"Hello...Uncle."
  Rembrandt Brown had very little time to react to the presence of his nephew Darnell Brown. A yell threatened to make him deaf. A figure shot past him, tackling Brown.
  He knew who it was. Randy Heim...his nephew's student. He was also the person who Darnell almost killed. He wanted Brown dead now. He grabbed Darnell by the throat with one hand. On the other arm was a prosthetic. A long knife popped out of it. Randy aimed and drove it down.
  "Noo!"

  "Nooo!"
  "Remmy!"
  Rembrandt Brown opened his eyes. Quinn Mallory stood over his bed. He frowned at him.
  "I...I'm okay, Q-ball," Rembrandt said.
  "No, you're not," Quinn said. "This is the sixth night in a row. You know I could use some sleep--"
  "Maybe you should sleep in another room," Rembrandt snapped.
  "Rembrandt--"
  "Leave me alone!"
  "Rem--"
  Rembrandt rolled over in his bed. He felt Quinn's presence vanish. Eventually, he slept...dreaming terrors.

  "Yawning again?"
  Rembrandt turned around. Jared Heim approached him, his sidekick Ethan beside him. He knocked knuckles with Rembrandt.
  "Bad dream?" Ethan added.
  "I'm dealing," Rembrandt said, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked about the hotel room. "Where are the others?"
  One hotel door opened. Rembrandt turned to see Melissa Clark entering, adjusting her long trenchcoat. Behind her was an unshaven sullen looking Richard Hall. Rembrandt figured he was still recovering from Isabel's death. Good or bad, she was still a person. You just don't let that go.
  Another hotel room door opened. Rembrandt grinned. Quinn Mallory walked into the living area, time in hand. Randy Heim was behind him, adjusting something on his prosthetic arm. Rembrandt flinched a little, the memories of the dream still close to the surface.
  "You okay, Rembrandt?"
  Rembrandt snapped out of it. Quinn frowned at him. He managed a smile.
  "Yeah, Q-ball," he said. "That timer ready?"

  "Ah!" Rembrandt yelled, landing a little bit too roughly. Maybe he was just getting too old for this. He looked about him.
  They appeared to be in someone's parlor. Randy had knocked over an elaborate couch. One of the walls was aligned with books...that Melissa and Richard had caused to fall. The wormhole closed behind them.
  "So...how long?" Rembrandt asked.
  Quinn's head popped up near Randy.
  "Three days," Quinn announced. "How about--"
  A set of double doors swung open. Rembrandt looked over at the lady who had opened it. He recognized her as Debra King-Brown. Her eyes fell on him. She screamed.

WHAT IF YOU COULD LEAVE YOUR WORLD? WHAT IF YOU COULD SLIDE TO A DIFFERENT DIMENSION? PLACES WHERE YOU'RE THE SAME PERSON AND IT'S THE SAME YEAR, BUT EVERYTHING ELSE IS DIFFERENT?

A WORLD WHERE THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION IS IN FULL SWING?

OR

A WORLD WHERE EVOLUTION TOOK A DIFFERENT TURN AND EVERYONE HAS POWERS?

OR

A WORLD WHERE YOU ARE A SECRET AGENT?

FIVE YEARS AGO, MY FRIENDS AND I FOUND THE GATEWAY. NOW...ALL WE WANT IS TO GO HOME.

SLIDERS: ALTERNATE SPIN-SEASON 6
EPISODE 12: RECONSTRUCTED

  "Aaaaaaaaaahhhh!"
  Before Rembrandt could stop her, Debra was on him. Her arms wrapped around him in a big hug. Rembrandt stared at her. She giggled.
  "Uncle Remmy!" Debra exclaimed. "This is a pleasant surprise. Darnell told me you weren't able to come."
  "Well," Rembrandt said as he hugged her, his eyes on Quinn, "Things change."
  Quinn frowned back at him. Rembrandt pulled back from Debra. He managed a smile. She smiled back. Then she looked around, frowning.
  "Uh...who are your...associates?" Debra asked.
  "Just...uh...," Rembrandt started.
  "Just some students."
  Rembrandt looked over at Randy. He stood up, resetting the couch. Ethan was next to him, smiling.
  "Yeah," Ethan added. "Here to learn a little."
  "Well, that's...," Debra started.
  "Debra! Debra, I am..."
  A new figure entered the parlor. He paused at the door. Darnell Brown took in the whole scene before narrowing his eyes on Rembrandt and Debra.
  "...home," Brown said. "Get...out."

