Slide Rulers
by Nigel G. Mitchell

"Slide Rulers" (in part or whole) can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies. It cannot be sold or translated into any other form without written permission from the author. 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. Any comments or criticism would be welcome at zikzak23@usa.pipeline.com.

I'll try to post "Slide Rulers" every other day, but if I skip a day or two, don't be surprised. This story is complete, so there's no danger of it not being finished. For those who care about continuity, "Slide Rulers" takes place sometime in the second season between "Time Again and World" and "Post-Traumatic Slide Syndrome."

Part six of this story describes events that occured in the episodes "Fever," "King Is Back," "El Sid," and "Time Again and World." I've included a spoiler alert at the paragraphs in question. If you haven't seen these episodes yet, when you reach the spoiler alert, you might want to skip to part seven.

Those who enjoy this story should visit the fully-stocked Sliders fanfic archives at:

http://gossamer.eng.ohio-state.edu/sliders ftp://gossamer.eng.ohio-state.edu/pub/archives/sliders/stories

You'll find other stories as well as previously posted portions of this story. Anyone without FTP or WWW access can get missing portions from me by email. It would be greatly appreciated if you let me know in advance whether your email reader accepts attached files or has a size limit.

My final comment regards originality. Since I started this story a few months ago, several people (to my dismay) proposed the idea on which this story is based. I apologize if it looks like I ripped them off, but I honestly began planning this story last September. And since reading the Creative Worlds List, I discovered that the opening world I used has also been done before. Again, I had no idea.

Well, enough about that. Enjoy the story.

(c) Copyright May 1996

Please see part zero for copyright information and other tidbits. Any comments or criticism would be welcome at zikzak23@usa.pipeline.com.

A bird fluttered past the front of a record store in San Francisco. As it did, it was suddenly blown off-course by a gust of wind that came from nowhere. Then the source became visible.

The front of store seemed to buckle as the area in front of it imploded into the mouth of a swirling blue tunnel. The blast of air poured out of it, carrying the scent of electricity as it formed.

One by one, four people popped out of the vortex to land on the sidewalk. The last of them was Quinn Mallory. He landed hard on his back, rolled over, then groaned as he sat up to take in his new environment.

They were on the sidewalk outside a row of shops. Quinn was surprised for a moment, since he had expected to slide out in a copy of Golden Gate Park. But apparently, the park was either in a different place or absent from this world. Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt were beside him, composing themselves after the slide.

"Everybody okay?" Quinn asked.

Arturo got to his feet with a grunt. "That depends on your definition of 'okay.' If you mean am I lying on a beach somewhere in a tropical paradise, sipping margaritas and thinking how wonderful it is to be safe and warm, then no, I am not okay. But if you mean, am I in a strange world far from home with an aching back, then yes, I am okay."

Quinn got to his feet, dusting himself off. "Good. Any clues as to where we are yet?"

Rembrandt looked around. "Not so far. Looks pretty normal to me."

Then a piercing squeal filled the air, one that was a mixture of a siren and the lonely cry of a whale. Wade clapped her hands over her ears.

"What is that?" she yelled.

"I'm not sure," Arturo said, "but if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was some sort of air-raid siren."

The city exploded into chaos.

People flooded out of homes and shops. Cars screeched to a halt as their passengers climbed out. Within seconds, a mob had formed, one that was a solid mass of terrified people. It was headed all in one direction, a flowing sea of terror. Wade was knocked down by a large man shoving past her.

Rembrandt backed out of the way of a man roaring past on a motorcycle. "What's goin' on?"

A woman was running by, clutching her crying child to herself. But she stopped to stare at him. "Why are you four just standing there? You got a death-wish or something?"

Arturo was helping Wade up as he said, "My dear Madam, what on Earth are talking about?"

"Haven't you seen the news?" the woman yelled. "It's the Russians! They've done it! They've finally done it!"

"Done what?" Wade asked.

"The bomb!" the woman screamed. "They've dropped the bomb!"

She ran off, plunging into the mob, and disappearing among the masses.

"The bomb," Quinn whispered, a chill coming over him.

"Wait a minute," Wade said, "she didn't mean the bomb I think she did, did she?"

Arturo was looking up at the sky, shielding his eyes. "If you mean a nuclear bomb, Miss Welles, then I'd say there is a distinct possibility. Look."

They all looked up at the sky.

Three white trails could be made out among the clouds. The trails of missiles that were descending on the city.

Wade grabbed Quinn's arm. "How long do we have to slide? How long?"

Quinn flipped open his timer. The LCD display glowed red as it displayed a series of numbers that deepened the chill coming over him.

"About two days," Quinn murmured.

Arturo patted Rembrandt on the arm, heading towards the mob. "I believe it would be wise to follow these people. Perhaps they are bound for some sort of fallout shelter..."

A black-gloved hand clapped onto his shoulder, halting him. The hand was attached to a large man. His entire body was encased in a black suit of armor that creaked as he moved. His face was hidden behind a mask with circular filters below a black faceplate, one that gave him the cold appearance of an insect.

The man spoke, his voice modulated by some sort of electronic voicebox. "Not so fast."

Another of the armored men came out of the crowds. Then another. And another. Soon, four of the men were there, standing before Quinn and the others. Though Quinn couldn't see their faces, something about them oozed menace.

Arturo looked at the hand, then at its owner. "Ah, I'm sorry, do we..."

One of the men pulled a notebook out of his vest, then flipped it open to a page. He held it in front of his face. "Are your names Quinn Mallory, Wade Welles, Maximillan Arturo, and Rembrandt Brown?"

Rembrandt glanced at the others before saying, "Yeah, that's us."

The man nodded. "We have a warrant for your arrests."

"Arrests?" Wade asked. "What for?"

The men pulled out four pairs of handcuffs as their leader spoke. "Interdimensional travel without a permit, and multiple counts of tampering with alternate realities. Please put your hands on top of your heads."

The air-raid siren was screaming in the background as Quinn gaped at the four black-armored men that had approached them. "Interdimensional travel..."

"You know?" Rembrandt asked. "I mean, you know we're Sliders?"

The man turned his glass-plated eyes towards him. "Yes, we do. Now, please, put your hands on top of your heads. We are authorized to use deadly force to secure your arrest."

Quinn looked down at the gun-like weapons strapped to the belts of the four men. They obviously weren't there for show. "Uh, we'd better do as they say, okay, guys?"

He placed his hands on top of his head. Rembrandt echoed his gesture, followed by Arturo. After a moment, Wade obeyed.

The four men moved through the screaming crowds to snap handcuffs onto the wrists of Quinn, Rembrandt, Arturo, and Wade.

"Who are you guys?" Wade asked. "Cops or something?"

"Yes," Arturo said. "And how do you know what we do? Does this world have sliding technology?"

The leader of the armored men glared at him, Arturo's reflection distorted in the lenses of his mask. "I'm afraid I'm not authorized to give you that information, Mr. Arturo. Do any of you have any illnesses or disabilities that we should know about?"

"No," Quinn said. "I don't think so."

The others shook their heads.

The men began running their hands briskly over their bodies and clothing. Wade squirmed when the man guarding her began running his hands over her legs. She lashed out with a knee, striking him in the head.

"Hey," she snarled, "hands off, buster."

The man unhooked the gun at his belt and pressed it against her forehead. "I should warn you that resisting arrest and striking an officer of the Bureau is cause for immediate termination..."

The armored man frisking Quinn drew the timer out of his jacket pocket. "Found it."

"Hey!" Quinn yelled. "We need that!"

The armored man slipped the device into a large metal box. When it was inside, the lid clamped shut by a series of bolts.

"Not anymore, you don't," the man said in his modulated voice.

He looked at one of the other men, nodding. "Open it."

The other soldier unhooked the weapon at his belt. He aimed it at an oak tree and pulled the trigger.

A transparent beam lanced out of the muzzle of the gun. It pierced the air with a squeal, collapsing it into a swirling tunnel of light that flowed into itself. It looked exactly like the gateway Quinn had opened many times, except for the color. Whereas Quinn's wormhole had always been bluish, this new wormhole was a deep shade of black, like shadows made of light.

Some of the people running by stopped to gape at the wormhole, but most of the others on the street were too busy fleeing in terror from the missiles in the sky to notice.

Arturo was staring at the wormhole, his mouth wide. "Good heavens. You...you can open a Bridge?"

"Yes, we can, Mr. Arturo," the leader of the armored men said. "Now, please, step inside."

"But where are you talking us?"

"To our world. Now, please, step inside. You first, then the woman, then the black man, and then you, Mr. Mallory."

Wade folded her arms. "No."

Quinn leaned closer to her to whisper, "Uh, Wade, we need to get out of here, and these guys look like our only way off this world. We better play along for now."

Wade looked up at the nuclear missiles descending from the sky, the roar of their engines growing louder. The mob of people fleeing for their lives increased their rush towards the shelters.

"Well," Wade murmured, "okay. For now."

The armored man holding Arturo gave him a shove towards the wormhole. Arturo stumbled into the wormhole. He disappeared with a flash of light.

Rembrandt was thrust into the wormhole next, followed by Wade. Two of the armored men took places on either side of Quinn, shoving him between them as they marched towards the wormhole.

Quinn walked into the gateway with the men, into hyperspace. As he did so, Quinn looked back at the crowds of people forcing themselves into the fallout shelters. The missiles in the air were even closer now, glinting in the afternoon sun. He felt a pang at the realization that he had a way out, but that some or all of these people were going to die. He wished he had some way of saving them, but there was nothing he could do. So he entered the wormhole, leaving a world of certain death behind him.

*

Quinn was sliding down the tunnel that connected worlds in hyperspace. But he could feel the grip of the two soldiers on his arms, holding him as they slid. Then the light of the next world approached, and the hands moved away, allowing Quinn to freefall into the world.

*

Quinn landed on a hard metal floor that was as cold and smooth as ice. He looked up to see that he was in some sort of chamber. The air smelled like burning metal. There were no doors or windows. Only more metal walls. Rembrandt, Wade, and Arturo were with him, sitting up and groaning.

Quinn looked back at the large black wormhole on the wall behind him. The four armored men popped out of it with a flash. They landed neatly on their feet, then aimed their guns at the Sliders.

"Everybody up," one of the armored men said.

Arturo got to his feet, bringing himself up to his full height. "Now, look here, my good man. We owe you a debt of gratitude for rescuing us from that last world, but I believe we've put up with this long enough."

Rembrandt moved to his side., his eyes narrowed with determination. "Yeah. We want answers, and we want answers right now."

"You'll get your answers," the armored man said. "Just go right through that door."

He aimed his gun at a bare wall and pulled the trigger. A new wormhole formed on the wall, one that was rectangular instead of round.

Rembrandt shot him a glare, then took slow, measured steps towards the wormhole. "What world's this one lead to?"

"The next room," the man said. "It's not a Bridge. It's just a doorway. There are no doors in here for security reasons."

"Are we supposed to trust you?" Wade asked.

Arturo looked at the others with a raised eyebrow. "My friends, I don't think we have a choice in the matter."

"Your friend's right," the man said. "Now, move. We've got sixteen more arrests to do today, and you four have already made us late."

"Boo-hoo," Wade sneered, then headed for the doorway.

She marched into it with bold strides, vanishing with a flash. Quinn followed her, knowing that if this was a trick, he should be the first to suffer for it.

There was no tunnel on the other side of the wormhole. Except for a light tingling on his skin, it was like stepping through a door, taking him directly into a narrow corridor.

Unlike the chamber they had left, the corridor's air smelled cool and fresh. Wade was there, her hands raised as she faced a row of more armored men. Her eyes were sweeping over a large chamber visible through glass windows, bursting with activity.

Quinn watched men in white coats hurrying around a vast room. It reminded him of the control room at NASA with rows of consoles facing an enormous videoscreen on the forward wall. But instead of projecting an image of the US, the screen displayed a bizarre patchwork of lines and circles that were constantly on the move.

"What is this?" Wade whispered.

"I dunno," Quinn muttered. "Looks like some kinda control room or something. They obviously can choose their destinations. Maybe they control their slides with this."

Wade's eyes roamed a map of the world on the far wall of the chamber. "But it's so big. Why would they need all this stuff?"

"I got a funny feeling about this," Quinn murmured.

Rembrandt and Arturo emerged from the doorway behind him, looking around with awe. Then the armored men came out after them.

One of them handed a notepad to one of the others in the row of armed men facing them. "Here are the papers. Blanc wants them processed immediately."

"Right," the new soldier said, taking the pad. Then he gestured at Quinn with his gun. "Let's go."

Quinn obeyed, raising his hands, as he trooped past the row of soldiers. They surrounded him and the other Sliders, marching them down the hallway to a door labeled "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."

It hissed open, revealing a long tunnel. The walls werelined with heavy doorways, each with a thick door labeled with a number. Quinn walked among them, down the corridor to a door marked 35. The armored men in front of him stopped and pushed a button on his wrist.

The door swung open, revealing itself to be three feet thick. Quinn stepped inside. Whatever was going on wouldn't stop now.

There was another room on the other side, identical to the large metal chamber in which they had entered this world. A man in a white lab coat stood at the opposite wall, writing on a clipboard.

As Quinn and the others entered, the man looked up at them through thick glasses. He spoke as if talking to himself. "Quinn Mallory#94828, check. Maximillian Arturo#32914, check. Wade Welles#62311, check. Rembrandt Brown#1249, check."

