by Nigel G. Mitchell
Rembrandt sat listening to the rumbling coming from all around him. He wiped away a trickle of sweat that ran down his cheek. The sweat instantly returned, joining the thin film that covered every inch of exposed skin on his body.
Finally, Rembrandt glanced over at Professor Arturo sitting beside him. "Sure is hot."
Professor Arturo glared at him over his shoulder. "Mister Brown, we are sitting on an active volcano. Of course it is hot."
Rembrandt looked around himself at the horizon, one that was peppered with smoldering volcanoes. Some of them filled the air with clouds of thick, black smoke, blocking out the sun. He sat on a jagged rock along with Wade, Arturo, and Quinn. They huddled together to avoid the slow oozing lava that surrounded them.
Rembrandt glared at Arturo. "Hey, I was just tryin' to make conversation, okay?"
Arturo tugged at his collar to loosen his tie. "Well, reminding me of our predicament is not the way."
"Hey," Wade said, "I've got a question. You figure out what's going on in this world yet, professor?"
"I am a physics professor, Miss Wells, not a geologist. There could be many reasons why California seems to be a volcanic region in this world. California has always suffered severe tectonic activity in our world as evidenced by the San Andreas Fault. That must have something to do with it. Beyond that, I could not begin to guess."
"I just hope nobody was around when these volcanoes popped up. They could have wiped out San Francisco."
Rembrandt watched the river of blackened lava sweep by, broken by the occasional glowing crack in its surface. "Well, all I wanna know is how soon we can get outta this mess. All this smoke is not doin' the Cryin' Man's voice any good."
"Thank heaven for small favors," Arturo murmured.
Quinn unfolded the timer from his pocket. "Well, according to this, we've got...eight more seconds before the next window."
"About time," Rembrandt said.
As they all rose, struggling to maintain their balance on the rock below them, Quinn aimed his timer at an empty area of space beside them. He turned the dial on its face. A cone formed ahead of it that seemed to warp the air it touched as it expanded. Then the cone formed a gap in midair that flowed into itself like a florescent waterfall.
Wade was closest and leaped into the portal to disappear in a flash of light, accompanied by a popping sound. Then Professor Arturo followed, screaming as he burst out of existence. Rembrandt murmured to himself as he threw himself into the gateway's depths.
Quinn cast one last look at their world before he left. He was just in time to see a huge wall of lava come rumbling down the volcano's slope towards him. He jumped into the dimensional bridge just as the lava flooded where they had been sitting.
* * *
Quinn slid through the tunnel, banging up against colorful walls made of solid energy. He could hear the cries of the other Sliders as they went, then the series of puffing sounds as they came out. Quinn shielded his eyes as he headed towards the end of the wormhole, one that glowed with a blinding light...
Quinn fell screaming and landed on wet grass. He scrambled to his feet, finding himself in a wooded area filled with trees and bushes. The others were lying nearby, groaning and clutching themselves.
"Is everybody okay?" Quinn asked.
"I believe so," Arturo said, kneading his temples. "At least in spirit, at any rate."
Wade looked around at their new location. "Where are we?"
"Looks like Golden Gate Park," Quinn said. "About the same place we were in before we slid into Volcano World."
Rembrandt got to his feet, brushing light stains of mud off his clothes. "Hey, it's cool, it's green, and there's not a drop o' lava in sight. I'm as happy as a clam."
Arturo rose, buttoning his collar up as he did so. "Let us not be too hasty, Mister Brown. We do not know what awaits us in this world. I suggest we find some source of information about our new home like a TV or a newspaper. Perhaps this may turn out to be our own world, after all."
Quinn checked the digital display on his timer. "We've got four hours, three minutes, and fifty-four seconds in this world. Let's make the best of it."
They headed for where they knew the open street lay, one they had crossed many times. The city became visible through the trees, people roaming from place to place, cars roaring by, the stores and buildings all familiar.
"This is it," Rembrandt said. "It's all here. Everything's just the way it's supposed to be."
"Hey, yeah," Wade said, "maybe this is home."
Arturo pointed at a store across the street. "Not quite. Look over there at that newsstand."
Quinn read the sign aloud. "'Bernie's. Home Of Newspapers, Magazines, And The World's Finest Pretzels' Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. On our world, Bernie's is an outdoor newsstand. Here, it's indoors."
"Well, if that's the only difference, then that means we're gettin' close to our own world," Rembrandt said.
"Perhaps," Arturo said. "But I think we should find a more reliable source of information. I'll just pop across the street, duck into Bernie's for a newspaper, and be out again in a jiffy."
Quinn tucked the timing device into his pocket as he said, "Hey, is it okay if I come with you, professor? I'd like to pick up the latest copy of Quantum Quarterly. Wish I could get my subscription forwarded to me in other dimensions."
Arturo gave him a strange expression, then looked away, quickly. "Uh, no, of course not. Come along, my boy."
They headed across the road to the Bernie's newsstand.
Wade looked at Rembrandt with a puzzled frown. "What's with the professor?"
* * *
The bell over the door chimed as Arturo and Quinn walked into the newsstand. A smile broke on Quinn's face as he looked over the racks of magazines along the walls of the store.
"Wow," he said, selecting a copy of Popular Science. "Great selection."
"Indeed," Arturo said. "This newsstand appears to be much larger than the one in our world."
Arturo approached the clerk behind the main desk as he picked up a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. "Good afternoon, sir. I'll take this, and, uh..."
