Wade's eyes widened as the cab reached the address listed in the White Pages. It was a large condominium, built on one of the slanted narrow streets of the city. Rembrandt paid the driver as Wade climbed out to marvel at the fabulous architecture of the building.

"Wow," Wade said. "I can't believe I live here. Wonder what I do for a living."

Rembrandt got out behind her. They strode up the sidewalk to the front door of the condo. Wade rang the doorbell.

After a moment passed, a woman's voice emerged from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

Wade glanced at Rembrandt as she said, "Uh, you don't know us. We're looking for a Miss Wade Wells?"

The door clicked, then opened. A voice from a TV flooded out. A woman stood in the doorway, one wearing a stylish, form-fitting blue dress. Wade could see diamond earrings under the woman's long brown hair, but was more interested in the woman's face.

She looked exactly like Wade.

"I'm Wade Wells," the woman said. "Wait a minute...who are you?"

Wade found her voice. "Oh, yeah, this is Rembrandt Brown, and I'm...you."

The other Wade's eyes narrowed. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm you. From another dimension."

The other Wade folded her arms. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, I'm telling the truth. We need your help..."

The other Wade held up a hand. "Look, I don't have time for this. I don't know who you are, but my boyfriend will be along any minute, and..."

"Your boyfriend?" Rembrandt asked. "You mean Quinn Mallory?"

The other Wade stared at him. Her bored expression hardened. "Unless you people are cops and I see an arrest warrant, I don't have to answer any questions..."

Wade heard the voice of the TV playing inside as a newscaster said, "And in local news, police announced the successful capture of America's most notorious druglord Quinn Mallory today..."

She shoved the door open, rushing past her double into the apartment.

A TV was seated in the midst of a home entertainment center in the living room Wade entered. She ran to the TV, hunching over to watch the news report being given. The announcer was talking beside a mug shot of Quinn that bore a scornful smirk on his unshaven face.

"It happened just a few hours ago," the announcer said. "DEA officials reported capturing Mallory...also known as the Tobacco King...during a sting operation at a newsstand near Golden Gate Park. Although further details have yet to be released, a press conference has been scheduled with Chief of Police Daryl Gates later this evening. And in sports..."

Wade stood up. Rembrandt came into the room, his hands raised. Wade's double was right behind him with a gun jammed into his back.

"Okay," the other Wade said. "You two have got five seconds to tell me who you are, and how you know about me and Quinn."

"We saw your photo in a newspaper," Rembrandt said.

"That was months ago," Wade's double snarled. "The cops couldn't have fingered me, not like that."

"But I recognized you," Wade said. "Because I'm you."

"Would you stop saying that?" the other Wade screamed. "I've had it with all this New Age psychobabble! I've had a really lousy day! My clothes got lost at the cleaners, you two come barging into my apartment, and now Quinn's been captured..."

"But that's just it," Wade said. "He wasn't."

"What are you talking about?"

The phone rang. An answering machine sitting on the coffee table clicked with Wade's voice, telling the caller to leave a message after the beep. A new voice came after the tone, one that Wade recognized, and yet was somehow unfamiliar.

"Hi, babe," the deep voice said. "It's me."

"Quinn?" Wade whispered.

Quinn's voice continued. "Just wanted to know if you caught that newscast a minute ago. They caught somebody they think is me. Can you believe it? The poor sap looks just like me. I couldn't have planned it better myself. By the time they figure out that schmoe isn't me, I'll be on a plane back to Mexico. Hey, maybe they'll never figure it out, and that guy'll get the chair. Pretty sweet, huh? Oh, gotta go. I'll call ya. Bye."

The phone hung up with a click.

Wade's double stared at the phone, her jaw hanging open. "What's going on around here?"

Wade held up her hands. "Look, I won't bother trying to convince you of where we came from. All you have to know is that the man the cops think is your Mallory is our friend, and if you don't help us catch the real Quinn, our Quinn will fry in his place."

The other Wade stared at her, then slumped into a chair, keeping her gun on Rembrandt. "No. No, that's...that's not right. I... can't take the suffering anymore. So many innocent people hurt or killed...no one else should suffer for Quinn's mistakes."

"Then you'll help us?"

Wade's double shook her head. "I dunno. I guess so. But how?"