He scribbled on his clipboard, then said, "I am here to inform the four of you that you are under arrest for the charges of interdimensional travel without a license, coupled with multiple counts of tampering with alternate realities. How do you plead?"

Quinn looked at the others, who looked back at him with worried expressions. "Uh, I guess we plead innocent."

The man nodded as he adjusted his glasses. "Very well, then you'll be held without bail in our maximum-security prison until your trial at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Uh, guards..."

One of the armored guards pulled the trigger of his weapon. A new, circular wormhole formed, filling the chamber with the harsh smell of static electricity. Quinn and Wade were shoved towards it. Wade twisted in the grip of the guard holding her, driving a fist into his mask. The guard lurched in surprise. Wade broke free.

Rembrandt struck out with a knee at the man holding him, ramming into his stomach. The guard doubled-over slightly, grunting.

Wade began to run for the open door. One of the guards aimed his gun at Rembrandt. He pulled the trigger.

The gun's barrel exploded. Rembrandt was thrown to the floor by the impact. Blood began to ooze from his leg as he lay there, grunting in pain.

"Rembrandt!" Wade screamed.

Two of the guards grabbed her. They threw her into the wormhole. Her scream was cut short as she turned into light on contact.

Two more guards picked up Rembrandt off the floor and hurled him into the wormhole like a sack. When he had vanished, the guards aimed their guns at Quinn and Arturo.

The man in the lab coat regarded them with a calm smile. "Either of you care to be a hero as well? Or will you step into the wormhole willingly?"

"Where does it lead?" Quinn asked.

"Your new home. Now, walk."

Quinn looked at Arturo, who returned the gaze. The same thought passed between them. They had no choice.

So Quinn headed towards the black wormhole, shadows pouring into its depths. As he got closer, his skin began to tingle with fingers of static electricity. Then he stepped into the wormhole, and was sliding down the tunnel into oblivion.

Quinn slid out of the wormhole to land on his stomach on a hard concrete surface. He ached from the impact, but knew enough to roll to one side just as Arturo popped out behind him. The professor landed with a loud thump, followed by a familiar groan of pain.

The first thing that came to Quinn was the smell. It was the musty smell of air that had been breathed too long. But it was mixed with the scent of sweat, wood-smoke, and a hint of perfume. It was a smell that attacked Quinn, causing him to choke for a moment before he could look up.

Rembrandt was lying on the floor in front of him, grunting as he clutched his injured leg. Wade was by his side, trying to comfort him by rubbing his forehead. And beside her was another man in colorful clothing. The man looked up at Quinn.

Quinn found himself looking into a mirror image of himself. The man was another Quinn, one that varied from himself in that he was in a wheelchair. The other Quinn's eyes narrowed.

"These your friends?" the other Quinn asked.

Wade nodded, still looking down at Rembrandt. "That's Quinn and Professor Arturo."

"I know," Wheelchair Quinn said, then raised his voice. "Hey, guys! We got two more, and an injured Rembrandt over here! Bring the doc!"

That was when Quinn looked past the Wheelchair Quinn to the rest of the chamber.

At first, Quinn thought it was the inside of a warehouse. Then he noticed the rows and rows of barred doors and windows. There was another level above him, one with a reinforced railing over which Quinn could see more jail cells. He and the others were on the main floor below them. But they weren't alone.

There was a group of people lying on the floor under blankets. They were obviously sick, coughing heavily, their skin pocked with scars. One of them had dark brown skin and curly hair, and Quinn realized it was what he himself would look like if he was black.

And there was a woman tending to him, stroking his forehead. She looked like Wade, except she was six feet tall with powerful muscles all over her body.

A third person lying on the floor, groaning softly, was Professor Arturo, fifty pounds lighter. He was muttering something to the man next to him. It was Rembrandt, but speaking in a chirpy language Quinn had never heard before.

Quinn looked past them to see three people huddled around a burning fire in a barrel. One of them was Rembrandt, but he was wearing a tie-dyed shirt and granny glasses. He was talking to a woman who Quinn recognized as his mother with grey hair. She had her arm around a man Quinn realized was his father in military fatigues.

That's when Quinn looked around and realized the chamber was filled with people, most of whom he recognized. Quinns, Wades, Rembrandts, and Arturos wandered the halls and cells. But they were joined by variations of Quinn's mother and father, as well as Wade's mother and father. Cats that looked exactly like his own cat, Schrodinger, were wandering around or being chased by dogs who Quinn knew were versions of Popper.

He could see Conrad Bennish, Wing, Pavel Kurlienko, and his fourth-grade English teacher in the crowds, but there were some people Quinn didn't recognize at all. And there was a green-skinned, globular creature squatting in front of a TV set that Quinn didn't want to know.

As Quinn tried to take in what he was seeing, a black man ran up to them in green scrubs. He looked just like Rembrandt. He knelt beside his double and began to examine the injured leg.

"What's the situation?" the green-dressed Rembrandt asked.

"He's been shot," Wheelchair Quinn said.

"Yeah, he's lost a lotta blood," the green-dressed Rembrandt said.

Rembrandt looked up at him through eyes squinted in pain. "Hey, man...you a doctor or somethin'?"

The other Rembrandt opened his black bag and pulled out a hypodermic needle. "Sort of. Actually, I'm a pathologist, but I know my way around a first-aid kit better than the others. You all had chicken pox?"

Quinn, Wade, and Arturo nodded.

Dr. Rembrandt tapped the needle to get the bubbles out of the barrel. "Good. We got a rash of it goin' around in here, and about half the people who come through here have no immunity to it."

He gestured towards the row of sick people against the wall.

Dr. Rembrandt pushed the needle into Rembrandt's thigh. "Looks like the bullet went all the way through. You're a lucky man. This'll stop the bleedin', and heal the wound in a few hours."

Rembrandt winced, then began to relax. A smile crept across his face. "Hey...hey, that's not bad."

Dr. Rembrandt put the needle away and closed his bag. "You'll be good as new by mornin'."

Wade watched, wide-eyed, as a Professor Arturo dressed entirely in black leather sauntered past. "Where are we?"

Wheelchair Quinn's face fell. "Alcatraz. It's where the Slide Rulers put us between trials and sentencing."

"Slide Rulers?" Arturo asked.

Dr. Rembrandt snapped his bag shut. "Okay, here's the deal. You are now prisoners of the Slide Rulers. That's what we call the people o' the world you just passed through, 'cause they act like they own sliding."

"Let's start with this," Wheelchair Quinn said. "Which one of you invented the sliding machine?"

Quinn glanced at the others, who all had the same bewildered expression on their faces. "Uh, me. Who else would it be?"

"Hey, you'd be surprised. In one world, my mom invented it when she was trying to fix the oven. Okay, lemme guess. You made the sliding machine, decided to test it... then what?"

"We slid to another world," Arturo said. "And an accident brought Mr. Brown with us, then damaged the timer to keep us from returning home."

"Nomads," Dr. Rembrandt murmured. "Boy, there sure are a lot of us."

Wheelchair Quinn held out his hands as if trying to hold the concept he was explaining. "Okay, in Slide Ruler World, Quinn made it back. He told the world about the secret of sliding. And everything changed."

"All we know," Dr. Rembrandt said, "is bits and pieces about the outside, from what we can gather from the TV and people who come in here. On Slide Ruler World, slidin' is as common as crossin' the street. America formed the Federal Bureau of Interdimensional Control, or FBIC, to control sliding in their territory."

"There are a lot of us Sliders out there," Wheelchair Quinn said. "Nomads like yourselves who got stuck. Others are like tourists, wandering around parallel worlds for fun. Everyone here is a Slider. And the Slide Rulers wanna bring us all in. Put us on trial for doing what we're doing. Keep us from tampering with realities."

Dr. Rembrandt stood up and beckoned to the others. "Come on. Wanna show you somethin'."

Wade helped Rembrandt to his feet as the doctor led the way to the TV against a wall of the grimy prison. The green creature looked up at the doctor with an eye on a stalk as he approached.

"Come on, Quinn," Rembrandt said, "quit hoggin' the TV."

The creature made a gurgling noise, then lurched away from the screen.

Quinn watched it go with a growing sense of horror. "That's me?"

Wheelchair Quinn shrugged. "On another world. Trust me, we get all kinds in here."

Wade watched a version of herself in Victorian dress trudge past, crying weakly. "So I see."

Dr. Rembrandt crouched to turn up the sound on the TV. It was showing a courtroom where another Quinn dressed all in black stood before a bench. Five men in black robes were seated there, glaring down at him.

"This is CourtTV," Dr. Rembrandt said. "One o' the few channels they let in here from their world. They wanna let us see what they got in store for us."

"How do they broadcast TV signals from another world?" Rembrandt asked.

"Same way your timer stays in contact with your sliding machine back home," Wheelchair Quinn said. "Tachyon carrier waves."

"Oh, I see," Rembrandt said, but Quinn could tell he didn't.

One of the judges was speaking to the other Quinn in the courtroom. "Quinn Mallory#24269, we find you guilty of deliberately tampering with alternate realities for the purpose of aiding them with the development of interdimensional travel. You have been recorded helping alternate versions of yourself complete their equipment and formulas. Such insolence cannot be tolerated. Have you anything to say in your own defense?"

"Yeah," the Quinn snarled, "your fly is open."

The judge swelled with rage. "You disgust me, Mr. Mallory. This court is doing the multiverse a favor by ending your reign of terror."

"It wasn't a reign of terror. I was just helping myself out."

"At the expense of the natural order of superspace. No, this cannot be allowed to continue. Mallory#24269, it is the decision of this court that you be banished to the alternate Earth designated GGI-5627. Take him away."

The Quinn's air of confidence evaporated as he tried to run from the black-armored men who seized him. "No! No, not that! No, please! I don't deserve this! I didn't do anything wrong! You can't do this!"

The Quinn was dragged screaming from the courtroom.

"I don't get it," Wade said. "What's going on?"

Dr. Rembrandt's voice was low as he said, "They're sendin' him to GGI-5627."

Wheelchair Quinn rolled his wheelchair over to the wall. "Also known as Hell World. It's a world ravaged by pollution and who-knows-what-else. It's got volcanoes, earthquakes, acid rainstorms, toxic air, and all kinds o' stuff from your worst nightmares. Except for the people the FBIC throws in there, it's completely uninhabited. Mankind died off there long ago."

Dr. Rembrandt looked at the others, his face cast in darkness against the light of the TV. "They claim banishin' their prisoners to other worlds is more humane than execution, but settin' foot on Hell World...you're dead already."

The scene on the TV changed to that of a bare metal chamber similar to the one Quinn had entered their new world in. A caption at the bottom of the screen read "Banishment Chamber." A wormhole materialized and the guards trooped in, dragging the black-dressed Quinn with them.

Wade's eyes widened. "Wait a minute...are you saying they're gonna kill him?"

Dr. Rembrandt nodded. "That's the punishment for illegal slidin'."

Quinn watched as another man stepped through the wormhole, a thin man with a shock of white hair on his head. His face was a grim mask with steely-grey eyes that watched the men enter.

"You guys know him?" Wheelchair Quinn asked.

"No," Arturo said. "Should we?"

"He was Quinn's physics professor on Slide Ruler World. Lucas Blanc. He went with Quinn on his first slide and came back preaching about controlling the technology of sliding. He founded the FBIC and got appointed director. He started the capture program. And he attends every banishment. He makes ice look warm and friendly."

"Interesting," Arturo murmured. "In our world, I was Quinn's professor."

Wade glanced up at him. "And you do believe in non-interference."

Arturo glanced down at her. "Miss Welles, I would never take that policy to these extremes."

Quinn saw what his double was talking about. The thin man watched the struggles of the black-dressed Quinn with a calm gaze, as if he was watching the struggles of a fly on a spiderweb.

"You can't do this!" the Quinn was screaming. "You have no right! You don't own this universe or any other! You can't do this to me! I don't deserve this! No one does!"

One of the guards pulled the trigger of his weapon. A new wormhole formed on the opposite wall with a crackling roar. Light flowed into its black interior as the guards stepped towards it.

The black-dressed Quinn looked up at the camera. "How can you sit there and watch this? Don't you see this is wrong? How can you allow this to happen? How can you allow all of us to be killed for the simple crime of freedom? Stop it now! Stop it now!"

The thin man nodded.

The two guards threw the Quinn into the wormhole. His screams were cut off as he vanished with a flash.

Wheelchair Quinn sighed heavily, looking away from the screen. "No...no matter how many times I see it, it...it still gets me."

Wade pointed at the screen. "You mean...they're gonna do that to us?"

Dr. Rembrandt nodded. "That's the way it is, sweetheart. This here is Death Row. Him, me, you, and you...pretty soon, we'll all end up on Hell World."

Wade backed away from the television, shaking her head. "No...no, we can't...how can you all be so calm about this? You're going to die!"

Wheelchair Quinn shrugged. "The sooner you get used to the idea, the better."

"But there must be some way out, some way to escape..."

Wheelchair Quinn sighed and took hold of the wheels of his chair. He glided forward in it to a nearby barred window. He beckoned with a finger until Wade and the others joined him.

Quinn's breath stopped as he looked out the window. Bars and a thick pane of glass separated him from the outside, but he still found himself recoiling as he took in the barren landscape that stretched before him. The horizon was an uneven row of shattered buildings. The sky was a thick mat of clouds, pouring an endless rain onto the rocky foundation of Alcatraz prison.