  "I don't like it."
  Quinn looked up from the bar. randy was in the stool next to him, leaning backward. He stared about the room.
  "Remmy did what was b--" Quinn started.
  "Not that," Randy said. "People are giving weird looks."
  Quinn nodded. They had already got to the Dominion...only to find there was no vacancy for 'them.' He wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant. Now after finding a motel, they sat in a bar...to get a bad vibe.
  "Perhaps we should find a library," Quinn suggested.
  "That's an idea," Randy commented.
  "So...how are the geniuses?"
  Quinn turned around. Jared headed for them, Ethan behind him. They looked oblivious to any eyeprints. Jared stood between the two of them.
  "Any ideas on how I can get home?" Jared asked.
  "Everything isn't about you," Quinn said.
  "Really?" Jared challenged. His eyes fell on Randy. "Would you like to say something? Or do you want another death on your head?"
  Randy frowned. Quinn was sure that his face matched. Ever since that disease world, Jared had been riding both of them to find a way to get him home. Isabel's death...and the constant danger was too much for him.
  "Hold on, Boss," Ethan said, walking over by Randy. "Randy...and Quinn are trying. Maybe you should back off."
  Jared looked at Ethan, jaw dropped. Quinn also did the same. Ethan usually acted as yes-man to Jared. On their world, Jared was the head of their gang...being sure they all stayed alive. Then the Kromaggs invaded, sending them to camps. He knew Randy and Ethan were close, but he never believe it would or could trump his loyalty to Jared.
  "What is this?" Jared demanded.
  Randy stood up, his back to Ethan.
  "This," Randy said, staring at his brother, "is nothing."
  Jared glared at Ethan. "Oh...it's something."
  "Boss--" Ethan started.
  Jared stormed over beside Quinn.
  "Beer!" Jared demanded.
  Quinn looked over at Ethan and Randy. Ethan stared at Jared, pain obviously on his face. What got Quinn's attention was the look on Randy's face. It was the kind of obvious uncomfortableness that came when someone was doing something wrong.
  He frowned. What was up?

  Melissa Clark sat in the chair, reading the newspaper. The water in the bathroom had stopped ages ago. Still, he had not come o--
  The bathroom door opened. Richard Hall stepped out, still wet from the shower. His long hair damp as he headed for the rawer in a towel.
  "Well, hey, sexy," Melissa said, grinning. "How about you come over here and--"
  Richard got to the drawer and grabbed a pair of boxers and pants. He said nothing to her. He stared back to the bathroom.
  "Richard!" Melissa snapped.
  Richard paused. He turned to face her, his face blank.
  "I killed someone...again," Richard said.
  "In the middle of a fight," Melissa said. "And let's be honest: Isabel had it c--"
  "But she shouldn't have been there really," Richard said. "If we had left her on her world, she would never had met the dark sliders. Never gone bad. Still be--"
  Melissa walked over to Richard. She grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her. His brown eyes looked so empty it made her heart hurt.
  "And what about Jared?" Melissa asked. "He was your friend. You wanted to help him get home. He wouldn't leave without her. Would you have left him there?"
  Richard frowned. "Well, is he any more closer to home now?" He backed away from her. "Maybe...yes, I'm saying it...Quinn was right. I should have left them both there. It was safer that way."
  "And she made her choice then...like she did now. She got what she deserved."
  "Maybe," Richard said. "And maybe we should have left well enough alone."
  Richard stepped back into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him. Melissa just stared at it, not sure what to do.

  Rembrandt stared at the man standing at the window. It had been months since he's seen his nephew Darnell Brown. The last time was at the slidecage with dreadlocks and an eerie calm as he took out the Kromaggs. This Darnell as more in keeping with the one he knew years ago. Dressed in a suit, glasses and beard, a short haircut, he was every bit the professor he had heard about.
  "You should not be here," Darnell said shortly.
  Rembrandt put his hands in his pockets.
  "Maybe you should have told Debra that," Rembrandt said.
  Darnell turned from the window, an eyebrow cocked.
  "Do you really think she will protect you?" Darnell asked, turning completely. "I want you gone before she returns."
  "Darnell--" Rembrandt started.
  "Do not push me," Brown snapped.
  "I'm sorry for--"
  "No," Brown said. "My job was so much simpler before you put ideas in Max's head. And I would think you would know better. Did we as black men not fight for every government seat we got during Reconstruction? Did our forefathers mean nothing to you?"
  "Max?" Rembrandt uttered.
  "Yes," Darnell said. "Your son."

  Quinn looked over at Randy. "So what do you think?"
  Randy looked at him across the table. He managed a smile.
  "I think," Randy said, "that if it worked on Limb Envy World, it should work again. Using Jared's sliding signature, but aiming for a bigger signature this time. Then...he gets home."
  Quinn nodded. "Exactly."
  "So...get the calculations going?" Randy asked.
  Quinn looked at him for a moment, pondering what he was thinking. Then he pulled out the timer. He slid it over to Randy. Randy looked at the timer and frowned.
  "What's this?" Randy asked.
  "I think you should do the calculations," Quinn said, smiling. "It is your model after all."
  Randy opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. He closed his mouth again. He knew what it meant. After all of this time, Quinn was giving him a chance to prove himself.
  "I'll get right on it," Randy said, standing.
  Quinn watched Randy leave. He looked over at the bar. Jared and Ethan were still over by it. Jared drank away, laughing. Ethan appeared to be paying attention. Then Quinn caught it. Ethan's eyes dotted after randy. He wondered why that was. Then it hit him.
  "Oh," Quinn uttered aloud.
  Then a figure sat down in front of him. Quinn took him in. It was a black man in his early thirties, dressed in normal clothes. His dark eyes studied Quinn as if he was some kind of oddity at a popular kid's lunch table. Quinn felt his back stiffen.
  "It's funny I believe," the black man started.
  "Really?" Quinn asked. "What?"
  "A century ago, people such as yourself went out of their way to deny common rights to people like me...knowing that given time we might actually have the same amount of power...that we would not only be equal to them...but better as well." He smirked. "They...were right."
  "Good," Quinn said dryly. "And...who are you?"
  "Me?" the black man said. "My name is Max. And I...and the two fellows sitting behind you...have reason to believe you are the head of the San Francisco chapter of the Red Shirts. You'll be coming with me for questioning."

