High Society

The following story, "High Society," is intended for entertainment purposes only. It can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies.

"High" cannot be sold or translated into any other form without written permission from the authors. Some characters and elements of this story are the property of St Clare Entertainment, used without authorization. No copyright infringement is intended. The authors receive no compensation from the distribution of this work. Any comments or criticism would be welcome.

AUTHORS' NOTE:

"High Society" was written in collaboration by Jules Reynolds and Nigel G. Mitchell, starting in August 1996 and ending on March 1, 1997. We also co-authored the Sliders fanfic story, "Chase."

The planned schedule is for "High Society" to be posted bi-weekly on the Sliders Fanfic Mailing List on Mondays and Thursdays. Anyone who misses parts can find them in the newsgroup alt.tv.sliders.creative or email one of the authors for copies.

Bear in mind that although this story is being posted from one email address, the authors have separate accounts. Comments should be directed to *both* authors, whose addresses are listed in the heading. Comments directed to only one author will be forwarded to the other, unless we are specifically requested not to.

The small coffee house overlooked the water, its tables arranged in a neat line outside. The day was quite perfect. A warm sun smiled down on the people who sat there chatting easily to one another. The scene could so easily have been repeatable on almost any world.

Professor Arturo eased himself back on his chair and gazed across the water to the small boats which nestled side by side. They moved gently with the current, bobbing back and forth together.

"I wonder if Miss Welles has found what she was looking for?" he mused as he picked up the daily newspaper which had arrived along with their drinks.

Rembrandt sighed. "Who knows? Sure beats me why she wanted to go off exploring. This world looks pretty ordinary to me."

Quinn looked up from the magazine he was studying. "Yeah, well we've been down that road before. Never assume ordinary just by appearances. Anyway, no one stops Wade when she wants to do something."

Rembrandt grinned. "Yeah, guess you're right Q-Ball."

Arturo put the paper down. "I'm sure it has something to do with the flier she was handed this morning. Do you remember that strange woman who approached her just after we'd arrived?"

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "Did anyone notice the way the woman spoke to her but wouldn't even look at us?"

"Yes, that was rather odd. I thought at first she was just shy, but all the other women we've seen have done the same thing. Avoided eye contact with us."

"Maybe men are superior here or somethin," suggested Rembrandt.

Arturo looked at him thoughtfully. "Hmm...it could well be that or perhaps some strange custom on this world. I doubt we'll find out in the short space of time we're here."

"Let's just hope she doesn't forget we're sliding out soon," said Rembrandt.

"She won't," murmured Quinn, his head bowed down in his magazine.

A young waitress moved across to their table and placed a tray down in front of them.

"Thank you, my dear," Arturo said smiling, and took a bagel from the plate.

The girl lowered her eyes and moved hurriedly away. A flush of embarrassment tinged her cheeks.

"Looks like they're all shy, Professor," Rembrandt observed with a chuckle, as he reached for a bagel and took a bite.

"Yes. Very strange indeed," Arturo said and then dropped the newspaper he was holding to the table. "Good grief!"

Quinn looked up and followed the Professor's gaze. Wade had returned.

Rembrandt's eyes widened at the sight of the diminutive figure staggering towards them. She was laden down with gold chains, rings and bracelets. "Sweetheart, you'll sink through the floor!" he exclaimed.

Wade smiled knowingly as she reached the three men.

"Miss Welles, I think 'overkill' is an applicable word at this juncture," Arturo murmured, his eyes rolling skywards.

"Will you guys quit complaining and help me carry this stuff," Wade pleaded as she started to pull gold chains over her head, and handed them to each of the men in turn.

Quinn fingered the gold he was handed and whistled. "Must be thousands of dollars worth here." He looked at Wade who was grinning widely.

"Nope, hundreds of *thousands* of dollars worth," she corrected as she held out her fingers and displayed the thick bands of gold adorning them.

"Wow, Wade," said Rembrandt as he gently ran his finger across a shiny gold bracelet nestling on her wrist. "How d'ya manage to buy all these?"

"Oh it was easy. I just........" Wade swung around startled, as a hand rested heavily on her shoulder.

"I assume that these items of jewelry are yours, miss?" The tall man, dressed in a policeman's uniform, eyed the chains in Quinn and Rembrandt's hands with interest.

"Uh. Yes, of course officer," she stuttered in reply.

"Well, I'd like to see them around *your* neck and not demeaning these gentlemen, if you please. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to discuss this further at the Station."

The man glared at Wade until she snatched the chains back from Rembrandt and Quinn, and draped them back around her neck.

She smiled sweetly at the officer and pushed Rembrandt's hand well away from the bracelet on her wrist.

The policeman's expression stayed hostile. "I'll forget I saw this, just this once. But in future kindly remember the rules, miss."

Wade nodded silently. The man glared at the entire group and moved away. They watched as he stopped at another table and spoke to two women seated on their own.

"He sure seems fascinated by jewelry," Rembrandt observed, as the man fingered the chains around the women's necks and examined them carefully.

"What was *that* all about?" Quinn asked as he looked from Wade to the retreating form of the policeman, who by now was moving away down the waterside.

"Um...I meant to tell you guys....." she started but was stopped by Arturo.

"What Miss Welles is trying to tell you, my young friend, is that on this world, gold is cheap. Very cheap. There's an advertisement in this newspaper for a Gold Mart. Would you like to enlighten us, Miss Welles?"

Wade slumped down on a seat.

"Okay, guys. Here's the deal. Gold is considered to be for women only, and that's why it's so cheap. Any man seen with a gold wristwatch or anything else is considered to be 'debasing' the male form." Wade raised her eyes at the word 'debasing.'

Arturo interrupted. "Do I gather you don't approve?"

"Hardly Professor," Wade answered sarcastically. "If it debases men then it should debase women as well. But on this world, silver is considered to be the most valuable metal, and of course it's for men only."

Arturo eyed Wade with interest. "I find it interesting that you have obviously taken advantage of this situation. I would think that you would hate such a concept of sheer unadulterated repression of your sex to be abhorrent, Miss Welles. It does surprise me that you have fallen prey to such greed on a world which subscribes to these concepts."

Wade's eyes lowered momentarily. She knew he was right, but the urge to replenish their money supplies had been overwhelming.

"Wade. You knew?" Quinn asked her accusingly.

"Yeah, I knew. Okay? I did it for us, guys. Come on. We didn't even have enough on the last world to stay in some crummy backstreet hotel. I just couldn't resist it. Gold goes for virtual peanuts on this world. You'd have done it too, if you weren't too busy eating for half an hour, instead of exploring the local shops."

"I doubt we'd have been allowed through the doors of the shops you went into, Miss Welles. According to this newspaper, two men were imprisoned last week for stepping foot inside a Gold Emporium across town." Arturo dropped the newspaper to the table and took a last drink of his mineral water.

"Man, what a society!" Rembrandt grimaced in disgust.

"I wish I had time to read through the history books on this world. I cannot imagine for the life of me, what has caused such a strange social code to develop," Arturo murmured as he put down his glass.

"I got this when we arrived," Wade said and passed Arturo the leaflet she'd been handed.

Arturo sat silently while he digested the contents of the two page flier. The others watched and waited.

With a sigh, Arturo put the leaflet down and raised his eyes skyward.

"Quite unbelievable," he muttered.

"Come on, Professor," urged Rembrandt.

"Proverbs," Arturo said.

"What about them?" asked Quinn, putting down his magazine and giving the Professor his full attention.

"This society appears to be based on certain proverbs announced by one of their founder fathers. At least that's what this leaflet implies. The sad thing is that the proverbs which appear to be the most highly used here, are also the most oppressive to women. At least that's what this anti-establishment leaflet implies."

"Like what?" asked Rembrandt.

Arturo looked across at Wade. "Well this leaflet lists the ten main rules for this society. I think the first two are enough for our little discussion, don't you Miss Welles?"

Wade nodded.

"Let me see. 'Silence is a woman's best garment'. That's the first one, swiftly followed by 'Speech is silver but silence is golden'." Arturo paused. "They've taken the first proverb and added the second. Hence silver is for the speakers and hence government of the country, who by all accounts are the men. Gold is therefore attributed to the silence of the women. Voila!"

Quinn groaned. "That's crazy," he said.

Arturo shook his head. "No more crazy than any society's roots. This one just happens to believe totally in what was laid down a few hundred years ago. The rules have basically stuck."

"Let's find a place to slide guys." Quinn rose to his feet and looked at Wade. "This place gives me the creeps. Let's get you and your wealth out of here before anything else can happen."

"Hey, just as well you don't have your nose pierced girl!" laughed Rembrandt as he rose to his feet and looked across at Wade.

"Indeed, Mr. Brown. A large gold nose ring would be worth a fortune on some worlds," joked Arturo, glancing sidelong at Wade.

"No way! I wouldn't go that far for you guys!" she replied and smiled, adding, "Let's just hope, that the next world is the kind of place to exchange this little pile for some Greenbacks."

Wade started to get out of her seat and sat back down again. The weight around her neck made coordinated movement difficult.

"I think I'm gonna need some help here, guys," she squeaked.

"Come on sweetheart, give me your hand," Rembrandt said as he hauled her to her feet. He started to guide her towards the alleyway to one side of the coffee bar. "You sure do go overboard sometimes," he added.

Wade turned to glare at him. She felt she hardly needed reminding.

Quinn pointed the timer at the far wall of the alley and the blue beam spiked out, fanning out into a whirlpool of light.

Rembrandt and Arturo leapt through the mouth of the vortex leaving Quinn and Wade to follow.

"You'll have to walk up to it and launch yourself at it," he recommended, suppressing a broad smile. "Or you could leave some behind......"

"I'm outta here!" she declared and ran forward awkwardly. The chains clanked as she ran and banged hard against her chest. As she threw herself into the vortex she gripped them hard. The thought of a few extra luxuries on next world took her mind off the strain of jumping.

The hard wall which Quinn slammed into came as a shock to his system. He must have opened the portal close to a wall in the next world. Still, you could never be certain where the vortex would open.

He stood up and rubbed his arm ruefully. He was standing in a long and fairly narrow alleyway. The dampness was evident as a pungent smell which stung his nostrils. A thick darkness hung over the area making it difficult to see for more than a few feet.

"Everyone okay?" he asked, as he turned to peer through the dark and saw Wade straightening herself and her newfound wealth out.

He could just make out Arturo helping Rembrandt to his feet.

"Yes, my boy," Arturo said, "I do believe that on this occasion, Mr. Brown did not kick me in the back."

"Yeah, and for once you're not complainin' about it. Makes a nice change," Remmy observed grinning.

Wade wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Geez, this alleyway sure stinks!"

"Yeah, it's pretty dark too. Let's move to somewhere that's better lit guys," Quinn suggested, moving to the mouth of the alley.

As he moved, his feet collided with something on the floor. He lost his balance.

He lurched forwards., hands outstretched, onto the ground nearby. "What the...?" he exclaimed and moved his hands across the rough, dirty ground to feel the obstacle and move it out of the way.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could make out that the obstacle was in fact a bundle of what looked like rags. He took hold of it with both hands and heaved hard. The "bundle" flipped over.

Wade covered her mouth and turned to the alley wall.

Quinn's eyes narrowed. The "bundle" was the very dead body of a young man. Abandoned in the alleyway, he looked as though he were some kind of transient. Dirty, ragged clothing. The body was thin and emaciated.

"I suggest that we leave this area, Mr. Mallory," said Arturo. It's obvious that we cannot do anything for this poor wretch. I do not think that remaining here will serve any useful purpose." Arturo took Wade's arm firmly, and guided her past the body and into the mouth of the alleyway.

Quinn looked reluctantly at the body and felt pity that such a young life should end in such bleak circumstances.

"Looks like this ain't gonna be paradise, man," Remmy declared grimly as he moved with Quinn to join the others.

Quinn nodded numbly.