"It's simple. Your Quinn has a tattoo. Ours doesn't. If we turn yours in to the police, they'll see they've made a mistake and ours will go free."

The other Wade flashed her a brief smile. "And I'll be free, too. I never should've gotten mixed up with Quinn in the first place. He bought me so many wonderful things, and I thought I loved him... maybe I did love him once, but..."

Wade's double looked up at Wade. "Okay. I'll take you to him."

"You will?"

Wade's double stood. "Yes. He's here in San Francisco, inspecting one of his new factories. He's probably there now. We'll go check, then call the police, and have them pick him up."

"Great," Rembrandt said. "Uh, could you put away the gun now?"

The other Wade pulled the trigger of her gun. A stream of water came out of the barrel, wetting Rembrandt's shirt.

"I don't like guns," Wade's double said. "But Quinn insists I carry one for protection. Let's go. We can take my car."

Rembrandt let out a relieved breath, then followed Wade's double out of the room, out the front door.

She led the others to the curb, where a sporty luxury car waited. Rembrandt whistled.

"Wow," he said, "you weren't kiddin' about those wonderful things, were you?"

Wade's double climbed behind the wheel. "Nope. Quinn always said that any girl who rides with him goes first-class. He just didn't mention I'd be riding in the smoking section."

The car pulled off the main road onto a gravely road that led into the perimeter of a warehouse that overlooked San Francisco Bay. A sign above the broken doors read "Johnny-Kitty Cat Litter." Wade frowned as they drove up to the decaying hulk that lurked on the property.

"Are you sure he's here?" Wade asked from the passenger seat.

Rembrandt leaned forward from the backseat, his jaw bobbing on his gum as said, "Yeah, this don't look like no drug factory to me."

Wade's double drew the car up to the front door, then switched off the engine. A gun came out from under her seat which she aimed at Wade and Rembrandt.

"You're right," she said. "It's not."

Rembrandt stared at the gun Wade's double was pointing at them, trying to smile. "Uh, that's another water pistol, right?"

"Wrong," Wade's double said. "It's a 22.-caliber Raven. The water pistol is for home. The real gun is for my car."

"What're you gonna do with us?" Wade asked.

"What's it look like? I'm gonna shoot you and dump your bodies here."

"Why?"

Wade's double rolled her eyes. "Why? I dunno. True love? A strong sense of commitment? The fact that I have platinum charge cards with unlimited accounts at every major bank and department store in the world? I don't know who you are, but I love what I've got with Quinn, and I won't let you two spoil it. Get your hands up."

Rembrandt and Wade raised their hands, eyes fixed on the gun that faced them.

"Uh, say," Rembrandt said, "if I'm gonna go, you mind if I spit out my gum?"

Wade's double glared at him. "I guess not."

Rembrandt spat out his gum. At her. Wade's double lurched back to avoid it. Wade seized the opportunity and punched her in the jaw. Her double slumped into the driver's seat of the car unconscious, the gun falling from her hand.

Wade swept up the gun. "Good work, Remmy."

"Thanks. But now what'll we do?"

"We get some rope. And we wait."

Wade's double opened her eyes. She looked down to see herself tied to a beam inside the abandoned warehouse. She began struggling against the ropes, then a loud cough drew her attention upwards.

Wade and Rembrandt were standing over her. Rembrandt had the gun aimed at her.

"Okay," Wade said, "now you're gonna talk. Where's your boyfriend?"

Wade's double stared at her.

Rembrandt drew back the hammer on his gun with a loud click. "Better start talkin', girl. My trigger finger's gettin' mighty itchy."

"Oh, gimme a break," Wade's double said. "You're not gonna shoot me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You're not the killer type. Trust me, I'm an expert on hit men."

"Look," Wade said, "we don't have time to argue about this. Where's Quinn?"

"At the CHRONICLE printing plant on Third Street. Go ahead and try to see him. But you won't leave that place alive."

"We'll see about that," Wade said. "Come on, Remmy."

Rembrandt and Wade strode out of the warehouse, headed for the car.

"You'll never get out alive!" Wade's double screamed. "You hear me? You'll never get out alive!"

Wade drove up to the CHRONICLE printing plant, watching its sleek lines come into view on the horizon.

"She must've been lyin' to us," Rembrandt said. "This don't look like no drugden to me."

