*** WARNING: The following story includes depictions of violence, computer hacking and other criminal behavior and some content of a sexual nature. ***

by Ric Waters

As the gateway closed behind them, they could see it was late afternoon. The golden color of low-angle sunbeams fell upon the pavement at the entrance to the dead-end alleyway in which the wormhole had deposited them.

Quinn Mallory looked over to Professor Maximilian Arturo, then turned his head toward Wade Wells and Rembrandt Brown, accounting for everyone before taking the first step into the world they had landed on.

The foursome headed out of the alley, looking around for an idea of what the world had in store for them.

Storefronts were loaded with neon lights displaying their names and offerings, hoping on the off chance of luring in whoever was out and about. A huge electronic billboard flashing advertisements stood prominently above the buildings next to an elevated highway. The only sound was a light wind that swept down the street past them.

Wade stopped near the first store they passed by, walked over to the window and looked through it. Professor Arturo noticed that she was angling away from the group and followed, Brown not too far behind him.

Quinn glanced in their direction, but decided to survey the area instead of following his friends. He glanced up and noticed an electronic billboard featuring advertisements that ended with a collection of letters and symbols that seemed slightly familiar.

Wells glanced about the well-lit store. It was lined with shelves filled with electronic equipment of various sorts, some she recognized from her days working at the Doppler Computer Store. Others looked like something out of a futuristic sci-fi movie.

It was only then that something dawned on her. She inspected every square foot of the store she could see, from the shelves to the check-out counter.

“What is it, Miss Wells?” inquired Arturo, noting the change in the way the female Slider held herself.

Wade tore her attention away from the store and twisted her head around to face her friends.

“This is really weird, but there’s nobody in there,” she replied with uncertainty in her voice.

Rembrandt stepped up to the window and held his hand up against the window and peered in, thinking he might see something his friend hadn’t. The professor scanned the street in one direction, then the other.

Mallory walked over to join them, similar curious about the apparent absence of life. His inspection of the store complete, Brown turned back around. Before anyone could say anything, the sound of a car whizzing by droned over their heads from the elevated roadway. The Sliders’ eyes darted toward highway as they searched for the source of the noise.

“Guess that answers that question,” Quinn commented wryly, spotting a small white sports car zipping away.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” the professor agreed reluctantly.

Quinn’s attention was drawn back to the billboard, where a new advertisement took over the screen. Highly advanced computer animation showed scenes of a man skiing, then skydiving, then kayaking. He stood there, transfixed, as a message scrolled across the screen. The ad ended with a large logo indentifying the advertiser as Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall.

He turned to his friends after a special code blazed across the screen.

“A virtual-reality mall?” he said, seeming intrigued by the idea, then suggested thoughtfully: “If we have time, maybe we could go check that out.”

“If we have the time, Mister Mallory. Those being the operative words,” Arturo warned. “We have yet to find out what the world has in store for us.”

Wells glanced around. “It doesn’t look like much, if you ask me.”

Arturo sighed, reflecting on the number of times they had run into trouble well after having landed on a new version of Earth. “Let’s hope it stays that way, shall we?”

The other Sliders nodded in agreement as they continued to walk down the deserted street. Mallory checked the timer as the conversation lulled.

“Looks like we will have time,” he told his companions, holding up the device for them to see. “Eight days and change.”

The professor battled back the urge to roll his eyes. “Very well, Mister Mallory. As long as we don’t find anything else to do, you’ll get a chance to visit that virtual-reality mall as you so desire.”

“Just be careful when you go. You don’t know how safe those things are,” Wade said with concern.

Brown’s ears perked up. “I’m definitely not goin’, then. Don’t want to end up in the hospital again.”

Mallory turned toward Wells. “Wade, what about you? Do you want to come with me? Maybe we’ll find something we can do together.”

She looked back at the computerized billboard and shrugged her shoulders. “I think I’ll pass,” she said quietly.

Arturo sighed softly even before his protégé turned toward him.

“I shall accompany you, Mister Mallory,” he decided. “At least to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t pick anything too dangerous,” he promised.

“But, before we decide to part ways, shouldn’t we find accommodations for the week?” the professor suggested.

“Yeah Find us a nice, comfortable room with room service,” Rembrandt put in.

“Yeah, room service,” agreed Wells, with a hopeful smile.

“Room service?” Arturo quirked an eyebrow while eying the two Sliders who had just spoken, then turned his the last of his erstwhile traveling companions. “Mister Mallory?”

Quinn smiled keenly and promptly replied, “Room service, definitely.”

“Very well. We shall find a room with room service.”

The four resumed to their path northward along the sidewalk from where the place they entered this world.

* * *

Only a few blocks away, the Sliders came across a hotel adjacent to a city park.

Arturo led the way toward a wide glass panel with a metal bar with a circle on it across its middle, framed by metal beams. Oddly, it had no handle on it, yet everything leading toward it made it seem to be an entrance.

He stepped toward it, assuming there was a motion detector that would activate at his approach. What he assumed was a door didn’t open.

He stepped closer. Again, nothing. A passerby gave him an odd look, but walked on without saying anything. The professor stepped back.

“I thought this was the entrance,” he muttered.

Quickly thinking, Wade went to the door and placed her hand on the circle near the middle of the door and the panel slid aside.

The three men looked surprised when the door opened to admit her.

“Lucky guess, I guess,” said Wade, smiling at them and shrugging her shoulders slightly and lifting her open hands.

The door closed in front of them, so Wells pressed her hand against the circle again and the group entered.

A man stood behind a counter in the lobby and eyed the foursome suspiciously as they entered, after the minor spectacle that had just taken place.

“May I help you?” he asked the visitors in a mock-friendly manner.

Wade glanced at him. “Um, yeah. We’d like a room for four.”

“Do you have room service?” Rembrandt quickly demanded.

The hotel manager frowned a little in Brown’s direction, almost as if he were wondering why someone would have to request such a thing. “That would be included with a room.”

Brown smiled widely and rubbed his hands together. “Great. Great!”

The manager looked annoyed by the reaction, but softened his facial features enough to make it look like he was smiling and barely succeeded.

“Would two double beds be sufficient?” the man asked as he turned back toward Wade.

The female Slider looked back at her friends, who really didn’t show any sign of disagreeing, so she said a quick “yes.”

“And, how long will you be staying with us?”

“Eight days.”

The manager lifted a small plastic tray from below the counter and set it in front of Wells. Noticing that Wells didn’t immediately pick up the device, the man decided he would have to explain to the visitors what to do.

“I’ll just need each of you to scan your handprint and a second thumbprint before I can confirm a room for you.”

The manager picked up the tray and presented it again to Wells. She realized it was a portable scanner. She placed her left hand on the clear side of the scanner before the manager stopped her and instructed her to use her right hand. Then, scanned her left thumb.

She passed the scanner to Quinn, who followed suit. Arturo was next, and finally Brown.

Rembrandt handed the machine back to Wade, who gave it to the manager. He took the hand scanner beneath the counter and turned to a monitor.

“Ah, Doctor Arturo!” he said, suddenly pleasant. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us again.”

Arturo, caught off-guard by the greeting, was suddenly uneasy. He managed to cough to cover his discomfort and formulated a response. “Indeed, it’s a pleasure to be here … again.”

“And, I would guess Miss Wells, Mister Mallory and Mister Brown are students of yours?” continued the manager.

Arturo looked curiously at the man behind the counter for a second, uncertain how to respond immediately. “Indeed. Indeed they are. We’re on a … class trip, I suppose you would say.”

“Shall I charge this to the university, then?”

The professor balked. Could he use money from a university he didn’t truly work for?

“Doctor Arturo?” the man prompted.

The professor banished the thought from his mind.

“No, we’ll be paying cash,” he said plainly, as if it was something that everyone did every day.

The manager froze at the word. “Your cashcard?” the manager attempted to correct his client.

Arturo looked at the man, realizing immediately that he had made a faux pas. He made an attempt to appear like he was looking for his wallet, only to come up empty-handed. “I seem to have misplaced my wallet,” he lied.

Wells appeared to understand what had just happened and promptly turned toward the door. Her friends followed suit.

They would probably have to go to a bank to set up an account and get a cashcard so they could get a room, buy food and do just about anything else on this world.

The manager’s eyes lit up as a thought struck him. “Not to worry, sir. I should be able to access your personal account and charge your room to it,” he said pleasantly, beginning to type on a keyboard out of the Sliders’ line of sight.

The idea shocked Arturo, but before he could recover from the blow and argue against it, the man looked up. “Looks like we’re all set, Doctor,” he said evenly, then he pulled a plastic card from below the counter, slipped in into a paper cuff and placed it on the counter. “You’ll be in Room Three-Forty-Two. Third floor, east side. Thanks again for choosing to stay at the San Francisco Grand Hotel. Enjoy your visit.”

Rembrandt disregarded the spaced-out look on Arturo’s blanched face and grabbed the keycard from the counter. Realizing what the manager had just done, Mallory stared at the man who had decided to go on about his business and was ignoring the Sliders.

Brown had walked halfway across the lobby before he realized that no one was following him.

“C’mon, guys, the room’s waitin’ for us,” he said enthusiastically.

At the sound of the former singer’s voice, the manager looked up and cast a questioning glance at the three guests still standing in front of his counter. Quinn quickly stepped over to his mentor, placing a hand on his arm and saying, “Let’s go, ‘Doctor.’”

Mallory left unsaid the fact that the hotel manager had accessed a bank account that didn’t actually belong to the Maximilian Arturo whose hand had been scanned into their computer system.

Arturo realized he had been standing too long, and placed a mask of pleasantness on his face, as if nothing was the matter. He and Quinn walked close together and joined Brown and Wells near an elevator door, which promptly opened.

As soon as the four entered the elevator vestibule, Rembrandt pressed the “3” button and watched the doors shut.

“Professor, are you all right?” Wade asked with concern, noticing the light appearance of the skin on the large man’s face.

Arturo stood frozen for several seconds before turning to regard her, then facing the youngest of the men.

“Did what I think happen, actually happen?” he asked tentatively.

Mallory drew a breath and held it for a few seconds. “It looks like it,” he admitted, not wanting to believe it himself.

