"Strip and Slide"|
Leaves and branches crunched under foot, the sounds lost under the whooping and hollering of their pursuers. "What did you say to them?" Rembrandt shouted to Quinn, as the two led Maggie and Wade through the forest. The four were running hard and blind, trying to get distance on a very fleet adversary.
"Who knows? I don't speak Indian!" Quinn replied, cutting a path through the foliage.
"Native American!" Wade replied from the back, dodging a low branch.
Up ahead, Rembrandt skidded to a stop, his arms out to try and block his fellow sliders. They'd reached a drop in the land. It was steep, but passable.
"Down we go!" The four scrambled down the hill, kicking up dirt and rocks. There was no time for scrapes and cuts. They hit the ground running. Looking back, Rembrandt could see the feathered headdresses of the tribe members they'd inadvertently managed to offend. Indians! Or Native Americans! Or whatever!
"They're still following!" Wade shouted. Quinn grabbed her hand and pulled the smallest slider along. There was a parting of the air as an arrow sailed over their heads and lodged into a tree.
"We have GOT to get cover!" Quinn yelled, a second arrow landing in their path.
"If I had my gun, I'd show them a little respect," Maggie huffed, taking the lead from Rembrandt. "Hey, over there."
Over there was a rushing river. "We'll never get across that," Rembrandt said.
"I'm not planning to cross it," Maggie said, pointing toward a set of canoes parked on the banks. "Everyone into the boat."
Maggie hopped into the stern, followed by Wade. Rembrandt and Quinn each got to one side and started pushing it into the water. More arrows shot overhead as the two dove into the canoe. "Start paddling!" Maggie said, thrusting an oar into Quinn's hands.
"What are you going to do?"
"Cover our escape." Inside the boat, Maggie had found a bow and quiver. She started fumbling with an arrow.
"Oh, come on, you don't know how to—" The whistle of the arrow from Maggie's bow silenced him as she fired it over his shoulder at their attackers. The shot struck the lead Indian straight in the chest, dropping him instantly. "I'm rowing, I'm rowing."
Maggie let loose another set of shots, hitting more targets than she ever had with more advanced weaponry, but it was not enough to stop the onslaught of forces. As they made their escape, more natives had launched canoes into the water to chase them. "Target the rowers," Quinn said.
Two boats pulled close behind them. Maggie aimed, and released. The arrow hit the lead rower of the canoe on the right. Incapacitated, he slumped forward, his out of control oar steering his canoe into the other. The collision set off a fiery explosion, sending Native Americans and canoe bits flying in all directions.
"Nice…um…shot," remarked a stunned Wade.
"They're still coming," Maggie said, reaching into the quiver for another arrow. Her hand found nothing but air. "And I'm out of ammo."
"I…uh, think we have bigger problems than that," said Quinn. Maggie turned to see the wide open horizon in front of her. This river ride, like the series, was heading straight off a cliff.
What if you found a show to ruin about parallel universes?|
What if you could plug the word 'slide' into a thousand different movie titles?
Where it's the same premise...
and Michael York still appears...
but everything else is inferior.
And what if you were too drunk every night to find your way home?
Sliders: The Peck Way.
The raging waters tossed their canoe about. Rembrandt and Quinn were trying to break their progress with the paddles, but the current was still taking them forward, the same current that was bringing their attackers closer.
"It's either death by waterfall or death by Indians," Rembrandt said.
"You mean Native Americans!" Wade shouted back.
"Oh, who cares, girl! What are we gonna do?"
Quinn looked at the Indians/Native Americans and then back at the horizon. Silently, he made a decision. "Do you guys trust me?"
"No!" They shouted in unison.
"Too bad! We're taking the waterfall!" Quinn dug his paddle in and surged ahead on the current. "Take the oar, Maggie. Keep us straight."
Complying, Maggie grabbed hold of the paddle. Rembrandt also obediently followed course with his oar. Quinn shifted to the front of the boat and pulled out the timer. This was going to be close. Turning back to their pursuers, he yelled, "Restitute this, you sons of bitches!"
Over the waterfall they went, screaming the whole way. Above the voices of the others, Rembrandt's screeching "I can't swim!" echoed across the land. Quinn fired the timer and the vortex appeared, swallowing them up, canoe and all.
A minute of frantic screaming later, the tunnel opened on a new dimension, dumping its cargo out into a small, algae and mosquito-infested lagoon. The canoe landed upright, somehow miraculously not tipping over. Inside, four exhausted sliders finally loosened their vice like grips on the sides of the boat.