Dr. Rembrandt joined them, saying, "They put us in a world destroyed by a nuclear holocaust. This prison is lined with lead, so we're safe in here. But if we set one foot out there, we'd die of radiation poisonin'. And there's nowhere to go out there. The only way outta this place is through a wormhole to another world, and the Slide Rulers only open it to bring prisoners in an' out."

"There are no guards in here," Wheelchair Quinn said. "No locks. The entire world is our prison, and there's no escape."

"So that's it?" Wade asked. "They're just gonna put us on trial for our 'crimes,' then shove us into some world to die?"

"That's it," Wheelchair Quinn said.

Wade pressed a palm over her forehead, closing her eyes. "I...I can't take this. I need to think things out..."

"Hey, we hear ya." Wheelchair Quinn rolled away from the others. "Let's see about gettin' you guys a cell or two."

He began to talk with a double of Rembrandt who was wearing a white sequined jumpsuit.

Quinn looked at Dr. Rembrandt, who was returning his gaze with sorrowful pity.

"Hey, man," the doctor said, "I'm really sorry you guys got roped into this. If there's anything we can do to make you more comfortable, just lemme know."

"Thanks," Quinn said. "We appreciate it."

Wheelchair Quinn returned to them, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Okay, it's all set. You guys can stay in cells 21, 24, and 26."

Rembrandt was still leaning on Wade, favoring his good leg as he said, "Thanks. We appreciate you guys helpin' us out."

"No sweat, man," Dr. Rembrandt said. "We were where you guys were, not too long ago. My trial's in a couple days. Quinn here's up next week."

"Two days?" Arturo said. "Next week? Why is your trial date so far away while ours are tomorrow?"

Wheelchair Quinn let go of his chair to spread his arms. "I got caught on my first slide. The more you do, the worse your crimes, the sooner they put the trial. You guys've gotta be pretty bad news to get tried in twenty-four hours. Anyway, I gotta get some rest. I don't sleep well these days. Later."

Quinn waved to him as Wheelchair Quinn rolled away, into the crowds.

Dr. Rembrandt headed for a nearby staircase, passing a group of Conrad Bennishes playing heavy metal on various instruments. "Follow me, gang. Time to see your new home."

*

The cells were little more than that, but they were secure enough. Quinn sat on a chair beside Wade, who was sitting beside the bunk bed where Rembrandt and Arturo were lying. Arturo looked down from the top bunk with a morose expression. They could all hear the chatter of conversation from the other imprisoned Sliders outside, but it did nothing to affect their mood.

"I still can't get over this," Wade said. "I mean, one minute we're sliding along, the next we're gonna die."

"Perhaps not, Miss Welles," Arturo said. "They did say there would be a trial. Perhaps there is a chance for us to defend ourselves."

Rembrandt looked up at him from the lower bunk. "Well, those other guys didn't seem too optimistic about the chances o' that."

Wade sighed, then said, "How's your leg?"

Rembrandt bent it experimentally. "Feels good. And the bullethole's all healed up already. I think the doc was right. By mornin', I should be good as new."

"Wow," Wade said. "What'd he give you?"

Arturo peered over the edge of the bed to look at Rembrandt. "It seems to have been some sort of fast-healing serum. Highly-advanced. Which brings up something I have been thinking of for quite some time. The so-called Slide Ruler world is one in which the secret of sliding has been revealed. I daresay I would give anything to see that."

Quinn looked up at him, shaking his head. "I don't get it. Why?"

"Well, just think of it, my boy. A world where sliding is commonplace. It would solve everything. Hunger would be eradicated by bringing in food from more plentiful worlds. Medicine would take a giant leap forward from worlds where they cured cancer or reversed the aging process or can heal Mr. Brown's leg in a matter of hours. Wars would cease to exist, since most wars are fought over territory, of which there would be an inexhaustible supply. Slide Ruler World must be the closest thing to paradise we have yet seen."

"Oh, yeah?" Wade asked. "Well, if they're so great, how come they're spending their time killing people like us?"

Arturo scowled down at her. "Well, we are in no position to judge that world from in here. They are merely trying to control what appears to be a rampant problem; people sliding into other worlds with no rules governing their actions."

Quinn shook his head. "I dunno, professor. It doesn't seem right to me. I mean, they're punishing us for something we didn't even want to do in the first place."

Wade grew more animated as she pointed at him. "Yeah, and what gives them the right to do it? Who died and made them boss of the universe? If you ask me, these Slide Ruler guys seem like real jerks."

Quinn stared at a water-stain on the concrete floor, then said, "Hey, guys. That double of mine who got executed... I think I've seen him before. From the way he was dressed and what they said about him...I think he was the Quinn who gave me the secret of sliding."

Wade turned herself to face him. "Hey, yeah. He did look a lot like the Quinn who kissed me and told off Hurley."

"And he did seem impudent enough to be the Quinn who questioned my theories," Arturo murmured.

"And now he's dead," Quinn whispered.

"Maybe," Rembrandt said. "And maybe not. I mean, with all the Quinns in here and out there, there's bound to be more than one o' everybody, right? Maybe it was just a Quinn who looked like yours."

"Maybe. At least that gives me a way to sleep tonight."

Rembrandt nodded, then looked up with wide eyes. "Hey, guys, I just thought o' somethin'. On the last world, Q-Ball said the next slide was in two days. But they took the timer and pulled us into this world. How's that affect the slide? I mean, if we get the timer back in two days, can we still slide? Has this made a new window? I mean, what's the deal?"

Quinn pressed his temples, feeling a headache roll through his skull. "I dunno, Rembrandt. I...I have no idea how this affects things. Maybe getting pulled into this world changed the window on the timer. Or if not, maybe if we get the timer back in time, we can still slide on time."

"Only problem with that is," Wade said, "we have to get the timer back to do it."

"Yeah," Quinn sighed. "That's the tough part."

Arturo held up a finger. "Not necessarily. Consider this. These so-called Slide Rulers obviously have highly-advanced sliding technology. They can choose where and when they appear, and can choose which dimension they go to. If we can persuade them to help us, they should have no trouble getting us home."

Wade looked at Arturo, shaking her head. "Professor, you actually think we can reason with these people?"

"Certainly," Arturo said. "This is obviously a misunderstanding. There is no reason we should not be able to reach a common ground."

Wade lowered her head, glaring at the floor underneath her. "Well, excuse me if I don't have your faith in human nature, but I think these guys are gonna chew us up and spit us out."

"I'm with Wade," Rembrandt said. "I think the only way we're gonna get outta this mess is if we can get off this world."

Arturo lay back on his bunk above him with a sigh. "Well, we are hardly in a position to do so at the moment, Mr. Brown. I suggest that we get some rest, my friends. Tomorrow looks like it's shaping up to be a very long day."

*

The headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Interdimensional Control was a tall grey building with a dazzling view of San Francisco Bay. Director Lucas Blanc was looking over it, watching lights twinkling on the Golden Gate Bridge as cars passed over it in the night. Behind him, at the conference table, one of his assistant directors was speaking.

"We've tracked down another group in World ARC-2865," the assistant said. "Another Quinn with his mother, a Conrad Bennish, and their cat, Schrodinger. Nomads, as far as we can tell. We're sending a team to World ARC-2866 to head them off."

Director Blanc nodded as he watched the moonlight trickle over the bay. "Are there any more banishments scheduled for tomorrow?"

"Uh, yes," the assistant said. "The Sliders we captured today, the Primes. They're scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow."

"Move it to nine-thirty," Blanc murmured. "I have a meeting at nine."

"Yes, sir."

Director Blanc nodded and turned to face the room again. He regarded the sea of faces with his icy gaze. "Well done, people. I think that will do for today. Meeting adjourned. Uh, Randall, I'd like to speak to you for a moment."

He sat down at the head of the desk as the other assistant directors filed out. A large, redheaded man lingered as the others left the room, waiting. When the last man was gone, he sat down at the table again.

Blanc brushed off his tie as he said, "Alright, what's the status report on Operation Cadmus?"

Assistant Director Randall consulted a notepad from his pocket. "World ZFD-9912 was erased, right on schedule. And the lab boys think they've found another candidate for erasure on World STP-3340. Their Quinn is returning from his first slide."

Blanc drummed his fingers on the table. "They're too fast. There are too many. We'll never complete Cadmus at this rate."

Randall closed his notebook. "With all due respect, sir, your plan is going flawlessly. With tomorrow's banishment, we'll have executed our one millionth Slider. Over five thousand dimensions have been destroyed in the last year alone, and no one suspects a thing."

"Except those Preservationists," Blanc murmured. "I swear, if it weren't for the media, I would have them all. But they'll slip up one day, and we'll get them. Have we downloaded Dr. Mallory's files for the day yet?"

"Yes, sir. Our labs are examining them as we speak."

"Excellent. Thank you, Randall. That will be all."

"Yes, sir." Assistant Director Randall stood and walked out of the conference room.

As the door closed behind him, Blanc closed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair. He was tired. So tired. He hadn't slept more than a few hours a night in the past year. Not since he had seen the World.

Blanc began to drift away, despite his efforts to stay awake. He was only half-asleep before the nightmare came. He was seeing it all again; the screams, the cities in flames, the soldiers marching through the streets. He saw the World, and it was burning, burning to the ground. And he saw the same man he saw every night, screaming for help, begging for mercy...

Blanc awoke with a gasp that choked in his lungs. He sat up, breathing slow and heavy, trying to remain calm. It was no good. Nothing helped calm the fear. Nothing but one thing.

Blanc closed his eyes again. He thought of the banishment he had attended that day. He replayed the Quinn's screams as he was thrown into Hell World. Another Slider gone. More would soon join him. And with them, peace.

Blanc opened his eyes. He looked out over San Francisco Bay, the sparkling glow of the city. The World would not come here. As long as he was the Director of the FBIC, the world he had seen would never come to pass again. There was only one way to prevent it.

The Sliders must die.

The morning sun shone through the windows of a mansion as someone watched a news report on TV. The person was stroking the head of a reptilian creature while listening to the reporter's stern voice.

"And the trial of Quinn Mallory#94828, Maximillian Arturo#32914, Wade Welles#62311, and Rembrandt Brown#1249 begins today," the reporter said. "This group consists of the longest-running Sliders known to date, having been traveling illegally through alternate realities for over a year. Some analysts believe their initial slide predates our own discovery of interdimensional travel, which would make them the long-sought first true Sliders or Primes. The FBIC refused to comment on these rumors, saying only that they expect to find the so-called Primes guilty and banish them by noon. The trial and banishment will be televised on CourtTV. In other news..."

The watcher switched off the TV. The person's hand continued to caress the craggy skin of the creature kneeling beside the chair.

Finally, the person spoke. "I can't allow this, Crichton. I just can't let more people die for my cowardice. Not them."

The creature looked up at its master, its slitted eyes narrowed.

"No," the person finally said. "I will stop this. Somehow, I will stop this."

*

Quinn awoke to find sunlight streaming through the window of his cell. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, trying to reorient himself. This always happened to him when he slept these days. He traveled from world to world so often that he never felt at ease waking up. He never knew where he was going to find himself.

As he sat there, it all came back to him. The slide. The arrest. The sentencing. The trial that was to come which would decide whether he and his friends would live or die. And the strange new world he found himself in where sliding was commonplace, and a prison containing a seemingly infinite number of versions of himself and his friends.

Even as he sat there, a woman clanked past the door of his cell. It looked like Wade, but its skin was a metal-grey. A robotic Wade. By her side was a man who looked like Quinn, but was restricted to a wheelchair. It was the Quinn who had greeted him and the others when they were first thrown into Alcatraz Prison.

Wheelchair Quinn bumped against the doorframe, looking gravely at Quinn. "Well, today's the day."

Quinn rubbed some soreness out of his neck. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

"Sorry. You guys are heroes, you know?"

"Heroes? What're you talking about?"

Wheelchair Quinn blinked. "You mean, you don't know? It's all over the news. You guys are the Primes."

"The what?"

"The Primes. That's what makes the Slide Rulers such bigshots. They claim they invented sliding before every other reality, so everyone else is just a branch of their reality. They call themselves the Primes, as in Earth Prime, the original reality. But you guys made your first slide a week before they did, before any other Slider they've found so far. That means you guys are the originals, and they're just the copy. That's why they wanna get rid of you so fast. You're hot stuff."

Quinn closed his eyes, trying to bring his mind back up to speed after a restless night. "We're not Primes. There was another Quinn. He showed me the secret of sliding. He said he'd slid eight times before me."

Wheelchair Quinn's face fell. "Really? Oh, man. That throws things off. I wouldn't go spreading that around if I were you. A lot of people on Slide Ruler World look up to you guys as heroes."

"I'll try not to disappoint." Quinn stretched his arms, working out the kinks, then sighed.

Rembrandt, Wade, and Arturo appeared at the doorway of the cell. They were all yawning and stretching, trying to recover from a dismal night's sleep.

"Mornin', Q-Ball," Rembrandt said in a yawn.

"Morning, Remmy," Quinn said. "How's the leg?"

Rembrandt tapped his thigh which had been shredded by a bullet the day before. "Good as new. That doc knew what he was doin'."

Wade clapped her hands and rubbed her palms together. "So, what's the plan for today?"

Arturo clasped his hands behind his back, leaning back on his heels. "I believe our first order of business should be trying to find a way off this rock and recovering the timer."

Wheelchair Quinn shook his head. "No can do, gang. You guys are goin' on trial in a half an hour. You know what that means."