“What?” asked Wells, clearly concerned.

Quinn looked disgusted when he faced her. “The manager – he charged this room to the professor’s double’s bank account,” he managed to say, receiving a nod of agreement from his mentor.

“Which would be construed as identity fraud,” the professor added.

“What can we do?” Wells wondered aloud.

“The deed is done,” Arturo muttered. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Rembrandt had stood silently during the entire exchange, but decided to pipe up. “We could, ya know, get one of those ‘cash cards’ that guy was talking about,” he suggested.

Arturo began to mutter something, but stopped to reformulate his comment.

“If what we’ve seen just in this hotel is any indication of what this world holds, we’ll probably have a difficult time obtaining one of those, Mister Brown,” he muttered irritatedly. “Seeing as we have already scanned our handprints into their blasted machine, if my duplicate from this world finds out that this room has been charged to his bank account, he will surely notify the police, who will alert banks that someone is using his handprint. We would be arrested immediately.”

The elevator softly stopped and its doors opened to allow the Sliders to disembark.

“Unless we went an’ got it now, before he realizes anything’s wrong,” Brown suggested as they walked through the hallway, looking for Room 342.

Stopping in front of the room bearing that number, the former singer slipped the keycard out of its paper pocket and slid it into a slot above the door knob. A red light blinked off and a green light shown. He pulled the keycard out and twisted the knob to open the door.

The four filed into the room. Arturo, the last one in, shut the door behind them and walked into the main part of the room, where Wells and Brown had sat down on the beds.

Mallory stood next to the bed where Wells had taken a perch, both facing the older man.

“Professor, maybe I should try to see if I could get a cash card. We’ve got plenty of money left over from Rembrandt’s job two worlds back,” he suggested.

Arturo appeared very tired. “I’m really not sure what to do, Mister Mallory. I’m concerned that if any of us were to do that sort of thing that we could arouse suspicion. My guess is, this world does not use paper currency anymore.

“How would a bank teller – if such a thing exists on this world – react when you remove a large number of one-hundred-dollar bills from your wallet?” he continued.

“There’s one way to find out,” Quinn said definitively and took a step toward the door.

Arturo’s hand grabbed his shoulder and stopped his progress. “Please, Mister Mallory, don’t run off so quickly. We need to think about our situation before any of us does anything else.”

Quinn looked his mentor in the eye and realized his gung-ho attitude could have put them in a worse situation than they already were. The determination disappeared from his face and he released the tension from his muscles. “You’re right, Professor.”

Wells was scanning the room during the exchanged, spotting what appeared to be a computer screen on the desk across from the bed she sat on. “I have an idea,” she said, drawing the attention of all three men.

She sat at the desk, noted that the keyboard was built into it, then activated the screen. Her guess had been correct, the computer had a link on the desktop to national network.

“I’m betting this is like the Internet back home,” Wade surmised as the screen displayed a new window, featuring the hotel’s logo. She started to type letters and symbols into a box in the window.

Quinn stepped behind her and watched. The symbols matched the codes he had seen displayed on the billboard for the Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall – a network site.

“This could take a little while, guys,” Wells offered, as she saw the list of network sites that came up when she input the word “cash” into a search program.

* * *

Rembrandt had laid down and the bed and dozed off while Wade went about searching the network for information that would help them out of their dilemma. Arturo, still not having felt any better, fell asleep on the other bed.

Quinn had picked up the electronic version of the New King James Bible, the only reading material he could find. He sat in an arm chair near one of the two windows in the room.

“Quinn!” Wells called with a hint of excitement. “Come here. I just found a cash dealer!”

The broad-shoulder young man set the e-book down, rose from the chair and approached the desk at which his friend sat, the question of her terminology showing on his face from the moment she mentioned it.

“It’s someone who deals in cash, paper currency,” she explained.

Mallory smiled in appreciation. He could see yet another window had opened and a number of lines of type had appeared.

“He wants to know what we want to sell him,” she offered, helpfully.

The young man retrieved his wallet from his rear pants pocket and pulled out four, mostly crisp hundred-dollar bills at once. “Enough of these to cover our expenses while we’re here,” he told her.

Wells typed into the computer: “One hundred dollar bills.”

There was a delay, while someone at another computer somewhere else typed something in. The seconds stretched on and suddenly the entire message popped up: bills? as in more than one?

The reaction must have been one of surprise, they surmised. “It must not be too common for people to have more than one,” she commented to her friend.

Another message popped up on the smaller window. “He wants to know what years the bills are, too.”

The question struck Quinn as unusual – actually, it was downright bizarre. “Why would that be important?”

Wade shifted in the chair she occupied. “Well, if they haven’t used paper money for a while, it’s probably like an antique,” she rationalized.

“And, if we give him a bill with a year that paper money wasn’t printed, he’ll think we’re trying to sell him counterfeit money,” suggested Mallory, putting together the pieces. “Tell him we’ll let him know when we get there.”

Wade typed a message in as Quinn waited. It was probably a common reaction, since people who still owned currency were very careful about handling it.

Finally, a new window popped up, filled with a map and a point indicating the cash dealer’s location.

“He said he’ll be at his shop until three o’clock,” she reported.

“Okay,” her friend responded. “Now, can you find out when they stopped printing money on this world?”

Wells smiled at him and nodded. “No problem.”

* * *

Wells found a network site detailing the history of electronic money. It turned out that electronic commerce began under U.S. President John F. Kennedy got further under his successor, Lyndon Johnson.

One of Johnson’s campaign promises had been to move the United States further into the electronic marketplace by ridding the economy of the expense of actually printing money. It was one of his first recommendations to Congress after being inaugurated in 1969.

Johnson had wanted to beat European countries and the Soviet Union from pursuing the change-over. But, the American people being the way it was, did not fully embrace the president’s foresight until Johnson had been voted out of office.

It wasn’t until Richard M. Nixon came to power that the nation realized what changing to electronic money would mean. The Soviet Union had been tinkering with its nascent computer networks and hinted that it was nearing completion of a cashless monetary system, alarming the West.

Nixon oversaw the final printing of paper currency in 1976, when a special edition set was commissioned in honor of the country’s bicentennial.

Mallory located one hundred-dollar bill from 1970 and another one from 1973 in his wallet and accepted the small, silver-plastic rectangle displaying the map that Wells had downloaded from the computer screen.

Wade wished him luck and Quinn departed in search of the cash dealer, hoping he could get enough in return to cover their stay for the next eight days.

* * *

Quinn had knocked on the wood-and-glass door to the cash dealer’s shop, which was in a run-down area of San Francisco, away from the glitz and steel of the more-modern buildings downtown.

A man who had developed a bald spot on the upper back of his head and wore steel-rimmed eyeglasses cracked the door open, suspiciously, then asked what the visitor wanted.

The door opened all the way after Mallory pulled the two bills from his pocket and held them up.

“Ray Stein,” the balding man introduced himself as he ushered his guest through the small shop filled with knickknacks, musical instruments and a variety of other items in a number of display cases. It was a pawn shop, Mallory guessed.

“Quinn Mallory,” the younger man said politely in return.

As the man settled into an old wooden chair behind a desk stacked with various items he was apparently assessing, including a Rubik’s cube, a number of pocket knifes, assorted coinage and a few pieces of paper currency. A number of small devices took up one corner of the desk.

The man stuck out his hand, showing Quinn to a seat, then left his hand sticking out, awaiting the items the younger man and brought. Hesitantly, Mallory placed the bills into the other man’s hand; he wasn’t too confident that he would get much money in trade.

The cash dealer grabbed a rectangular object that was almost completely clear, with the exception of the rim, which was made of dark-blue plastic. Stein placed the two bills on an empty space on his desk and pressed them flat. Then, he pressed a button on the far side of the device he held, waving it over the bills.

“These things look pretty good,” the middle-aged man said slowly as he looked through the device. “Good condition–”

He broke off his train of thought when something caught his eye. He dropped the scanner and picked up an old-fashioned magnifying glass and one of the bills to further inspect it.

“Where’d ya get this 1973?” he asked his guest, still inspecting the bill.

Mallory stirred, uncertain how to respond, but came up with a reasonable story. “My grandfather left it to me when he died a few years ago.”

The other man grunted and shook his head. Something he had heard before apparently. “Not too many 1973’s out there, ya know?”

The Slider didn’t respond, thinking it was a rhetorical question.

“Ya don’t, do ya?” Stein said, his voice quieting as he lifted his gaze to meet Mallory’s.

“Uh, no,” the younger man finally uttered.

The cash dealer shook his head, then reached for another device, which glowed a faded purple, like a black light. Stein stared intently at the bill as he shined the light over it.

“This is in good condition – very good condition, in fact,” he informed his guest. After a second’s pause in which made a decision, he said, “The best I can offer you is five-hundred.”

Mallory stared at him in surprise. The other man scanned the second bill and pronounced it in slightly less perfect condition and offered him two-hundred-and-fifty dollars in trade.

“Is that okay? I mean, do we have a deal?” requested Stein.

The younger man mulled it over very briefly. It was more than he expected to get and quickly nodded.

“Okay, then, seven-fifty for both.”

Quinn agreed, so Stein walked away and returned with a hand-scanner and placed it in front of his customer.

“What is this for?” asked Mallory, accepting the scanning device.

Stein looked at him in mild surprise. “You’re joking, right?” then laughed.

The Slider realized he had made a mistake in handling the situation, then laughed nervously for a brief moment with the other man.

“Actually, I don’t want this deposited in my bank account,” Mallory said after a moment’s consideration of what would happen if his double found out what he was doing.

The cash dealer eyed him, realizing that he was serious about that. “I still need ya to scan,” he said with a shrug. “Business is business.”

“Can I get a cash card, then?”

The man considered the request, then nodded silently. “For five percent,” he added a second later.

“Agreed,” said Mallory, disregarding his qualms about his duplicate from this world. He placed his hand on the scanner and allowed it to do its job.

Stein turned toward the computer and nodded when Mallory’s name and address popped up. He walked into the back room again and returned with a small, green-on-white plastic card. Sitting again, he punched a few buttons and slipped the card into a port on his computer. After it spit the item back out, he handed it to Mallory.

