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.

"What's the charge?"

The second policeman held up a T-shirt printed with the logo of the Dominion Hotel. "The clerk offered you and your friend four of these. Did you or did you not turn them down?"

"Well...yeah. We did. We didn't need any shirts."

The policeman glared at him. "Uh-huh. And I suppose you were unaware that it's a felony to turn down promotional products from someone whose services you employ."

"Listen, we didn't know that, honest..."

"Sure," the second policeman snarled. "Tell it to the judge, pal. Read him his rights, Murray."

The first officer flipped open a notebook and began to read from it. "This arrest has been brought to you by the Club, the finest car-security device in the world. You have the right to remain silent, unless you wish to promote a product. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law and in future advertising. You have the right to an attorney and free samples of any products the police department may be offering..."

The second policemen was wandering around the hotel room, sweeping the place with his cautious gaze. "The clerk said you came in with a woman. Where is she?"

"I...I don't know what you're talking about."

The policeman looked straight at the bathroom. A grin spread across his face. "Oh, yeah? Well, who's running that bathwater?"

Wade looked at the bath. The water was still running.

She slammed the door. She heard the policeman's footsteps coming towards it. Wade bolted across the bathroom to the small window on the other side. The door flew open behind her.

"Hold it right there!" the man yelled.

"Fat chance!" Wade yelled back.

She threw herself through the window, wriggling through the narrow space. She landed in an alley beside the hotel. Looking back, she saw the policeman trying to get through it. Wade took off through the alley and out onto the street, running as fast as she could.

* * *

Rembrandt wandered through the bookstore's magazine aisles, shaking his head. It was ridiculous. He couldn't find one decent magazine in the whole place. They were all nothing but ads. The only articles in these pseudo-magazines just pushed various products.

Arturo approached him, leafing through a paperback book. "How do things fare on your end, Mr. Brown?"

"Lousy," Rembrandt said. "This place ain't got a thing worth readin'. Look what they did to my favorite magazine, Music Madness. All the reviews just heap praise on every album. I checked the publisher. It turns out the magazine is produced by the same company that owns the label for all the albums they review."

"Mm. I must agree. Even the so-called literature in this world is merely an excuse to sell products. Their novels are beyond belief. Listen to this selection."

Arturo flipped to a page and began to read it aloud. "'She walked into the lobby of a Holiday Inn, a place that was warm and friendly, the kind of place that she would stay in if she had the chance. Her eyes met those of a man standing across the room. He was wearing Nike' sneakers, which are comfortable and affordable for anyone who's

on the go. 'Just do it,' he whispered.' Can you believe this nonsense? I won't even mention what they've done to the great works of William Shakespeare."

Rembrandt replaced his magazine on the rack. "Find out anything about this world?"

"Yes." Arturo tossed the novel onto a nearby bench. "I managed to find an unbiased work on the rise of the advertising industry in this world. It seems that in the early eighties, various ad agencies fused into 'mega-agencies.' That happened on our world as well. But in this world, the agencies of America fused again into 'ultra-agencies.'

"These ultra-agencies wielded huge resources and talent which they used to begin massive campaigns the likes of which our world has never seen. They began racing to put advertisements everywhere they could. And the more outrageous the campaign, the more outrageous the next one had to be to top it. They began funding political figures who pushed to remove government regulations on advertising. They succeeded."

Arturo looked up at a poster of Stephen King grinning as he held up a copy of his latest book. "The end result is what we see here, a nation literally ruled by advertising. Clothing is manufactured by companies for the sole purpose of placing ads on them. Television networks began putting more and more commercials on until they stopped airing anything else. Movie companies discovered that trailers are more popular than the movies themselves. Hence, the theater we saw before. Even government programs like the police and mass-transit systems are funded entirely by advertising. Nothing in this country is not affected in some way by it. Ad agencies here wield power once reserved for world governments."

Arturo wrinkled his nose at another beer poster with nude women on them. "And with the government regulations on false or inappropriate advertising gone, the agencies are free to pursue any reprehensible campaign they choose."

"Man," Rembrandt said. "That's freaky."

"Indeed. I, for one, shall be more than happy to leave this world."

Wade burst out of one of the aisles behind them, looking around, wildly. She finally spotted the others and ran up to them. "Oh, man, I've been looking all over for you guys."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Rembrandt asked.

"We've got trouble. With a capital T."

* * *

Quinn was amazed at how quickly he was processed through the legal system. Before he knew what hit him, he found himself standing in a courtroom before a judge.

"Next case," the bailiff said, "Dominion Hotel vs. Quinn Mallory. This case is being brought to you by Washington and Lambert, the largest ad agency in the Southwest."

"Mister Mallory," the judge said, "you've been charged with refusal to accept promotional goods. How do you plead?"

Quinn glanced back at his lawyer, who shrugged. He had outlined a plan of action to Quinn that hadn't been encouraging. Quinn's only hope seemed to be if Wade and the others could find a way out of this.

"Uh...guilty," Quinn said, repeating what his lawyer had coached him on. "With an explanation. I was unaware of the law in this part of the country."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," the judge said. "However, I've spoken with our sponsors, the good people at the Washington and Lambert Agency, and based on your appearance, they've agreed to intervene in your case."

Quinn grinned and looked back at his lawyer, who gave him a thumbs-up. "Oh. Really? Uh...great."

"Yes," the judge said. "For this reason, I hereby sentence you to four years serving Washington and Lambert as a model prisoner. Your first photo shoot is in one hour."

The judge slammed down his gavel on his desk. Quinn looked around him as two guards came forward to take his arms. They began to lead him out of the courtroom.

"What?" he yelled. "Hey, what's going on? What's a model prisoner?"

"Relax," the lawyer yelled as Quinn went by. "It'll be great. The first year'll go by like that!"

Quinn felt a growing sense of horror as he was hauled out of the courtroom. He wasn't sure what had just happened to him, but something told him he was in serious trouble.

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