Rembrandt frowned at him. "No, what?"

"It's pick-up time."

Quinn felt the familiar tingle of static electricity first. Then a blast of air hit him from behind, carrying with it the tang of ozone. Quinn whirled to see his bed and the wall behind it contort, then expand to form a large, swirling black hole in space.

Four men in black armor emerged from the wormhole, accompanied by a flash of light. Their faces were frozen expressions of menace in their goggles and breathing masks. The four men landed on their feet, aiming rifles at Quinn and his companions.

One of the men spoke with a voice modified electronically. "Nobody move. We're here to escort you four to the courtroom. Hands up."

Quinn raised his hands, allowing the guard to snap a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. The other guards snapped the bracelets onto Wade, Arturo and Rembrandt. When they were all secured, the guard motioned towards the wormhole with his gun.

Quinn began to troop towards it. Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt were walking behind him. All their eyes were locked on the weapons the four guards were holding. Quinn wondered briefly if he could grab the guns from them without getting himself or one of the others shot in the process. Quinn didn't think so.

Wheelchair Quinn kept his hands up, grinning as the others were led away. "Hang in there, guys. We're all with you."

Quinn looked past him to see that all the other Sliders in the Alcatraz prison were watching them go. A Conrad Bennish wearing a tuxedo, a Quinn Mallory with green eyes, a Wade Welles wearing a suit of armor, along with a sea of duplicates of people Quinn knew and loved were watching them being led away. They waved to the Sliders being taken away. Some of them were crying.

Quinn looked forward again to face the dark wormhole the guards had placed in front of them. He stepped into it, feeling the tingle coming over him, then felt his body slide forward into the tunnel that led to their new dimension.

*

Quinn walked down the same white corridor, isolated from a vast control room they passed, to another room with a number on it. The guard beside him opened the door to expose a small, plain room on the other side.

The only furnishing in the room was a table and five chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was a smiling man in a grey suit.

The man smiled up at Quinn, extending a hand. "Ross J. Kelley, at your service."

Quinn shook the hand with his manacled hands. "I know. We've met."

Kelley shook hands with the others as he said, "Yes, from what I understand I'm a lawyer on quite a few worlds."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "You've worked for us a few times."

Kelley sat down and opened a briefcase. "Well, I'll be working with you again. Please, have a seat."

Quinn glanced back at the guards, who closed and locked the door of the room behind them. Then Quinn sat down in one of the chairs, feeling it creak beneath him as he settled in. The others sat down beside him, facing Kelley.

Kelley shuffled through a stack of papers. "Now, I'll be your defender for your trial today. I won't lie to you. It doesn't look good. The FBIC has been monitoring your slides for several months, and have a mountain of evidence against you."

Wade placed her hands on the desk. "But there's gotta be something you can do. I mean, this isn't fair. We didn't do anything wrong."

Kelley placed the papers in a neat row in front of him. "I believe that, Miss Welles, I really do. And I'm not alone. But these are very difficult times. The FBIC has created a panic among the American people, convincing them that Sliders are a danger to the multiverse. As long as they have the support of the people, these witch hunts will continue. I've defended thousands of Sliders, and I haven't won a case yet."

Rembrandt leaned back in his chair. "Great. That makes me feel a whole lot better."

Kelley grinned at him. "Now, Mr. Brown, don't give up hope. My motto is 'I'll fight for you,' and I mean it. I'm going to try to take a new direction this time. I think we have a good chance of winning. Your status as Primes gives us some leeway. And if I can win this case, it could free every Slider out there."

Quinn closed his eyes. His head was swimming with everything that had happened to them in the last twenty-four hours, and there didn't seem to be any end in sight. He and his friends had no control over their future. Their lives were in the hands of this one man, who had been a friend and an enemy on many worlds. A fleeting thought came to him that perhaps Kelley was just a plant, as much in league with the Slide Rulers as all the other people he had seen in this world so far. In that case, they had no hope at all.

But just as he considered this, the door opened. One of the armored guards stood in the doorway, his black lenses glaring down at them.

"It's time," the guard said.

The massive doors of the courtroom swung open on grinding hinges. Quinn walked through the widening doorway, fear tingling in his stomach as he entered a vast chamber. By his side were Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt. Wade was close enough to Quinn for him to feel her arm trembling against his.

Surrounding them were four men in black armor, holding rifles. They walked in unison as they led Quinn and the others into the courtroom.

Facing them was a large platform where five men in black robes were seated. They watched Quinn and his friends enter the courtroom with blank expressions.

Quinn walked past one of the large windows in the room, and thought he could hear screaming and chanting. He looked out to see the street outside the courthouse.

An enormous crowd was filling the entire road. People were waving signs that read things like "Save The Primes," and "Sliders Must Live." The crowd was being held back by rows of policemen.

Then Quinn was led away from the window again.

A bailiff stood in one corner of the courtroom, calling out, "Next case, People vs. Quinn Mallory#94828, Maximillian Arturo#32914, Wade Welles#62311, and Rembrandt Brown#1249."

Quinn was led to the front of the chamber and made to stand, side-by-side with his companions, in front of the bench.

The judge in the center spoke. "Mallory, Arturo, Welles, and Brown, you have been charged with interdimensional travel without a license, and multiple counts of tampering with alternate realities. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Quinn said.

"Not guilty," Wade said.

"Not guilty," Rembrandt said.

"Not guilty," Arturo said.

The judge nodded and wrote something down in a notebook. "Very well. The defendants may be seated."

Ross J. Kelley led Quinn to a table on the right side of the courtroom with five chairs. Quinn and the others sat down, the metal chairs squealing beneath them.

The lead judge finished writing and nodded at the woman sitting in the table on the left side of the courtroom. "Prosecutor Clark, you may begin your opening statement."

A woman with black, curly hair stood up from the second desk.

"Marcia Clark," Kelley whispered to Quinn. "The lead prosecutor on the Slider Trials. Boy, they pulled out the big guns for you guys."

Marcia Clark came out from behind her desk. "Thank you, your honors. Ladies and gentlemen, I have very little to say regarding this trial. These three men and one woman violated the multiverse with their travels, corrupting whole worlds with their presence. I have evidence of their crimes that stretches across an entire year. There is no doubt as to their guilt."

Clark glared at Kelley, sitting next to Quinn. "My colleague will not question this. But he will try to confuse the court with moral issues, trying to gain the court's sympathy, hoping to exchange one crime for another. In the end, he will fail, as he has many times before."

"Miss Clark," one of the judges said, "please refrain from personal attacks in your opening statement."

Clark flashed the judge a smile. "Of course. My apologies, your honor. I merely wished to draw attention to the fact that these trials have been in progress for almost six months, and no sentence has been overturned. They cannot be overturned. Because what we are doing is what must be done, no matter what the Preservationists say. Thank you."

"Mr. Kelley," the lead judge said, "your opening statement."

Kelley stood up. "Your honor, this trial is a sham, a kangaroo court, and a mockery of justice. These people have done nothing wrong, only violated laws that we have tried to enforce on worlds where they are unaware of our existence. How can we charge these people with a crime that we invented? That is what I intend to prove, and it is my hope that our victory will put an end to these interdimensional witchhunts the FBIC has created. Thank you."

"Prosecutor," the lead judge said, "you may begin your case."

Marcia Clark pushed a button on her desk, bringing a large screen down from the ceiling. Then she held up a folder filled with papers, walking towards the bench.

"Your honor," Clark said, "I would like to submit these documents to be marked as Exhibits A1 through G17. They are excerpts from a record compiled by the FBIC on the four defendants and their exploits throughout the last year."

Clark set the folder down on the bench and handed out papers to each of the judges. "I believe the defense has copies of this already."

Kelley fished out a folder from his briefcase. "I do, your honors."

Quinn leaned over to him, whispering, "Mind if I see that?"

Kelley nodded and slipped the papers to Quinn. He flipped through them. It was an incredibly complete profile of him, Wade, Rembrandt, and Arturo, including photos, biographies, and a list of every world they had visited from Hippie World to this one.

"Where did they get this?" Quinn whispered to Kelley.

"The FBIC is very resourceful," Kelley whispered back. "They have cameras and monitoring stations in every known dimension, as well as an extensive network of spies. They also have a system that can detect and chart the disruptions to space-time that ERP Bridges create."

Clark returned to her desk, leafing through her copies of the notes. "First, I would like to draw attention to the fact that there is no record of any permits being issued to the defendants granting them permission to travel through other dimensions. This is a clear violation of the McArthur Act of 1995, demanding a penalty of life imprisonment. This is undeniable proof of their charges of sliding without licenses. But that goes without saying."

Clark tapped buttons on a keypad on her desk. "I would now like to address the more serious charges of tampering with alternate realities. As the court is well-aware, this is expressly forbidden, even to sliders with Level Three permits. Violation of this rule carries a mandatory sentence of judicial banishment. These defendants have over fifty individual charges between them. A complete list is in Exhibit D4, page 192, but I felt that highlighting one charge for each of them would be sufficient."

The screen above the courtroom lit up with a grainy photo of Rembrandt in a flashy purple suit. He was standing before a huge sign covered in flashing lights. The photo looked like it had been taken by hidden camera, since Rembrandt was looking away from the lens, towards the crowds of screaming fans.

"April 19, 1995," Clark said. "The defendants visited the universe designated World HPI-8315. There, Rembrandt Brown was a celebrated rock singer who had disappeared several decades before. Brown#1249, the defendant, tried to replace his double, going so far as to make public appearances and appear on-stage in a concert, posing as his duplicate."

Clark pushed a button that caused the photo on the screen to change. This one showed Arturo pouring ladles of watery fluid into bowls outstretched to him by a sickly crowd.

"March 3, 1995," Clark said. "The defendants visited the universe designated World FRV-1124, which the contained an Earth devastated by a virulent plague. However, the human population survived. That's because Maximillian Arturo#32914, our defendant, gave them the secret of antibiotics by mixing up some penicillin."

Clark pushed the button again, calling up a new photo of Wade. This showed her walking beside Rembrandt into a nightclub called the Top Hat Nightclub.

"April 5, 1996," Clark said, "where the defendants slid into the universe designated World ARK-0692. This is the 87th world where martial law was declared in the U.S. Here, Welles#62311 interfered with a murder investigation, something that had nothing to do with her or the other defendants. Besides orchestrating the release of a political prisoner, she was responsible for releasing an unabridged copy of the Constitution over the Internet, resulting in a violent overthrow of the American government."

Somewhere, a slide projector clicked as a new photo was brought onscreen, this time of Quinn. It showed him running from a warehouse with a blond woman in tow. He was headed for a wormhole.

"And now we come," Clark said, "to the most blatant violation of all. Quinn Mallory#94828 entered a world filled with violence and helped a young woman escape her abusive boyfriend. He did this by taking her with him through the Bridge to another world."

A murmur rose up among the judges.

"Your honors," Clark said, "you're all well-aware that transporting an individual from his or her native dimension into another is a clear violation of the McArthur Act, something even Level Eight sliders are forbidden to do. And this is not the last time this was done."

Clark switched off the projector with a flourish. "As you can see, these four defendants have committed gross crimes against the multiverse over and over again in their travels. They have altered world after world to fit their own narrow world-view. To allow them to continue would be to invite chaos. To allow them to live would tell the world that such acts are permissible. We must end their reign of terror to make an example to others. The prosecution rests."

D.A. Clark sat down as Kelley rose to his feet.

"Your honors," he said, "I would like to begin by questioning, as I always have, the logic of punishing people for something that is only a crime in our dimension."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," one of the judges said.

Kelley nodded. "As you've said before, but I think in this case there are grounds for dismissal. I'd like to use the prosecution's own evidence, Exhibit A1. The FBIC has determined that their first slide took place on March 22, 1995. Our Dr. Mallory announced his discovery of sliding on March 29th. The McArthur Act was passed on April 14th. That means that the defendants began their interdimensional travels a full three weeks prior to it becoming a crime. How could they be expected to comply with a law that did not exist when they committed the alleged crime?"

Clark stood. "Your honors, I would like to point out that the FBIC is basing the date of the defendants' first slide on estimates. There is no concrete evidence that it took place prior to our own."

Quinn raised a hand. "Actually, that is when..."

Marcia Clark glared at him. "Objection, your honor, the defendants are not allowed to speak in their own defense."

"Sustained," the third judge said. "Mr. Mallory, you will remain silent."

Kelley pointed at Quinn. "But your honors, I can have testimony from Mr. Mallory that they slid on the 22nd..."

"Which proves nothing," Clark snapped. "The calendars of other dimensions are inadmissible, due to variations in timekeeping from world to world. The only calendar that matters in this court of law is our own."

"That's ridiculous," Wade whispered.

"Sustained," the first judge said. "Defense, you may proceed."

Kelley pressed his palms together, then began to pace. "All right, I'll continue to my next point. The fact that they slid prior to the passing of the McArthur Act is a matter of debate. But the fact that they continued violating the act cannot be blamed on them. The defendants are Nomads, your honors, members of the group who damaged their guidance systems during one of their slides, except these lost theirs on the first slide. They only traveled from world to world in the hopes of returning home."

"Your honors," Clark said, "the defendants would have continued sliding, regardless of whether they returned home or not."

Kelley stopped pacing to point at her. "That's a matter of intent. We can't judge what they *might* have done. Only what they *did.* And what they did, over and over again, was seize every opportunity to return home."

