Exactly
by Kyrie Daniels

Wade surveys her surroundings, and sighs. "If we're where I think we are, this isn't home." Where they are is an alley downtown. Judging by the lack of noise and people, the surrounding warehouses are deserted. It's very clean and sanitary, unusual for this particular alley, much less any unused building.

"What else is new?" Arturo dusts off his slacks.

Rembrandt pats Arturo's shoulder. "I don't think there's any dirt here for you to dust off."

"I don't suppose that is any business of yours, Mr. Brown." Arturo shakes off Rembrandt's hand.

Quinn sighs. "Professor, he was just trying to help."

"The problem with you, Mr. Mallory, is that you have increasingly found difficulty in respecting authority." Arturo adjusts his jacket. "Probably due in part to the influence of Miss Welles." He glares at her.

She smiles. "You'd like to blame all your problems on me, wouldn't you?"

Rembrandt laughs. "He'd like to blame anyone but himself."

"Guys, let's move on." Quinn opens the timer and reads the display. "Five days and three hours. It's just after lunch now, so why don't we..."

"Q-ball, you don't have to say another word. My stomach's with yours." Rembrandt walks towards the exit of the alleyway.

Wade shakes her head. "You men always seem to have one thing on your minds..."

Rembrandt smiles. "Well, yeah. When we're not hungry."

----------------------

Eyes from passing women linger on the four travelers as they stroll through a downtown shopping district. They had passed a bunch of electronic stores a number of blocks back, and all they saw in that neighborhood were men. That part of town appeared to be full of other high end shops as well: car dealerships, tool shops, furniture stores, and so on. It didn't look incredibly different now that they are a few blocks away, but the shops here are a different sort. Mostly little grocers and craft stores. A couple of kitchen supply stores as well, but nothing for those with expensive tastes. Surprisingly, the four notice the passing women looking strangely at them. Not one of the apparent gawkers says a word to any of them, much to their relief. It doesn't make them feel any more comfortable, though.

"What's with all this separation of the sexes?" Wade notices herself walking faster through this part of town for some reason. She preferred the technological side of town to this. But something else gives her the creeps, and she doesn't know what.

Rembrandt shrugs. "It's like high school dances all over again."

She laughs, and continues down the street. Until she feels him pull her back. "Hey! What do you want to do, lose them?"

"Relax," Rembrandt remarks. "They don't walk that fast. Check this out." He calls her attention to a sign in a window with an illustration of a cow. Nothing else. "What do you make of this?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not exactly the brilliant mind of the group." She scowls.

He grabs her arm, pulling her nose inches from his face. "But you are the only woman. And women are all I've seen. Around here, anyway."

She jerks away from him. "So therefore I should know?"

"Better you than anyone else."

"Fine." Wade stares at the sign, pondering its possible symbolism. "I've got it."

Rembrandt's face brightens. "Really?"

She nods. "We're in Gilead."

He groans. "I was serious."

"And so was I." Wade turns around to find herself face to face with a police officer. She jumps. "Hello, officer." His intimidating glare burns its way into her brain. Her pulse quickens. "Whatever it is, I didn't mean any harm, Officer."

"Is this your wife?" The officer turns his attention to Rembrandt.

Wade and Rembrandt exchange looks. He nods. "Yes. We've been on an extended vacation, and it's been a bit hard getting back into the swing of things, if you know what I mean."

"It's certainly unusual to see a man take so much interest in his wife's endeavors. Where do the two of you live?"

She smiles nervously. "We're kind of looking for a new place at the moment."

"Yeah, we weren't expecting to get back so soon from our trip." Rembrandt hopes the officer is buying their story.

The officer pulls out an electronic device from his pocket. It isn't a timer. "What's your name, sir?"

He sighs. "Rembrandt Brown."

Nearly dropping the apparatus in his hand, the officer takes off his mirrored sunglasses and stares at him. "*The* Rembrandt Brown?"

"Yeah." He doesn't like where this is heading.

"You must have done some amazing traveling, sir!"

Rembrandt laughs. "You don't know the half."

"Everyone was sure you died in the Pearl Harbor attack." The officer beams. Wait until he tells the precinct about this!

"Pearl Harbor?" Wade knows Remmy is old, but not that old.

"Oh, Officer, you know women. So very forgetful." Rembrandt puts his arm around Wade. "Why don't you refresh her memory for me?"

"Excuse me?" The officer's expression grows serious.

Wade sighs. Not once since getting here has this policeman so much as looked at her. She might as well have been invisible. Why is this guy acting like *she* is the one in the wrong, when Rembrandt is the one who sticks out like a sore thumb among all the women? "Forget it. It's not that important."

Rembrandt wonders why her mood seems annoyed all of a sudden. "Sure it is. I'd like to see how much attention this gentleman pays to our country's recent history. The half that the public is informed of, that is." He smiles at the officer.

Squirming, the policeman isn't sure what to do. But in a situation like this, with someone in this sort of position, one is supposed to do what he is told. That's what he was taught in the Academy. There's always a time appropriate to break the rules, and it's usually when someone of a higher position asks you to. Here in San Francisco, this man is about as high as a person can get. "Of course, Sir." Sighing, he prays that his account will be sufficient for Commander Brown. "About four years ago, in the Hawaii/American War. Our victory in that battle was our turning point. Your leadership in that single battle led the way for us. Flags were at half mast for a week for the casualties, including you. Except you're not..."

"That's right! I'm here, in the flesh. So, about a nice house for me and the Missus?"

The officer nods, his fingers rapidly entering data into the instrument in his hand. "There's a beautiful house over in the Green Light District that you could move into today..."

"The Green Light District?" Wade really doesn't like the sound of this.

Rembrandt glances at the officer. "Women. Sometimes you gotta explain the simplest things to them." He pauses, hoping the officer will take his cue.

Laughing, he does. "It's the nickname given the area just over the hill. Green, as in money. Lights, as in, lots more of them than you'd find in the poorer neighborhoods. What most of us wouldn't do for the right to live it up in those parts."

"Today? Just like that? We can move in just like that?" Wade glances up the street. Quinn and the Professor are long gone. She tries to hide her concern until they get rid of the cop.

"Just like that." The officer hits a key on the keyboard, and a small printout emerges from the top of the gadget. "Here's the address."

Rembrandt shakes the officer's hand. "Thank you, Sir. You can't begin to imagine how much this means to us."

"Anything for a war hero, Sir." The officer smiles, and continues on his beat.

Wade watches the officer walk away. "I don't like this one bit."

Quinn looks around. He stopped to tell Wade something, but she wasn't there. Neither was Rembrandt. Now, after looking frantically around for the both of them for a few minutes, he can't even remember what he wanted to tell her to begin with. It isn't like them to wander off without informing someone about it. "Professor, are you sure you can't remember the last time you saw them?"

"No, I can't say that I do." Arturo sighs.

"I can't believe either of us didn't notice that they were gone! Who knows where we lost them, or where they are now? What if we don't find them before the window?" Quinn feels incredibly responsible. He should have been keeping better tabs on them, especially so soon after their arrival into a new world. They still know so little about it.

"I don't know, my boy. Why don't we find a place where we can sit down and discuss the possibilities? Preferably a place with other men around."

Quinn nods. "You see that sign up ahead? The one with the knife and fork. Hopefully that's a restaurant. Can't guarantee the male presence, though."

They get to the window and are relieved to find couples seated within. In fact, the only clientele appears to be couples. While they could have let it bother them, the mere fact there were plenty of men in the establishment make them feel comfortable. A sign within the lobby instructs them to seat themselves. They opt for an isolated table in the back of the restaurant.

Arturo picks up a cardboard display of advertised specials sitting at the edge of the table. He stares at it peculiarly. "Mr. Mallory, what do you make of this?" He passes it to Quinn.

It advertises the restaurant's drink specials. The pictures are of exotic, colorful drinks. One is called 'The Masculine Martini', which claims to enable men to snare the women they desire. Another, 'The Submissive Seductress', designed exclusively for women, apparently, supposedly allows them to improve the two characteristics that will win them the hearts of men. Then there's 'The Intelligence Booster', guaranteed to improve one's mental capacity. This drink also requires that one "must be male to be served."

Quinn scratches his head. "I couldn't imagine trying to buy a woman any of these drinks, although Wade would love the description for that last one."

"I meant the implications." Arturo taps his foot against the base of the table.

"This part of town is filled with women, and now that I think about it, there weren't any signs with writing on them I recall seeing. The only writing has been in the presence of men." He examines the nearby couples and watches the women. They all seem to have the same sort of expressions on their face. No wear from a stressful day at work or a harried day of chasing kids around the house. Some of the men wear that look of pressure, while others appear to be enjoying themselves. The men had variety, the women did not. "You don't think we've landed in Stepford, do you, Professor?"

Arturo wishes he could laugh. "Mr. Mallory, I don't know what to think."

"What about Wade and Rembrandt?"

Arturo sighs. "If they are still together, I'm sure the two of them can watch out for each other. I'm more concerned about finding them before the window."

"We do have five days. We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open for anything about them. If worse comes to worse, we'll have to use the media to find them, I suppose."

"And who's to say there is a media to tell, Mr. Mallory?"

Quinn tugs at the seam of his napkin. "I can hope."

--------------

Maia sits in a rocking chair, stitching. She isn't sure what it is, but it's bound to become something. Everything is something at some point. Keeping busy is always important. Busy, busy, busy. "What time is it, Tyler?"

He groans. It's the same thing every day. They might as well hire someone for the sole purpose of telling her the time every five minutes in the afternoons. Then just maybe he'd get dinner done on time for once. Along with everything else he's expected to do around this house. Who's idea was it to have one person do all the household work, anyway? He looks at the grandfather clock. "2:30, Madam."

"Thank you." Her husband wouldn't be home for a good three hours. Plenty of time to get to the chores. Tyler would drive her into town. He didn't mind. It made it easier for her. Not that she had a lot of chores to do, but sometimes it's nice to pretend she did. It's nice now and then to feel like your existence matters.

Tyler hears something outside. He pushes the curtains in the living room back a bit so he can see the source of the noise. "It appears that we are getting some new neighbors."

"Really?" Maia lifts her head from her work. It's unusual for strangers to move in on this side of town. She could know them. Her husband probably does. He knows everyone. "Do you know who they are?"

"Can't say I do, Madam. Just the movers so far, putting in furniture. I hadn't heard anything about any new people arriving in the neighborhood, though."

"Perhaps I should bake something, to welcome them."

He shrugs. "If you want to, I suggest you get started, before the Master gets home."

"I know." She sighs. Her husband doesn't like it when she works. It was hard enough talking him into letting her keep up the craftwork. He didn't feel that someone in her position should be doing something that could be done by someone like Tyler. If she had married someone else, she would still have those duties. She wouldn't have Tyler, though. Some things are better left outside of one's thoughts. But, she still misses cooking.

Tyler watches a limousine pull up into the driveway next door. "Well, I'll be..."

