Sliders: Bloodline (4 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade looked from the woman to Mrs. Lynch. "What?"

Mrs. Lynch grabbed a hammer off the worktable. She swung it at Arturo's head. Before Arturo could react, he had been knocked across the room. He slid to the floor, his eyes rolling up into his head.

Mrs. Lynch wheeled on Wade while drawing a butcher knife out of her apron. "Don't move."

Wade stared at her, her eyes wide in horror.

Sliders: Bloodline (3 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade burst out of the shop by Arturo's side, barely able to contain herself. When they got onto the street that Wade thrust a fist into the air. "Yes! We got him! We got him on tape!"

"What are you talking about, Miss Welles?" Arturo asked.

Wade pulled the tape recorder out of her coat and thrust it into his face. "We got a confession. It's all here. All we need to do is send it to the police."

Arturo shook his head. "I would hardly call that a confession."

Sliders: Bloodline (2 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade bought the National Inquiry while the others rented a room at the Dominion Hotel. She read as she walked into their hotel room.

Rembrandt rubbed his hands together as he entered the room. "Yeah, this is more like it. Lot bigger room than when we stayed here last time."

Quinn shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the front door. "Okay, first order of business is finding out if we're home."

Sliders: Bloodline (1 of 4)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

In a hotel room at the Dominion, Wade knew the others packed up around her, but her attention remained focused on the TV in the living room. She lay back on the couch, one foot propped up to press her knee against her chest, her attention riveted to the screen.

Her attention weakened enough to become aware of Professor Arturo approaching her. He pulled on his long black coat as he glanced from her to the TV, then back again.

"Come, Miss Welles," he said. "We'll be sliding in a few minutes. Don't want to be late."

Wade waved him off without diverting her attention from the screen. "I know, professor. Gimme a minute. I wanna see this."

Sliders: Your Ad Here (8 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Washington looked at Rembrandt. A trickle of sweat began to run down his cheek. "Brown? What's the meaning of this?"

Rembrandt shrugged as he backed away from him. "What can I say, Larry? I got business to attend to."

Wade ran into the studio. The armed men immediately took aim at her. Arturo backed into the room with her, his lighter's flame singeing the edges of the cards.

Sliders: Your Ad Here (7 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

The man tore open the contents of the envelope under the watchful eyes of the guards. He pulled a set of large cardboard sheets from inside and set them up on the easel next to him. When everything was in place, the man grinned at Rembrandt.

"Mister Brown," he said, "what you are about to see is top secret. No one knows about it, not even our competitors. But it's going to lead to the single greatest advertising campaign in history."

The man pulled away the first card to show the logo for Coca-Cola. "Our biggest client, the Coca-Cola Company, has made arrangements with the city of San Francisco to launch their boldest plan ever. In a few days, news will be leaked to the press that a terrorist group has poisoned San Francisco's reservoir. All water to the city will be cut off until further notice. At the same time, Coca-Cola will graciously offer to replace the water supply...with New Coke."

Sliders: Your Ad Here (6 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Quinn was led to a room where he was given a shirt and a pair of jeans to wear for the photo shoot. He changed while a guard held a gun to his head, then allowed himself to be taken to a studio.

A large man with thick, white hair was fiddling with cameras positioned around the room. He looked up, squinting at Quinn as he entered.

"Oh, great," he said. "Excellent. Hm. Wide shoulders, tall, interesting build. That scar on the upper lip is a problem, but nothing we can't handle with makeup. Stephanie!"

A woman hurried up to Quinn and began to powder his face. She paid special attention to scars Quinn had on his upper lip, pounding a thick flesh-colored dust over it.

The photographer folded his arms. "Now, we're going to be doing an ad for Gunslinger Jeans. So we've set up a western theme over here."

Sliders: Your Ad Here (5 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade, Rembrandt, and Arturo had looked up this world's Rembrandt in the Yellow Pages, then taken a cab to his house. It was a long ride, mainly because the inside of the taxi was papered with advertisements. There was even a TV screen mounted on the back ofthe front seat. It broadcasted ads for cigarettes during the entire trip. By the time it pulled up in front of Rembrandt2's house, Wade's teeth clenched in irritation.

As they got out, Pavel the driver began to speak in Russian. Arturo nodded with a forced smile and responded in kind. When he slammed the door and the cab had driven away, Wade sidled up to him.

 "What was that all about?" Wade asked.

Arturo adjusted his tie. "I was merely informing him that we did not wish to buy a copy of Karl Marx's communist manifesto."

Sliders: Your Ad Here (4 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Rembrandt sat on a bench in the bookstore between Wade and Arturo. He pressed a finger into his opposite palm as he spoke. "Okay, so lemme get this straight. Just because you and Quinn didn't take some cheesy T-shirt, the cops arrested Quinn?"

"Exactly," Wade said, swinging her feet under her bench. "They said it was illegal to not accept promotional products from a place when you use their services."

"Mm," Arturo murmured, "another odious law put into place by the vile advertising agencies of this nation. They have the government in their pockets."

"Well, that's great," Rembrandt said. "Any other laws we should know about, professor?"

Sliders: Your Ad Here (3 of 8)

by Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade froze, huddled in the bathroom as she heard scuffling in the other room. Then she turned the doorknob as quietly as she could. Wade opened the door just enough to look through the crack.

Two policemen had burst into the hotel room. Their blue uniforms were familiar, except for the ads for the Club printed on their backs. They had grabbed Quinn and shoved him up against the wall.

"What's going on here?" Quinn yelled.

"You're under arrest," one of the policemen said.