's messed around with my brain...with who I am..."

Maggie swept a hand across her bedside table. She swept off the lamp and bottles of pills there onto the floor with a crash that filled the room.

She screamed. "If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself!"

Quinn grabbed her arm, struggling to hold it as she began to fight against him. "Maggie...Maggie, calm down..."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Mallory! He changed my personality. He changed who I am. He *killed* me!" Tears began to swell in his fierce eyes.

"Maggie, don't..."

Maggie wrenched her arm free of Quinn and shifted away from him in the bed. "Mallory...I don't want you to see me like this. I'd appreciate it if you left."

Quinn stood up and looked down at her as she turned her face away, shielding it from view with her fingers. "Maggie... I know this is tough."

She spoke between clenched teeth. "I said go. Now."

Quinn slowly turned away from the bed, keeping his eyes on her until the very last moment. Then he walked out of the room.

The door closed behind him with a click. Maggie continued to sit there on her bed, her hands on her face, immobile. The machines surrounding her bed beeped softly in a steady rhythm.

Her fingers crept up her face to touch the bandages wrapped around her temples.

A video monitor next to Maggie's bed flickered and lit up with a jerky image of Dr. Kelley. He smiled and spoke, his voice not quite matching his lips.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're awake, Miss Beckett. I was wondering if I could speak to you about some abnormalities we found in your test results."

Maggie pulled her hands off her face. She reached out and grabbed the thin metal stand that supported her IV. She swung it like a bat. It slammed into the doctor's screen, shattering it in an explosion of sparks.

She released the stand and let it clatter onto the floor. She climbed out of bed, her eyes wildly roving the room. With a scream of rage, Maggie overturned her bedside table. She shoved one of the medical devices by her bed and sent it crashing to the floor. She charged over to her window and ripped down the drapes.

Maggie clutched the drapes to herself as she began to cry. Her eyes closed. She backed up against the wall and slid down it until she was huddled against the wall, hugging the drapes like a teddy bear, as tears rolled down her face in streams.

* * *

Arturo was sitting in the hotel room's living room, alone and in darkness, except for the hazy glow of the computer screen. He was fixated on the text rolling past, so much so that it took a moment before he noticed the front door clicking and swinging open.

Quinn walked in with heavy steps. He looked up, frowned, then flicked the light switch by the door. Light flooded the room, showing Arturo huddled in front of the computer.

"Max?" Quinn asked. "What's going on? Why're you up so late?"

Arturo looked over his shoulder at Quinn, then turned back to the computer. "Oh, Miss Welles has been teaching me how to use this Internet. It's actually quite fascinating. Did you know that this world's physicists have a new form of mathematics that can compute images of fourth-dimensional structures into a three-dimensional environment? Quite extraordinary, but quite complex. I've been trying to master it, and it is quite difficult. But I have found a number of websites that deal with it, and am asking questions in newsgroups to clarify what I don't understand."

Quinn walked over and looked over the professor's shoulder at the screen. "You mean you've been up all night on the Internet?"

"Well, not all night. I took a break around eleven for dinner. But I'm waiting for an email from an astrophysicist in Australia who promised to send me his articles on how the Latecian model predicts the interior formation of singularities."

Quinn grinned and turned away. "Seems like maybe the Internet isn't as bad as you thought, eh, professor?"

"Er, perhaps." The professor busied himself clicking the mouse and hyperlinking to more pages.

As Quinn walked out of the room, the professor turned back to him. "Oh, by the way, how is young Miss Beckett?"

Quinn froze. "She's, uh...she's good. She's awake."

"Oh, excellent. Then she is none the worse for her ordeal? No brain damage or the like?"

Quinn shook his head, his eyes taking on a distant appearance. "Uh, no. In fact...she's better than ever."

Arturo blinked and a frown descended over his face. "Well... good. I suppose we'll see her in the morning then."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should see her first. Make sure she's okay before the rest of you do."

"Very well. Sleep well, Mr. Mallory."

Arturo turned back to the computer screen as Quinn headed for the bedrooms. Arturo's expression softened as the light played over his face.

* * *

The morning sun shone brightly on Rembrandt as he weaved through the empty streets of San Francisco on his bicycle. He was wearing the red and white uniform of a PizzaHut.Com deliveryman, and a stack of pizzas strapped to the back of his seat.