"What?" Maia gets up and walks to the window. She pulls the curtain further open. "Is that who I think it is?"

----------------

Wade yanks Rembrandt's shirt. "Why are those people staring at us?" She gestures at the window of the neighboring house.

"Because I'm a war hero returning from the dead?" Rembrandt laughs. Someday he's bound to get used to this commonality among his doubles. It's a wonder he himself isn't dead yet.

"I guess you have a point there. It is kind of nice, getting set up like this." She never saw furniture this nice before. Outside of showrooms, anyway. At least now things are finally calming down for the first time in hours. Ever since running into the officer, she and Remmy have been rushing around so much she's barely had time to catch her breath, much less realize how little of the day's events had anything to do with her. Normally, with the focus so far off herself or her interests, she loses interest in the matters at hand. It usually bores her. She sighs. The only person she knows worse in that regard is Rembrandt. He lives for the universe centering around him.

He nods. Things are finally calming down. The day has worn him out. It's nice being respected and all, but hearing people say variations of the same things about you over and over does get a bit dull. "The only thing missing is you know who."

"Yeah." Wade normally wouldn't let him get away with a comment like that, but she did miss him. Oh, and the Professor too. "Hopefully they'll see you on the news and find us that way. Otherwise, I couldn't tell you where to start looking."

"I probably have the clout to find them." He smiles. This is almost as good as being a musical megastar. And so much less taxing on the vocal cords.

She rolls her eyes. "Shall I make room for your ego?"

"Some wife you are."

"Don't get any wise ideas, Rembrandt."

------------------

Maia gawks. She can't help herself. "It can't be!"

"So help me, I'm seeing ghosts as well!" The butler rubs the glass with his elbow, wondering if he needs to do a better job with the Windex.

"Ghosts, Tyler?" She is confused.

He nods. "I could swear that man is Rembrandt Brown."

"*The* Rembrandt Brown?" This is unbelievable. Her husband must be ecstatic over this news. They were so close before the war. No wonder they are moving in so suddenly. She was still a young bride when he and her husband went off to fight. Strange how much can change in a matter of a few short years. Strange how one's entire world could be turned upside down. Maia wonders how the Commander will cope with it all.

"I believe so. I used to hear him preach in the old days."

"What about the girl? I mean, his wife."

"That's not the wife I remember." Tyler pauses, his brow wrinkling. "Wait, I think she disappeared not long before he left to fight. She was presumed dead at some point, but it was around the same time he was, and you remember what a ruckus that time was." He looks to her for some sort of agreement, only to find her eyes fixated on the view from the window. He sighs. "In all the time he was supposed to be dead and buried, he could have found another. I don't recognize her, if that's what you're asking."

"She looks familiar." That's the understatement of the century. She wants to believe it's her, but she can't. She was supposed to have runaway from this. She was supposed to be long gone. It can't possibly be her.

"Really?" Tyler rolls his eyes. Like he couldn't have figured that out on his own.

"Yeah."

"If you knew she was coming, you'd have baked a cake." He smiles.

She walks to the kitchen. "You're right." Opening the cupboards, she systematically collects ingredients for a cake. A lemon cake. Wade always liked her lemon cakes.

Rembrandt closes the bedroom door behind him. Wade is lying on the bed. He walks into the adjoining bathroom and grabs a white towel. Placing it in the sink, he turns on the faucet's hot water and sticks his hands under it. It is hot enough to make him want to yell, especially with all the stinging from the fresh cuts. He doesn't, wanting to have things be as normal as possible for Wade. Looking at his slightly discolored knuckles, he shakes his head. Normal this isn't. Turning off the water, he wrings out the towel and wraps his hand in it. He walks back into the bedroom and sits down next to her. "I take it you know..."

"Yeah."

"No one will lay a hand on you again. Not here, anyway."

"How can you be so sure?" Glancing at the slightly ruddy towel, she wishes she hadn't asked that.

He sees her staring at the blood on the towel, and sighs. "It looks worse than it is."

"What about Charles?"

Rembrandt smirks. "Come tomorrow, I'm sure his face will be the same way."

"Two wrongs don't make a right." Wade can't believe she's defending Charles. "Besides, if what he did is how it is here, than I just have to be more careful. We can't afford to be found out here."

"Don't worry." He pulls the towel tighter on his hand. "I just wanted to make it clear how it's going to be. How he's not to be making those sort of decisions about your behavior." Looking away from her prying eyes, he adds, "I told them I wanted them to save that for me."

Wade grabs his face and turns it to her. "You did *what*?"

"It's always been my dream to have the right to slap you around." He can tell she's not amused. "Come on, we've got to play along. It won't be easy, but if we ever wanna get out of here, we ain't got much choice."

"We don't even know where Quinn and the Professor are." She sits up, and looks at him. He's tired. In fact, he looks like she feels inside. It must not have been a great day for him on his end either.

"I know. But they're making a big deal on the news about my return. Hopefully they will see something about it on television..."

"Television?" Wade interrupts him, confused. "I haven't seen a television. Why don't we have one?"

Rembrandt cringes. "I have one, but you can't watch it. You're not allowed."

"Great. What else exactly am I not allowed to do here? Or should I just guess?"

"Let's put it this way: in your position, all you really can do safely is think. I'm going to make Charles let you do the grocery shopping so you can get out of the house without problems. I'm not sure what else I could get away with letting you do without causing suspicion."

She rolls her eyes. "Can I call you Rembrandt?"

"Why wouldn't you be able to?" He notices her eyes watering. "Oh, was that...never mind. I'll talk to them about that. How about crafts?"

"I hate crafts."

"Hmmm. Let's see...something to keep you busy that doesn't involve reading, cooking, crafts, writing, monitors...sex?"

"Very funny."

"At least it got you to smile."

She giggles. "You're not going to make me sleep with one eye open, are you?"

Rembrandt shakes his head. "If I could give you a separate room, you know I would. But we can't afford to be found out. I know this isn't going to be easy. We have less than a week, but I'm going to wait a few days before exercising my power to find them. Until then, we need to do everything we can to keep from going bonkers. You need to find something to do during the day, when I'm not here. Maybe meet the neighbors..."

"Hell, no."

"You don't even know what they are like."

"If they can live like this and be happy about it, I don't want to know them."

"What makes you so sure they're happy about this?"

"They put up with it, right?"

Rembrandt puts his hands on his hips. "Listen, you have no idea, do you? Do you think I liked it when I went down South as a kid and got to be told where I could be because of the way I looked? I had friends who went away to school and couldn't marry who they wanted to without leaving the state because it was against the law to marry someone like you. Just because the law says something doesn't mean everyone likes it. If it's socially acceptable to the cook to smack you upside the head for calling me by my first name, just imagine what they do to anyone who questions the law of the land."

"I suppose you're right." She's never heard Rembrandt talk like this before. "Although, why would you want to marry someone like me?" Wade smiles.

He laughs. "Seriously, if you were another ten years or so older, I'd have made a nice list by now." He watches her smile sheepishly. "Wade, you gotta understand that I remember what it's like to be in your shoes. I don't always act like it, around the others and all, but the Cryin' Man wasn't always a big budget musical sensation. I remember the days as a kid getting excited to go to the neighborhood thrift store for clothes and all. The white kids, ones just like you, they used to make fun of me and the brothers because of the way we looked and dressed. But you know something? They've tried all sorts of things over time to put people where they thought those people should be. It may change over time and over worlds, but what it all boils down to is disrespecting those who are different just because they are. At least you'll know better, after all you've seen."

Wade nods. "I guess I get your point. But what do I know? I'm just a stupid girl." She smiles.

He hugs her. "Not stupid. Just naive..."

-------------

A knock at the bedroom door awakens Wade. She sits up in the bed. Rembrandt is gone. She didn't even hear him leave. "Come in."

Charles walks in with a tray. She can barely recognize him. His face is swollen and bruised. He even has two black eyes. "The Master asked that your breakfast be brought to you this morning."

She smiles. "Thank you, Charles." He places the tray on the bed. "What sort of omelet did you make?"

"A Denver Omelet, Madam."

"Very good." She is so tempted to ask... "Are you okay? You don't look too good this morning, Charles." She tries to express a realistic level of concern about him.

He looks at the floor. "I apologize if my appearance offends you, Madam."

That wasn't what she asked. It was worth a try. She doesn't feel like pursuing it, though. "Don't worry about it. Just try to take better care of yourself."

"Indeed, Madam. Call me if you need anything."

She nods. "Indeed. You are excused." He walks out of the bedroom. She quickly devours the omelet. It's delicious. Wade didn't know she was that hungry. Once she finishes it off, she moves the tray to the other side of the bed and gets up. The closets are filled with clothes designed for her and Rembrandt. It's amazing, how fast they worked at fitting them and getting the house ready. She takes an outfit to the bathroom, hanging it on the door. Just as she is about to close the door for her shower, there's a knock on the bedroom door. She sighs. "Come in."

"Sorry to bother you, Madam, but there's someone at the door for you. A neighbor." Charles picks up the tray from the bed.

"Thank you. I'll be right there." Wade tries to think of a way to get rid of whoever it is. The shower would always work. She walks to the front door. A woman is in the living room. Her hair is very long and very dark. She's holding a silver cake holder. Her face is bruised, too. Wade isn't sure what to make of her. "Hello."

Maia turns toward the voice. She smiles. "Hello. I brought this for you. It's lemon."

"Lemon cake?" Wade pauses, taking the cake from the woman and putting it down on the coffee table. "I love lemon cake."

She nods. "I remember." She gazes into Wade's eyes. They show no real sign of recognition. Odd. Maia whispers, "I can't believe they finally got you too..."

Wade stares at her. "Got me too?"

"You know what I mean. You were supposed to be above all this, remember?"

Her double must know her. But Wade doesn't. Well, she might. There is something familiar about this Maia person. She could be someone Wade had a class with at some point. There is something comfortable about her. It's hard to say, considering Wade doesn't recall knowing anyone back home who would let someone beat up on them. Wait a second. Who is she to talk? She might not look as bad, but her face isn't injury free either. Wade's instincts tell her that this is someone she can trust. She doesn't know why. "They sort of...brainwashed me...I think that was what happened..." How else can she find out the details about her double?

"You don't remember me? Maia? Man, I heard stories about what they did to the ones who tried to flee, but I didn't think they all were true. Even you called them scare tactics. So how is he, your husband?"

Wade laughs.

Maia nods. "Oh, god, Wade, I'm so glad you're here. Next door, too. You were what, fourteen when you decided to run for it?"

"Something like that."

"It's almost ironic how after all these years, we end up married to the same kind of men." Maia gently touches Wade's bruised cheek.

Charles emerges from the kitchen. "Madam, would you like me to cut up the cake for you?"

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, after all, this isn't my house, but anyway, I'm wondering if you have any shopping for Mrs. Brown to get done this morning. I was planning on heading to town shortly, and would love the company."