The alleyway opened onto a wider street. It seemed fairly deserted although several shapes moved slowly across on the other side. The nearer the shapes came to the group the easier it was to see that they were people on the very borders of society. Poorly and inadequately dressed, moving as frightened animals to avoid contact with others. They could see fires burning in the distance and dark shapes which rose into the sky. Buildings of some sort which stretched high into the clouds and beyond.

As the group stood contemplating the darkness and wondering which way to go, the sky suddenly filled with light and sound.

Shafts of light illuminated the street in which they found themselves. Sounds of people screaming assaulted their ears, as a large mob appeared at one end of the street and made its way towards them.

Quinn gripped Wade's arm and ushered her in the other direction, Arturo and Rembrandt close on their heels.

Dark, blue and silver shapes swooped in from above them. They were accompanied by a throbbing roar.

"Helicopters! Police Helicopters!" Rembrandt shouted, trying to get his voice heard above the noise of the rotors and the screaming, baying mob which seemed to be heading right towards them.

"Into this doorway, fast!" Quinn screamed. He pushed Wade up against the closed door and pulled Rembrandt and Arturo in next to him.

The mob was discernible as individuals now. Hundreds of men and women thronging in the street in front of them, fighting with each other and with strange, stiff looking men in uniforms. The brilliant blue and silver of the uniforms contrasted strongly with the dull, colorless clothes the majority of the people were wearing.

Intermittently, gunfire rang out. Wade was sure she could hear individual screams after each burst of gunfire, and the dull thud, as each time someone fell to the ground.

"We've got to get away from here, Mr. Mallory," Arturo shouted above the noise.

Quinn nodded and looked for a way through the swarming masses.

To the left of the mob the area was clearer. Quinn pointed and pulling Wade with him, ran towards the escape route.

The large and ugly sneer sat on the man's face as he rose suddenly in front of Quinn and put a hand out. The force shoved Quinn backwards. As he sprawled on the ground and scrambled to his feet he could see Arturo and Rembrandt had problems of their own. Some of the brute's friends were busy ensuring that any escape route was cut off for them as well.

Quinn heard the shot ring out. He watched in mute fascination and horror as his assailant lurched forwards towards him, his eyes rolling backwards into his head, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his mouth.

Quinn couldn't stop the man from falling. He couldn't get out of his way either. The force thrust his head backwards, and he felt the crack as it hit the ground below him. He tried to move, his head swimming, but the sheer body weight pinned him to the ground. His eyes roamed desperately for Wade.

"Wade!" He heard his voice, but it seemed to disappear into the cacophony of sound which rang around him.

"Quinn!" He heard her voice calling out to him, but from where?

Suddenly he heard the whine of the helicopter rotor blade and saw her. The silver and blue metallic figure had her pinned within its grip as it walked steadily towards the helicopter. She was struggling hard, kicking and punching as she was carried forwards. It seemed to have little effect on her captor.

As he watched the helicopter rise gracefully from the scene of devastation, and saw Wade's face pressed against the window, staring out at the scene below her, his heart sank.

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 everpresent 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, Quinn," 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, Mr. 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, Mr. 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, Mr. 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 was leading 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 orange-pink hair, wearing a thick lambskin coat?"

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."

The landing was strangely soft. Wade moved forward cautiously towards the exit doors, following the robot ahead of her.

The strong sunlight tore at her eyes and she screwed them up before she was blinded, raising her arm to act as a temporary shield while they adjusted to the brilliance.

It was the color of her surroundings which made the first impression. Light pastel colors on some buildings, and yet bright primary colors on others. A sheer kaleidoscope of rich imagery. Everywhere she looked, color. The sheer contrast to the gray dirt and degradation, and the dark alleyways of the world in which her friends were stranded was incredible.

Wade stood and hesitated. The robot ahead of her was moving slowly and purposefully towards a large dome-like structure right in front of them. She glanced across from the building and realized the cause of the soft landing. The helipad was grassed over.

She noticed shields made from a translucent, almost glass-like material, running around the perimeter of the rather large police heliport. Occasionally she thought she caught a glimpse of them move and then she realized. They were wind breaks, and were flexing. Obviously they were designed to prevent the helicopters from being taken by a sudden gust of wind and thrown from the top of the tower.

A sudden feeling of pressure in the small of her back pulled her from her reverie. She felt herself being propelled forwards. The robot who was prodding her kept his hand close to her body to encourage her to keep moving.

The blue and silver dome was quite beautiful. In fact Wade had never seen such an aesthetically pleasing, and luxurious police building before.

"Locator card, please ma'am," the robot's mechanized voice broke into her thoughts as she stood in front of the main desk and stared blank faced at him, her brain racing.

Where was her usual quick thinking? She didn't know what to say.

"Uh...I seem to have mislaid it," she said finally, patting her jeans pockets and the pockets of her coat. She waited for the response.

"I cannot return you to your correctly designated living area without your locator card," the voice droned on.

Wade smiled sweetly, even though she knew the smile would have little, if any, effect on the robot.

"I must have dropped it, back down there," she said, nodding her head sharply downwards to indicate the area from where she'd been abducted.

"You have violated 2318 GKL. You have mislaid an official Locator card. You will be interrogated." The glowing eyes took on an edge of menace as she met the stare of the mechanical creature in front of her. For the first time since she'd met the robots, a hand of fear clawed uncomfortably at her stomach.

***

"Man, this is one hell hole of a world," Rembrandt muttered unhappily as he supported Quinn. They were on their way to the Shelter they'd had directions for.

Arturo clutched a small scrap of paper. Their introduction from the doctor to the people who ran the place.

Quinn was feeling decidedly tired and his wound was not a little uncomfortable. Even though he'd received medical attention of sorts, he knew the aseptic world of the casualty departments he remembered back home were a far cry from this dirt ridden environment.

"Yes, we do appear to have arrived in a world of complete and utter destitution, don't we?" mumbled Arturo miserably, as he walked slightly ahead of them, his coat pulled tightly around him to ward off the cold wind which whipped around every corner.

"I'd just settle for a bed and a warm drink, guys," Quinn murmured quietly.

"Yes, and some proper medical attention too," Arturo whispered in Rembrandt's ear. "Good God those bandages were filthy. I'm surprised he's not burning up with a raging infection." Rembrandt nodded.

The darkness was oppressive. There were no street lights, although from very high above them Quinn could glimpse that the sky was blue. It wasn't night and yet it might as well have been, for all the sunlight which filtered down to the streets below. His head spun from the effort of looking upwards.

"I do believe we have found the Shelter," Arturo declared suddenly, as they rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a large building. The disrepair was obvious, but lights glowed from within. For some reason, the little group felt their spirits rise as they joined the long line of fellow lost souls which snaked to the left of the main door.

***

The room was white. In fact it was so white that Wade felt oppressed just by the cleanliness of it. A painting or something, anything to break the monotony of its lackluster lines. But there was nothing. Just white.

"Well now, what have we here?" The male voice interrupted her thoughts. "A poor lost Uptowner or a Downtowner with an eye to tricking her way into the high life? Now which is it going to be, I wonder?"

The voice was cutting in its sarcasm and the underlying menace was unmistakable. Wade heard the door close behind him and guessed that if she got the wrong answer she'd end up somewhere very unpleasant. The shiver which ran up her spine was sudden.

His face was close now, peering at her, studying her eyes and then casting them across the chains, rings and bracelets which adorned her torso and limbs.

Wade glanced at the man who owned the voice, expecting a gnarled, hardened police officer. She sucked in a breath silently. He was devastatingly attractive. Dark and handsome. Tall and muscular. He could have been a model, he had the looks. She shrugged inwardly. Nothing on this world to say good-looking men couldn't become police officers. She'd seen some before who were just as attractive.

She sat quietly as he reached across and fingered the chain, examining it closely.

He let it drop and then moved slowly around Wade's chair, his eyes fixed on her face, his gaze locking with her eyes and studying them. Trying to gauge what was going on inside that attractive little head of hers. Trying to decide whether she was for real or not.

"You've got no identification, no Locator card and you were found in the middle of the riots in Downtown. Wanna explain yourself?"

Wade tore her eyes from his gaze and looked at the floor. She'd spent the time trying to think up some plausible explanation. She had to buy some time. If she thought that admitting to being from Downtown meant that she'd be taken back down there, then she'd confess it and return to the others. A doubt nagged at her though. She didn't know the punishment for trying to trick her way into this place called Uptown. She had a feeling she didn't want to.

"I...I don't remember," she said sadly and shook her head numbly. She realized that this Oscar winning performance would have to convince her captors. She had her doubts.

The man looked at her for a minute and then cleared his throat.

"Seen this before. Memory loss. Had a case way back. Young woman abducted for ransom by a group of Downtowners who infiltrated the system. She forgot everythin' about her past life when she came back. Had to have treatment for years."

He shook his head and tutted loudly. "Don't want a pretty young thing like you endin' up the same, now do we?"

He turned away from her and swallowed hard. The memory of the slating he'd got from the Chief was a bitter pill to swallow. He'd thought the woman was an impostor then and she'd ended up a complete head case. The chief blamed him for not having referred her to Psyche there and then, but he'd hesitated, didn't believe her. He nearly lost his permit and was threatened with being sent back. He shuddered. After all these years to end up back there. As he opened the door he turned and smiled at Wade.

"Never you mind, honey. I'll get you sorted out. We got processes of finding out where you come from, don't you worry 'bout it. Don't worry at all."

As he shut the door Wade started to worry.

***

The room spun around Quinn. When he closed his eyes it was worse somehow. When he opened them the room slowed down and the pain eased slightly. And yet he couldn't get comfortable. He certainly couldn't get up. The last time he'd tried to leave the makeshift bed he'd been allocated, he'd been as sick as a dog which had only resulted in making the jackhammer in his head worse. The painkillers were pathetically inadequate. Still, at least they were better than nothing. The pain was less intense now and he began to feel sleepy.

"You feelin' any better Q-Ball?" Rembrandt asked as he gingerly perched next to Quinn on the bed.

"Don't ask," Quinn replied solemnly, his eyes screwed up, his brow furrowed with an effort to make the pain dissipate faster.

Rembrandt sighed. The doctor had said Quinn needed some sleep. If he got that then he'd recover quicker. His injury wasn't serious, just very uncomfortable. His equilibrium was temporarily out of balance from the blow to the head but the doctor had estimated that it wouldn't be long before he'd be able to move without emptying his stomach contents onto the floor.

Arturo came to stand next to them, his eyes betraying how he felt.

"Any change?" he asked softly, indicating Quinn with his head.

Rembrandt shrugged. "Difficult to tell." He got up to speak to him.

"Did you tell him our urgency, Mr. Brown?" Arturo asked, looking at the now sleeping form of their young friend.

Rembrandt shook his head sadly. "Nah. Wouldn't make any difference now would it Professor? If he can't move, he can't. There isn't anything we can do or say that's gonna change that fact and that's for sure."

Arturo drew the timer from his jacket and examined the display. He tutted loudly.

"We'll have to think very hard about getting Miss Welles back from up there." He nodded upwards. "Before the window of opportunity closes and leaves us stranded. I for one, do not relish the thought of being stranded here for any length of time." Arturo stuffed the timer back inside his jacket.

Rembrandt groaned softly and stared down at Quinn.

The dark and welcome veil of sleep which washed over Quinn, was the temporary end to his pain and for now that was all he was bothered about.

***

"And this must be our little girl!"

The high pitched squeal of delight which accompanied the words, belonged to the most highly made-up woman Wade had ever seen in her life.

Make-up plastered on thickly. Eye-lashes caked in dark, black mascara. Red shiny lips and peroxide hair which fell in a solid mass towards her shoulders, obviously so highly lacquered that even a strong gust of wind wouldn't have moved it. And yet beneath the false promises which the make-up held, the woman was attractive in her own right. Wade could see that.

She reached a red taloned hand out towards Wade and touched her shoulder.

"How sweet! How delightful!" she squealed excitedly and turned to the policeman at the door.

"Of course I'll take her home. It will be a pleasure, darling," she enthused, smiling delightedly. "The least I can do. We all do our bit, now don't we, darling?" She strutted towards the door.

