SLIDERS: SOLITUDE
Copyright by Jules Reynolds (August 1996)
(Julia@wrenlea.demon.co.uk)
The following story is intended for entertainment purposes only. This
document can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of
the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies.
This document cannot be sold or translated into any other form without
written permission from the author. Some characters and elements of
this story are the property of St Clare Entertainment, used without
authorization. No copyright infringement is intended. The author
receives no compensation from the distribution of this work. Any
comments or criticism would be welcome.
He stood on the banks of the river and watched the gentle motion of the water. It teased the sandy surface where he stood, playfully touching the sides and then retreating swiftly.
The water was clear and ambled gently towards its destination. It looked cool. He reached down and put a hand into the flow. He could feel nothing. Not even its gentle touch. He looked down at his hand, surprised. It looked wet, the liquid glistening, caught in the brief shaft of sunlight which poked cautiously through the dark foreboding storm clouds overhead.
The cries were loud. They wrenched at his heart and he rose to his feet suddenly.
He saw them on the opposite side of the river. Their faces twisted and screaming for him.
His legs felt heavy as though they were made of lead. He wanted to move and yet he couldn't. The girl's face was drenched in tears. The older man waving madly at him. Calling his name.
He saw the figure in the river. The young man. The hand which reached above the flow. The head as it disappeared once more beneath the surface.
They were calling him, pleading with him to help.
As though he were released from a clamp, his feet stepped downwards and he leapt into the clear flow. He felt nothing. No cold. Nothing.
He struck out towards the young man, and watched as his own hand closed around the arm, which was fast disappearing beneath the surface again. He knew that the flow should be carrying them both steadily downstream and yet they stayed in one place. Strange. They seemed destined to stay in the same place. The arm which he held was pulling him downwards, slowly, inexorably. He had to let go. He had to save himself.
Then he glimpsed the face of the young man and he knew. Knew that he had to save him at any cost, even that of his own life. This life was precious to him somehow. His life was linked inextricably to this man. His friend. He was his friend.
He felt the darkness flow over him as he clutched the hand and realized that both he and Quinn were drowning.
***
Rembrandt sat up suddenly, sweat drenching his face and body. He shook his head, his eyes staring wildly around him. A dream! That was it, a dream. A stupid dream.
He sighed long and hard.
"Rembrandt Brown, your mind sure is working overtime," he muttered under his breath.
He felt drained. Felt as though he'd just gone a round with Tyson. He wiped his hand across his damp forehead and took a deep breath. The cool air flowing into his lungs felt good. The feeling that he was drowning had seemed so real somehow. He wanted to taste the sweet air, let it fill him until he knew he was alive.
As he pulled himself slowly to his feet he shook his head in confusion. He felt disorientated. He hadn't remembered going to sleep. He didn't recognize this place. Where was he? Where were the others?
"Man, where is everyone?" he asked the air. But the air was silent.
The landscape around him was barren. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, and even with his hand shielding them to stare into the distance he could tell that for as far as would make a difference to him, he was surrounded by virtually nothing. All save a small river flowing quietly alongside his resting place, and the tree which he leant against.
The sun overhead was intense. Even through the branches which formed a canopy above him, it's heat bore down.
Rembrandt peeled off his jacket and opened the neck on his shirt. The perspiration was running fast now. As he wiped yet more moisture from his forehead he started to try to remember.
The last thing he remembered was the slide. What had happened in the slide? It was a fog, a distant blur.
He knew they'd all slid out from the last world okay. He'd been last that time. He remembered they were trying to get away from something. He couldn't remember what though. He remembered pushing Wade ahead of him. He remembered feeling fear wash through him as he slid. He didn't remember arriving on another world though. Strange. There was a blackness somehow. An empty space where the arrival should have been.
One thing he did know - he didn't have the timer. Q-Ball had it. He had to find the others.
Rembrandt slung his jacket across his shoulder and moved away from his resting place by the tree. He started to move to follow the river and its flow. He moved slowly and yet felt as though he should hurry. There was urgency in his veins and yet he couldn't react to it. He couldn't move any faster because... Because what? Because he just couldn't. He felt drugged somehow, not clear headed.
The river meandered slowly, matching his own measured pace somehow. Glinting now and again as it caught the rays of sunshine and split them throughout its flowing stream.
"Where is everyone?" he asked himself. The silence which surrounded him was deafening. There were no birds, no signs of life. Nothing.
"They have to be over that ridge there," he muttered as he spotted a small rise in the otherwise flat vista, and left the run of the river to reach it.
But when he reached the top he realized that there was nothing there. The same flat vista spread out before him, a cold lifeless horizon, the odd small rise visible in the distance but that was all. Bland, devoid of life and to Rembrandt at that moment, the extinguisher of hope.
He sank to the floor for a moment, his energy drained. His thoughts jumbled. Maybe, just maybe, they'd been split up.
"Yeah like on that hippie world. Yeah, that's it." Rembrandt's spirits rose momentarily. How it had happened he couldn't guess. Maybe the others had bounced out somewhere else and he'd knocked himself out when he landed separately to them.
"Aw man, why d'it have to be the Cryin'Man who's on his own? Why me?" Rembrandt looked imploringly at the sky for an answer. The sky stared back silently. Any secrets it had were kept to itself.
Rembrandt started to trudge forwards. For what seemed like an eternity to him, he headed for every ridge, climbed it and looked ahead. When he'd crossed the twentieth rise, and still seen not a single sign of life, he sat down heavily. If his friends *were* on this world they were too far away to find him. The distance horizon must have stretched for hundreds of miles. He couldn't see signs of life and he couldn't keep moving forward in this heat hoping to find them. He knew in his heart he wouldn't and he knew that if he kept going the sun would get him first.
"Some 'Frisco," he mumbled irritably to himself. "Not a single sign of life anywhere. Must be some sort of apocalypse world or somethin'," he murmured and pulling his boots from his feet, he massaged his toes into life. The walking on the inhospitable landscape had made them ache, and then go numb.
Rembrandt rubbed his palms across his forehead and looked at the dirt which lifted in disgust.
He crawled slowly to his feet and gazed at the view in front of him. His heart stopped.
Where a bland lifeless horizon a minute ago, there was the tree he'd found himself against when he first came to. And there was the river again, its gentle lapping sound almost music to his ears.
Had he been going round in circles? Rembrandt couldn't be sure. What he was sure of was that a minute earlier he hadn't seen the tree or the river.
If he didn't find Q-ball at least, he'd be stranded in this inhospitable landscape for ever. A prisoner of his own thoughts and fears. Totally alone.
As he moved towards the tree and sat down finally against its trunk, Rembrandt resigned himself to the fact that there was no point in looking anymore. He'd exhausted the area for some distance around him. He realized with mounting fear that he was alone.
With a stomach wrenching start, Rembrandt remembered his dream. It made his heart pound. Had it been a dream? Maybe he'd been caught up in some sort of accident and he was suffering from amnesia. The dream was merely an echo from the past. Had he gone beneath the river with Quinn, but he alone had been washed up on the bank somehow?
No, if that were true then where were the others? They wouldn't just have left him.. Besides, his clothes were dry. Even with the sun so intense, his jacket would be all wrinkled out. He fingered the jacket. It seemed in pristine condition - well at least as pristine as it could be after countless slides.
Rembrandt shook his head. He felt miserable and confused. He wished Q-Ball was there. Q-Ball always thought of something didn't he? He always got them out of messes. He smiled to himself remembering his young friend.
Perhaps his amnesia wasn't as bad as he thought. He remembered Q-Ball okay. In fact he remembered all his friends vividly.
Then, without warning, his dream once more flooded the place where the pleasant memories had been, overwhelming them and swallowing them up. Replacing them with dark, odious thoughts.
Quinn might be dead. He'd seen him drowning. He'd held his arm and felt the life slip away. He'd thought it was a dream. What if it wasn't?
What if only he'd survived somehow out of all of them, and it wasn't a dream? What if the rest of the Sliders were dead?
The realization that he was alone started to fill every thought, every sinew in his body.
Panic rising, dark feelings of despair.
Rembrandt shuddered suddenly and looked skywards. He was getting sunstroke. He was delirious. Yes, that was it, delirium. He ran his tongue hesitantly across his lips. They were drying out. He had to find something to drink. The river.
He moved slowly across to the water. and looked into its depths. It looked clear enough. Was it safe to drink? Rembrandt hesitated. What if he drank it and poisoned himself. What if he didn't? He never was good at survival techniques. He'd relied heavily on the others in the past. Now he only had himself to look to for advice. He was destined to die if he didn't drink something. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.
Without warning, an image appeared in his mind and became reality. Wade. She was standing in front of him, legs astance, staring at him. He could hear her words, see her face. She looked angry, upset. She seemed so real. Rembrandt shook his head again. He was hallucinating. She couldn't be there.