Kelley faced the bench. "Your honors, my final argument is that we cannot judge those from other dimensions with our own. How can we condemn these people for altering worlds to their own standards when we condemn them for not adhering to ours? They did what they did to survive in an ever-changing environment. But what we're doing is nothing short of tyrannizing the multiverse. The defense rests."

Kelley sat down and squeezed Quinn's arm. Quinn couldn't help grinning. In this case, Kelley had proved himself an excellent lawyer.

The judges looked at each other and began to whisper amongst themselves.

"How did I do?" Kelley whispered.

"You did great, Mr. Kelley," Wade whispered back.

"Indeed," Arturo murmured. "I daresay I could not have put it better myself."

Rembrandt watched the judges with narrowed eyes. "Just hope they see it the way we do."

The judges faced forward again, switching on their microphones.

"We'll soon find out," Quinn said.

"We have reached a verdict," the first judge said. "On the charges of illegal interdimensional travel and tampering with alternate realities, we find Quinn Mallory#94828, Maximillian Arturo#32914, Wade Welles#62311, and Rembrandt Brown#1249 guilty on all counts."

"What?" Wade screamed.

She rose out of her chair, but the guard behind her grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back into her seat.

The first judge clasped his hands over his desk. "While we sympathize with the plight of the defendants, we must again repeat our statement that the moral aspects of these trials are irrelevant. The crime of illegal sliding must be stopped, and we will not allow semantics or political posturing to affect that."

The fourth judge pulled off his horn-rimmed glasses. "And regardless of whether these people were aware of the laws we created, there are moral laws that are universal. And changing the flow of other worlds to suit your own is so obvious that it need not be written down to be acknowledged. Ignorance of the law cannot and must not be used as a defense in these courts."

Quinn closed his eyes. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let it all end without taking some active role. He needed to speak for himself and the others.

Quinn leaned over to Kelley and whispered in his ear. "Can I say something?"

Kelley nodded and rose to his feet. "Your honors, Mallory#94828 wishes to make a statement."

The judges looked at each other, then nodded.

"Very well," the first judge said. "You may proceed, Mr. Mallory."

Quinn rose to his feet, the chains on his wrists clinking softly with his movements. "Your honors...I know my friends and I have done some things that you may consider wrong. But we were only trying to survive, and in some cases improve the lives of those we saw around us. Yes, we took people from their worlds. Yes, we gave some people the Constitution and penicillin and nuclear weapons and fire. But those people were suffering, and they needed something we had. If you see someone dying of thirst, you give them a drink of water. If you see someone dying of hunger, you give them food. *Those* are moral laws that are universal. It's easy to sit here and say what we should've done, but unless you were there, you can never know for sure."

Quinn looked down at Wade, who was smiling up at him. Arturo was nodding in agreement. Rembrandt gave him a thumbs-up.

Quinn looked back up at the judges again. "Your honors, over the past year, we've done many things. But the thing we wanted to do, more than anything, was go home. You people have the power to do that. If you send us home, I promise to destroy the technology of sliding, and you'll never hear from us again. Please."

The judges looked at each other. An unspoken message passed between them. When they faced forward again, their expressions were grim.

"Request denied," the first judge said. "Mallory, Arturo, Welles, Brown, you are hereby sentenced to judicial banishment. The sentence will be carried out immediately."

The judge picked up his gavel and slammed it down on the bench, the crack echoing through the expansive chamber.

Quinn listened to the rap of the gavel as it echoed through the courtroom. It faded away, along with their hopes of survival.

Wade was on her feet. "You're not killing us without a fight!"

The armored guards surrounding the courtroom dropped to one knee in unison, aiming their rifles at her and the others. Their guns gave off a series of clicks as the safeties were disengaged.

"Miss Welles," one of the four judges said, "we are not killing you. We are banishing you to another world where you have a hope of survival."

"Yeah?" Rembrandt yelled, "well, we heard about that hope of survival, and it ain't worth squat! This is a death sentence, an' you know it!"

"Regardless," the judge said, "you have a choice. You can either submit to being banished or you can fight us and die here for certain."

Wade held up her handcuffs. "This isn't fair! We didn't do anything wrong!"

Quinn heard Marcia Clark murmur, "I thought we already established that."

Wade apparently heard her, too, because she shot her an angry glare. "Oh, shut up."

"Miss Welles," the second judge said in a booming voice. "We gave you a choice. Either submit or die. What will it be?"

Wade closed her eyes. Quinn thought he saw a glimmer at the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away, fiercely. When she opened her eyes, they were red, fixed on the judges with pure hatred.

"Okay," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "You win."

Outside the courthouse, the streets were ringing with the voices of the crowds. They had been silent prior to the reading of the verdict, but erupted when the sentence had passed. Some were cheering and laughing. Others were jeering and hurling insults. All were pressing against the row of policemen that kept them away from the doors of the courthouse.

One person was silent. He was glaring up at the doors of the courthouse, fingering an object in his coat pocket. He looked at someone else in the crowd who gave him a slight nod. That was the signal.

He began to walk towards the row of policemen. Others in the crowd were moving forward with him. He reached one of the policemen at the same time as the others did.

He pulled out the grenade in his pocket and pulled the pin. Just as the policeman reached towards him to halt his progress, he dropped the grenade. He closed his eyes.

"All right..." the policeman started.

The grenade exploded in a flash of light, pouring out smoke into the air. The man pulled on the mask he had hidden under his coat, allowing him to breathe. Even through it, he could smell the acrid gas of the smoke grenade. The policemen were doubled-over, coughing and choking, as they were overcome by the gas.

Other grenades were going off around him as the rest of his team sprang into action. The crowds were screaming and pulling back. The man allowed himself to be jostled as he pulled his rifle out of his coat, then shoved past the choking policemen. He was past them, running up the steps of the courthouse with the others towards where the Primes were being taken.

As he ran, the man pulled a square device out of his pocket. He pressed a button on it as he aimed the device ahead of him. Sparks flew from exposed wires on the device as it was activated.

A wormhole swirled into existence in front of him, rippling with light. The man charged into it, along with his companions, and disappeared.

*

The doorway materialized, allowing Quinn to step through it into a metal chamber he had come to recognize. It was where these people created their wormholes, isolated to prevent escape. There were no doors or windows. The only way in or out was through a wormhole created by the guards. Quinn moved further into the room, followed by Wade.

She was glaring at the floor. He could tell she was desperately trying to think of a plan of escape. So was he, but so far he couldn't think of any. The guards kept their guns trained on him and the others at all times. Quinn knew the slightest sign of aggression would be met with deadly force. They had already shot Rembrandt in the leg. Quinn didn't think they'd be so generous next time.

And even if they were, Quinn's hands were bound by handcuffs. He couldn't fight back with them on. If it weren't for them and the constant attention of the guards, Quinn thought maybe there was a chance of escape. But with those two factors, there was none.

There were only two other people in the room with them. One was a man in a white labcoat. The other was a thin man with piercing grey eyes. Quinn recognized him from the TV show they'd seen last night.

Director Lucas Blanc, the head of the Federal Bureau of Interdimensional Control. Quinn's double had told him Blanc attended every banishment. It looked like theirs was no exception. There was a dead expression on Blanc's face as he watched Quinn, Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt being led into the room.

When the guards were in the room with them, the man in the labcoat raised a clipboard. "Mallory#94828, Arturo#32914, Welles#62311, and Brown#1249, you have been sentenced to immediate judicial banishment to World GGI-5627. The sentence will be carried out now."

Quinn looked up at the camera mounted on the ceiling above them. It was connected to a live broadcast of the execution on CourtTV. Quinn spoke to the people he knew were watching.

"How can you sit there and let this kind of thing go on?" Quinn yelled. "You people can stop this! It isn't right!"

Director Blanc spoke in a deep voice. "Do the fat one first."

The guards moved towards Arturo.

"No!" Quinn lunged towards them. One of the guards stepped into his path. It was then that Quinn remembered his handcuffs. He was unable to free his hands to stop the butt of the rifle that was driven into his stomach. Quinn's gut flashed with pain as he doubled-over, trying to draw in breath.

Rembrandt and Wade tried to fight as well, but the guards pinned them to the wall. The three of them could only watch as more guards seized Arturo. He screamed, kicking wildly at the men, his teeth bared, as they dragged him forward.

"Unhand me, you ruffians!" Arturo bellowed. "I swear you shall rue the day you met Professor Maximillian Arturo!"

One of the guards aimed his rifle at the wall and pulled the trigger. Instead of a bullet, a beam of transparent energy lanced out of the barrel. The air turned greasy as the wall collapsed on itself into a swirling, black portal. The roar from its depths was deafening in the small room. Winds ripped at Quinn, pulling him towards the hole in space.

The guards hauled back and threw Arturo into the portal. He vanished into it with a flash of light.

"No!" Quinn screamed, rising to his feet.

Director Blanc nodded at him. "Mallory next."

The guards moved towards him.

A siren wailed somewhere outside the chamber as a voice yelled, "Code Red! Code Red! Intruders have entered the base! Security breach in sector 17! Repeat, all security to sector 17!"

Blanc looked up. "What?"

Quinn heard a soft click. Then his hands were free. He looked back to see his handcuffs fall off his wrists onto the floor. The guards were too busy, looking around them in confusion. Now was his chance.

Quinn lunged at the nearest guard. The man looked at him with his black lenses, startled, then brought his rifle up. Too late. Quinn drove a fist into the guard's face-mask. The guard staggered back at the impact. It was enough of a distraction for Quinn to wrench the rifle from the guard's hands.

Quinn aimed it at Director Blanc. "Nobody move!"

Blanc's eyes widened at the sight of the gun aimed at him. The other guards in the room froze.

"You're bluffing," Blanc snarled. "You don't even know how to use that thing."

"Maybe," Quinn said. "But do you wanna try me and find out for sure?"

Rembrandt and Wade looked down at their wrists. The handcuffs had fallen off of them, too.

"Hey," Rembrandt said, "what gives?"

"Who cares," Quinn said. "Wade, Remmy, get their guns. Keep the director covered."

Rembrandt snatched the rifle out of the hands of the nearest guard and aimed it at Director Blanc. Wade did the same, grabbing a rifle and using the muzzle to pin one of its former owners to the wall.

"Just try something, pal," Wade snarled.

Quinn sidled across the room, towards the still open wormhole. Its rumble grew louder as static electricity began to tickle his skin. The wind were pushing him away with hurricane force.

"Where you going,?" Wade asked.

"After the professor," Quinn yelled over the noise.

He dove into the wormhole, vanishing with a flash of light. *

Quinn exploded out of the wormhole. His first breath nearly choked him with a lungful of thick, putrid air. He landed in a pool of mud that burned his exposed skin wherever it touched.

The ground stretched before him, a sea of mud that bubbled, giving off fingers of smoke. It was raining thick, black droplets from a sky that lanced with bolts of lightning. Thunder rumbled from the horizon, where volcanoes spewed clouds of smoke into the air.

Quinn stood up uneasily on the slippery surface of the Earth. The rain droplets stung wherever they hit his face. And it was hard to breathe. His lungs were fighting him, straining to avoid taking in the humid, foul air. He knew that the judges were wrong, and his double had been right. No one could survive in this world for more than a few minutes, much less for any kind of life.

Quinn turned in place, scanning the hilly terrain around him. "Professor! Professor, where are you?"

A thin voice rose up behind him. "Quinn? Is that you, my boy?"

Quinn spun and ran up the hill behind him, struggling to climb up the slimy incline. When he reached the top, Quinn looked down on Arturo. He was huddled under a slab of rock that jutted out of the mud, his clothes and face smeared. His face and arms were red with burns.

Arturo looked up at him with red eyes. "Well...it seems this is our new home, eh, Mr. Mallory?"

Quinn slid down the incline and grabbed his hand. "No, it's not, professor. Come on. We're getting out of here."

"What?"

"Just follow me! Hurry!" Quinn ran up the hill, Arturo hurrying after him towards the swirling black vortex they had left behind. His breathing was growing labored as he exerted himself, but he kept going.

It didn't take long before Arturo was running alongside him, then past him. He took a running jump into the wormhole, and Quinn followed him into hyperspace.

*

They popped out, back into the banishment chamber. Wade and Rembrandt were still keeping their rifles trained on Blanc and his men. Arturo was lying beside Quinn, gasping as he breathed in the fresh air. Quinn took a few moments as well, trying to recover from the poisoning they had both endured.

"You okay?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Arturo nodded. "Yes. It seems you recovered me from that odious world just in time."

Quinn pushed himself up off the floor, grinning at Rembrandt. "Everything okay in here?"

Rembrandt pointed in a corner. "More than okay. We got ourselves a new friend."

Quinn followed his finger to where he was pointing. Five more people were in the chamber, all with rifles aimed at the guards and Director Blanc. All of them wore long, grey trenchcoats. One of them was wearing dark glasses, his grinning face framed by long, black hair.

"Conrad Bennish?" Quinn asked.

Conrad Bennish let go of his gun to give Quinn a peace sign. "Hey, dude. Welcome to the party."

Quinn gaped at him. "Conrad? What're you doing here?"

Bennish kept his rifle trained on Director Blanc as he said, "We're the cavalry, man. Here to rescue you from a most unsavory fate."

Wade nodded at him. "He arrived a few seconds after you left. Helped us nail these guys."

"Bennish," Blanc snarled. "I should've known you were behind this."

Bennish gave him an exaggerated bow as he backed away. "Sorry we can't stay and chat, man, but we got places to see, people to save. Lady and gentlemen, let's bid this place a fond adieu."

