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."

The man whipped away the card to reveal another, an artist's rendering of a housewife cheerfully filling a glass with Coca-Cola from her kitchen sink's faucet.

"Every home in San Francisco," the man said, "will have hot and cold running Coke. And they'll pay for it just like they pay for water. The entire city will be drinking it, and Coca-Cola will dominate the market like never before. After a year, the mayor will announce that, due to popular demand, Coca-Cola will permanently replace San Fran's water supply. If it works here, we can spread it nationwide. It'll be the biggest thing ever."

"That's preposterous!" Arturo yelled.

Everyone turned to stare at him as he glared up at the man, his eyes gleaming with fury. Wade tried to hold his hand, squeezing it to silence him, but it did no good.

"You can't be serious!" Arturo yelled. "You expect people to drink, wash their dishes, brush their teeth, even *bathe* in a soft drink? The public will never stand for it!"

The man smiled as he pointed at Arturo. "Thanks for that little segue, my friend. That's where the Crying Man comes in."

The man pulled away the second card to expose a third. This one was another drawing of someone at the sink. This time, it was Rembrandt Brown. He was happily washing dishes in fizzy brown soda.

"Mister Brown," the man said, "will be the center of the largest ad campaign in history. Its goal will be to convince the public that the end of the San Francisco water supply is the best thing that's ever happened to them. Mister Brown will play a regular joe rejoicing in the freedom to get all the New Coke he wants, whenever he wants, without leaving his home. The slogan will be 'Coca-Cola. It's not just for drinking anymore.'"

"Fantastic, eh?" Washington asked Rembrandt. "And we're willing to pay you one hundred million dollars to do it. That's what you get for signing on with us."

Rembrandt exchanged a pained look with Wade. She shared his horror at the idea, but he was forcing it not to show on his face. They couldn't afford to blow it now, not while they were so close.

He gave Washington a weak smile. "Uh...sounds... great."

Washington clapped his hands. "Excellent. We'll get started right now. We've prepared a studio where we can start shooting the print ads within the hour. Then it'll be off
to the film studio for the first round of commercials. You're gonna be big, my friend. You'll be right up there with the Dunkin Donuts Guy, the Energizer Bunny, even Mister Clean. Let's go. I'll give you the grand tour on the way."

Everyone rose from the table. Washington put his arm around Rembrandt and walked with him to the door. Wade and Arturo followed him closely, trying to look official.

As Arturo passed the easel, he plucked the graphic cards off it. "Uh, I'd like to take a look at these, if you don't mind."

The presenter turned pale. "Uh, I'm afraid those are top secret, Mister Arturo. They cannot be allowed to leave this boardroom."

Arturo smiled. "Oh, come now. What do you expect me to do? Steal them?"

He burst into cheerful, bellowing laughs. Washington grinned and chuckled with him. That set the whole room into howls of laughter. When Arturo had calmed down, he gave the presenter a gracious bow, then strode out of the room. He began looking over the cards as he walked.

Wade sidled up to him to whisper, "What are you doing?"

"Relax, Miss Welles," Arturo murmured. "I have a plan. Just follow my lead."

He reached into his jacket pocket and allowed her to see his lighter.  Wade grinned. She thought she knew what he had in mind.

* * *

The tour of the Washington and Lambert facility was as fascinating as it was horrifying. The ad agency was more like a secret agency or the capitol of a fascist government than a company.

Washington walked Rembrandt and the others through the building with the pride of a father showing off his children. Wade was watching Arturo, still reading the cards, as Washington pointed into a room they passed.

Wade saw the room's walls were covered with TV monitors. People in white lab coats were seated in rows in front of graphs, charts, and computers that they typed on furiously. Wade noticed that the views in all the monitors were of peoples living rooms and bedrooms. A family sat on a couch, staring at the camera while laughter echoed in the background.

"Here's where we monitor people watching TV around the country using hidden cameras," Washington said. "These people are unaware of it, but their viewing habits are checked twenty-four hours a day, and their every movement is plotted so that we can figure out how to improve our commercials."

They moved on to a room where the monitors showed children playing in rooms while adults looked on. To Wade's horror, the children weren't just playing with toys. They also drank beer and some were smoking cigarettes.

"Here," Washington explained, "we've got our cameras in day-care centers around the nation. The centers are actually fronts for the agency. We use the centers as focus groups for testing ads pushing toys, cigarettes, and alcoholic beverages to minors."

They walked to another room where the monitors showed C-SPAN and the interior of government offices. People in grey suits watched them as they typed on computers.

"Here's where we coordinate our control over the government," Washington continued. "It's where we calculate bribes for various politicians. Also, upcoming Senate bills are checked to see if they interfere with our industry. If so, the bill is stopped before it reaches the senate floor. We also monitor speeches. Anyone who speaks against the ad industry is targeted for a smear campaign that gets him booted out of office. And the president of the United States is, of course, paid well to appear in public and on-camera using various products we endorse."

Washington walked Rembrandt and the others to another room. "And here is our subliminal message department. It's where our crack team of scientists works to perfect our use of mind-control. Last I checked, they were reporting a fifty-three percent increase in sales from ads with these messages over those without."

"Nice," Rembrandt murmured.

Washington brought them to a glass wall printed with the words "Photography. Authorized personnel only." Washington pressed a hand over a metal plate by the glass
door. It beeped, then slid open the door with a click.

"And here's where you'll be staying for a few days," Washington said.

Washington led Rembrandt through the open door into a long corridor. Wade and Arturo followed, accompanied by a large squad of armed guards. The scent of chemicals thickened in the air. As they walked, they could hear voices coming from rooms adjoining the hallway. It was the sound of photographers giving instructions to
various models.

Wade peeked into a few open doors they passed. As she suspected, they were photography studios where glamorous men and women posed. They looked like ones she
had seen on TV, except the models were chained to the floor.

Then they passed one where a familiar voice emerged.

"I'm doin' the best I can," a man said.

"Well, that's not good enough," another man yelled. "I said to raise your chin and hold it there! Now, that's not too difficult, is it?"

"And I told you, I can't hold it that way much longer. My neck is killing me."

"I'll show you killing if you don't cooperate..."

Wade looked into the studio where the voices were coming from. There was Quinn. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, positioned awkwardly on a western ranch set. A
thin, white-haired man was gesturing furiously at him from behind a camera. Armed guards stood along the walls.

"Now just freeze," the man yelled. "Just like that! Thank you. Honestly, I'd never have taken this job if I didn't need the money..."

He took a place behind a camera and began snapping pictures.

Wade cleared her throat loudly. Arturo looked at her, then into the studio. He grinned.

"Excellent eyes, Miss Welles," he said.

Arturo pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He lit it with a flick of his thumb. He held the illustrated cards a few inches over the flame.

"All right," he bellowed, "nobody move!"

Washington stopped to look at him. His eyes widened with fear.

"Good lord, man," he said. "What are you doing? That campaign is worth billions."

"Exactly," Arturo snarled. "So if you know what's good for you, you will release Mister Brown and back away slowly."

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