"Jeez, Remmy you look awful. Look, don't just sit there moping. Get up. We need your help. All of us. We need you Rembrandt. We won't slide without you. You've got to help us." Wade's image disintegrated into a thousand pieces and was swallowed into the landscape.
Rembrandt put a hand up to where she'd been standing. He'd swear he could have touched her, she'd been so close, so real. He'd heard those words. He'd seen her face. She'd been so close he'd swear he could smell her perfume. It *had* been Wade. No hallucination could be that real. Or could it? Rembrandt didn't know anymore. He was beginning to doubt his own sanity.
"Man I got to do somethin' before I go nuts," he murmured and turned to the water. Taking his weight on one knee he put his face to the surface of the water and took a gulp of clear water. It tasted good. He waited for a moment. No ill effects. He smiled to himself. He'd made the right decision.
He climbed back to his feet. He felt better when he stood up, as though the dreams couldn't attack his mind when he was on his feet. Somehow, when he rested, his resistance went down and he was easy prey to his own fevered imagination.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small dark outcrop of rocks which looked as though they might harbor some sort of cave. Shelter from the heat.
Funny. He'd swear they hadn't been there before. He'd seen nothing for miles around. Yet there they were. Maybe he'd missed them somehow.
He needed to get out of the sun. Stop the hallucinations. Yes, that was a good first step. Maybe there would be water there too. The river seemed to flow from that direction. Perhaps an underground spring. He could rest there and let the dreams go away.
Rembrandt's spirits rose as he trudged towards the dark smudge which indicated the rocks. Yes, he could swear they'd not been there before. And yet they were here now. Either his eyes were playing tricks on him or something was very odd about this world.
***
The cave was small and dark. It smelt dry though. Strange. Rembrandt had always assumed that caves should smell damp. He had to admit that he'd rarely been in a cave. His memory of the smell wasn't clear. He shrugged his shoulders and crawled onto a small flat surface to the rear. The coolness after the unremitting sun, was comforting. He leant his head back against the hard rocks behind him. He felt tired. Sleep wasn't a pleasant option at the moment, he admitted ruefully. Perhaps he'd just rest for a while and try to get some sort of plan formulated.
He'd always dreaded being alone. The thought of no one to speak to, to joke with or even share fears with, terrified him. He was a people person. His friends had always told him that. He'd always loved to talk, and to listen to people. Here, he was trapped within his own fears and memories. With no prospect of seeing his friends again. With no prospect of leaving this world. He felt trapped and claustrophobic.
Rembrandt tried to swallow back his fear. Back to the place where it belonged. Back inside, deep. It couldn't hurt him inside. He'd be all right. He knew it. He had always been an optimist. He had to force the optimism to the surface, to soothe his fears with the sweet balm of his own buoyant nature.
As Rembrandt looked at his surroundings and the realism of his situation took hold,he bowed his head into his hands and took a deep breath. He pulled his head up slowly and started to do what only he knew best. He started to sing.
***
The small figure outside the small outcrop of rocks put her head on one side and looked quizzically towards the source of the sound. She turned to her companion who mirrored her look of surprise.
"A strange reaction!" she noted quietly as they turned and looked once again towards the Crying Man's serenade.
***
The song came clear and loud now. Rembrandt's eyes were closed but his spirits were soaring along with his voice. Singing. That's what had always kept him sane in the past and this was his redemption now. No matter if he were alone for the moment.
The song *was* the moment.
What had his father always told him?
'You're never alone so long as you got a song right here, son.'
Rembrandt put his hand against his chest, his fist closed and remembered his father putting a large hand on his own small chest when he was a boy. He'd kept that sentiment throughout his childhood and into his adult life. It had always served him well. He knew now that it would serve to save his sanity.
'Do what you do best son. It'll never let you down.' His mother's soft voice floated in and out of his memory, as his own voice carried the song steadily to the surrounding walls of the cave.
Sometimes it took a lifetime to realize that the words, or pearls as his mother told him they were, of wisdom which your parents imparted to you when you were young, were the building blocks for your own life.
Ironic, when he had reached that point where the building he'd erected was about to collapse around him, he realized that all along they'd been right.
He wished they were here now so he could tell them they were right and that he was grateful.
Regret tinged with a warmth of spirit flowed upwards from within and encompassed him. He felt at peace.
He finished his song and paused. His eyes were closed and yet he could feel that he wasn't alone anymore.
He opened one eye cautiously and peeked around the cave. The small figure which stood framed in light at the entrance was familiar and Rembrandt blinked hard. He rubbed at his eyes until they hurt. He wasn't sure whether to believe his own eyes anymore. Not on this world.
"Wade. That you sweetheart?" he ventured tentatively as the figure moved towards him slowly.
"Yeah, Remmy. It's me. What you doing in here?"
"Oh, hanging around. Where you been? You got the others with you?"
His voice sounded calm and yet Rembrandt felt his heart beat quicken, his spirits rising steadily and slowly. He wasn't alone after all. They could slide out. More importantly he knew that he *had* seen her before. But where had she been hiding and why? What about Quinn? He had to know about Quinn! His excitement was muted. He could feel it being kept under control somehow. Somewhere inside he didn't feel right. Something was wrong.
He eyed the figure cautiously. Normally, Wade would have flung herself into his arms by now. She was always the demonstrative one. The girl in front of him sure looked like Wade. But she was acting pretty strange.
The small figure ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. Burying her head into his neck, she kissed him and looked happily at him, her dark eyes shining brightly.
Rembrandt was taken by surprise. It was as though Wade had read his mind and decided to act like she always had in the past.
Maybe he was being too suspicious. Here was his friend. His dear friend. Hadn't she always been the closest to him of all the others? Hadn't they had some good times together? The least he could do was reciprocate.
He reached across and pulled her back to him. He hugged her tightly.
"Man, you're a sight for sore eyes, girl!" he declared happily as he smiled back and forced himself to realize he was no longer alone.
"Wade, is Quinn okay?" he asked, his eyes studying her expression.
Her face was expressionless. She didn't reply but simply got up and held out her hand.
"What? Where we goin'?" he asked, puzzled.
"Got to go and find the others. Quinn needs our help," she replied absently, hauling him to his feet.
"Is he okay?" Rembrandt pushed as he started to follow her.
"You'll see when we get there,"her only reply.
"Where? Don't seem like there was anywhere to go, last time I looked outside," he remarked sarcastically, as he took her hand and followed her. She sure felt like Wade, he observed mentally, feeling her small fingers enclose his own, but her whole manner was strange. Maybe he was imagining things. Hey, he'd had sunstroke probably. Maybe it would take time for him to feel himself. Rembrandt pushed the thoughts about Wade's strange behavior from his mind, but the excitement he should be feeling stayed muted and the relief which should have flooded his system by now had failed to materialize.
Outside the cave, the sky had changed. Gone was the overpowering sun. In its place dark clouds threatening a storm. The odd shaft of sunlight filtering through to reflect on the river surface. Rembrandt followed Wade slowly to the edge of the river. She started down the bank towards the water.
He pulled on her hand and jerked her round to face him.
"Where are we going, Wade?" he demanded gently.
He felt her pull away from him, fear reflected in her face at his sudden action.
"Hey, this isn't like you sweetheart," he said softly and gazed into her eyes. He could smell the fear from her. To his horror, he realized that she was frightened of him.
Her body relaxed and she locked his gaze with her own.
"Sorry, Remmy. You .....surprised me...that's all!" she replied and her face relaxed into a smile.
She shook her hand free from his grip and moved towards the water. Pulling her boots from her feet, she put a foot into its flow and turned to beckon him to follow along the side.
"You haven't told me where we're going yet," he called after her as he pulled his boots off too and stepped into the flow, following her along the side of the water.
"You'll see!" she replied as they moved along the river and turned the bend which headed away from the tree where Remmy had first found himself.
***
As Remmy turned the corner, he saw to his surprise that Wade had already crossed the flow and was standing on the bank on the other side.
She was waving madly at him and pointing.
Rembrandt glanced at the man who stood next to her and a shiver crawled down his spine and up again. His dream! It was prophetic. He didn't believe in prophetic dreams. Wade did. That was her bag, not his.
Arturo was calling to him and pointing.
"Mr Mallory needs your help! Save him Mr Brown, save him!" Those English tones were unmistakably the Professor. Rembrandt was left in no doubt as to that.
Wade was screaming at him, the tears pouring down her cheeks. Just as it had happened in his dream. And yet minutes earlier she'd been so casual. She hadn't implied that Quinn needed his help *this* badly. Why wasn't Wade in there trying to save him?
Rembrandt turned his attention to the figure which languished in the river. Q-Ball was a good swimmer. Rembrandt knew that. What was causing him to drown now?
Perhaps he was hurt. That was it - he was hurt and couldn't swim properly.