"Come on dear," she said turning and going back to Wade. She took her arm and propelled her towards the door. "Let's just get your hand prints done so the nice policeman can find out where you live."

Wade groaned inwardly. It wouldn't be too long before they found out she didn't exist in Uptown at all. Then she'd be labeled as a Downtowner and punished.

She turned to the policeman as she followed the woman through the door. He smiled kindly at her.

"What do you do to the Downtowners who manage to come up here?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Send them back where they belong," he replied and added with a grin, "of course they get there a lot quicker. We just throw them off one of the towers."

Wade followed the woman out of the police headquarters to the heliport. There were other police helicopters on the pad, but a new vehicle waited in a space alongside them. It reminded Wade of a sort of car, except that it had four tubular engines on its sides instead of wheels. Whatever it was, it was obviously a luxury vehicle. Its sleek lines were painted a neon pink, except for the edges which were trimmed with gold.

As they approached the vehicle, the woman by Wade's side held out a small device like a beeper and said, "Doors open, please."

The winged doors of the vehicle swung upwards with a soft hum.

"All aboard, darling," the woman said as she strode to the far side.

Wade looked into the vehicle's interior. It was the same shade of pink with four seats that were incredibly soft. As Wade slid into the passenger seat, she realized that there was no steering wheel or obvious controls of any kind. The dashboard was completely smooth.

The woman settled herself into the seat next to her and said, "Doors close. Take me home."

The doors closed. Straps slid out of Wade's seat to hold her in. The vehicle rumbled, then jets of air exploded out of the side- engines. Wade grabbed hold of the dashboard as the vehicle lifted off the ground.

She looked out of the side window, her mouth hanging open, to watch the heliport slide away. The hovercraft was flying into the clouds, among the high towers of San Francisco. The vehicle made course changes as it flew without any apparent guidance from the woman. Wade guessed the vehicle was on some sort of voice-activated autopilot system.

Wade looked at the woman next to her. She was buffing her nails with a file.

The woman gave her an exaggerated look of pity. "You've been through a terrible ordeal, sweetie. Champagne?"

Before Wade could respond, the woman had repeated the word at the dashboard. A hatch opened and two chilled glasses of champagne slid out. Wade took one and drank a careful sip. It was delicious.

She looked carefully at the woman, who was downing the champagne like soda. "Who are you?"

The woman smacked her lips, holding her glass with her pinky extended. "Grace Worthington, dear. And your name is..."

"Wade Welles."

"Wade," Grace repeated. "What an absolutely charming name. Caviar?"

Another hatch opened on the dashboard, and a bowl of caviar slid out with two spoons. "Uh, no thanks." Wade watched Grace help herself to some of the caviar. "Uh, it's very...nice of you to take me in like this."

Grace smiled around the spoon in her mouth, pulled it out, and patted Wade's knee. "Nonsense, darling. It's what I do. Charity is my life. I live to help those less fortunate than I, especially those poor Downtowners."

Wade saw an opening to finding out more about this world. She tried to sound casual as she struggled to come up with a question that would tell her something more. "Yeah, it's pretty bad down there, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Grace sighed. "But then, they do bring it all on themselves. If they only had the strength of will to pull up their bootstraps and get somewhere in life, then they wouldn't... ah, here we are! Home sweet home."

The hovercraft was lowering itself onto another helipad, this one beside a luxurious art-deco penthouse. The vehicle was dropping through a hatch in a plastic dome that covered the balcony. Rows of flowers danced as the vehicle landed beside them.

When the hovercraft had landed with a series of thumps, the doors swung upwards. The straps around Wade retracted into the seat. She climbed out, her hair tousled by the whining engines.

Grace was making her way through the garden-like setting of the balcony, her hands making sweeping gestures in the air. "Come along. Mi casa su casa, sweetie."

Wade followed her down a stone path to a set of French doors. The doors swung open as Grace drew near them, and a voice rang throughout the penthouse.

"The mistress of the house is home," the disembodied voice said.

The penthouse was the most luxuriously decorated place Wade had ever seen. Every piece of furniture matched perfectly, forming smooth white lines that gave the living room the appearance of being unified. Paintings hung on the walls. Wade didn't need to be an art major to know were extraordinary masterpieces. She walked on a carpet that her shoes practically sank into.

A man walked out of one of the adjoining rooms. He wore a tuxedo that was perfectly tailored to his muscular frame. He was the second most handsome man Wade had ever seen. The first had been the policeman who interrogated her earlier.

The man was holding a tray of glasses filled with wine. Grace swept off one of the glasses and brought it to her lips in one motion.

Ah, Charles," Grace said after a sip, "this is Miss Welles. She'll be staying with us for a few days. Make up the guestroom so she'll be comfortable."

The butler bowed. "Yes, madam."

Wade noticed the butler gave her a strange look before walking off into another room. Grace swept her hands to take in the penthouse. "Do you like it?"

Wade looked up at a chandelier that almost dripped diamonds from its wings. "It's...fantastic."

Grace clasped her hands over her chest. "Oh, I just knew you'd like it, darling. It's not much, I know, but we get by. But come, come, you simply must see the rest of the place. And my dear family, of course."

She took Wade's hands in a firm grip and almost dragged her towards another doorway. Throwing open the door revealed another almost empty room. Its only content was a small booth. Images swirled on the outside of the booth, from which music and sounds were emerging.

Grace walked over to the booth and rapped on the side with a ruby-ringed fist. "Oh, Brenda? We have a visitor."

A young woman's voice rang out from the booth. "Leave me alone. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Grace's everpresent cheerful demeanor slipped a little as she glanced at Wade with discomfort. But the smile returned. "But sweetie, I've brought home a simply charming young lady. She's going to be our guest."

The booth fell silent. A door Wade hadn't noticed on its side flew open. A young eighteen-year-old woman leaned out of it. With the door open, Wade could see that the interior of the booth had images projected onto it. The effect made it seem as if she was surrounded by a three-dimensional view of a street in Paris.

The woman pulled a set of headphones out of her long, blonde hair, and scowled. "Mother, this isn't another one of your charity cases again, is it?"

* * * Quinn returned to the real world slowly, gradually rising from unconsciousness. There was a man leaning over him, shining a penlight into his eyes. Quinn recognized him as the doctor who had helped them before.

The doctor grinned. "Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend."

Quinn tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lie back down again. "How long...was I out?"

Arturo leaned into his field of vision. "Not long, my boy. A few minutes."

The doctor turned away to dig through a medical bag. "You'll be fine, son. Just relax. I've given you some medication that should at least put you back on your feet." Quinn nodded. "I...I do feel a little better." Relatively. The vertigo had eased somewhat.

The doctor grunted and strode off across the room with his bag. With his vision clearing, Quinn was able to see that his bed was surrounded by coughing, groaning bodies. The doctor moved among them swiftly, taking thermometers and pushing pills into open mouths. Another woman with a red cross on her coat was working with him, but the two were obviously outnumbered.

Quinn looked up at Rembrandt and Arturo standing over him. "What's going on?"

"TB epidemic," Rembrandt said. "Doc says it's runnin' rampant down here."

"Yes," Arturo said. "And without adequate medical supplies, these people have little hope of squashing it."

Quinn managed to sit up a little bit. "Have you guys figured out anything about this place yet?"

"Just bits and pieces," Rembrandt said. "Snoopin' around, tryin' not to ask too many dumb questions. Seems like the whole city, maybe even the whole country, is one big slum on the ground, but in the air's another story."

"They have names for it," Arturo said. "Down here is called Downtown. Up at the top of those skyscrapers are a vast network of penthouses that they call Uptown. Details are hazy at best, but it seems that the poor live down here and the rich live up there. But we haven't been able to find a discreet way to get any more in-depth information than that."

Quinn pressed a palm against his forehead, feeling his cold fingers against his hot skin. "Great. Any ideas on getting Wade back?" Arturo silenced him with a wave of his hand as the doctor returned to Quinn's bed.

"All right," the doctor said, "I've got some time now. What'd you want to talk to me about?"

"It is vitally important," Arturo said, "that we retrieve our companion from Uptown. Soon. Very soon."

Quinn caught the urgency in his voice and stole a glance at Rembrandt. Rembrandt caught his eye and shrugged. Quinn remembered the timer. He also remembered he hadn't checked how much time they had left in this world.

The doctor shook his head. "I told you people before, from what you've told me, her abduction was a mistake. Your friend was probably killed the minute they found out she wasn't an Uptowner."

Rembrandt held out a hand. "Look, our buddy's real resourceful. If there's a way to survive, she found it. So suppose she did hang on up there. Is there any way we could get to her or at least talk to her?"

The doctor shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. "Well... there's only one group capable of getting into Uptown. The Renegades."

"Renegades," Arturo said. "All right, is there a way we can contact them?"

The doctor regarded the three men with narrowed eyes, then shook his head. "Nah, you can't be spies. Even Uptowners wouldn't be this obvious. All right, get your friend dressed. I'll take you." He strode off across the room, back into the suffering of others. His partner stopped him to show him a series of charts.

Quinn slid his legs off the bed and took the pants that Arturo handed to him.

"You think we can trust this guy?" Rembrandt asked.

"We don't have much choice, Mr. Brown," Arturo said. "We must recover Miss Welles, and at present, this man is our only option."

Quinn buckled his pants, then braced himself on one of the iron spikes that served as a bedpost. "Okay, guys, quit holding out on me. How much time do we have before the slide?"

Arturo and Rembrandt looked at each other. Rembrandt closed his eyes. He pulled the timer out of his coat pocket. He held it out to Quinn.

Quinn flipped open the cover to read the LCD display. He stared at the numbers slowly counting down for a few seconds. Then he closed the timer and handed it back to Rembrandt.

"This is not good," Quinn murmured to himself.

"Now you see our urgency," Arturo said. "We must retrieve Miss Welles within the next couple of days at least."

Quinn looked at Rembrandt, feeling exhausted from both his injuries and the task thay lay ahead. "Did you mean what you said, Remmy? About Wade being alive?"

Rembrandt rested a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Hey, man, you know her. She can talk her way out of anything."

Quinn grinned. "Well, she can talk, that's for sure. Okay, let's say she's still alive, maybe even found somewhere to stay. But she can't fool them forever, and we've gotta get to her before these Uptowner guys do."

"I'm with you, Q-Ball," Rembrandt said.

The doctor approached them, pulling a black coat over his white clothes. "The Renegades run a soup kitchen in the Sunlight District. It's not far from here, we can walk. One thing...if you three are spies, then the Renegades will find out. And when they do...they'll kill you."

The doctor turned and strode out of the medical clinic. Quinn looked at the others, took a deep breath, and followed him out of the door. Back into the shadows of Downtown.

The long brown hair flicked back and the young woman stepped from the booth. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Wade, taking in her hair, her clothes, her entire appearance.

She turned to her mother and pouted. "Mother, would you kindly think before interrupting me again like that. I had just requested the new Dior outfit and they were about to bring on the new season collection."

Brenda pulled the headset from around her neck and flung it petulantly onto a hook at the side of the booth. She withdrew the gloves she wore slowly and deliberately, glancing occasionally at Wade and then looking disdainfully away.

Wade knew she wasn't going to like her one bit.

"Brenda darling, I bought you the new Virtual projector in the hope that you would find more to do in it, than order up the new season fashions from a Paris catwalk!" her mother moaned. She threw her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, and taking hold of Wade's hand dragged her past the booth.

Wade eyed it appreciatively. She'd love to test-drive that baby. It looked far more sophisticated than even the best Virtual reality systems back on her own earth.

"Do come and introduce Wade here to Tanya, dear," her mother continued as she moved Wade through the door on the far side of the room.

Wade heard the girl sigh.

"Whatever, mother." Her only reluctant words as she followed them.

The penthouse seemed to go on forever. Each new room seemingly as luxurious as the last.

The red taloned fingers reached to the panel to the side of the door in front of them.