  Randy opened the door. Melissa looked up. He paused. It had been a while since it was just the two of them...alone.
  "Hi," Randy said shyly.
  "Hi," Melissa said just as shyly.
  Silence reigned. Randy watched Melissa look away, her shoulder length black hair falling about her face. For a moment, Randy thought about walking over to her, brushing the hair out of her face. He reminded himself he wasn't her boyfriend. That was Richard.
  "How is he?" Randy asked.
  "He--" Melissa started.
  "Why don't you ask him yourself?"
  Randy looked over at the bathroom. Richard emerged from it, his long hair in a ponytail. He crossed his arms over his black shirt clad chest.
  "Okay," Randy said. "How are--"
  "Fine," Richard said. "Thanks for asking. You're a real friend!" He walked up to Randy and patted him on the shoulder. He looked at Melissa. "I'm not."
  Richard stormed off without another word. Randy watched him go. He really had not handled Isabel's death well at all. Then again he could just as easily say the same.
  "So...how's the others?" Melissa asked.

  "Hello...Dad."
  Rembrandt looked up from his chair. A man in his thirties looked down on him. A look of amusement splashed along his face. Still he was the spinning image of Rembrandt.
  "So," Max Brown said, his arms over his suit, "what brings you to San Francisco? It obviously couldn't be me--"
  "How can you say that?" Rembrandt managed, fighting to not show confusion on his face.
  "Okay, Dad," Max said. "I'll play. Who did you see first: me or Darnell?"
  Rembrandt's mouth closed shut. Something told him not to answer that question. Obviously, his double was not a great dad.
  "So...you are the one in charge of the Quinn Mallory case?" Rembrandt asked.
  Max frowned. "Of course. It's all about work with you. How could I forget?"
  "Son--"
  "Yes...I am in charge of that case," Max cut Rembrandt off. "Mr. Mallory was seen with a Mr. Heim. Mr. Heim has been questioned in some unusual activities that might be connected to Red Shirt activity." He glared. "And I hope my father isn't also involved. Uncle Sam doesn't like traitors."
  Rembrandt frowned. "What are--"
  "Rembrandt!"
  Rembrandt looked past Max. A couple of policemen escorted Quinn over. Not too far behind...were Jared and Ethan. Rembrandt saw the bruises and turned to his son.
  "What in the world?" Rembrandt said.
"Resisting arrests," Max answered. "Which I could use to keep them in." He smirked. "Lucky for them they know a senator." He glared at Quinn. "You can go...for now. But I wouldn't leave town." He stared at Rembrandt. "Later, Dad."
  Rembrandt watched his son walk away. There was a lot of anger in Max, reminding him of how he was when he first escaped the Kromaggs. If it wasn't for Maggie and Quinn...
  He turned to Quinn. Quinn stared back at him, a frown on his face.
  "Dad?" Quinn uttered.
  "How about we find a good library?" Rembrandt asked.
  "Good plan!" Jared added.

  Melissa got up first thing...to find that Richard had not slept in the room last night. She headed out to see where he had gone.
  Her eyes narrowed. It wasn't so much seeing Richard surrounded by a crowd in a bar. That she could handle. What she could not handle was the redhead in his lap. They giggled together as Richard drank from his beer mug. That she couldn't handle. She walked over.
  He never saw her coming. Neither did the redhead. As Richard put down the beer mug, Melisa was upon the redhead. She shoved her off of Richard's lap and sat on it herself. She wrapped her arms around Richard's neck and smiled.
  "Hello!" Melissa exclaimed. "Miss me?"
  Richard frowned. "Oh." He smirked. "No...not really."
  Melissa frowned for a moment. This was so not Richard. Still...
  Richard frowned again. "How can someone as good as you love someone as bad as me?"
  Melissa stood up. She quickly sat down again, letting her legs wrap around the chair. Her arms wrapped around Richard's neck tighter. She nuzzled his nose.
  "Now we know how bad I can be," Melissa whispered, leaning in to kiss Richard.
  "Uh...what do you think you're doing?"
  Melissa looked past Richard. Richard also turned a little. A group of black people were behind them. Melissa heard a few murmurs from Richard's table. A few of his group appeared to be shivering from...fear? Melissa looked at Richard. He gave the group a lopsided grin.
  "Just chilling," Richard replied. "Problem?"
  "Yes," one of the group, a black man with short curly hair said. "You're sitting on the wrong side of the bar."
  "Excuse me?" Richard uttered.
  The black man frowned. "Don't you know? Wiggers sit in the back."
  Melissa looked over past the group of black people. There were some tables and booths near the back of the bar. It was nowhere near where the bartender was however...unlike where they sat.
  Several of Richard's new friends stared to head over to the other tables. Melissa followed suit. She turned to see that Richard continued to sit where he was at.
  "Richard--" Melissa started.
  "I'm fine right here," Richard said.
  Whispers started behind Melissa. She turned to see a few more faces of fear behind her. She looked over at the black crowd. The black man looked testy, his curly head bobbing like a woodpecker.
  "What did you just say?" the black man demanded.
  Richard turned the chair around. His eyes focused on the black man. He propped his arms on the top of the chair.
  "Oh. I'm sorry," Richard exclaimed. "You must speak Ebonics. Let me try again. Fine...HERE."
  The black crowd grew restless. Richard turned to look at Melissa. he smirked. Then he looked past her.
  "Come on!" Richard said. "You're just gonna let some underdressed bums tell you where to sit? Take your manhoods from you? What is up with you people?"
  Melissa saw movement past the black crowd. She saw two figures heading for the exit. It was Dru and Miashuyhi Kims. They giggled to themselves. Something told Melissa she should be concerned.
  Suddenly, Richard shot up. The chair was in his right hand. It knocked the black man backwards.
  Melissa's eyes widened. That...was not good. Richard turned to the other people.
  "Well?" Richard demanded. "What are you waiting for?"
  There was silence. Then...Richard's friends leaped forward.