He nods. "I'll get a shopping list ready. Shall I deal with the cake later, Madam?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you, Charles." He walks back into the kitchen.

They both giggle. "What happened to him?" Maia asks.

"My husband."

She flinches. "Ouch. I thought mine was bad."

Wade eyes Maia's bruise. "To you or the help?"

"Both," Maia adds casually, trying to make it sound like she doesn't care.

"That little spiel of yours was inspired, to say the least."

"Thanks. Walking into town is the best way to gossip without getting caught. No men around to catch us where we're headed. For the most part, anyhow." Maia smiles. "Shall I let you get back to your shower?"

Wade glances down at her robe. "I almost forgot what I was doing before you showed up. Which house is yours?"

"The one on the left of yours. With the blue trim."

"Okay. I'll swing by to get you once I'm done."

Maia nods. "Sounds great. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"To say the least." If only she knew...

-------------

Quinn sighs. "We can't just sit around here until the slide..."

"I know. If for no other reason than paying for the room."

He stares into the monitor of the computer, typing as he talks. "It looks like I should do the job hunting. Your double is one of the governor's advisors, so I doubt you could get away without being recognized. No record of my existence here, and Wade's as dead as her little hubby."

Arturo looks up. "Her little hubby?"

"Rembrandt." Quinn turns around. "Who did you think I meant?"

"Oh, of course." He smiles. "What happened to her, if you happen to know..."

"The actual report is vague, but her body was found near the Canadian border. I'm guessing she tried to get out of the country and didn't quite get there. I can't see what difference that would have made. It's the same thing there." It depresses him. If the Wade here couldn't handle living by the societal rules of her upbringing, he can just imagine how hard a time their Wade is having.

"Let's just hope she doesn't decide to rouse up anything here."

"True, but I doubt after everything we've been through that Rembrandt would let her do something like that." He smiles.

"Speaking of which, any word from him?"

Quinn shakes his head. "Just a generic thank you message. I'd send out more, but the charges will pile up, and besides, the filterer might think we're stalkers, knowing our luck."

"Good thinking, my boy."

"Hey, would you look at that!" Quinn clicks on the mouse, excited.

Arturo looks over. "Something interesting?"

"A job. But not just any job. My job."

"Excuse me?"

"A sales associate at a computer store. Hurley's computer store. I'm a shoe in."

"You hope..."

"No, I know. If there's one thing I've learned after all these slides, is that destiny pulls the same people together time after time. Like Pavel driving cabs. You being in a position of authority. Me knowing you. Me knowing Wade. Me having Hurley make my life miserable. The circle of life, Professor. That's what it's all about."

Arturo rolls his eyes. "Watched a few too many Disney movies, haven't we?"

Quinn reads the ad on the screen. "Think about it. What leads us into similar situations, time and time again?"

"Somebody up there hates us?"

"Professor, I'm being serious. All those other Quinns doing the same things I'm doing. All those other Rembrandts doing...wait, that's a bad example. What about all those other Wades...no, that's no good either. But all those other Arturos...well, you do know what I mean, don't you, Professor?"

He glares. "You would have gotten farther with the Hokey Pokey analogy."

Quinn slumps in the chair. "Somebody up there must hate me."

Arturo laughs. "About this employment opportunity..."

"What about it?"

"There's one small detail you're forgetting, Mr. Mallory."

"Which is?"

"Who's to say you haven't already gotten yourself fired from there, too?"

"I just told you, there's no record of me..." Quinn pauses, leaning back in the chair, shaking his head. "Oh, wait, you don't mean..."

Arturo laughs. "Quinns sliding to parallel Earths. It's the circle of life, Mr. Mallory."

---------------

"What did you do to your hair, Wade?" Maia walks beside her, amazed her friend is still alive, much less next to her.

Wade runs her hand through it. "I don't know. It's easier, I guess. If I could have hair like yours, I might consider growing it out again." She grins. In the hour or so they have talked, Wade feels like she has known Maia as long as her double must have. Her friend is nothing like she expected the women of this world to be. She's vibrant, and full of life. It could be because of their history. Even if that's the only reason, it still means they have hope. It's a concept Wade cannot fathom.

"It suits you, somehow. You always wanted to be different." Maia sighs.

"How do you mean?" Wade gets the feeling her friend is no longer referring to hairstyles.

"I mean, you were the one who planted all those notions in my head about women being...better than men think we are. I think those were your words. It's been a long time."

"Honestly, I do think women are better than men. Certainly better than men treat them. At least, in my experiences."

"I'm sorry I didn't go with you. I hope you understand."

Wade notices the change in her voice. Coming up with a decent response would be a lot easier if she knew what Maia means by this. "What difference does it make? We're both in the same boat now."

Maia stops, and grabs Wade's shoulder. "I was so sure you were dead, Wade. All these years, I convinced myself I did the right thing. I was doing what was right, and you didn't. The only thing I really was, was chicken."

She looks so sad. For all Wade knows, she might be right. Her double could be dead. "What's done is done. I'm here for you now. Let's start on a clean slate, okay?"

"Okay." They start walking again. Then Maia stops. "Wade, can you promise me something?"

"Anything."

Maia pauses, wondering if nerves will take over. They don't. "Promise me you won't ever leave like that again without me."

Wade freezes. She wasn't expecting something like this. As if she didn't have enough problems here. All day sitting around bored out of her mind, and just when things started changing for the better...for all she knows, Quinn could be dead. She might never see him or the Professor again. If that happened, knowing her luck she'd get to spend the rest of her days in this hell hole of an Earth as Rembrandt's wife. The minute she so much as sees either of those two she might never leave their sides. She doesn't want to worry about saving someone else...

Ryan. There's more than enough reason to avoid this impending scenario. Sure, it happened months ago, but she knows it still lingers in all of their minds. They'd never go for it again, anyway. "Not even an entire day has passed, and you're already getting all sappy on me. Talking as if I'm planning on leaving right after getting here."

Maia looks away. Wade's body language says it all. "I'm sorry." She steps forward, concentrating on every movement of her legs. She shouldn't be suprised. Wade was pretty mad that she wouldn't go with her the first time around. Despite everything, she was always the headstrong one. Maia smiles. Her parents hated the fact they spent so much time together as kids for that very reason.

"What's so funny?"

"Just thinking...about us..."

"You're not going to get all mushy on me, are you?"

Maia shakes her head. "My parents always told me I'd never amount to anything if I hung around with the likes of you."

"How are they?"

"My parents?"

Wade nods. "Since you brought it up..."

"The coffins did a great job in silencing their complaints, I must admit." She smiles feebly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"I know. You weren't around, anyway. They didn't even see my wedding. I didn't even get the chance to show them..."

"That you did amount to something? More than even you ever imagined?"

"Yeah. That's exactly it."

Wade knows that exact feeling.

--------------

Quinn walks around the computer store, rather distracted by his surroundings. He had been worried about his job outlook here, after his discussion with Arturo about it, but luckily Hurley had never seen him before. In fact, Hurley hired him on the spot. The store itself is nothing he expected. Who would have thought this world would be obsessed with Commodores? Here he thought the Dominion Hotel was being cheap by having one of those.

The weirdest part had to be the clientele. Men. Just men. It shouldn't surprise him, with what he did know about this Earth, but it still does. He wishes Wade could be there too, if only to laugh at the computers.

While these men dress like businessmen, as far as he's concerned, they make the talk in the high school locker room sound classy. The other odd thing he only noticed here is how people refer to each other. No, not that, but how the men refer to their wives. Their nameless wives. It's always 'my wife' or 'your wife'. Women must have names, or he would never have found out about Wade's double being dead. Meaning it would almost have to be some sort of informal title system. Kind of like when he was a kid and his friends would come over and greet Quinn Mallory's mother at the door. There has to be some significance to it. He could just be reading too much into it, though. His mind tends to enjoy overanalyzing things, no matter how minute.

"Excuse me?"

Quinn looks up. A young looking man approaches him. So lean and lanky he appears to be a kid playing dress up with his daddy's best suit. He tries to get the image out of his head. "How can I help you, Sir?"

"My parents finally got me my very own computer. The works, right? It's so cool! Four kilobytes memory, a ten megabyte hard disk and not just one, but *two* 5.25 floppy drives! I mean, if they give me all this just for turning sixteen, imagine what I'll get for graduation! Anyway, I'm wondering if you knew what the odds were of the government actually reading their e-mail."

--------------

Rembrandt chokes on his coffee. Bitter. He sets it down on his desk blotter and picks up the phone. "Jim, could you bring me some sugar? Thank you." As he hangs up the phone, it occurs to him he should have also asked for some time alone. He'll have to remember to mention it when Jim returns.

It feels very surreal, seeing the amount of responsibilities thrown his way in a matter of a day or two. Most of the decisions he is expected to make are completely above his head. He doesn't want to make hasty decisions that could have a lasting impact on a world he doesn't even understand. The image of Wade, sobbing and shaking haunts him. What he did to Charles was far worse, but the sad thing is he can't find it in his heart to care. It's pretty messed up all the way around. He sighs.

Jim walks in with a silver container in his hands. "Commander, here are the sugar cubes you asked for." He sets them down on the desk, beside the coffee cup.

"Thank you, Jim." Rembrandt uses the sugar prongs to drop two lumps into his mug. "Could you hold all calls this morning? I've got a lot of paperwork to read and I'd prefer not to have any distractions."

"But Sir..."

"But what?" Rembrandt has a hard time believing his voice is his own the more he listens to himself. To him, he sounds like a fearless leader. It's almost entertaining. Maybe he should have gone into acting.

Jim kneads his hands awkwardly. "You're supposed to be meeting with the General this morning. He wanted to have an inservice with you yesterday, but you wanted to wait until today. Remember?"

Rembrandt nods. "That completely slipped my mind. It's been a chaotic couple of days for me. Surely you understand..."

"Of course, sir. I'll take messages from everyone but him." Jim turns to leave.

"Hey, Jim..."

He turns around to face his Commander. "Yes?"

"Thanks a lot." Rembrandt smiles.

Jim is caught off guard. "It's my duty, and my honor to serve you." He lowers his head toward his superior, and turns around to walk back to his desk.

Rembrandt smirks as his office door closes. He can't imagine those words ever leaving the mouth of his "wife".

Quinn doesn't know what to say. He knows what he wants to say, but that doesn't make it true. Laugher erupts behind him. As soon as he hears it, he knows who it is.

"Young man, do you honestly think those people who run the government have nothing better to do than read and personally answer all their correspondence? Please!" Hurley continues to laugh, despite the customer's crimson color.

"It wasn't that stupid a question, Sir." Quinn sighs. He had hoped for a different answer. Not that it surprised him any.

Hurley glares at him. "The only thing worse than a stupid question is a stupid employee."

The customer walks away. Quinn forgot how little he misses this part of his life back home. "You know something? I don't need this. I quit." He walks towards the door.

"If you can't make it here for more than a day, how do you expect to make it in the real world, kid?"