He pulled a chunky device out of his coat pocket and pressed a button on its face. The device gave off a burst of sparks, then lashed out with a beam that formed a swirling blue tunnel in the air. The blast of air that came out of it pulled Quinn towards its glowing interior.

"Everybody inside!" Bennish yelled. "I can't hold it open for long!"

Arturo ran for the wormhole. Rembrandt came up behind him, backing away from Director Blanc, keeping his rifle trained on him. Arturo vanished into the tunnel in a blast of light and air, followed by Rembrandt. Wade charged in after them, fading into oblivion.

Quinn ran for the wormhole.

"You can't get away from us!" Blanc yelled. "We'll find you! You'll regret..."

But Quinn didn't hear the rest, because he was already inside the wormhole.

*

The tunnel was a lot shorter than usual. Quinn found himself sliding into the light of the exit a few seconds after entering it. He sailed through the air, landing on the grimy floor of an alley. He skidded and crashed into the brick wall facing him in the narrow alley. His head collided with it, triggering a flash of pain.

Rembrandt was by his side, helping him up. "Come on, Q-Ball, no time for nappin'. We gotta go."

Quinn steadied himself, then allowed Rembrandt to lead him down the alley to where a black van was waiting. The engine rumbled with power as Quinn ran towards it, joining the calls of Wade and Arturo, who were already inside the van. Behind him, Bennish and his four companions were jumping out of the wormhole.

Quinn climbed into the back of the van. He was shocked to see it was crammed with electrical equipment that hummed softly. An Asian woman was sitting at a console, punching buttons.

"Great," she said. "You made it. A few more seconds, and I couldn't have held the Bridge open any longer."

Bennish climbed into the back of the van with them and dragged the door shut. "Okay, Lily, shut it down. Greg, punch it."

Lily flicked switches that caused the equipment to slow to a low whine. As she did so, the van lurched forward, its tires squealing as it pulled out of the alley.

Quinn looked at the equipment in the cramped van with them. It all looked familiar to him, although very different from what he knew, but he recognized it.

"It's a sliding machine," Quinn said. "You guys have a sliding machine."

Bennish grinned as he shrugged off his coat. "Only way in or outta that place is through an ERP Bridge. Lucky we managed to get enough juice off the car-battery to get in and take us here to pull it off."

Arturo rubbed his sore face, wincing. "Who are you gentlemen?"

"Hang on." Bennish leaned forward to the front of the van. "Hey, gimme that first-aid kit, will ya?"

The man in the passenger seat handed a small white box back to him. Bennish tossed it to Arturo.

"Better take care o' those burns, dude," he said.

"Thank you." Arturo opened the first-aid kit and unscrewed a tube of antibacterial ointment. "I am in a sorry state of affairs."

Bennish leaned on his rifle. "Okay, here's the skinny. Me and my compadres are members of the Preservationist movement. We believe in the sanctity of the multiverse and that sliding is wrong. We also believe that the executions which the FBIC is engaging in is immoral and totally bogus. So we decided to make an example o' you guys and set you free."

Arturo held out a hand. "Now, let me get this straight, Mr. Bennish. You organized this entire escape? You arranged to have our handcuffs come off? You set up this sliding machine?"

Bennish squatted on the floor of the van, gesturing in the air. "Well, sort of. I mean, the smoke grenades we used to get close enough to the banishment chambers so we could rescue you guys...that was our idea. But, uh, actually..."

Bennish looked up at Lily, who shrugged.

"Actually," Bennish said, "we were hoping you could fill us in on the rest. We found all this equipment outside our headquarters this morning, along with a note that said how to operate it and get past the security fields. Bridge generators...what you call sliding machines...they don't come easy, you know. We got a death sentence on our heads just for having it. And we didn't even know about the handcuffs."

"Okay," Rembrandt said, "so if you guys didn't help us out, who did?"

Lily shrugged.

Arturo raised an eyebrow. "It seems we have a mysterious benefactor."

"Weird," Wade whispered.

Arturo looked out of a window next to him. Quinn joined him to see the van was driving down a battered and desolate street. Fires burned around which women and children huddled to keep warm. The van passed stores and shops that were boarded-up, abandoned. The van's tires crunched over chunks of concrete littering the road beneath it.

"Good heavens," Arturo said, "what kind of world have you taken us to?"

Bennish stared at him, then looked up at Lily. She shook her head. Bennish looked back at Arturo.

"Nowhere," Bennish said. "The Bridge was just a door to get you outta that place and into the alley where we could pick you up. It's all we could squeeze out of it. We didn't go anywhere. It's the same world."

Arturo turned his head slowly away from the window to stare at him. "The same world? But that's impossible. This world has perfected sliding technology, hasn't it?"

"Sure did," Bennish said.

Arturo sputtered before managing to say, "But I don't understand. This place is a nightmare. If you have the technology of sliding, surely it would improve your standard of living. Food would be more plentiful, gathered from other worlds. With the resources of the multiverse at your disposal, wars and land disputes would cease. Money would..."

Bennish held up a hand. "Hey, hey, hey, I dunno what you been smokin', man, but that's all a crock. SlideTech is the worst thing that ever hit our little chunk o' rock."

Bennish sighed, then said, "Sure, there's worlds where America is an empty breadbasket, where all they gotta do is just harvest the food and bring it here. But the average joe doesn't get any of it. It's a delicacy reserved for the rich. We eat the same crud we've always eaten, only worse, 'cause with all that free food in other worlds, just waitin' to be picked, the American farming industry's gone bankrupt, the way o' the dodo. So we're stuck eatin' leftovers from the salad days."

Lily spoke. "Nothing is manufactured in our world anymore. It's either taken from other worlds or made in worlds where the people will literally work for free. As a result, there are no more jobs here. Unemployment is virtually one hundred percent."

"But technology has improved," Arturo insisted.

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "My double in Alcatraz healed my shot leg like it was a paper cut."

"Sure," Bennish said. "They got cures for everything now, since there's always at least one world out there that beat it. Cancer, AIDS, the aging process...they can all be fixed. If you can afford it. The going rate for cancer pills is one million dollars a bottle."

"But why?" Arturo insisted. "Why charge anything in a world where you have the resources of entire universes?"

"One word, man," Bennish said. "SlideTech. It's the company Mallory founded when he patented ERP Bridge technology. They control every generator in the world, coordinating them in their big computers."

Quinn pointed at him. "That control room we saw back on our way in and out of Alcatraz."

"Bingo."

Lily crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. "SlideTech claims space-time is too fragile to support widescale ruptures from wormholes. They say it needs to be controlled. But the real reason is that they charge a fee for opening wormholes. That raises the price of everything we do with them, and that trickles down to the consumer. Only the rich can afford to benefit from the new resources."

"It's just like always, man," Bennish said. "The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. The rich have it all; fresh food, fresh water, the best in medical and engineering technology from a billion worlds. They've even started migrating to other worlds. Meanwhile, the poor are left out here on this chunk o' dirt to die."

"That's incredible," Wade said.

"Yes," Arturo murmured. "Once again, human nature stands in the way of utopia."

The van lurched as it pulled into the driveway of what looked like an abandoned parking garage. The garage door slid open, allowing the van to drive into a large underground base. People were running around, hauling boxes and equipment as Bennish slid open the door of the van.

"You ain't heard nothin' yet," Bennish said.

*

Quinn climbed out of the back of the van, looking around the interior of the garage. Bennish was jogging away from him, grinning broadly.

"Welcome to Preservationist Central," Bennish said. "Here's where we coordinate our efforts to stop sliding in our world, once and for all. Come on, gang, I wanna show you something."

Quinn followed Bennish through the garage, trying not to choke on the smell of oil and gas that filled the stale air. "Uh, nice place."

Bennish shrugged. "Temporary digs. The FBIC nailed our old HQ."

Quinn passed a group of people making red-lettered posters and signs with things like SLIDERS MUST LIVE and PRESERVE THE MULTIVERSE. Bennish gestured to them, then to where another group was working on cards tacked to a corkboard. The cards listed places and dates, apparently where they were going to stage demonstrations.

"Our goal," Bennish said, "is to end sliding on our world forever. We believe that every dimension is precious and unique, and that by crossing into parallel worlds, we are corrupting them with our presence. We stage protests at major sliding events, bomb sliding stations, and expose the atrocities being committed by the FBIC and other interdimensional control agencies."

He moved to where a third group was marking up a strange map covered with red and green circles.

Conrad Bennish pointed at them. "This here's a map o' all the known worlds in superspace. See those worlds with X's on 'em? Those are worlds that the FBIC is blowing up."

Arturo looked at him, sharply. "Blowing up..."

Bennish pointed at him. "You heard me right, dude. The FBIC is blowing up whole universes. And they have the support o' the people to do it."

Bennish moved on to a small TV set hooked up to a battered VCR. As he talked, he rummaged through a pile of junk. "Okay, it's like this. The FBIC was established by the President Limbaugh himself to monitor all sliding and determine the best course of action for handling it. One o' their jobs is to chart and claim all the different dimensions in superspace for American use. But they discovered a whole bunch o' worlds that are totally dangerous, like worlds with Nazis and World War III and these big gnarly monsters with fangs this long..."

"We get the point, Mr. Bennish," Arturo said. "Pray continue with your little history lesson."

Bennish adjusted his glasses. "Oh, yeah, right. Well, a few months ago, Director Lucas Blanc said some o' these worlds were too dangerous to exist. Said the possibility of them discovering the secret of sliding threatened the entire multiverse, including ours. So they set up a program to incinerate any world that was considered a high risk."

Bennish finally dug out a videotape, blew dust off it, and pushed it into the VCR. "With this."

The television lit up with a shot of a large metal sphere. Bennish hit the pause button. "The FBIC got this little baby from a world where they raised war to an artform. It makes the nuclear bomb look like a firecracker. Somehow, this thing turns the whole world into a kind of supernova, triggering a chain reaction that spreads until it engulfs an entire universe. Once you switch this little doozy on, you might as well kiss your planet good-bye."

"That's monstrous," Arturo said.

Bennish leaned against the TV. "Yeah. Some countries like Israel and Russia are condemning the program. Others, like Europe and Switzerland, are gettin' into the act. That's why we're chartin' all the worlds they destroy. We publish a newsletter listing them, hoping to raise awareness of what a total bummer it is to condemn whole worlds to extinction. But so far, it hasn't done much good."

Wade watched the men and women work on their charts. "How do they get away with doing this?"

Bennish shrugged. "Nobody cares, man. As long as the upper classes get their imported caviar and summer homes in Paradise World, they don't care what the FBIC does. They swallow Blanc's lines about the purity of the multiverse like Roseanne at a hot dog convention. But you ain't seen nothin' yet. Check this out."

Bennish hit fast-forward on the VCR. "Some of our spies got the drop on one o' the government's secret sliding installations. And we got this."

The screen displayed grainy, unsteady footage taken at night. It showed a row of military trucks driving into a swirling black wormhole. Then the footage cut to shots of soldiers loading crates into the back of more trucks.

"There's a war goin' on, man," Bennish said. "The nations of the world are racin' to claim the most profitable worlds. So far, the USA's in the lead because we got Dr. Mallory, but a lotta countries aren't willin' to wait to find their own Paradise Worlds. They're tryin' to take ours by force. So that's why the Feds are stockpilin' weapons and other goodies in other dimensions. Germ warfare, laser weapons, nuclear bombs...World War III's comin', dudes, and this time it's gonna be fought in a million worlds at once. A whole lotta people are gonna die in a whole lotta worlds."

Quinn felt a wave of dizziness as the new information swept over him. "I don't believe this. I...I can't believe my invention has triggered all this..."

Bennish straightened, spreading his hands. "Hey, man, Einstein just came up with an idea for where light comes from, and blew up Hiroshima. You never know where new discoveries can end up."

"Assassinating sliders," Arturo murmured, "wars in other dimensions, destroying whole universes. What the FBIC is doing is so hideous that it defies the imagination. They must be stopped."

Bennish pointed at him. "That's where you guys come in."

"Us?" Wade asked. "How?"

Bennish popped out the tape. "We didn't save you guys for our health, man. You guys gotta get outta this universe. You gotta go back home and tell people what's goin' on in this world. Other worlds have gotta be warned before we get to 'em. So far, our world's the only one we know of with full-scale sliding technology. If another dimension can get up to speed with ours, maybe they can wage a counterattack and stop ours before it's too late."

"All right," Quinn said. "Can you get us home with the equipment in the van?"

Bennish shook his head. "Sorry, dude, that was a one-way trip. Even if we hadn't burned the generator out helpin' you guys escape, it takes mucho power to open a Bridge to another world. More than we could throw together. And even if we could get it, we wouldn't be able to control the slide. Nah, man, we can't do it here."

Bennish strode over to where Lily was waiting. "But we got a plan. There's a bunch of illegal generators operating in San Francisco, helping people sneak out of this world to others. Costs a bundle, but we managed to scrape together enough to pay for four slides. You can use it to get home."

Lily handed Quinn and his friends envelopes that were filled with cash. Bennish followed her by handing them duffel bags.

"These are some spare clothes and other stuff you can use as a disguise. Get dressed. The generator won't be open until tonight so we got some time."

Arturo clapped Bennish on the shoulder. "Well, Mr. Bennish, it seems that I owe you an apology for all those nasty things I've said about you on a myriad of worlds. You have certainly come through in this instance."