  "Bingo!"
  Randy looked over at Ethan. "Found something?"
  Ethan looked up from his computer. "You bet I did. BSG got renewed for a FIFTH season."
  Randy frowned. "BSG?"
  Ethan sighed sadly. "Okay. Seriously starting to question your taste."
  "Good."
  "Fine."
  Ethan went back to looking at a computer screen. So did Randy. Looking at it kept them from going over what happened last week. They posed as a couple. Ethan kissed him. Now there was just this uncomfortable silence. Randy admitted to himself he kinda missed it...when he wasn't busy keeping everyone alive.
  "I think I found the difference."
  Randy looked over at Quinn. He was busy finishing up, his eyes on his screen. Then he looked at him.
  "Reconstruction," Quinn said.
  "Huh?" Ethan uttered.
  Randy looked over at him. Ethan shrugged his shoulders.
  "Sorry," Ethan said. "Some of us were too busy surviving on the streets to worry about history."
  "It was after the Civil War," Quinn explained. "The US government occupied the South to be sure they were treating the slaves right. They passed laws, gave black people voting rights, and gave them power. On our world, when the government retracted the troops due to a potential mis-election--"
  "Mis-election?" Ethan muttered.
  "Yeah," Randy said. "It was...the Hayes/Tilden election, right? There was a dispute over who got the votes."
  Quinn grinned. "Looks like you were in school. Yeah. The Republicans weren't letting Hayes into the Presidency unless the troops were removed and Southerners were reinstated to their former powers. Here...there was no dispute...or compromises. So there was no way to slow black people's progress."
  "Which would be a good thing," Ethan said, "right?"
  "There are former Southerners who would feel differently," Quinn said. "There's a group...the Red Shirts...who feel that too many blacks have too much power...at the expense of poor and middle-class whites."
  "Yeah," Randy said. "There would be some on our world who say it's the opposite of that."
  "Apparently, our doubles are mixed up in something here," Quinn said. "I suggest we lie low and--"
  "Don't think so, Q-ball."
  Randy looked past Quinn. Rembrandt looked at the trip, his face conflicted. Quinn frowned.
  "Rembrandt--" Quinn started.
  "Max is my son," Rembrandt said. "He...and Darnell are mixed up in this. I want to be sure he...they are ok." He stood up. "You work on getting us home. I...will play the part of a senator."
  "Remmy," Quinn said, standing up. "Is that a good idea?"
  Randy said nothing. The last few worlds had all of them wondering that question a lot lately. And since Isabel's death and Jared's desire to just go home, the question had bade Randy follow Quinn's lead on that. That...and Cassandra's visions...
  "I don't expect double crosses," Rembrandt said, his eyes falling on Randy. "Or dark sliders."
  "Meaning?" Randy asked.
  "You sure have put a big bull's eye on our head."
  "We have a cloaked timer."
  Rembrandt crossed his arms over his chest.
  "It didn't stop Isabel," Rembrandt replied.
  "Hey!" Ethan exclaimed.
  "How about a little less cheerleader?" Rembrandt asked. "You could be next. Any of us." He looked at Quinn. "I'm going to help my kin. See you for the slide."
  "Of--" Quinn started.
  Rembrandt walked off without another word. Randy stood up as well. He walked away...haunted.

