High Society (5/20)
zikzak23
See part zero for copyright info and general comments
SLIDERS: HIGH SOCIETY (5/20)
by Jules Reynolds and Nigel G. Mitchell
(August 1996)
(Ju...@wrenlea.demon.co.uk) (zikz...@pipeline.com)
PART FIVE
Wade followed the woman out of the police headquarters to the
heliport.
There were other police helicopters on the pad, but a new vehicle
waited in a space alongside them. It reminded Wade of a sort of car,
except that it had four tubular engines on its sides instead of
wheels. Whatever it was, it was obviously a luxury vehicle. Its
sleek lines
were painted a neon pink, except for the edges which were trimmed
with gold.
As they approached the vehicle, the woman by Wade's side
held out a small device like a beeper and said, "Doors open, please."
The winged doors of the vehicle swung upwards with a soft hum.
"All aboard, darling," the woman said as she strode to the
far side.
Wade looked into the vehicle's interior. It was the same shade
of pink with four seats that were incredibly soft. As Wade slid
into the passenger seat, she realized that there was no steering
wheel or obvious controls of any kind. The dashboard was
completely smooth.
The woman settled herself into the seat next to her and said,
"Doors close. Take me home."
The doors closed. Straps slid out of Wade's seat to hold her
in. The vehicle rumbled, then jets of air exploded out of the side-
engines. Wade grabbed hold of the dashboard as the vehicle
lifted off the ground.
She looked out of the side window, her mouth hanging open,
to watch the heliport slide away. The hovercraft was flying into
the clouds, among the high towers of San Francisco. The vehicle
made course changes as it flew without any apparent guidance
from the woman. Wade guessed the vehicle was on some
sort of voice-activated autopilot system.
Wade looked at the woman next to her. She was buffing her
nails with a file.
The woman gave her an exaggerated look of pity. "You've
been through a terrible ordeal, sweetie. Champagne?"
Before Wade could respond, the woman had repeated the
word at the dashboard. A hatch opened and two chilled glasses
of champagne slid out. Wade took one and drank a careful sip.
It was delicious.
She looked carefully at the woman, who was downing the
champagne like soda. "Who are you?"
The woman smacked her lips, holding her glass with her
pinky extended. "Grace Worthington, dear. And your name
is..."
"Wade Welles."
"Wade," Grace repeated. "What an absolutely charming
name. Caviar?"
Another hatch opened on the dashboard, and a bowl of
caviar slid out with two spoons.
"Uh, no thanks." Wade watched Grace help herself to
some of the caviar. "Uh, it's very...nice of you to take me
in like this."
Grace smiled around the spoon in her mouth, pulled it
out, and patted Wade's knee. "Nonsense, darling. It's what I
do. Charity is my life. I live to help those less fortunate than I,
especially those poor Downtowners."
Wade saw an opening to finding out more about this world.
She tried to sound casual as she struggled to come up with a
question that would tell her something more. "Yeah, it's
pretty bad down there, isn't it?"
"Indeed," Grace sighed. "But then, they do bring it all on
themselves. If they only had the strength of will to pull up
their bootstraps and get somewhere in life, then they wouldn't...
ah, here we are! Home sweet home."
The hovercraft was lowering itself onto another
helipad, this one beside a luxurious art-deco penthouse. The
vehicle was dropping through a hatch in a plastic dome that
covered the balcony. Rows of flowers danced as the vehicle
landed beside them.
When the hovercraft had landed with a series of
thumps, the doors swung upwards. The straps around Wade
retracted into the seat. She climbed out, her hair tousled
by the whining engines.
Grace was making her way through the garden-like
setting of the balcony, her hands making sweeping gestures
in the air. "Come along. Mi casa su casa, sweetie."
Wade followed her down a stone path to a set of
French doors. The doors swung open as Grace drew near
them, and a voice rang throughout the penthouse.
"The mistress of the house is home," the disembodied
voice said.
