Time Traveler Martin Fields was spending Tuesday evening experimenting with the perfect vodka martini. The single olive might offend James Bond, but Martin thought it was the appropriate garnish. No time travel assignment from Isis in more than two weeks, so he mostly focused on his non-existent love life.
Martin felt nauseous, but sure it had nothing to do with his drink.
“What the hell!”
The olive and thin liquid streams were rising out of his glass.
She materialized in the center of his living room in a purplish haze. The olive and vodka returned to gravity’s control.
“Hello.” She had an enchanting smile and a time jump suit to die for, if it was a jump suit. Could have just been a freakishly futuristic skin-tight catsuit laced with photo-circuits.
I sat up. “I suppose stuff like this shouldn’t surprise me.”
“It shouldn’t, Martin.”
Great. She knows my name and where (and when) I live.
“Name’s NaCumbea.” She didn’t extend her hand by way of introduction. “I thought now that you know the ropes, you should know you’re not the only one.”
Before I could respond, the purple haze around her brightened. “Come get me.” The chase had begun.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction for February 26th 2017. The goal is to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. Mine is 199.
To read other stories based on the photo prompt above, go to InLinkz.com.
Again, I’m using my recurring time traveler Martin Fields, who first started training for this job in the story On Wednesday The Time Traveler Got Wet.