Authors: L. Woodswalker
A gleam came into her eye. “If you're such a genius, Mr. Tesla, why don't you figure it out.” And she turned and stalked away.
“Wait!” He almost ran after her, then noticed that she had left a shining object on the park bench: a silver pocket watch. “Miss Clara, you left your—”
But she had blended into the cityscape and vanished.
He picked up the watch, which still felt warm from her hand. Curious, he sat down and studied it. What had she been doing with this watch? It appeared rather unusual. It did not have the imprint of a Waltham or an Elgin, or any other known watchmaker. What sort of metal was this case made of, he wondered...it did not feel like the usual brass or silver alloy. It felt much lighter in his hand than any pocket watch he had ever seen.
And as a matter of fact, it did not even work. When he put it to his ear, he could not hear the delicate
tick-tick
caused by the action of the balance wheel, pallet fork and escapement. Instead...it might have been his imagination...the watch gave off a faint hum.
What in God's name...?
He put the watch in his pocket, thinking to take it to the lab and
examine it.
No...have to give it back
. He still had Clara's card from her musical performance. He'd find her and get to the bottom of this mystery.
When did I insult her?
He racked his brain. Was she angry that Niko had not liked her silly hat? Had she sent some signal that she wanted his romantic attentions, and he had failed to notice?
Sighing, he headed back to his lab. At least this mystery gave his mind a break from the constant worry about his finances. His hand went to Clara's pocket watch and closed around it. It felt curiously warm in his palm.
He had joked about finding money in the street. This watch might be worth something...but he suspected money was the least important thing about it.
She left it there for me
.
Why?
He tried the address on the card, but it proved to be one of Lily Palmer's secondary mansions. A servant told him that the talented “Miss Kara” could only be reached through Miss Lily, who was presently vacationing in Paris.
***
In a desperate bid for funds, he gathered some of his remote-control patents and tried to sell them to a naval man from the U.S. Government.
If there is a war, I have plans for a pulse-detection system for submarines, a remotely controlled tele-automaton, a ray that will shoot down enemy planes.
But the U.S. Government showed no interest.
Trouble always came in bunches. This was the year that Niko's patent royalties for the alternating current generator expired, taking most of his income with it. Westinghouse Corporation came and repossessed one of his generators. Niko could not pay George Scherff, and had to let him go.
Finally came the worst blow of all. He received a notice from the manager of the Waldorf Hotel, where he had been living since his return from Colorado.
If we do not receive back rent for the past three months, we will have no choice but to evict you.
“But sir, as soon as my Wireless Tower is built, you'll have all your money and then some!”
The manager of the Waldorf remained unmoved by his promises. One week later, Niko came back after a fruitless day of waiting in rich men's lobbies....and found his room empty.
“Your things are in the storage shed,” an unsympathetic bellhop told him. “You have three days to clear them out.”
Niko's soul burned with humiliation as he moved his personal effects into the dusty back office of his Fulton Street lab.
His friend Robert Johnson found him in Bryant Park. “Nick, we've been so worried about you! If there's any way I can help...at least come for dinner. Katharine wants to cook you some of her chicken almondine.”
But Niko could not think of food; his belly had clenched to a hard knot. He put his hands over his ears and staggered back to the lab, where he now slept on a swaybacked couch...when he could sleep at all. He shut his curtains, because the sunlight burned his eyes.
A deafening noise filled his ears...no, it was only the hum of a nearby alternating-current transformer. The ground shook...but that was merely the vibration of a carriage going past. The breeze blew past: an insect crawled up the wall: a couple made love five blocks away.
It's happening again! I'm having another nervous breakdown.
Night came and New York slept. Still Niko's sensitivity increased. He heard the sounds of molecules combining and colliding with each other.
He lay in bed, drenched with sweat. He seemed to be hearing the sound of the Earth turning. The planet resonated at an ultra-low frequency a hundred octaves below the range of the human ear. And beyond that: the sound of the spiraling galaxy itself. A voice began to call him from a vast distance.
He focused with his entire being. <
Can it be? Are you real? I thought perhaps I imagined you...>
At last, the Aon had contacted him again!
Niko told the ethereal being.
He just lay there listening, afraid to breathe lest the being named Alu might dissipate into mist.
syma
—a compatible form in which I might manifest in the 3rd-d universe,>
Alu told him.
He wondered what that might be. Questions bubbled up. <
Did you
signal me at Colorado? Did you journey to Mars, so you could visit Earth?>
He did not get an answer, and realized that they would not understand those place references. His brain whirled with questions. How did they communicate with him? How could they cross dimensions and take a compatible form? Most of all...how could he establish reliable communication with them?
Could I tune to their frequency and transmit messages from the Tower?
.
He woke up with an ache in his head and the coverlet twisted around his knees. His chin itched with a growth of stubble.
Good Lord, how long was I asleep?
It must have been an entire day, perhaps two. My God, he needed a bath. And food!