“Seven-hundred and change, kid,” he muttered. “Nice doing business with ya.”

Quinn accepted the card and followed Stein back to the front of the store. Stein opened the door to let his customer out before closing the door and re-latching the half dozen locks on it. The young Slider shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried away from the pawn shop.

* * *

Wells had located a small motel in Oakland that accepted cashcards and only charged four-hundred dollars for the rest of the week, so the Sliders checked out only hours after potentially illegally renting a room at the San Francisco Grand Hotel.

Arturo had acted as upset as he could with the hotel manager, who agreed to reverse charges for seven of the eight days, even though the professor had demanded a full refund.

Mallory had tried to help, but neither seemed to get any better treatment before the manager demanded that they leave the premises before he called the police.

The infraction against that world’s Maximilian Arturo had not been detected by that time, it appeared, but there was no telling when it would be found.

* * *

It turned out the reason the City Limits Motel in Oakland charged so little was the lack of most amenities. There was no room service, no pool, few restaurants and shops nearby and, as Wade discovered with dismay, no computer for network access.

The desk clerk verified that Quinn’s cashcard still had three-hundred-twelve dollars and fifty cents on it after paying for their stay. At least enough to make it through the week, the Sliders had agreed.

Finding dinner took some time without network access, as most restaurants were located on the far side of the city.

After dinner, Wells suggested visiting a cybercafé about a mile away from the motel. While Brown and Arturo didn’t seem to warm to the idea, all three men went to the facility.

Entering the small, moderately lit coffeehouse-style shop, the Sliders found half a dozen tables with monitors on them and a long bar, where a teenage black girl had approached, hearing the customers enter. There was only one other customer in the back of the facility, working away furiously at one monitor.

“May I hay-lp you?” the girl said in a perky voice, surveying the new arrivals.

Wells stepped forward, taking charge of the group. “I saw the sign in the window that you have network access?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s fiiive dollahs an ow-were,” responded the shopkeeper.

The two oldest members of the group had begun to review a tall board filled with names and prices of different coffee drinks. Arturo appeared dismayed that there was no tea offered, and resignedly ordered cup of regular-roast coffee when the girl asked if anyone else needed anything.

Brown and Mallory, did as well, while Wade scanned her hand to sign up for a network-access account through the cybercafé.

The girl accepted the scanner from Wells and checked her computer. “Why you all da way out ’ere?” she asked, obviously surprised that anyone would travel such distances.

“Excuse me?” Wells blurted out, surprised as well.

“You’s from Colorado, right? So, why you here?”

Wade had to think of an excuse, then recalled what the hotel manager in San Francisco had asked Arturo. “Um, a class trip,” she offered.

Although it was apparent the black girl didn’t believe it, she accepted it and asked how Wade was paying for her network access. After ordering a decaf cappuccino, Wade handed the green cashcard Quinn had slipped into her hand.

“I’ll charge ya for da coffees now, and you kin pay fer da Net when you done, ’kay?” She tapped away on a computer screen and swiped the cashcard through a slot. “You on nummer three up dere, against da wall,” she informed Wells, pointing.

“Thank you,” the female Slider said as the girl handed the card back to her.

After adding a packet of sugar substitute to her cappuccino, Wells settled into a chair facing the room; Mallory sat beside her. Arturo and Brown assumed seats at an nearby table, after adding creamer to their drinks, and began conversing softly about the benefits and disadvantages of electronic money.

* * *

To satisfy her friend’s curiosity about the virtual-reality mall, Wade searched for it on the network and came across the company’s network site. She moved aside to allow Quinn to look at the site. He read through the descriptions of several of the activities offered at the indoor entertainment park.

Virtual skiing, virtual windsurfing and virtual hang-gliding had drawn his interest more than any of the other challenges the mall offered.

Mallory vacated the seat directly in front of the monitor, allowing Wells to resume her perusal of the network. He stepped over to the table occupied by Professor Arturo and Rembrandt and began to passionately speak of what wonders the Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall held.

While looking over a San Francisco-based community network site, she saw a blinking icon urging the site’s users to “Chat now!” Curious about what the icon was advertising, she clicked the computer’s pointer on it and a new window appeared.

When the new site fully appeared on the new window, Wade could see it was called “Bay City Chat Works.” Designed to bring people of the City by the Bay together, the screen read.

The screen was filled with icons with different words – more specifically, topics – for conversations in separate locations on the network. Wells had chatted on the Internet at home after work while she and Quinn worked at Doppler, so she knew what she was getting into.

Figuring it would be the safest chat room to look into, Wade clicked on the “Social” chat-room button, coming face-to-face with a login screen. She clicked on an icon labeled “New Users” and began to fill out the form that came up next.

Weighing ideas on what to call herself, Wells ultimately chose to be known as “flowergrl” and chose a lengthy password she doubted she would need to use again.

After she clicked the pointer on a button bearing the word “submit,” a new screen appeared, mostly filled with text. She scanned the conversations, seeing a variety of topics, from work to home life, to other more intimate things.

As soon as she had logged into the room, a line popped up on the screen announcing: flowergrl has entered Bay City Chat Works room Social Chat.

She scrolled down the screen and saw a couple responses to her appearance.

horndog4u: hey, flowergrl! want some?

hotstuf17: Sup, flower baby? whatcha wanna do?

wandererq: flowergrl: welcome, welcome to R domaine. feel free to chat wit any1; we all tame.

The thought passed through Wells’ mind that it didn’t matter what which version of Earth they were on, people in chat rooms were a weird crowd, mostly looking for sexual gratification.

She joined the conversation anyhow.

flowergrl: What’s up, horndog? hi, hotstuf! wandererq, thank you.

She waited for a response from the three who had already posted messages to her. Two messages popped up simultaneously.

horndog4u: flowergr1, nuttin. u? where u at?

hotstuf17: How ar you? where are you frm?

Wade smiled and shook her head. Yep, men are the same on this world’s Internet as they were back home, she thought, before resuming her conversation on the network.

flowergrl: horndog, Not much. I’m in the Bay

Before she was able to post the word “area” to clarify her unfinished post, her chat friend posted:

horndog4u: flowr, u wet alredy? i jus got startd! he he!

She posted the word anyhow and blushed slightly at the thought.

flowergrl: area.

flowergrl: horndog, I know. I’m that easy!

She giggled softly to herself, as not to draw attention from the other Sliders.

As she typed a response to “hotstuf17,” she noticed an interesting message appear from someone going by the name “mystryman,” piquing her curiosity. She finished the post to the previous friend and read what had just been posted to her.

mystryman: flowergrl, hello there. i’m tall, dark, handsome with a thick head of hair and enjoy dickens, pope and shelley. want to chat privately?

flowergrl: I’m great, thanks. How areyou? I’m from the Bay area.

She re-read the message from the mysterious stranger and decided to take the chance.

flowergrl: mystryman, Sure. How do I do that?

Just a second later, a new panel appeared on Wade’s screen, partially covering the chat room screen. It was titled: “Private Chat With: mystryman.” And the two chatters typed messages back and forth.

mystryman: hi there.

flowergrl: Hi!

mystryman: lovely name you have. what’s your fave flower?

flowergrl: Thank you. Lilies, especially purple ones.

mystryman: a rare and delicate flower, i see. does that describe you?

flowergrl: I guess I’m rare, but I don’t know about delicate.

mystryman: and beautiful, no doubt.

Before she could type another message, yet another window came into existence, quickly resolving into a picture of purple-tinged flowers, lilies.

flowergrl: Oh, they’re beautiful! Thank you!

mystryman: your welcome. just thought you’d like some.

Wade giggled again, this time, drawing looks from Quinn, Rembrandt and Arturo. She realized that she had gotten their attention.

“I’m in a chat room,” she said, as way of explanation. “Someone just posted something funny.”

She recovered her quiet demeanor, but couldn’t help by smile when looking at the flowers again.

* * *

Somewhere far across San Francisco Bay, in a basement dwelling of an apartment building, a nineteen-year-old man clad in a baseball-warmup T-shirt and sweatpants continued to type flattering messages into the box on a window labeled: “Private Chat With: flowergrl.”

He switched over to a different screen and input a string of characters and clicked on a button named: “seek.”

A pulse of light flared to life and shot through the fiber-optic lines that connected his computer to the regional network and the rest of the world, rushing headlong into a gigantic computer mainframe halfway across town. The chat session continued while the light traveled out and back.

It took merely a second before the pulse returned and fed back into the computer’s motherboard and imparted information that was sought through the command. The following information sprung up – letter by letter – on the “seek” screen:

network: bay5.cybernet.04.160.4

location: Bay Cybercafe, 2031 Oakwood Blvd, Oakland, CA

The young man read the information, then typed in: “usrinfo” and pressed “Enter” on his keyboard. Another pulse of light flashed off and returned a second later.

username: Wade Welles

address: 4592 N. Coldwater Ave., Apt. 5201

Aurora, CO 86223

“whois:welles,wade” was typed next and submitted. The light pulse flew off and back again, causing the following words to appear, one letter at a time:

gender: female

age: 28

employment: computer consultant, DCC Computers, Denver, CO

status: single, no dependents

The nineteen-year-old smiled to himself. She’s single, has no dependents and she works for DCC, he thought to himself. How much more perfect could she be?

He disregarded her address during the chat, but saved the information on where she was logged in and what her home address was. It would be necessary information … later.

* * *

Wade was feeling a little overwhelmed by the mysterious stranger’s uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing. She blushed furiously while reading his posts.

He made sexually suggestive comments and for some reason, she welcomed them and returned messages in kind. She couldn’t understand why it was so exciting, though.

She had been chatting for almost an hour, mostly ignoring everyone else in the room, including her friends sitting only a few feet away.

“Wade?” It was Quinn, who had knelt beside her, and who had turned his attention to the screen. His eyes grew at what he saw.

“What are you doing?” he said rhetorically, almost laughing at the thought because of some of the cheap lines the person on the other side was posting.

Wade glanced at him as if he’d walked in on her during an intimate moment, and playfully shoved his head away. “I’m chatting,” she responded haughtily.

Mallory fell back on his hands and looked up at her. “No, really? I was wondering what the window called ‘private chat with …’ What was his nickname?”

