Diary of Wade Welles

Timer: 168:00

Sliding is the best description of what we do. A swirling hole opens up in the air, you jump through, and you drop through a rainbow tube of psychedelic colors, rocketing out into another world fast enough to break bones.

The first few times I jumped, I thought I would throw up. I used to suggest Dramamine to my companions, but a lot of times we didn't have time to get any. We barely have seconds before the portal closes and we risk being stuck in a bad spot forever. My stomach seems to have adjusted now.

I used to like reading A Wrinkle In Time, but after everything I've been through, I despise the book. And Einstein. I just want to go home!

The last world we went to seemed so close to home that I could cry. My whole family was there. My boyfriend Quinn's family was there. It was perfect. The only difference seemed to be a blue Golden Gate Bridge, some trifling changes to professional football history, and a guy in Quinn's highschool yearbook.

Our only real problem: Our friend Professor Arturo. Apparently his interdimensional twin double on that world had tied up our Arturo, in his basement for days on end. We found the poor guy and rescued him...at least it looked that way at the time.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Here's how the next Slide began:

The portal opened in a cemetary. Quinn came flying out first, mouse brown hair flying up wildly, hooded tan jacket billowing in the wind. He tumbled across flat marble grave markers, knocked over a vase of flowers. I crashed down on his muscular body, staring up at his square jaw.

Light flashed behind us, accompanied by a whiff of ozone. A brown figure in a leather jacket shot out the wormhole, our friend Rembrandt, A.K.A. "The Cryin' Man". He landed a few feet away, shoulder banging against one of those vases of the permanent type. He sat up and rubbed the bruised area. "Man, I think I broke something!" he moaned. "I've got to find some shoulder pads, knee pads, anything! This is getting hazardous to my health!"

Seconds later, Arturo's bulky, gray trenchcoat clad body shot out, just barely missing a pointy tombstone as he landed on top of Rembrandt.

"That's why I always make you jump first!" Remmy complained. "Dude, get off of me!"

I expected a witty rejoinder from the Professor, but none came, just an indignant huff.

I furrowed my brow. The man's hair was a disheveled mess, just like the double we left behind. Could have been caused by the Slide...or maybe this wasn't the Professor.

When we found a Professor cuffed to a pole in the basement (the house belonged to one of them), his hair looked like a wild mess, unkempt. He'd told us that the other Arturo had kept him a prisoner there for days. Then the other Professor came down the stairs with our Slide Timer. The two got in a fist fight, leaving a professor in the basement unconscious.

We thought we had the right Professor with us, but as we opened the portal in front of Quinn's house, Professor 2 comes rushing up in a taxi, telling us the one we had with us was the impostor.

The portal was closing. We didn't have time to play guessing games, and nobody wanted to bring two Professors along. They just duked it out, and the winner came with.

Arturo caught me browbeating me, gave me a nonverbal `What?'

I shook my head, pretended everything was fine.

Nobody in the cemetary. All was quiet. Someone had their pickup parked at one end, but I didn't see the owner anywhere. By the smell of it, someone had just mowed the place before we got there.

We brushed ourselves off and got up. Aside from the tombstones, this was S.S.D.D.

"How much time before the next Slide?" I asked.

Due to Arturo fighting with his parallel universe twin, Quinn had the timer. Gray remote control-cel phone looking thing with flashing lights. "Uh, bad news, guys. It says we're going to be stuck in this place for a week. I can only hope it's close enough to our world that we can just lay low until it's time to Slide again."

"A whole week?" The Cryin' Man seemed on the verge of tears. "I can't take this anymore! I just can't!"

"Remmy..." Quinn tried to smooth things over. "Look, we all thought that last world was home..."

"Yeah, until you found that stupid sports page and the postcard of the blue Golden Gate bridge!"

"The Azure Bridge," Arturo muttered, then, when we stared at him, feigned a cough.

Rembrandt kept going. "Q-Ball, my point is..." He opened his mouth like he intended to say something about we should have stayed where we were, then kicked an overturned vase. "Dammit, I'm tired! I'm fed up and I want to go home!"

"I know, Rembrandt. We're all tired. If I knew how to get us home, I'd take us there."

Rembrandt made a crying face, rubbed his mouth, and pointed at the headstones. "Man, what the hell is up with that? We in some kind of Devil graveyard?"

Frowning, I turned around, staring at a granite marker. The top of the stone bore the symbol of a knife...All the tombstones did. "Professor! What do you make of this symbol? It's everywhere."

