Ray

Ray snapped into consciousness in an unfamiliar bed, in a room where the air smelled of chemicals he didn't recognize and couldn't identify. Where- He frowned a little, trying to will his eyelids open.

Ooh, that was a mistake. Nope. Not gonna look around. Just gonna try and remember what happened right before he passed out. What-

A memory swum up at him: tentacles, big ones. It drew an automatic flinch; he'd seen too many of the wrong kind of movie. Moments later the more reassuring image of the tentacles holding a gun came up to present thought, and then the 'sabre-

Well, heck, no wonder I'm not remembering it properly, he thought. That couldn't've been more than five seconds. Ten, tops.

- and there'd been a voice and some acid and shrieking noise and somebody involved was a prince-

"Wake up, kid."

That voice. He was pretty sure he knew that voice. Not from home, from Milliways, but still. He swallowed, and found himself clutching at the sheets as he managed to reply. "Sorry. Not until Mickey Hart moves out of my prefrontal lobes."

Was that laughter? "Close enough. Go ahead and keep 'em shut- I'd say you earned it."

"Thanks." Ray exhaled, mentally coaxing the muscles in his neck to relax. "Mind telling me what happened? All I'm remembering is enough tentacles to make my last plate of calamari look like it came from the surimi factory."

"That's about the size of it, kid. The Arbashanti battle-prince decided he wasn't gonna wait in line for a visa any more and pulled out a Knackerman IV."

None of which made any sense to Ray, but he nodded. anyway. K's world, by the sound of it, though what he was doing anywhere that had lines for processing aliens he didn't know. "Sorry about the severed body part, by the way. That didn't cause too big of a diplomatic incident, I hope?"

"Nah, although the Worms're practically wetting themselves over that shiny new toy of yours. Who'd you pick that sword thing up from, anyway?"

"Kitbashed," said Ray, reaching up to probe one of the sorer spots on his head with his fingertips. "Made from a bicycle seatpost and a homegrown crystal. Had to get most of the other parts from the Bar."

There was a moment of silence. Then: "The Bar?"

"Yeah, she's pretty good about that kind of thing, as long as she thinks she can trust you not to break the no-violence rule-" Something was wrong. Not with the bruise or the lack of broken parts under his fingertips. Ray had no objection to lack of broken parts. No, he was feeling something different and he couldn't put his finger on it, not properly, anyway. He frowned, flexing his fingers-

Wait. That didn't feel right at all.

He opened his eyes and stared in horror at the unscarred, unblemished, unmarked palm of his left hand.

From somewhere off to his left there came a very soft ka-click. Because it had to be better than the sight in front of him, Ray rolled his head ever so slowly in that direction. . .

"Okay," said the man holding the muzzle of the Series 4 De-Atomizer less than an inch from Ray's eyes. "Who are you, and what've you done with Agent Rho?"

Rho

Once upon a time / Once when you were mine / I remember skies / Reflected in your eyes…
Ever notice how it's never the good unlooked-for consequences of a decision that come back to bite you in the ass?
I wonder where you are / I wonder if you / Think about me / Once upon a time / In your wildest dreams…
Agent Rho didn't get much sleep last night. Not for lack of trying; physically speaking, he had enough lactic acid and other fatigue chemicals in his bloodstream to knock him out three times over. It was the mental activity that made it impossible- the thinking.
I wonder if you care / I wonder if you still remember
There'd been another him here. One who'd left the place only minutes before his own arrival. One who'd studied the sort of thing Spengs had always insisted were out there somewhere. One who hadn't signed up for the suit-
Once upon a time / In your wildest dreams…
Oh, God. He hadn't used that nickname for the guy in years. Not since… not since the last time they'd actually spoken. Too many associations, too many memories- and last night he'd actually spoken to a total stranger about his parents. Maybe it was the argument with that Venkman guy, but he'd been rattled all afternoon and well into the evening, and not even the practice session with that Jedi who kept smiling at him had helped.
And when the music plays / And when the worlds are / Touched with sorrow
Dammit! This was no time to break down like a newbie about his old life!
When the music plays…
He'd be wibbling about his sister next. Or his nephews- and he only let himself do that once a year, at Christmas.
I hear the sound I had to follow
No more wibbling. Get his thoughts together. That was important. He'd have to fnd another focus as long as he was stuck here in Milliways. Something he could think about without having to think about himself. Maybe the paranormal studies everyone had said his alternate had been into- yeah, they didn't have much along those lines back home, but who knew? Maybe the alternate knew something he didn't, something that investigators like Spengler had missed entirely. If they did, it was probably a potential danger to his world, and he'd be remiss in his responsibilities if he didn't look into how to deal with that kind of threat. Zedd would kill him for letting an unlooked-for danger slip under their radar.
Once upon a time…
Yeah. That'd do it. Something to study- that was the ticket. He turned from his run around the lake and headed for the back door of the Bar.