The flow was faster now than in his dream. Rembrandt wondered at his ability to save the young student. He stared at the river. Strange, just like in his dream, Quinn wasn't moving along with the rest of the flow. He seemed tethered to the spot almost. His head kept disappearing under the surface. Rembrandt could hear his gasps for breath.
His hesitation turned to urgency and he strode confidently through the water, towards the center of the river. He reached out and grabbed the arm which floundered near to the surface and pulled hard. Quinn bounced to the top of the water gasping.
"Can't hold on much longer, Remmy," he spluttered as he turned to look into the face of his friend. Remmy caught the look of terror on Quinn's face and he held on tighter. Something was pulling his friend under the water and he looked on in mute horror as the young student disappeared beneath the surface again.
He had to let go. He could feel the sheer weight pulling him downwards beneath the surface. And yet, he knew that if he did, he'd lose his friend, perhaps forever.
He had to save Quinn. He couldn't let go, even if it meant drowning himself. He had to do it.
Rembrandt turned haunted eyes to his friends on the riverbank and caught a last glimpse of Wade's tear streaked face as she clung to the Professor and they watched the strong power of the river pull their friends to their deaths.
Why weren't they helping him? They were letting them both die.
The cold dark water closed over Rembrandt's head as he felt himself pulled down along with Quinn. The hand which was in his own went limp. He knew as the water filled his lungs that his friend was dead and as the darkness took his own thoughts he knew that soon he would be joining him.
***
The darkness was fading now. Light filtering into his mind, replacing each dark spot with a warm glow.
Voices. Rembrandt could hear voices. His heart leapt at the thought of companionship. He had the feeling he'd been alone. Terrified and alone. Yet now he felt a peace wash over him.
He opened his eyes slowly. The foggy mist which cleared slowly, gradually filtered the light through gently.
Shapes hovered nearby. Small shapes. They were fretting and muttering. Their voices high pitched. The language wasn't English. He couldn't understand what they were saying. Maybe on this world they spoke a different language.
This world. The word struck a chord and he remembered the slide. His friends! He sat up in a panic and stared wildly around the room.
The white clinical interior reflected the light at his eyes and they stung briefly. He put his hand up to shield them momentarily.
"Man, that's bright!" he declared unhappily.
Within seconds the lights had dimmed to a more comfortable level and he put his hands down and looked around him.
The two small figures which stood in front of him looked like small humans. And yet they weren't. Their foreheads were larger somehow than humans. Their eyes smaller and set well back into their faces. Their mouths were thin set and wide, giving an imbalance to their whole face. Yet the thing which Rembrandt found the strangest, and which proved that in no way were these two small creatures human, was the fact that they had no noses.
They seemed to be of identical height, about four feet tall. Standing next to one another and peering at Rembrandt, they looked like a pair of comical twins. Their heads were on one side as they looked at him.
"Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee," he declared out loud as he looked back.
"We do not understand your words," came the reply in a soft high pitched voice.
"Oh, never mind. I don't think you'd get it anyway," he replied ruefully, realizing that they were speaking English.
"Are you guys gonna tell me where I am?" he offered as they continued to stare at him.
"You are on Earth, human."
"So what is this? Some kind of sequel to ET or somethin'?" he remarked casually, swinging his legs over the side of the bed on which he found himself.
He looked down at his clothes. They were intact as far as he could see. More importantly, they weren't wet.
"Your references are not clear to us, explain "ET" please," one of the aliens asked.
"ET - you know, Extra Terrestrial. It's a film....small guy about your height flies in to Earth." Rembrandt looked at the aliens and saw the puzzled expressions in their eyes.
"Never mind. Just forget it, guys," he muttered.
The image of Quinn flashed into his mind like a knife cutting through butter. Rembrandt grabbed at the bed as the room swam around him.
"Quinn......where's he? If I'm okay then he must be too, right? Just tell me he's okay." Rembrandt's voice was hoarse. He felt strange, like he had an almighty hangover.
"Would it make a difference to you if this Quinn were dead?" came the response.
Rembrandt turned an anguished face to them.
"What do you think? What sort of a question's that? Of course I'd care if he was dead. Just who are you? Why won't you tell me what's happened to him? And the rest of my friends, the Professor, Wade. Where are they? They were there by the river...when we ...drowned. You rescued me didn't you? You must've seen them."
Rembrandt moved towards them menacingly. His whole head was swimming. The room seemed to move around him. He fought back the nausea which threatened to overwhelm him, and staggered slightly.
"Ah, the girl. You would care if something happened to her?" the other alien persisted, moving closer to Rembrandt and turning meaningfully to its companion.
"What are you talking about? Of course I'd care about Wade. Look I care about all of them - they're my friends. Get it? Friends. I care about my friends and they care about me. If somethin's happened to them, tell me, damn it." Rembrandt felt his temper start to rise and he edged along the wall, using it for support as he moved closer to the two smaller shapes in front of him.
They backed away from him suddenly. He tried to focus on them but the swirling room made him dizzy. He grabbed at the bed and leaned heavily on it.
The two aliens seemed to disintegrate in front of his eyes, their shapes fluctuating and bending until their particles lifted upwards like a giant jigsaw puzzle, spreading around the room in a giant circle.
Suddenly the pieces swooped downwards in a giant blaze of light and exploded.
The flash blinded him for a second and Rembrandt rubbed his eyes hard. The aliens had gone. In front of him, some ten yards away, were Quinn and Wade.
They were each standing in a tall glass cylinder. Both were trying desperately to get out. Wade was hammering on the glass walls and screaming.
Rembrandt couldn't hear her screams but he could see her mouth open, her eyes wide with terror.
Quinn was feeling all around the cylinder calmly. Gently exploring for some way out.
He looked worried but there wasn't the terror which was reflected in Wade's face.
The voice which carried across the room sounded familiar. Rembrandt's heart lurched as he realized it was Arturo speaking through some sort of loudspeaker system.
"You have to choose one of them, Mr Brown."
"Choose one of them for what?" Rembrandt asked to the air.
"Choose one to live and one to die. Simple really isn't it?" the laughter which followed the announcement made Rembrandt shudder. It was like being in some horror film. Nothing was what it seemed to be and he was now damn sure it wasn't really Arturo.
"Oh yeah and how am I supposed to do that? More to the point how you gonna make me?" Rembrandt answered confidently. They couldn't make him do anything.
"Watch the tubes carefully my doubting friend. Watch the gas enter the tubes and watch them suffer. The lever in the center will flood one tube and one tube only, with an antidote to the poison, but only one. You choose. Wade or Quinn. Which must die and which must live? Simple really Mr Brown. Quite simple."
Rembrandt watched in horror as a green gas started to fill the tubes. He watched the two young people struggle and start to bang on the sides of the containers. Panic started to rise in his throat. He couldn't choose. He couldn't condemn one to die and the other to live, hell he loved them both. They were both like family.
He put his head into his hands in despair.
"Can't choose, eh?" the voice taunted. "You do have another alternative. We will be magnanimous."
"I *won't* choose, damn you!" Rembrandt thundered as he rose to his feet and stared angrily at the scene in front of him.
"And who's we? You bunch of murdering....."
"Ah ah, Mr Brown. I don't think insulting us would do your young friends any good, do you? Your alternative is to offer yourself as the victim. Would you do that?"
Rembrandt watched the faces of his two friends and realized that they were losing their struggle for life. He knew in his heart what he must do. What the aliens obviously wanted all along. His own death.
"Sure. I'd do that," he replied softly and almost inaudibly, his hands dropping to his side in resignation at the inevitable.
"Then go to the center of the cylinders and place the mask across your own face. The poison gas will be diverted to you."
Rembrandt couldn't believe that Arturo was behind this sadistic charade. Whatever the aliens were doing, the final outcome was his death. He accepted that, if he knew that the others were free.
"I want to see the others set free first," he demanded flatly
The two cylinders suddenly cleared of green gas and he watched as Wade and Quinn were swiftly taken away from them by four small aliens.
Resolutely he put the mask to his face and waited....and waited. After about five minutes he swung round and removed the mask. Nothing had happened. The room was empty.
Confused and still dizzy, Rembrandt sank down onto the bed once again. He felt physically and emotionally drained.
The sight of his friends dying in alternate scenarios and his own near death experiences had totally exhausted him.
As he sank down, he finally gave in and allowed a strange and weary sleep to wash over him.
***
"We're finished here." The small dark eyes softened as the alien looked at the sleeping form of Rembrandt.
"Disposal or release?" The second alien moved towards the exit.
"The decision isn't mine to make," came the reply as the other alien followed behind.
"Whose then?"he queried.
"Control." Was the subdued reply.
"Find out then. They've only got 30 minutes left if release is an option," the second alien reminded, as they both left the room and the door swished to behind them.
***
The small hand which gently stroked his own, felt good.
He could hear whisperings, snatches of subdued conversation flicker into his mind and then out again. He felt less dizzy now but he was afraid to open his eyes. Somehow he couldn't trust his own eyesight. Somehow he couldn't bear to think what might happen next.