Arturo donned his reading glasses, squinted at the engraving, stroked his great beard thoughtfully. "That, Miss Welles, is called a Gladius. An ancient Roman sword." He stowed the glasses again.

Quinn stuck his hands in his pockets, scowling incredulously at another Gladius tombstone. "`By his wounds we are healed'?"

"Whose wounds?" I asked.

"Dunno. It...almost looks like a bible passage. You think it means sword wounds?"

"No cross...anywhere. Any ideas what all this means, Professor?"

The big man bristled at the question. His unkempt receding hair, coupled with the wild look in his eyes made me again wonder if we had the wrong man with us. "How the Devil should I know? We only just arrived a second ago!"

Nobody expected him to snap at us. We all stared at him again.

"You all right, Professor?" Rembrandt asked.

"Fine, fine!" He nervously dabbed his forehead with a hankie. "...My apologies. I'm, I'm...just a little shaken, that's all. My double had me cooped up in that basement for what felt like forever. I'm famished and exhausted, that's all. Nearly had an impostor taking over my entire life..."

Quinn glanced at me like he smelled a rat.

Before I could say anything, an ambulance came shrieking by the graveyard.

Big red Gladius painted on the side. We all gaped at it.

"That's very odd. Some kind of cult, I guess?"

"A cult with their own ambulance company?" The Cryin' Man scratched his scalp through his shiny curly hair. "I don't know, but something tells me these aren't people I want to be around!"

Quinn grimaced a little. "As always, we'll keep a low profile. C'mon, let's...get some food for the professor."

Obviously, no food places next door to a graveyard, but we spotted a bus stop nearby. I and Quinn marched up ahead, Arturo lagging back behind Rembrandt.

I pulled Quinn aside real quick. "The Professor is acting funny. You think we got the right one?"

Quinn lowered his voice, casting the man a nervous glance. "The only reason he's here is he beat the other Arturo in a fight. I can only assume our Arturo, having practiced fighting throughout our Slides, would have no trouble beating a double who never went anywhere."

"That's what I was thinking, but you never know, he could have gone to a gym. Didn't he tell us he studied boxing somewhere?"

Quinn gave a slight nod, but since the Professor had huffed closer, we both shut up.

We reached the bus stop, waiting on a bench.

Rembrandt pointed to a billboard and laughed. "Hey, check this out: `James Hetfield and The Metallica Bluegrass Band!'"

"Wouldn't that make him Hatfield?" Quinn joked.

"Naw, I think he's the real McCoy!"

I rolled my eyes at the puns.

I kept thinking about what I had in that last world. I sighed, watching the cars zoom past.

Quinn frowned. "I know you were happy back there. I wish I didn't have to tell you the bad news..."

"I don't want to talk about it," I blurted.

With the exception of one imprisoned Professor, Quinn had been the only person to really notice the faults in that last dimension. The only thing worse than being wrong is to have someone smugly telling you `I told you so.' I hated how Quinn was always right about things.

A nun came walking by, a tiny gold Gladius dangling from her neck. I stared, wondering if she'd attack us with a bigger sword if I asked for information.

Rembrandt got up, approaching the young woman. "Excuse me, uh...sister...what's that you got around your neck?"

The nun looked at him like he were crazy. "It's a Gladius. I got it for my first confirmation. Why?"

He furrowed his brow. "Would it trouble you to explain what it's for?"

The nun looked very pleased. "No trouble at all." She held out the little sword. "This blade is a sign of our Lord Jesus Christ, who allowed himself to be stabbed to death by the Romans to pay for our sins. My name's Sister Rahab, I was just on my way to the church. Would you like to come with me?"

Cryin' Man blinked like a frog in a hailstorm. "N-no thank you, ma'am. I...I think I'm okay."

She made a stabbing motion with her hand. "The Lord bless you."

He swallowed hard. "Uh...thank you, sister."

The moment the woman left, he shakily slumped into the bench, face in his hands like he intended to cry. "Man, I just wanna go home!"

I put an arm around his shoulder, but I had no comforting words.

The bus came. We stared at the large framed advertisement on the side: `John Lennon in concert: Tribute to the late Paul McCartney.'

I figured Rembrandt would have said something about the ad, but I think he was still in shock. The Professor...I don't know, the moment we'd landed, his eyes seemed a little...beadier, when they weren't darting around like a caged animal.

"Turn me on, dead man," Quinn muttered, cocking a thumb toward the ad.

Confused about the obscure reference, I shook my head and got on the bus.