He looked up at the houses he passed, comparing the numbers with a piece of paper in his hand. When he arrived at one, he skidded to a halt at the curb and climbed off the bike.

Rembrandt whistled "Tears In My Fro" as he pulled out one of the pizza boxes, double-checked the address, then headed up the steps of the apartment building.

A small panel was by the door. Rembrandt ran his finger down the list until he came to a button with a label marked "Pamela Walker." He pushed it. As he did, he talked into a speaker by the panel.

"PizzaHut.Com," Rembrandt said. "Got a pepperoni supreme here for Pamela Walker."

After a few seconds, the door buzzed. Rembrandt pushed it open and walked into the lobby of the apartment building. It was cool and clean, and completely deserted. Rembrandt's footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he climbed up to the second floor to the address he had been given.

The corridor was lined with dusty apartment doors that chimed softly with computer-generated music. But the corridor itself was silent except for Rembrandt's own footsteps.

Rembrandt found the door of the apartment he was looking for. It was just like all the others except for a large slot in the upper half. Rembrandt juggled the pizza into one hand so he could free the other to push the doorbell.

After a moment, a scratchy voice emerged from a speaker. "Yes?"

"PizzaHut.Com," Rembrandt called out. "I got a pepperoni supreme here for Pamela Walker?"

The slot in the door swung down on whining hinges. A tray rattled out with a loose pile of dollar bills and change on it. It was the exact amount for the pizza, including a pretty generous tip.

The speaker crackled with the voice again. "Take the money, put the pizza on the tray, and slide it in when you're done. Thanks."

The speaker cut off with a click.

"No problem," Rembrandt said, then muttered, "Nice to see you, too. Friendly people on this world."

He scooped up the money and slipped it into his pocket, then shifted the pizza onto the tray. He pushed the tray in and it rolled easily through the door. The slot slammed shut the instant the pizza was inside.

Rembrandt shook his head and moved away from the door. He was stopped by a woman's scream that came from inside the apartment. He bolted back to the door and pressed his ear against it. The scream came again, following by the crash of breaking glass.

Rembrandt hammered a fist against the door. "Hey, everything okay in there? What's goin' on?"

Another scream resounded from inside the apartment.

Rembrandt grit his teeth, then backed away from the door. He ran towards it and slammed a foot into it. The lock crackled as it broke open and the door swung open wide.

* * *

The inside of the apartment was almost pitch-black. The windows were covered with thick, heavy drapes. But as Rembrandt rushed inside, he could make out vague shapes. The apartment was a shambles. Rembrandt passed bookcases spilling over with toys and tattered books, and chairs draped with shirts and jeans. He navigated a floor stacked with empty PizzaHut.Com boxes, peering into the shadows.

He walked through the living room, following the sound of voices. The scream came again, leading him down a narrow hallway. He found himself walking into a bedroom. It was the only well-lit area in the whole apartment, and that was only because of a row of computers set up on a table by the bed. Only one was on.

The monitor was glowing in the darkness, showing flickering and uneven video images in a thumbnail- sized window. It was of a horror movie. A woman screaming as windows shattered all around her. The screams that he had heard outside the apartment.

Rembrandt relaxed and shook his head as a grin spread across his face. He took one last look at the computer screen, then turned towards the door.

There was someone huddled in the shadows of a corner of the room. The figure was curled into a ball, pressed deeply against the walls, covering its face with trembling hands.

Rembrandt took a step back. "Oh, man, I'm sorry to barge in like this. I heard the screams and thought somebody might be in trouble in here. I'll pay for any damage on the door..."

He stopped. The small trembling person hadn't moved or relaxed. Rembrandt took a step towards it. He could see it a little more clearly now. It was a young girl, wearing a worn T-shirt several sizes too large and faded jeans. She wore no shoes, and her toes were curled up tight, as tense as the rest of her as she shivered in the corner.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry if I scared you. I swear, I was just tryin' to help." Rembrandt held up his hands, palms out. "Look, see? I ain't armed or nothin'. I'm just the pizza deliveryman."

At the word "pizza," the girl finally reacted. Her body loosened slightly, almost imperceptibly. One of her hands moved away from her face and a brown eye peered out from between her fingers.

A voice emerged from her, one that was hoarse and unsteady. "P-P-Pizza..."