The penthouse was the most luxuriously decorated
place Wade had ever seen. Every piece of furniture matched
perfectly, forming smooth white lines that gave the living
room the appearance of being unified. Paintings hung on the
walls. Wade didn't need to be an art major to know were
extraordinary masterpieces. She walked on a carpet that her
shoes practically sank into.
A man walked out of one of the adjoining rooms. He
wore a tuxedo that was perfectly tailored to his muscular frame.
He was the second most handsome man Wade had ever seen.
The first had been the policeman who interrogated her earlier.
The man was holding a tray of glasses filled with wine.
Grace swept off one of the glasses and brought it to her lips
in one motion.
Ah, Charles," Grace said after a sip, "this is Miss Welles.
She'll be staying with us for a few days. Make up the
guestroom so she'll be comfortable."
The butler bowed. "Yes, madam."
Wade noticed the butler gave her a strange look before
walking off into another room.
Grace swept her hands to take in the penthouse. "Do you
like it?"
Wade looked up at a chandelier that almost dripped diamonds
from its wings. "It's...fantastic."
Grace clasped her hands over her chest. "Oh, I just knew
you'd like it, darling. It's not much, I know, but we get by.
But come, come, you simply must see the rest of the place.
And my dear family, of course."
She took Wade's hands in a firm grip and almost dragged
her towards another doorway. Throwing open the door
revealed another almost empty room. Its only content was
a small booth. Images swirled on the outside of the booth,
from which music and sounds were emerging.
Grace walked over to the booth and rapped on the side
with a ruby-ringed fist. "Oh, Brenda? We have a visitor."
A young woman's voice rang out from the booth. "Leave me
alone. Can't you see I'm busy?"
Grace's everpresent cheerful demeanor slipped a little
as she glanced at Wade with discomfort. But the smile returned.
"But sweetie, I've brought home a simply charming young lady.
She's going to be our guest."
The booth fell silent. A door Wade hadn't noticed on its
side flew open. A young eighteen-year-old woman leaned out of
it. With the door open, Wade could see that the interior of the
booth had images projected onto it. The effect made it seem as if
she was surrounded by a three-dimensional view of a street in
Paris.
The woman pulled a set of headphones out of her long,
blonde hair, and scowled. "Mother, this isn't another one of
your charity cases again, is it?"
* * *
Quinn returned to the real world slowly, gradually rising from
unconsciousness. There was a man leaning over him, shining a
penlight into his eyes. Quinn recognized him as the doctor who
had helped them before.
The doctor grinned. "Welcome back to the land of the
living, my friend."
Quinn tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lie back down
again. "How long...was I out?"
Arturo leaned into his field of vision. "Not long, my boy. A
few minutes."
The doctor turned away to dig through a medical bag. "You'll
be fine, son. Just relax. I've given you some medication that
should at least put you back on your feet."
Quinn nodded. "I...I do feel a little better." Relatively. The
vertigo had eased somewhat.
The doctor grunted and strode off across the room with his
bag. With his vision clearing, Quinn was able to see that his
bed was surrounded by coughing, groaning bodies. The doctor
moved among them swiftly, taking thermometers and pushing
pills into open mouths. Another woman with a red cross on her
coat was working with him, but the two were obviously
outnumbered.
Quinn looked up at Rembrandt and Arturo standing over him.
"What's going on?"
"TB epidemic," Rembrandt said. "Doc says it's runnin'
rampant down here."
"Yes," Arturo said. "And without adequate medical supplies,
these people have little hope of squashing it."
Quinn managed to sit up a little bit. "Have you guys figured out
anything about this place yet?"
"Just bits and pieces," Rembrandt said. "Snoopin' around,
tryin' not to ask too many dumb questions. Seems like the whole
city, maybe even the whole country, is one big slum on the
ground, but in the air's another story."
"They have names for it," Arturo said. "Down here is
called Downtown. Up at the top of those skyscrapers are a vast
network of penthouses that they call Uptown. Details are hazy
at best, but it seems that the poor live down here and the rich
live up there. But we haven't been able to find a discreet way to
get any more in-depth information than that."