The driver accepted our currency, despite it being from a parallel world. I don't even think it had the right president on it. The lady wore a tiny Gladius, and so did a number of the passengers. In fact, we ended up sitting across from a mulleted guy with a grotesque t-shirt showing us Jesus getting stabbed by soldiers.

Rembrandt rubbed his eyes and just stared out the window.

One constant in all our travels: The Dominion Hotel. When Quinn spotted it, he pushed the stop button and we all got out.

Another constant: Golden Gate Park. Smelling food, we marched to the corner of the park and located a familiar chrome food truck.

I think the same people staffed the roach coach on every world. I recognized the cooks and cashier. We ordered chili dogs and hamburgers.

The Professor took one bite of his chili dog and spat it out. "My God, that tastes like dog food!"

Quinn bit into his hamburger, rolled it around in his mouth a bit, and said, "It's tofu."

"Disgusting, that's what it is," Professor complained.

Rembrandt set down his burger. "Hear, hear! Where's the beef?"

I leaned in the ordering window. "Hey, you got anything with actual meat?"

The dark haired cashier lady just laughed at me. "What does this look like, Canada?"

I frowned at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Quinn stepped around me. "No meat? Anywhere in the United States?"

She looked ready to put both of us in a straight jacket. "You want protein, you got protein. If you want meat, a couple blocks down they got stuff made with insects."

My boyfriend gave me this smirk that said `Well?'

I shuddered. "I'll...just eat my tofu dog, thank you."

We ate because we were hungry. Even the Professor grudgingly forced his tofu down.

We finished up, marching down the sidewalk, toward the hotel.

A church stood right across from the park. We'd seen it before on other worlds, just not with a giant sword sculpture out front.

"Aw man..." Rembrandt kept shaking his head as we neared the building. "Guys, stay right here. I just want to check something out..."

He rushed up the steps to the building, pulled open the large double doors, slipped inside.

Remmy only disappeared for a moment before he came rushing back out like the building were going to explode.

"No man!" he practically sobbed. "They done Jesus all wrong! That ain't even funny!"

I stared at him, open mouthed. "Wow, Rembrandt. I didn't take you for the religious type!"

Rembrandt gulped. "A lot of times, I ain't, but every man has his limits!" He pointed a shaky finger at the building. "My grandmother, God rest her soul, she would have had a heart attack just setting foot in there!"

Rubbing his eyes, he nearly got run over as he ran away from there, rushing toward the hotel. We hurried after him.

Once again, a chunky clerk in a faux Hawaiian shirt greeted us at the front desk. Gomez Calhoun. World after world, it seemed that this man and the hotel were inseparable. I frowned at the Gladius dangling over his fat belly.

A sign next to the desk bore the image of a cartoon character in a police uniform, with photos of children posted below. "`Toby's last catch?'"

"Our neighborhood watch program," Gomez explained. "Keeps the kids off the street. If you see them after hours, call the number and get them sent home to their parents. There's a cash incentive."

We foreigners frowned at each other. Sketchy policies like this seemed to be par for the course on other worlds. You never knew what might land you in prison.

"We'll keep our eyes peeled."

We'd seen every room in that hotel at least twice, maybe three times. The one that keeps coming up, though, is 12.

We found another grotesque picture hanging in that room. Rembrandt turned it toward the wall the moment he noticed it.

Sleeping arrangements are always a little weird for us. We generally can only afford one room.

Sometimes, when shit's going down, we take turns using the two beds while one of us keeps watch. When safe, the Professor often ends up sleeping in armchair, me in a bed by myself (Arturo and his chivalrous English blood!), Quinn and Rembrandt sharing a bed with their backs to each other (fully clothed, in case you're wondering. We visited a nudist world once, but even then we put clothes on when in private).

Rembrandt tends to roll over and throw his arm around people when he sleeps. A couple times Quinn got annoyed and ended up sleeping on the floor, or in my bed.

Sometimes Arturo complains of a backache and ends up lying next to me, Quinn, or Rembrandt.

It's never sexual, though. The situation is too awkward for that. Our clothing always stays on.

...I mean, damn, what if I got pregnant? Just thinking about it keeps me awake in horror. Raise a child? In this? Never getting home? Not knowing if we're going to get killed, imprisoned, drowned or stung to death by flying black widow spiders?Quinn's mentioned contraceptives before, but even if we had the time, if something goes wrong...I told him only when we get home, and he respects me for that.

Rembrandt...he's cute, but way older than me. Still, I have thought about it, but he hasn't made any moves. Guess I'm not his type?

