Sliders: High Society (3 of 20)

 by Jules Reynolds and Nigel G. Mitchell

Wade pressed her face hard against the glass of her window, watching the pavement retreat from her. The inside of the helicopter shook with the roar of the blades as she forced herself to turn away.

Her arms were still in the tight grip of the person that had taken her into the helicopter, sweeping her out of the mob into safety. Wade turned to find herself looking into his smiling face. But it was fake, molded from plastic, giving it the stiff appearance of a clothing store mannequin. It was some sort of robot, its body clothed in a blue-and-silver uniform. A dead giveaway were its eyes that glowed blue in their sockets.

There were other robots in the helicopter. One was behind the controls of the airborne vehicle. Others sat motionless along the sides of the copter, holding guns from which smoke drifted. Only one of the robots was active, still holding her in its soft, but cold grip.

The robot clicked, then spoke in a voice too calm and friendly to be real. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

"Yeah," Wade breathed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Get your hands off me."
 
Wade began to twist her arms, trying to break free of the robot's grip. But the robot immediately released her, lowering its arms to its sides.

Wade rubbed her sore forearms. The robot had grabbed her hard when it yanked her off the street. "Where am I? Where are you taking me?"

"We are taking you back."

Wade breathed heavily, glaring at the too-perfect face looking back at her. "Back? Back where?"

"Back to Uptown," the robot said.

Wade looked back out of the window again. She could see the sides of buildings sweeping past, enormous skyscrapers that never seemed to end.

"Uptown?" Wade asked. "You mean up there?"

"Correct," the robot said. "Where you belong."

Wade looked back at the robot with narrowed eyes. "You keep saying that. What makes you think I belong in Uptown or wherever?"
 
The robot stretched out a hand towards her neck. Wade lunged back until she realized it was reaching for her gold necklaces. The robot touched them, lifting them slightly to direct her attention to it.

"Only Uptowners," the robot said, "wear jewelry. Therefore, you are an Uptowner."

The realization of what was happening struck Wade. She was being taken away from the others, from her friends, from the timer, from everything. Her rescue had become a nightmare.

"No, I'm not an Uptowner," Wade said. "Look, there's been some sort of a mistake. Just put me back down..."

"I'm afraid that is not possible," the robot said. "Uptowners are not allowed Downtown. It is against regulation 2318-GKL..."

"I don't care about your stupid regulations," Wade yelled. "Take me back right now or I swear I'll jump out of this helicopter..."

The robot clamped its hand back onto her arm. This time, its grip tightened until Wade grunted in pain.

"I'm afraid that is not possible," the robot said. "We are taking you where you belong."

Wade was about to fight when she caught sight of the world outside the window. Sunlight was shining through the window again as the helicopter rose above the shelter of the buildings.

San Francisco was a vast sea of skyscrapers. All of them were topped with luxurious structures and buildings. She could see a dome covering one of them, sheltering grass and trees like a park. Another penthouse resembled a Grecian temple with pillars and grandiose statuary. It was all a complete reversal of the degradation she had seen on the streets.

"We are taking you," the robot continued, "back to Uptown."

* * *

Quinn stumbled over a pile of broken concrete and rubble, trying to see in the ever-present shadows. It was daytime. He knew it had to be day, since it had been day on their last world, and relative time usually didn't change on other worlds. But there was no light. The buildings all around them blocked it all out, casting the city into darkness.

"Wade!" Quinn shouted. "Wade, where are you?"

He heard the professor's voice, calling out Wade's name, too, followed by Rembrandt. Quinn tracked them, lurching past a woman in clothes caked with dirt. He turned a corner to find Arturo and Rembrandt in front of a long-deserted bank that now roared with flames pouring from its windows.

"Anything?" Quinn asked.

Rembrandt shook his head. "Nah, man, she's gone. Disappeared. Wherever that helicopter you saw took her, it ain't around here."

"Agreed," Arturo said. "I believe we should widen our search."