An automated voice responded. Its flat monotone was beginning to grate on Wade's nerves.

"Enter." The door opened.

Grace moved through.

"Ah Tanya, sweetie. I've brought a new companion for you. This is Wade," Grace oozed as she pushed Wade through the door and departed without another word.

"She's one of mother's charity cases, Tanny," Brenda drawled sarcastically, as she followed them into the room.

"I'm not a charity case," Wade retorted, her anger rising at Brenda's attitude.

Wade looked around the room. Its shelves were filled with books. The first she'd seen in the house. In front of her a young girl sat cross legged on the floor, her head bowed over a book. She could be no more than twelve years old, with short bobbed dark brown hair. Wade guessed she was going through the gangly adolescent stage. She was the total opposite of her sister. Where Brenda wore what Wade suspected to be the height of fashion, Tanya had a pair of dungarees and a T-shirt on.

"Oh, and what *are* you then, darling?" Brenda asked contemptuously, throwing herself into a beanbag on the floor next to her sister and reaching absently towards a book which lay there. She thumbed it with disinterest and finally tossed it back to the floor.

Tanya scowled at her and reached across to retrieve it.

"I've lost my memory. I can't remember where I live," Wade lied and mentally crossed her fingers that she sounded convincing.

"You're a charity case then," Brenda replied and started to laugh. "Look, sweetie. Wade, or whatever your name is. Mother loves helping poor lost souls. She only does it because of that bore of a policeman. Met him yet?" She studied Wade's face.

Wade nodded. She could get into quite an argument if she wanted to. With Brenda it would be easy. She'd have to bite her lip. It was important to stay alive and hope the others would get to her.

"Well he's Mother's little 'project'. He crawled his way up here from that filthy slum down there and he thinks he's one of us. Mother thinks it's chic to help people like him so she does everything to help him, sickening isn't it, Tanny?"

"Oh do shut up, Brenda. You're so gross," Tanya murmured and pulled her head up from where it had been stuck in a book.

Wade looked at her.

The girl brushed her hair back from her face with her fingers, and met Wade's look. Her eyes were dark and sparkling. She seemed to have something which Brenda did not. Life and a spark of compassion. Wade smiled. Tanya smiled back.

Brenda caught the look and rose to her feet. "Well it looks as though you two little darlings will get on just fine. My stupid sister and some charity case of mother's. Wonderful. You go well together."

With that Brenda tossed her hair and stalked towards the door, her hips swaying as though she were a model. She threw them both as withering a look as she could muster and left the room.

***

The Sunlight District seemed a strange name to Quinn as he walked slowly next to Rembrandt. His head still spun slightly, but he didn't feel sick any more and he could at least see straight.

The darkness which seemed to rest on Downtown as a shroud, keeping its inhabitants in a constant twilight world of oppression and misery. The towering skyscrapers meant that the sun never reached the streets beneath. Quinn couldn't perceive where a District down here could get a name like that from.

As they turned a corner on the next block and started down the street, he realized why.

It looked as though the heavens were picking out three areas to be highlighted. Beams of sunlight, three of them, picked their way carefully from above and rested on three small areas a small distance away from where the group were walking.

Rembrandt had felt a sense of oppression since they'd arrived. He felt it no more so than now. A sadness even started to creep over him as he saw the three shafts of sunlight and they neared the base of the light. The sight which greeted them made a lump form in his throat and he swallowed.

Each small shaft of light was only fifty feet square at its base, if that. In that space which was flooded with life giving sunlight, were three green and brown areas. Rembrandt realized as he neared them that the green were areas of plants. The brown smudges of soil. The small area was guarded by two gun toting men. As they got closer they could see a few people carefully tending the plants and soil.

Arturo turned to Rembrandt and said quietly, "Looks like Heaven's shining down on someone here after all."

Rembrandt nodded.

"Our only source of fresh food," the doctor declared as they passed the growing areas and neared a barrier across the road. "These three areas are the only ones that get sunlight down here. We grow what we can and keep the gangs from getting near. The rest we steal from Uptown - or at least the Renegades do. Then there's the occasional trip out to the automated farms outside the City limits. We 'steal' from the shipments there too." The doctor's lips were set hard as he said the word "steal."

Quinn exchanged a look with the others. Life in Downtown was hardly fair, given the fact that there seemed to be a population living in tower blocks who were doing so well. They'd have to find out more about the world. The problem was how. Without arousing suspicions as to their origins. As though Arturo was a mind reader, he whispered hurriedly in Quinn's ear.

"If they get wind of the timer we've lost it. I can't blame them but they'd want to leave this hellhole and you and I know it." Arturo's voice was scarcely audible but Quinn caught the words. He nodded silently and watched as Arturo leaned across and whispered the same words in Rembrandt's ear.

Quinn caught the motion of the Professor patting his jacket pocket reassuringly.

The doctor smiled at the young man who was standing against the barrier, pointing a semi-automatic at the group. "It's all right Tom. I've got to get inside and these people are with me."

Tom grinned and opened a section of the barrier, which consisted of old large wooden chests across the road and barbed wire across the top of them.

"If this all looks over the top to you, be assured it isn't," the doctor said as they moved slowly through to the building beyond. "Gangs are the backbone of Downtown. Even the renegades can't hold out against some of them. This barrier is manned night and day."

"By one man?" Arturo asked, surprised.

The doctor smiled and shook his head. "One man on the front, sure. Twenty or thirty in those windows up there."

He pointed to the first two floors of the nearby tower blocks. Quinn caught a glint of metal in at least three of them. He swallowed and was grateful they were with the doctor.

***

"Wade darling, I've made you an appointment with my very good friend, Dr. Bartlett. No expense spared, sweetie. He'll sort out that little memory of yours, don't you fret now." Grace moved into Tanya's room and patted Wade on the head. She smiled down at Tanya.

"I'm *so* glad you've got a little playmate darling. You spend so long cooped up in this room with those nasty books, I worry about you."

"Well don't, mother. I love my books," Tanya replied and cast a conspiratorial smile at Wade.

Wade grinned. Being called a "little playmate", considering their difference in age, was hysterical. Still, she knew Grace meant well in her own way. It was Brenda she wouldn't trust as far as she could throw her.

"But I bought you that brand new interactive terminal. It connects with simply everywhere. You can read everything from the main library on it. And you know it has a virtual chip in it too. Darling, those books are so...so dirty!"

Grace screwed her face up in disgust as she picked up a book gingerly from the floor with two fingers, and dropped it onto the beanbag. She rubbed her hands as though to dispel the dirt.

"Do go and wash your hands, darling. James has made a wonderful lunch for you all outside, while I go and see my psychiatrist for my appointment. Have fun darlings and do show Wade her room for me, Tanya dear."

Wade's ears pricked up with interest at the mention of the interactive terminal and its link to the library. An idea started to form in her mind.

***

"My God, James, this is disgusting!" Brenda's voice filtered from the outside patio to greet Wade's ears.

The patio was raised above a rather large pool, basking in bright sunlight. A large white table sat under an ample blue shade and was spread with a rather magnificent looking lunch. For the first time since they'd slid into the world, Wade realized that she was hungry.

As she sat down at a seat pulled out for her by James, she gazed at the view which confronted her. Across the rooftops she could see penthouse after penthouse and pool after pool. That they were in some sort of upmarket residential area was obvious. How far it extended was impossible to tell.

"Pretty neat view," Wade murmured to Tanya who slipped in next to her.

"It's like this everywhere," Tanya replied sullenly.

"Surely not everywhere?" Wade questioned as she scooped a serving of salad onto her plate and took a large piece of freshly baked bread from a basket.

"Of course it is, darling." Brenda's voice grated on her nerves more and more. "What did you expect?" She turned an expectant face to Wade. Her eyes narrowed. Wade thought she caught a flash of suspicion in the young woman's eyes.

"I just remember it being a lot smaller," Wade lied. She was desperate to know more about this society and about the underclass which lived below her. But her alibi had to stick or she was sunk.

The sound of clattering china made Wade look up with a start. She caught Tanya stare at her sister then lower her eyes.

"You stupid man," Brenda screamed at James as he stooped to pick up the remnants of the plate. "I told you I didn't want the artichokes. I hate artichokes. Take them away this instant."

Wade stared. The man moved swiftly away, the color of his cheeks rising. She guessed he had to swallow his pride quite a lot where Brenda was concerned.

"That's a waste," Wade commented quietly as she watched the girl hurl the remaining artichokes to the floor.

Tanya looked up from her plate. "She does it all the time. She's gross," she replied flatly.

"She also does *that* all the time." The girl indicated her sister with a nod of the head and Wade turned to look at her.

Brenda had wandered across to the balcony railing and hung over it, staring across to the horizon. She was eating a small bar of chocolate. The wrapper hung from her fingers momentarily and then dropped. It fluttered downwards until it dropped from their sight. Wade could imagine it moving slowly and patiently until it arrived to litter the pavements of Downtown.

"Hey, it's not a garbage dump down there," Wade declared angrily as she pushed her chair back and moved towards Brenda, her attempts to maintain self-control lost for the moment.

"And what would you know about down there, little Miss Wade," Brenda drawled threateningly as she turned to face her, her eyes narrowing as she studied Wade's face.

"Nothing. Nowhere's a garbage dump, that's all, and you've got no right to treat it like that." Wade could feel her cheeks color and she was also aware of James' eyes boring into her back as he took in what she was saying. She bit her lip. It hurt not to go for her, hurl abuse at her for her uncaring, unfeeling attitude. She knew it looked as though she couldn't take Brenda on.

"Ah but that's where you're wrong sweetie, I have every right. Every right in the world. Downtown's a sham and a lie. Everyone knows that the people down there got what they deserve. Everyone knows they're lazy good for nothings. And don't tell me what to do. Don't ever tell me what to do!"

The girl stalked off towards the house and threw a cold look at James as she went.

Tanya sighed as she got up and moved towards the house. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

Wade turned and looked at James. He lowered his eyes and moved away from the pool. In the movement, Wade caught a look of resignation at his role in life and at his treatment.

She determined right then that Brenda should get what she deserved and Wade was going to try and make sure she did, if it was the last thing she did.

***

The doctor pushed open the huge metal doors of the building. Noise came pouring out, surprising to Quinn after the ominous silence of the street. Along with it came the heavenly aroma of food. Quinn had forgotten how long it had been since he last ate.

The doctor led Quinn and the others into a vast dining room. Tables ran its length that were pieced together from planks of wood and metal pipes. At all of them, men, women, and children ate ravenously from plates in front of them.

Quinn watched a woman smiling as she held a warped bottle to her baby's suckling lips. Arturo ducked back to let a little girl in ponytails run past, laughing. Rembrandt gazed around the room. His face wore a shocked expression.

"Man," he said, "it's like a party goin' on in here."

"It is," the doctor said. "This is the first real food we've had down here in the last month."

Arturo looked across the room at a row of people lined up to fill their plates with vegetables and meats. "You said the Renegades steal it from Uptown?"

The doctor looked at him with an odd, sideways glare. "Of course. You think the Uptowners ship it down here gift-wrapped twice a week? That riot you lost your friend in? It was a diversion to keep the police from noticing the food being unloaded from the shafts. Man, where have you guys been living that you don't know all this?"

Quinn pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck. "Uh, it's a long story. We're from outta town. Way outta town."

The doctor shook his head, then began wading through the crowds. Quinn exchanged a glance with the others, then followed. They moved through the huddled masses, dodging running children, to reach a heavy metal door.

The door was flanked on both sides by a large and muscular man and woman in camouflage fatigues. They both held automatic rifles propped on their shoulders as they glared straight ahead. When the doctor approached, the two dropped their guns to aim them at him.

"Step away from the door, sir," the woman said. "No one's allowed in here."

"Except me," the doctor said. "I'm here to see Warfield. Tell her it's urgent. I'm not leaving until I get through to her."

The woman looked at her partner in silent communication, then leaned her gun against her shoulder again. She opened the door and stepped inside the darkened room on the other side. The woman began whispering something. Another woman's voice filtered out, slightly restrained. The guard continued to speak, her voice growing louder.

