It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Develop a means of connecting one's computer to one's brain, and eliminate the middle men of speech and/or typing. Unnecessary for some perhaps, who thought at the same speed they typed, (or spoke) but for him it would save hundreds of hours in a single year.

Yes, a brilliant idea.

Or so it seemed. Now though, sitting in a pile of what appeared to be horse feed, he wasn't so sure. One minute he was sitting at his desk, connecting the sensors to his head, the next... Well, he wasn't quite sure where he was.

A rat crawled out of the hay beside him and he leapt to his feet, hand clutched to his chest. A rat, the most plague-infested rodent there was, and him without antibacterial hand wash. Good thing he had updated his shots recently, this proved the old adage, you just never know.

Brushing the hay from his rear, he looked around, trying to spot a landmark, but there was nothing. Not a building, not a road, not even any aeroplanes in the sky. It was eerily quiet, even with his abnormally good hearing.

There was only the faintest of paths, and more hay scattered down it, as if it had fallen off the back of a cart.

But that was ridiculous, nobody used carts any more, except to ferry Beauty Queens down main street in a parade. With a derisive sniff, he set off down the trail. It had to lead somewhere.

It was not long before he caught up to the cart, which was plodding along behind an ox. A person with long blonde hair was walking beside it, and she turned to face him brandishing a sword when he spoke.

"Excuse me," He began, before he found his nose point to point with a sword of ancient creation that looked very much like it was newly made, being wielded like a person looking very like Penny.

"What are you?" She spoke, instantly.

He frowned. "What do you mean? I am Homo Novus." It was Penny, he was sure of it, only her hair was longer, not so tidy, and she didn't smell of bath products she smelled.. He sniffed again then took a step back. She smelled like it had been a while since her last bath.

"Homo who?" She glared, seeming not to recognize him. It was puzzling to be sure, did he not look the same as he always did? And what was she doing in the middle of nowhere with a sword?

"My name is Dr. Sheldon Lee Cooper, I am a theoretical physicist." He said slowly.

"Are you one of the invaders with the feathers in their heads?"

He felt the top of his head. "No."

The sword was lowered. "Where did you come from then, and what is with those skins?" She reached out and plucked at his shirt.

"Why haven't you had a bath?" He countered.

She blinked up at him and tilted her head. "What's that?"

Her gaze was honest and appraising, and it finally sunk in, she had no idea who he was. She was not the Penny of his world. And she'd probably never had a bath in her life.

He nearly vomited at the thought.

"Take me to your people." He ordered. He had to figure this out and get back home before the new episode of Doctor Who came on.

One of her eyebrows went up and again the sword was at his throat. "You are bossy. But I see signs of good health, and I must procreate. You are now my prisoner. Walk."

"Your prisoner? Procreate? But Penny!"

"Shut up." She ordered, poking him with the word. "It is better to be my prisoner than dead, no?"

"Very well." He sighed and bent his head, then began walking. This was very strange.

In a few turns of the road, they came upon what some would call a village. A collection of tiny huts surrounded an open space with a large fire, and an iron cauldron over it, the contents bubbling away.

"Oh ho, the brave warrior returns." A man sneered from the other side of the clearing.

"Braver than you, one who cowers at thunder."

"Thunder is displeasure of the God,s I have right to cower." Was the argumentative response.

"You cower before the gods, I have brought back a god as my prisoner." She replied with a tilt of her nose. "And may the rest thunder all they want and you cower under the hay for all the rest of your days."

"Who is that?" Sheldon whispered, as more people came out to see what was going on.

"My brother." The Penny look-a-like sighed. "May he die of plague at the old age of thirty two."

"Thirty-two?"

"We become elders at the age of thirty three." She replied, prodding him again with the edge of the sword. "Prisoners do not ask questions if they want to keep their tongues.."

If his new brain to computer device worked, he wouldn't need his tongue, he thought of pointing out, but instead he shut his mouth and let himself be forced into a nearby hut and lashed to a wooden post in the center of it. A multitude of comments wanted to trip off his tongue, but he held them all.

It was exhausting.