Wells gave him a dirty look. “None of your business,” she said jokingly. “What did you want, Quinn?”

The young man recovered from his prone position and knelt beside her again, a little farther away this time. “I just wanted to check to see what you were doing,” he replied honestly.

“And, you want to get going, right?”

Quinn offered a sheepish smile to Wade. “Yeah, kinda.”

She looked over at the two other men, who were watching expectantly. She rolled the thought around in her head. “Oh, okay. Just let me say good-bye to my chat pal.”

“Your chat pal?” Mallory said in a slightly mocking tone. “Looks like more than that.”

Wells favored him with a devious smile. “Quinn, you are so cute when you get jealous!”

Mallory looked like the statement had stabbed him in the gut and stood up. “I’m not jealous,” he said defensively.

The female Slider chuckled at that. “I’m not jealous,” she mocked her friend.

Quinn scrunched up his face, almost flinching back, but harrumphed a laugh at her. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” she echoed him, then giggled at her own action.

After Mallory stepped away and rejoined the other male Sliders, Wells quickly posted a message in the private chat room, letting her new-found friend know she had to leave.

flowergrl: I have to go. My friends want to get going.

mystryman: when will i see you again?

flowergrl: Maybe tomorrow night. I’d love to continue our conversation.

mystryman: as would i. well, sweet flower of my love, fare-thee-well, ’til we meet again.

flowergrl: Good night, sweet prince. Sweet dreams.

mystryman: and, to thee, sweet princess. ’til morrow cometh.

Wade giggled again. The use of Middle English endings sometimes made her think of William Shakespeare’s sonnets and medieval love poems, something she had a great love for since she was in junior high. They made her think about what true love must be like.

She closed that window and the others on the screen, logging off the computer completely, glancing at Quinn to let him know she was finished.

* * *

Quinn was persistent throughout breakfast and the morning that the rest of the Sliders join him for some exhilarating activities at the virtual-reality theme park. He even managed to change Rembrandt’s mind about facing potential threat to life and limb.

The young Slider had paid the twenty-five-dollar entry fee for each of them with his cashcard, quickly finding that they would be able to spend the rest of the day in the Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall for that fee, no matter how many activities they participated in.

In a matter of minutes, Mallory had decided his first stop would be the virtual-skiing room. Despite Wade’s initial protests, he convinced her to join him.

A spring-break trip in high school had turned her off to skiing, after a couple of her friends got injured and she witnessed another skier strike a tree at Lake Tahoe. She had learned later that the boy, who had been hot-dogging, had died from his injuries.

Quinn promised her it was entirely safe, even though she was certain he didn’t know what he was talking about. Brown and Arturo watched as the two youngest members of their group slipped into boots and snowsuits, questioning the need for the entire outfits, but agreeing that it probably promoted a more realistic experience.

After Quinn and Wade had picked out appropriate skis with the help of a Tomagochi employee, suited up as a ski instructor. The “instructor” walked them to the top of the machine, which resembled a traditional indoor ski-practice mechanism.

The machine bore carpeting at a fifteen-degree angle – the “bunny slopes” level. The two young Sliders stepped into their skis and locked their boots in place, then lowered their visors.

The mall employee escorted Brown and Arturo to a control room, where they could observe their friends’ skiing action.

After a brief explanation of what was about to happen, the employee activated the computer system controlling the ski room.

Without warning, the sight of the ski machine turned into a snow-covered slope and air conditioning kicked in, dropping the temperature to more a winter-like level. Wells gulped a breath down at the sudden change.

“Wow!” she gasped. “It looks so real!”

Quinn stood there, propped up on his ski poles and took in the whole scene. Snow-covered evergreen trees stood around them, poking out from the deep drifts of white stuff all around them.

He suddenly felt a little chilled and his cheeks flushed. The temperature of the air added to the illusion that they were on a mountain slope. He bent down, grabbing a handful of the virtual snow and balled it up like a snowball. It felt real enough to him.

Mallory tossed the virtual snowball to his right where it bore a hole into the otherwise pristine surface. He pumped his arms against his poles and swished his legs back and forth a couple times to get a feel for the snow under his skis. “Ready, Wade?”

His friend was still taking in the beauty of the scene, momentarily forgetting the reason she was there. She straightened out and looked down the snowy slope.

“Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied calmly.

“On the count of three, then,” Mallory said, pausing just a few seconds to prepare himself to shove off. “One, two, three.”

Both Sliders lifted their skis off the platform and felt them connect with something soft, but solid beneath them. And, they were off.

Wells and Mallory bent and swerved minute distances and generally appeared to be skiing down a snow-covered slope to Brown and Arturo. They watched intently, to see if the two would make it through the run.

Mallory spread his skis apart and laughed with Wells as he struggled to narrow the distance. Both appeared to be having a lot of fun, the professor admitted to himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

After more than three-and-a-half minutes on the downslide, Quinn and Wade noticed that they were not moving downward as quickly as they had been. The ride was nearing its end, they realized.

Mallory intentionally used his poles to push himself further ahead of Wells, as the machine slowed more. Then, without warning her, he turned sideways in front of her.

Unable to move out of the way or stop, Wade found herself colliding with her friend and the two tumbled into a heap as the mountainside appeared to stop moving.

“Quinn! Why’d you do that?” she demanded, suddenly remembering the class ski trip.

The young man tried to untangle his skis from her as he lay on top of her. “C’mon, Wade, that was fun. You have to admit that.”

The room had begun to warm up again and the virtual snow drifts vanished instantly, leaving the two on the ski machine, just short of the platform.

Realizing that she hadn’t been injured like her classmates and that Quinn had intentionally wiped out for the sheer folly of it, Wade laughed and he joined her.

Mallory rolled off from the top of Wells, dropped his poles, letting them roll down the carpeting, and pulled apart the Velcro straps on his ski gloves to remove them.

“That was quite a tumble you two took,” the “ski instructor” said as he emerged from the booth, Rembrandt and Arturo in tow.

Quinn laughed slightly. “I knew what I was doing.”

“But, she didn’t,” the machine operator said, pointing at Wells.

Wells wasn’t upset about what had happened and just shrugged in response.

Brown hurried up the stairs and helped remove the two Sliders’ skis. “Man, that looked fun! I’m gonna hafta try this,” he gushed.

“I want to try the rock-climbing facility next,” Mallory said, as if it didn’t matter what his friends wanted to do.

Wells flicked a glance toward Mallory. “I think I’ll just stay on the ground and stare at your butt, then,” she said teasingly, reaching toward his rear end as he slipped out of the snowsuit.

“Oh, will you now? And, all this time, I thought you liked it on top,” he teased her, recalling something he’d seen on the computer screen the previous night.

Her eyes widened in shock that he would say such a think, but quickly recovered and playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You saw more than you admitted,” she said with a laugh. “I still think you’re jealous of my ‘mystery man.’”

“Not at all!” Quinn sputtered, trying to defend himself. “I wasn’t jealous of that guy on the computer last night and I’m not now.”

Wells just giggled in response, then looked toward the Cryin’ Man for a hand in getting up from the ski machine. Brown reached out and lifted her enough that she found her footing on the platform, then helped Mallory.

The mall employee turned and looked questioningly at the black man.

“Lover’s quarrel,” he offered with a shrug.

“Over some guy she met on the Net?” the employee said, then chuckled at the thought. “That’s how they met in the first place, isn’t it?”

Brown slightly narrowed his eyes and a half smile formed on his face. He’s serious? he thought of the man he looked at, then allowed a full-fledged smile to take over.

“Oh, yeah, of course! What do you think?” Brown laughed.

The other man just shook his head. “Yeah, it’s not like most of us spend that much time outside. But, I guess some people still have ‘needs’ they don’t think are being met, so they go looking for them somewhere else.” He paused. “Shame, really. My wife never cheated on me since we met. And, she’s a gorgeous woman, mind you!”

“I hear ya, man. I hear ya,” replied the black man, though he didn’t really agree. He just hoped his agreement would get the man to shut up and prepare him for a ride down the slopes.

The man started to expound upon that point, but Brown interrupted him, asking if he could make a run.

“Oh, sure, sure! I didn’t realize you wanted to, too,” the employee said jovially. “Will your other friend be joining you?”

Rembrandt turned his head to look at Arturo, then turned back with huge smile on his face and showed he was ready to burst out laughing. “No, no he won’t. He’s not a skier,” he improvised.

Brown then turned to his three friends. “You guys go on. I’m gonna take a run or two here.”

“Okay, Remmy, have fun!” Mallory called to him.

“Will do, Q-Ball!” the former-entertainer-turned-Slider called back, giving him a thumbs-up.

While Rembrandt began putting on his ski gear, the three other Sliders left the room.

* * *

Little did anyone know what a young man wearing a football jersey and torn jeans would be doing that afternoon.

Justin Westfield, a nineteen-year-old from the north side of San Francisco, punched away at the keyboard, inputting command after command. Finally, he found what he was looking for.

He had spent more than an hour tracking down where the woman he had “met” the night before was staying. Then, it was simple to connect her with the others.

The cashcard used for their room had been accessed through a terminal at the Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall. How interesting, he thought to himself. All those computers and all that power.

The next thought that crossed his mind made him smile devilishly.

Westfield typed in the commands to locate the power supply server at the Tomagochi Virtual Reality Mall.

* * *

Mallory was watching a grassy field whiz past some fifty feet below him, feeling the wind through his hair, and he listened as the air caused the hang-glider’s material to flap up and down.

He was soaring through the air, even though he knew somewhere in his mind that he was only a couple dozen feet up and securely attached to a machine built with human safety in mind. But, it looked so much like he was more than twice times as high up.

He smiled broadly as he looked out over the land below. There was nothing like the thrill of soaring like a bird.

The thought, unfortunately, didn’t help when the virtual backdrop vanished and the air quit moving. Quinn looked around, but everything had gone black.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you down in a moment!” called a worried voice from below.

A flashlight beam swept across him and the light-colored hang-glider he was attached to, which hung at an awkward angle. “We should have backup power on in a second,” the worried man said from directly below him.

The flashlight was now shining directly in his eyes and Mallory looked away. “Just hang in there,” the man called, not realizing the irony of the statement.

