Slingshot

This is a 2024 Valentine's Day Contest Story. Thanks for reading and please take a moment at the end to vote.

Location: Classified <

slingshot

> Toronto, Canada

Time: February 14, 2025 <

slingshot

> February 14, 1970

"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.

****

Gemma walked into the Clifton House, and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes slammed into her. Added to the mix were the sounds of conversation, laughter and the Rolling Stones. It wasn't quite the same jolt as landing 55 years back in time, but it pulled her up. It was a Friday night and Valentine's Day. On the short walk from the alley to the pub she walked past a sex shop advertising trashy lingerie for Valentine's Day. So, full points to the tech team.

She'd been to the pub in 2025 after it had reverted to its original name - The Black Bull. It was clean with a patio and a part of Toronto's busy Queen Street West area. In 1970 there was a long, battered wooden bar and communal tables. The place was packed, but she noticed hippies, some men in suits, and guys in uniforms. They got off work and headed straight to the pub.

She walked inside and took off her coat. She'd been freezing outside but cooking in the bar. Of course, taking off the coat meant she got looks. As much as she mocked her apparel in Costuming, they knew what they were doing. Gemma knew she was attractive. A short, blue-eyed blonde with a slim body and a short, shaggy hairstyle. So far, she was just getting looks. Hopefully, she could find and latch onto her target before she started fending off suitors.

Her first sweep through the bar was a bust. She started to panic when she saw a tall, gangly, redheaded man make his way from the bathroom to the end of the bar. Even in the bar with different groups of people, he looked odd. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. His dishevelled hair indicated he hadn't slept much lately. He got up on his stool and signalled the bartender, who brought him a stubby beer bottle. He took a sip and then stared at the bottle. He was alone.

The future Dr. David Sale, the inventor of time travel, was sitting alone, and the stool next to him was empty. If there was a God of Time Travel - and really, they ought to get around to figuring out who that would be - they were smiling on her. She moved across the bar and sat next to him.

She waved down the bartender and ordered a Labatt's Blue. David, her inventor target, didn't offer to pay. Gemma might only be 21, but she couldn't recall the last time she paid for a drink. She was mildly offended but then remembered his file. He wasn't in a good place at this moment. It was her job to nudge him back on track.

The bartender brought back the beer and gave David a look. The look was, "Hey idiot, a beautiful woman is sitting next to you and got a beer without you offering to buy it. Snap the fuck out of it." Or at least that's how Gemma interpreted the look.

"Sorry," he said. He wasn't slurring his words, but that wasn't his first beer of the evening. "It's been a day."

"Girlfriend dump you?" she asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

"Yeah," he said, looking startled. "You psychic?"

"A guy sitting alone at the end of the bar on Valentine's Day giving off 'leave me alone' vibes is a pretty easy tell," she said. "Besides, my asshole boyfriend just dumped me. I figure whatever you're radiating will help keep anybody feeling brave away."

David looked at her and disbelief washed over his face. "Who the hell dumps someone like you?"

Gemma took a sip of her beer. She'd prefer a cocktail, but this wasn't that kind of bar.

"Someone who spends more time studying than 'taking care of his needs,' apparently," she said.

"Huh. My ex just said something like that to me," David said. Yes, she knew. It had been a thorough briefing.

"To taking care of yourself first," she said, leaning the head of her beer bottle towards his. They tapped the necks of the bottles and then each took a sip.

"So, what are you studying?" he asked.

"

Quantum physics, psychology, and late 20th-century history,

" is what Gemma thought.

"Sociology and English," she said. There were so few women studying hard science at the time. Someone looking like her would have been noticed and remembered by him.

"And that takes time?" he asked. Ah, the smugness of scientists at the time.

"I'm paying money to be here. I'm not doing it half-assed. I know some people view school as a place to drink, do drugs and get laid. I'm here to get a degree," she said.

"None of the other things?"

"Well, I never said that," she said, and gave him a moderately flirty smile. He blushed and stared back at his beer bottle. "School comes first. The rest are luxuries. How about you?"

"Theoretical physics," he said. Gemma smiled and gave him the "And she didn't find that fascinating?" look, and he laughed. "It was fine at first. She is...was studying to be a nurse, so at least we had some science background. But I've spent more time studying and less with her. Then she went to a party and some guy told her that people like me tend to end up working for the US military."