"Maybe," Wade said. "But we're here. Might as well check it out. If it's not the right one, we'll go back to her and get the real address."

They pulled up to the guard standing beside the front gate. He approached the car with a sour glare that disappeared when he spotted Wade in the driver's seat.

"Oh," he said, "it's you, Miss Wells. Sorry to bother you. Go right in. Mr. Mallory is right inside."

Wade flashed him her broadest smile, then drove through the opening gates into the compound.

"I guess that clinches it," Rembrandt said. "He's here." "Maybe," Wade said. "But I'd still like to check it out for myself."

She pulled into the Visitor's parking lot, then got out with Rembrandt.

"There's a window over there," Wade said. "We can look in there, get a sense of the place. If it's the right one, we can call the cops and have them bust this place."

Rembrandt nodded as they headed towards the building. The glass windows on the sides of the plant loomed high over them as they crept towards the building. Wade got up on her toes to peer through the glass into the darkness inside.

"See anything?" Rembrandt whispered.

"I dunno," Wade said. "I think they put something on the glass to keep people from seeing inside. But I can make out..."

Someone cleared their throat. Wade froze, then slowly turned to see a security guard standing beside them. He had a gun.

"What's going on out here?" the guard asked. "Miss Wells, is that you? Who's that with you?"

"Uh," Rembrandt started.

"Yes," Wade said, "I'm Miss Wells. And this is my associate, Mr. Brown. We're here to see Quinn."

"Oh." The guard frowned. "Well...okay. I didn't get any orders about any visitors, but I guess if he's with you, it's okay. Come on. Walk ahead of me, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Wade headed towards him.

"What are you doing?" Rembrandt whispered.

"Just follow my lead," Wade murmured back.

Wade smiled at the guard as she passed him. Rembrandt gave the man a thumbs-up, then moved on. The guard followed them both as they headed for the front door of the printing plant. The guard opened the door, holding it for them as they went inside.

Wade winced at the roar of the massive printing presses that filled the plant. Rembrandt whistled as he watched men in white overalls move over them, adjusting dials and checking gauges.

"Not a bad setup," Rembrandt said.

"Yeah," the guard said. "It's pretty convincing, huh? Fooled me the first time I saw it. Let's go."

The guard walked through the plant to a door at the rear of the chamber. He held it open for Wade and Rembrandt, who walked into a whole new area of the building.

This one was packed with more machines, but with an entirely different purpose. Wade and Rembrandt walked between stacks of wooden crates which were being emptied into one end of a machine. Tobacco leaves tumbled out into the slot. Reams of paper was fed in another. Blades chopped, gears whirled, and cigarettes came rolling out of the other end. More men in white coveralls stacked and packed them in boxes.

Even with the howl of machinery filling the air, Wade could hear footsteps crossing the plant. A trio of large men emerged from behind one of the machines. They were surrounding a smaller man, one with a cigarette dangling from his devilish smile. He wore a fine silk shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up, revealing a tattoo on one forearm. A tattoo of a skull smoking a cigarette.

As Quinn Mallory came towards them surrounded by his bodyguards, he plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked the ash on the floor.

"Okay, Wade," Mallory said, "tell me the reason why you brought a complete stranger to my plant, and it better be good."

Wade forced a smile. "Yeah. Hi. Um, this is Rembrandt. Rembrandt Brown. He's the owner of the...MegaShop supermarkets."

Mallory stopped in front of her. He took a puff of his cigarette, then let the smoke drift from his mouth as he spoke. "Never heard of 'em."

Rembrandt snorted in mock indignation. "Well, I am shocked to hear that. We're only the biggest chain of shopping centers in the Hawaiian Islands."

Mallory tossed his cigarette onto the floor, drew a cigarette case out of his coat pocket, and got a new cigarette. He lit it, and took a drag on it. As Quinn exhaled, he said, "Still never heard of 'em. And that still doesn't answer my question, Wade. Why did you bring him here?"

"Well," Wade said, "I met him at a party, and thought maybe you could strike a deal."

Quinn glared at Rembrandt, then smiled. "Interesting. You never took much of an interest in my business before."

Wade tried to keep up her smile. "Well, I guess I had a change of heart, sweetie."