"Come on Remmy. You've got to wake up. Come on now."
Wade's voice sounded good to his ears, clear and warm and very soothing.
But was it Wade? Rembrandt couldn't be sure of anything any more. He longed to believe that he had finally found his friends somehow. But the longing wasn't enough. He had to know for sure.
As he let his eyes flutter open and fixed them on the dark hair flopping forwards across her forehead, and the dark eyes, full of friendship and concern, Rembrandt knew deep down that this *was* Wade.
He put a hand up and let it gently stroke her cheek. She felt good.
"What's that for?" she asked softly and smiled.
"Just good to feel you, girl. To feel the real you again. Boy I missed you guys."
He reached up and pulled her downwards to hug her tight.
Wade grinned, and before moving back she kissed him gently on the forehead.
"Your eyes are dark, girl. Not enough sleep?" Rembrandt asked as he noticed the dark, hollow appearance of her eyes.
"Yeah, something like that, Remmy. Something like that."
As she turned away, Rembrandt could swear he caught a haunted look which he'd not seen on her in a long time. Something had happened to her as well, of that he was sure.
He propped himself up on an elbow and grimaced. His head thundered as though something had walked on it - more likely an elephant.
Quinn walked across to him and threw his arms around his shoulders in an embrace.
"Q-Ball, I ain't been so glad to see you in an age," Rembrandt murmured as he hugged him back.
"Me too, Remmy. Me too."
"I think we all feel the same, Mr Brown," Arturo said as he took Rembrandt's hand and shook it heartily.
Arturo looked tired out too. In fact, as Rembrandt looked around at his three friends, he noticed that they were all subdued, beaten almost.
He'd never seen all of them so quiet before.
"Hey guys it's Rembrandt here. Talk to me. Tell me what's goin' on here. I feel like I'm goin' nuts or somethin' what I've been through!" he declared to them unhappily.
Arturo turned his eyes towards him and slumped onto a bench.
"I'm afraid you're not alone in your experiences my dear fellow. We've all been to hell and back in the last twenty four hours," Arturo put his head in his hands and sighed.
Rembrandt watched as Wade put her head on Quinn's shoulder as they sat side by side.
The tears which flowed down her cheeks were genuine, of that he had no doubt.
He watched the young student reach up and put an arm around her gently.
"Man, if we've all been through the same experiences, then I'm *real* sorry for all of you. I thought it was just me," Rembrandt declared as he sat down next to Arturo.
Arturo looked up and put a hand on his shoulder.
"We all felt the same. It would appear that we've all been subjected to some sort of mental testing over the last twenty four hours. Our captors have used our thoughts, our memories to create situations for us, to test us somehow. They appear to have picked up on our fears and used them against us in some sort of exercise. Frankly I have no idea what they wanted, nor do I wish to."
The professor turned and looked across at Wade.
"Miss Welles had a particularly tough time from what I gather," he added, his lips tightened into a thin line.
"Did they hurt her?" Rembrandt asked, his heart lurching that any one of them had been physically hurt.
"Oh no, just emotionally devastated her," Arturo explained grimly, and not a little sarcastically.
Rembrandt shook his head.
"Man, they must be evil aliens for sure."
"Aliens? You've met them?" Arturo looked around in surprise. Quinn's head jerked upright as he looked over at them.
"Sure I have. Ain't any of you guys?" Rembrandt looked from one to the other in surprise, his mouth opening.
"No, Mr Brown we have not. We don't know who our captors are. You say they're aliens?" Arturo exchanged a meaningful look with Quinn.
"Remmy they're not Kromagg are they?"
Wade's alarmed voice filtered across to Rembrandt's ears and he saw the look of fear on her face.
"No, sweetheart. They look a bit like ET," he offered with a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Thank God," she breathed and closing her eyes, leant back against Quinn.
***
As the wall parted and revealed the shape of two aliens framed in the light from outside, Rembrandt felt his stomach tighten with the memory of when he'd last seen them.
Wade and Quinn rose to their feet and stared.
Wade slipped her hand into Quinn's and tightened her grip. She wasn't usually frightened but she was so exhausted that she couldn't face any more. Whatever they were going to do to her, she would continue to fight their stupid mind games, but emotionally she was all beat up.
Arturo moved towards the door, his eyes narrowed.
The first alien moved forwards and held out his hand.
In the small three fingered palm sat the silver shape of the timer.
Arturo reached forward and taking it, glanced at the display.
He looked behind him at the others.
"Ten minutes" he remarked quietly, and then turned to face the aliens.
"I think you owe us an explanation since you are obviously letting us go," he stated calmly.
Rembrandt studied their faces. The aliens didn't seem to be malevolent. In fact the eyes reflected pity and warmth. What would make them do what they had done to them all?
The aliens looked at one another and then with a brief nod of their heads, moved forwards.
"Please turn to the window," the second alien instructed, as they both came further into the room.
Wade hesitated, gripping Quinn's hand tighter.
"We will not hurt you," the first alien remarked, seeing the hesitancy.
"And we're supposed to believe everything you say, right?" Quinn barbed.
"If you want an explanation then you will have to trust us," the alien replied. The tone was emotionless.
"Trust's a two way street," Wade commented quietly, as she turned with Quinn towards the window.
The wall and small window seemed to move before their eyes. It twisted and flexed and finally faded into nothing.
The four sliders found themselves staring out onto the surface of the Earth.
But it wasn't a surface they remembered. In fact it wasn't recognizable as anything they knew.
A bluish gas seemed to hover above the surface. The sky wasn't visible through the gas cloud. The barren landscape was devoid of life.
The twisted and charred shape of a tree stood nearby. A testament to nature and her miracle that once was, or what the Sliders supposed *was* in the past.
Wade turned, wide eyed, a tear breaking from the corner of her eye. She looked at the two aliens.
"You did this?" she accused tearfully. "You destroyed our Earth?"
"Easy Wade, it might not be our Earth, remember?" Quinn muttered, putting a hand on her shoulder lest she do something hot headed and end up back in the nightmare again.
"No, human. Your own kind did this. We found the devastation on this planet ten cycles ago." The alien paused and waved a hand. The wall returned to solid form.
"This planet, this Earth as you call it, is to be colonized by our own race. It's atmosphere is suitable for our own life needs now. It is no longer suitable for human life." The other alien lowered its head as it said the words.
"How do you know it isn't suitable for humans?" Quinn asked curiously.
"Because *you* are human. When you arrived through your dimensional transport tunnel and collapsed immediately, we had to revive you. You were dying. The poisons which your own race inflicted through, what we can only assume to be a chemical and biological warfare of some kind, has completely cleansed the planet of life. You humans also appear to have used thermo-nuclear devices which have caused the surface to be radioactive. Quite suitable for our own kind. Totally unsuitable for you."
The alien turned and looked at Rembrandt.
"He has shown us. You have all shown us, that what we thought to be a totally warring race were not all the same. If you are representative of some humans, then the extinction of the human race on this world is a waste. You have shown compassion and bravery, all of you. The humans who may also have displayed these qualities and who died, were murdered in an act of annihilation.
We assumed all humans to be wanton destroyers of life. We know now that they were not."
Arturo cleared his throat.
"Obviously we cannot speak for the earth people here, but on our own world the human race can, and does, live peacefully with one another in many areas of our world. The fact that this world has destroyed itself completely is a bitter lesson for us all," he said sadly, as he stood in front of the aliens and pondered the plight of the planet in front of him..
"Wait up," Rembrandt said loudly. "Do you mean that all those...those dreams, tests, whatever you wanna call them...they were just seeing what the human race was all about?"
He stared at them in disbelief.
"You put us through all *that* just to see if we were the bad guys or not? Geesh.."
Quinn and Wade exchanged looks.
"We wanted to know what humans were really like. We have recovered artifacts from this world which made you instantly recognizable as human. This was our only, our *last*, chance to find out more about you as a race."
"Why are you letting us go?" Quinn asked curiously.
"We wish you no harm. You could not survive here. We cannot maintain the living conditions you would require forever. You must use your device to travel to the next world. It is time."
As the alien finished speaking the timer bleeped loudly.
Arturo turned the device towards the wall and let the pin point of light flare out and form the vortex.
Rembrandt smiled as he saw it. It felt good to be able to slide out. He had thought he'd never see it again. He looked at Wade and held out his hand.
"Come on sweetheart, how 'bout sliding away from here?" he suggested gently.
Wade smiled and nodded, reaching her hand to join with his.
As Quinn watched the others leap he had one last question for the aliens.
"I forgot to ask you which planet you're from," he shouted above the sound of the vortex, the wind whipping the fringe away from his face.
The aliens stood impassively next to the vortex.
"The humans on this world referred to our home planet as Mars. We live below its surface."
Quinn heard their reply and leapt swiftly away. It was a world he hoped he'd never come across again.