“No problem of that happening,” Quinn uttered under his breath.

Another moment passed, then a beep came from below him. “We can’t seem to restore power for some reason,” came a smaller voice, apparently from a radio. “Please escort the guests out the nearest exit.”

There was silence for a moment. “Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Merriweather. I’ve got a gentleman who was up in the hang-glider when the power went out. I’ll need someone from maintenance down here as soon as possible,” the man in the room below said.

“Okay. I’m sending Pauly down right now,” the other voice said.

After a few minutes passed, the door opened and Quinn heard two men talking, but couldn’t see what they were doing. The flashlight moved across the room. Suddenly, he heard the crackle of electricity and the hang-glider jolted.

“We’re going to lower you, now, sir,” the man calling himself Merriweather said.

It was a slow, agonizing process, but soon enough Mallory was back on the floor and released from the fetters that held him in the flying machine. “Thank you,” he said gratefully after standing up.

“I’m terribly sorry this happened, sir. I’ll authorize you for a partial refund,” the man said, sounding worried again. “Just stop at the box office on the way out. They’ll have everything ready.”

Quinn looked up at the darkness that surrounded him. “And, how do I get there in the dark?”

“Oh, oh!” Merriweather realized he hadn’t thought it through. “Let me take you down there.”

The two walked through the dark halls of the virtual-reality mall with a couple other people carrying flashlights and made arrangements for the refund.

* * *

Quinn walked out the front door, leaving with a cashcard that covered half the money he’d paid, and joined the other Sliders near the curb. A public-transportation bus would arrive shortly and they could take it back to Oakland and find their way back to the motel.

* * *

Wade Wells settled into a chair in the Bay Cybercafé later that day. She quickly logged into the Bay City Chat Works network site and selected the “Social” room again.

flowergrl has entered Bay City Chat Works room Social Chat.

A handful of welcoming messages poured in for her and popped up on the screen. Wade typed a general “hello” to everyone who responded to her arrival.

She waited to see a message pop up from one particular person, but it didn’t appear, so she began chatting with the first person who didn’t send her a “wanna-have-sex?” message.

flowergrl: doobiedoo, How are you doing?

doobiedoo: flower: i’m soooo fockin hiiiii, baby!

doobiedoo: flwr: wassup wit yuuu??

flowergrl: doobie: I’m waiting for someone.

doobiedoo: fwlr: i’m here now, baby. and i gots good stuff tonight 2.

flowergrl: doobie, I’m not interested.

doobiedoo: flwr: o cors u r.

flowergrl: doobie: No, I’m not. Leave me alone.

doobiedoo: fewlor: u wan it, i got it.

doobiedoo: cum n git it, baybee.

Wells logged out of the “Social” chat room and went into the “Romance” one. Again, she was assaulted by childish and sometimes pornographic messages and just watched the posts go by.

After about two minutes, the posts to her vanished, as people realized that she wasn’t interacting. She was amused by how people “acted” things out and had to laugh out loud at some of the obnoxious sex messages posted publicly.

She decided to check another room while she waited for her chat pal to appear.

* * *

The screen was the only source of light in the room, only barely illuminating the desk on which is sat and the person in front of it.

The young man watched as the letters scrolled across the screen:

network: bay5.cybernet.01.160.1

location: Bay Cybercafe, 2031 Oakwood Blvd, Oakland, CA

He pecked away at the keyboard again and waited.

username: Wade Welles

address: 4592 N. Coldwater Ave., Apt. 5201

Aurora, CO 86223

He nodded. Basically the same information as last night. Same woman, a little earlier than the previous night and at a different terminal. He considered waiting, but decided against it and sought her out.

After punching a few more keys, another message appeared, notifying him that she had logged into the “Net Forum” room on Bay City Chat Works.

mystryman has entered Bay City Chat Works room Net Forum.

Immediately, he was assaulted with an incredible number of flaming messages and he ignored them, mentally noting those of whom he had already dealt with in the real world and picking out a couple new names to investigate.

But, now was not the time.

flowergrl: mystryman: Hello there.

He had wanted to allow her to post a message first and she did. He smiled toward the screen and typed away.

mystryman: flowergrl: good evening, fair lady. how art thou this fine eve?

flowergrl: mystry: I’m doing very well, thank you. How art thou?

mystryman: flower: i’m great, thanks. i’m pleased to see you here again.

flowergrl: mystry: I’m happy to see you, too.

mystryman: flower: wanna chat in private?

flowergrl: mystry: Yes.

The young man activated a new window, knowing that the same thing would appear on the computer in front of his new chat friend.

mystryman: how was your day?

flowergrl: It was nice. Me and my friends went to a virtual-reality park this afternoon, which was fun.

mystryman: really? which one?

flowergrl: Tomagochi Mall.

mystryman: i know that one. heard there was a power outage there today. were you there then?

flowergrl: News travels fast, doesn’t it?

mystryman: it was all over the net broadcasts as soon as someone heard about it.

flowergrl: Well, these things happen, don’t they?

mystryman: that’s true. so, where did we leave off last night?

He had managed to copy a file photograph of Wade Welles from the Doppler Computer Corporation’s national-network site and tucked it safely away in his computer’s hard drive for easy retrieval. She was a very attractive young woman, though he honestly wished she had been blonde.

So, he resumed the role of the solicitous mate … in heat. She seemed to take the flattery and sexual innuendo very well. He found himself more interested in her every moment.

The chat session lasted about an hour before she excused herself again. That was it for the night. Apparently, she had gotten enough attention.

And, he decided, she would return the next night for more.

* * *

The night was warm, as usual for late May. The figure dressed completely in black slipped around the corner of the building.

It pulled a makeshift ladder from behind bushes at the rear of the building and quickly scaled it to get onto the roof. The figure located a hatch into the building and opened it, then attached a rope to a secure pipe sticking out of the roof and slipping down into the kitchen.

The intruder slipped a gloved hand into a pocket, silently removing an electronic device and slipping it onto the door frame next to the door handle. Another, smaller device was placed gently against the handle until it stuck.

The man pressed a couple places on the second device and waited until two simultaneous clicks were heard. He didn’t move for ten seconds, then pushed cautiously against the door.

It opened, and there was no sound – he had defeated the simple security system without really trying.

Now, the intruder moved into the main room, remaining low in the dark, vacant coffeehouse. He sneaked behind the counter and carefully opened a mechanical lock – something that few, but the poorest people used these days.

Inside the cabinet was the shop’s computer system, the man gave a cursory glance over the machine, then pulled something else from his jacket pocket and attached it to a lighted conduit – one of the dozen fiber-optic lines emerging from the server.

As soon as he had fitted the tiny device behind the line, he examined how the terminals had been connected to the main computer, noting port numbers against the incoming lines, then closed and locked the cabinet.

The dim light filtering in through the closed shades on the front window provided just enough light for the intruder to make out numbers posted on top of the monitors. He spied the number four on a monitor along one side of the cybercafé and number one not too far from it.

The intruder surveyed the room, noting the mahogany coffee bar across from the terminals. He inspected the molding on the counter, deciding that it would make a good place to set the device he had planned to install during his surreptitious visit.

The intruder reached into another pocket, withdrawing something that looked appeared like a small, black finishing nail.

It didn’t fit easily into the solid wood, so he pulled a tool out and placed the device between clamps, then swiftly twisted the tool back and forth until the nail-like object had sunk in far enough. He inspected it. It was good enough.

Hurriedly, the figure stalked into the kitchen, closed the door and removed the devices from it, placing them back into his jacket. Then, he went up the rope, closed the hatch, climbed down the rickety ladder, repositioned it behind the bushes and disappeared into the night.

* * *

The following night, when the same cashcard number went through the Bay Cybercafé’s computer system, Justin Westfield was alerted immediately.

He had been waiting all day for the message to pop up on his computer screen. He immediately went through his routine of checking to see where she had been logged in on. Station five this time.

He activated a program he had purchased for just such an opportunity and watched as his computer’s hard drive clicked away. A new window appeared on his screen and was black for a long moment.

Then just as suddenly, a picture appeared. It wasn’t just a picture, it was video. He studied the slightly grainy, moving image and focused in on a young, reddish-haired woman sitting at the right side of the screen.

Tapping a few keystrokes focused the video on her, then it enlarged. The young woman picked up a cup covered with a plastic top and appeared to sip from it.

This was what he had been waiting for.

* * *

Wade Wells gently sipped the scalding cappuccino through the small hole in the plastic cup cover and set it down, then turned to face the computer screen.

She logged into the Bay City Chat Works network site, looking for her mysterious friend whom she felt she was developing an intimate relationship with, even though they had never met in person.

Logging into the “Social” room was all she needed to do. The private chat room popped up almost immediately – he must have been waiting for her tonight and saw her nickname appear on the screen.

She wiggled around in her chair briefly, upon receiving his first message.

* * *

The young man saw her body wiggle briefly after he posted the message. That was a positive reaction, he decided. Time for the next step in the plan.

He typed in and sent the following message:

mystryman: would you like to share pics?

He watched as message surprised her. He could only see the side of her head, but could tell she was smiling.

flowergrl: I don’t have one to share.

mystryman: that’s alright. want mine?

flowergrl: Sure!

He located the picture of handsome hunk that he usually used in these situations and sent it to her, watching as her legs started stirring beneath the table. She must have felt something to react like that, he decided.

flowergrl: Wow! You’re very handsome!

mystryman: thank you. i take it you like what you see?

flowergrl: Yes, very much! It gives me a better feel for who you are. And, when we chat about certain things.

mystryman: if you think my face is all that, you need to see the rest of me.

He watched her reaction. He could almost see the red tinging her cheeks as soon as he clarified the statement with a more suggestive post.

flowergrl: Are you for real?

mystryman: you don’t know already?

flowergrl: Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I believe you.

She was his now. The picture of the man he was not was always the clincher.

* * *

The two “friends” resumed their cyber-mating ritual for about half an hour. Wells was feeling entirely too comfortable typing away at the computer, sending and receiving sexually charged messages to the mysterious stranger on the other end.

The conversation had become very intense and passionate, as the two cyberlovers described making love to each other. With her eyes glued to the screen, she felt her heart beating faster.

