Tom Fleet was a bit of a misfit as the second son of a minor English noble in the 1880s. Once he finished his schooling he had little to do. His grandfathers had left him adequate finances for his needs and with his elder brother set to take the title, he gave in to his fascination with gadgets and began to tinker and invent. His goal was to create a sky craft to go to the moon. Surely if Jules Verne’s characters could go there and many other places, he could do as well.<br><br>Rowan Farrell followed in his Uncle Gordon’s footsteps, joining the UniFleet, but went a step farther and became an officer. Assigned to his first command level post, he takes a small patrol ship out to scout a region of interest to the Council and report if any signs of the enemy Angevirian Empire in the area. When one of his crew spots a strange, tiny craft, he decides to capture and study it. After all it could be an Angevirian Trojan horse. But the odd cylindrical vessel holds only one man, unconscious and suffering from hypothermia and lack of oxygen. When the man comes to, he claims to come from the earth ... five centuries in the past!

Tom Fleet’s Machine

When he could speak again, Rowan looked down at Tom, still kneeling in front of him. “Man, you’re goodat that! An inventor and a champion cocksucker all rolled into one. And my prize since I managed to snare you. What a piece of luck.”


Tom rose with stiff, awkward movements, as if his legs had gone to sleep. “Is it too much to ask for you to return the favor?”


Rowan raised one eyebrow, making the other man sweat for a breath or two. “I guess not.” He stepped away from the side of Tom’s craft as he zipped his suit up again. Tom moved to where Rowan had stood, as he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers.


Watching him, Rowan could not resist a small dig. “Damn, man, that’s a hell of a way to fasten your pants. How can you get the job done if you have to piss in a hurry?”


“Just don’t wait until the last minute,” Tom replied.


Chapter 12