THE END
Copyright by Jules Reynolds (August 1996)
(Julia@wrenlea.demon.co.uk)
The following story is intended for entertainment purposes only. This
document can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of
the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies.
This document cannot be sold or translated into any other form without
written permission from the author. Some characters and elements of
this story are the property of St Clare Entertainment, used without
authorization. No copyright infringement is intended. The author
receives no compensation from the distribution of this work. Any
comments or criticism would be welcome.
He stood on the banks of the river and watched the gentle motion of the water. It teased the sandy surface where he stood, playfully touching the sides and then retreating swiftly.
The water was clear and ambled gently towards its destination. It looked cool. He reached down and put a hand into the flow. He could feel nothing. Not even its gentle touch. He looked down at his hand, surprised. It looked wet, the liquid glistening, caught in the brief shaft of sunlight which poked cautiously through the dark foreboding storm clouds overhead.
The cries were loud. They wrenched at his heart and he rose to his feet suddenly.
He saw them on the opposite side of the river. Their faces twisted and screaming for him.
His legs felt heavy as though they were made of lead. He wanted to move and yet he couldn't. The girl's face was drenched in tears. The older man waving madly at him. Calling his name.
He saw the figure in the river. The young man. The hand which reached above the flow. The head as it disappeared once more beneath the surface.
They were calling him, pleading with him to help.
As though he were released from a clamp, his feet stepped downwards and he leapt into the clear flow. He felt nothing. No cold. Nothing.
He struck out towards the young man, and watched as his own hand closed around the arm, which was fast disappearing beneath the surface again. He knew that the flow should be carrying them both steadily downstream and yet they stayed in one place. Strange. They seemed destined to stay in the same place. The arm which he held was pulling him downwards, slowly, inexorably. He had to let go. He had to save himself.
Then he glimpsed the face of the young man and he knew. Knew that he had to save him at any cost, even that of his own life. This life was precious to him somehow. His life was linked inextricably to this man. His friend. He was his friend.
He felt the darkness flow over him as he clutched the hand and realized that both he and Quinn were drowning.
***
Rembrandt sat up suddenly, sweat drenching his face and body. He shook his head, his eyes staring wildly around him. A dream! That was it, a dream. A stupid dream.
He sighed long and hard.
"Rembrandt Brown, your mind sure is working overtime," he muttered under his breath.
He felt drained. Felt as though he'd just gone a round with Tyson. He wiped his hand across his damp forehead and took a deep breath. The cool air flowing into his lungs felt good. The feeling that he was drowning had seemed so real somehow. He wanted to taste the sweet air, let it fill him until he knew he was alive.
As he pulled himself slowly to his feet he shook his head in confusion. He felt disorientated. He hadn't remembered going to sleep. He didn't recognize this place. Where was he? Where were the others?
"Man, where is everyone?" he asked the air. But the air was silent.
The landscape around him was barren. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, and even with his hand shielding them to stare into the distance he could tell that for as far as would make a difference to him, he was surrounded by virtually nothing. All save a small river flowing quietly alongside his resting place, and the tree which he leant against.
The sun overhead was intense. Even through the branches which formed a canopy above him, it's heat bore down.
Rembrandt peeled off his jacket and opened the neck on his shirt. The perspiration was running fast now. As he wiped yet more moisture from his forehead he started to try to remember.
The last thing he remembered was the slide. What had happened in the slide? It was a fog, a distant blur.
He knew they'd all slid out from the last world okay. He'd been last that time. He remembered they were trying to get away from something. He couldn't remember what though. He remembered pushing Wade ahead of him. He remembered feeling fear wash through him as he slid. He didn't remember arriving on another world though. Strange. There was a blackness somehow. An empty space where the arrival should have been.
One thing he did know - he didn't have the timer. Q-Ball had it. He had to find the others.
Rembrandt slung his jacket across his shoulder and moved away from his resting place by the tree. He started to move to follow the river and its flow. He moved slowly and yet felt as though he should hurry. There was urgency in his veins and yet he couldn't react to it. He couldn't move any faster because... Because what? Because he just couldn't. He felt drugged somehow, not clear headed.
The river meandered slowly, matching his own measured pace somehow. Glinting now and again as it caught the rays of sunshine and split them throughout its flowing stream.
"Where is everyone?" he asked himself. The silence which surrounded him was deafening. There were no birds, no signs of life. Nothing.
"They have to be over that ridge there," he muttered as he spotted a small rise in the otherwise flat vista, and left the run of the river to reach it.
But when he reached the top he realized that there was nothing there. The same flat vista spread out before him, a cold lifeless horizon, the odd small rise visible in the distance but that was all. Bland, devoid of life and to Rembrandt at that moment, the extinguisher of hope.
He sank to the floor for a moment, his energy drained. His thoughts jumbled. Maybe, just maybe, they'd been split up.
"Yeah like on that hippie world. Yeah, that's it." Rembrandt's spirits rose momentarily. How it had happened he couldn't guess. Maybe the others had bounced out somewhere else and he'd knocked himself out when he landed separately to them.
"Aw man, why d'it have to be the Cryin'Man who's on his own? Why me?" Rembrandt looked imploringly at the sky for an answer. The sky stared back silently. Any secrets it had were kept to itself.
Rembrandt started to trudge forwards. For what seemed like an eternity to him, he headed for every ridge, climbed it and looked ahead. When he'd crossed the twentieth rise, and still seen not a single sign of life, he sat down heavily. If his friends *were* on this world they were too far away to find him. The distance horizon must have stretched for hundreds of miles. He couldn't see signs of life and he couldn't keep moving forward in this heat hoping to find them. He knew in his heart he wouldn't and he knew that if he kept going the sun would get him first.
"Some 'Frisco," he mumbled irritably to himself. "Not a single sign of life anywhere. Must be some sort of apocalypse world or somethin'," he murmured and pulling his boots from his feet, he massaged his toes into life. The walking on the inhospitable landscape had made them ache, and then go numb.
Rembrandt rubbed his palms across his forehead and looked at the dirt which lifted in disgust.
He crawled slowly to his feet and gazed at the view in front of him. His heart stopped.
Where a bland lifeless horizon a minute ago, there was the tree he'd found himself against when he first came to. And there was the river again, its gentle lapping sound almost music to his ears.
Had he been going round in circles? Rembrandt couldn't be sure. What he was sure of was that a minute earlier he hadn't seen the tree or the river.
If he didn't find Q-ball at least, he'd be stranded in this inhospitable landscape for ever. A prisoner of his own thoughts and fears. Totally alone.
As he moved towards the tree and sat down finally against its trunk, Rembrandt resigned himself to the fact that there was no point in looking anymore. He'd exhausted the area for some distance around him. He realized with mounting fear that he was alone.
With a stomach wrenching start, Rembrandt remembered his dream. It made his heart pound. Had it been a dream? Maybe he'd been caught up in some sort of accident and he was suffering from amnesia. The dream was merely an echo from the past. Had he gone beneath the river with Quinn, but he alone had been washed up on the bank somehow?
No, if that were true then where were the others? They wouldn't just have left him.. Besides, his clothes were dry. Even with the sun so intense, his jacket would be all wrinkled out. He fingered the jacket. It seemed in pristine condition - well at least as pristine as it could be after countless slides.
Rembrandt shook his head. He felt miserable and confused. He wished Q-Ball was there. Q-Ball always thought of something didn't he? He always got them out of messes. He smiled to himself remembering his young friend.
Perhaps his amnesia wasn't as bad as he thought. He remembered Q-Ball okay. In fact he remembered all his friends vividly.
Then, without warning, his dream once more flooded the place where the pleasant memories had been, overwhelming them and swallowing them up. Replacing them with dark, odious thoughts.
Quinn might be dead. He'd seen him drowning. He'd held his arm and felt the life slip away. He'd thought it was a dream. What if it wasn't?
What if only he'd survived somehow out of all of them, and it wasn't a dream? What if the rest of the Sliders were dead?
The realization that he was alone started to fill every thought, every sinew in his body.
Panic rising, dark feelings of despair.
Rembrandt shuddered suddenly and looked skywards. He was getting sunstroke. He was delirious. Yes, that was it, delirium. He ran his tongue hesitantly across his lips. They were drying out. He had to find something to drink. The river.
He moved slowly across to the water. and looked into its depths. It looked clear enough. Was it safe to drink? Rembrandt hesitated. What if he drank it and poisoned himself. What if he didn't? He never was good at survival techniques. He'd relied heavily on the others in the past. Now he only had himself to look to for advice. He was destined to die if he didn't drink something. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.
Without warning, an image appeared in his mind and became reality. Wade. She was standing in front of him, legs astance, staring at him. He could hear her words, see her face. She looked angry, upset. She seemed so real. Rembrandt shook his head again. He was hallucinating. She couldn't be there.