"Wow," Quinn said. "So that's what it's like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Everyone OK?"
"I think so," Rembrandt said, as pale as he can be. "But if anyone sees my lungs, I'd like them back."
"No lungs, but you can have my lunch," Wade said, before leaning over the canoe's side and heaving into the lagoon.
"Wuss," Maggie sneered. "Now where the hell are we?"
Surrounding the lagoon were teepees, totem poles, wigwams, and a twenty-five foot wooden Indian. There was also a very large sign that read 'Big Chief's Miniature Golf and Batting Cages.' "Now these are Indians I like," Rembrandt said.
"Native…Americans," Wade replied between spittle.
The four pulled ashore at the twelfth hole and disembarked their canoe. "Should fit right in with the scenery," Rembrandt remarked. "Maybe we should charge them for it."
"Not a bad idea, Remmy, seeing as we're on this world for about a week and we have no cash," Quinn said.
"I knew we shouldn't have traded it all for those beads." Rembrandt removed one from his pocket. "Oooo! Look, it changes color when you look at it from a certain angle!"
"All right, no cash," Maggie said, her hands instinctively moving to her hips. "So what do you usually do? Steal it?"
"Um, we get jobs, Maggie," Wade said.
"Ugh. Doing what?"
"Whatever we can find," Quinn said. "They're usually not much. Most places aren't willing to hire people with no social security, no driver's license, and no home address. Sometimes these jobs can get pretty seedy."
"Guys, I think I have just the place." Rembrandt's outstretched arm pointed across the street to another Indian—
—yes, Native American (for Christ's sake, Wade, let it go!) themed establishment, this one advertising live entertainment of the topless persuasion.
Maggie eyed it skeptically. "The Pitched Teepee?"
Two days later…
"Ten bucks can get you a fuzzy navel, but I think you'd be happier with a slippery nipple," Maggie said.
"Tell you what," the lascivious and quite inebriated patron said. "Why don't you get me a little of each?"
"Yes, sir," she said, writing the order down in her pad. As she worked her way back to the bar, she came across Wade. "This is the ultimate low."
"I know, working in a strip joint."
"I was talking about waiting tables. How did you do this without going postal on the place each night?"
Wade shrugged. "I learned long ago to live with disappointment."
The Pitched Teepee was in fact, a strip joint. I can't really tell you how it stacked up against other strip joints, as I've never been inside one. Really. Why do you keep looking at me like that?
What I can tell you is that it had a stage, a runway, some poles, and a lot of semi-attractive to legitimately attractive women parading around on them. Most of the lighting was on the staging, leaving the patrons relatively in the dark. Smoking was permitted inside, giving the room a constant haze. The many tables had candles or small lamps adorning them, giving the wait staff some guideposts as they navigated the establishment.
The bar was located on one of the side walls. Quinn sat at one of the stools while his friend Rembrandt tended to the orders. "I never knew you knew how to bartend," Quinn remarked.
"Oh yeah, you learn a lot about mixing drinks when you've been on tour as long as I have. They used to call me Cocktail Man on the bus. I got this signature drink that I made up, I call it the Waterworks cause it's bound to make you tear up," he said. "I'd keep a glass of it off stage, just in case the crying wouldn't come naturally."
"I'll have to try it sometime."
"I don't know, Q-Ball. You ain't much of a drinker or a crier. I wouldn't want you weeping for weeks."
"Fine, make it a beer then," he smiled.
"You got it."
A frustrated Maggie made it to the bar. "If one more of these pervs grabs my ass, I'm going to show them the real meaning of Tailhook. Then Righthook, and Lefthook. Rem, I need a fuzzy navel and a slippery nipple. And make sure you really load them up. I want these guys puking before they leave."
"You got it."
She took a seat next to Quinn. "Enjoying your first non-military assignment?" he smirked.
"Oh yeah. It's what I always dreamed of," she said. "Taking orders from slobbering idiots."
"And this differs from your old job how?"
Score one for Mallory!
"Here you go, Maggie. Two shots of pure poison," Rembrandt said, placing the drinks on her tray.
"Thanks." She gave Quinn a vicious look and headed back out on to the floor, passing a table where a lone woman sat. She was reading a book by the table lamp. Quinn couldn't help but notice her. She was gorgeous.
"Hey, Remmy. Is that a patron?"