He hears Hurley yelling after him, and laughs. "It's easier in some more than others," he mutters.

-------------------

Rembrandt looks at his watch. Eleven-thirty and still no General. Three hours have passed and he still doesn't understand this resolution marked "urgent" any better than he did at nine in the morning. It's worse than trying to read Don Quixote in high school. "I don't recall this being curable by Excedrin," he mumbles as he flicks the document with his fingers.

The intercom buzzes. "The General's here."

He picks up the phone. "Send him in." Hopefully he's not expected to understand that resolution for this meeting. Wait a second. He grins. As the superior officer, he should have control of the direction this inservice takes. What's the worst thing that can happen? His shoulders relax, and he reads another document on his desk to maintain that illusion of authority he has worked in vain to create. The door opens, and he doesn't even acknowledge it.

"Good morning, Commander. You have no idea how happy we all are to see your safe return."

Rembrandt looks up slowly. No, this can't be. "General?" His voice struggles to find the balance between authority and the insecurity he feels at the moment.

He laughs. "Your memory can't be that bad. I've told my wife that we'll have to have you and your wife over for dinner sometime soon, being neighbors and all."

"Oh, my god," he mutters under his breath. It just gets worse and worse here with every minute. He thought Wade was going to get the worst of it here.

The General blinks. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how long it's been since I've seen you, General...Arturo."

-------------------

Tyler vacuums. Maia knits. She hums something inaudible over the mechanical rhythm of the vacuum. Her volume startles him once he turns the vacuum off. He looks at her with a large grin. She blushes, and stops.

"You don't have to stop singing on my account."

Knit one, purl one. "I wasn't singing."

He laughs. "Okay...you don't have to stop making musical notes with your vocal cords."

"You've really missed your calling, Tyler. You could be the next Tim Allen."

"That's something else you shouldn't know." He wraps the electrical cord around the vacuum.

She loosens the ball of yarn in her basket. "I can't help what I overhear."

"Like whatever it was you were humming."

"Exactly." Maia smiles.

"What was it?"

Purl two. "Aida. Verdi."

He groans. "Opera?"

"He was singing it this morning. In the shower."

Tyler shakes his head. "I don't mean disrespect, but that husband of yours needs to find some better taste in music."

Maia laughs. "There's nothing wrong with opera. It's thinking man's music."

"They've said the same thing about Queensryche."

She raises an eyebrow. "Queens who?"

"I rest my case." He rolls the vacuum to the closet. "What are you making now?"

"An afghan. It'll be getting colder, soon." She sighs. Nights are always cold around this house. They both know it. Too bad it's nothing the heater could fix.

He walks around the chair and stands behind her. "What kind of weird pattern is that?"

"It's a window."

"After the bullet hits it?"

Maia rolls her eyes. "Don't you have some chores to do?"

"I get the hint, madam." He smiles. "The grocery list is ready, and I believe I saw Mrs. Brown on her way over when I was putting the vacuum away."

The doorbell rings. She laughs. "You never cease to amaze me, Tyler."

"All in a day's work, madam." He walks to the door, and opens it. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown. How has your day been?"

Wade laughs weakly.

"That bad?"

She nods. "You wouldn't happen to have a twin brother somewhere I could replace that Charles with, do you?"

Tyler grins. "'Fraid not, madam. I'm a one of a kind type of guy." He ushers her into the living room.

"Figures." Wade sighs. Maia puts her knitting back into the basket. "So, Maia, how about trading household help with me?"

"I think not." Maia laughs. "Good try, though."

Wade eyes the basket. "What's in there?"

"My craft projects."

"Projects? As in, more than one?"

Maia nods. "I get bored easily. Tyler says when I die I'll have to have all my unfinished projects buried with me so I can finally get all of them done."

"That's because it's the truth, madam!" Tyler yells from the kitchen.

The women giggle. "Exactly how much were you planning to offer me for him, Wade?" Maia winks.

Tyler emerges from the kitchen with a piece of paper. "Okay, keep talking like that and this list will get longer. You need to get a dozen eggs, a pound of hamburger..."

"Wait a sec." Wade takes the piece of paper from Tyler's hand. "It would be a lot easier if you just let her take this, you know..." She notices their eyes staring at her as if she is some sort of alien. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He tries to grab the list back. "You shouldn't mess with her head like that."

"What do you mean? Eggs, hamburger, sugar, yeast..." She scans the list, shrugging. "Come on, it's one thing when it's only a couple of things to remember, but this is ridiculous."

"You..." Maia grabs her. "Tyler!"

He flinches. "Yes, madam?" It's times like these he wonders if he gets paid enough for his services.

"Was she..."

He nods.

She tightens her grip on Wade's shirt. "You can...you can *read*?"

The only light in the motel room emanates from the flickering television set. Arturo sits up in bed, his back firmly against the wooden headboard. As the door opens, he squints against the light from the hallway. "You're back early..."

"I quit." Quinn sits down on a chair to take his shoes off.

Arturo turns off the television. "You did *what*?"

"Come on, Professor. You heard me." He takes his left shoe and throws it at the door.

"And how exactly were you planning to pay for this room?" He glares at the young man.

Quinn throws his other shoe. Its slam against the door echoes throughout the room. "Why is that my problem? I don't see you doing anything besides sitting around and watching television."

"Research."

"For what? A job as a network executive?" Quinn scowls.

Arturo rolls his eyes. "Hardly. Judging by the programming, I'd assume they don't so much as own televisions. Ever notice no one on television watches television?"

He laughs. "Is that why you turned it off?"

"Not particularly. It is interesting to see how they have compensated for not having women available as entertainment.

Quinn shrugs. "I'd imagine they'd just do things the Shakespearean way."

Must he always have the answers? Sometimes he wonders why he bothers telling Quinn anything. "I was a bit surprised that they took that route, though."

"Why?"

"With the way they regard women, the idea they wouldn't treat women as mindless sex objects to use as a source of entertainment..."

"But Professor, if women were allowed that role, wouldn't it give them power over those men? It seems to me that's the key here. Women have their place here, and it's a place where they aren't seen or heard. I've yet to hear one man in this world refer to a woman by a name. They gave the computers more respect than their wives!"

"And men don't do this on our world?" Arturo raises an eyebrow.

Quinn sighs. "You don't understand. Women get less respect than Commodores. You have to admit, that's pretty bad."

Arturo laughs. "But the fact remains: we have three more days here, and no means of paying for this room. I can't go out because of my double..."

Quinn jumps out of his seat. "That's it! Your employment prospects are ruined because of him, so the least he can do is..."

"Mr. Mallory..."

"Need I remind you that we have a friend who is a high ranking Commander?" He smiles.

"You do have a point there. However, that doesn't stifle my uneasiness regarding this alternative plan of yours." Arturo climbs out of bed, and stretches. "Did you acquire any money from that debacle you called the ideal job?"

Quinn nods. "I almost walked out completely without remembering that fact. I headed back when I did remember. Hurley told me I had some nerve, but I pointed out the sooner he paid me for the time I did work, the sooner he never had to see my face again. It still wasn't enough to cover the room for the rest of the time. I guess he's a cheapskate everywhere."

"A simple yes or no would have been sufficient. In any case, pick up a military uniform from a surplus shop."

"If I can find one in your size," Quinn mutters.

Arturo glares at him. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, Professor. I'll be back soon, hopefully."

-----------------

Wade realizes she aardvarked*. There was nothing she could do about it now. She could have lied her way out of it if she hadn't read the list out loud. Even Tyler, who she respects and seems to respect them as women far more than he probably should be, eyes her with disapproval. Now she feels like she's letting everyone down and she doesn't know why.

Maia doesn't know what to think. Judging by Tyler's reaction, she must know. But even as a kid, even when she was planning to run Wade never even considered learning how to read. She had always been afraid of the repercussions if she were caught. In fact, Wade was positive if she ever did know how to read, she would never be able to stop. Men or no men. While Maia isn't envious of what was to come for Wade, she still feels pangs of jealousy.

"Looks like I just didn't see or hear whatever it was you just did," Tyler says, shaking his head as he walks back into the kitchen.

Wade breathes a sigh of relief. "I can't believe I did that."

"You can't believe? What about all that stuff you used to say about that?"

"What stuff I used to say?"

Maia shrugs. "You know, how you didn't want to lose sight over everything by becoming literate."

"But reading increases your ability to understand...your ability to see things expands as your knowledge does..."

"I meant that you didn't want to be blinded, you idiot."

Wade stares. "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You said yourself that we both should consider our vision a blessing far greater than anything we could possibly gain from being able to read. Reading wasn't worth the risk of being caught." Maia sighs.

"I'm sorry. I had forgotten about that promise." Wade feels the weight of Maia's disapproving gaze.

Maia wishes she didn't feel so jealous. It shouldn't be so shocking that so much could change in a matter of a few years. She feels like she's been married forever. It's the same thing. "I'm more disturbed by the fact that you would lie to me about something like that."

"I didn't lie to you!" Wade can't take this much longer. It's hard enough keeping *the* secret without having to worry about the other little details like her reading skills. "All I did was not..." Her voice drops. "...was not tell you the truth."

"That's another way of putting it." She adjusts the shoulder of her dress.

This is getting more and more awkward. Wade feels like she painted herself into a corner and is forced to wait for the floor to dry. She wishes she had a fan to speed things up. "If there's any way I can make this up to you..."

Maia smiles. "You know there is."

"Oh, no...I told you, I'm not running..."

"That's not what I meant."

Wade pauses. "Excuse me? If that's not what you meant, what exactly did you mean?"

"Since you figured it was worth the risk to learn, you can take the risk to teach me, can't you?"

-------------------------

The silence is driving Maia insane. It's worse than every waking night she spends at home. Wade has barely uttered a word their entire shopping trip. Now they're almost home. "Wade, you have to answer me sometime."

Wade sighs. If only it were that simple. She never intended to open up the Pandora's Box she has. The pictures and the lack of written words could have just been because few knew how to read, not that reading's illegal. Why didn't Rembrandt warn her about this? Maybe he didn't know she isn't supposed to be doing such things. Maybe it slipped his mind to point it out to her. Granted, it could have been worse: Charles could have been there to catch her. She trembles.

"Are you cold?"

"No. Just thinking..."

"About?"

"I can't do it. I just can't. You must understand..." Wade focuses her eyes straight ahead. She can't bear to look at her.

Maia stops walking. "Honestly, I don't. We made a pact to always take care of each other, no matter what path we each ended up taking. No matter what. I never breathed a word of your little plan for what? A decade? Have you any idea what could have become of me if anyone knew? Haven't I risked enough for you to deserve at least a respectable explanation?" She wipes her eyes.

"Don't cry." She puts her bag down on the sidewalk and walks to Maia. It bothers Wade that she can't do anything more than hold her. Actually, she could...

Arturo walks out of the bathroom. "A little tight in places, but I suppose it will have to do." He adjusts the sleeves of the uniform.