"Jeez, Remmy you look awful. Look, don't just sit there moping. Get up. We need your help. All of us. We need you Rembrandt. We won't slide without you. You've got to help us." Wade's image disintegrated into a thousand pieces and was swallowed into the landscape.
Rembrandt put a hand up to where she'd been standing. He'd swear he could have touched her, she'd been so close, so real. He'd heard those words. He'd seen her face. She'd been so close he'd swear he could smell her perfume. It *had* been Wade. No hallucination could be that real. Or could it? Rembrandt didn't know anymore. He was beginning to doubt his own sanity.
"Man I got to do somethin' before I go nuts," he murmured and turned to the water. Taking his weight on one knee he put his face to the surface of the water and took a gulp of clear water. It tasted good. He waited for a moment. No ill effects. He smiled to himself. He'd made the right decision.
He climbed back to his feet. He felt better when he stood up, as though the dreams couldn't attack his mind when he was on his feet. Somehow, when he rested, his resistance went down and he was easy prey to his own fevered imagination.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small dark outcrop of rocks which looked as though they might harbor some sort of cave. Shelter from the heat.
Funny. He'd swear they hadn't been there before. He'd seen nothing for miles around. Yet there they were. Maybe he'd missed them somehow.
He needed to get out of the sun. Stop the hallucinations. Yes, that was a good first step. Maybe there would be water there too. The river seemed to flow from that direction. Perhaps an underground spring. He could rest there and let the dreams go away.
Rembrandt's spirits rose as he trudged towards the dark smudge which indicated the rocks. Yes, he could swear they'd not been there before. And yet they were here now. Either his eyes were playing tricks on him or something was very odd about this world.
***
The cave was small and dark. It smelt dry though. Strange. Rembrandt had always assumed that caves should smell damp. He had to admit that he'd rarely been in a cave. His memory of the smell wasn't clear. He shrugged his shoulders and crawled onto a small flat surface to the rear. The coolness after the unremitting sun, was comforting. He leant his head back against the hard rocks behind him. He felt tired. Sleep wasn't a pleasant option at the moment, he admitted ruefully. Perhaps he'd just rest for a while and try to get some sort of plan formulated.
He'd always dreaded being alone. The thought of no one to speak to, to joke with or even share fears with, terrified him. He was a people person. His friends had always told him that. He'd always loved to talk, and to listen to people. Here, he was trapped within his own fears and memories. With no prospect of seeing his friends again. With no prospect of leaving this world. He felt trapped and claustrophobic.
Rembrandt tried to swallow back his fear. Back to the place where it belonged. Back inside, deep. It couldn't hurt him inside. He'd be all right. He knew it. He had always been an optimist. He had to force the optimism to the surface, to soothe his fears with the sweet balm of his own buoyant nature.
As Rembrandt looked at his surroundings and the realism of his situation took hold,he bowed his head into his hands and took a deep breath. He pulled his head up slowly and started to do what only he knew best. He started to sing.
***
The small figure outside the small outcrop of rocks put her head on one side and looked quizzically towards the source of the sound. She turned to her companion who mirrored her look of surprise.
"A strange reaction!" she noted quietly as they turned and looked once again towards the Crying Man's serenade.
***
The song came clear and loud now. Rembrandt's eyes were closed but his spirits were soaring along with his voice. Singing. That's what had always kept him sane in the past and this was his redemption now. No matter if he were alone for the moment.
The song *was* the moment.
What had his father always told him?
'You're never alone so long as you got a song right here, son.'
Rembrandt put his hand against his chest, his fist closed and remembered his father putting a large hand on his own small chest when he was a boy. He'd kept that sentiment throughout his childhood and into his adult life. It had always served him well. He knew now that it would serve to save his sanity.
'Do what you do best son. It'll never let you down.' His mother's soft voice floated in and out of his memory, as his own voice carried the song steadily to the surrounding walls of the cave.
Sometimes it took a lifetime to realize that the words, or pearls as his mother told him they were, of wisdom which your parents imparted to you when you were young, were the building blocks for your own life.
Ironic, when he had reached that point where the building he'd erected was about to collapse around him, he realized that all along they'd been right.
He wished they were here now so he could tell them they were right and that he was grateful.
Regret tinged with a warmth of spirit flowed upwards from within and encompassed him. He felt at peace.
He finished his song and paused. His eyes were closed and yet he could feel that he wasn't alone anymore.
He opened one eye cautiously and peeked around the cave. The small figure which stood framed in light at the entrance was familiar and Rembrandt blinked hard. He rubbed at his eyes until they hurt. He wasn't sure whether to believe his own eyes anymore. Not on this world.
"Wade. That you sweetheart?" he ventured tentatively as the figure moved towards him slowly.
"Yeah, Remmy. It's me. What you doing in here?"
"Oh, hanging around. Where you been? You got the others with you?"
His voice sounded calm and yet Rembrandt felt his heart beat quicken, his spirits rising steadily and slowly. He wasn't alone after all. They could slide out. More importantly he knew that he *had* seen her before. But where had she been hiding and why? What about Quinn? He had to know about Quinn! His excitement was muted. He could feel it being kept under control somehow. Somewhere inside he didn't feel right. Something was wrong.
He eyed the figure cautiously. Normally, Wade would have flung herself into his arms by now. She was always the demonstrative one. The girl in front of him sure looked like Wade. But she was acting pretty strange.
The small figure ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. Burying her head into his neck, she kissed him and looked happily at him, her dark eyes shining brightly.
Rembrandt was taken by surprise. It was as though Wade had read his mind and decided to act like she always had in the past.
Maybe he was being too suspicious. Here was his friend. His dear friend. Hadn't she always been the closest to him of all the others? Hadn't they had some good times together? The least he could do was reciprocate.
He reached across and pulled her back to him. He hugged her tightly.
"Man, you're a sight for sore eyes, girl!" he declared happily as he smiled back and forced himself to realize he was no longer alone.
"Wade, is Quinn okay?" he asked, his eyes studying her expression.
Her face was expressionless. She didn't reply but simply got up and held out her hand.
"What? Where we goin'?" he asked, puzzled.
"Got to go and find the others. Quinn needs our help," she replied absently, hauling him to his feet.
"Is he okay?" Rembrandt pushed as he started to follow her.
"You'll see when we get there,"her only reply.
"Where? Don't seem like there was anywhere to go, last time I looked outside," he remarked sarcastically, as he took her hand and followed her. She sure felt like Wade, he observed mentally, feeling her small fingers enclose his own, but her whole manner was strange. Maybe he was imagining things. Hey, he'd had sunstroke probably. Maybe it would take time for him to feel himself. Rembrandt pushed the thoughts about Wade's strange behavior from his mind, but the excitement he should be feeling stayed muted and the relief which should have flooded his system by now had failed to materialize.
Outside the cave, the sky had changed. Gone was the overpowering sun. In its place dark clouds threatening a storm. The odd shaft of sunlight filtering through to reflect on the river surface. Rembrandt followed Wade slowly to the edge of the river. She started down the bank towards the water.
He pulled on her hand and jerked her round to face him.
"Where are we going, Wade?" he demanded gently.
He felt her pull away from him, fear reflected in her face at his sudden action.
"Hey, this isn't like you sweetheart," he said softly and gazed into her eyes. He could smell the fear from her. To his horror, he realized that she was frightened of him.
Her body relaxed and she locked his gaze with her own.
"Sorry, Remmy. You .....surprised me...that's all!" she replied and her face relaxed into a smile.
She shook her hand free from his grip and moved towards the water. Pulling her boots from her feet, she put a foot into its flow and turned to beckon him to follow along the side.
"You haven't told me where we're going yet," he called after her as he pulled his boots off too and stepped into the flow, following her along the side of the water.
"You'll see!" she replied as they moved along the river and turned the bend which headed away from the tree where Remmy had first found himself.
***
As Remmy turned the corner, he saw to his surprise that Wade had already crossed the flow and was standing on the bank on the other side.
She was waving madly at him and pointing.
Rembrandt glanced at the man who stood next to her and a shiver crawled down his spine and up again. His dream! It was prophetic. He didn't believe in prophetic dreams. Wade did. That was her bag, not his.
Arturo was calling to him and pointing.
"Mr Mallory needs your help! Save him Mr Brown, save him!" Those English tones were unmistakably the Professor. Rembrandt was left in no doubt as to that.
Wade was screaming at him, the tears pouring down her cheeks. Just as it had happened in his dream. And yet minutes earlier she'd been so casual. She hadn't implied that Quinn needed his help *this* badly. Why wasn't Wade in there trying to save him?
Rembrandt turned his attention to the figure which languished in the river. Q-Ball was a good swimmer. Rembrandt knew that. What was causing him to drown now?
Perhaps he was hurt. That was it - he was hurt and couldn't swim properly.