Rembrandt leaned across the bar. "No, that's Cyndi. She works on stage, if you get my meaning."
"Be right back." Rembrandt shook his head, a grin on his face.
She didn't immediately look up when Quinn reached her table. When he finally did get her attention, she waved him off. "Show's over for tonight. Come back tomorrow around seven."
"I'm not here for the show. I'm wondering what you're reading," he said. He took a chair. "May I?"
"Oh. Yeah, sure," she said. Quinn took a seat. "It's a book I have to read for school. Chemistry."
"Physics was my specialty, but I know a little something about chemistry," he volunteered, emphasizing the double entendre. "Elective course?"
"Major," she replied. Quinn must have reacted, because she said, "You look surprised."
"No. Well, maybe a little. I just didn't expect—"
"A stripper studying chemistry. School's expensive, stripping pays well."
"I'm not judging. God knows I've done some things I'm not proud of to get where I am—"
"And how!" Wade interjected, quickly moving past the table with a drink order.
"Thanks, I guess," Cyndi said. "If you're looking for a little redemption, I could use a little help with my organic interactions. Know anything about them?"
"Quite a bit," he smirked. The rest of us groaned.
"Cyndi? Cyndi? Are you over here?" Moving across the room was an older man, possibly Native American (you happy, Wade?). He was dressed in suit and tie and wore dark glasses. In his right hand was a walking stick, which he poked ahead of him. Clearly, he was blind.
"I'm over here, Mr. Nightowl," Cyndi said, getting up to help him to a seat. Mr. Nightowl took the hand, but refused the chair. "Quinn, this is Mr. Nightowl. He owns the club."
"Pleased to meet you," Quinn said, extending his hand. Needless to say, Mr. Nightowl didn't see the gesture. But I said it anyway. Cause Quinn can be an idiot.
"A pleasure as well," Mr. Nightowl responded. "Cyndi, how would you like to make some extra money tonight? I have a special set of visitors who have requested a private show."
"Oh, thank you for offering, but I really have to refuse. I have a huge test tomorrow and I need to get some sleep."
"Say no more," he said. "Education comes first."
"Why don't you try Blondie? I think she may be up for it."
"Thank you, I will. Good day, and good luck on your exam."
Mr. Nightowl staggered off, somehow managing to avoid tables and patrons as he slowly worked his way backstage. "He's such a nice man," Cyndi said to Quinn. "Weird, huh? A blind man owning a strip club."
"Yeah," Quinn said. "Strange."
Mr. Nightowl reached the door to the backstage area. He removed a tissue from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his head. As he took off his glasses to clean them too, it became apparent why he could not see. He had no eyes at all.
Closing time. The lights came up throughout the house, revealing the place for the unexotic box it truly was. With the girls getting dressed backstage, the patrons finished their beers, whiskey, vodka, and jell-o shots, and rummaged through their pockets for enough bills to pay for the cab ride home.
Wade and Maggie, exhausted from their shifts, leaned against the bar counting their tips. "Ugh, it's not fair," Wade lamented. "You spilled drinks everywhere, forgot orders, and slugged a guy and you still got three times as much as me."
"Face it, WADE. Some people are just born better than others," Maggie sneered. "Guess I'm a natural at this job."
"Looks like silicone to me," Wade quietly muttered.
"Ladies, ladies." Rembrandt gave his signature smile and dumped a pitcher full of bills across the bar. "You both look sad next to the master. Hee hee hee."
"Well, I guess I'm glad for you both. After all, it all goes to the same place," Wade said.
"You mean we have to share?"
Outside, Quinn lugged Cyndi's books out to her car. He slung the backpack into the back seat, sending empty cans of Red Bull and Mountain Dew scattering.
"Wow. You were a great help tonight," Cyndi said. "I don't suppose you'll be around for finals."
"Afraid not. I'm only in town a few days."
"Well, maybe I'll see you around." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and Quinn blushed slightly.
Quinn turned to see his three friends behind him, Rembrandt giving him the "shame, shame" with his fingers. "I was just helping her with her studies," he said.
"Looks like you were studying something else," Maggie said.
"I thought you guys were gonna try and get some overtime, working the party tonight," Quinn said, quickly changing the subject.
"We volunteered, but Mr. Nightowl sent us home," Rembrandt said. "He said he'd see us tomorrow. Well, not see us exactly. Cause he's blind and all."