Quinn turned his cold eyes on her. His grin swelled. "You never called me sweetie before, either."

He grabbed her by the forearm. Wade tried to break free. Quinn pulled her close to him, then kissed her hard on the mouth. After a few seconds, he let her go.

"I like it," Quinn said, then turned to Rembrandt. "So, you want a piece of my action, huh?"

"You got it," Rembrandt said.

"Well, you came to the right place. They don't call me the Tobacco King for nothing. My operations run all over the country, and my name stands for quality."

He waved a hand to encompass his factory. "A lot of other guys leave all the processing overseas. Not me. In my factories, we do it all. We grow our own strain in the Midwest that has fifty percent more nicotine than any other brand, making it more addictive than crack or cocaine."

Quinn pointed at a series of glass booths filled with smoke. "Then it's shipped here, where it's fire-cured in these greenhouses with hickory smoke. The leaves are aged, dried, and packed. Finally, they're rolled into cigarettes and cigars which are shipped out disguised as newspaper shipments to stands all over the country."

"Pretty impressive," Rembrandt said.

"Yeah. But I guess you'd know all about that, being a narc and all."

"Uh, say what?"

Quinn's bodyguards drew guns out of their coats. Quinn shoved Wade to stand next to Rembrandt.

"A few of my boys were watching my girl's house," Quinn said. "Saw you and this other chick barge in, then come out with Wade. They followed you to a warehouse where you tied her up, then came here. Now, I dunno who you two are, but I'm gonna find out."

Rembrandt pulled the gun he had gotten from Wade's double out of his coat. He aimed it at Mallory.

"Okay, nobody move!" he yelled. "You're comin' with us!"

Quinn laughed. "What're you gonna do? Shoot me? You don't have the guts."

"Maybe you're right. But I can do this."

He turned his gun on the curing booths. He fired a shot that shattered one of the panes of glass. Smoke poured out of the hole. Rembrandt fired six more shots, puncturing the smoke-laden chambers. The air in the factory thickened with billowing clouds, engulfing Quinn, Wade, and Rembrandt. Quinn's bodyguards doubled-over, choking as they disappeared in the aromatic fog.

Wade seized the moment, plunging into the smoke. She grabbed Quinn, wrapping an arm around his neck. Quinn drew his fist back. He froze when Rembrandt's gun pressed against his temple.

"Don't even think about it," Rembrandt said. "We're gonna take a little stroll."

Wade and Rembrandt hurried Quinn through the factory, hidden among the smoke as Quinn's men tried to find their way through it. Gunshots rang out, aimed in their direction, but none connected.

Wade and Rembrandt burst out the front door into the open air. Wade ran ahead to open the car as Rembrandt shoved Quinn towards it.

"Get in," Rembrandt said.

"You won't get away with this," Quinn said.

"The gun in my hand says we're gonna try. Now, let's move."

"I said it before. You won't shoot me."

"And I'll say this once. You wanna find out for sure?"

Quinn glared at him, then got into the backseat. Rembrandt climbed in next to him, keeping the gun in his ribs. Wade was already behind the wheel. When the door slammed shut, Wade backed out and headed out of the factory compound.

She looked in the rear-view mirror to see Quinn's men running out of the building, still coughing. They opened fire, bullets thudding into the back of the car. Wade drove through the front gate onto the main road, past the guard who screamed and chased after them. He fired shots that reduced the rear windshield to splinters with a crash.

The car skidded as Wade turned the corner at high speed, turning down a sidestreet. She pulled the car into an alley, then waited.

A few seconds later, a trio of cars roared past the alley entrance, headed for where Wade had been bound. When the roar of their engines faded, Wade backed out and headed in a different direction.

"I think we lost 'em," Wade said.

Rembrandt grinned at Quinn. "Well, whadda you know? We did it."

The phone on Agent Watterson's desk rang. He held up a hand to the district attorney he was talking to. "Hold on one second."

He picked up the handset. "Watterson, DEA."

"You got the wrong man," a woman's voice said.

"What?"

"You got the wrong man. The man you think is Quinn Mallory isn't him."

Watterson grinned. "Oh, really? And what makes you so sure?"

"Because we've got the real Mallory. He's tied up at an old Johnny-Kitty warehouse near the Bay, along with his mystery girlfriend, Wade Wells. Check Mallory's right forearm. It's got the tattoo."

