Yes, I owned it.

I owned England. I owned this planet. I owned this entire universe. On paper, at least.

I wasn’t sure about all the specifics—my memory was still performing at a decided zero-out-of-five-stars level. But I knew people could buy dimensions. Well, technically, you bought exclusive access—managed by an unbreakable quantum passcode only you could unlock—and the legal right to do whatever you wanted in that dimension. I mean, in some of these places, the laws of physics (as understood in our dimension) didn’t apply. So why would the UN General Constitution?

Whatever the reasoning, this place was my playground the size of a planet.

But . . . what did that make me? Tourist? History buff? Would-be world-emperor? What had been my motives for coming to this place? And why had I woken up in a field, rather than in some pre-prepared stronghold or some . . . I don’t know . . . science place?

Well, I definitely hadn’t been an academic. But I knew something had gone wrong.

As I considered the implications, voices inside the hall reminded me to pay better attention to my surroundings. I was unarmed and confused. If I were to saunter in, explain that I technically owned all of this, and ask them to kindly obey me . . . I suspected they’d saunter over to me, explain that the sword they’d rammed into my gut didn’t care what I claimed, and ask me to kindly avoid bleeding on the rug.

Could I impress them with my fantastical futuristic knowledge? Did I have any of that? I racked my brain, but it seemed my futuristic knowledge equated to a handful of movie quotes. I also knew that computers would exist someday. They involved circuits. And, uh, processors.

I had medical nanites, but that would be difficult to show off in an impressive, “Look, I’m a god” sort of way. My most consistent “superpower” was the ability to get coughed on a lot without getting sick. I could heal from a larger wound, but while the nanites rebuilt themselves, I would be exposed if someone decided I should replicate the feat. None of that felt like a good peasant-quelling mechanism.

Maybe I could get bitten by a snake or something, and not die? Where did one find a snake?

I had to find the rest of the book. Maybe it would include some kind of help line.

I made my way carefully around the back of the building, approaching a closed window closer to the voices.

“. . . I would certainly not wish to offend the earl,” a deep voice was saying. I recognized it—Mister Orange-cloak, the local lord. “But this is most unusual. We have a skop in town. Perhaps she could—”

Another voice said something, quieter, but threatening.

“Now?” Orange-cloak said. “You want to visit the site . . . now?”

Footsteps followed, and they left the building. Great. I’d missed the entire conversation.

I snuck around the side of the building, hoping to catch something relevant as they left.

“If this man you’re seeking is nearby,” the lord said, “we shall find him. But I must warn you . . . it looked very much like he had been struck down by an act of a god.”

The visitors didn’t reply. Together, they strode out the freshly opened front gates, and the lord—distinctly annoyed—followed with wide strides, shaking his head.

Wait.

They were looking for me?

They were looking for me.

Relief surged through me. Something had gone wrong during the transfer to this dimension, so the people who maintained this had obviously sent rescuers. I wasn’t the only one who could get to this dimension. Maybe I’d left them with the key and permission to come help.

I raised my hand, preparing to call to them, when I heard a sound.

I reached for my nonexistent gun yet again as I spun and found two people crouching behind me. They’d been creeping up through the shadows behind the hall. The person in the back—a twenty-something woman—pointed at me with a panicked expression.

I immediately fell into a fighting stance. Hands in front of me, feet ready for action. Huh.

The younger man in front of the woman carried a knife, which he immediately swung—and which I blocked, by instinct, with my forearm.

And . . . it didn’t hurt.

Why on earth didn’t that hurt?

The young man had hit me hard with a blade, and I’d taken it like an utter champion, not even a nick on me. I did have other augments! Platings under my skin? I was a fighter! I could . . .

I heard shouts in my memory.

Flashes of light. From a time before.

I felt pain, deep shame. It choked me, a black vine wrapped around my lungs.

I put a hand to my head, trying to banish these phantoms from my memory while simultaneously latching on to them as something real from who I had been. What was wrong with me?

The man swung again. I felt a deep, nearly uncontrollable panic, and was slower to block.

I’d fallen . . . I’d . . .

The man’s blade connected with my exposed wrist, and his eyes widened as his knife failed to cut me. He backed up a step. I stumbled, overwhelmed by the fragments of memories.

Flashing lights. Angry voices. I . . .

I blinked and glanced to the side. The woman had found a wooden board somewhere. She swung it, and I didn’t respond this time. I was too unnerved. But theoretically, my platings would protect me from—

The board connected with my face, and I felt a flash of agony before my nanites cut out my pain receptors. I briefly saw stars, but at least I was unconscious by the time I hit the ground, so the terrible memories stopped assaulting me.