"It explains how most of the help got their jobs. Oh, not you, of course," Maggie said to Cyndi in that falsely sincere way popular high school girls talk to unpopular high school girls, or so I've been led to believe from Lindsay Lohan movies. "Come on, loverboy."
Rembrandt chuckled as Maggie dragged Quinn away. "Bye!" Quinn yelled back to Cyndi.
"Don't let Maggie bother you. In fact, don't think of Maggie at all," Wade said to Cyndi.
"Her? I'm way prettier than that," Cyndi smirked.
"You know, I really admire what you're doing," Wade said, "putting yourself through school. Still, it must be tough. How do you get up on stage like that every night?"
"Courage pills," she said, taking out a bottle. "They take the edge off a little."
"It's not what you think. These are over the counter," Cyndi said. "It looks like you could use some yourself. Here, take a few. They're safe, honest."
"Well…if they'll make me feel better…"
Blondie had the backstage mostly to herself as she prepared for her special show. Blondie, a tall, well-endowed blond in her early twenties, had gone with the 'Sacagawea' outfit, a tight fitting cartoonish representation of Native American garb, complete with the single feather headband. "Is this OK?" she asked the club owner.
"Oh yes, it is not offensive to my heritage in any way," he said. "Now Blondie, you may find tonight's party to be a tad unusual. They come from far away."
"Um, no, FAR away. You could say that their culture is so foreign that they might as well come from a parallel universe."
"Eh, yes. Texans. Just go out there and follow their instructions and every thing should go just fine," Nightowl said. "Oh, one more thing. They requested that you wear these."
He handed her a pair of dark glasses. "Sunglasses? But the Indians didn't wear sunglasses!"
"Oh, um, sure we did! Yes, Chief Joseph himself invented sunglasses. He shared them with the Pilgrims at the first Christmas," he said. "Then they all smoked peace pipe."
"Oh, wow! Cool!" She placed the sunglasses on. "Gee, it's kinda dark."
"No worries. The stage will be lit enough. Come on, now! Time to start the show!" he clapped happily, giving courage to his vapid dancer. She jiggled her way out of the dressing room to the curtain.
"Hello?" she asked, sticking her head out from behind the curtain. The club's lights were set so low that Blondie couldn't make out the faces of any of the Texans, but she could sense their eyes on her. What little light there was came from the rolling light bank, which rapidly splashed beams of red, blue, and yellow across the floor. There was no music, just an improbably loud hum.
"Come forward," came a monotone chorus of voices over the speaker. She complied.
"You will dance for us. Begin by shaking it and go from there."
She shook it and went from there.
"Oh yes, yes," the metallic monotone inveighed of her. "Take it off. Slowly. That's right. You're a naughty homo sapien."
"Hey, girl on girl costs extra!" Blondie said, but she continued her show.
"Come to the end of the stage. Down the runway. Two steps to your left."
"I think I know where the stage—"
"Down the runway. Two steps to your left."
She slinked her way forward, shedding the last of her costume. When she reached the spot the voice had sent her towards, she was down to her underwear and glasses. "I know what you big boys want to see," she said, reaching behind her back.
"We don't want you to see — ever," the voice replied.
Blondie went for the sunglasses—and screamed.
The next night at the bar was much like the previous one, except this time, Wade was the one raking in the cash. "I don't get it, Rem," a frustrated Maggie said as she delivered her next drink order. "She's taking in tips hand over foot."
"It might have something to do with her letting patrons take body shots off her chest," Rembrandt said as a cheer went up from Wade's table. "I can't put my finger on it, but something's off about her tonight."
"I think I get it," Maggie said. "She's just trying to make me look bad. Well, two can play this game! I'm going to find the manager."
"Uh, Maggie, what about this drink order?"
"Deliver 'em yourself. Can't you see I'm ON a miss-ION!"
At a nearby table, Quinn was working with a distracted Cyndi on her studies. "And that's how a bill becomes a law!" Quinn declared smugly. Cyndi barely took notice. "What's the matter? You seem distracted tonight."
"It's Blondie. No one's seen her since last night. She didn't report to work today."
"Maybe Nightowl gave her the day off. She was up late with that special show."
"Yeah, maybe," Cyndi said. "You're right. It's probably nothing. I just need a little boost."
She rooted through her purse and pulled out her pills. "What's that?" Quinn said, taking them from her. "Methylenedioxymethamphetamine? Cyndi, this is a drug."