"What are you complaining about? I did a pretty good job, considering." Quinn leans into an overstuffed pillow at the edge of the bed.

"I suppose." He glances at the television. It looks to be some sort of program involving vampires, except within a matter of minutes there have been three different bedroom scenes, and the 'women' really need to work on their five o'clock shadows. "Do I even want to know?"

"Knowing the twisted minds producing this material, probably not." Quinn smiles. "Think you could swing for some complementary food while you're at it?"

"Don't press your luck, Mr. Mallory." Arturo's main concern is living until the window. He's pressing his luck enough as it is. Picking up the phone, he dials the lobby. "Hello, may I speak to the manager of this establishment? Oh. Hello, this is General Maximillian Arturo, I am visiting with a...a young recruit on vacation here. He's a college student, so it should be no surprise to either of us that he cannot afford the rates here. I'm wondering if the bill could be forwarded to my office so this young man could concentrate on more important things like his decision to serve our government. Oh, of course...his name is Quinn Mallory. Thank you, sir. I'll be down to sign for it."

-----------------

As the office door closes, Rembrandt leans back into his chair. His shoulders loosen from their stiff position of authority. Now that the General is gone, his mind can return from the empty space it drifted to. He thought the Professor was bad about making no sense. If he thought he could get away with ending the meeting early on account of boredom, he would have. "Man, do I wish Q-ball was here." Wishing isn't going to make it happen. He spent half of his meeting with the General wishing he had been meeting with his double. Then the Professor wouldn't bother expecting him to know all the stuff the General was.

He glances at the calendar. Two more days. No closer to determining where the other two are. Even if he had found them, that would be the easy part. How could they all reunite now without creating suspicion? It was bad enough before, with him so much in the public eye now, but now with the General being who he was, things went from bad to worse.

A knock at the office door distracts him from the matter in his mind. "Come in."

Jim walks in with a large envelope. "This just came for you, Sir." He hands the package to Rembrandt.

"From..."

"The General's secretary. He said it was imperative you act on it immediately." He leaves the room.

Rembrandt shrugs. His first real action of power. Tearing the seal open, glossy photos fall out with a small note attached. "Kill them," he reads. He removes the note to see a still from a security camera. One from a military surplus store, and another from the lobby of a Dominion Hotel. Rembrandt drops the photos, gasping.

Then he laughs.

"At least they aren't in any real danger."

-------------------

Wade sits in the rocking chair. "2349, 2350, 2351, 2352..."

"Madam, what exactly are you doing?" Charles speaks through clenched teeth. She's done so many things -- outrageous things -- he actually started a list for the Master. If the man has any sense, she's bound to get some of it knocked into her head.

She smiles. "Counting. 2353, 2354..."

"Counting *what*?"

"The number of times I've rocked. What *else* am I supposed to do for entertainment around here?" Wade glares at him. She had to do something besides worry about Rembrandt finding Quinn and the Professor.

He refuses to let a stupid woman intimidate him. Rubbing his eye, he winces. He forgot it's still tender. Despite what the Master says, despite what he might think, she is taking things too far. "Something else. *Anything* else."

She stops rocking. "Okay. If you say so." Taking a deep breath, she starts singing. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. You take one down, pass it around..."

Biting his lip, he walks back into the kitchen. Wade can hear him pounding a knife into the cutting board. Now this is what she calls entertainment.

-------------

The General is home early. Maia doesn't like this. He never comes home early unless he's had a bad day. Not a good sign. When she hears the screen door banging long after the slam of the front door, she tries to disguise her fear by keeping her hands busy with her embroidery. Stitch, stitch, stitch...

"Tyler, I need a drink." He bellows.

She rolls her eyes. What else is new? She could use one too. Even Tyler wouldn't go for that. Stitch, stitch, stitch...

Tyler emerges from the kitchen with a glass of scotch. He glances at Maia as he presents the drink to the General.

The drink returns to Tyler's face. Glass shatters on the floor, followed by a punch. "How dare you do that!" Arturo's eyes glow with rage.

Maia throws her needlework down. "God forbid he so much as look at me! Who do you think you are? Who else does he have to look at all day long? Why in God's name would he ever want to do something like that?" She returns her husband's glare.

"Madam..." Tyler is more stunned by her words than her husband's punch.

"Tyler, this has nothing to do with you. Please leave." He does.

The General walks towards her, shaking his head. This is so unlike her. "You know better than to speak in such a manner to me." He can feel his anger to the tips of his fingers and his toes.

She nods. "What are you going to do? Beat me? It's nothing new. So, what difference does it make as to what I say? It always ends up the same way, doesn't it?"

He slaps her.

"Feel better now? Oh, wait, you still look angry. Maybe a few more shots at me will help."

"Quit mocking me." He stands so close to her he can feel her breath at his neck.

Maia raises her head. "Why? Am I taking all the fun out of this for you?"

He growls and walks away. "My darling, you will regret this."

"On the contrary, I don't think I've ever been prouder of anything I've ever done in my entire life, my darling." She grins as she hears the bedroom door slam.

Wade would be proud.

----------------------

"...Nine bottles of beer. You take one down, you pass it around..."

Rembrandt walks in the door. He cracks up. "My darling, why are you singing that?"

"Eight bottles of beer on the wall, eight bottles...oh, hello, dear! Did you say something?" She gets up from the rocking chair and greets him with a hug. Leaning towards his ear, she whispers, "I've been trying to keep my sanity by helping Charles lose his."

He shakes his head. "You're too much. Don't you think the poor guy's got enough problems?"

"You try walking in my shoes and see if you don't think I could do a lot worse."

"After my day, it doesn't sound like a half bad idea." He kisses her on the cheek, and takes a seat in the recliner. "I finally had my meeting with our neighbor." Rembrandt removes his shoes.

Charles walks into the living room. He's holding a small scrap of paper. "I thought I heard you come in, Sir."

"I didn't call you." Rembrandt pulls off his socks.

"I know, Sir, but..."

Rembrandt looks up. "Good-bye, Charles."

"But, Sir..."

"Take the night off, Charles."

Charles pauses. He pulls the piece of paper close to his chest. "I haven't even prepared dinner yet, Sir."

"We'll handle it." Rembrandt stares at him. The guy didn't seem to get the hint. If he did, he sure wasn't moving as fast as he should be. "Good-bye, Charles. We'll see you in the morning." Rembrandt's eyes follow him until he walks out the front door. Once the door slams shut, he relaxes. "Where was I?"

"You met with the General..." Wade sits down on the couch, near the recliner.

He smiles. "Oh, yeah. I take it you haven't met him."

Wade shakes her head. "Hearing about him has been more than enough."

"Well, let's just say that General Arturo doesn't fall far from the rest of them."

"Arturo?" She bites her upper lip. It surprises her, yet it doesn't. Neither does Rembrandt's muted expression as he relays to her the news.

Rembrandt nods. "Meanwhile, our brilliant friends decided to capitalize on this, and the Professor tried to pass himself off as the General for the sake of saving a few bucks on the room."

"You found them?" After making it almost completely through Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer completely sober, even Wade's nerves were a bit touchy. She had no idea what to do for entertainment after she finished that. By his arrival home, Rembrandt rescued her from boredom potentially setting in. Things would be so much better if Quinn was here instead, but at this point, any company is better than none. Or Charles.

"Not exactly. The General somehow got wind of this..."

Wade scratches her head. "How?"

"These shots from a couple of surveillance cameras. I guess paranoia is at the same level here as home. When they caught the Professor at the motel, I guess they checked around to see if any uniform's matching his had been sold recently, which wasn't that hard to do, especially considering Arturo's size..."

"Rembrandt!" She tosses a pillow at him.

He ducks. "You would have said it if I didn't."

She shrugs. "Well..."

"True?"

Wade sighs, smiling. "Well, yeah. But that's beside the point."

Rembrandt nods. "Anyway, because of all that, now I have orders to kill them."

Wade's face drops. She glances at Rembrandt, and they both start laughing. "Remmy, you make one lousy leader."

"Lucky them." He smiles. "So, how was your day, outside of tormenting the help?"

She sighs. "Same old, same old."

"Come on, you must have done something besides what I interrupted, or else you would have emptied the wall out hours ago." Rembrandt laughs.

"I didn't want to bore you with the details of my day."

Rembrandt raises an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know." Wade shrugs. "I sort of messed up."

He shifts in the chair. "Huh?"

"I forgot I'm not supposed to be able to read."

Rembrandt leans back into the chair, and its foot rest pops out. Turning to his right, he holds up three fingers in front of Wade's face. "How many fingers?"

"Five."

"Oh, no..." He waves his hand in front of her eyes.

She grabs it. "Three of which you're holding up. The point being?"

"You can still see."

Wade rolls her eyes. "I can't believe you. How could you think I couldn't only *now*? That should be a little more obvious, wouldn't you think? Or have you passed your thought quota for the day?"

"Keep talking like that, and I'll turn you in!" Rembrandt winks.

She laughs until his words sink in. "You mean that's true? About them blinding you over that?"

He nods. "They wanted me to watch them take care of some today, but I told them I needed to catch up on things first. I guess some of the other officers get some kind of sick pleasure scorching women's eyes. The whole idea disgusts me."

Wade isn't sure how to broach the subject she needs to be broaching. There is no easy way to do it. Luckily Remmy seems to be in a good mood. That should help her case. "What do you think of Maia?"

"I dunno." Rembrandt pops the chair back into its upright position. "Heard more about her from you and him than I expected to. It's not like I've actually had the chance to get to know her myself." He wonders what the point of this is. This isn't a world where he could get the opportunity to form an opinion about her. Even if he wanted to. "Barely even saw her."

"I think she should come with us."

-------------------

The General sits in his office. He should turn the light on, but the darkness suits him better. His mood clashes with the light. He grabs the desk lamp, and flings it against the nearby wall. He'll have to remember to call the janitor to clean up the mess.

Too bad there aren't janitors to clean up the mess that is his life. The mess centered around a woman. A woman drove him to this. A woman drove him out of the security he should feel in his home. The woman who supposedly loved him had the audacity to treat him with such disrespect and callousness.

If anyone found out about it, he could never show his face in public.

He can not stand for this. If he did, that would equate to her winning. A woman in a position above a man? Impossible! No respectable man could allow for such heresy to take place under his own roof. Even if the moon shines, she should call it the sun if he should say that is indeed what it is.

She has taken it past a level of reason. The action she took was deliberate. Most men who end up in this position have limited options. Fortunately, he isn't most men.

There is only one option to take at this point.

----------------------------

Rembrandt laughs hard. "You have got to be kidding."

"It's not that funny an idea." She stands up, and walks in front of the recliner. Looking at him like a disapproving parent, she puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot in time with her rising pulse.

The woman is insane. Does she honestly think...he looks into her eyes. He sighs. She does. "Girl, I can't even believe you are thinking it. They're never going to go for it again. She ain't exactly someone who could survive..."

