You're hoping they'll come in handy for the comedy you'd like to film. Plus a joke every now and then is a good way to ease tension.
It takes you the better part of the evening, but eventually, you and Brett have sorted through the sea of equipment strewn all over the garage floor and crammed a small portion of it into the Way Way Wayback Machine. Just in time, too!
"Whew," you say. "Ten minutes to midnight." That's when the time window opens.
"My cell phone says twelve minutes before midnight." She looks worried.
"Hey, it doesn't matter. We have an entire half-hour window. I've told you that."
"I know, I know. But this is our last chance at it for months and months." Brett runs a hand through her hair.
That's true. Time travel to the Late Cretaceous—67 million years ago—depends on complex calculations of time and space. You've only identified three launch windows this year, and two of those already happened before you got the Way Way Wayback Machine up and running.
"You think I'd be late? Me?" That produces a smile. It feels good to be able to joke about this. And anyway, a unique orange shimmer will surround the time machine, thereby alerting you when the time window is open. "Let's get the camera rolling."
What final preparations do you make for your historic departure?
Comb my hair, don a clean camo vest, and check the lights and camera.
Pack materials to make field notes, maps, and sketches. Triple-check the time machine's screens.
Do a once-over of everything—my appearance, the time machine's settings, and the camera and lights.
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