  He knocked on the door. There was the sound of movement. Then the door opened, revealing a resentful Darnell Brown.
  "Again, Uncle?" Darnell hissed. He started to shut the door. "Not int--"
  Rembrandt stuck his foot in the door.
  "Get interested," Rembrandt said. "I don't know what I did, but we are talking."
  Darnell glared at Rembrandt for a moment. He looked behind him. Then he stepped onto his porch, shutting the door behind him.
  "You want to talk?" Darnell asked, a tone of challenge in his voice. "What would you like to talk about? The fact that years of peaceful co-existence is being eroded just by your presence? The fact that I have other issues to deal with than past family conflict? the fact that Max doesn't believe in any of the work we do here? Pick one."
  "Really?" Rembrandt challenged back. "If I'm doing all this...eroding, let me help to work on that. Let--"
  "'Screaming Man' Brown?" Darnell cut him off. "Calling for consolidation of black power so that pre-Reconstruction could never happen. Put the fear in the white folks. Some people thought you were behind the lynching. Glad to see you 'found' religion just in time."
  "Hey!" Rembrandt yelled. "You're not so old that I can't put you over my knee."
  "Try it," Darnell said, stepping forward.
  Rembrandt glared at Darnell. He had so much hate in him. He wished he could...
  A screech sucked Rembrandt out of his thoughts. He turned to see a car speeding down the street. It shot by. Gunshots rained out. Rembrandt ducked to the ground. The car sped down the street. Rembrandt's head shot up.
  "What in the wor--ah!" Rembrandt yelled. He looked at his left arm to see red wetting his arm.
  "Oh my God! Darnell!"
  Rembrandt turned. Debra screamed as she stood over Darnell Brown. His eyes were open, his chest full of blood.
  Dead.

  "'In late breaking news, Councilman Darnell Brown was shot outside his home...the result of a drive-by...'"
  Quinn ignored the television at the nurse station as he walked by. There was still no word on Rembrandt. That bothered him.
  It also bothered him that it took several tries in the hospital cafeteria before a worker would give him coffee. And it didn't escape his notice that the worker who did help was white. In fact, no one was really acknowledging him at all. It was like he was no...
  Quinn turned the corner. Randy sat in some chairs down the hall, fiddling with the timer. Ethan sat next to him, his eyes watching. Randy looked oblivious...until Ethan started picking at Randy's ear. Randy ignored it the first couple of times. Then he stared to fight back, picking at Ethan's ear. Quinn kept approaching. He saw Jared appear near him, fresh from the restroom.
  "Heard anything?" Quinn asked.
  "No," Jared answered. "But his double is a famous senator so I'm sure he has the best doctors in town helping him." He managed a smile. "Chill."
  "Gee, Jared," Quinn said. "That was almost consi--"
  "So any news on getting me home?"
  Quinn frowned. "Never mind."
  Quinn headed past Jared. He saw Jared turn, a frown appearing on his face. Quinn looked at Randy and Ethan to see them engaging in a tickle fight. He frowned, wondering what was going on.
  "Obviously, there's been no news," Jared said deadpanned.
  Randy and Ethan looked up. Ethan looked wide-eyed. Meanwhile, Randy frowned. Ethan shot up quickly.
  "Nothing yet," Ethan said. "Heading to the little boy's room." Then he headed to the restroom.
  Jared stared after him. Meanwhile, Quinn looked at Randy. Randy shrugged his shoulders.
  "So anything new?" Quinn asked.
  "I think the calculations down," Randy said.
  "So...one more step closer to getting me home?" Jared asked.
  Randy looked at Jared. "Yeah."
  "Good," Jared said.
  "Is that all you think about?" Quinn asked.
  "Don't you?" Jared countered.
  "Hey," Randy cut in. "I think that's the last thing we need to be doing right now."
  "So's flirting," Jared shot back.
  Randy frowned. So did Quinn. He definitely didn't like where this was going.
  "Who's flirting?" Randy demanded.
  "Did I miss anything?"
  Quinn turned around. Ethan stood behind, approaching the scene cautiously. He looked at Jared, frowning.
  "It's nothing," Quinn said. "We're just worried about Rembrandt."
  "Yeah," Randy uttered.
  "Oh," Ethan said, looking at the scene around him. His eyes looked unsure if he should believe them or not. Happily, he did, smiling. He headed to sit next to Randy.
  "Well, my turn for the little boy's room," Randy said quickly. Then he was gone.
  Jared glared after Randy. Then he turned on Ethan.
  "What's going on with you two?" Jared demanded.
  "So...this is them?"
  Quinn turned again. A blond nurse helped Rembrandt down the hall. He managed a smile.
  "Yeah," Rembrandt said.
  The nurse nodded. Quinn smiled. Rembrandt's right arm was in a sling. Other than that, he looked okay. Good.
  The nurse left Rembrandt. He stared at the trio. His eyes fell on Quinn.
  "Where's Randy?" Rembrandt asked.
  "Restroom," Quinn answered. "How are you?"
  "Well...I'm standing," Rembrandt said.
  "So what happened?" Jared asked. "The nurse station is all abuzz about a shooting."
  Rembrandt's face darkened. "Yeah. Darnell's...he's dead." He looked at Quinn. "And...I think it's my fault."