Bennish grinned, bobbing his head. "Hey, thanks, man. That means a lot coming from an old guy like you."

Arturo's smile faded. "Now, look here..."

The door of the garage shuddered, drawing silence from everyone in the room. It shook again, obviously being struck by something heavy.

"Open up," a voice roared. "FBIC!"

"Oh, no," Bennish said. "It's a raid. Let's go, everybody! Code Blue! Code Blue!"

The garage came alive as everyone scurried to dismantle equipment and escape into other rooms. Bennish and Lily grabbed Quinn, Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt, and rushed them towards one of the doors. The clatter of footsteps swelled to a deafening roar.

"What's goin' on?" Rembrandt yelled.

"It's the FBIC," Lily said. "They've found us. You can't stay here. You'll be captured for sure."

Lily pressed four yellow cards into Rembrandt's hand. "These are interdimensional immigration cards. You'll need them out there to prove who you are. Be sure to change into your disguises as soon as possible, and keep a low profile."

Bennish stuffed a scrap of paper into Quinn's jacket pocket. "Here's the address of the underground generator. Be there at nine o'clock tonight. Tell 'em you wanna buy six Caribbean mangoes. Go!"

Bennish shoved him forward, then ran back, against the flow of the crowds towards the garage again. Quinn heard a loud crash as the door was broken down. Heavy footsteps filled the garage, along with the crackle of gunfire. Screams began to grow in their wake.

Quinn ran along with the crowds, being jostled and thrown by everyone around him. They were headed towards a door labeled EXIT which was shoved open. Everyone was pouring through onto the street.

They broke through outside the garage. The Preservationists were scattering on the street, headed in different directions. Huge black vans marked FBIC were parked outside, disgorging black-armored troopers. Preservationists ran and tried to dodge the attacks and gunfire of the men.

In the chaos, Quinn, Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt slipped away into an alley. A car had been set on fire by one of the Preservationists. The cloud of acrid smoke rising from it was enough to shield them from view. In a matter of seconds, they were gone. *

Director Lucas Blanc strode into the garage, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat. He cast his gaze over the men and women who were being lined up by his men. Most of them were bleeding or crying or both. He didn't notice, only studying their faces.

He finally halted in front of one of them wearing sunglasses and a mop of curly, black hair. Blanc well-remembered the days when this unkempt youth had slouched in the back of his classroom, twirling gum and bobbing his head in time to heavy metal music. He felt an instinctive hatred for this young man, and knew the feeling was mutual. Blanc suspected his appointment as director of the FBIC was partly responsible for Bennish's foundation of the Preservationist movement.

"Hello, Mr. Bennish," Blanc said. "Long time no see."

Bennish sniffled, nodding. "Yeah. Not long enough."

Blanc's face broke into a thin smile. "You didn't really think you'd get away with taking those Sliders right out from under our nose, did you, Bennish?"

Bennish spread his hands. "Don't look now, man, but we already did. They're not here."

"So I see," Blanc said. "Where are they?"

"Gone, dude. Sent them into another dimension, right after we liberated them from your fascist trial."

"You think I'm a fool, is that it, Mr. Bennish? We've been monitoring the whole city. The space-time displacement we traced to your van was nowhere near strong enough to create an ERP Bridge, and there hasn't been another since the escape. The Primes are still in this dimension, and I know you wouldn't have gone to all this trouble without a plan. You know where the Primes are, and you are going to tell me."

Bennish's grin broadened. "Hey, man, if you think I'm gonna spill the beans that easy, then you got a screw loose somewhere."

"You'll talk. It may take some time and effort, but we will get the answer."

"By then, it'll be too late."

"We'll see. Take them away." Blanc turned away as his men led the Preservationists out of the garage to the waiting vans outside.

Blanc stared into empty space, thinking. He tried to enter the mind of Quinn Mallory, based on what he knew about the Mallory of his world. What would he do? Where would he go? These were questions his agile mind sought to answer.

Assistant Director Randall moved to Director Blanc's side. "What now, sir?"

"The Primes are here," Blanc said. "Somewhere. They know they're not safe in this world. So it's likely that their priority is to get to another parallel universe. That means they'll be headed for an illegal ERP generator. I want every underground sliding station in San Francisco destroyed."

Randall blinked, then swallowed nervously. Blanc could see the wheels turning in his mind. "What about the ones who've paid for a...truce?"

Blanc glared at him. He disliked diplomacy and evasiveness. "You mean the ones who bribed us to look the other way. The truce is over. I want them to be the first to go down. Then I want a call placed to SlideTech. Order them to shut down every Bridge generator in the city until we recapture the Primes."

Randall coughed, trying to hide his discomfort. "That will, uh, take some doing, sir. I mean, that will cost companies all over the world billions of dollars. They won't stand for it lying down. As for Dr. Mallory..."

"I don't care. Just do it. Anyone who puts up a fight will find themselves shut down for sliding violations, permanently. Make sure they know that. I'll handle Mallory."

"Yes, sir." Randall headed for the mobile command center.

Blanc pulled a cellular phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. When the phone was picked up, a familiar voice answered.

"Hello?" the young man asked.

"Hello, Mallory," Blanc said. "It's time to cash in another favor."

*

At an abandoned gas station, Quinn stepped out of the men's room. Though the pumps had obviously been left to rot years ago, the smell of gasoline was still thick as he inhaled. His breath disturbed the mustache glued onto his upper lip, and Quinn pressed it down to make sure it was on tight. The glue Bennish had included with their disguise kit wasn't top-quality, but it would do for the time being.

Rembrandt stepped out after him. He was wearing some of the new clothes Bennish had given them; a ratty coat to replace his black leather jacket, and a stocking cap. He also wore glasses and had shaved off his mustache.

Rembrandt rubbed his bare upper lip with a finger. "Man, it's been a while since I ditched the ol' 'stache. Hard to get used to."

Rembrandt pulled his cap lower over his eyes. "But, hey, if it's a choice between the mustache and gettin' caught by those interplanetary nazis, I say bring on the Bic."

Arturo came out behind him, trying to adjust the raincoat Bennish had given them. He glared at Rembrandt from under a grey-haired wig, rubbing his now smooth face.

"Well, I beg to differ, Mr. Brown," Arturo said. "A razor had not touched those proud whiskers for over a decade. Many a young lady ran her delicate fingers over those well-trimmed fibers. Now, all I have are the memories."

Quinn looked in the reflective glass of a battered gas pump, double-checking the mustache and beard he had glued onto his face. In it, he also saw the long, red-haired wig he had on his scalp.

"You read the note Bennish gave us," Quinn said. "Shaving off or putting on a mustache and beard is one of the easiest ways to change your appearance."

Rembrandt grinned at Arturo. "Yeah, man, he was right. I barely recognize you."

Arturo looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, and I you. Still, even though removing my facial hair was a noble sacrifice, it is an action I am eager to correct."

Quinn brushed down his Hawaiian shirt. "Don't worry, Remmy, you won't have to for long. As soon as we're off this world, you can grow it back."

Wade stepped out of the ladies' room. Her usual shirt and jeans were replaced by a flowery dress. When she turned her head to look at the others, her new blonde wig moved with her, the long waist-length hair swinging in response.

She spread her hands. "How do I look?"

Rembrandt grinned. "Like Heidi."

Wade let her arms drop, grimacing. "I feel like an idiot in this getup."

"We all have to make sacrifices, Miss Welles," Arturo said.

Wade clasped her hands behind her back and sauntered towards him. "So I see. Never thought we'd get you to shave off those whiskers."

Arturo drew himself up straighter. "On the contrary. I pride myself on my adaptability."

Rembrandt clapped his hands. "Okay, where to now?"

"We'd better stay off the streets until nightfall," Quinn said. "We'll need someplace to stay."

Wade pointed at him. "Hey, what about your double's?"

Arturo shook his head. "Absolutely not. We don't know what Mr. Mallory's duplicate is like in this world. He could turn us in."

"Yeah," Rembrandt murmured as he looked up at the smoggy sky. "Anybody who'd let the world turn into this ain't somebody I'd wanna meet in a dark alley."

"Agreed. I think it would be wise to avoid all our doubles."

Quinn nodded. "Then I guess we'd better find a hotel."

*

They normally stayed at the Dominion, but Wade pointed out that if the FBIC had watched them as closely as they claimed, then they would be looking for them there. So Quinn chose a hotel completely at random after walking several more blocks to cover their tracks.

It was called the Grand Avenue Hotel, but in reality it was a broken-down wreck that carried few traces of the majesty it once bore. Quinn pushed through the door that hung off its hinges into the water-stained lobby.

Arturo cast his eyes around the room, his forehead wrinkled with distaste. "I cannot get over what this world has become. You'd think sliding technology would improve things here."

Rembrandt rubbed the marks left on his wrists by the handcuffs. "Remember what Bennish said. If the rich can go to all those other planets, why bother stayin' in a dump like this? And with all that unemployment, the poor can't afford to stay here either."

A round clerk was sitting behind the front desk, reading a magazine called Sliding. He looked up and widened his eyes as Quinn approached.

"Customers," he whispered, then dropped his magazine in his haste to get up. He made a vain attempt to wipe off some of the dust on his desk, then put up a broad smile. "Good afternoon. Welcome to the Dominion Hotel."

Quinn searched the clerk's face for signs of recognition. If he did recognize them as the escaped Sliders, he didn't show it. Quinn put up a smile.

"Hi," Quinn said. "Uh, we'd like a room for the afternoon. Four beds."

"Yes, sir." The clerk unhooked a key off the wall and held it out to him. "That'll be thirty dollars."

"Thirty dollars?" Rembrandt asked. "For a few hours?"

The clerk shrugged, keeping up his smile. "Sorry, I gotta make my money where I can."

Quinn gathered the money from the others. They had compared the money Bennish had given them to their own, and found only minor differences. The clerk took it without comment.

When it was in the cash register, the clerk gestured towards a small metal plate. "Now all I need is your yellow cards and thumbprints."

Quinn glanced back at the others. Wade shrank back a little bit.

The clerk's smile dropped a little. "There's nothing to worry about, folks. It's just a precaution for the FBIC. With those escaped Sliders running around, I guess we can't be too careful about checking for norms."

Rembrandt forced a smile. "Yeah, uh, right."

They all passed the forged yellow cards Bennish had given them to Quinn. Their photos were on them already, altered to match their disguises. Quinn tried not to let his hands shake as he passed them to the clerk.

The man ran them through a scanner. After a moment, the scanner beeped and he grinned. "Great. All I need now are your thumbprints, and you can go up to your room. Room 42, second floor."

Quinn took the key he handed him, then pressed his thumb on the inkpad to transfer the print onto a card. The others followed him, one by one, pressing their prints onto the cards the clerk gave them.

As they headed to the stairs, the clerk waved. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Bennish. You, too, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Compton."

As they headed up the stairs, Quinn sighed. "That was close. Let's just hope we get out of here before he sends those fingerprints to the FBIC."

Rembrandt looked at Wade with a grin. "Mrs. Bennish?"

Wade smirked. "Only in his dreams."

*

Arturo walked into their hotel room, then began stomping violently at something in a corner. When he finally stopped, panting, he scraped off the sole of his shoe on a chair. "Our palatial estate awaits."

The minute Quinn stepped into their room, he yanked off his wig. "Man, this thing itches."

Wade pulled off hers and tossed it onto a ratty armchair. "Try this one on for size. It weighs a ton."

Rembrandt flopped onto the bed. "Oh, man. I am beat."

"And hungry," Wade said. "Wonder if this place has room service."

Arturo found a small refrigerator in a corner and opened it to find a bottle of scotch and six packets of cheese and crackers. He pulled them out and dumped them on the dresser.

"I think not," Arturo said, "but I believe this is our version of an honor bar."

Quinn tore open one of the packets as Wade flicked on a television in a corner of the room. As the screen glowed into life, Wade frowned at a card mounted on the TV that read "We Have SLIDETV."

"What's that mean?" Wade asked.

A swirling wormhole appeared on the screen, accompanied by orchestral music. The wormhole got closer and closer to the camera, finally engulfing it. From its depths, the word SLIDETV emerged in slanted lettering.

"You're watching SLIDETV," an announcer said. "Bringing you entertainment from the most entertaining worlds. Remember, alternate reality is better than fiction."

A listing swirled onto the screen with times listed next to a series of titles.

"Coming at one o'clock," the announcer said, "it's another hour of danger and excitement from Spy World, the world where James Bond is real. Then at two, it's more laughs from that America filled with zany comedy, Wacky World. At two-thirty, the best golfers in the multiverse compete for cash and prizes in Golf World, the world of eternal golf courses. And at three, the finest chefs of Gourmet World bring you their special brand of delicious meals. But first, it's more heartwrenching drama from the home of Juliet Robinson in Misery World."

Quinn forgot about the cracker in his mouth as tinny music joined the appearance of the words "Misery World" in fancy script on the screen.

A black-and-white image replaced it. It was grainy and shot from overhead, aimed into a living room. A woman was paced the floor, wiping tears from her eyes. A man entered the room, his face grim.

"Julie," he said, "what's wrong?"

"My mother," Juliet whispered. "She's in the hospital. She was hit by a hit-and-run driver."

The man slammed the door. "Don't give me that. We both know who did it. It was Marcus. He wants her dead so he can get the inheritance. He'll stop at nothing. We've got to call Sheriff Wiltmore. He'll straighten this out."

Juliet froze. "I...I thought you knew. Charles... Sheriff Wiltmore has...amnesia."