"Yeah, it's made by Johnson & Johnson. You can get it at any pharmacy."
"You shouldn't take these. They can really mess you up."
"It's cool, Quinn. The government wouldn't let me take something that would hurt me!" Cyndi said. "It just helps you forget how miserable life is. Your buddy Wade took some, and look at how much happier she is. See?"
"I see." Quinn stood up and shouted, "Wade, get off the table!"
"I know, master," Mr. Nightowl said into the phone. "But I can't accommodate you again. I can't just have strippers continue to disappear from here. This county is Republican, but even they have their limits!"
"Local legal authorities are none of our concern," the harsh voice replied over the receiver. "You will do as you are told or we will be forced to return you to outpost two-two-seven."
"No, not that! Tell me, master. What am I supposed to do? Exotic bimbos just don't come in off the street and ask to dance!"
"Yo, chief," Maggie declared. "What does a girl have to do to get on stage around here?"
"OK, Wade, we're outside now. Just try and get some air," Quinn said to his looped out pal. Wade slumped to the ground on all fours, "Wheeeeee!" she said.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Rembrandt asked.
"Cyndi gave her some pills to help her relax. Turns out this world's FDA is pretty lax. The pills were ecstasy," Quinn explained. "Combined with the amount of alcohol her customers have bought for her, she's trashed and seriously dehydrated."
"I'm fine, relax," Wade slurred. She gagged a little. "Oops, threw up in my mouth. Hee hee. No wait, here it comes."
"Get her over to the dumpster," Quinn said. He and Rembrandt quickly lifted her up and hauled her to the trash, just in time for Wade to reach over the side and unload.
"Hey, guys, check this out," Wade said.
"We're not looking at your vomit, Wade," Quinn said.
"No, there's someone else in here."
Quinn hopped up to look over the side. "She's right, Remmy. Help me get it out."
"Oh man, did she puke on it?"
"Help me!" Quinn ordered. Rembrandt winced and reached into the dumpster, holding his breath. The two pulled out a woman, dressed in a black and red jumpsuit, and placed her on the ground. "My God, Rembrandt. She's dead."
"That's not all, Q-Ball," Rembrandt said, pulling her blond hair back. Her eyes had been removed.
"Excuse me," Wade said, and jumped back up over the dumpster side to let loose another volley of vomit.
"It's Cyndi's stripper friend," Quinn said. "This is why she didn't come in."
"Man, who would do this? I mean, you hear about dead strippers showing up all the time, but this is just sick! What kind of person would tear out another person's eyes?"
"I don't know Rembrandt, but whoever it is, I bet they're coming back tonight. I'm thinking Nightowl's special shows are more special than he lets on," Quinn said.
"Oh no, Maggie!" Rembrandt said. "She was jealous of all the money Wade was making so she volunteered to do a strip show! She's working tonight!"
"Maggie? Stripping? Tonight?" Quinn's brain started to lock up with visions of Maggie ever so slowly walking down the stage's runway, her top twirling in her hand. He watched it majestically fly through the air and land on his shoes, which oddly caused them to get wet.
"Sorry," Wade said, wiping the spittle from the corner of her mouth. Quinn looked down at his sneakers. "The dumpster, Wade. Stick with the dumpster."
"We have to save Maggie. There's some homicidal eye collector waiting in there for her!" Rembrandt said.
"Right! Rembrandt, you take care of Wade. She's in no shape to go back in there. Just keep giving her water until she passes out," Quinn said.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get Maggie out of there." Quinn scraped off his shoes and ran back toward the club.
"Hey, wait! Before or after she takes her clothes off?"
Quinn pretended not to hear him.
"Texans, huh? Then they're going to love this!" Maggie said, smiling in satisfaction at her cowgirl outfit. "Damn. I am hot!"
"I'll take your word for it," Nightowl said. "Come on, now! It's time for the show to start!"
"Don't worry, chief. I'll pop their eyes out," Maggie said, heading for the stage.
"That joke is even too obvious for me," Nightowl said quietly.
Quinn moved quietly through the club. It was very dark, and his eyes were distracted by the bright lights shining down on the stage, but he could already see that a few tables near the front were full. Quinn settled into a seat as the show began.
"Come forward," announced a familiar medley of voices. He'd have put more thought into it had Maggie not appeared on stage, ready to rope and ride.
"You will dance for us. Begin by shaking it and go from there."
"What? Don't I get a little music?" Maggie asked, cowboy hat in hand.