"That's where you're wrong. I thought that, too, but that girl is smart. She deserves better than what she got."

Rembrandt grins. "Well, obviously. What does that have to do with us?"

Wade isn't amused. "Just because this world never gave her a chance doesn't mean we have to do the same."

"Look, I know the two of you got tight here, and explaining it to her is going to be hard..."

"It sure beats lying to her." She cracks her knuckles.

He rolls his eyes. "She can't even read."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Wade watches his smile grow with satisfaction. She crosses her arms. "We can teach her."

"You're not going to drop this, are you?"

"Nope."

"My opinion isn't the only one that matters." Rembrandt taps his foot. This argument is wearing thin. The topic is beginning to bore him... "You'll have to talk to Q-ball and the Professor." He pauses. "Does she know? About Arturo?"

Wade sighs. "No. How could she? I didn't, until you told me just now. It's not like I would tell her about all this before running it by you first."

He smiles. "And all this time I thought you'd make such a lousy wife..."

She slaps him. "Shut up. This has nothing to do with that, and you know it. The way I see it, the Professor could be a good thing for her. Sure, it would be a bit scary, but at least it would bring some familiarity to it. Besides, then she could see he's not always a bad guy..."

Rembrandt gives her a look. "Well..."

"You know what I mean." Wade smiles.

Maia and Tyler exchange glances. Sunlight casts shadows across the kitchen table, where the General sits, eating a mushroom omelet. The two had been afraid to so much as speak this morning, considering the volatile evening that just ended. Looking at him, neither would have guessed this was the same quick tempered man they were used to having around. It's as if he pulled a Quinn2* on them.

"Darling, you've hardly touched your breakfast this morning. Would you like Tyler to fix you something different?" He touches her hand.

She pokes at her omelet. "I'm not very hungry this morning, my darling. I take it you slept well?" Something had to be behind this sudden showering of affection. Maia can't remember the last time he wanted to have breakfast with her, much less doted on her through it. It's almost nauseating.

The General smiles. "Tyler, could we have some time alone?"

"Certainly, sir." He exits the room, sensing something decidedly rhubarb** about this whole thing with the General.

Maia cuts up her eggs with her fork. "Out with it."

"Out with *what*?" He rubs the back of her hand with his fingers.

She doesn't like this. It's too strange. "What's going on with you, my dear?"

"I'm not sure what you mean..."

"What I mean is since when do you care what I think or what I do?" She taps the plate with her fork.

He smiles. "I never realized how badly I've treated you over the years. I'd like to turn over a new leaf, if you will, regarding us."

Maia wants to laugh. She takes a deep breath. "Meaning..."

"So help me, I will never do anything to intentionally hurt you again." His fingers lightly touch her cheek.

"Never ever?" She raises an eyebrow.

He nods. "I will never ever personally harm you again in any way, shape or form."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"As I do you, my darling." She stares at her omelet, hoping he doesn't notice her sneer.

----------------------

The headache must have finally went away when he died.

Rembrandt sighs. He opens his top desk drawer, wondering exactly what someone like himself would keep on hand. Anthony said everything in his office was exactly the way he left it. How exciting. Nothing but pens and paper clips. A lot of paper clips. He picks one up out of the glossy smoke colored organizer. One rises from the container within his fingers, followed by another, and another. A chain. Rembrandt laughs. "Guess some things are the same all the way around."

He opens the bottom drawer to his right. A Case Logic. "YES!" He unzips the black vinyl cover to examine his double's compact disc collection. His face drops. It isn't that he doesn't recognize the artists or the titles. It just wasn't what he wants to hear right now. "Mozart, Mendel, Strauss...man, you've been hanging around the General a little *too* long." Pulling out a disc of Beethoven's symphonies, he notices a piece of paper in the case. His eyebrows crinkle. Rembrandt lifts the case from the drawer, and takes each disc out. The corner of a white sheet of paper pokes through the vinyl casing. He tugs at the plastic dividers. They easily come out. A small flap catches his eye. Slipping his hand into it, he removes several small sheets of paper and some photographs. He glances at the pictures first.

The tears flow before he can stop them.

------------------

Wade watches Maia embroider. She hasn't said much today. Something strange is going on. Wade can't figure out exactly what it is. Watching her work is rather fascinating. Harassing Charles has gotten old. If she doesn't find something new to occupy her time with, she would inevitably start thinking about Quinn, and under the circumstances, it isn't the healthiest thing for her to be doing. Hanging around Maia has got to be a better choice. She focuses on the needle weaving in and out of the fabric. It amazes her how fast her friend is able to stitch. No thimble, either. "What are you making?"

"A pillow, I think." Maia uses her left hand to rotate the embroidery hoop.

"You think?"

Maia smiles. "Don't worry. There will be a purpose for it once it's finished."

"That sounds familiar." Wade shakes her head. "Does it at least have a name?"

"It's a window." Maia carefully turns it around. "What do you think?"

Wade gasps. The stitching is dark and circular, almost spinning. She can almost hear the air rushing from the wormhole...no, it's just a picture. Shaking her head, she stops to rub her eyes. She blinks. "This is too weird..."

"That's what Tyler said. 'Ain't nothing like no window I ever seen', or so he says." Maia sighs, running her hand over the design. "But for some strange reason, it does kind of seem to fit, don't you think?"

The resemblance is uncanny. Something is going on. There's no way she could have known about it. "Yeah, you could say that..."

"Wade, is something the matter? You look awfully pale..."

She shakes her head. "I'm fine."

"You're thinking about leaving again, aren't you?" Maia stares at her. "Well?"

Not now. Wade closes her eyes. She wants to contemplate the window/wormhole business. She wants to figure out how Maia could possibly know about it. She wants to speculate about the General being a Slider. She wants to predict whether this is even a significant plot point or not. But she can't. Maia wants answers, and not about this. It isn't supposed to be like this. It shouldn't be this stressful. She shrugs. "I don't want to talk about it, all right?"

"You made a promise to me."

"I know."

"So you can't leave without me."

Wade pauses. "No, I can't leave without telling you first. Big difference."

Maia digs through a nearby basket, retrieving a spool of green thread. Her hands tremble as she attempts to thread the needle.

"That's not embroidery floss."

"Who asked you?" She throws the spool across the room. The needle lands straight in the carpet, looking like an eccentric flag. "You probably don't even know what you call it!"

"What you call what?" Wade would call it funny.

Maia grabs the floss. She flaps the bundle in the air, towards Wade. "This. You don't know what it's called, do you?"

"A skein."

She looks at the label. "You must have cheated..."

"I did manage to learn some things from my mother, believe it or not." Wade smiles.

Maia gets up to retrieve the needle. "You're still skirting the issue."

Wade laughs. She wishes Maia would, too. "Look, you don't understand all..."

"I understand that you ran. I understand that you are here, now. I understand that somehow between all those years you were able to achieve things I never dreamt possible. Isn't that enough?"

"Can't we talk about something else?" The whole topic is making Wade uncomfortable. Again. She almost wishes she could be bored at home with Charles. She really wishes she could trade places with Quinn right now.

Maia puts her handiwork away. "Okay...how about you tell me all about it, then. So I can understand all of it." She smiles cattily.

Wade's head falls into her hands. "How many times do I have to tell you that you couldn't possibly understand why you shouldn't have gone to begin with?"

Maia pauses a moment, trying to comprehend whatever Wade's trying to say. After running it through her head a few times, she gets it. "Why not?"

"You really want to know?"

Maia nods.

"Fine." Wade takes a deep breath. She gets up and paces; her frustration making her restless. "A week ago, I could have passed you along the street without a second glance because we've never met until then. For all I know, the Wade you knew is dead and buried and had you went with her, your carcass would probably be rotting right alongside of hers. How's that?"

The color drains from Maia's face. She catches herself rocking. "This isn't funny."

"It's not a joke. Look, I didn't want to tell you, but I couldn't handle watching you beat yourself up over a decision that was probably a wise one on your part." Wade sits down next to her, and hugs her.

"But if you're not Wade..."

"That's just it. I am Wade. Just not the one you knew. I'm from another Earth." She looks to Maia for some sort of reaction. There is none. At least, no reaction she can detect. Although, given the woman's background, Wade realizes this might just be beyond her understanding.

Maia knows that Wade doesn't think she understands. Even Maia herself can't believe that it makes as much sense as it does. Maybe she's remembering things she's overheard over the years from the men in her life. Her husband certainly would have brought something like this up in his line of work. To make this sort of discovery could make him the new national hero. He lives for this type of thing.

Wade wants Maia to do something besides sit like a zombie. "I warned you this might be too much to absorb..."

"I get it." Maia sighs, looking up at Wade.

She pauses. "You do?"

Nodding, she begins to speak, but stops herself. A smile slowly appears while her eyes widen. "Wait a second. The window..."

"Exactly. Me and my friends..."

"When do you leave?" Hope returns to Maia's face.

Wade cringes, sensing what her friend hopes for. "I can't. They won't let me. You have to understand."

"No, you have to understand." Maia drops her voice. "I have to get out of here. Something's going on and I don't like it one bit."

"That's what life is about!"

Maia shakes her head. "Something weird. My husband isn't himself lately."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's like he's a completely different person."

Wade smirks. "He hasn't taken to wearing sunglasses, has he?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Maia raises an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Wade sighs. "I doubt anyone with televisions would, so why should I expect *you* to get it?" She needs to watch less television.

"I could get it if you take me somewhere I could watch it."

"Don't I wish," Wade sighs. "I leave tomorrow, Maia. I asked Rembrandt about it, and he's not going for it. If I can't even convince him, there's no way I could talk the others into it."

Maia's getting desperate. "If you don't let me come with you, so help me, I'll tell my husband."

"He won't believe you."

She bites her lip. "He will if I tell him who you are. If you...if Wade was really killed, he would know."

Wade's heard some pretty feeble threats, but Maia's threats are so weak they depress her. "Is it worth the beatings?"

"It will be if an end's in sight."

"And if an end isn't?"

"If I come with you, I won't be with my husband, will I?"

Wade shakes her head. "That's what you think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I slide with his double." She crosses her arms, and watches Maia's face drop.

That's a detail she hadn't been expecting. "Oh."

Wade sighs. "Exactly."

---------------------

The General walks into Rembrandt's office. He salutes. "Good morning, Commander."

"If you say so." Rembrandt folds his hands on the desk. "Would you mind explaining this to me?" He pushes some papers towards the General.

Arturo picks up the papers, and smiles. "I'm surprised you even have to ask."

"Please tell me this is some sort of mistake." Rembrandt gestures to the General to sit down.

He does. "No mistake, Commander."

"These are orders for me to kill your wife."

The General shakes his head. "Nowhere in there does it say you have to do it, Commander. I just want it done."

Rembrandt glares at him. "You make me sick. Who do you think you are that you can just rub out your woman on a whim?"

"Just following your example, Commander."