Watterson glared at the phone. "Who is this?"

"Let's just say I have an interest in making sure the right man pays for the right crimes."

There was a click as the call was disconnected.

Watterson continued to glare at the phone. Then he rested the handset back in its cradle.

"Myers," he called out. "Take some blues down to that old Johnny-Kitty warehouse near the Bay. Just got a tip that some guy's tied up there that resembles our boy, Mallory."

One of the other agents in the office frowned. "You think it's genuine?"

"I dunno," Watterson said. "I guess it couldn't hurt to check."

But deep down, he wondered.

Rembrandt and Wade stood across the street from the offices of the DEA. They had just watched the other Mallory and Wade get hauled into the building. Now, a half-hour later, the real Quinn and Arturo descended the front steps onto the sidewalk.

Wade ran across the street, throwing herself into Quinn's arms. "Quinn! I'm so glad you're okay! What happened?"

"When they got the real Mallory, they let me go on bail," Quinn said. "Judge said they needed some time to sort things out before the trial. Also wanted me to get some psychiatric testing."

"Yes," Arturo said. "And they lowered my charges to attempting to purchase an illegal substance and released me with a fine."

"A fine?" Rembrandt asked. "How much?"

"Well...let us say that my savings have been severely depleted. We will have to hope that we can find jobs in the next world."

"Well, I don't care how much it costs," Wade said. "At least we're all together again."

They headed off down the street as Quinn said, "Yeah, you have got to tell me how you pulled that off."

"Later, Q-Ball," Rembrandt said. "It's a long story. You got the timer?"

Quinn drew it out of his pocket. "Right here. None the worse for wear. We slide in about one minute."

Wade glared up at Arturo. "Well, I hope you've learned your lesson, professor. No more smoking."

"Do not be simplistic, Miss Wells," Arturo said. "Do you actually expect me to leave this world with the moral 'Do not smoke or you'll be arrested for drug dealing?' However, I am in a calmer state of mind than before, and shall return to my former state of abstinence. Does that meet with your approval?"

Wade grinned. "Yup."

"Ten seconds," Quinn said. "Let's duck in here."

They headed into a cramped alley sandwiched between two buildings. There, Quinn opened his timer, punched in the reset code, and twisted the dial. The beam emerged, warping space into the roaring vortex that opened into the next dimension.

One by one, the Sliders jumped into it, carried off to a new world.

Quinn landed beside Wade, who was already struggling to her feet. Arturo and Rembrandt were up, looking out of the alley onto the street.

"How's it look?" Quinn asked as he got up.

"Not bad," Rembrandt said.

"On the contrary," Arturo said. "It looks excellent. Better than I remember our own world being."

Quinn joined him at the entrance of the alley, looking out on a San Francisco he had never seen before. The streets were clean and white without even a gum wrapper on the sidewalk. The air smelled as fresh as a mountain breeze. The cars that rushed by were shined to a gleam.

Wade watched a family go by, laughing with each other. "Wow. This place looks great. Maybe we found that paradise your double was talking about, huh, Quinn?"

"Maybe," Quinn said. "But let's not jump to conclusions until we find out a little more about this world. Come on."

He walked out into the open.

Police cars came screaming down the block. They skidded to a halt in front of him. Policemen jumped out, charging up to Quinn to tackle and wrestle him to the ground.

"Hey!" Quinn yelled. "What's goin' on?"

"Quinn Mallory," one of the officers said. "You are under arrest for acts of malicious mischief."

"What're you talking about?"

"Spray-painting graffiti on public property, that's what," the officer snarled. "Specifically, a freeway underpass. That's a felony in California, mister. You'll get the chair for sure. Let's go, boys."

The police officers hauled Quinn to one of the cars as he struggled to break free.

"You got the wrong guy!" Quinn yelled. "You got the wrong guy!"

As the others watched from the safety of the alley, Rembrandt heaved a deep sigh.

"Here we go again," he murmured.

THE END

Nigel G. Mitchell lives in Phoenix, Arizona. He's been writing fanfic stories for SLIDERS since the show was first cancelled in 1995. His original short stories have been published in MILLENNIUM, LOST WORLDS, COSMIC LANDSCAPES, and a 'zine called CYBERSLIDERS.