  Richard threw the door open instantly. Melissa saw him run in. She followed behind him. He fell back on the bed, laughing.
  "That," Richard said, "was cool."
  Melissa crossed her arms over her chest. She glared at him.
  "Are you stupid?" Melissa asked. "This is the wrong world to be getting in trouble on."
  Richard stopped laughing. He leaned back on the bed. He smirked.
  "What world isn't trouble?" Richard challenged.
  "You know what I mean."
  "No. I really don't. I mean...Virus World. Industrial Revolution World. Tabloid World. There's always a world with trouble. Pardon me if I want fun for a change."
  "And fun is good," Melissa said, shutting the door. "Trouble is another thing."
  "What are you: my boyfriend or a five year old."
  Richard glared at her. Melissa didn't care. She had had enough.
  "You're upset over Isabel's death, deal with it," Melissa said. "And by deal with it, I mean don't get self-destructive."
  "Don't tell me how I should feel!" Richard snapped. "You might have gotten into this for fun. I didn't, remember."
  Melissa looked away.
  "Yeah, you remember," Richard said. "I was blackmailed. I finally decided to owe up to killing Laura before I...died. And what happened? I was brought back. Remember? I'm not even me. I'm a clone. Remember how much I was wondering 'who am I?' 'What was my purpose?' I was always scared that you and the others would get what you wanted. That I would remember every rotten thing I did? I liked who I was when I was a blank slate. You know what? I was right. Cuz I hate this. I hate me."
  Melissa's jaw fell open. "Richard--"
  "Don't," Richard said, standing up. "I really don't want to hear it."
  "But--"
  "Just leave me alone, okay?" Richard said. "Maybe you can write Izzie off as a dark slider. I can't. Her. Jared. They're in this because of me. Their fates...are in my hands. And I take that to the grave."
  Before Melissa could stop him, Richard stormed into the bathroom. She stared at the door. She wished she knew of a way to calm him. It was like dealing with a completely new person.
  Melissa headed to the bed. She managed to get the remote. As she sat on the bed, Melissa turned it on. The screen lit up. So did Melissa's eyes.
  There was a small screen with Professor Brown on it. At the bottom of the screen was the world 'MURDER?' Melissa looked at the reporter.
  "'There was word that Senator Rembrandt Brown was in town as well,'" the reporter said. "'Senator Brown was a strict man for consolidation of African American hands. Later in his left...he was attacked by a member of the Red Shirts. He then started calling for more co-existence between African Americans and their white counterparts. That rubbed a lot of people the wrong way...especially here in San Francisco...a place of great conflict as well as a melting pot of culture. Whether this was another attack on Senator Brown is unknown, but...'"
  "Richard!" Melissa yelled.

  Rembrandt knocked on the door. There was movement from the other side. Then it opened to reveal Debra. Her eyes looked bloodshot. Rembrandt knew It was probably from all the crying.
  "What?" Debra demanded.
  "I was coming to be sure you were alright," Rembrandt said.
  "Well...SENATOR...does it look like everything is okay?" Debra demanded. "My husband is dead."
  "I know--"
  "And the news is making it sound like he was killed by people who were gunning for you."
  Debra frowned. Her arms crossed over her chest. "And I wonder how true that is."
  "Debra! Debra, what are you doing at the door? There could be--"
  Debra's door opened wider, a new figure coming into Rembrandt's sight. Rembrandt frowned. It was Dru Preston...or at least a double of her. She studied Rembrandt for a moment, managing a smile.
  "Senator Brown," Dru said. "Hello. My condolences for--"
  "Dru, he does not need it," Debra said, looking at her before glaring at Rembrandt. "They were gunning for him."
  Dru looked at Rembrandt. "Oh."
  "We still don't really know that for--" Rembrandt started.
  "The hell we don't!" Debra snapped.
  "Debra!" Dru exclaimed.
  "Let the trash rot," Debra said. "To think...I wanted the two of you to maim fences."
  Debra swung the door shut. Rembrandt stood before it. Two things got to Rembrandt. The hurt in Debra's eyes was one. And there was a small smirk on Dru's face. He found that odd in a double.
  "You heard the woman."
  Rembrandt turned around. Miashuyhi Kims had a gun on him. She smirked.
  "Take the trash out," Kims said.
  Before Rembrandt could react, the gun went off.

  "Hm."
  "What's 'hm?'"
  Randy looked up from the timer. He thought rather than return to the motel and deal with bitter Richard, he would try out this little coffeehouse. He had seen some white people walk in. From what he could tell, they were the majority...which was good. What wasn't good for him...was Ethan sitting with him.
  "Quinn and I have been trying to narrow down a way to get to Jared's homeworld," Randy said. "And...well...your world, too...anyway...if I'm reading this right....there are are sliding signature like Jared's."
  Ethan frowned. "Which means?"
  Randy looked over at Ethan. "That...either this is your world..."
  "It's not."
  "Or...there are other people here...from your world."
  Ethan's eyes widened. "Dru? Kims?"
  "Maybe."
  "Then come on!" Ethan exclaimed, standing up. "If they're here--"
  "Uh...no," Randy said.
  Ethan looked down at him. "What?"
  "The last they saw any of us," Randy said, "they tried to get Jared to kill Rembrandt. Are you saying that won't be the case?"
  Ethan frowned. A silence fell over them. It was something Randy was not used to. It was obvious in Ethan's face that he was conflicted. He glared at Randy.
  "It will still be the case," Ethan said finally.
  "Then all the reason to not see them," Randy said.
  "Or maybe all the more," Ethan said. "Jared wants to go home. We had our coordinates."
  "And you?"
  Ethan frowned at Randy again. Randy said nothing either.

