“Hold tight, everyone!” shouted Poe. “It’s gonna be a bumpy one!”

The vessel juddered sharply, knocking the men to their knees. A previously unused console spontaneously exploded. Smoke began to fill the room.

“Is everyone alright?” asked Tesla, standing upright and dusting himself off.

“I’m as good as can be expected,” replied Twain. “Sadly, it looks as though my moustache did not survive the crash.”

“You can mourn later. Right now, we must ascertain where and when we are.”

Poe checked the monitor. “Looks like we’ve touched down in London. According to the Temporal Scannometer, it’s 802,701 AD.”

“My word,” said Tesla, putting on a pair of glasses so he could remove them again dramatically. “That means…”

Suddenly the Entry Hatch hissed open, and in walked a giant mechanical behemoth, at the center of which was an oval jar containing a human head.

“I am Emperor H. G. Wells,” came a tinny voice from a speaker beneath the jar. “You have intruded upon Welltopia. You will pay with your lives!”