Katherine enunciated clearly inside the teleportation chamber, unaware that her cat had followed her.
"10 Downing Street." she stated.
"10 Downing Street, Confirm Location." The Machine prompted.
"Confirmed." she replied, and the positron-generator hummed as it warmed up. The rings around the inside of the chamber lit up and began to rotate in opposite directions to one-another. Katherine watched them hesitantly. She hated teleportation, or using "The Machine" as she referred to it. She'd never trusted the thing, but tolerated it on a daily basis for the past three years due to the time-constraints of her employment with the Prime Minister. Katherine still felt nauseous after each trip, but as the swirling lights began to increase in brightness, most of her senses were dulled as she neared the crux-point of her transition from Home-Office to Prime-Minister's Headquarters.
"Meow." Procal Harum interjected, causing Katherine to swear in fright.
"Transition in three... two..." The computerised voice of The Machine began its usual count-down.
"Emergency shut-down!!" Katherine screamed, just before both herself and Procal were disintergrated into a quintillion minute pieces of light, whirling around the chamber like a horrible vortex of beauty.
"Shut-down acknowledged." The Machine complied, and as the vortex slowed, the pieces of light re-assembled themselves, restoring Katherine.
The lights faded away as the hum of the generator subsided, and Katherine stumbled out of the chamber and immediately vomited onto the carpet. Still in a daze, she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and attempted to clean the mess when her phone rang. Shakily, she answered it.
"Ah, Katherine. Molly Tate here, secretary to the PM." a cheery but annoyed voice jumped at her from the other end of the line.
"I know who you are, Molly." Katherine replied, trying to stifle more nauseous feelings.
"Perhaps you forgot," Molly continued, "You do have to make an appearance in person here today. You can't just send your cat with the documents and hope everything will be..."
"Are that Kath'rine onner phone?" Katherine herd a voice interrupt on the other end. "'Ere, give-ova'."
"Yes, Prime Minis..."
"Kath'rine! Wot's goin' on 'ere, lov'?" a large male voice inquired rather loudly over the phone.
"Prime Minister, I do apologise..." Katherine started.
"Yeh can' go sendin' kitty through the 'porter when'er yeh have a repor' to give to meh, even if it is a damn good ideah."
"..I do apologise," Katherine continued, "He followed me into the teleporter just as it was about to send me. It was all I could do to call for a shut-down moments before The Machine scrambled us both."
"Tha's vereh dang'rus, that is! You could get sick or summat!"
"Indeed, sir. I've just retched all over my carpet."
"Well tha's no good. Bet it smells a treat." The Prime Minister stated casually, causing Katherine to wonder how on Earth this man was voted to this seat of power.
"Tell yeh wot," The PM started, a tone of concern in his voice, "Why don' yeh take the day off, eh? We got the repor', and Proctor..."
"Procal."
"... righ', Procal," He continued warmly, "He seems fine. No, wait, he's jus' gone and chundered all over Molleh. Anyway, we'll take care of 'im. Don' yeh worry abou' a thing. You jus' rest up, an' call meh tomorroh if yeh feel betteh, a'righ'?"
"Yes, sir." Katherine sighed, "I will, thank you."
"Noh' a problem, lov', you take care now. Molleh, how d'yeh hang up this digital pho..."
Katherine smiled. All things considered, Prime Minister Wilson was a caring, down-to-earth man, plain and simple. That was why the people of Britain chose him, even though there was an emphasis on "simple". When he personally hired her as "'Ed Science Person" (a title later revised as "Chief Scientific Adviser to the Prime Minister"), she was extremely proud and took her appointment as such very seriously.
Always professional, Katherine and did her hair in a tight bun every morning. Right now, however, her hair was hanging down around her shoulders, having come loose from its station on the back of her head. For some reason, her follicles itched.
Returning to the task at hand, Katherine continued to mop-up as much of her mess as she could with the tissues. The Prime Minister was right, the smell was unbearable, but it seemed stronger than usual. Beginning to feel nauseous again, Katherine made for the bathroom, this time accurately directing her output towards the toilet bowl. She flushed, washed her hands, and leaning against the sink, rinsed her mouth and splashed her face, accidentally slapping her eye with her finger.
"Oh, bugger, that hurt." Katherine cursed, and looked up into the mirror above the sink...