"Shake it now."
"No way, Jose. You want to see me move this thang, I need a little twang. Hit my music!"
The first bars of Shania Twain's "Man! I Feel Like a Woman" filled the club and Maggie started into her routine. Quinn was impressed with her improvisational skills. "Huh, from rigid military captain to on-the-fly stripping," he thought. "Sliding is doing her some good."
"Yes, yes," the cold voice intoned. "You are a bad homo sapien. A bad, bad homo sapien."
Wait a minute! Black and red jumpsuits...missing eyes…menacing voices from the dark…a fascination with homo sapiens…these patrons weren't Texans! He stood and shouted. "Maggie! It's a trick! Run!"
The lights came up fast revealing a room full of Kromaggs! "Oh my God!"
"Go! Go! I'll hold them back," Quinn said, pulling out the timer, which had worked so well in his last fight with them. He fired a beam straight into the Kromagg's chest, knocking him out cold. Quinn continued to fire indiscriminately, stunning the ape-like attackers who were expecting a night of entertainment. But there were too many, and he was overwhelmed.
Maggie rushed headlong into the fight, lashing out at the 'Maggs with the leather whip from her costume. "Get your stinking paws off him, you damned dirty apes!"
A Kromagg fired his weapon across the club, narrowly avoiding Maggie. Quinn leapt up from the melee and fired a return shot, sending the Kromagg to the floor. He aimed again, but nothing happened. "Come on, come on!" He smacked the timer and the numbers locked back into position. This time the shot found its mark.
"We're winning!" Maggie cheered, lashing a retreating Magg around the neck with her whip and roping him back toward her and Quinn. Quinn, a sanity-be-damned look on his face, punched the Kromagg in the gut. "You cut out her eyes, you bloody baboon!" He threw at him again and again and again. Finally, Maggie grabbed him to stop the pounding.
"It's over, Quinn. He's out," Maggie said, holding the shaking Quinn back.
"It's not over, Maggie. We can't let what happened to Blondie ever happen to anyone else," he said. "We need to destroy this place. Destroy it utterly."
"I just happened to see some dynamite charges out back while I was getting dressed," Maggie said.
"Take me to them."
Moments later, with dawn breaking, Quinn and Maggie came running out of the club. The two ran side by side, hand in hand, in slow motion. Somehow, in the fight, Quinn had lost his shirt. Maggie was down to just the flimsiest remains of her costume. Slower they ran, slower, as an explosion welled up behind him. Bits and pieces of the club went skyward as a raging fireball formed behind them, but don't take your mind's eye off our two sliders ever so slowly running toward the sun, its rays lighting up their nearly naked bodies….particularly Maggie's…nuts, where was I?
Oh yes, the building was destroyed, and with it all the Kromaggs inside. Nightowl had managed to escape, but not without suffering mortal wounds from the explosion. Maggie and Quinn found him lying next to the rubble, the stripper pole lodged in his chest. "You maniacs!" he cried with his dying breath. "You blew it up! Damn you…damn you all…to hell…"
The next day, the four sliders said goodbye to Cyndi. "I wanted to thank you for what you did," Cyndi told Quinn, "avenging Blondie like that. It was very brave."
"I'm just sorry we had to destroy your place of employment," Quinn said.
"That's OK. Stripping probably wasn't the best way for me to pay for college. I hear you can make a heck of a lot more as a call girl," she said. "Anyway, thanks."
She pulled Quinn closer and started making out with him. The others stood around and watched.
"Well, I guess we all learned a valuable lesson," Rembrandt said.
"We sure did, Remmy. From now on, I won't be as competitive," Maggie said. "It's enough to be helping the team, not leading it."
"And I learned how to vomit through my nose," Wade added.
Quinn finished up with Cyndi and returned to the group. "As for me, I learned we need to be ever vigilant about the Kromaggs. You never know where those crazy apes will show up. We need to get home before they do."
"Makes you think," Maggie said. "Who knows? We may find out that this world…WAS EARTH PRIME ALL ALONG!"
"I thought you couldn't breathe there," Wade said.
"Recent studies of the humans showed that they are still sliding randomly, and the one called Quinn did not show nearly enough intelligence to possibly lead a sliding army against us," the Kromagg commander said. "You have done well, Cyndi. You may have an hour of television before you go to bed."
Cyndi popped another pill and curtsied before them. "Yes, my masters."THE END