"Smooth move," Gemma said.

David shook his head. "Who even thinks like that?"

"Guys trying to steal another guy's girlfriend," she said, sipping the beer.

"Well, it worked. She slept with him, dumped me, dropped out of school, and moved to San Francisco," he said. "That's all happened in the last week."

"Fuck me," Gemma said. She could tell he was a little startled and intrigued by her profanity. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, she saw he was finally checking her out properly for the first time.

"Well, according to her, for a guy spending all his time studying, observing, and trying to solve problems, I did a shitty job observing her unhappiness and solving that. That was her parting shot," he said.

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Pretty unfair, though."

Gemma spun around on the stool and faced David. It was a calculated move. Now that he was paying more attention to her, it allowed her to display her legs and show how tight her sweater was. But she also found herself sympathizing with David. She'd been a huge science geek from a young age. Kids teased her about it. When she got hot in her teens, too many guys did to her what David's ex did to him.... made her feel like shit because she wanted to study instead of fawn over them every waking moment.

Before she landed her current job, it was the reason why she was single a lot.

"Look, if she has a problem with how much time you spend studying, you sit down and talk. You figure things out. And if you can't figure things out, then you fucking break up. What are you, 21?"

"Yeah, last month," David said. He was paying attention to her now. But it was what she was saying and not her body. For the first time, Gemma started to look at David as a man and not her assignment. He wasn't at his best this evening, grieving over his lost love. But he wasn't bad-looking. Maybe eat more, but that would be a lifelong problem for him.... too much time studying, not enough time taking better care of himself.

"Me too. And I spent 30 minutes crying and then I got off my bed, stopped crying, and decided I deserved better," Gemma said. She put the beer bottle on the bar with a little more force than necessary to emphasize the point.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I love her. We've been together for two years. Maybe she's right. I don't want to work with a defence company designing weapons or something. I've been thinking about dropping out, maybe going to San Francisco and seeing if she'll change her mind. I've heard things about the guy she ran off with. I think he's bad news."

Which brought them neatly to the reason why she was here. Trying to figure out cause and effect in time travel could make your brain explode. It was still a new science. It excited Gemma to be on the ground level of things. But the situation with Dr. Sale was clear-cut. Kinda.

The man kept detailed journals. She hadn't read them and only saw one of them briefly. Classified. But according to her briefing, he mentioned meeting a young blonde woman named Gemma in one of the volumes. On Valentine's Day, 1970, she convinced him not to go to San Francisco after his ex and to stay in school. David didn't know it now, but this night was a critical tipping moment. From their research in 2025, things didn't go well for his ex. The guy she ran off with got her addicted to drugs and she ended up dying in 1975.

If David goes after her, maybe he can save her, and she won't die. But if that happens, he won't invent time travel.

One of the things you try hard not to do when doing these kinds of things is going into the weeds. Well, maybe David does save her and still invents time travel. Or perhaps they have a kid and that kid cures cancer.

But those options were not going to happen. Because in 2022, someone recruited Gemma straight out of high school and told her what they did. That they could send her back in time. She was hooked.

"I wouldn't," she said, trying to sound casual, even though her heart was going a million miles a minute.

"Because I'm such a catch," he said, shaking his head. "Guys like me don't date women that gorgeous every day. If I go there, promise to change and do better, she might take me back."

Gemma took a breath.

"And what happens the next time?"

"Next time?" he asked, puzzled.

"She takes you back and you change for her. You're more attentive and caring and put her needs first. But will she change for you? She now knows she can cheat on you, and you'll forgive her. So what happens the next time she does it?" Gemma asked.

She could see David deflate in front of her. The thought never occurred to him. That's the problem with scientists sometimes. Great with equations, but not so great with people. She should know.

For the first time she reached out and placed her hand on his knee. David was still processing what she said and hadn't noticed yet.

"Are you a good theoretical physicist?"

That snapped him out of things.

"Not yet. I mean, one day. I'm at the top of my class, and my professors like me."

"Then stick with that. One day, you'll win the Nobel Prize in Physics. Your ex is living somewhere in San Francisco with five kids going, 'damn, I used to date that guy," she said.

And for the first time that evening, David laughed.