The door was yanked open from the inside. A black woman strode out. Quinn guessed she was in her late forties to early fifties. There was a no-nonsense look to her that spread from her army fatigues to her hair, tied up in a simple ponytail. Her undecorated face blazed with fury. It bore a deep scar which ran from her left temple, down her cheek and finished at the jawline.

Her voice bellowed all over the kitchen. "I thought I said I was not to be disturbed..."

Then her eyes settled on the doctor. Her demeanor immediately softened as her expression relaxed into a smile. "Oh. It's you, doc. Sorry, things have been a mess around here."

The woman dismissed her guards with a wave of her hand. "At ease. Let 'em through."

The two guards nodded and stepped back against the walls alongside the door. They raised their guns back to resting position, their eyes settling back into their former expressions - vacant, but alert.

The woman smiled and patted the head of a little girl running by. Then she headed back into her room, her boots clumping on the wooden floor. "Come on in, people. Door's wide open."

The doctor glanced at Quinn, then stepped through the door into a cramped office. The walls were covered with maps of California, ones that looked radically different than anything Quinn remembered. The individual cities were gone, leaving only a solid block that ran along the coastline, into the interior, and beyond. Newspapers were stacked along the walls on bookcases, along with numerous brown folders dripping with papers. Arturo approached them with ill-disguised interest.

The woman stepped behind a large oak desk and dropped into a rickety wooden chair. She put her feet up on the desk and pulled out a stick of gum from one of the pockets on her vest. As she unwrapped it, her eyes remained fixed on Arturo.

"So, who're your friends, Ham?" she asked.

"They're the ones I spoke to you about," the doctor said. "Gentlemen, this is Danielle Warfield, leader of the Renegades."

Warfield slipped the gum into her mouth and worked her jaw, casually. Her propped-up feet waggled slightly. "So you're the ones with the buddy Uptown, huh? Sure these guys aren't spies, Hamilton?"

The doctor, who she had called Hamilton, shook his head. "Danny, we've been working together for two years. You think I'd bring three spies into your office? Trust me, the young man's injuries were genuine, and I've seen spies before. These guys aren't even close."

Warfield raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. But lemme just say that if I find out you guys are spies, I'll cut you into bite-size pieces." She punctuated her remark with a sweep of her hand.

Quinn lunged back as a knife with a foot-long blade buried itself in the wall next to his head.

"Got it?" Warfield asked.

Quinn nodded and swallowed a lump fighting its way up his throat. "Got it."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said, "we swear, we ain't here to cause trouble. We just want our friend back, that's all."

Warfield grunted. "We'll see."

She looked over at Arturo, who was sifting through a pile of newspapers. Warfield rose up slightly in her chair. "Hey, whadda you think you're doing?"

Arturo looked up, startled, then composed himself with a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was just...examining your extensive collection of newspaper clippings. It seems as if you've gathered quite a bit of information about this world."

Quinn caught the emphasis the professor put on his last phrase. He saw the opportunity, as did Rembrandt, to find out more about this place they were in.

Warfield settled back in her chair, keeping her brown eyes fixed on Arturo. "Yeah...well...some day, this world'll either get turned upside-down, and the lower classes will be freed from their prison or...we'll be gone, and something has to be left behind to tell our story. So I collect newspapers from the old days, trying to piece together a history of the void that grew between the classes. That kinda stuff."

"Of course," Arturo said. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I examined them?"

"Nah. Just make sure you don't get them mixed-up. I've got a system." Warfield settled back in her chair and popped her gum.

Arturo gave Quinn a triumphant grin as he slipped on his glasses to read the front page of one of the papers.

Rembrandt looked around the office. "So, uh, you guys are like rebels or somethin', huh? Robin Hood, robbin' the rich and givin' to the poor, stuff like that?"

Warfield smirked around the gum in her mouth. "I look like Robin Hood to you? No, we're an army, the only defense the poor have against those monsters Uptown who'd be happy to let us all die of starvation or thirst down here. My people bring the poor food, tap into the water lines to get them something to drink, sure, that whole merry-men jazz. Because it needs to be done. No one else can do it. But we do more than that. Something that hurts the Uptowners more than anything else."

Warfield leaned forward, her boots dropping to the floor with a slam. She glared at Rembrandt with eyes that burned with an inner flame. "We force them to remember us. We break through the glass ceiling they've put up, poke our heads up every now and then, and say 'Hey, remember us? The couple billion people you locked out of your little skybound paradise? Well, we're still here, living in your shadow and eating your garbage, and we're not going away.' We force them to see that we *exist.* That we're still human beings with feelings and hopes and dreams and loves..."

Warfield stopped to glance at Hamilton, then let her eyes drop. "That's what we do. Nothing more, nothing less."

Dr. Hamilton grinned. "Don't be so modest, Danielle. She's done more for the Downtowners than anyone in history. She gives us food, clothing, rebuilds abandoned houses and shops and turns them into shelters, and even brings me medical supplies."

"It's the least I can do," Warfield said, then grinned at Quinn. "You see this guy? He's the real hero. Spent his whole life Uptown, then one day he comes Downtown. Takes all his medical training with him, leaves his whole life behind to help us. I swear, he's saved more lives than I've had hot dinners."

Rembrandt stared at Hamilton. "Really, man? That's wild."

Hamilton lowered his eyes to the floor. "It's...nothing. My parents were from Downtown, managed to get Uptown and settle in. They paid my way through medical school. They told me all about life down here. Eventually, I got sick of dressing paper cuts for the Uptowners while people died of preventable diseases down here. I just took my talents where they were needed."

"Incredible," Arturo murmured as he glanced at the doctor.

Hamilton cleared his throat, then shook his head. "All right, let's get started. Danielle, you were telling me what we could do to help these people."

"Oh, yeah." Warfield clasped her fingers together. "Well, you guys are in luck. We're gonna be bringing in another shipment of food through the shafts..."

"The shafts?" Quinn asked.

Warfield stared at him. "Yeah, the abandoned elevator shafts. Only way in or out of Uptown because the cops patrol the sky above the fifteen floors. Well, the next shipment is tomorrow. Figure the Uptowners'll never expect us to try it again so soon. So while we're at it, your friend might be able to slip down. Although I have to admit this is the first time I've ever heard of anyone trying to break *out* of Uptown instead of into it."

Rembrandt clapped Quinn on the shoulder. "Great. But, uh... how'll Wade know what to do?"

"We'll send her a message. We've planted moles all over Uptown. Downtowners who work for the Uptowners while they're secretly working for us. One of 'em will be able to find and make contact with her." Warfield ripped a piece of paper off a notepad and dug out a pen from her desk drawer. "Gimme a description of her and we'll see what we come up with."

Quinn nodded, then began to describe her. As he did so, he couldn't help wondering whether the Uptown mole would find Wade alive.

***

Wade stepped somewhat reluctantly from the bath and toweled herself dry, pulling the peach colored kimono-style robe over her head once she'd finished.

The guest room was luxurious by even the best hotel standards back on their own world. Its own spacious bathroom a mere footstep to the side. The bath was an enormous shell shape of pastel peach. Gold taps shaped like swans overhung one end and the other end was completely padded, allowing the occupant to lie back in complete comfort.

Now she sat perched on the padded stool in front of the dressing table and rubbed at her hair vigorously. It felt good, just being clean and in something new.

The perfumes arranged in front of her were all tempting and she reached across and tried one which looked interesting, spraying it minutely onto the back of her hand.

She sniffed at the result and smiled. The guys would like that one. A pang of regret tore through her system as memories of her friends surfaced. She felt selfish. Here she was enjoying a good bath, food and a luxurious lifestyle while they were stuck down in the degradation and dirt.

She had no way of knowing whether they'd survived the riots even. Back home she could have checked out the evening news... Television! That was it. She'd check out the news. Surely there'd be pictures and information about what had happened. They might even mention casualties and where the injured were taken. Her hopes rose.

She opened her door which led directly into Tanya's room. The girl looked up as Wade walked in and smiled.

"Feel better?" Tanya murmured as she put her nose back into her book.

"Yeah. Thanks. Cleaner anyway. Look, do you think I could listen to the news or something on the TV?" Wade tried to appear nonchalant in her request but her stomach was churning.

"What do you want to listen to *that* for?" Tanya replied, not raising her eyes. "It's really gross. There's never anything important on it."

"All the same I'd like to see it. Might jog my memory as to why I ended up down there," Wade lied, her fingers mentally crossed that she sounded convincing.

"Sure. The news is due on in about five minutes. If you really want, suit yourself, but I bet it won't help you."

Tanya got up and flicked a switch on the wall. The panel slid upwards revealing a large screen. She settled back to the floor and her books, aiming a remote control at the panel beside the screen without looking.

Wade sank to the floor next to Tanya and crossed her legs. She ran her fingers lightly through her still damp hair to get it into some sort of shape as it dried.

The commercials which were playing were as stupid as the ones she was used to seeing back home. The only difference was that everything was a luxury item and the only people they seemed to be aimed at were high earners. Wade mentally shrugged. Seemed applicable somehow in this society.

The News fanfare heralded the first story. Wade watched it. She watched the second, then the third story. Then some item on the best place to go to get your hover vehicle valeted seemed to take up about five minutes. As swiftly as it had started, the News program ended. Three news items which seemed to Wade to be fatuous, and the longest item was on getting your vehicle cleaned. She swallowed hard and caught Tanya eyeing her with interest.

"See anything to help?" Tanya inquired, her eyes narrowing.

"I just wondered why those riots weren't mentioned. I mean the one I got caught up in. There were a lot of people hurt down there, I saw it. I mean probably lot's of people killed too. Why no news coverage? Isn't a riot important?" Wade stared at Tanya for an instant and almost saw the girl's mind whirring.

"They don't ever mention Downtown. Not unless it's a public information program which broadcasts the importance of keeping your eyes open for people trying to get in here." Tanya averted her gaze and put her nose back into her book once more.

"That's terrible. There are people down there. People dying. People living in terrible conditions. Doesn't anyone care?" Wade bit her lip. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that. She wasn't sure she could trust Tanya even.

Tanya didn't look up, though Wade saw her shift uncomfortably on her crossed legs.

"Don't ever let anyone hear you say that," she mumbled almost inaudibly.

"Why not?" Wade asked softly, her voice muted so that only Tanya could catch it.

"No one talks about it. If you acknowledge the problems of Downtown, you could be accused of being a Downtown spy. You could get in a lot of trouble. So just don't say it."

Wade watched as Tanya lifted her hand and wiped the back of it briefly across her face. She caught the reflection of the moisture as she put it back down.

She wouldn't press it. Couldn't. Not now. But she would soon. She'd find out more about what was bothering Tanya so much. It wasn't just Downtown it was something else. Of that Wade was sure.

As she moved back towards her room to change for the night, she cast her eyes swiftly back towards the girl. The head was bowed and the eyes apparently boring into the book. That she was no longer reading it, Wade was certain.

***

Warfield spat her gum into the trash can beside her chair and drew a fresh stick from her vest pocket . "Look, the night's closing in. "You can't sleep here in the shelter, but I'll find you somewhere for the night. Just tonight, mind you. Tomorrow you'll meet up with your friend and leave. I'll know in the morning if one of my people found her or not."

"Why can't we stay here?" Quinn asked with interest. The place was a virtual fortress, it seemed unlikely they'd get into any hassle under Warfield's protection.

Warfield grinned. "A pretty boy like you would be dead meat for the gangs. You're healthy, well-fed, and you've got nice clothes. To them you could be an Uptowner. If they even suspected that, you'd be dead. And the Prof here'd be torn apart, with his high falutin' accent. Nah. You're better off staying with a friend of mine. Someone I can trust. Someone I don't have to worry about sticking a knife in your backs." She leaned forward on her seat and dug her knife into the table top, pushing it deeper as if to push home the sentiment.

Rembrandt swallowed at the imagery Warfield presented, then asked, "What's the gangs got to do with us staying here?"

