Basil and Ratigan stepped out of the time machine into an alleyway. Basil startled at a world shrunk down.
"You get used to whatever size you become after time traveling, don't worry," Ratigan told him, adjusting his gloves.
"Won't the humans be alarmed if they see two man-sized rodents walking about?"
Ratigan chuckled. "Of course not. This is the distant future, my old rival, so distant that we're positively mundane. Here they'll just think we're aliens." Ratigan went to a nearby dumpster, and began to pull out large rotted sheets and other pieces of garbage.
"And… where exactly is 'here?'"
"They call this city New New York. We're in America, on top of the ruins of Old New York, which is of course just New York in both ours and Kiara's time periods." He draped the garbage over the time machine, spreading and patting it around.
"And we can find the device we need here?"
"Indeed. I happen to know of a scientist in this era, an inventor of particular note. If we can convince him to create the device for us, then we'll be able to find Kiara with ease. Or if he doesn't agree, he'll have enough spare technologies in his lab we can steal and invent it ourselves."
Basil glared sharply.
"Not saying that's our best option, but if worse comes to worst…"
"Just lead the way to this scientist, Rat-igan."
With only a bristling of his shoulders, Ratigan proceeded out the alleyway, and Basil followed him. A towering metropolis made the world enormous again: skyscrapers in impossible shapes, flying cars and ships crowding the skies, and people and automatons and monstrous beings dressed in strange fashions.
"Try not to look too much like a tourist," Ratigan muttered. He walked briskly down the street, Basil jogging to catch up.
"Where and who is this scientist we're looking for?"
"His name is Professor Farnsworth. He runs a delivery company called Planet Express, and he lives on the company's premises."
The Planet Express building turned out to be a brick-red structure, an arched rectangle with a tower capped with a sphere, reminding Basil strongly of an observatory. Inside the reception area the walls were bare, with a few bits and odd ends of exposed pipes and machinery. Behind the reception desk, a pink-shelled man with tentacles for a mouth and lobster claws for hands slept in his chair, snoring loudly, a newspaper resting across his chest.
Ratigan cleared his throat, and the lobster-man startled awake. "Oh, customers!" He said in a thick accent. "Welcome to Planet Express, where our crew is replaceable, but your package isn't. What can we deliver for you?"
Basil wrinkled his nose while Ratigan spoke, "No, I'm afraid we're not here to hire for your delivery services. Rather, we have a very special request to make of the Professor, and would be willing to compensate him for his help."
"Hmm, well the professor doesn't usually take commissions, but I'll call him and ask." The lobster stood and waddled his way towards the phone at the end of the desk. He then lifted his head and made an ungodly screeching sound.
"Good lord Zoidberg, what do you want?!" A hunched and withered old man appeared after a few minutes, the door seemingly sliding away on its own to reveal him.
"Here he is, the illustrious Professor Farnsworth," Zoidberg introduced with a flourish of his claw.