The flow was faster now than in his dream. Rembrandt wondered at his ability to save the young student. He stared at the river. Strange, just like in his dream, Quinn wasn't moving along with the rest of the flow. He seemed tethered to the spot almost. His head kept disappearing under the surface. Rembrandt could hear his gasps for breath.
His hesitation turned to urgency and he strode confidently through the water, towards the center of the river. He reached out and grabbed the arm which floundered near to the surface and pulled hard. Quinn bounced to the top of the water gasping.
"Can't hold on much longer, Remmy," he spluttered as he turned to look into the face of his friend. Remmy caught the look of terror on Quinn's face and he held on tighter. Something was pulling his friend under the water and he looked on in mute horror as the young student disappeared beneath the surface again.
He had to let go. He could feel the sheer weight pulling him downwards beneath the surface. And yet, he knew that if he did, he'd lose his friend, perhaps forever.
He had to save Quinn. He couldn't let go, even if it meant drowning himself. He had to do it.
Rembrandt turned haunted eyes to his friends on the riverbank and caught a last glimpse of Wade's tear streaked face as she clung to the Professor and they watched the strong power of the river pull their friends to their deaths.
Why weren't they helping him? They were letting them both die.
The cold dark water closed over Rembrandt's head as he felt himself pulled down along with Quinn. The hand which was in his own went limp. He knew as the water filled his lungs that his friend was dead and as the darkness took his own thoughts he knew that soon he would be joining him.
***
The darkness was fading now. Light filtering into his mind, replacing each dark spot with a warm glow.
Voices. Rembrandt could hear voices. His heart leapt at the thought of companionship. He had the feeling he'd been alone. Terrified and alone. Yet now he felt a peace wash over him.
He opened his eyes slowly. The foggy mist which cleared slowly, gradually filtered the light through gently.
Shapes hovered nearby. Small shapes. They were fretting and muttering. Their voices high pitched. The language wasn't English. He couldn't understand what they were saying. Maybe on this world they spoke a different language.
This world. The word struck a chord and he remembered the slide. His friends! He sat up in a panic and stared wildly around the room.
The white clinical interior reflected the light at his eyes and they stung briefly. He put his hand up to shield them momentarily.
"Man, that's bright!" he declared unhappily.
Within seconds the lights had dimmed to a more comfortable level and he put his hands down and looked around him.
The two small figures which stood in front of him looked like small humans. And yet they weren't. Their foreheads were larger somehow than humans. Their eyes smaller and set well back into their faces. Their mouths were thin set and wide, giving an imbalance to their whole face. Yet the thing which Rembrandt found the strangest, and which proved that in no way were these two small creatures human, was the fact that they had no noses.
They seemed to be of identical height, about four feet tall. Standing next to one another and peering at Rembrandt, they looked like a pair of comical twins. Their heads were on one side as they looked at him.
"Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee," he declared out loud as he looked back.
"We do not understand your words," came the reply in a soft high pitched voice.
"Oh, never mind. I don't think you'd get it anyway," he replied ruefully, realizing that they were speaking English.
"Are you guys gonna tell me where I am?" he offered as they continued to stare at him.
"You are on Earth, human."
"So what is this? Some kind of sequel to ET or somethin'?" he remarked casually, swinging his legs over the side of the bed on which he found himself.
He looked down at his clothes. They were intact as far as he could see. More importantly, they weren't wet.
"Your references are not clear to us, explain "ET" please," one of the aliens asked.
"ET - you know, Extra Terrestrial. It's a film....small guy about your height flies in to Earth." Rembrandt looked at the aliens and saw the puzzled expressions in their eyes.
"Never mind. Just forget it, guys," he muttered.
The image of Quinn flashed into his mind like a knife cutting through butter. Rembrandt grabbed at the bed as the room swam around him.
"Quinn......where's he? If I'm okay then he must be too, right? Just tell me he's okay." Rembrandt's voice was hoarse. He felt strange, like he had an almighty hangover.
"Would it make a difference to you if this Quinn were dead?" came the response.
Rembrandt turned an anguished face to them.
"What do you think? What sort of a question's that? Of course I'd care if he was dead. Just who are you? Why won't you tell me what's happened to him? And the rest of my friends, the Professor, Wade. Where are they? They were there by the river...when we ...drowned. You rescued me didn't you? You must've seen them."
Rembrandt moved towards them menacingly. His whole head was swimming. The room seemed to move around him. He fought back the nausea which threatened to overwhelm him, and staggered slightly.
"Ah, the girl. You would care if something happened to her?" the other alien persisted, moving closer to Rembrandt and turning meaningfully to its companion.
"What are you talking about? Of course I'd care about Wade. Look I care about all of them - they're my friends. Get it? Friends. I care about my friends and they care about me. If somethin's happened to them, tell me, damn it." Rembrandt felt his temper start to rise and he edged along the wall, using it for support as he moved closer to the two smaller shapes in front of him.
They backed away from him suddenly. He tried to focus on them but the swirling room made him dizzy. He grabbed at the bed and leaned heavily on it.
The two aliens seemed to disintegrate in front of his eyes, their shapes fluctuating and bending until their particles lifted upwards like a giant jigsaw puzzle, spreading around the room in a giant circle.
Suddenly the pieces swooped downwards in a giant blaze of light and exploded.
The flash blinded him for a second and Rembrandt rubbed his eyes hard. The aliens had gone. In front of him, some ten yards away, were Quinn and Wade.
They were each standing in a tall glass cylinder. Both were trying desperately to get out. Wade was hammering on the glass walls and screaming.
Rembrandt couldn't hear her screams but he could see her mouth open, her eyes wide with terror.
Quinn was feeling all around the cylinder calmly. Gently exploring for some way out.
He looked worried but there wasn't the terror which was reflected in Wade's face.
The voice which carried across the room sounded familiar. Rembrandt's heart lurched as he realized it was Arturo speaking through some sort of loudspeaker system.
"You have to choose one of them, Mr Brown."
"Choose one of them for what?" Rembrandt asked to the air.
"Choose one to live and one to die. Simple really isn't it?" the laughter which followed the announcement made Rembrandt shudder. It was like being in some horror film. Nothing was what it seemed to be and he was now damn sure it wasn't really Arturo.
"Oh yeah and how am I supposed to do that? More to the point how you gonna make me?" Rembrandt answered confidently. They couldn't make him do anything.
"Watch the tubes carefully my doubting friend. Watch the gas enter the tubes and watch them suffer. The lever in the center will flood one tube and one tube only, with an antidote to the poison, but only one. You choose. Wade or Quinn. Which must die and which must live? Simple really Mr Brown. Quite simple."
Rembrandt watched in horror as a green gas started to fill the tubes. He watched the two young people struggle and start to bang on the sides of the containers. Panic started to rise in his throat. He couldn't choose. He couldn't condemn one to die and the other to live, hell he loved them both. They were both like family.
He put his head into his hands in despair.
"Can't choose, eh?" the voice taunted. "You do have another alternative. We will be magnanimous."
"I *won't* choose, damn you!" Rembrandt thundered as he rose to his feet and stared angrily at the scene in front of him.
"And who's we? You bunch of murdering....."
"Ah ah, Mr Brown. I don't think insulting us would do your young friends any good, do you? Your alternative is to offer yourself as the victim. Would you do that?"
Rembrandt watched the faces of his two friends and realized that they were losing their struggle for life. He knew in his heart what he must do. What the aliens obviously wanted all along. His own death.
"Sure. I'd do that," he replied softly and almost inaudibly, his hands dropping to his side in resignation at the inevitable.
"Then go to the center of the cylinders and place the mask across your own face. The poison gas will be diverted to you."
Rembrandt couldn't believe that Arturo was behind this sadistic charade. Whatever the aliens were doing, the final outcome was his death. He accepted that, if he knew that the others were free.
"I want to see the others set free first," he demanded flatly
The two cylinders suddenly cleared of green gas and he watched as Wade and Quinn were swiftly taken away from them by four small aliens.
Resolutely he put the mask to his face and waited....and waited. After about five minutes he swung round and removed the mask. Nothing had happened. The room was empty.
Confused and still dizzy, Rembrandt sank down onto the bed once again. He felt physically and emotionally drained.
The sight of his friends dying in alternate scenarios and his own near death experiences had totally exhausted him.
As he sank down, he finally gave in and allowed a strange and weary sleep to wash over him.
***
"We're finished here." The small dark eyes softened as the alien looked at the sleeping form of Rembrandt.
"Disposal or release?" The second alien moved towards the exit.
"The decision isn't mine to make," came the reply as the other alien followed behind.
"Whose then?"he queried.
"Control." Was the subdued reply.
"Find out then. They've only got 30 minutes left if release is an option," the second alien reminded, as they both left the room and the door swished to behind them.
***
The small hand which gently stroked his own, felt good.
He could hear whisperings, snatches of subdued conversation flicker into his mind and then out again. He felt less dizzy now but he was afraid to open his eyes. Somehow he couldn't trust his own eyesight. Somehow he couldn't bear to think what might happen next.