Rembrandt smiled. "Yeah. Pizza. I just dropped one off for somebody who's supposed to live here, Pamela Walker."

The hands moved further away from the girl's face. Rembrandt could see it more clearly in the flickering white light. Skin a dark brown that still seemed pale, puffy and swollen eyes that looked up at him as if Rembrandt were an alien creature.

"I," the girl started to say, then she paused to swallow. And she spoke again. "I'm...P-Pamela Walker."

"Oh. Well...I just talked to you a few minutes ago. Remember? When I dropped off the pizza?"

Pamela glared at him and shifted herself a little. She wasn't huddled that closely to the wall anymore. Her hands fell away from her face and wrapped around her arms to hug herself tightly.

"Wasn't me," Pamela said. "Recording. Don't talk to ...strangers."

"Oh. Well...that explains it, guess you weren't rude to me after all." Rembrandt tried to laugh, but Pamela just stared at him until he stopped. He looked around the small apartment, glittering in the light of the movie. "Where's your mom?"

Pamela hugged herself a little tighter, then said, "Dead."

"Oh. Sorry."

Pamela lowered her eyes to the carpeted floor. "Long time ago."

Rembrandt nodded, glancing around the apartment, then shuffled his feet a little in the silence. "So...you live here...all alone?"

Pamela raised her eyes to him and shook her head.

"Oh, great. You live with your dad? Your sister? Boyfriend? Who?"

Pamela shook her head again. "Don't live with anyone. But not alone."

Rembrandt blinked and looked around the apartment. "I, uh...I don't get it."

Pamela stared at him for a tense moment, then raised a hand and pointed at the row of computers on the bedside table behind him. "Internet."

Pamela suddenly uncurled and rose to her feet. She headed for the computer. Rembrandt had to step aside quickly to keep from being knocked down as she walked to the bed and crawled onto it. She sat down crosslegged facing the computers and began to type. Rembrandt peered over her shoulder as he watched text and images flow across the screen.

For the first time, Rembrandt saw Pamela's expression change. It broke into a wide smile as she gazed at the screen. "I'm not alone. Websites, newsgroups, chat rooms. My friends are there."

Rembrandt watched her. "Lemme take a wild guess. You don't get out much, do you?"

Pamela continued to type as she said, "No, not in real." She was in a chatroom and her smile broadened as she watched the text scroll.

Rembrandt nodded. "When was the last time you left this apartment?"

"Eleven years ago." Then she laughed and shook her head. "Diamond34 is so funny." She typed some more.

"Eleven years," Rembrandt whispered, then said, "When's the last time you saw someone else? Someone...in real life, I mean."

Pamela stopped typing for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keys. "Eleven years and six months. When my mother died."

"You never even go out to shop for groceries and stuff?"

"Nope," Pamela said. "Get delivery. By mail or from people."

"Where do you get your money from?"

"Computer programming. I telecommute."

Rembrandt watched her sitting in front of the computer, her skin looking pale from the flickering white light. "So you mean to tell me you haven't left this apartment or seen another human being in over a decade? That all you do is go on this Internet?"

Pamela nodded, but kept her eyes locked on the screen.

"But why, girl? Why don't you get outta here? See the world?"

"I am seeing the world."

Rembrandt pointed at the screen. "But this is just a computer. It's not the real thing."

Pamela stopped typing and turned to look at him. Her face settled into a dead expression. "No. It's better. It's quiet. It's safe. It can't hit me or hurt me. It can't judge me because of how I look or talk. It can't shoot me or rape me or steal my money. It can't romance me and then dump me or saddle me with a husband and lousy kids. It can't hit me with a car or infect me with an incurable disease. It doesn't make me see things that I don't want to see or do things I don't want to do. And it doesn't die and leave me all alone. It's my world. It's what I make it. And I don't need anything else."

Pamela shifted around to face the computer again. Clicking her mouse caused the chatroom window to shut down and a webpage came up. It showed a large image of a sunset in Golden Gate Park. Clicking on an icon, she caused soft classical music to play.

Pamela stared fixated at the image as the lyrical strains played. "Thank you for the pizza. Please go now."

Rembrandt watched her for a moment, then turned away. He walked out of the bedroom, leaving her alone on the bed. She sat there, hypnotized by the music and the picture on the screen. And as the hazy light played over her face, it glistened on the single tear that formed and ran down her cheek.