She could almost visualize in her mind’s eye what it would be like to make love to the man whose picture she had on the screen, next to the private chat window. She shifted in her chair, straightening her body, pushing her shoulders back just a bit and rolling her head to one side.

She drew her feet beneath the chair and squeezed her legs together as she resumed typing and reading the messages that he posted. She felt that she was falling in love with that man.

Just as their cyber-lovemaking came to a close, she read a new message:

mystryman: have you ever had sex that made your toes curl?

flowergrl: Once and it was the best I’ve ever had.

She waited, anticipating where the conversation was going.

mystryman: i can do that for you. i know i can.

She smiled warmly at the thought, then reconsidered it. She wasn’t so sure she would trust this man enough to meet him. It was very exciting on the computer, but there was a certain safety that came with the distance and anonymity the network provided.

She apparently had waited too long to post a message, because her mysterious chat friend posted another one.

mystryman: what do you say, baby? wanna meet and do it for real?

Wade was thunderstruck by the question. She didn’t know how to respond. She knew she wasn’t ready to cross the line from chatting on the network to meeting him for real. It was too soon, she told herself.

flowergrl: I’m not ready to meet. Not yet.

mystryman: that’s cool. but, i was really hoping you’d say yes.

She read the message again and was torn between the excitement she felt during the chat that night and her concern about meeting the handsome stranger in the picture she looked longingly at.

flowergrl: I’m just not ready yet. Maybe another time?

Her message went unanswered for more than a minute and she was beginning to wonder if her chat pal was having second thoughts or had left her alone without notifying her. Then, the answer came back.

mystryman: i’m cool with that, honey. i hope i won’t have to wait too long to gaze deep into your brown eyes.

Wells froze instantly at that message. She didn’t remember mentioning that her eyes were brown and she couldn’t place when they’d gotten around to talking about that subject.

flowergrl: how did you know my eyes were brown?

There was another pause. He must have realized that he’d made a mistake, likely one of placing his preference for eye color on her. She played along with the apparent fantasy.

mystryman: sorry, i must’ve chatted with someone like you before who had brown eyes.

It seemed like a plausable excuse and she accepted it.

flowergrl: Okay, but don’t make that mistake again, understand?

mystryman: yes, ma’am! understood, ma’am!

She laughed quietly at the mock-military style that she imagined he would have said that in. It was cute.

flowergrl: Do that again and i’ll put you on K.P.!

mystryman: yes, ma’am! i understand, ma’am!

Wade couldn’t help by laugh at the repetition.

The laughter turned out to be enough to break her concentration and realize that she had been in the cybercafé for quite some time. She glanced up at the clock and noticed it was nearing eight o’clock. She had intended to be back in the motel room by eight, so she was running late.

She typed a quick farewell to her cyberlover and promised to be back about the same time the next night and he parted company with her with a cyberkiss and a vow of love.

She closed the private chat window, then gazed longingly at the picture he had sent for several more seconds before closing that window and turning off the rest of the network programs.

* * *

That night, after Wells had fallen asleep, the image of her mystery man appeared in her dreams.

Outfitted in a fully suit of armor, he had ridden a horse up from a valley below the castle upon whose ramparts she stood. Upon reaching the castle, whose drawbridge was up, not allowing anyone to enter, he removed his gauntlets and helmet to expose his handsome face.

She could sense, somewhere in her unconscious, that he was calling to her as she looked below.

Suddenly, she turned to her left and found the mysterious knight in shining armor standing before her, a purple flower laying between his open palms. She graciously accepted it and felt some force move her closer to him.

They kissed with a passion she had longed for, for many years.

“Have you ever made love that made your toes curl?” a foreign voice said, coming from the lips of the knight.

She nodded, watching his eyes the entire time.

Suddenly, she noticed another knight standing behind the man in shining armor, raising a sword toward her lover.

“Wade, don’t trust him.” It was Quinn’s voice, she thought, but couldn’t place where it emanated from.

Her knight in shining armor accepted the challenge, donning his helmet and gauntlets. From out of nowhere, a sword mysteriously appeared in his left hand.

The silver-clad knights immediately stepped within range of each other’s weapons and paused a moment to size each other up, then the second knight to appear swung his sword at her lover, but missed.

When her knight swung his sword, the other man pulled his weapon into a defensive position, protecting himself from being struck. Her lover swung again and again.

Then, without warning, the other knight was gone.

Her knight’s helmet was off again and she noticed his sword hanging with the pointed end facing her, most of it behind him. He pulled a gauntlet along the foot-long protrusion toward her. She smiled and stepped closer, looking at the sword the entire time.

“I must gaze deep into thine eyes one last time, but before I must bid thee a fond adieu,” her knight-in-shining-armor said.

She looked longingly into his eyes and felt desire well up from within her. They kissed again and the dream ended, while her mind prepared for a new one.

* * *

It was still light out, but Justin Westfield knew he had to move. Wade Wells and the three men accompanying her were leaving the motel, presumably for dinner.

He watched on a handheld device the size of a cellular phone with a three-inch screen flipped up, as the four walk through the motel’s front door and into the street. He pushed his right index finger around in a circle toward the left on a pad in front of the screen as they walked past, but they disappeared from the camera’s field of view.

It hadn’t taken too much to track where else the cashcard had been used. Since each had a unique encoding, nearly one-hundred characters long to try to prevent tampering, once he got hold of the card’s encoding, tracking its use took less than an hour.

There were few places it had been used: The Bay Cybercafé in Oakland, the Golden Gate Family Restaurant in Oakland, the Tomagochi Virtual Realty Mall in San Francisco, Sundown Restaurant in San Francisco, The Steak House in Oakland, and a motel in Oakland.

He started the small, black car he was sitting in, which he had parked in a residential area with little traffic. He knew he was a few miles from the motel, but it was a safe location from which to monitor his quarry.

Putting his vehicle into gear, he pulled it away from the curb and headed down the street toward the main thoroughfare. He turned a few times, here and there, just to see whether anyone was around to potentially upset his plans.

After Westfield turned onto the thoroughfare, he watched a police car fly by in pursuit of some poor sap who didn’t know how to keep the law at arm’s length, as he did.

His car, bearing a sun-bleached California license plate, smoothly cornered the turn into the City Limits Motel and drove around to the rear of the building. He knew there was an emergency exit he could use to gain access to it.

As he stepped out of the car, Westfield slipped into a faded blue canvas jacket with the name “Jack” sewn on a patch, so he would look similar to the motel’s maintenance staff. He zipped the jacket up over a plain-white T-shirt and pulled a toolbox from the back seat.

He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box and quickly slipped them onto his hands before getting out of his car.

The young man quickly scanned the door for the contact plate that would set off the alarm if triggered, pulled a slip of metal out of his pants pocket and attached it to the contact plate.

Next, he slid a plastic card between the door and its frame to open the latch, then the door. And then, he slipped into the motel, looking like another workman going to attend to a problem in one of the rooms.

Once he reached Room 115, Justin fished a small cube from his jacket pocket and attached it to the door handle’s casing. The red light on the casing went dark, but nothing lit up in its place. He pressed down on the door handle and pushed the door open.

After quickly closing the door, he stepped lightly toward the nearest bed, placing the toolbox on it and opening it. He approached toward the videophone, pulling his toolbox over near the nightstand.

It didn’t appear that anyone had used it. He carefully detached the machine from its base and turned it over in his hands to look at it.

He pulled open a panel and inspected the microboard inside. After retrieving a penlike tool from his box, he activated it, a bright blue light flaring to life.

He pushed it against three different points, disrupting part of the phone’s video capabilities. He put the laser away and searched for another small device in the box, quickly pressing it into the microboard.

After closing the videophone and carefully setting it back on its base, he turned toward the mirror across from the bed.

The perfect hiding spot for another microcam, he thought. It would be able to video both beds, so one way or another, he would see how she slept.

The camera went in without the trouble he encountered with the one he had installed at the cybercafé the previous night, so it sped up his timetable.

He moved into the bathroom, careful about turning on the light. He surveyed the room and decided to attach a similar microcamera in the light fixture, where a dark, screwlike item would go overlooked.

Finishing in the bathroom, he moved quickly back to the main room, closed and picked up the toolbox, smoothed out the bedsheets, opened the door and shut it. He removed the device from the door handle cover and the red light came back to life.

Then, he disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

As darkness began to take over Oakland, Wells strode confidently into the Bay Cybercafé and was recognized by the same black teenager who had served the Sliders the first time they came in.

“Nummer four tonight, ma’am,” the girl said with the best smile she could make and handed her a small cup of steaming beverage.

Wade set the coffee cup on the table next to the screen and took the seat against the wall, quickly activating the network browser.

After looking into the three chat rooms she had visited before, Wells found a user-search feature on the network site. Clicking the pointer on “Search,” she was disappointed when the screen read:

User mystryman not currently logged on.

She decided to explore other parts of the Bay City Network’s site, finding a few tidbits of interest, including the ninety-four percent marriage rate of the site’s chat users.

She also found a large number of listings for relationship tips for single people and what to do from home. Searching the term “dating” turned up mostly references to history; and fruit for “date.”

Wells sat at the table pondering how people on this world married, but didn’t appear to actually go through the courting process she knew was common on her Earth, and many of the other Earths she and her fellow Sliders had visited.

She glanced at the clock on the back wall, seeing that it was eight-twenty-seven. She ran the chat-user search again and got the same message as before.

Wade was beginning to wonder if her mystery man had forgotten about her. Little did she know that he was watching her through the tiny camera about six feet away from her.

Wade had finished drinking her mocha-latte with extra sugar substitute and was standing up when a small window appeared on the screen, it resolved into a picture of a little red, stuffed bear holding a heart-shaped pillow that bore the words: “I’m sorry.”

She sat back down with a big smile on her face. She was ready to leave and forget that her chat friend hadn’t shown up, but now, especially after that cute little bear appeared, she couldn’t.

She searched the chat rooms again and found “mystryman” in the “Romance” chat room, so she clicked over and entered it.