Quinn pressed a palm against his forehead, feeling his cold
fingers against his hot skin. "Great. Any ideas on getting
Wade back?"
Arturo silenced him with a wave of his hand as the doctor
returned to Quinn's bed.
"All right," the doctor said, "I've got some time now.
What'd you want to talk to me about?"
"It is vitally important," Arturo said, "that we retrieve our
companion from Uptown. Soon. Very soon."
Quinn caught the urgency in his voice and stole a glance
at Rembrandt. Rembrandt caught his eye and shrugged. Quinn
remembered the timer. He also remembered he hadn't checked
how much time they had left in this world.
The doctor shook his head. "I told you people before,
from what you've told me, her abduction was a mistake. Your
friend was probably killed the minute they found out she
wasn't an Uptowner."
Rembrandt held out a hand. "Look, our buddy's real
resourceful. If there's a way to survive, she found it. So suppose
she did hang on up there. Is there any way we could get to her or
at least talk to her?"
The doctor shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. "Well...
there's only one group capable of getting into Uptown. The
Renegades."
"Renegades," Arturo said. "All right, is there a way we
can contact them?"
The doctor regarded the three men with narrowed eyes, then
shook his head. "Nah, you can't be spies. Even Uptowners
wouldn't be this obvious. All right, get your friend dressed.
I'll take you."
He strode off across the room, back into the suffering of
others. His partner stopped him to show him a series of
charts.
Quinn slid his legs off the bed and took the pants that Arturo
handed to him.
"You think we can trust this guy?" Rembrandt asked.
"We don't have much choice, Mr. Brown," Arturo said. "We
must recover Miss Welles, and at present, this man is our only
option."
Quinn buckled his pants, then braced himself on one of
the iron spikes that served as a bedpost. "Okay, guys, quit
holding out on me. How much time do we have before the
slide?"
Arturo and Rembrandt looked at each other. Rembrandt
closed his eyes. He pulled the timer out of his coat pocket. He
held it out to Quinn.
Quinn flipped open the cover to read the LCD display.
He stared at the numbers slowly counting down for a few
seconds. Then he closed the timer and handed it back to
Rembrandt.
"This is not good," Quinn murmured to himself.
"Now you see our urgency," Arturo said. "We must retrieve
Miss Welles within the next couple of days at least."
Quinn looked at Rembrandt, feeling exhausted from both his
injuries and the task thay lay ahead. "Did you mean what you
said, Remmy? About Wade being alive?"
Rembrandt rested a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Hey, man, you
know her. She can talk her way out of anything."
Quinn grinned. "Well, she can talk, that's for sure. Okay, let's
say she's still alive, maybe even found somewhere to stay.
But she can't fool them forever, and we've gotta get to her
before these Uptowner guys do."
"I'm with you, Q-Ball," Rembrandt said.
The doctor approached them, pulling a black coat over his white
clothes. "The Renegades run a soup kitchen in the Sunlight
District. It's not far from here, we can walk. One thing...if
you three are spies, then the Renegades will find out. And when
they do...they'll kill you."
The doctor turned and strode out of the medical clinic. Quinn
looked at the others, took a deep breath, and followed him out
of the door. Back into the shadows of Downtown.
to be continued...
zikzak23
From: Self <Single-user mode>
To: Julia <Peter&Ju...@wrenlea.demon.co.uk>
Subject: High Society 5/20 - final version (?)
Date sent: Tue, 31 Dec 1996 09:02:35
SLIDERS: HIGH SOCIETY (5/20)
PART FIVE
"Wade Welles."
to be continued...
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zikzak23
zikz...@nospamplease.com (zikzak23) wrote:
>From: Self <Single-user mode>
>To: Julia <Peter&Ju...@wrenlea.demon.co.uk>
>Subject: High Society 5/20 - final version (?)
>Date sent: Tue, 31 Dec 1996 09:02:35
I can't believe I left this in...ignore it, guys.
>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<
Nigel Mitchell
(zikzak23[at]pipeline[dot]com)
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