He lowered his voice, but Quinn could still pick out the words that followed. "...a disposable lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Marlboro, if you please."
The clerk nodded and headed into the room behind him.
Arturo turned away to face Quinn's horrified expression.
"Professor," Quinn said, "you're smoking?"
Arturo scowled. "Now, look here, my boy, I haven't touched a cigarette in ten years. But if sliding through alternate realities isn't enough to drive someone back to smoking, I don't know what is. I just want one. I'll throw the rest away and that will be the end of it."
Quinn began fishing through his pockets. "Fine. But that stuff'll kill you."
"I am well-aware of that, Mister Mallory. I am not a child."
Quinn patted his jeans, then said, "Oh, no. My wallet. It's gone. I must have lost it in the slide. Great. It's probably buried in three feet of molten lava by now. Uh, professor...I really need this magazine, and..."
Professor Arturo plucked the copy of Quantum from his hands. "Mister Mallory, I shall purchase your magazine for you if it will cease your self-righteous prattling."
"It's a deal. But I'm a little worried about our cash flow. We haven't gotten jobs in weeks."
Arturo flipped through the Chronicle, studying the headlines. "Not to worry. I have been squirreling away a few pennies here and there to prepare for this eventuality."
"That's great," Quinn said. "How much you got?"
"Five thousand two hundred and sixteen dollars at last count."
"Five thousand?" Quinn repeated. "You saved away a few pennies and got over five thousand dollars?"
"Yes," Arturo murmured as he studied an ad for umbrellas. "And I would appreciate your secrecy on the matter. The bulk of my funds are intended for emergencies only."
"Hey, mum's the word." Quinn peered over his shoulder. "Find anything yet?"
Arturo turned the newspaper's page. "Not really. Usual nonsense. There does seem to be a significant lack of the crime-ridden articles the Chronicle usually prints, but..."
The clerk emerged from the backroom with a small white box. "Sorry, sir. Didn't have Marlboros. How about these, instead?"
Arturo took the package with a frown. "Hm. Generic. I suppose it will have to do. Oh, and I shall be purchasing this magazine as well."
"No problem." The clerk began ringing it through the cash register. "That'll be forty dollars."
Arturo raised an eyebrow. "Forty? Good lord. Perhaps there is high inflation in this world."
Arturo fished out two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet. He handed the money to the clerk.
The clerk took the money, reached under his coat, and pulled out a gun to aim it at Arturo.
"Freeze!" the clerk yelled. "DEA! Nobody move!"
"What?" Arturo asked.
Men in black body armor came charging out from the backroom of the newsstand. Before Quinn could react, they were on him and Arturo. He found himself being pressed face-down onto the floor, knees pinning him there as they rummaged hands through his pockets. Then handcuffs were snapped onto his wrists.
"What's going on?" Quinn yelled.
The men hauled him to his feet again, facing the vendor of the newsstand who whipped out a badge.
"DEA Agent Bernard Watterson," the clerk said. "You're under arrest."
"Arrest?" Arturo sputtered. "On what charges?"
"For attempting to purchase a controlled substance."
"What controlled substance?"
The clerk's eyes narrowed as he shoved the white package of cigarettes into Arturo's face. "Whadda you think these are, gumdrops? You're in a lotta trouble, mister."
The clerk who called himself Agent Watterson faced Quinn, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, well, well. Quinn Mallory. I don't believe it. Looks like our little net caught us a big fish."
"How do you know my name?" Quinn asked.
"Don't gimme that song and dance," Watterson growled. "You think I wouldn't recognize Quinn Mallory, the biggest druglord in San Francisco?"
"What? No..."
Agent Watterson turned away with a wave of his hand. "Take 'em away."
"No, wait!" Quinn screamed as he was pulled to the door of the newsstand. "You're making a mistake!"
* * *
Wade kicked idly at a nearby fire hydrant as she stood on the curb with Rembrandt. "Wonder what's taking so long."
"Yeah," Rembrandt said, "they could've bought the Brooklyn Bridge in the time they...hey, here they come."
Wade looked as Quinn emerged from the newsstand. But he wasn't alone. Ten or twenty men in black armor came out with him, all with the letters DEA emblazoned on their chests. Arturo came out as well, handcuffed and being moved as roughly as Quinn. The two of them were yelling at the men who dragged them towards black cars waiting at the curb.
"Quinn!" Wade yelled.
Quinn looked up at her. "Wade! Get back! Don't come near us!"
Wade ignored him, bolting into the road to reach him. But a sudden blare alerted her to the car that was hurtling towards her. Suddenly, Rembrandt was there, his hand closed around her arm, pulling her back onto the sidewalk. Wade shook off his arm as the flow of traffic continued, looking for a chance to cross. There was none.
"Quinn!" Wade screamed.
* * *
Quinn was barely aware of the Miranda Rights being read to him by the DEA officers as he watched Wade across the street. She was going hysterical, but couldn't come after him. Quinn was glad. He wasn't sure what he was mixed up in, but he was positive that getting Wade and Rembrandt involved would only make things worse.
Quinn was pushed down into the back of a police car. As he climbed in, Quinn noticed a billboard overlooking the square. He wished he had seen it earlier, because it would have saved them a lot of trouble. It was a large picture of a cartoon camel holding a package of cigarettes with a frown on its face. The caption was written in bold red lettering.
It read, "Joe Camel Says, 'Just Say No To Tobacco.'"
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