* * *

The man walked down the sidewalk, whistling to himself softly. He was no longer wearing the white labcoat he had worn in the military installation. Now he wore a less conspicuous outfit consisting of torn camouflage pants and a grubby plaid shirt. But he still wore the computer headset and glasses strapped around his eyes.

As he walked, the man whispered, "Okay, I'm in position. Where do I make the drop?"

Masquerade's deep voice filled his earpiece. His stern silhoutte was reflected on the man's lenses. "Now, Mr. Stanford, go down one block. There's a garbage can on the corner. Leave the disk inside and..."

Stanford turned a corner. Then his step faltered. Looking across the empty street, he saw another man leaning against a lamppost. He wore a trenchcoat and was reading a newspaper held up to his face. As Stanford came into view, the man glanced up at him, then looked back at his paper casually.

Stanford hissed in a low whisper, "Masquerade, I've got company."

Masquerade's voice resonated in his earpiece. "I see him."

* * *

>From inside the voluminous chair, hands reached out and punched keys on the keyboards spread in front of it. On the rows of screens overlooking the chair, one of them showed a view from Standford's lenses. It was an unsteady image of the man reading the newspaper across the street.

A hand took hold of a mouse and clicked as it dragged the mouse across a pad. On the screen, a glowing red square formed around the face of the newspaper man and extended to surround it. When the face was encased in the square, there was a soft beep. Text scrolled across one side of the screen that read "Target Image Captured."

The hands worked quickly to type "Analyze and Identify." On one of the other screens, a graphic from the LawNet Law Enforcement Database was running through hundreds of photos in a blur. One photo finally stopped and blinked. It was a perfect match to the face of the man Stanford was looking at.

* * *

As Stanford watched the trenchcoated man, Masquerade spoke into his ear. "Well, well, well, it seems our newspaper- loving friend is a field agent of the FBI, Computer Crime Division."

"He's a cop?" Stanford hissed, shifting closer to the wall behind him.

"Yes. And look up."

Stanford looked up at a window in one of the buildingsover him. A lone man was strapped to the outside of the building, calmly running a rag over the glass.

"Another agent," Masquerade growled. "And I'm willing to bet this entire block is crawling with more."

"Think this is about the disk?"

"No, Stanford, I'm sure the FBI's Computer Crime Division has nothing better to do than read newspapers and wash windows around you. 'Course it does. They must have been tracking you. I told you not to buy that hot dog, they probably traced your credit card."

Stanford adjusted his glasses and turned towards the wall so his face was away from the agents. "I was hungry, Masquerade, whadda you want me to do? Well...now what are you gonna do? Can you zap 'em with a security system or something?"

The man reading the newspaper folded it up and glanced up and down the block. Then he looked straight at Stanford and began to whisper into a button on his collar. Above him, the window-washer unhooked a strap on his belt and began to slide down the side of the building.

Masquerade's deep, rumbling voice echoed in Stanford's ear. "I can't do anything to them directly. The CCD fights hackers like me...although not as good as me, of course... all the time. They use human agents and closed- communications systems, and cut the power to this entire block so I can't use anything against them. You've really screwed things up, Stanford. I need to think."

Stanford glanced up for a moment, then did a double- take. He watched a black man emerge from one of the apartment buildings. The man was headed for the bicycle he had left parked on the corner.

Stanford broke into a grin. "Hey, Masquerade, I got an idea. You did your thing...now it's time I did mine."

Stanford began to walk briskly towards the bicycle and the man climbing onto it.

* * *

Rembrandt climbed onto the PizzaHut.Com bike. He checked the paper taped to the next pizza on the back of his seat, then lowered it. He looked up at the apartment building he had just left and at one window. There, the drapes were parted slightly and Pamela's small face peered out at him. Then disappeared.

Rembrandt sighed and pulled on his bike helmet. Then he looked up at the man approaching him on the sidewalk.

"Excuse me," Stanford said, "you got the time?"

"Uh, yeah." Rembrandt looked down at his watch. "It's, uh, eleven-thirty."

As he looked down, Stanford pulled the computer disk out of his coat pocket. Stanford pretended to sneeze to cover the way he threw the disk with a flick of his wrist. It sailed neatly into the pocket of the backpack hanging off the side of Rembrandt's bike-seat.

