“You’re going too slow. We’ll never make the jump at this speed,” Edgar Allen Poe said in that smug tone that Twain hated.

Mark Twain looked down at the controls and then looked back at Poe, who was still smirking like a small child who had just one-upped his older sibling. “The controls on this Space-Time Machine aren’t much different from a riverboat. I think I can manage without your input.” Twain sneered and continued, “I wish you’d go drink yourself to death again,” he said viciously.

“I am an android version of Edgar Allen Poe, therefore I cannot die,” Poe replied.

Twain puffed his cigar for a moment, then said, “No. But you can probably continue his legacy of writing horrible prose. Get ready for the jump!”

The Space-Time machine shuddered then did nothing. The man and android sat in silence for a moment, then Twain said, “Maybe I should have sped up before the jump.”

Poe rolled his eyes. “Where are we going, anyway?” he asked.

“51 BC. I’m going to try to hook up with Cleopatra.”