"Well now, I got my supplies to look after. We got an arrangement, me and some of the gang leaders. Tonight I got to prepare for a meeting with one of them tomorrow. Set up tomorrow night's little bit of chaos so we can get some more stuff from the shafts. I don't want you complicatin' things. You go with Ham and he'll take you to my friend's house. She'll take care of you all." Warfield smiled at Hamilton as he arrived as though on cue and lounged in the doorway.

"Danny, you want me to take them to Clara's?" he asked as he pushed some boxes of what looked like pills into a bag ready to take.

"Yeah. And give her this for me." Warfield put her feet to the floor and got up, handing a brown bag to the doctor.

Hamilton smiled and reaching across he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You're soft really Danny, you know that?"

"Yeah, well don't you go tellin' my men that, now!" she replied and Quinn caught the color in her cheeks rise in embarrassment.

"Come on we'd better get a move on." Hamilton urged as Quinn and Rembrandt followed his lead. "Clara's is two blocks down and it's getting dark."

"Come on Professor," he repeated seeing the still form of Arturo poring over a small pile of newspapers on his lap. "You don't want to meet what comes out at night here, believe me."

"May I urge you to let me borrow these for the night, madam?" Arturo asked over his glasses, his eyes pleading with Warfield, his ears having disregarded the warning from the doctor.

She regarded him carefully then nodded with a slight flick of her head. "Sure. Guard them with your life though. I got a system, like I said. Never had anyone so interested in my collection before. Maybe there's hope left down here after all."

Arturo smiled and bowed his head in appreciation, tucking the remaining few papers under his coat as he followed the others.

***

Clara's "house" consisted of two small storerooms on the ground floor of an old long-abandoned Department store building. The night-time had settled in for real by the time the group reached her front door. It was barely visible behind a barricade of wooden planks across it.

The two foot soldiers which Warfield had sent to guide the group disappeared as swiftly into the night as they had arrived.

"You from Danny?" the voice murmured softly from behind the wood.

"Yes, it's Dr. Hamilton and a small group," the doctor whispered back through the door. "Danny said they should stay here. Just the one night. I can't get back to the shelter now, so I'd appreciate some hospitality too."

The wood moved backwards, revealing the small diminutive figure of a young woman in her late twenties. Her face was pale and seemed to be shadowed with the pain and wear of living on the edge the whole time. A baby, not much older than a year, nestled against her neck, its feet wrapped around her waist. It had its thumb stuffed in its mouth and its eyes looked as dark as its mother's.

"We're very grateful, madam," Arturo offered as he moved through the door into the dimly lit interior. It was barely warmer inside than outside, but a small open fire burned in a trash can in the corner of the room.

"What's with him?" The woman inclined her head towards Arturo as she locked eyes with Hamilton.

"They're from out of town," the doctor replied nonchalantly. Whether he was sure of their story or not, he was obviously doing a good job of convincing everyone else, Quinn realized.

"Old mattresses is over there. Help yourself," Clara said. "I ain't got enough food for me and the kid. If you ain't eaten with Danny then I guess you're out of luck," she added. She took the brown bag sent from Warfield and nodded silently at the doctor.

Quinn watched as two containers of milk came out of the bag. The woman moved to the corner of the room to give her child a drink. He swallowed hard and pushed all thoughts of any hunger away. He had no right to eat when they had little or nothing. He caught the look on the doctor's face and their eyes met.

In that look Quinn knew the doctor felt the same.

The doctor, Quinn and Rembrandt settled themselves down on the filthy mattresses and pulled their coats around them. They lay and listened to the cold wind whip around the door outside as Arturo settled himself down next to the open fire, his coat wrapped around him.

He studied the newspapers which he had borrowed with ever growing interest and a deep sense of unease. A world gone mad, and yet one which in some ways reflected their own.

***

Wade stood at the window and watched the lights of Uptown twinkle across the night sky. Magical almost. It reminded her of when she was small and dreamt of fairy villages, the lights sparkling against a dark sky, the inhabitants going about their business behind the tiny closed doors.

Yet she knew in her heart that her friends weren't in such luxury. From what she'd seen in her small glimpse of Downtown it was probably hell. She couldn't enjoy being here, not with them down there.

She gazed at the bed, its soft comfortable mattress and warm quilt beckoning her. She threw back her head and pursed her lips. She had work to do.

The door to Tanya's room opened slowly and easily. Not a creak to be heard in such a well serviced household.

She could see the top of Tanya's head poking from beneath her bed cover. The sound of steady breathing was the only noise in the stillness. The room was in darkness. Wade tiptoed slowly across to the far side and out through the bedroom door. Next to Tanya's room was another door which led into Tanya's small study. She'd glimpsed it earlier, it contained the computer system which held the secrets, and perhaps the means, to a way out of this place. The computer which interfaced with the virtual-reality system. Wade could use it, she knew she could. She had to be able to pull it off, and she had to do it now. With no way of knowing when they were due to slide, she had to get out of Uptown tomorrow at the latest.

She closed the door gently behind her and sat herself in front of the VR computer. She switched the machine on and the instant glow from the screen lit the room. The room was already partially lit by a small lamp glowing in the corner. Tanya had obviously forgotten to turn it off.

Wade moved quietly across the room to it. She didn't need it on. The glow from the computer would be enough and would call less attention to her if anyone passed by in the hallway outside. She could ill-afford to be disturbed.

As she put her hand forward to turn the lamp off, her eye was caught by a photograph lying half in and half out of an old book, next to the lamp.

She pulled it out gently and turned it over. She gazed curiously at the face which stared up at her. Wade guessed he had been in his forties at the time of the photograph. He was smiling. The small touch of gray hair at his temples added a distinguished air to his handsome, pleasant face. The eyes were dark and filled with compassion.

Wade liked him immediately. The signature and message scrawled across the bottom were difficult to read, especially in the dim light. Wade moved the writing directly under the lamp and read the inscription.

"To my beloved Tanya. Keep the faith my darling and don't forget me. Daddy."

Wade stared at the photograph for a moment, then carefully replaced it in the book where she had found it. She had a feeling it was very important to Tanya.

She turned her attention to the computer again. Her training in computers served her well as she adjusted to the highly advanced operating system which the computer ran under. Her main concern was in gaining access to some sort of library that would explain how this world worked. She hoped that information would help her find a way out of this mess.

Wade finally found a help menu instructing her on the use of the VR booth. According to instructions, the booth would allow her to connect to the West Coast Public Library, a massive library that served the entire west coast of the United States. She started the connection and left the computer to try the booth.

Wade found a pair of gloves lying beside the door of the booth. They were exactly the same as the ones she'd seen Brenda wearing earlier. She pulled them on. They contained tactile sensors that would convey textures to her through the lining. Climbing inside, Wade found a treadmill that would allow her to walk and navigate through the virtual world.

When she closed the door, Wade was in darkness for a moment, then the walls of the booth lit up. Cameras projected images onto them that combined to form a 360-degree landscape.

And what a landscape. It was a sea of geometric patterns of all colors and shapes, gliding across an ocean of silvery waters like mercury. Wade reached down towards the wall. Her gloves came into contact with the waters, and felt slippery, as if she was moving her hands through them.

"No doubt about it," Wade murmured. "I gotta get me one o' these when I get home."

She straightened up and looked around. One of the squares that drifted past had PUBLIC LIBRARY etched into its side like the carvings on a tombstone. Wade reached towards it. She also, almost subconsciously, began to walk. The treadmill rolled under her. The landscape began to move, simulating her walking towards the square. Wade finally managed to touch it through her gloves.

The square exploded, engulfing her.

After the initial shock wore off, Wade realized her surroundings had changed to the interior of a library. Rows of shelved books stretched into infinity around her. In the center of the room was a pedestal with a keyboard hovering a few inches over it.

Wade walked towards it, wriggled her fingers, and began to type on the keyboard. Her hands seemed to pass through the keyboard, but the letters she touched hovered in midair. It was a card catalogue, as she'd suspected, and Wade typed in the category "World History." A list of titles materialized in the air in front of her. Wade touched one of them.

One of the books drifted off its shelf to hover in front of her, its pages open. Wade hit a button on the keyboard marked "Print Out." She could hear the frenzied humming of a printer outside the booth, working a hundred times faster than any printer she knew on her world.

Wade selected another book. She ordered a printout of that one too and began to make her way methodically down the list.

* * *

Quinn woke up. His first thought was that his head wasn't hurting anymore. Unfortunately, his back had gotten into the act. The mattresses he and the others had slept on weren't exactly stuffed with clouds. But he supposed they were as good as beds got in this place.

Rembrandt and Arturo were already up. Arturo was leaning against a wall riddled with holes, peering through his glasses at a yellowed newspaper in his hands. Rembrandt was in a corner, dipping a ladle in a dented bucket of water. Other than the three of them, the room was empty.

Rembrandt took a sip of water before saying, "Mornin', Q-Ball. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a rock," Quinn said. "Guess I was more tired than I thought. Where's Clara and the doctor?"

"They went out to retrieve our breakfast," Arturo said. "Such as it is."

Quinn crawled over to him, trying not to hear the squeaking and scuttling coming from inside the walls. "Find anything in those papers about the history of this world, Professor?"

Arturo lowered the newspapers. "Yes, as a matter of fact I've found out quite a lot. They seem to have had a similar Industrial Revolution to our own world in the 1900's. The problem was that automation spread much more rapidly here than it did in our own world."

"Meaning?" asked Quinn.

"Meaning, my dear Mr. Mallory, that by the 1930's virtually all forms of industry had phased out human workers. The result was rampant unemployment. Quite simply, the Great Depression came and never ended."

"So what's with all the skyscrapers and all that Uptown jazz?" Rembrandt asked.

"Well," Arturo said, "the upper classes did not want to face the misery of the lower classes. So they began building their homes at the top of skyscrapers, where they could live without distraction. The result is what we see here; cities consisting of nothing but skyscrapers, housing the rich while the poor live below."

"And that's why this place is such a wreck?" Quinn said.

Arturo held up a finger. "Actually no. From what I've found out, everything came to a head in the early eighties. By that time, government welfare and support programs were completely overloaded by the needs of the poor."

Rembrandt sighed. "We're close to that back home."

Arturo nodded and continued. "In 1984, the U.S disbanded their government aid programs. Food stamps, welfare, Social Security...everything ceased. The focus was turned to the wealthy, basically leaving the rest to struggle out a meager existence on their own. From the reports I saw, other nations followed suit, resulting in the world of decay that we see before us."

Rembrandt shook his head. "I can't believe that. I mean, what kinda sick world would do that to their own people?"

Quinn was about to voice equal sentiments when the door of the cramped room opened. Clara walked in with her baby on her back, her arms cradling a sack of groceries.

"You people are in luck," Hamilton said. "Managed to get a surplus on rations from last night."

Clara knelt and shook a loaf of misshapen bread out of the bag. It was only a foot long, but Clara and Hamilton looked at it like it was made of gold. Clara began to slice the loaf carefully into small portions.

"So," Hamilton said, "where are you people from? And I mean really. I'm tired of this 'out-of-town' nonsense. You all act like you've never seen this planet before."

Quinn looked at Arturo, who shrugged. There was no getting around it. Quinn took a deep breath, then said, "We're from another dimension. A parallel Earth. The next gateway to another world opens up soon, and we have to find our friend, Wade, so we can take her with us."

Hamilton stared at him, then looked at the others. "I see. You people are insane."

"I assure you, sir," Arturo said, "we speak the truth."

"I'm sure you believe it is," Hamilton said. "But you'll forgive me if I don't buy your alien stories. Ever since Uptown started dumping their mentally-ill citizens down here, I've heard a lot of interesting stuff from people a lot more normal-looking than yourself. But at least you guys have some originality."

Clara finished cutting the loaf and began passing pieces around. Quinn took his and felt a rush of guilt as he watched her begin tending to her baby. It wasn't right for him to taking food literally from her mouth. But he didn't want to offend them and he was starving. So he ate.