Despite him complaining about fatigue, Arturo did not immediately jump into bed. Instead, Remmy did. The Professor did settle into his favorite recliner (I know, it's so weird that we can say that about hotel furniture!) but he seemed wide awake.

"How much money do we have?" I asked.

Quinn checked his pockets. "Forty bucks...Rembrandt?"

The Cryin' Man reached into his jacket. "I wasn't planning to leave. I only took a twenty and plastic."

Quinn scratched his head. "I'd...be careful using that card if I were you."

"What's the worst that could happen? A declined transaction?"

"Just the same, I'd rather not go to jail for credit card fraud."

"I got a bank card too."

"I...don't really think that's a good idea. The numbers probably belong to someone else here."

The Professor suddenly looked shifty. "I...I found one hundred dollars in my double's coat pocket, and a card, of course."

"I brought along three hundred," I admitted. "I...felt naked after all those Slides, and didn't want to feel that helpless again, so I made some withdrawals."

Rembrandt reluctantly blurted, "Okay, so maybe I tucked an extra hundred in my jacket lining."

"Still forty," said Quinn.

The Professor narrowed his eyes. "One-fifty. That is all."

Quinn grinned. "Okay, guess we can make it a week without looking for work."

Arturo fiddled with his trenchcoat. "Depending on the level of inflation, and whether they notice the unusual design of our currency."

With that settled, I sat on the foot of Remmy's bed, staring at the carpet. Nobody spoke.

Quinn turned on the television. A Gladius appeared on the screen, surrounded by flames. "We now return to The John Michael Osbourne Gospel Hour," said the announcer.

When he recognized the suited figure approaching the televised podium, Quinn gasped. "Ozzy?"

I stopped moping and got up, gawking at the screen. "Ozzy...Osbourne? As in...The Prince of Darkness? That's...him?"

The suited, conservatively trimmed man still sounded like the rock star. British accent, somewhat difficult to understand, but miles away from his Ozzman personae. "I always like to begin my sermons with a little joke...a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar. The rabbi has a frozen turkey, and he's walking it around on a leash like a pet..."

"This is nuts," Quinn complained. "I'm going downstairs to get a drink."

Rembrandt sat up. "Me too. A double!...A triple, in fact!"

I shut off the TV.

"You coming?" Quinn asked me.

I shook my head. "I think I'll try to take a nap."

He glanced at Arturo, but the big man just waved him on.

The Professor had donned his reading glasses, thumbing through a book with a Gladius on the cover, apparently placed by the Gideon Society. "I confess it's been awhile since I last looked at a bible, but I believe something in the New Testament has been lost in translation."

I smiled a little. For once the Professor seemed to be normal enough to crack jokes.

The Professor muttered something about going to the vending machines, leaving me alone in the room. I tried to take a nap, but I could hear someone having sex in the room next door. Plus I still felt uncomfortable being in a room alone with Arturo...So I just lay there.

I get nervous any time people bang on the door. Half the time it's the dimension's police officers, or a dangerous criminal. When I cracked it open this time, The Professor came barging in. Guess he didn't have a key to the suite, and forgot the secret knock.

"Did you know that cigarettes are outlawed on this world?"

I stared. "You don't smoke."

The Professor forced a laugh. "...I know. I just thought I'd...point out another fascinating aspect of the culture we've Slid into."

I backed away from him. What could I even say? "I'm...going to take a walk to clear my head."

"I think I...need some air myself."

"Hope you don't mind if I go off alone. I need to process some things."

"Don't let me stand in your way."

As I walked down the hallway, I swore I heard him muttering something about quitting cold turkey.

I passed Rembrandt in the lobby. He stood at a payphone, clutching the receiver and a business card.

"New girlfriend?" I guessed.

He shook his head. "Just met a psychologist at the bar. The office is right next door. We got a whole week, so he might actually be able to help me work through some things."

I laughed. "Really? Here? With the Church of the Gladius?"

"Hey, I figure if anyone can help me adjust to this...insanity, it'd be a doctor who's lived here all his life, you know what I'm saying?" He punched in the numbers, turning his attention to the phone. "Yes, ma'am, I'd like to set up an appointment."

I patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Rembrandt winced. "Please don't, it's still sore."

"Sorry. Hope the guy can help you."

"Me too, babe. Me too."

I took a walk down the street. A lowrider rolled past, blasting classical music, of all things.

If we don't have the real Arturo, I thought, What can we really do about it? Regardless of who he is, we still need his scientific genius, especially if the timer gets broken.

