Time
Banger

Beck stood on the platform, naked, tense, and trying very hard not to shiver.

“You’d think,” he muttered, “that for all the future-tech and multibillion-dollar funding, someone could afford to heat the damn launch room.”

Behind the reinforced glass of the control station, Iris didn’t look up from her monitor. “Thermal conditions align with stabilization requirements. You want warm, join a sauna.”

Her voice, as always, was calm, dry, and just this side of condescending. Beck wasn’t sure if that was her natural tone or if she had developed it specifically to keep time bangers like him from melting down before their first deployment.

“Good to know,” he said, pacing the metallic ring. “Next time I’ll pack a bathrobe. Oh wait, I can’t. Because time travel apparently hates fabric.”

Iris finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You wouldn’t want it getting misincorporated into your flesh, trust me. Still nervous?”

Beck scoffed. “What? No. Please. I’ve been stripped down and about to get shot into the past more times than I can count.”

She smirked, tapping a key. “I know it’s your first time, big guy.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Just saying, it’s cold in here, so don’t judge.”

“Your file says you’re a decorated field operative with ten years of active combat duty. Try to act like it.”

“That guy didn’t get launched naked into history with a microchip in his neck. That guy had pants.”

Iris leaned forward, resting her elbows on the console, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of amusement and subtle menace. “Beck. You’re not going back in time to fight an army. You’re going to check out a possible anomaly. A blip. Think of it as… vacation with stakes.”

He rolled his neck, stretching. “You always this reassuring to the new guys?”

“Do you need someone to come hold your hand?”

Beck blinked, then scoffed.

Iris looked back up from the control board. “Let go of your package unless you want to come out with your hands fused to it. Assume the position.”

Beck planted his feet shoulder-width apart and raised his arms.

Iris gave him a slow blink, then tapped the screen. “Don’t look too cold to me,” she murmured.

The floor beneath Beck began to hum.

“Cache’ll drop six seconds after you land,” she said, tone shifting to crisp professionalism. “Standard period appropriate gear, rations to get you started, and an occasional note from yours truly. Don’t forget to check it once in a while.”

Beck controlled his breathing. The walls around him shimmered, light building toward the inevitable.

“One last question,” he said, just loud enough to carry over the rising pulse of the machine. “What are the odds I come back in one piece?”

Iris smiled, not warmly or cruelly, but like someone who had seen a lot of people ask that question. “Ninety-two percent.”

“That’s lower than I was hoping.”

The system chimed. Final sequence initiated.

Iris tilted her head. “Stay alive out there and I’ll do my best to get you back whole. Deal?”

Beck gave her a wink. “Maybe when I get back, we could—”