Arturo took a bite, then said, "I've been reading about your world. Your friend Danielle said she had agents planted among the Uptown population, yet as I understand it, no Downtowner is allowed there. How was this made possible?"

"The Uptowners aren't too crazy about robots," Hamilton said. "So they occasionally hire Downtowners as servants. Only a small minority are hired, though. The Uptowners have a rigorous set of criteria, mostly based on physical appearance."

"That's why I'm here," Clara said. "I think I have a good shot at making it through the auctions to Uptown. It's my dream, anyway. These days, the only jobs left are up there."

Quinn glanced at Clara as she spoke. Despite the streaks of grime and untidy strands of hair which hung limply off her face, he could see that she was an attractive woman.

"Danny's managed to slip a few of her men and women through the auctions and place them in key positions."

"Lemme ask you somethin'," Rembrandt said. "I know why you're here, but what's Warfield's story? Why's she do all this?"

"Danielle used to be a Downtowner," Hamilton said, "until she was drafted during the Gulf Wars. She spent almost a decade serving her country, but her face was scarred by shrapnel from an anti-personnel mine."

Clara swallowed a mouthful of bread and spoke in a bitter voice. "Yeah, they promised her a position Uptown when she returned, but they couldn't handle that one imperfection, her war scar. So they decided to show their gratitude like only the Uptowners can - by declaring her insane and dumping her down here. She does this for a lot of reasons, but revenge is at the top of her list."

Hamilton ate the last of his bread and brushed off his hands. "I hope you all had a good night's sleep, because you've got a very busy day ahead of you. We're all taking a trip with the Renegades to the West Side, and pay a little visit to the Nightmares."

The walk back to Danielle's den was uneventful. Mostly because the leader had sent two men to escort the group safely back again.

Quinn was under no illusion that it was the presence of Hamilton which gave rise to such displays of protectiveness in the seemingly hard, and uncompromising leader.

The scenes which unfolded as they walked were reminiscent of a war zone rather than a living, breathing society. Buses and cars were scattered at the sides of the streets. Some of the buses had been commandeered by families as makeshift homes. Although Quinn got the impression that a lot of them were hardly makeshift. An air of permanency hung across the whole landscape like a shroud.

Arturo sighed as he walked next to Rembrandt. "I cannot imagine a life of such degradation and poverty."

Rembrandt glanced at the professor. "I'll bet you can't." Then he looked away.

Arturo slowed his pace as he glared at Rembrandt. "And what's that supposed to mean. Eh? Are you suggesting that I have never experienced poverty? Because that is untrue, Mr. Brown. There have been times in my life where I have been in dire straits, financially."

Rembrandt stopped. Arturo stopped. Quinn froze. He watched as Rembrandt slowly turned his gaze onto the professor.

"You have no idea what these people are goin' through," Rembrandt said in a low voice. "You don't know what it's like to wake up one mornin' and find out you don't have a dime in the world. To stand on a street corner and make yourself an object o' scorn and pity just so you can get enough change to live another day. To watch your children be so hungry they cry, and not be able to do a thing about it. To not have a roof over your head, to not be able to come in outta the rain or the snow or the cold or the heat. You have no idea. Because if you did... you'd be able to imagine this life pretty easy."

Agitation was a mere heartbeat away, Quinn could tell. It would only take one badly thought out remark from Arturo to set the whole ball rolling.

The remark took two seconds to appear.

Arturo shook his head and tutted loudly. "I'm sure you're right, Mr Brown. And my heartfelt sympathies go out to them all. But a *complete* society based on such filth and squalor is beyond me."

Quinn winced.

Rembrandt glared at Arturo ."Well it might be beyond you, Mr High and Mighty, but just like I said there's a lot of proud folk back on our own world who'd look at this little old set up and see their own lives reflected. If you can't see that then you and I live in a different world, Professor." He moved ahead to walk with Dr Hamilton.

"Considering what you just said, Professor, I think Remmy's being very restrained," Quinn remarked as he moved to walk alongside his mentor.

Arturo shook his head.

"I didn't mean to upset anyone. Just voicing my opinion, that was all," he replied sadly.

"Well I think most people would find what you said upsetting, Professor," Quinn continued slowly.

"Well blast it, will someone tell me what I said wrong!" Arturo stopped and declared loudly. He looked at Quinn.

Quinn swallowed and met his Professor's gaze. They'd been through a lot together and he owed it to the sanity of the group to point out to his friend exactly what he'd said wrong.

"Well...'heartfelt sympathies' for a first off," Quinn offered quietly and inwardly winced. The explosion didn't happen.

Instead Arturo sighed.

"It wasn't meant like that," he remarked and then fixed his gaze on Rembrandt ahead of him.

Quinn watched the Professor move forwards and put a reconciling hand on Rembrandt's shoulder. There was a brief exchange and Quinn watched Remmy nod.

Quinn relaxed.

As they turned the corner and came face to face with Danielle and several of her bodyguards, Quinn's heart began to sink. The Renegades were well tooled up this time and it looked almost as if they were heading into battle rather than a meeting with a gang leader.

Guns were leaning up against the wall and there was an atmosphere of frenetic activity as Danielle's men and women loaded their weapons and draped their ammunition magazines around their shoulders.

"Come on, you're late. I don't take kindly to anyone keeping me waiting. You want your friend out or not?" Danielle remarked as she led the group away from the barriers outside the Renegade's headquarters and they started to move into the darkness which represented the West Side district beyond.

Hamilton turned towards the three men as they walked. "The Nightmare are going to get a surprise when this lot turn up," he said.

"Who are these 'Nightmares'?" Quinn asked.

Hamilton smirked and explained. "The gang which Danielle does business with."

Quinn and Remmy exchanged worried looks.

Hamilton continued, "Now keep quiet and don't say anything unless you're asked. Don't tell them you're from outer space or any of those other stories you've cooked up. They'll kill you on sight if they think you're messing with them. Let Danny do the talking."

"Why are we going to see them now?" Quinn asked curiously as he walked alongside Rembrandt.

Hamilton's look was uncompromising as he swung around and met Quinn's gaze full on.

"Because if you want to get your friend down here safely, Danny needs this gang on her side tonight. If you screw up with them at all then you can say good-bye to your girlfriend. Those guns won't be for decoration. Some of the people here will die, and they know it. But they do it because they have to. Don't think this is a game or easy. It's neither. It's about life or death. Danny needs more men and she needs more firepower if she's going to go up against the Uptown police tonight. Without the Nightmare's help we don't stand a chance of getting your friend out of the shafts alive."

***

Wade stretched her arms above her head and eased out the stiffness which had developed in her fingers after several hours of keyboard work inside the VR booth. Her legs ached too from walking on the treadmill over such a long period of time.

Strangely she hadn't noticed any discomfort until she'd disconnected from the library and the booth had stopped its image projection. Up until then she'd been so absorbed in what she was seeing and finding out, personal discomfort mattered little.

She swung the door of the booth open slowly. The dim light from a new dawn was creeping under the door. In a few hours the whole house would be up and she didn't feel up to interrogation by Brenda or even Tanya for that matter.

She looked in amazement at the printer at the side. Sheet after sheet had spilled into the tray behind it. Page after page of information which she'd instructed it to print, and which, she realized with a sigh, that she had to work through before the house got up. She'd gleaned an enormous amount of information just by looking, now she wanted to digest what she'd seen at her leisure.

She glanced at the clock. Four o'clock. She had at least two hours before Tanya stirred and she doubted if Brenda rose early at all. She probably needed her beauty sleep. Wade grimaced at the thought of the vain young woman two doors down.

She crept slowly out of the small study and moved along the passage carefully towards Tanya's room. She knew that once in there she'd be able to creep quietly past Tanya's bed and into her own adjacent room. But getting there was the first obstacle.

The hand on her shoulder was hard and uncompromising. Its grip intense.

Wade found herself swung around swiftly and stared straight into the face of Charles.

"Sneaking around'll get you Downtown quicker than you ever imagined," he hissed and looked at the papers in her hands. He grabbed them from her, studied the top few sentences and glowered.

"I was told you were resourceful. Stupid? No. If that bitch finds out you've been printing out from the library you're dead meat. You want out of here or not?"

Wade's eyes widened at his words. She hadn't been expecting help from any quarter. Not up here.

"Who told you I was resourceful?" she demanded in a low voice as she tried to wriggle free from his grip.

"Your friends. They're trying to get you out of here. I've been told to give you a message," Charles replied, relaxing his grip slightly.

"My friends? They're alive? You've spoken to them? How are they? I mean they're okay, aren't they?" The words tumbled out, louder than Wade had intended.

Charles put a hand firmly across her mouth.

"Keep it down will you. Do you want us both doing an unscheduled jump from the roof?"

Wade mumbled an apology but her heart was racing. Her friends alive. She knew they'd come for her. She knew in her heart they'd try to get to her before the Slide. That meant the Slide wasn't scheduled yet. Wade breathed a deep sigh.

"Be ready to leave tonight. About eleven o'clock. After everyone's gone to bed. Make sure you're dressed for climbing, nothing fancy. Don't do anything to arouse suspicion today. Just go along with anything they want. Stay cool until tonight and by this time tomorrow you might be back with your friends." Charles looked around him nervously and then passed Wade a small metallic disk.

She gazed at it and then looked up questioningly.

"If I don't show or anything happens to me tonight before we make it, this will prove to the Renegades that you're legit."

"And if I don't have this?" Wade asked, pressing the disk into the palm of her hand and closing her fingers tightly over it.

"They'll kill you," Charles replied quietly. "Listen, if I haven't shown by eleven fifteen then assume something's happened. Leave the house and go to the ventilation housing behind the pool. The metal casing's loose. There's a ladder which goes part way down and takes you to the top of the lift shaft. The lifts will take you to around the fifteenth floor. You'll have to ride the top. You'd attract too much attention if you go inside. When it stops at fifteen there's a small tunnel which leads off to the side. Crawl into that and wait for the lift to go back up. Once it's gone you can rappel down the ropes the rest of the way to the basement. Your friends will be waiting at the bottom of that shaft, and that shaft only."

Wade swallowed. Fifteen floors to go down by rope. No safety ropes, no net at the bottom. She'd be on her own.

"How will I know when the lift is on the fifteenth floor?" she asked suddenly.

Charles grimaced and Wade thought she saw a flash of pain cross his eyes as he replied. Memories of something, though Wade couldn't be sure what.

"Some joker's painted a skull and crossbones on the wall next to the lift shaft on fifteen, just above the side tunnel. It's a sign to everyone that what they're about to try is probably suicide. So many people have died trying this little number that the authorities don't even bother to monitor this particular shaft anymore. All they ever find there is bodies. Lots of them. That's why it's your best bet to get away." Charles paused.

"Go to your room before you arouse any suspicions. If all goes well I'll see you tonight."

Wade moved towards Tanya's room and then hesitated. She turned and caught Charles's eye.

"Thank you," she mouthed silently. He arched his eyebrows in acknowledgement and then moved back towards the main living area of the house.

As Wade opened the door to Tanya's room quietly she didn't hear the gentle but fast scuffle of feet across the carpet to Tanya's bed, and the eyes which closed swiftly under the bedclothes as Wade tiptoed into her own bedroom and closed the door.

Tanya's thoughts started to race.

***

Danielle Warfield and the Renegades led Quinn and the others to a heavily-armored van that looked like it had been built from hundreds of spare parts. Warfield pulled herself through the open door into the driver's seat as her men and women began loading crates into the back.

Quinn climbed into the back of the van. The Renegades were breaking open the crates with crowbars. One of them started handing out their contents - missile launchers and grenades.

The Renegade thrust an Uzi into Rembrandt's hands. "Know how to use one of these?"

"Uh, I think so," Rembrandt said. "Had a little weapons training back in the navy."

Arturo recoiled in distaste as he was handed a gun. "Is it really necessary for us to come on this little guerrilla mission of yours?"