"Come on Remmy. You've got to wake up. Come on now."
Wade's voice sounded good to his ears, clear and warm and very soothing.
But was it Wade? Rembrandt couldn't be sure of anything any more. He longed to believe that he had finally found his friends somehow. But the longing wasn't enough. He had to know for sure.
As he let his eyes flutter open and fixed them on the dark hair flopping forwards across her forehead, and the dark eyes, full of friendship and concern, Rembrandt knew deep down that this *was* Wade.
He put a hand up and let it gently stroke her cheek. She felt good.
"What's that for?" she asked softly and smiled.
"Just good to feel you, girl. To feel the real you again. Boy I missed you guys."
He reached up and pulled her downwards to hug her tight.
Wade grinned, and before moving back she kissed him gently on the forehead.
"Your eyes are dark, girl. Not enough sleep?" Rembrandt asked as he noticed the dark, hollow appearance of her eyes.
"Yeah, something like that, Remmy. Something like that."
As she turned away, Rembrandt could swear he caught a haunted look which he'd not seen on her in a long time. Something had happened to her as well, of that he was sure.
He propped himself up on an elbow and grimaced. His head thundered as though something had walked on it - more likely an elephant.
Quinn walked across to him and threw his arms around his shoulders in an embrace.
"Q-Ball, I ain't been so glad to see you in an age," Rembrandt murmured as he hugged him back.
"Me too, Remmy. Me too."
"I think we all feel the same, Mr Brown," Arturo said as he took Rembrandt's hand and shook it heartily.
Arturo looked tired out too. In fact, as Rembrandt looked around at his three friends, he noticed that they were all subdued, beaten almost.
He'd never seen all of them so quiet before.
"Hey guys it's Rembrandt here. Talk to me. Tell me what's goin' on here. I feel like I'm goin' nuts or somethin' what I've been through!" he declared to them unhappily.
Arturo turned his eyes towards him and slumped onto a bench.
"I'm afraid you're not alone in your experiences my dear fellow. We've all been to hell and back in the last twenty four hours," Arturo put his head in his hands and sighed.
Rembrandt watched as Wade put her head on Quinn's shoulder as they sat side by side.
The tears which flowed down her cheeks were genuine, of that he had no doubt.
He watched the young student reach up and put an arm around her gently.
"Man, if we've all been through the same experiences, then I'm *real* sorry for all of you. I thought it was just me," Rembrandt declared as he sat down next to Arturo.
Arturo looked up and put a hand on his shoulder.
"We all felt the same. It would appear that we've all been subjected to some sort of mental testing over the last twenty four hours. Our captors have used our thoughts, our memories to create situations for us, to test us somehow. They appear to have picked up on our fears and used them against us in some sort of exercise. Frankly I have no idea what they wanted, nor do I wish to."
The professor turned and looked across at Wade.
"Miss Welles had a particularly tough time from what I gather," he added, his lips tightened into a thin line.
"Did they hurt her?" Rembrandt asked, his heart lurching that any one of them had been physically hurt.
"Oh no, just emotionally devastated her," Arturo explained grimly, and not a little sarcastically.
Rembrandt shook his head.
"Man, they must be evil aliens for sure."
"Aliens? You've met them?" Arturo looked around in surprise. Quinn's head jerked upright as he looked over at them.
"Sure I have. Ain't any of you guys?" Rembrandt looked from one to the other in surprise, his mouth opening.
"No, Mr Brown we have not. We don't know who our captors are. You say they're aliens?" Arturo exchanged a meaningful look with Quinn.
"Remmy they're not Kromagg are they?"
Wade's alarmed voice filtered across to Rembrandt's ears and he saw the look of fear on her face.
"No, sweetheart. They look a bit like ET," he offered with a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Thank God," she breathed and closing her eyes, leant back against Quinn.
***
As the wall parted and revealed the shape of two aliens framed in the light from outside, Rembrandt felt his stomach tighten with the memory of when he'd last seen them.
Wade and Quinn rose to their feet and stared.
Wade slipped her hand into Quinn's and tightened her grip. She wasn't usually frightened but she was so exhausted that she couldn't face any more. Whatever they were going to do to her, she would continue to fight their stupid mind games, but emotionally she was all beat up.
Arturo moved towards the door, his eyes narrowed.
The first alien moved forwards and held out his hand.
In the small three fingered palm sat the silver shape of the timer.
Arturo reached forward and taking it, glanced at the display.
He looked behind him at the others.
"Ten minutes" he remarked quietly, and then turned to face the aliens.
"I think you owe us an explanation since you are obviously letting us go," he stated calmly.
Rembrandt studied their faces. The aliens didn't seem to be malevolent. In fact the eyes reflected pity and warmth. What would make them do what they had done to them all?
The aliens looked at one another and then with a brief nod of their heads, moved forwards.
"Please turn to the window," the second alien instructed, as they both came further into the room.
Wade hesitated, gripping Quinn's hand tighter.
"We will not hurt you," the first alien remarked, seeing the hesitancy.
"And we're supposed to believe everything you say, right?" Quinn barbed.
"If you want an explanation then you will have to trust us," the alien replied. The tone was emotionless.
"Trust's a two way street," Wade commented quietly, as she turned with Quinn towards the window.
The wall and small window seemed to move before their eyes. It twisted and flexed and finally faded into nothing.
The four sliders found themselves staring out onto the surface of the Earth.
But it wasn't a surface they remembered. In fact it wasn't recognizable as anything they knew.
A bluish gas seemed to hover above the surface. The sky wasn't visible through the gas cloud. The barren landscape was devoid of life.
The twisted and charred shape of a tree stood nearby. A testament to nature and her miracle that once was, or what the Sliders supposed *was* in the past.
Wade turned, wide eyed, a tear breaking from the corner of her eye. She looked at the two aliens.
"You did this?" she accused tearfully. "You destroyed our Earth?"
"Easy Wade, it might not be our Earth, remember?" Quinn muttered, putting a hand on her shoulder lest she do something hot headed and end up back in the nightmare again.
"No, human. Your own kind did this. We found the devastation on this planet ten cycles ago." The alien paused and waved a hand. The wall returned to solid form.
"This planet, this Earth as you call it, is to be colonized by our own race. It's atmosphere is suitable for our own life needs now. It is no longer suitable for human life." The other alien lowered its head as it said the words.
"How do you know it isn't suitable for humans?" Quinn asked curiously.
"Because *you* are human. When you arrived through your dimensional transport tunnel and collapsed immediately, we had to revive you. You were dying. The poisons which your own race inflicted through, what we can only assume to be a chemical and biological warfare of some kind, has completely cleansed the planet of life. You humans also appear to have used thermo-nuclear devices which have caused the surface to be radioactive. Quite suitable for our own kind. Totally unsuitable for you."
The alien turned and looked at Rembrandt.
"He has shown us. You have all shown us, that what we thought to be a totally warring race were not all the same. If you are representative of some humans, then the extinction of the human race on this world is a waste. You have shown compassion and bravery, all of you. The humans who may also have displayed these qualities and who died, were murdered in an act of annihilation.
We assumed all humans to be wanton destroyers of life. We know now that they were not."
Arturo cleared his throat.
"Obviously we cannot speak for the earth people here, but on our own world the human race can, and does, live peacefully with one another in many areas of our world. The fact that this world has destroyed itself completely is a bitter lesson for us all," he said sadly, as he stood in front of the aliens and pondered the plight of the planet in front of him..
"Wait up," Rembrandt said loudly. "Do you mean that all those...those dreams, tests, whatever you wanna call them...they were just seeing what the human race was all about?"
He stared at them in disbelief.
"You put us through all *that* just to see if we were the bad guys or not? Geesh.."
Quinn and Wade exchanged looks.
"We wanted to know what humans were really like. We have recovered artifacts from this world which made you instantly recognizable as human. This was our only, our *last*, chance to find out more about you as a race."
"Why are you letting us go?" Quinn asked curiously.
"We wish you no harm. You could not survive here. We cannot maintain the living conditions you would require forever. You must use your device to travel to the next world. It is time."
As the alien finished speaking the timer bleeped loudly.
Arturo turned the device towards the wall and let the pin point of light flare out and form the vortex.
Rembrandt smiled as he saw it. It felt good to be able to slide out. He had thought he'd never see it again. He looked at Wade and held out his hand.
"Come on sweetheart, how 'bout sliding away from here?" he suggested gently.
Wade smiled and nodded, reaching her hand to join with his.
As Quinn watched the others leap he had one last question for the aliens.
"I forgot to ask you which planet you're from," he shouted above the sound of the vortex, the wind whipping the fringe away from his face.
The aliens stood impassively next to the vortex.
"The humans on this world referred to our home planet as Mars. We live below its surface."
Quinn heard their reply and leapt swiftly away. It was a world he hoped he'd never come across again.
THE END