Charles staggered back. "What? How could that be?"

Juliet looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "It was the stroke again. After his daughter died, he just fell apart..."

Wade rolled her eyes. "Man, this is so corny. I guess soap operas never change."

Arturo took a sip of his whiskey, then pointed at the screen with his glass. "On the contrary. I don't believe this is a soap opera. Look at the camera. It's tucked away in a corner, black-and-white, never moves...more like a security camera at a convenience store than one used for television."

Wade looked at him. "So what're you saying, professor? That this is real?"

Quinn ate another cracker, then said, "Kelley did say the FBIC has cameras in every known world. Maybe in this world, they watch other worlds for entertainment."

Wade looked at the TV, watching another man burst into the living room, waving a gun. "So you're saying this Misery World thing is a world where all the weird and unbelievably corny stuff that happens on regular soap operas really happens."

"Exactly," Arturo said. "And they've simply set up hidden cameras there so they could watch it. It's the perfect form of television, an extension of the reality-shows of our own world. No need to pay for actors or sets. No need to write a script. And there's the added edge to the fact that it's all real. Gives it a legitimacy and urgency that is impossible to fabricate."

Rembrandt tore open his packet of cheese and crackers. "Man, that's kinda weird."

"It's more than that," Wade said. "It's downright creepy.'"

The show came to a halt with the revelation of Juliet's twin sister coming back from the dead, then faded out. It was replaced by cheerful music and a shopping center. A woman smiled as she walked through the door.

"When I want great food," she said, "at low, low prices, I go to MegaMart."

There was a quick cut to the inside of the supermarket, teeming with groceries. The smiling woman went down the aisle, selecting items. Her voice continued.

"I feel good going to MegaMart, because I know their products come from the best worlds. Their fruits and vegetables are grown on Earths filled with nutrient-rich soil. Their meats are from the finest animals in the multiverse. And their guarantee that all the Earths they harvest are unpopulated and pollution-free gives me peace of mind."

The woman walked away from the register, holding up a receipt in triumph. "So why don't you shop at MegaMart? You'll be glad you did."

Misery World returned with Juliet pleading for her sister to put down her gun.

Quinn ate the last of his crackers and brushed the crumbs off his hands. "Okay, let's get some rest. We gotta go to that underground sliding station in a few hours."

"Hey, Q-Ball," Rembrandt said. "You know, you never answered my question back in Alcatraz. I mean, we still got another day to go before our timer runs out. Can we slide without it?"

Quinn dropped onto one of the beds, which creaked beneath him, bouncing him up and down. "I don't see why not."

Wade scooted around on the bed to face him. "So we're not going back for it?"

"Why bother? If this works, we'll not only get off this world, but we'll be able to use their guidance system to go home."

Arturo finished his whiskey and peered into the glass. "Interesting. We face two roads stretching before us in this world. On one, we may be captured and killed by the FBIC. On the other, we return home at last. We'll face either glorious success or a most ignominious demise. Here's hoping for the former."

He got up to refill his glass.

Wade stared down at the ratty carpet beneath the bed. "Okay, since we're talking questions, here's a biggie. If Bennish's guys didn't unlock our handcuffs and help us escape, who did?"

Arturo sat down again with a full glass. "Whoever it was had the resources to thwart the FBIC and obtain a sliding machine, which seems to be in short supply on this world. So the question to be asked is this; who is powerful enough to do all this, yet still want to help us?

Rembrandt shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. "We may never know, professor. And I got a funny feelin' we don't wanna know."

Night had fallen by the time Quinn and his friends left the Grand Avenue Hotel. They had slipped out the rear exit to avoid running into the clerk again, but saw no sign of the FBIC or the police. Quinn assumed that either they were on their way or the clerk hadn't sent their fingerprints to the FBIC for confirmation.

They all had their disguises on as they walked through the streets of San Francisco. Rembrandt and Arturo had shaved off their mustaches, Arturo's disguise complemented by a grey wig. Wade's long, blonde hair ran down the back of her new flowered dress. Quinn fought the urge to itch his scalp, tickling from the red wig he had on it. He tried not to think about it, focusing on the address written on the slip of paper in his hand.

Quinn moved aside to let a ragged couple pushing a crying baby in a carriage go by, then looked up at the building they had reached. It was a supermarket with the legend MEGAMART blazing in neon over the door.

"A supermarket?" Arturo asked. "How in blazes is a supermarket going to get us home?"

Quinn pushed open the door as he said, "Professor, I think by now you should've learned that nothing is what it seems around here."

The supermarket cast a friendly white glow over its rows of produce. The bounty on the seemingly endless series of shelves was a stark contrast to the dead and decaying city outside. Tinny muzak drifted through the air from hidden speakers, causing Quinn's teeth to grind in reflex.

A round man in a red apron was calmly sweeping the floor. He looked up and smiled at Quinn's approach. "Hi, welcome to MegaMart. Can I help you folks?"

Quinn glanced back at the others, then said, "Uh, yeah, we wanna buy...six Caribbean mangoes." He felt a tingle of nervousness as he repeated the phrase Bennish had told them to say.

The man continued to smile as he nodded. "Certainly, sir. Right over there in the fruits and vegetable aisle."

Quinn blinked. That wasn't the response he was expecting. "Uh, thanks."

The man went back to sweeping, his broom making soft scratching noises in the empty store.

Quinn headed off down the aisle. Wade hurried to catch up to him.

"Quinn," she whispered, "what's going on?"

"I dunno. But let's just stay calm."

They reached an aisle with shelves loaded with plump, appetizing produce. The soft hum given off by the refrigeration system filled the silence as Quinn stared at it.

"Now what?" Rembrandt asked. "We pull a banana and a sliding machine pops out?"

"I think not." Arturo gestured towards a section on the shelf. "Behold. Six Caribbean mangoes."

The mangoes sat neatly on the shelf, their red and yellow-mottled skin glistening with a fine dew. Wade picked one of them up.

"No way," she whispered.

The man in the apron came up to them, his smile still as broad as ever. "You folks find what you're looking for?"

Quinn leaned closer to him. "Uh, sort of. We're looking for...six Caribbean mangoes."

Rembrandt gave the man a conspiratorial wink for good measure. "Know what we mean, pal?"

The grocer's smile broke up a little at the edges. "Uh, I think so, sir."

He leaned over and picked up one of the mangoess. "Here are some right here, fresh as life. Just picked 'em a few minutes ago."

Arturo charged over to him, holding out his hands in a demanding gesture. "No, look, my good fellow, we are asking to buy six Caribbean mangoes. Do you understand what we're saying when we ask to buy six Caribbean mangoes, you blistering idiot?"

The grocer's smile stiffened. His voice hissed out of his teeth in a raspy whisper. "Of course I do, you fool! Shut up and follow my lead!"

He jerked his head upwards slightly. Quinn followed the gesture up to the ceiling. Light reflected off the lens of a videocamera mounted on the ceiling. It was aimed directly at them. A red light just above the lens glowed a deep red. The muzak system began to play "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head."

The grocer's smile relaxed as he replaced the mangoes in the pile. His voice was slightly louder than necessary as he said, "Well, sir, if this selection isn't to your liking, perhaps I can get you something from the back. Follow me."

He headed down the aisle with broad steps. Quinn glanced up at the camera, then followed.

"Yes, sir," the grocer continued in a loud voice. "Here at MegaMart, we aim to please. That's right, we aim to please."

The camera above them gave off a soft click. Quinn looked up to see that the red light was now blinking on and off.

The man in the apron broke into a run. "We've only got five seconds! Go, go, go!"

Quinn ran after him down the aisle, trying not to slip on the polished tiles of the floor. He could hear Wade, Rembrandt, and Arturo taking ragged breaths as they raced after them.

The man skidded down the aisle to a large metal door in the back of the supermarket. He pressed a hand over a metal plate by the door. It beeped, then unlocked with a click. The door swung open on oiled hinges, revealing itself to be a foot thick. The aproned man held the door open, waving them in.

"Inside!" he yelled. "Go, go, go!"

Quinn bolted through the door into a dimly-lit room. The air smelled of moist cardboard from the stacks of boxes against the walls. A single bulb glowed on the ceiling above them, swaying gently. At the far end of the room was a sliding machine.

Quinn recognized it, even though it was a much smaller version than his own. The largest part of it was the large circular electromagnetic coil, much thinner than his own. It was connected by wires to several metal boxes mounted on a podium in front of it, and a personal computer, humming softly. He could only guess at how they had managed to miniaturize such an incredibly complex piece of equipment so well.

When Arturo had passed through the door, the aproned man slammed it shut after them. He turned a wheel that caused metal rods to lock into the doorframe, sealing it. Only then did the man relax, leaning his head against the door.

"That was close," he sighed, then glared at Arturo. "You wanna get me killed, is that it? You almost blew the whole operation!"

Arturo threw his hands up. "Well, how was I supposed to know what your game was? We give you the code-phrase and you're showing us mangoeses..."

"What, you thought I was just gonna trot out the EPR Bridge right in front of all those cameras out there? The FBIC watches every place with a legalized generator like a hawk, twenty-four hours a day. Oh, man, I just hope I shut down the cameras long enough to keep them from seeing us head back here. That little show's probably already got them suspicious."

The grocer wiped his forehead with the back of a hand, then walked to the back of the room to the generator. "Okay, so you guys wanna slide, huh? It's five thousand bucks a piece, two hundred extra for any luggage you bring with you."

"Oh, right," Quinn said. "Uh, no luggage."

He pulled out the envelope of cash Bennish had given him. The others followed suit. The aproned man turned away from the console to gather the envelopes and flip through the bills stuffed inside. When he was satisfied, he tucked the envelopes into his apron, then went back to work.

The system began to hum as the grocer said, "Okay, where you folks headed today? I could send you to a random world, but for a little extra, you could go wherever you want. Treasure World? Mountain World? If you're goin' to Paradise World, that's a thousand bucks extra." He turned to the personal computer on the table next to the podium.

Quinn approached him, looking down at the computer's monitor. The faint odor of burning metal began to fill the room as the machines warmed up. "Actually, we have a very specific world we want to go to. Home."

The man was typing on the computer's keyboard, but froze at Quinn's words. He looked up with his brow wrinkled in confusion. "What're you talking about?"

Quinn pulled off his wig and carefully peeled his fake beard and mustache off. The man's eyes widened as Wade followed suit, yanking off her blonde hair.

"You're the Primes?" the man whispered.

"That's right," Arturo said. "And it's very important that you send us to the proper dimension."

"We wanna go home," Wade said.

"Yeah," Rembrandt said, "could you do that, man?"

The man pressed a hand over his mouth, staring at Quinn, then narrowed his eyes. "Well...maybe. It'll cost a little more. And I'll need exact specifications."

"We'll give you everything we got, man," Rembrandt said. "Just send us back home."

The man rubbed his cheek, then turned back to the computer. He punched up a strange display of overlapping circles and began clicking on them with his mouse. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. Tell me everything you can think of about your world. Let's start with the American president."

"Bill Clinton," Arturo said.

The grocer looked up at him with wide eyes. "Really? Interesting. Okay, that's a start. Now, how many countries are there are?"

Rembrandt winced. "Oh, man. Geography was never my strong suit. Let's see, uh, America, Canada, Russia, Australia..."

"And England," Arturo added, counting them off with his fingers. "Then there's France, Spain, Germany, Norway, Finland..."

"Oh, and Brazil," Wade said. "Peru, Colombia, um, what else is in South America?"

Quinn turned away from the others, shaking his head. "They'll be at that for a while. What is all this, anyway?"

The man looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. "Whadda you mean? You invented it, didn'tcha?"

"Sort of. I never got this far on my world."

"Oh." The grocer spread a hand towards his equipment, swelling with pride. "Well, this is the latest in ERP technology. You've got your titanium electromagnetic coil, jaranium alignment rods, and this little baby is a Pentium 4886 with 145 gigarads of RAM, quad CD-ROM drives, and a US Genetics 28.8 omnidimensional modem."

He patted his computer with the fondness of a dog's master. "I've got a continuous feed to the FBIC to get second-by-second updates on all known worlds and their superspatial coordinates."

Quinn pointed at the monitor's screen which displayed a series of circles, floating around a dark background. "So this is sort of like an interdimensional map of various parallel worlds and their locations?"

"You got it. I can use it to send anybody anywhere."

Quinn nodded, fascinated by the number of worlds on the screen. He tried to imagine the circles as Earths, one of them his own, with people and places beyond imagination.

Then one of them blinked off the screen.

Quinn pointed at it. "Hey, what happened to that one?"

The grocer frowned at it, then waved it off. "Oh, the FBIC must've blown it up."

Quinn felt a brief shock at the casual manner in which the man described the FBIC's actions. "Look, doesn't it bother you that the FBIC is destroying whole universes?"

"Nah," the grocer shrugged. "They only blow up worlds that are dangerous, you know, like that Nazi World they blew up last week. If those guys ever got Bridge generators, man, we'd be in real trouble. So the FBIC's doin' a public service."

Quinn felt his skin growing hot as he said, "Oh, yeah? Well, what about all the Sliders they've been killing?"

The grocer shifted in his chair, his face screwed up in discomfort. "They're not killing 'em, just sending 'em someplace where they can't do any more damage."

"Do we look like we wanna cause any damage?"

The grocer held up his hands, palms-out. "Look, I don't get involved in politics. The FBIC does what it does, I do what I do,