Almost immediately, a window titled “Private Chat With: mystryman” appeared on her screen.

mystryman: sorry i’m late honey. i had some work to finish.

flowergrl: It’s all right. I’m just happy you’re here!

mystryman: i’m happy your here too.

flowergrl: Thanks for the teddy bear. It’s very cute!

mystryman: i was late so i had to get you something so you’d forgive me.

flowergrl: That was very thoughtful of you. You’re forgiven.

mystryman: thank you. your very kind.

flowergrl: What do you do for work?

mystryman: i’m a tech consultant. had to finish testing a new product for att.

flowergrl: Really? That’s neat. What is it?

mystryman: i’m sworn to an oath of secrecy by the company so i couldn’t tell you.

flowergrl: Not even a little hint?

mystryman: why not? it’s a video enhancement product. it’s supposed to blow away everything else on the market.

flowergrl: That’s a really cool job to have.

mystryman: it is. it can take a lot of time to do but the pay is too good to give it up.

flowergrl: Oh, really?

mystryman: oh, yeah! i’ve got so many bank accounts – i don’t know what to do with all the money they pay me.

flowergrl: Really?!

Cute, charming and rich. What isn’t this man? she thought to herself.

flowergrl: Did you miss me?

mystryman: lots and lots baby. how are you feeling tonight?

flowergrl: Very good, now that you’re here.

mystryman: i’m feeling much better now that your here too. are you somewhere we can – ya know?

flowergrl: I’m where I was last night. There’s really no one to disturb here.

mystryman: where?

flowergrl: A cybercafe.

mystryman: what part of the bay area are you in?

flowergrl: I’d rather not say.

mystryman: north south east or west of the bay?

flowergrl: I don’t want to say.

mystryman: that’s okay. i’m on the north side – san francisco.

flowergrl: I used to live on the southwest side of the city.

mystryman: really? that’s a nice area. must be from a good family then.

flowergrl: Yeah, they’re the best.

mystryman: but you don’t live there now?

flowergrl: No, I’m kinda moving around a lot these days.

mystryman: moving in any particular direction?

flowergrl: Not really, just wherever my friends and I can make it to.

mystryman: sounds like life isn’t so good now.

flowergrl: It’s been better, but, yeah, it hasn’t been that great lately.

mystryman: anything i could do to make it better – at least here tonight?

flowergrl: You could send my your picture again so I could drool on it.

mystryman: he he. sure thing, honey.

Almost immediately, the picture of the young man appeared on her screen and they resumed their chat, working from the here-and-now into the fantasy love they had shared the night before.

* * *

A couple hours after his chat session with the young woman had concluded for the night, Justin Westfield sat back in front of his seventeen-inch screen and read over the alert messages that came in while he munched on slices of cold pizza from the night before.

The cashcard he had been watching had been used to purchase an electronic newspaper, an electronic book and a handheld transferer at WriteTech Book Shop in Oakland.

There was another purchase at Kidborough’s Toy Store – a teddy bear. That made sense to him. She must have wanted to find the bear which he had sent a picture of.

He disregarded the other messages and activated the microcamera program, switching from its original feed to the second one he set up. His computer sent out a pulse of light that connected with another machine and activated the two cameras he had installed earlier that day.

It took several seconds before the second camera started broadcasting. The room it sat in was well-lit. He counted three people, including the short-haired redhead he had been observing.

At the moment he tried to adjust the camera’s focus to zoom in on her, a mustached black man passed in front of the camera, blurring the image for a couple of seconds after he disappeared from view.

The two other men in the room appeared to be reading flat-screened electronic publications. The woman, lying on the bed on the room’s left side, turned over and he spotted a handheld in her hands. A red teddy bear sat perched near the center of the bed’s head and was ignored at the moment.

He tried to zoom the camera in on the bear, and could almost make out the words “I Love You” on the pillow it held.

Not the exact one that I sent her, but it’ll do, the thought passed through his mind.

He zoomed the camera out again and watched the young woman for several minutes. It appeared it would be a while before she headed to the bathroom, if she showered at night.

Justin decided to test the third camera, just in case. The screen went black for almost fifteen seconds, then a bright light filled the screen.

He adjusted the input level and found himself looking at the black man sitting on the toilet, his pants at his ankles.

“Fuck!” he spat out, shutting down the camera program for the moment.

I’ll get back to that in a while, he thought.

He returned to his normal night routine for another half an hour before turning the cameras back on and switching back to the main room. The three in the camera’s view were pretty much in the same places they were before. He waited to see if the black man would appear again, but he didn’t immediately.

He glanced occasionally at the video feed to see what was happening, but continued to work on another screen.

A little more time passed by before movement caught his eye. The young woman rolled over again and looked toward the two men on screen, apparently conversing with them. Then, she got up off the bed and walked toward the left of the screen. The time had apparently arrived.

The second microcam shut down and the screen went dark for almost five seconds as he switched to the camera in the bathroom.

And, sure enough, his eyes were greeted with the sight of Wade Wells undressing. She slipped out of the light-blue button-down blouse that she was wearing, revealing a light-purple bra covering her breasts. He watched.

She unbuttoned the top of her jeans and pulled down the zipper, then slipped the pants off as she sat on the toilet. She wore narrow, nondescript panties that matched the color of her bra.

He punched a couple buttons on his keyboard and continued to watch as Wells reached both hands behind her back and unclasped her bra and drew it off. Off came her panties as well.

The young woman climbed into the shower. He punched another sequence and smiled broadly to himself. He had just captured the most interesting part of her undressing sequence and he would have that saved in a remote location that no one knew about – except him.

He called back one frame of the video, where Wells had just removed her bra and her head faced to the side, so he could get the best look at her breasts. He would have much use for that image later.

He sat there nodding and chuckling to himself for an evil deed done well.

* * *

Wade and her mysterious chat friend resumed their liaison the following night via the network chat site. She had been excited about continuing the virtual relationship and spent more than two hours with him before he excused himself to tend to something for work.

mystryman: will you be there in a hour? i just have to take care of something.

flowergrl: Yes. I can’t wait for you to come back!

He withdrew from private chat session to search for a particular network site, typed something in and clicked an approval on the site.

Then, he sat back and watched the video feed.

* * *

The order came without any notice and the clerk had already locked the store and was closing up inside.

He walked over to the computer terminal and saw the word “Mayor” displayed prominently on it. It apparent had come from the one person in the city that the owners refused to deny service, regardless of time and when payments were made.

He had to fill the order and deliver it to a person waiting in a cybercafé in Oakland.

Typical of that bastard, screwing young girls on the other side of the bay, so the voters and his wife wouldn’t learn of it, the man thought.

He shoved the thought aside. He couldn’t afford to risk his job over his political beliefs.

The clerk read the order quickly:

Six day lilies, lavender Deliver to:

Wade Katherine Welles

C/O Bay Cybercafe

2031 Oakwood Blvd

Oakland, CA MUST BE DELIVERED IMMEDIATELY

He grumbled at the final line, but opened a glass case and removed six lavender day lilies and packed them in a box with greenery. Then, he promptly left out the back door toward the delivery van.

* * *

Thirty minutes after the command had been sent, the young man watched the video on his monitor as a middle-aged black man walked in, carrying an oblong box passed through the camera’s field of view, apparently heading toward the coffee counter.

Just after he had disappeared from view, the red-haired woman turned to face the camera lens, reacting in surprise at her name having been said. The flowers had arrived.

Justin smiled with satisfaction at the work he had done. He watched as the redhead accepted the box and opened it.

What it contained shocked her, he thought, but couldn’t tell if she was pleasantly surprised or not.

He waited about a minute before logging into the Bay City Chat Works again. He immediately opened a private chat room for the two of them … all while watching the woman on the screen.

She was still standing when the private chat room appeared on her screen. She turned toward it, staring.

He started typing:

mystryman: did the present arrive yet?

He watched as the redhead’s left arm disappeared from view, then he noticed fingers on her face, over her mouth. She hadn’t sat down to respond yet.

He waited a little longer. Her head switched from one side to the other, glancing suspiciously around.

She picked up the top to the box the flowers sat in and covered them, then sat down, realizing that time was passing by. She hesitated before typing the words in.

flowergrl: How did you know where I was?

mystryman: there aren’t that many cybercafes in the bay area.

mystryman: it was only a matter of eliminating the ones where no one was using the net right now.

The young woman sat still for a moment, considering what he had just typed. He could only see part of her face, but could tell she was concerned.

As he watched, she focused back on her terminal, drew her arms up and began typing.

After an elongated moment, her message popped up on his screen.

flowergrl: I have to go.

With that posted, her screen name vanished from the system and he watched as she approached the camera, disappeared for about fifteen seconds, then walked out the door of the cybercafé, leaving the box of lavendar-color lilies laying on the table at which she had been sitting.

* * *

Wells appeared anxious when she walked into the motel room. Rembrandt was the first to notice her return.

“Wade? What’s a-mattah, girl?” he said, concern filling his voice.

The young woman walked further into the room and sat down on the bed she had slept on. Quinn sat down across from her, concern showing on his face.

“What is it?” prompted Mallory.

His friend looked at him uncertainly. “I don’t know, Quinn,” admitted Wade. “That guy that I’ve been chatting with sent me flowers – real flowers!”

Brown and Mallory exchanged worried glances before looking back at the female Slider.

“How?” Quinn asked, not making any connections.

Wade paused, searching for the words. “He sent them to the cybercafé where I’ve been chatting with him from.”

“How did ’e know where you were?” Rembrandt wondered out loud.

“He said that there weren’t that many cybercafés in the area. He said he only had to eliminate the ones where there was no activity,” she said nervously.

Mallory pondered that. “I suppose he could’ve done that, but how did he know you were in a cybercafé?”

Wells looked up into her friend’s eyes, fear starting to show. “I think I mentioned it during our chat yesterday,” she mumbled.

Quinn switched beds, sitting down next to her and placing a reassuring arm around her back. She hugged him.

“Let’s just stay away from that place until we Slide,” he suggested gently.

Wells nodded in agreement while she continued to hold onto Mallory.

Neither of them were aware that at that very moment, a tiny camera was focusing its lens on the two of them.

* * *

Justin Westfield repeated cursed the two people on his computer screen, focusing most of his anger at the young woman whose back now faced the camera and was holding onto the young man.