The good news: Murder wasn't his M.O. Judging from the last world, his only goal seemed to be self aggrandizement. He had a statue made in his honor, completely dismissing Quinn's contribution to Sliding technology. Although he hired a goon to steal the timer from Quinn...Okay, so he did pull a gun on us at one point, but again, only to protect his ego.

He stole the timer, so I know he still needs Quinn to get home. That means he can't kill Quinn. And he couldn't care less about me and Rembrandt...of course, pissing Quinn off could mean getting stranded, so he should have a vested interest in helping us.

Something else still bothered me: I had an advance on publishing my memoirs. An honest-to-goodness nationwide publishing deal. I was going to be rich...in a world where I had my family. I kinda agreed with one of the Arturos. It was as good as it would ever get. But Quinn wanted to leave.

I sat on a bench, moping. I didn't care that I sat next to an electronics store, or that people walking by the televisions had just witnessed Challenger 11 exploding, or that school teacher Michael Jackson had been onboard.

"A nickel for your thoughts?"

I glanced at the black and white clad figure seated beside me. Sister Rahab again. "I'm...just having a rough day, that's all. A...business deal fell through, I got a friend who's...not himself, and The Challenger just blew up with my...favorite school teacher onboard."

"Oh dear. Would you like me to say a prayer for you?"

I quickly got up, glancing around for an excuse to leave.

I spotted a theater with posters, one of them being a sequel to Who Framed Roger Rabbit. "I just remembered...my boyfriend's going to meet me at the movies."

"I hope he gets to feeling like himself again."

"I...hope so too."

We never have time for movies, except maybe on TV. Something always happens to us, due to some legal misunderstanding or another. With a whole week to play with, I found six auditoriums a little overwhelming.

I approached the ticket booth and just stood there, reading the titles, staring at the framed posters.

A sequel to The Black Hole.

Starfleet Academy.

Bone, some kind of comic book adaptation.

A Jodie foster directed movie called Flora Plum.

Superman Lives.

They had more after the matinee hours, like Troll 3 and At The Mountains of Madness.

"Great minds think alike," Quinn said behind me. "Want to see one together, or separate? The Professor did say you wanted to be by yourself..."

I stared at him. Blew a raspberry.

Honestly, I just hated to admit he was right about that last world. I didn't want to admit to myself that I'd never be happy in a counterfeit earth with a blue Golden Gate bridge and relatives that were technically mine, but really weren't anything but parallel universe duplicates.

He shrugged. "Whatever you're comfortable with. I could take another seat, watch another movie..."

Looking into those eyes, seeing that dumb smile, I couldn't stay mad at him. "Just don't get us arrested for talking during the movie or something."

Quinn snorted. "I'll be on my best behavior, Scout's honor. What did you want to see?"

He rolled his eyes when I pointed to the Jodie Foster movie, but muttered, "Okay, I'm keeping an open mind..."

Not a great movie, but not as terrible as I expected from a parallel universe. More or less a generic romance movie with Russell Crowe. Spotted a Gladius once or twice, but it didn't have anything to do with the plot. Quinn smirked a few times as he watched it, probably because Russell Crowe was in Gladiator, where he actually used a Gladius, and he didn't quite have the same musculature we were used to seeing.

I found myself dozing off on Quinn's shoulder. "Slide Lag," Quinn called it. In the last world, it had been evening, here only afternoon.

We returned to the hotel.

Arturo stood at the corner of the building, facing a wall. I swear I saw smoke rising from his coat.

The moment we approached, The Professor rubbed something against the limestone and shoved his hand into his pocket really fast, giving us a nervous wave with his other hand. "Anything interesting to report?"

I frowned at him...and the wall.

"Just went to the movies," said Quinn. "Other than some unexpected theatrical releases, it was surprisingly ordinary."

"I'm going to bed," I announced.

Quinn handed me the key. "I'll be up in a second. The hotel has a computer, I'm going to research some stuff about this world. I still don't get the whole vegan thing."

"Cattle diseases," The Professor said. "Bird flu I was just in the library. In between mass euthanization, animal rights groups and the diseases themselves, livestock as we know it has become an endangered species. No game hunting either."

"What about fish?" I asked.

"Widespread pollution. People had died from the viruses they carry. Seafood, whenever safe to consume, is either endangered or a luxury that only the wealthy can afford. Ironically that includes tuna. Science is working on artificial meat substitutes."