"Excuse me?" If he thought about doing something bad to Wade on purpose, the others would strand him here like that. Who knows what Q-ball would do if death orders went out on her.

"Still playing the noble war hero?" Arturo smiles at him. "Or did you conveniently forget what it was that made you promote me to this office?"

Rembrandt nearly asks the General to refresh his memory, until he lets his mind linger a bit longer on the other half of the conversation. If this Arturo is insinuating what Rembrandt thinks he is...sighing, he realizes that now he's just sick. "I guess war makes you forget a lot of things."

"Indeed." The General nods, picking up the photos. "She's such a beautiful woman, and she was such a wonderful wife. Too bad paradise eventually comes to an end."

A divorce would be so much nicer. Too bad they didn't have such things here. Rembrandt hates this. Because something like a divorce could possibly benefit a woman, all this melodrama. Always some conservative group insisting that making divorce legal would empower women. No one wants that. So the laws never change, and things like this happen. Wade would have a fit if she heard about this. Wait. Wade... "General, while I realize this situation is a top priority for you, need I remind you that there is someone running around San Francisco impersonating you for his benefit? It could be harmless, or it could be a couple of secret agents trying to infiltrate our government!"

"Well, that is true, but certainly all of these problems should be taken care of at once."

Rembrandt smiles. He knew all that Rocky and Bullwinkle would pay off sooner or later. "However, by taking care of these spies, the reporters will be too busy praising us for our efforts to notice that your lady of the house has disappeared!"

Arturo nods. "I never thought about it that way, but you're right. I'll send out the order, Commander." He walks towards the door. "Then again, watching those two felons suffer a hideous death might make my problems pale by comparison. Good day, sir."

As he leaves the room, Rembrandt collapses onto his desk. "That wasn't what I had in mind."

--------------

A pounding at the motel room door awakens Quinn. Jumping out of bed, he glares at Arturo, still sleeping soundly. He has no idea how the Professor could sleep through that racket. It's not like he's doing anything exhausting on this slide. It's not like he's doing *anything* on this slide. Quinn shakes his head. He looks out of the peephole, and blinks. This has got to be a dream. He rubs his eyes and looks again. Nothing changes. "Professor!" He stumbles to the bed Arturo sleeps on, and nudges him. "Professor, we've got to get out of here!"

Arturo slowly opens his eyes. He hears the boom of the door being burst open, and sees Quinn pulled further away from his view. A gun is pointed at his head. "Good heavens, what is going on here?"

The soldier presses the gun harder into Arturo's forehead. "You are an enemy of this government. I hope your lives have been good." He laughs.

--------------------

Rembrandt sits in bed. His head is still spinning around the day's events. The amount of pressures his double lived through make death seem like a pleasant vacation. He hears the bathroom door open. "Only one more day, my dear."

"Must you call me that even when we're alone? It's bad enough you hog all the covers at night." Wade gives him a playful shove as she climbs into bed next to him.

"Hey, did I say anything about that dream of yours the other night?" He smiles, ribbing her back.

"What dream?"

His giggles erupt into laughter. "The one you were pretty vocal about. The one you decided to get a little friendly with me over. Until I kicked you."

Wade blushes. "The boredom must have been getting to me."

Wade hopes he conveniently forgets about that. Soon. The last thing she wants is him flapping his jaws about this once they get out of this world. It's bad enough she even dreamt such things, but to have Rembrandt around to remind her about it is more than she wishes to deal with. "Is everything a go for tomorrow?"

"Pretty much. At least, I hope so." He scoots down further under the covers, letting his head sink into the fluffy down pillow.

She sighs. "I can't wait for this slide to be over."

He nods. "You're telling me!"

"There's only one thing, though."

"Which is?"

"Maia."

Rembrandt stares at the ceiling. She's the last thing he wants to discuss now. He feels rotten enough as is without the Wade Welles guilt trip. "What about her?"

"I told her. She wants to come."

"Fine." He didn't have the energy to debate this anymore. Between her and the General, he must have met his debating quota for life.

Wade shakes him. "Are you awake?"

"Quit it!" He shoves her back. "Yes, I'm awake, and yes, I think you're right. She needs to come with us."

"What changed your mind?" It isn't like Remmy to be so quiet. He seems almost moody.

He sighs. "Look, I've had a really long day with a lot of time to think about a lot of things. One of them was her situation, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized you're right."

Maybe he's just tired. Maybe the topic bores him. She couldn't see why. If Quinn were here, he'd listen to her. She rolls over. Who is she kidding? He'd go into the same tired speech about why they couldn't bring her because it isn't their job to save every person they get attached to in a slide, and how it could mess up the world order back home with their double and yadda yadda yadda. Not like it's been known to stop Quinn. Of course, if it's his idea, there's no question of the legitimacy of the need to bring a person along. But if it's her idea, that's another story. Why is she complaining about Rembrandt again? She stifles a laugh. "What about the others?"

"I'll back you up on it." Rembrandt pulls the covers closer to his neck.

She leans on his arm. "Thanks, Remmy. It means a lot to me."

"I know." He yawns. "I don't know about you, but I need to hit the hay. Tomorrow is gonna be one long day."

Wade smiles. "Goodnight, my dear."

--------------------

"We're dead. I don't believe this." Quinn paces the tiny cell in the basement of the government building.

Arturo sits on the lower bunk. "You should have just kept the job."

Quinn grabs the bars of the cell. "Death due indirectly by working for Hurley. I should have seen this one coming." The bars clang after he hits his head against them.

"If you're lucky, it'll happen down here so you can die in your favorite environment."

"Very funny, Professor."

"One has to keep their sense of humor during times of trial." Arturo leans back into the bed.

Quinn shakes his head. "I didn't know you had one."

"And how was it you were planning on passing my class?"

"Like that matters now." Quinn sighs. "What do you think gave us away?"

"Your inability to correctly fit me in a uniform?"

Quinn rolls his eyes. "If I'm lucky, you'll be the one killing you."

----------------------

Maia pounds on the door. Charles opens it with a scowl. "Come in, madam." He escorts her into the living room.

Wade is folding blankets. "Good morning. You're here early."

"Why are you doing that?" Maia looks on, a bit puzzled. Folding isn't something a woman of her stature should be doing.

She smiles. "I was bored, so I unfolded all of them so I could refold them."

"You need to find yourself a hobby."

"It was either this or thinking about the inevitable." Wade shrugs. "Besides, I just need to last a few more hours. Why are you here so early?"

Maia shrugs. "My husband wanted to get into the office early. Something happened last night that he needed to take care of as soon as possible."

"That's funny. Mine said the same thing." She hates talking this way, but with Charles around she didn't have much of a choice. The one good thing that came out of Rembrandt's little fist fest had to be the fact Charles pretty much leaves her alone now. He sometimes jots things down, but he never says a word to her about her behavior. If Charles tries to tell Rembrandt anything, it gets entertaining. Rembrandt doesn't care about anything Charles has to say. Technically, she could say anything she wants right now, but she doesn't want to make Maia incredibly uncomfortable.

"Hmmm. Must be something big."

Wade nods. "Any idea?"

Maia pauses. "I believe he said something about possible security problems on the phone. A couple of people that needed to be taken care of."

"A couple of people?" It can't be. Rembrandt is supposed to have this under control.

"Yeah. That's all I know." She notices the concern in Wade's eyes. "Wait, you don't think it's..." She drops her voice, remembering she isn't in her house. "You don't think it's your friends, do you?"

---------------------

A soldier brings Quinn and Arturo into a large office. Flags stand behind a large oak desk. The chair is turned towards the window. They shift uncomfortably as the soldier salutes. "Sir, I've brought the spies here, as you asked."

A hand waves him away. He's taken aback. "But sir, they are only handcuffed and shackled. I'm not sure..." The hand smacks the corner of the desk, the leather glove dulls the repetitive bang. Shoulders slumping, he places his gun and the key to the locks down in front of the chair. "Sir, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I sure hope you know what you're doing." The gun is picked up. "I'm sorry, sir...I'm leaving now. Do what you will." He glares at the two prisoners, and walks out of the room.

Quinn winces. He notices the chair turning towards him. Under his breath, he mutters, "Professor, I never thought it would end like this."

"Have faith, my boy," Arturo hisses back. "It could be me sitting there."

"We're doomed."

Arturo rolls his eyes. "General, there appears to be some sort of misunderstanding."

The chair spins around. Rembrandt smiles, tapping his fingers on the table. "First off, I'm not a General, but a Commander. Secondly, if I were the General, you'd both be mincemeat by now." He gets up, taking the key and unlocking the handcuffs and shackles.

"Rembrandt?" Quinn glances his friend over. As far as he is concerned, Rembrandt looks every bit like the intimidating militarian a Commander should be.

"Of course it's me. Who else could I be? The only way I could get you two found without anyone suspecting something was to say you two were a danger to national security. It helped having your double where he was, even if he is a pompous jerk..."

"Not a word, Mr. Mallory." Arturo growls.

Quinn grins. "You did give us a good scare, but I must admit you came through in the nick of time. Where's Wade?"

"Where do you think?"

Arturo stares at him. "Mr. Brown, are you trying to tell us she's not here?"

"Of course she's not here. You don't just bring your wife to work with you without people getting suspicious. Don't worry. I've got a plan."

"Oh, dear god," Arturo groans.

Rembrandt sneers. "Need I remind you what will happen if I call the General? Look, I know the way things work around here and I've figured out how to get us out of here without anyone suspecting a thing."

"Professor, he's right. We have to trust he knows what he's doing because at this point it isn't like we have a lot of options." Quinn rubs his wrists.

"Thanks, Q-ball. Since time's running out, let's get the two of you back into the handcuffs and..."

"Are you nuts?" Arturo bellows to Rembrandt.

Quinn sighs. "Professor..."

Arturo scowls, but puts the shackles back on and then the handcuffs. Once he and Quinn are done, Rembrandt picks up the gun from the desk. "Whatever you do, don't move," he whispers. He fires the gun.

Quinn and Arturo's eyes are wide with disbelief. They are too frightened to breathe. Logically, they shouldn't be. Rembrandt wouldn't do anything to them. Shooting the gun at the ceiling must be a part of the plan. They hope Rembrandt knows what he is doing. Within moments, a handful of guards burst into the room. The General follows behind them. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing, General. Just following your directions regarding the...silencing of this problem, if you will." Rembrandt's eyes show nothing. No emotion whatsoever.

General Arturo eyes his double, and the young man with him. "Guards, you are excused." He watches them exit, the last one closing the door behind him. "Commander, you know you can't expect to rid our country of this problem in this manner."

"If I take them somewhere, the way you would prefer, how can I be sure the security issues won't be breached?"

He turns his back to the prisoners. "There is an unmarked car with untraceable plates. You have the keys in your set."

"And as for the where?"

"Wherever you like so long as it's well covered up." He smiles at Rembrandt.

