On the barren landscape of the planet I’ll Give It A Proper Name Later, Mark Twain and Nikola Tesla stood looking down at the stony grave of Edgar Allen Poe, famed poet, author, and robot.

“He was, and always shall be, a terrible writer,” said Twain, who had acquired a hat just so he could not wear it for the occasion.

“He died doing what he loved,” Tesla remarked. “Fighting an evil cyborg emperor H. G. Wells.”

“Which reminds me, we still have to find those Morlocks.”

“But they aren’t real, Twain,” scoffed Tesla. “We’ll never find them. It’s hopeless.“

“Stop speaking in italics, you damned fool,” shouted Twain. “They must be real. We saw them. And what’s more, we’ve got to set them up.”

“Now who’s speaking in italics?”

“Well, you’re still doing it.”

“Sorry.”

They took one look down at the grave of their fallen colleague, and turned back to the Space-Time Machine. There was work to be done. The ship blipped away into the past.

Unseen, the mechanical hand of Poe emerged from the grave…