Rachel was dizzy, disoriented, and wracked with pain; her brain couldn't make heads nor tails of her surroundings -- couldn't determine whether the jump had worked or not -- despite her fully functioning eyes taking in the sights about her. Finally, after God only knew how long, her mental and physical faculties began to return to her. Ironically, it was only now that she fell into a heap on the floor, her previously locked joints and tensed muscles now freed and unwilling to support her.

Another long moment passed before she was able to stand. She took in her surroundings with a long sweeping glance; she had jumped to almost the exact spot intended, a passageway of the Martindale Science Museum that was closed to the General Public. She looked herself over for injuries, finding none; she smoothed her jump suit to her fit frame and checked her weapon to see if it had maintained its charge, something the Facility's Techs had told her had a 1 in 4 chance.

"Damn," she grumbled, finding it not only discharged but also non-funtional. Rachel holstered the weapon on her thigh, drawing a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady her lightly trembling body. It didn't work. She chanted quietly, "Relax ... just relax ... relax ... it's all ... going ... as ... planned ... just relax--"

When a door unexpectedly opened just yards before her, Rachel instinctively drew the pulse weapon from its holster and aimed it at the head of the alien about to attack her.

"Whoa, whoa!" the creature said to her in slightly accented English. The man pulled his costume's headdress off, looked Rachel up and down, and complimented, "Nice ... suit! Did you make that yourself? Who are you supposed to be? I don't recognize the show. Or is it from a graphic novel?"

Relax, relax ... put it away, Rachel chastised herself, holstering the defunct weapon. She recalled her cover, as well as the reason they'd picked Seattle ComiCon'24 as her jump landing: "I'm, uh ... it's from ... FutureGirl." She could see the lack of recognition in his face and added quickly, "It's an Indie comic ... graphic novel. Not well known; only one issue so far."

As the man began making inquiries about the costume, her character, where he could get a copy and more, Rachel hurried past him for the door and the conference hall beyond him, giving him only her backside and no answers. She stopped on the edge of the milling-about crowd, suddenly realizing just how hard her heart was pounding. She'd never seen anything like this before in her 24 years of life in what these people would call the 23rd century. There were so many people, and they were all doing something Rachel couldn't recall ever having done in her life: enjoying themselves.

The alien passed by her, making more inquiries, giving her more compliments, and -- after she asked where it was -- pointing her to the Information Center. She headed through the crowd, giving the mostly costumed attendees the same glances of curiosity as they were giving her. (Some of the glances, mostly from males, seemed to be taking in her delicious womanly curves more than the costume that fit them so wonderfully.)

After a few wrong turns and pauses at booths or displays that she simply didn't understand, Rachel found her destination. She asked a young woman costumed as a bikini wearing, pink furred, anthropomorphic cat, "Where do I find the Captain Harbinger display?"

"Which one? There's four of them," she informed Rachel. The latest superhero to not come from one of the major studios was the newest big thing at this year's ComiCon. She drew circles on a map side of a flyer and oriented it on the table before her. "I'd start that direction. It's the closest."

Rachel studied the map but left it where it was as she headed off into the crowd. She found the first booth but not the person for whom she was looking; same at the second booth in the next Hall over. Finally, at the far side of the second hall from the last exhibit, Rachel's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her target. She froze for a long moment, searching for the courage to take this huge step. Finally, after drawing a few more steadying breaths, she walked up to the man, catching his attention after a moment and smiling wide.

"Hi," she said, hesitating not so much to allow him to respond but because she still wasn't ready for this. Finally, she continued, "I know this is going to sound strange when I say it, even for a place like this with..."

Rachel hesitated as a three-operator -- and thus six-legged -- brightly colored creature pushed its way through the crowd; from its fang-filled mouth, faux-fire streamers flapped frantically, driven by a fan hidden somewhere inside the costume. Suddenly but accidentally, the creature bumped Rachal, pushing her into the man's arms. She blushed when she realized that her curvy, leather-and-latex sheathed body was pressed firmly against his own. She chuckled nervously, backed away, and both apologized and asked for clarification, "Sorry about that. Dragon, right? The ... those guys?"

She looked about at another ruckus nearby, then spoke in a volume meant only for him. "As I was saying, this is going to sound strange, but ... I'm from the future ... the 23rd century ... 2266 to be exact ... and I need your help in this time to save the world of the future ... a world that is mine now but will be the world of your descendants soon enough."