Warfield leaned out from her seat to glare back at them. "We're never gonna rescue your friend without help. So we need the Nightmares. And since it's your friend, you get to help us with the recruitment. I don't do anything for free, and could use the extra manpower. If you're scared, then get out now and forget Wade, because this is your only chance of saving her."

Quinn drew back the lever on his Uzi with a loud snap. "No. Let's do it."

Arturo murmured to himself, but echoed his movement. Rembrandt gripped his weapon and gave a menacing snarl. Quinn remembered his surprise when he'd first seen that side of his friend in Sorcerer World. But since then, Quinn had come to accept Rembrandt's darker side. It had come in handy many times.

The Renegades hung onto the struts inside the van as Warfield shifted the vehicle into gear. She pulled away from the curb to roar down the battered street.

It rumbled along for what felt like fifteen minutes until the van passed under a rickety arch which had been spray- painted with a skull symbol, followed by the words "Enter And Face Your Worst Nightmares."

*** A soothing voice awakened Wade with the message, "Good morning, Wade. It's eight o'clock. Time for breakfast. Have a lovely day."

Wade oozed back to consciousness. She fought the waves of exhaustion which she felt after only an hour's sleep. She opened an eye and caught sight of the printouts sprawled across the bed. A pang of alarm tore through her system. She opened her other eye and saw a woman in a maid's costume walking to the door. Her rigid smile and slightly off- balance walk told her it was another robot. Wade fell back against the pillow in relief and then swiftly gathered up the printouts before someone else came in. She dragged herself out of the bed and stuffed the paper into a drawer in a dressing table. When it was safely hidden, she slumped over to the closet. It opened immediately as she approached it. Inside was a dazzling array of fashionable clothing in a wide variety of styles.

Another voice similar to the robot-maid's came from the closet. "Sensors indicate that the following selections are in your size."

The racks on the closet hummed as they rearranged themselves on conveyor belts. When they stopped moving, Wade faced a row of clothing and shoes, all in her size. She chose a few items that looked like they were the least expensive, just to avoid being too ostentatious. She still didn't feel comfortable in such luxury while her friends were trapped in the shattered world of Downtown. But even the simple clothes she selected looked like they were well out of her price range on her world.

The family were gathered in the kitchen. Sunlight fell through the balcony window onto the pancakes, bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, and other more exotic foods piled on the table. Light classical music filled the air.

Charles was hovering nearby, refilling Brenda's glass with orange juice. He glanced at Wade for a second. Just a second. Then looked away, as impassive as ever. But in that second, he made a connection with Wade, softly reminding her of their conversation.

Wade tried to look casual as she sat down at an empty seat. Tanya looked up from the book she was reading to smile at her, but Brenda ignored her, continuing to eat her eggs without looking up.

Grace looked up from a plate of fried fish. "Ah, our little visitor awakes. Well, I hope you're all rested up, darling. We've got a busy day ahead of you. First, we'll hit the town, getting you some fresh clothes..."

"I already have clothes," Wade said.

"Oh, those old things," Grace said, waving a hand. "We just keep them around for rags. No, we're going to set you up with some proper attire, sweetie. Then we'll get a makeover at a wonderful beauty salon I know."

Brenda swallowed, then gave Wade an exaggerated sweet smile. "You should look forward to that, sweetie. You could use a little sprucing up."

Wade sneered at Brenda as Charles spooned eggs onto her plate. "Well, I suppose you'd know all about that, 'sweetie.' I can see you require a lot of maintenance."

Brenda's smile dissolved into a snarl. "How dare you speak to me..."

Grace clapped her hands. "Ladies, please. Let's keep it civil, shall we, darlings? Now, after the salon we can see about getting you a servant. There's an auction at twelve, and you'll be able to see my charity work first hand. After that, a quick visit to the police again, then the psychiatrist to see if we can't straighten you out, poor thing."

Wade looked up from her plate. "Did you say police?"

"Yes, just a quick visit, sweetie. I promised them I'd take you around to see them again for a check-up, see if they've made any progress in finding out who you are."

"Oh." Wade picked at her meal with her fork. "Goodie."

Brenda winced, then picked up her plate. "Charles, I thought I told you to tell the cook that I don't like my eggs runny."

Charles bowed, slightly. "I did, madam. He cooked the eggs especially..."

"Just look at this," Brenda screamed. "It's practically raw!"

"No, it's not," Wade said. "It's fine. Very good, actually, best I've ever..."

"Maybe you're used to eating peasant food," Brenda snarled, "but I'm not."

She threw the plate over her shoulder. It flew out of the open balcony door and over the side, down to the distant street below. Wade listened for the crash, but heard nothing.

Brenda suddenly regained her composure to sigh and rise to her feet. "Well, that was an absolutely horrid meal, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be going. There's a VR fashion show in Brussels that I hear is just divine."

She strode out of the room, humming to herself. Wade watched her go in awe.

Tanya turned the page of her book as she whispered, "Yes, it's a hard life my sister leads, but she somehow manages to cope."

***

Quinn held onto the side of the van as it lurched down the road, the wheels crushing chunks of concrete underneath them. The Renegades were all loading and checking their guns as Warfield led them in a rousing rendition of the song "In The Jungle."

Rembrandt looked over at Hamilton. "Hey, man, what do these Nightmare guys do, anyway?"

"They're drug dealers," Hamilton said. "They manufacture narcotics for Uptown and Downtown, but mostly Uptown. They make all the drugs down here, then the police ship them Uptown."

"The police?" Arturo said. "The police handle narcotics? I find that astonishing."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well, on our world, the police work to eliminate the drug problem, not encourage it. Narcotics are illegal."

Hamilton looked away to glare out his window. "Not in this world. In this world, it's only illegal Downtown. Uptown, they can smoke and shoot up whatever they want, and often do. They just don't want it in their backyards, so to speak. So we get all the negatives of drug manufacturing - junkies, turf wars, murders, our homes converted into druglabs - while Uptown reaps the benefits."

"This world is so unfair," Quinn said.

"Yeah, that's life, Q-Ball," Rembrandt murmured.

Warfield stopped the song with a raised hand. "Hold it, everybody. We're approaching the compound."

By the dim light of the sun breaking through the skyscrapers above, Quinn could see what had once been a massive factory looming ahead of them. It was now battered and decayed, but smoke poured from its elongated chimneys. Men in black outfits paced the front gate holding AK-47s.

"Lock and load, everybody," Warfield snarled. "We're going in."

She slammed her foot down on the gas. The van lurched forward towards the gate. The sentries began to fire at them, but the bullets pinged off the windshield. Bulletproof. At the last second, the sentries jumped out of the way.

The van crashed through it. As the fence went cartwheeling out of their path, the van turned in a wide arc, dust flying from the wheels.

Warfield slammed on the brakes until the vehicle skidded to a halt, then yelled, "Last stop, everybody out!"

The Renegades kicked open the backdoors. They poured out in a stream of roaring, shooting muscle and camouflage gear. Gunfire began to sound. Quinn, Rembrandt, and Arturo exchanged a nervous glance.

"Don't worry," Hamilton said. "Your Uzis are loaded with rubber bullets. They'll pack a wallop, even break some bones, but they won't kill unless you aim them at the heart or head."

Rembrandt grinned. "Lock and load, gang."

He charged out, screaming as he sprayed the air with his gun. Arturo climbed after him yelling, "Semper fi!" Quinn followed.

The compound was a warzone. The factory was sealed with the windows covered in sheet metal, leaving only a heavy iron door as the entrance. Men and women in black were on the roof of the monstrous plant, guns blazing. And they weren't using rubber ammo.

But Warfield's Renegades were finely-honed warriors. They moved in complex zigzag patterns that looked random, but were well-planned to move them in synchronized patterns into positions of cover. They shot quickly and easily, hitting their targets every time.

Quinn dove behind an abandoned car and fired off shots with his Uzi. Then he ducked for cover as bullets riddled the hood. Rembrandt and Arturo settled in beside him, pouring fire from their guns.

Warfield herself was a dynamo. She moved from one point of cover to the next with lightning speed, exposing herself only to fire off a few rounds, then dive behind a crate or chunk of rock. In this fashion, she made her way to the metal door.

She used her teeth to yank the pin out of a grenade, then hurled it at the door as she yelled, "Fire in the hole!"

Everyone ducked as the door went up in a blossom of flame. It landed again crumpled into something resembling a pretzel. Quinn could see through the open doorway to the men and women inside, running for cover.

"Infiltrate," Warfield roared.

The Renegades moved out again, dispersed to avoid drawing fire, but as concentrated and focused as an arrow. They charged into the building, still firing at the sentries on the roof. Quinn heard gunshots echoing inside the factory, then a series of explosions. Then silence.

Warfield stood and brushed off her fatigues. "Well, I think that's my cue."

She strode into the building. Rembrandt, Arturo, and Quinn jogged in after her.

Inside was indeed a drug factory. Vats of chemicals hummed as complex machinery worked to fill syringes that were wrapped and dropped into boxes. A white powder drizzled from the mouth of another machine into bags.

Warfield aimed her AK-47 at the works and fired off rounds until it all ground to a squealing halt. As she did, a thin man in a white suit came charging out of an office.

"Danny," he yelled. "I should've known you were behind this. What's the big idea?"

Warfield slung her gun onto her shoulder. "Truce is over, Jung. We need to talk."

His torso gleamed, his muscles perfectly honed. The face appeared to be chiseled from stone. The features were straight and symmetrical and the eyes held the ocean's deep blue hue within them as they gazed at the audience which stared back in awe.

In essence, the man who strutted in front of Wade, demonstrated the perfection which could be attained in the male form. That's if someone had the time or the dedication to work at it.

It went without saying that Grace had front row seats at the "auction." Wade shuffled uncomfortably as Grace greeted her friends with half-offered kisses and exaggerated declarations of delight at seeing them. Of course it was obvious to Wade that Grace spent a vast amount of her time mixing with these women every day.

Somehow the false pretenses and pretend rituals of greeting seemed right in this decadent place. The chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, the thick red carpet which straddled the catwalk, allowing the "auction items" to pad up and down like animals in a cage while the eager, icon-hungry audience peered and poked. The women gesticulated and sighed as each potential new "purchase" paraded its attributes in the glare of the red spotlights.

Wade felt sick. She felt a party to this sham, this hollow promise to these people of a better life. Each new "item" eager to please, eager to be possessed by one of the "accessory-mad" buyers and escape Downtown.

She heard two women behind her discuss a young and stunning girl who walked slowly towards them along the catwalk. The conversation was brief but Wade felt a flush of nausea as she heard one of them protest at the girl's hair color.

"But darling, I'd have to have her hair dyed. It simply wouldn't match my new drapes in the living area - and they were so expensive, don't you know. I do believe there's a rather stunning dark haired girl next. I think I'll wait to see her. One doesn't want a clash now does one?"

The raucous laughter which followed was met with agreement from her friend. Wade sighed and caught Grace's eye.

"Simply marvelous, aren't they, darling? I thought one of the younger men for you, dear. Brenda says that having a man servant is the 'in' thing dear. We must try and keep you in with the group, dear!" Grace smiled sweetly and reached across to squeeze Wade's hand.

"Nice to see my work at first hand isn't it?" she said as she turned her head towards the stage. A group of three male "purchases" were taking their places before parading in front.

"What kind of work is this?" Wade asked. She could have said more, a lot more, but she kept her counsel.

"Oh darling, all these people are my charity work. I'm on the main Committee for the auction houses, darling. I make sure that these poor darlings get a chance here in Uptown and can get away from that simply awful place down there." Wade saw Grace shudder visibly.

"This isn't charity work, this is slavery," Wade declared angrily and then bit her lip. There! She'd said it now and boy would she be for it.

Grace went silent for a minute and then looked sideways at her. Her face broke into a smile.

"But darling, I do lot's of other things too," she added, ignoring the remark about "slavery," almost as though Wade hadn't said it.

"Like what?" Wade asked. She couldn't fathom the woman's attitude to her. Surely she was suspicious of