Quinn closed his eyes as he sighed. "Yeah. But at least the fighting is over. We'll be able to cover more ground."

Quinn put his hand up to his neck and massaged it, trying to ease the tension out of it. A sharp pain shot through to his temple and he winced. As he lowered his hand he saw blood staining his fingers.

Arturo frowned and turned Quinn to look at the back of his head. Quinn felt the professor's fingers probing through his scalp until there was another sting of pain.

"You've got a nasty cut there, Mister Mallory," Arturo said. "We need to get that taken care of quickly. Starting with something clean to bandage it with."

Rembrandt pulled his coat closer around himself as a cold wind fluttered their clothes. "Yeah, well, good luck on this world. It's like one big slum."

"Yes," Arturo said, "I think you've hit the proverbial nail on the head, Mister Brown. It seems that the San Francisco of this world is in an appalling state of decay and financial ruin."

Quinn shielded his eyes to look up at the buildings towering over them. They were so high that their tops faded into the clouds. "Well, they can't be that poor. They could afford to build these big buildings."

Rembrandt followed his gaze. "Yeah, somethin' weird's goin' on around here, guys. I mean, who needs places this big?"

"Perhaps to house a larger population," Arturo suggested.

Quinn closed his eyes, fighting the sudden wooziness sweeping through him. "Later. Right now, we gotta find Wade."

Then he was falling forward and Arturo was catching him.

Arturo struggled to prop Quinn back on his feet. "Wrong, Mister Mallory. First, we are getting you to a doctor. Then we shall see about finding Miss Welles."

Rembrandt jogged away from them, his boots crunching on the uneven pavement. "Hey, I think I saw a doc a few blocks away."

Arturo wrapped one of Quinn's arms around his neck to support him, then began helping Quinn forward. "Lead on, Mister Brown."

They made their way through the streets of the city. Quinn's head cleared enough to make out huddled masses all around them. Men, women, children, all wearing tattered clothes, gathering around fires in barrels to keep warm. Quinn thought back to the professor's comments, and wondered again what kind of world they had found themselves on.

Rembrandt lead them back to the area where they had first slid into. The riot was over, but people still lay in the road, groaning in pain. Some of them wore ragged strips of cloth wrapped around their arms, legs, heads, or ribs, holding
on pads stained with blood.

Only one man stood, wearing a coat with a red cross painted on the back and sleeves. He was tending to one woman, winding a ribbon of cloth around her stomach as fast as he could.

"Are you a doctor?" Rembrandt asked.

"Yes," the man said without looking up.

"Hey, great. We got a friend who's hurt bad."

The man used a pair of scissors to cut the cloth, then moved to someone else. "I'm sorry, but he'll have to get in line. We've got a lot of wounded, and I have to work on order of arrival and severity of injuries."

"That's okay," Quinn said. "I can wait. Set me down, professor."

Arturo lowered Quinn to the ground. Quinn settled back, trying not to let chunks of loose rock dig into his sides. He watched the doctor run from one patient to another.

"Hey," Quinn said, "were you around here earlier?"

The doctor looked up at him. "Yes. After that fiasco, I knew I'd be needed. Why?"

"Did you happen to see a woman getting taken into a helicopter? About this tall with brown hair, wearing a lot of jewelry?"

The doctor filled a hypodermic needle with a clear fluid from a bottle. "Yes. She was taken by one of the police helicopters, right?"
 
Rembrandt's face broke into a smile. "Hey, yeah. You know where they took her?"

The doctor pulled the needle out of the bottle. "There's only one place they could have taken her. Uptown."

"Uptown?" Arturo asked. "Where is that? Is it far?"

The doctor stared at him. "Sure it's far. About two hundred stories straight up."

He pointed at the swirling clouds above them.

Arturo shielded his eyes as he gazed up into the skies where buildings loomed. "Well, how do we get there? It's very important that we reunite with her soon."

The doctor shook his head. "Get up there? Look, I don't know where you three came from, but if you're down here, and she's up there, then you're never seeing her again. Ever."