He smiles back. "Indeed. Forgive my indiscretion. I suppose I was a bit overzealous about this." Rembrandt can not believe that this Arturo isn't questioning any of this. Apparently, doubles can fall far from the genetic tree, given the right societal situation.

The General nods. "It's understandable. You've been away a long time. It's expected some things would have slipped your mind over time. Good day, Commander."

"As to you, General." Rembrandt nods. "Well, it appears we have a little excursion to attend to, gentlemen." He winks at them as he leads them out of the room.

--------------------

Rembrandt leads Quinn and Arturo to his front door. He hates having to keep them in handcuffs. It's the only way he could leave with them, and drive a vehicle himself. As far as the officials know, he's off to off them. They understand, and that's the main thing.

Quinn is impressed. The house is practically a mansion. Rembrandt took to the role his double had in this world with surprising grace. He actually seemed at ease with it all for the entire time they talked about it on the way over. Quinn never suspected his friend had it in him to be that sort of leader. "Come on, Rembrandt..."

"You know, for somebody who could be *this* close to being dead, you sure ain't all that grateful about it." Rembrandt opens the door, and leads them in. "I told the help to take the night off. Didn't want to make things any harder than necessary."

"Darling, is that you?" Wade's voice passes through the kitchen door.

Quinn and Arturo exchange looks. They laugh.

Rembrandt glares at them. "Did Charles leave?"

"He said you gave him the night off."

"Is he gone?"

"Yes," Wade replies.

Rembrandt sighs, relieved. "Did he give you my message? About our guests?"

"Sort of...people coming over to fix the busted glass door or something like that. Kept saying it was about time that got fixed..." Wade pauses as the clinking of metal echoes from the kitchen. "Charles baked some things for me to serve."

"For you to serve?" Rembrandt shouldn't laugh. It isn't like Charles would have trusted Wade cooking in his kitchen.

"Of course, darling." Wade pushes the kitchen door open with her back, carrying a tray of cookies. "It is my honor and duty to serve you. But you already knew that, my love..." Her voice trails off as she sees Quinn and Arturo. "Why didn't you just say it was *them*, Rembrandt!" She glares at the man she just spent the last few minutes unnecessarily glorifying.

Arturo groans. "You could sound a bit more enthused about our arrival."

"Yes, my *love*..." Quinn smirks.

"If I knew I spent the entire afternoon getting all this food ready for you two, I wouldn't have bothered." Her face drops.

Rembrandt smiles. "I thought Charles did the cooking."

"Did I say anything about cooking? Come on, Charles would have died of a hissy fit." She puts the tray down on the coffee table and greets each of them with a hug.

Arturo and Quinn are interested in other things. They start eating. "Hey, Wade, you should eat what you can in the next few minutes before the window. What else you got?" Quinn asks.

"I'm not hungry." Wade shakes her head. "Trays of sandwiches in the kitchen if you like. There's only one thing, guys."

Rembrandt walks towards the kitchen. "Have fun."

"What happened to backing me up on this?" She didn't want to do this alone. Besides, he did promise her he would help...

He smiles. "Excuse me, but these two nearly got themselves killed for being too cheap to pay for their room. I think I've done my good deed for the day. You handle this on your own."

Quinn glances at Wade. "Handle *what* on your own?"

Wade pauses. "Arturo's wife. I want her to come with us."

"To make my double miserable?" Arturo asks. This hardly seems fair. Leave it to the girl to make decisions that would negatively impact everyone's life but hers. Well, at the very least, it would negatively impact *his* life.

"Look, your double beats the tar out of her just because he can get away with it. She knew my double, and kept going on about how she should have tried to leave like I did. Come on, odds are I'm dead here, and I couldn't live with myself if I let her go on believing that it's in her best interest to leave. So I tried to talk some sense into her, but she didn't listen, so I kind of slipped up. I had to explain, and she really wants out."

Quinn takes her hand. "We vowed we'd never do this again for a reason. If we get home with her, who's to say she isn't already living there? It would upset the balance. Besides, what are the odds she could survive under the stress this brings?"

"She's really smart, even though she isn't educated. If she was, maybe she could help us get home. You never know unless you try. Half the worlds we've been to would be better for her than this one. It would be like she isn't completely abandoning her husband, either."

Rembrandt nods. "I'll say this much. If she ran around with Wade as a kid, she can't be all that bad as a Slider. Her husband does treat her like crap, and Q-ball, she's one hot mama."

"You're not helping, Rembrandt." Wade rolls her eyes.

He laughs. "You want her to come, or not?"

"Professor? Your thoughts?" Quinn doesn't want to say what he thinks if he doesn't have to.

Arturo shakes his head. "We did make a vow. If we tried to save every lost soul in every world we've visited, there would be disastrous effects."

Wade bites her lip. "I promised her I wouldn't leave without her. I promised..."

"It's not like you knew her before this, right?" Quinn asks.

She sighs. "No...but it felt like I've known her for years. It's the strangest thing..."

Quinn shrugs. "Not really. You could have known her and just not known it."

"We have a connection. I can't put it into words. It's just there. I can't abandon her like this, knowing what I do." Wade sighs.

"You're welcome to stay on," Arturo remarks.

She groans. "I think not. But if those are my only options, I guess there's only one thing for me to do." Wade feels like she's losing her best friend. She didn't mean to get attached. She just did. "I have to tell her. She...she was going to meet us in about...actually, right now. I'll go out and see..."

"We slide in four minutes," Arturo reminds her.

She nods. "Some help you were, Rembrandt." Cursing under her breath, she scurries out the door. She spots Maia walking into view. "I was just looking for you." "I figured." Maia has been putting this off, and by the looks of Wade, she should have done it sooner. "We have to talk."

Wade nods. "I know."

"Me first." Maia takes a deep breath. This isn't a conversation she's been looking forward to having with Wade. "I've thought about what you told me about you, and even asked my husband a bit about it. Don't worry, nothing he'd suspect or anything like that. It just wouldn't be right based on my understanding of it."

Wade isn't sure she heard right. "You don't want to come with us?"

"I'd love to, but I can't. I'd be messing with other Maias out there, and well, once you find your way home, who's to say there will be a place for someone like me? Our worlds are so different." Maia wonders why Wade is staring the way she is. She puts her arms around Wade, hugging her tightly. "But I am thankful for the offer."

"Why don't you come in? That way, you can thank them yourself. Find out your husband isn't always as bad everywhere..." Wade smiles.

Maia nods. "I'd like that."

They walk into the house. The three men are huddled around the timer. Wade clears her throat. "There's someone I'd like all of you to meet." She and Maia walk toward them.

Arturo and Quinn pause, looking the woman over. They know what Wade means. She does seem very familiar, yet not because they recognize her. Arturo extends his hand first. "I believe you know Mr. Brown," he begins. She nods. He smiles. "As you do me, although personally we've never met." He shakes her hand. "It's nice to meet you..."

"Maia." She shakes his hand, grateful for the introduction. His touch feels familiar, yet not. There's a tenderness she never would have fathomed existed anywhere. "Maia..."

Quinn's face drops. He slowly extends his arm to her. "Mallory. Right?" When he told Wade this could be someone she knew and just didn't know she did, this isn't the scenario he had in mind. The implications are staggering.

She laughs. "No one's called me that in years. But yes, you're right."

"Are you ready?" Quinn asks her. As far as he knew, everything else...everyone else...has disappeared into nothingness. Time freezes for him...for this.

Maia shakes her head. "No. I'm not coming. It won't work."

"Yes, it will. I promise. I want you to come." If only so he can ask her how on Earth she ended up married to Arturo. The thought is enough to make Quinn shudder.

"But what about..."

Arturo interrupts. He thinks he's starting to understand the sudden change in his student's stance on this matter. If it is what he thinks it is, Miss Welles had no idea how accurate her assessment of the situation turns out to be. "Miss, do *you* want to join us? The decision is yours, but we don't want you declining out of a responsibility rather than your own desires."

"You actually care what I think?" The idea that any man, much less *this* man, could care about any opinion of hers is a concept she isn't accustomed to. But she has a feeling she could get used to it.

He nods.

Quinn checks the timer. "It's time." He activates it, opening the portal.

Rembrandt pats Maia on the shoulder. "Hope to see you on the other side. If not, you're about the only thing here I'll be missing." He kisses her on the cheek, and jumps in.

Arturo takes Maia's hand. "Have you decided?"

Maia nods. "Yeah. I'm...do you think he'll mind all that much, really?"

"The General?" Arturo laughs. "He'll be furious. I'm sure he'll get over it at some point. In fact, he'd probably be insanely jealous if he knew exactly where you went."

"Let's go before I chicken out again, right Wade?" Maia looks at her.

She smiles back. "I'll see you there."

Arturo jumps in, and Maia follows with hesitation.

Wade grabs Quinn's arm before he jumps in. "Hey, I had no idea, you know."

He turns around. "About?"

"What do you think?"

"You mean me and her?"

She nods. "I meant you *being* her."

"I know." Quinn smiles. "We'll have to talk about all of this in the next world. No time now. But from here on out, things are bound to get a bit wild." He jumps in.

Wade laughs. "Exactly."

The End

------------------------

End Notes

Note: The reason the following notes are here instead of Part Zero is because they would have been spoilers at the start of things.

This concludes the first story of a serial called The Maian Connection. All future stories I write for this serial will be marked as such in the subject heading of each part in addition to the Part Zero. Because I have designed this to be a *highly* chronological serial, I'm sure all that continuity in the saga will take some getting used to. :)

As this serial is of my creation, I beg and plead all of you to let it stay that way. :) Seriously, the characters and situations that are distinct to this serial shouldn't be used without my permission. While it is possible that I would allow someone else to write material for this offshoot of mine, it will be highly unlikely to happen, mainly because it is so highly structured and planned out that current plot action is usually very ahead of what's posting for it.

Don't worry, this is just a side project of mine. Not everything will fall into this premise, so everything that does is being marked as such for a reason. Also, because I'm in charge, it's highly likely everything happens for a reason. The other thing that will distinguish this effort from the other fanfic I do for Sliders is that this project will be a lot more character driven than even I usually do.

END

Please send any comments or suggestions regarding this project to me at kyrie@dnai.com.

*aardvark (v.), 1) to *u** things up, to **c* up, or to generally make a mess of a situation. 2) (slang) (alternate: to 'vark) used as a generic swear word in a wide variety of contexts.

[The original, "Forever Knight"-related, definition is "to Nick (i.e. botch) thing up."]

Many thanks to Bob Aardman for the official definition, and Wendy Kelley for throwing it into the story.

*Quinn2: behaving in a manner that is a drastic change from the expected; behaving like a completely different person. [from a typographical error by Wendy Kelley, with eventual definition and usage conceived by yours truly]

**rhubarb: to use lies and deceit regularly for desired personal gain and the believed appeasement of others. [from an inane Wade (not to be confused with the Slider) need to turn as many words into verbs or new words. I'll claim responsibility for the definition, but one of the others came up with the actual word to define.]