“Please deactivate all electronic devices as we make our final descent into Seattle, Washington,” came the female flight attendant’s voice over the jet’s public address system.
Teena Fields, caught in mid-sentence in her latest dissertation on World War II battles in the Pacific Theater, sighed in disappointment. She had hoped to finish that section before landing. Now she probably wouldn’t get back to it until after meeting the town car at SeaTac, having dinner with her colleagues from the university, and checking in with Tommy and the kids back home in Atlanta.
“Going to be a late night,” she muttered, powering down the laptop and closing the lid.
The salesman to her right, who had introduced himself as Morris before Teena had hurtled herself headlong into the mid-20th Century Phillipines, was still poking away at a video game on his smartphone.
She leaned over and said, “We’re supposed to shut everything down.”
Morris huffed. “I’ve almost beaten this level,” he growled. Thumbs tapped on the screen.
Teena watched as a male flight attendant walked up the aisle, checking to make sure the instruction had been followed. “Better switch it off,” she whispered.
“Almost!” he hissed.
The historian rolled her eyes and just shook her head when she heard the inevitable: “Sir, you really need to turn that off. Now.”
“Goddammit!” Morris snapped, shaking the phone at the flight attendant. “You made me mess up! Now I have to start all–” The plane lurched. He didn’t have a very good grip on the phone. It went spiraling through the air, smacked against the back of Teena’s seat, and then slid down the aisle as the jet went into a screeching plunge.
Game over, she thought, before the blue glow engulfed her.