Somewhat pleased to hear the Professor talk like normal, I smiled a little. "Guess we're having tofu eggs for breakfast."

When I returned to the room, I found Rembrandt in a chair, eyes glued to the TV. "I don't believe it! I just don't believe it! The King of Pop...An astronaut!" He laughed and shook his head. "Brother could have moonwalked...on the actual moon!"

The Cryin' Man got pouty, turning to face me. "Just...Why did it have to be The Challenger?"

"Got me." I crawled into bed.

I had a nightmare: We slid into a mining colony where everybody spoke in opposites, meaning the opposite of what they actually meant. Someone called the police on us because we spoke like normal people and they thought we were going to commit a crime. Arturo got away on a technicality, but the rest of us had to run from the cops and hide on a bus. Quinn checked his timer and found out we'd missed the window. We'd be trapped in that place for the next twenty six years.

Timer: 160:30

I awoke in a cold sweat. Nobody else was up, so I took a shower.

Night had fallen. Too early for the continental breakfast, but I wanted food. Swiping Quinn's key, I slipped down to the bar and got some passable bean and tofu nachos with some kind of artificial cheese substitute. In between the vegan recipe and having to run for my life every day, I doubted I'd put on that much weight.

The others pretty much got the same idea and came down a half hour later.

Rembrandt got a reheated vegan pizza, which he said didn't taste very good. "You think they got a good night life here?" he asked in half jest.

Quinn frowned, picking at a basket of nachos. "Maybe. Be careful, though. Sometimes things get dangerous at night."

"Hell, they get dangerous in the day. It don't make no difference what hour it is if the world's bad."

Quinn sighed. "Knock yourself out. Call us if you run into any trouble."

"Will do, my man."

I gawked at him. "You seem awfully cheerful for someone who just called a shrink a few hours ago."

"Honestly," Cryin' Man stammered. "I still ain't feelin' it, but I'm hoping i can find a club, anything that seems normal...I'm crossing my fingers, people."

"Ironic choice of words."

As Rembrandt left, Quinn munched a nacho and said, "Hey, that's not a bad idea. We should go out ourselves, see if there's any night life worth exploring. What do you say?"

I rolled my eyes. "Smooth." I grabbed his hand anyway and got up.

Quinn popped a couple more nachos in his mouth before leading me out of the hotel.

We found...a lot of closed shops.

"There is a curfew thing," I suggested.

"C'mon, that's just for children. Certain areas of the city do close up around six or eight P.M."

Nobody out driving. At all. We could barely find a taxi.

"Going home?" the driver asked.

Quinn gave me this look like `You were right.' It felt good to prove him wrong for once. "Uh...yeah...we're...next to The Bay." Leaning close to me, he whispered, "Kinda hard for them to close the beach."

I snickered, but kept mum about it.

The Golden Gate Bridge actually looked red in that world...but they only had half of it. Quin pointed to a random house and we got out.

The taxi driver didn't leave, so we actually had to walk up the front steps. We made a show of looking for the keys, and made out until he drove away.

"That was nice," Quinn laughed.

I blushed. "Anyway, I think the coast is clear, no pun intended."

We had the whole beach to ourselves. Nice clear starry night sky. We walked hand in hand along the shore.

"Quinn, I've been thinking...Is there any way for you to build more timers? I'm sick of getting in scrapes where people take yours away and we nearly get stranded."

He let go, staring across the water at the incomplete suspension bridge. "I thought about that a lot. Even if we had the parts, I don't know how we'd get them to sync up properly. We'd likely end up going off in four different dimensions. Nobody wants that."

I sighed in frustration.

"It's a nice thought."

We lay down on the sand, gazing up at the stars.

"Should have brought a blanket," Quinn mused.

"You think the stars are the same on every world?"

"Difficult to say. We know the earth's rotation is different by the time of day when we Slide. Maybe the orbit around the sun, too. Anything's possible. Who knows, next time we might Slide into a world full of little green men!"

A weird looking figure with a flashlight came waddling up the beach.

I grinned when it came closer: Some guy in a fuzzy animal costume, like a sports mascot, but in a police uniform. It kinda reminded me of the character from Disney's Bonkers cartoon. "Hi!"

The suited guy waved back, trundling closer. "Evening! It's a little late to be walking on the beach, isn't it?"

"Not at all! It's a beautiful night."

"Yes it is. Unfortunately, you can't be out here. Can I see some ID?"

I stared at Quinn in alarm. One glance at our `phony' parallel universe driver's licenses and they'd throw us in the slammer for sure. "Shit."