"Are you ready?" the man in the booth said to 'Gemma.' He was sitting in a control room, looking down 100 metres toward her. She stood in a heavily shielded room with walls made of the same reflective material they used on the ISS to protect astronauts.
"Well, let's see," Gemma thought. "I'm covered head to toe in a skintight suit designed to protect me from radiation and anything else unknown we might not have thought of. But it looks like someone wrapped me in tinfoil to get me ready for a fetish club. I also have blackout lenses covering my eyes, so I can't see. I'm about to slingshot further back in time than anyone has tried. And, oh yeah, this is my first time trying it. All the while, you're sitting safe and sound in that control booth. So what do you think, asshole?"
What she said was, "Ready."
Her voice didn't even waiver, although she was sure her vitals were hitting impressive highs. Fuck it, she was travelling back in time. That should get your heart rate going.
"Good luck," the voice said.
"Fuck you," Gemma thought. And then she was pulled. Hard.
It wasn't as if someone grabbed her and pulled. Instead, it felt as if something yanked every molecule of her body hard, but not all at the same time and in the same direction. If she could process it, Gemma was sure she would be screaming in agony.
Then everything snapped together like she hit a wall. She collapsed to the ground, gasped and spent the next few moments reminding her lungs to work again. She suspected her supper was landing somewhere in the 1990s.
Finally, Gemma's brain began working enough that she knew she had to assess her situation. If there was someone nearby, they were getting an eyeful. She found the edge of her hood and pulled it off. She removed her lenses and placed them on top of the hood. Then she blinked her eyes a couple of times and looked around.
It was dark, which was a positive sign. She was in an alley and it was filthy. Disgusting, but also a good sign. Most importantly, she was alone. All the research said she should be, but there's a significant difference between should and will. There were measures she could take if anyone noticed her arrival, but Gemma was glad she didn't need to use them.
She stripped off the rest of the suit. Toronto in the middle of winter was fucking cold, especially when you're standing naked in an alley. She unstrapped the vacuum-sealed bag from her body and popped the seal. A hissing noise breaking the silence as the compressed clothing unfolded. She reached inside and pulled out what she needed for Toronto in winter.
The tragically practical bra and underwear went on first. Then, a pair of heavy-duty nylons went over her legs. She'd hated them when Costuming presented them to her to try on, but now they felt like a warm blanket going up her legs. She tossed on a t-shirt, a snug, burnt orange sweater and then pulled up a chocolate brown mini-skirt. Next, a pair of fur-lined brown ankle boots.
Finally, she put on a battered, three-quarter-length brown wool jacket with fur-lined cuffs and a hood. She had turned up her nose at it earlier, but now it was the greatest thing in the world. It was warm.
Gemma was dressed and the slingshot had been successful. That meant taking a second to breathe and process. It wasn't enough to be back in time; she had a mission, which meant it was time to get her head in the game. She put her hands in the coat pocket to warm them and instead found the watch. She pulled it out.
It looked like a cheap women's watch until you pressed on the face and held it for five seconds. Then, a digital display appeared. In this case, it was counting down. The display read - 07:52:01. She'd spent eight minutes recovering from the shock of the slingshot and getting dressed. Not bad, but she'd hoped for better.
She packed up the tinfoil suit, glasses and everything else and put them in the battered purse that had also been in the vacuum bag. Despite going back in time, she had no time to waste. Because in seven hours and...51 minutes, she would slingshot back home, ready or not.