Thinking about rewrites...

[Bob Schroeck]

So... how's this sound?

I still had to answer questions, though -- the first of which
was, "what in Merlin's name was that spell you used to get here?"
I was able to pass that off as unplanned, wild magic -- or
"accidental magic" as they call it here.  (Usually the province
of the under-ten set, but not unheard of in trained wizards put
under serious stress.)  Beyond that, well, since there was no 
point hiding anything -- and since they *were* magic-users 
(however weak) and could possibly help me -- I saw no reason not 
to tell them everything.  

(Well, everything that was relevant.  Even that early on, I was 
certain that the casual integration of magic and technology in my 
home timeline would shock or perhaps even offend them.  It seemed 
an article of faith with these wizards that magic was both better 
than and incompatible with "muggle toys" -- even though my 
careful counter-questioning indicated that they had about as much 
real idea what the non-magical world was like as one of their 
dragons did.  Arrogance born of ignorance.  Gotta love it.)

After a while, but before the questioning was really done, I 
found myself dragged into the preserve's commissary/cookhouse.  
Charlie sat me in a seat and told me to wait while he ducked 
through the obvious kitchen door to get a couple bowls of 
something thick and steaming.  Back at the table he set one down 
in front of me with a spoon, then positioned himself with the 
other on the other side of the table from me.

I looked down to see a stew of some kind.  A long sniff didn't
reveal anything negative, so I shrugged, picked up the spoon, and
dug in.  It turned out to be mutton.

Charlie and I ate in silence for several minutes, then he 
abruptly said, "So, you're some kind of soldier?"

"Mm-hmm," I confirmed around a mouthful of stew.  I swallowed and
added, "Colonel Douglas Sangnoir, United Nations Metahuman 
Peacekeeping Force Warriors Alpha, at your service."  I grinned
at him and saluted, managing to throttle back my inner Benny Hill
just in time to keep it dignified.

He paused at that, spoon halfway between bowl and mouth.  "United 
Nations?"

"Yeah," I said before swallowing another spoon of one of the 
better mutton stews I'd had the pleasure to consume.  "Well,
technically we're paramilitary, but when you're facing an army
nobody on either side is looking at the fine print."  I scooped
up some more stew, but before lifting it to my mouth I noted,
"Of course, if my experiences traveling from universe to universe
are anything to judge by, you probably don't have any kind of
force corresponding to us.  The Warriors are practically unique
among all the versions of Earth I've visited."

Charlie had an odd expression on his face as he replied, "I would
suppose they are."

I shrugged.  "Honestly, it doesn't bother me much.  I've actually
come to prefer worlds where the government isn't recruiting -- or
worse, press-ganging -- super-types like me; it lets me live a 
nice quiet life while I find the next step home."

"I think you're safe on that front," Charlie said with a chuckle.

"The obvious question now is," I said between bites, "what do I 
do with myself next?  Assuming you guys don't turn me in to the 
authorities for being a trespasser on the preserve."

"Well, that depends," Charlie said while tearing off bits of 
bread from the loaf between us, and soaking them in his own 
bowl's gravy.  "Do you support the Dark Lord?"