He watched for only a short moment before slamming his hand down on the keyboard, which made the video-feed window vanish abruptly. Then, he rose from his chair and stormed away.

He couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong this time. She fell for the lines, the pictures of the flowers and of the person he pretended to be, the teddy bear. Hell, they’d even been on intimate terms each time they chatted.

She had been excited, emotionally and sexually, during their chats. He’d seen that much on the video feeds. She’d bought the damned bear, too!

He grabbed the pizza box off the kitchen table, looked at it, then threw it against the wall, causing pieces of crust and uneaten squares to tumble to the floor. He looked for something else to take his rage out on, grabbing an empty beer bottle, which he should have dumped in the waste reclamator, off the counter and smashed it against the wall where the pizza box had hit.

After the crash of the falling glass fragments was over, he realized that he wasn’t feeling any better. He tried to calm himself, but felt he was losing the battle.

It would be hours before he settled down and was able to rationally think about the situation. He went to his refrigerator and pulled a bottle of whiskey from it, unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow.

* * *

The following day, Wade had curled up with Quinn on one of the beds, feeling more secure having a man she trusted close to her. It was as if he could protect her from anything the world could throw at them.

The events of the previous night still replayed in her mind’s eye, so she couldn’t quite shake the worry that the guy she had been chatting with was a psychopath. She had been tempted to broach the subject, but withheld it from her friends, deciding the idea was pretty far-fetched.

A sudden knocking at the door made Wells jump, almost falling off of the bed. It was late in the morning and no one was expecting anyone.

Rembrandt cautiously looked through the peephole, seeing an older woman in a maid’s outfit slipping a keycard into the door mechanism. He quickly opened the door, surprising the woman, then apologized and told her they didn’t need her services that day.

He quickly put the digital “Please Do Not Disturb” sign on the door handle and shut the door.

* * *

Westfield had glanced at the hidden cameras off and on throughout the day, watching to see what the four people in the small motel room were doing. He saw little movement throughout the day. Occasionally one of the four would disappear to the left of the camera’s field of view, presumably to the bathroom.

He switched to the bathroom cam once when the only woman in the group headed in that direction. The door was closed and she sat on the toilet, its seat down.

He watched, wondering what she was doing, wondering what he should do next to try to get to her.

* * *

Wells sat quietly in the bathroom. Seeing as it was an interior room, she felt safer there, farther away from the outside world.

She cried briefly, which helped calm her nerves for the moment. She kept her head low.

* * *

Quinn rose from the bed and began pacing back and forth between the two beds, then looked into the mirror. He walked up to it and stared into his own eyes reflected back.

“Professor, I wish there were more I could do for Wade,” he started, then turned to face his mentor. “I mean, show her that she’s safe from this guy.”

Arturo lowered the electronic newspaper he held in his hands and took a breath, appearing pensive. “I wish I knew what to say, Mister Mallory. But, it appears that there is someone out there that has managed to learn a lot about her in the relatively short period of time that we’ve been on this world.”

“I realize that, Professor. And, I also realize that we don’t know exactly what she’s told the guy. He could know a lot about any of us by now!” the youngest man in the group complained vehemently.

The bearded man furrowed his brow. “I trust Miss Wells would use her good judgment in not divulging too much about information about herself or about us. She may have come across someone who knows how this computerized world works and found the information without her being aware.”

Quinn stared worriedly as the words came from the professor’s mouth. “If the guy can do that, we’re all in trouble.”

Arturo grunted shortly. “Unfortunately, I have to agree with you, Mister Mallory. We have no idea what that man could be capable of.”

“Let’s jus’ hope he limits himself ta sendin’ flowers to pretty girls at cybercafés,” added Rembrandt, his voice betraying that he didn’t believe what he was saying.

Mallory nodded in agreement and turned back to the mirror as the bathroom door opened. Wells turned off the light and stepped into the main room, no sign of the fearful tears she had shed.

Quinn turned to face her as she approached him, then glanced at her other two friends. She offered a quick “hi” to the group in general, then moved toward her closest friend.

As she moved, light glinted off something in the mirror’s frame.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward the far, upper corner of the mirror. “I just saw something flash on the mirror frame.”

Mallory looked up, but didn’t see anything other than wood and a nail. Then, he looked closer at the “nail.”

It turned out it wasn’t shiny, black metal, as he’d assumed. It was almost clear, similar to glass or plastic. He glanced around at the other corners, not seeing similar black spots.

“That doesn’t look right,” he commented unhappily. “Let’s call the front desk and find out if that’s supposed to be like that.”

* * *

Westfield had watched as the four occupants of the room had converged on the area where he had installed the small videocam and knew trouble was brewing.

After the young man who had been comforting Wade Welles walked away from the camera, a new message popped up in another window on the computer screen. Before he could read it, a voice came through the speakers.

“Front desk, may I help you?”

“We need to have someone look at something we found on the mirror.”

* * *

He swore loudly. He looked back at the camera feed, seeing the mustached black man and the bearded white man looking directly into the camera lens. Their foreheads and noses were wrinkled as they attempted to inspect the object.

He rapidly switched screens and his fingers flew over the keyboard as he shut down the video-feed screen and entered several commands. The video screen vanished quickly and soon the commands would reach the cameras, frying their circuits beyond recognition, even though no one would ever be able to trace them back to him – a thought which he ignored.

Less than a minute later, a black sports car zoomed away at a high rate of speed from the apartment building’s parking deck.

* * *

Wade shook herself, feeling violated that someone had probably been watching them, after the repairman had told them the device was a micro-videocamera.

The manager had come with the repairman and denied that anyone who worked at the motel could have placed the device in their room.

It left the Sliders with a mystery, one Wade wasn’t sure she wanted to help solve. Mallory was angry over the discovery, but worried about how the device had been placed in the room without their knowledge.

The motel manager had offered to move the four to another room for the remainder of their stay, but the idea that someone had been watching them made the decision to leave easy.

The manager had agreed to refund one of the last two days. Quinn accepted the offer without argument and they found themselves about to look for accommodations for the third time on this world.

* * *

By the time Westfield pulled his car into the parking lot, he could tell that the situation had changed. The motel clerk nervously watched his vehicle pull up the driveway and kept watching.

Deciding to play it safe, Justin guided the vehicle into one of the parking spaces closest to the office and put it into park. He quickly threw together a new plan in his head, believing that the motel’s staff was aware of the discovery of the microcams.

It took a few seconds for him to recall where he had stashed one of the re-coded cashcards he carried for just such an occasion. He opened the central armrest, which lit up the interior compartment and he sifted through the plastic cards, little bags and extra gloves he stored there and fished out a small, green-and-white cashcard.

Westfield also selected one of the plastic bags filled with a thin, clear film, which he cautiously applied to his right hand, then selected another, smaller bag and applying its contents onto his left thumb.

He walked confidently up the short sidewalk and entered the lobby.

“Evening,” he greeted the clerk. “Looking for a room?”

The motel clerk relaxed a bit, believing the arrival of this “customer” was not what he should be worried about.

“Yes, sir. We have several open today,” replied the young Indian clerk.

The motel employee quickly located the scanning tray, placing it before the new arrival. Westlake placed his right hand and left thumb on the machine and allowed its lights to slide across beneath his palm and thumb.

Once the scanner had performed its duty, the clerk looked up. “How many days will you be staying, Mister Gardner?”

“Just tonight,” the visitor informed him.

“And how will you be paying?”

Westfield produced a cashcard and handed it to the young Indian man without a word. The clerk inserted the card into the computer port and deducted one night’s rent from it before handing it back to the customer.

The younger man then produced a white keycard, which he stuck into a paper sleeve. “Room Forty-Four. Please enjoy your stay, Mister Gardner,” the clerk said solicitously.

Westfield nodded, thanked the man and picked up the cards, quickly walking into the corridor that left from the lobby.

He noted the location of the room he had entered the previous night before he reached the door matching the number he had been told. He slide the keycard into the door mechanism, which changed from red to green before he pushed down on the handle and opened the door.

He took a quick glance around the room after closing the door and turning on the lights. It looked exactly like the other room he had been in, except no sign that anyone had been there.

Justin slipped the keycard into his front pants pocket before reopening the door and looking down the hallway.

The door to the room he had visited the previous night opened almost immediately and a maid pushed her cart out of the room. He slipped past the cart, heading back toward the main lobby, glancing into the room.

It was likely the people who he’d been spying on were no longer staying in that room. He rolled the thought around his head, wondering what they would have done.

Entering the lobby again, the clerk stepped back to the counter.

“Can I help you, Mister Gardner?” the young man asked.

Westfield walked up and leaned one elbow on the counter. “Yes, yes you can. I’m supposed to be meeting with a young woman here tonight. Her name is Wade Welles. W-E-L-L-E-S. Has she shown up yet?”

The clerk decided his previous fears had been unfounded and checked the computer logs. The results made the young man furrow his brow.

“I’m sorry. Miss Welles apparently has checked out already, sir,” he replied, curious about what could have happened.

It was not unusual for people to use hotels or motels as their first meeting places, and occasionally, one or the other would back out at the last minute, so it was possible that the young woman had gotten cold feet and decided against meeting her friend.

Curses formed in Westfield’s head, but he held his tongue. “Did she say anything? Like why she didn’t wait for me?”

He knew he was taking a risk of exposing who he was, but the curiosity and hope of finding some thread to help track her down again overwhelmed his sensibility.

“I would not know, sir. I was not on duty when she left,” the young Indian replied.

There was an uneasy silence after the statement. Westfield considered his next move, while the clerk tried to determine what was safe to say.

“Will you be staying anyhow?” asked the clerk, clearly worried that he might have asked something he shouldn’t.

The other man seized the question in his mind, quickly turning it over to help decide his next move. That next move would mean leaving this place, but it would be best if he didn’t show his hand. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he replied, waving a hand as he exited the motel.

Damn her, he thought to himself. Back to square one.

* * *

Westfield settled back into the chair in front of his computer monitor, tapped the spacebar and watched as messages scrolled across the screen.

He glanced here and there, swiftly dismissing most of the messages as not worthy of his attention at the moment. He opened a new browser and typed in a string of commands and waited for the computer network to handle the task.

Less than a second passed before the response