When Rembrandt looked up again, Stanford sniffled and said, "Thanks." Then he walked past and continued down the sidewalk. Rembrandt set off on an easy ride to his next delivery address.

* * *

On the lenses of Stanford's glasses, Masquerade's silhouette nodded. "Not bad."

"Yep," Stanford said. "Now if the feds pull me over, they got nothin' on me. All we have to do is wait for the heat to cool off, then get the disk back from that guy."

"Good work, Mr. Stanford. I can take it from here. You've done a good job, but it's time our partnership came to an end."

Stanford glanced back. The trenchcoated agent had the newspaper folded up under his arm and was briskly walking towards him. The window-washer was openly talking into a walkie-talkie. A large sedan turned onto the street and began to roll down towards him.

"What, now?" Stanford whispered.

"Yes. Don't worry, as you said, the CCD won't be able to arrest you without the disk. I promise, you won't go to jail."

Stanford nodded. "Well...okay. When do I get my money?"

"Look in the garbage can on the corner. There's a large paper bag inside. That should take care of you nicely."

Stanford walked to the garbage can on the corner. It was empty except for a small folded paper bag with something lumpy inside. Stanford glanced over his shoulder again. The trenchcoated man was now running towards him. The sedan was speeding up.

Stanford reached into the can. He swept up the bag and began walking away at a brisk pace.

The trenchcoated agent whipped out a gun and a billfold. He aimed the gun at Stanford and flipped the billfold open to expose a badge. "Freeze! Federal agents! Lionel Stanford, you're under arrest!"

Stanford stopped walking. He smirked and raised his hands as he turned to face the agent. The sedan pulled up onto the curb and three more agents jumped out, all carrying guns.

"What's the charge?" Stanford asked.

"Stolen property, breaking and entering of a government facility, espionage, and a whole lot more." The agent nodded. "We'll give you a rundown when we get you to jail."

"You got nothin' on me. I'm clean."

"We'll see about that. What's in that bag you picked up?"

Stanford grinned. "Just some cash."

The agent glared at it. "What's it doing in a garbage can?"

"I have a lousy bank. They have really cheap ATMs."

The agent nodded with his chin. "Very funny. Open it. Let's see it."

"Sure." Stanford plunged a hand into the bag and drew out what's inside.

Masquerade's voice whispered into his ear. "Goodbye, Mr. Stanford."

"What?" Stanford looked down at his hand. It held no money. A gun was resting in his palm. A small black box was strapped to the trigger-guard.

The federal agents dropped into a crouch as the lead agent yelled, "Stanford, put the gun down! Don't make it worse for yourself!"

Stanford held up his hands, trembling. "Hey, wait a minute, this isn't..."

* * *

>From his chair, Masquerade pushed a key on one of his keyboards. On one of the screens looming over him, a graphic of Stanford's gun flashed red. The trigger on the gun went back and the word "Fire" blinked.

* * *

The black box on Stanford's gun beeped. The trigger went back. The gun jumped in Stanford's hand as it fired with a bang.

One of the agents crumpled with a grunt of pain.

"Fire!" the lead agent yelled.

The agents opened fire. Stanford was thrown back against the wall as the rain of bullets hit him. He slid down the wall and slumped to the ground. The gun fell from his lifeless hand.

* * *

Masquerade reached out and typed more on his keyboard. Above him, one of the monitors read "Initiate Self-destruct."

* * *

Stanford's glasses and ear-piece hissed, then melted down his face into strands of smoking plastic. The black box on the gun dissolved in the same way. By the time the agents reached Stanford's body, all traces of Masquerade's equipment was gone.

* * *

In his lair, Masquerade tapped his console with a finger a few times. "Well, that's one loose end tied up. Now for another."

He reached for the mouse again. On the screen in front of him, an image from Stanford's glasses appeared. It was of Rembrandt on his bike. Once again, Masquerade used his image-capture box to surround Rembrandt's face.

On the screen next to it, photos scrolled by as Masquerade accessed the PizzaHut.Com Employment Database. It finally stopped on a photo of Rembrandt Brown. Statistics appeared next to the photo of Rembrandt's weight, age, and other information. Including the address of his apartment at the Dominion Hotel.

"Rembrandt Brown," Masquerade said in a soft, high, and unaltered voice. "You have something I want, Mr. Brown. And I intend to get it."

TO BE CONTINUED...