Seven's Up

I doff my hat politely to the woman. "Do I know you?"

Well, apparently I do, or rather, I did, because I'm standing right next to her, in my third incarnation. Strange, that, because I think she's someone I would remember, but I don't. Ah, well, the memory's not what it used to be, I suppose...

"Not exactly," she says with a secretive smile, an I-know-something-you-don't smile. How irritating. You'd never catch me with a look like that. I give her my best pretending-to-know-more-than-you-think-I-know smile back and offer a noncommital "Ah."

My earlier self is staring at me with something like shock. "Good grief! Is that really you? I mean, me?"

"Number seven, yeah," says one of the other women with him. I don't remember her, either, but I somehow she doesn't seem nearly as memorable, despite the eye-catching redness of her hair.

My other self casts a critical eye over me, apparently sizing up my fashion sense. I cast it back, sizing up his. I can't believe I was ever such a puffed-up dandy...

"Professor," says Ace, an entire .25 minutes after I'd expected her to finally lose her patience and interrupt, "What's going on? Who are these people? Are they the ones who caused the malfunction, or whatever it was that brought us here?"

1. I cast an expectant look at my earlier self, awaiting an answer to Ace's questions. I have the feeling this is going to be interesting...

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