"I don't even know your name," he said. "But thank you. I haven't laughed in over a week."

"Gemma," she said, offering her hand. David took it and was confused about exactly what to do with a woman's hand. But she squeezed his gently and he recalled what to do. He blushed and let it go.

"I'm David."

"So, what exactly is theoretical physics anyway?" she asked.

It was like pressing David's start button. Fifteen minutes ago he was drinking a beer alone at a pub on Valentine's Night. Now a beautiful woman was asking to explain what theoretical physics was all about.

It was adorable, Gemma thought. David started off tentatively, thinking she must be teasing him. But then she asked questions. Vague ones, of course. He couldn't know that she understood much about physics, let alone more than he did, at this time in his life. And that got him going.

It wasn't the information or ideas he presented that fascinated her. Half of the things he talked about had already been disproven by 2025. She learned a chunk of the rest in high school physics. What was radical for him now was common knowledge in her time. But occasionally he talked about a concept still debated in her time, and she'd smile. But what she enjoyed was his passion.

He loved physics. He loved the mystery of things and the challenge of trying to solve them. When he spoke of his colleagues or others in his field, it wasn't with envy or bitterness, but admiration and a desire to be as good as they were. Never mind that Gemma could tell David was more intelligent than many of his professors. He is a genius, Gemma thought. She knew many brilliant people in 2025, but it was rare to find yourself in the presence of a genius.

She became so enthralled with listening to him speak that it took some time for her to notice a few things. First, after a few beers, she needed to use the bathroom. Second, David was making her horny. And third, there was a tingling, bordering on uncomfortable, feeling building in her skin.

Fuck.

She stood up quickly. So fast she startled David, who was in mid-explanation on something. She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

"Sorry, David, but the beer requires a trip to the bathroom. I'll be right back," she said, moving towards the washrooms at the back of the bar.

"Try to resist the urge to crawl out the window to escape," he said. He meant it as a joke, but Gemma could feel the worry along the edge of his voice, concern she might disappear.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she called back and vanished into the women's washroom.

After taking care of the immediate problem of her bladder, she held down the face of her watch. The digital countdown appeared - 3:52:37.

"Fuuuuuck," Gemma moaned. She'd been talking to David for almost four hours. Somehow, she forgot one of the most basic rules of time travel - don't lose track of time. She was now paying the price for that.

Gemma's eight-hour time limit wasn't in place because they feared she might stay in the past. Or the longer she stayed in 1970, the more likely she might do something that would disrupt the past. The truth was, if she stayed there much longer than eight hours, it would kill her.

Simply, 1970 didn't like a 2025 girl in her year. Their energies didn't sync up. It was doing everything it could to get her to go the fuck away. The tingling in her skin was the first sign of things to come. Soon, that tingling would become something more uncomfortable. Then it would move beneath her skin and into fat tissue, muscles, and bone. Eventually, her brain would start to sizzle and she wouldn't be able to think straight.

Eight hours was the agreed maximum for someone in the past. The record time for a slingshot to the past was 12 hours. That woman's name and achievement were on the wall in the "In Memoriam" section of the Institute. That's why they didn't fuck around or trust travellers to decide on when to make the return slingshot. It was automatic. And you best be ready at seven hours and 59 minutes, because you were coming home at eight hours on the dot.

Gemma did a quick evaluation of her situation as she washed her hands. She'd probably done enough to ensure David stayed in school and didn't run off to San Francisco. The bar was closing soon, so she could thank him for a lovely evening and hunker down for a few hours until it was time to slingshot back.

Or....

The briefing was vague on whether she fucked David. Clearly, she made an impression, but that didn't mean she slept with him. In fact, one of the many,

many

rules in the dull "A Guide to the Ethics and Rules of Time Travelling" explicitly states not to engage in sexual acts while in the past.

Still, there were always rumours. Nobody ever admitted to anything. But you're going back in time to meet, and sometimes influence, people to do what you want them to do. Well, that's quite the heady feeling. Things can happen. Theoretically.

Gemma leaned on the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Was she really going back out there and dragging that man home?

"Fuck it," she said, and left the bathroom.

She must have been in there debating with herself a bit longer than she realized. Gemma could see the look of relief on David's face. She also noticed the crowd in the bar thinned out. Ontario bars closed ludicrously early in 1970.