by
Nigel G. Mitchell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

*****

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

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

SLIDERS... Infinite Slides....
Based On the Original "Sliders" TV Series
Created by Tracy Torme and Robert K. Weiss

*****
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's going on?" Quinn yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maggie!" Quinn yelled and ran to her.

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

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

-----

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No phones?" Quinn asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The information superhighway," Wade blurted.

Arturo looked up at her.  "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finally," Quinn said, "people."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade rolled her eyes.  "Terrific."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His window disappeared.

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

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

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

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

Wade smirked.  "Oh, really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinn blinked.  "Any what?"

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

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

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

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

"What's so funny about that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinn looked up at her.  "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So where do you come in?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maggie, don't..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The speaker cut off with a click.

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

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

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

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

Another scream resounded from inside the apartment.

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh.  Sorry."

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

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

Pamela raised her eyes to him and shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you get your money from?"

"Computer programming.  I telecommute."

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

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

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

"I am seeing the world."

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

-----

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

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

"Yes.  And look up."

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

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

"Think this is about the disk?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

"What, now?" Stanford whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the charge?" Stanford asked.

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

"You got nothin' on me.  I'm clean."

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

Stanford grinned.  "Just some cash."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

-----

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

One of the agents crumpled with a grunt of pain.

"Fire!" the lead agent yelled.

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

-----

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

-----

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

-----

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

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

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

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

TO BE CONTINUED...