  Rembrandt opened his eyes. As his memory started to return, Rembrandt found his eyes widening. All he saw was darkness.
  He had been shot...by Kims. Her and Dru were there. They were around. Debra. Something told him they were probably behind the drive-by.
  Rembrandt crawled across the floor. They had left him alone. That was their mistake.
  Rembrandt opened the door a crack. He saw several black men moved about a table full of boxes. He smiled. At least it wasn't...what were they called...the Red Shirts. He walked into the room.
  "Hey," Rembrandt said, "what's going on? I can't find the--"
  Several of the black men stopped. Their faces became dark masks of anger. Rembrandt dropped the smile.
  "Hey," Rembrandt said. "I just said I'm lost."
  "In more ways than one."
  Rembrandt watched the black men look behind him. A figure in a red robe approached them, backed by two others in red robes and hoods. Rembrandt got a chill up his spine. If the robes were white, he knew immediately who he would have thought of.
  "There was a time you would be doing this," the head figure said. Then he took off his mask. Rembrandt gasped as he stood face to face with a smirking Max Brown.
  "Hello...Dad," Max said.

  Quinn watched Jared's eyes widen. They walked along the street with Randy and Ethan. Randy had just laid a bombshell on the two of them: Dru and Miashuyhi Kims were on this world. To Quinn that meant Randy and his's idea worked. What would it mean to Jared?
  Jared looked at Randy, a pause in his step.
  "So...we...me and Etan...we can go home?" Jared asked.
  "Uh...actually...you can," Ethan said. "I want to stay...here."
  Quinn cocked any eyebrow. Jared's eyes went wider. then he glared at Ethan.
  "Why?" Jared demanded.
  Ethan frowned, the confusion on his face.
  "I just...want to," Ethan admitted.
  Jared glared at Randy. "This is your fault isn't it?"
  "Leave me alone," Ethan warned.
  "No," Jared said, his eyes dotting to Ethan. "You leave him alone." He looked at Randy "What are you two? Dating?"
  "Hey!" Quinn cut in. "Do you think we can do this after we find the others?"
  Quinn stared down Jared. Jared gave it back. Finally, Jared released a sigh.
  "Fine," Jared said, storming past Quinn.
  Quinn looked at Randy and Ethan. Randy looked hurt. Ethan started to reach for him, but Randy stormed away.
  "Well," Quinn said, "welcome to the team."

  Melissa walked up the porch. She ignored the yellow police tape. She was happy Rembrandt had made it. Now she hoped he was still okay. She stood in front of the door and paused.
  "You don't even know if he came back here."
  Melissa turned. Richard was just making it to the porch, his hands in his pocket. He still looked sullen. She narrowed her eyes.
  "Remmy cares about people," Melissa said. "His nephew was shot...probably because of something his double did. He would make sure Debra was okay."
  "His bane. His curse."
  "Will you just stop please? Lives are on the line...again."
  Melissa knocked on the door. It opened slowly.
  "Well, that's never good," Richard commented.
  Melissa opened the door slowly. The hallway in front of them was covered with darkness. She stepped into it.
  "No," Melissa said, "it never is."
  She continued to walk into the house. Part of her mind was on Rembrandt and what danger he could be in this house. The other part of her mind was on Richard and if he would ever be okay again.
  She saw the double doors of the parlor. They were halfway open. She stepped forward, opening the doors fully. She gasped, her eyes widening on the dead body on the floor.
  "Oh my..." Melissa started.
  "What are you...oh."
  Melissa ignored Richard's rumbling. She made it to the body, feeling a chill all over her body. She kneeled next to it, scared it could be Rembrandt. Slowly, she turned it over.
  It was Debra. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling. It looked like she had been shot in the chest. She looked up at Richard.
  "We--" Melissa started.
  A shadow moved behind Richard. Melissa opened her mouth. Before words could come out to warn Richard, Melissa saw the shadow strike, knocking over the head. He released a groan before falling to the floor. Her eyes widened, looking at Richard and wondering if he too was dead.
  "Your group is like roaches."
  Melissa looked up. Dru stood over her. She looked down at her with a smirk.
  "Get rid of one," Dru said. "Another takes his place."
  "And you did try, didn't you?" Melissa challenged. "You got those people mad at the bar."
  "And your boyfriend made it so easily," Dru continued. But again...he shouldn't have been at a black table."
  Melissa looked down at Richard. Was he breathing? She glared at Dru.
  "He better not be dead," Melissa warned.
  "Or what?" Dru asked, aiming her gun. "You're going to shoot?"
  "No. I will."
  Dru turned quickly. A gunshot rang out. Dru gasped, falling to the floor. Melissa smiled. As her eyes fell on her savior, Melissa felt shock overtake her.
  "You?" Melissa uttered.