He found nothing in the cabinet but a tin of crackers. He stuffed one in his mouth and stumbled out the door. Somehow he found his way to a park bench. A flock of pigeons wandered about nearby. He watched them, with the blank emptiness of a man on the edge.
The Aon visited me again!
Or was that just a sign of his madness?
'Tesla is a crackpot,'
the papers were saying.
'Belongs in the lunatic asylum.'
He watched the pigeons, admiring their bright eyes and fluttering wings. He meditated on the simple souls of creatures. They didn't care about money, power...they were content to just
be
. How restful it was to watch them, and not think about theories, currents, inventions, or hopes for Mankind. He felt his cares dropping away.
A white pigeon with dark wing-tips fluttered up and landed on the back of the park bench, close enough that he could have touched her. She looked as if she had some profound message for him. That was strange...very un-birdlike.
One rarely got a close look at a bird. He studied the structure of the wing and his mind made a sudden connection. The Aon seemed to shift forms, and one of their forms resembled a wing.
Alu said she would find a compatible form.
Is it possible
....
? No, don't be silly
.
“Hello,” he said, extending his hand.
Alu of Aon? Could this be you?
“I'm sorry, I don't have any food for you. Are you an intelligent alien?”
The pigeon ruffled its wings, ever so gently. Its bright eyes seemed to glow.
I've surely lost my marbles,
he thought, smiling spite of his troubles.
“I'm going to call you Alouette.” It was certainly far-fetched...but Niko had seen a lot of miracles in his life. And the presence of these birds was another one. Like messengers from the heavens, they somehow eased his suffering.
Wanting to give her a gift, he put his hand in his pocket in search of a few cracker crumbs. Instead he felt something round and metallic.
Clara's pocket watch!
He wrapped his hand around it, remembering the exquisite sounds Clara's fingers had pulled out of the aether. Niko felt his heart melting. There was a whole world of emotion inside him, which he never allowed to come out. For all his fame and success he was just a lonely man. He made a resolution.
I'll find Clara somehow and give this back to her...and mend her quarrel with me.
The next day he came back to the flock with several crackers which he broke into small pieces. The flock gave him an enthusiastic welcome, as if he was their loving father—their saint!
He began visiting the pigeons every day. Though he could hardly afford to eat anymore, he always brought them a few crumbs. “You birds are about my only friends anymore,” said Niko. “Humans seem to have tossed poor Nikola into the trash bin. Although they're happy to use the electric power I gave them.” He gestured toward the nearby luxury penthouses and skyscrapers, with their elevators, electric fans and chandeliers.
The flock never fought over the food or acted rudely. Now, that was a strange thing in itself. They just stood there watching him, and they were such good listeners that he began pouring out his troubles. “I was such a fool. I let myself be seduced by grandiose dreams of power. I thought I could be a god!”
He held out his arm and the white pigeon named Alouette perched on his wrist. “I understand what's happening now. Morgan has turned the world against me.”
Yes. Now Niko could imagine the scenario exactly.
“This guy Tesla's gonna put us all out of business,”
Morgan would say to his minions.
“He's a socialist...a dangerous anarchist. We've got to squash him. Make him disappear!”
He'd bang his fist on his shiny mahogany desk, making his pencils jump and terrorizing all in his presence. Oh yes, Morgan could pull the strings and make sure nobody ever loaned Tesla a dime again. Drive him to bankruptcy, and if that didn't work, maybe they'd use stronger measures.
“We'll see about that.” He clenched his fist, and felt the invisible currents gathering about him. The fiery spirit that had made him the Lord of Lightning flared up anew. Nobody was going to squash Nikola Tesla!
He stood up. “Goodbye for now, friends,” he told the flock. “There's something that I have to do.”
Alouette leaped into the air and took flight.
6: Destiny
“Brothers and sisters, I bring you guidance from the angelic beings,” said Sister Shelia of the Silver Chamber. “Do you want to enter the heavenly realm?”
“Yes, yes, the Heavenly Realm,” The people intoned. “Glory Hallelujah!”
The Silver Chamber shows, which had begun at Edison's movie parlors, had expanded to larger venues and were becoming the latest sensation. The Chamber walls would be covered with a shiny substance, while at the front wall a huge glowing square or circle dazzled the eyes. In front of this hypnotic backdrop stood the gorgeous Sister Shelia, wearing a gauzy white gown covered with pearls. A silver halo surrounded her head, and she glowed like a heavenly vision.
“Then listen to the words of the Heavenly Host.” Sister Shelia spread her arms wide. “An Angel came down to me and touched me with power. The herald of the Most High wants you to return to a simple way of life. Look to the Angels and give up your wicked ways.”
“Amen, Amen.” People heard this sort of rambling speech every Sunday, but nobody seemed to mind. They fell easily into church parlance: the disjointed pronouncements, the singsong call and response.
“The Heavenly Host says, give up the devilish things...the smoky machines! The automobiles that belch vile gases! The electrical wires that steal God's lightning!”