“Maybe I should have learned Greek,” mumbled Tesla as the woman walked away, perplexed.

“That’s what I thought, too,” said a man behind him.

“I’m sorry, did you just say something? In English?” Tesla whirled around and eyed the man, who looked curiously like a young Christopher Lloyd.

“I did, and I surely never expected to see another American here, of all places.”

“Actually, I’m Croatian.”

“I thought I recognized that face.” The man’s tone grew sharper. “You’re Tesla, aren’t you?”

“I am. Do I know you?”

“The name’s Emmett Brown, and while I can’t say I’m particularly fond of your work, Mr. Tesla, I am grateful for anyone with a time machine to get me out of this hellhole.”

“I assume you had one of your own?”

“Oh yes, a fine one, but then I came to Troy.”

“To see Helen?”

“Why else? But I made the mistake of leaving the machine in plain sight and the Trojans dismantled it, using the parts for their big horse. I hope you were more careful than I.”

Tesla froze as realization hit him: “Great Scott!”