  "What's with the surprise, Dad?"
  Rembrandt felt his stomach turning to get away with things. We cops...protect our own. Besides...everyone thinks the Red Shirts are a group of white terrorists."
  Max reached into his robe. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at Rembrandt.
  "And thanks to our associate Kims," Max said, "they're going to keep on thinking that."
  Rembrandt frowned. "So...you're going to shoot your own dad?"
  "Sometimes the time comes where the son must surpass the father in order to gain true fulfillment," Max said, his eyes narrowing. "This is one of those times."
  "You can't shoot me."
  "Can't I? I'm doing what you should be doing. You taught me to uphold black power at all cost. Those wiggers would strip us of everything like they did when our ancestors were brought here from Africa. Never again you preached. They belong not in seats alongside us, but as gum on our heel. Servants in our restaurants. Hookers in our--"
  "Stop!" Rembrandt yelled.
  Max glared at him. Rembrandt didn't care. He had enough of ignorance for one day.
  "Let me blow your mind with a revelation, Son," Rembrandt said. "I...was...wrong. No one deserves to be told they are...less than what they are. Power can be shared--"
  "No wonder you shot Darnell."
  Rembrandt looked at the robed man next to Max. So did Max. When Max turned back to face Rembrandt, Rembrandt saw him smirk. He frowned.
  "You...killed Darnell?" Rembrandt managed.
  Max shrugged his shoulders. "He was on the wrong side of the divide. Same as you."
  "What's wrong? What's right?" Rembrandt countered.
  Max shook his head. "Philosophy, Dad? A little late for that."
  Rembrandt narrowed his eyes on him. "Yes. It is."
  Max frowned. Rembrandt took a step forward. Max tightened his hand on the gun.
  "What was it you said?" Rembrandt asked, taking another step forward. The son surpassing the father? Obviously, the 'black power at all cost' way didn't work for me. So you have already lost." Rembrandt took another step. He followed it with another. His eyes locked with Max's. "You want to surpass me, SON? You do better than me. Do it better on my own ground." Rembrandt stood face to face with Max, the gun pointed at his chest. "Surpass me. Bridge the gap."
  Max stared at Rembrandt. Rembrandt stared back. Silence reigned in the room.
  "What the--"
  Rembrandt looked past Max. A figure flipped into the room. He stood upright, revealing himself to be Randy. He quickly threw out two daggers. Each landed in the chest of one of Max's robed men. He fell to the floor, dead. Max swung back around.
  "You--" Max started aiming.
  Rembrandt grabbed Max's arm. They struggled.
  "Remmy!"
  Rembrandt turned. Max punched him in the jaw. He fell back.
  "Good-bye, D--"
  There was a jerking sound. The dagger poked out of Max's forehead. He fell next to Rembrandt, dead. Rembrandt looked up, his eyes wide with shock. Randy headed for him.
  "I got my timer to track Kims here," Randy said, reaching out a hand to help Rembrandt up. "I--"
  Rembrandt knocked the hand away.
  "Don't touch me," Rembrandt said.

  Rembrandt watched Jared talk to Ethan. Kims sat nearby. She had told them she and Dru had arranged a spot to meet. So...she and Jared were saying their good-byes at the coffeeshop.
  "You okay?"
  Rembrandt turned to look beside him. Quinn walked up to him. He could not even smile.
  "He killed my son," Rembrandt said. "And deep down, he wants to do that to my nephew." He shook his head. "I can't let him, Q-ball. I...just can't."
  Quinn touched his shoulder. "Then....we won't let him. Okay?"
  Rembrandt frowned. He studied Quinn, looking to see if it was a trick. Quinn picked up on it, a hurt look crossing onto his face.
  "Remmy!"
  "Sorry," Rembrandt said. "With Jared about to leave, I'm sure you geniuses are about to really focus on Earth Prime. Hard to think we're bringing a menace back."
  "What are you saying, Remmy?" Quinn asked.
  Rembrandt watched Randy. He was sitting near Ethan.
  "Nothing," Rembrandt said. "Nothing at all."

  "Where are they?" Randy asked aloud.
  Jared and Kims were already on their way to their rendezvous with Dru. He, along with Quinn, Rembrandt, and Ethan, were outside the motel waiting.
  "Where are they?" Randy asked again.
  "Maybe they were held up," Ethan said, touching Randy's shoulder. "You really need to calm--"
  Randy removed the hand. "I'm f--"
  Ethan grabbed Randy's hand. "No, you're not."
  Randy glared at him. Ethan stared right back. His face was unreadable.
  "What in the world--"
  Randy looked over at Rembrandt. He looked past Randy and Ethan. Randy turned to see what he looked at. A limo was pulling up. It stopped next to them. The window slid down, revealing Melissa and Richard.
  "Melissa!" Randy exclaimed, moving away from Ethan. "Where have you been? We--"
  "Get in the limo," Melissa cut him off.
  "What?" Quinn said from behind Randy. "We need--"
  "Get in the limo...please," Melissa said, her face darkening.
  "Why?" Randy demanded. "What is--"
  The limo door on the other side of it opened. A figure with long jet-black hair stepped out. As she turned around, Randy felt his breath catch in his throat. Rebecca Pryce stared back at him. And he knew it was his ex-lover from months ago from her smirk.
  "Why?" Rebecca Pryce said. "Because I say so."

THE-END


 

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