Rokus came to in a tent. Once his reality stopped spinning, he realised he was still physically rotating in space, or rather the tent was. He manoeuvred himself towards the flap and tentatively unzipped it halfway. A sickening drop confirmed his fears: Once again he’d been reset on the side of a mountain. He was more annoyed than scared, but this situation needed to be dealt with.
He gingerly reached to the other side of the tent, ignoring the wind whistling through the fabric, and pulled his GM Unit out of its carry case. The date on the LCD Display read ’01-08-1986′. At least they hadn’t kicked him all the way back, he thought – but the only way forward was back further still.
With a justified smugness, he pressed the embedded button on the side of the GM to reset and closed his eyes as the unit span up the torsion motors. A flash, a jolt, and he felt dry grass on his back.
Back to the scrubland, back to 1976. This would go in his report. He opened his eyes and sat up. To his great dismay, a humanoid robot was standing over him, a scrolling electronic banner on its chest proclaiming it as POLICE.
“You are not authorised, citizen,” it purred electronically. “You are under arrest. Please do not resist.”
“But-” was all Rokus could utter before the police robot tazed him into unconsciousness.