Authors: L. Woodswalker
“Mr. Lowe, we've met.” Niko took off his hat. “I'm Mr. Tesla. Several years ago I quarreled with you over a missing spool of wire. I'm deeply sorry for my boorish behavior,” he finished, bowing.
“What? I don't remember—ah, yes.” Abraham waved it away. “Not to worry. I found that wire behind my counter—stupid me, I forgot to load it!” He whacked himself on the forehead, as if this had just occurred yesterday. “It was because that boy Ike was playing with it...ah, never mind. Here, it's yours now.” He picked up another spool, tossed it from one hand to the other. “I'll throw in an extra 10 for free. I'm honored to have a visit from the wizard who makes the lightning.”
“You're too kind, sir.”
Mr. Lowe raised an eyebrow. “Just one second.” He put up the 'closed' sign and pulled down the shades. “Come here...sit down,” he ordered, pointing to a wobbly chair and a battered table at the back of the shop. “Let's have a private talk. Ah, here comes Clara now.”
Clara came down with bowls, spoons and a large pot. “Miss Feigel upstairs makes delicious chicken soup.” She pulled up an overturned crate and sat down.
Niko's hunger overcame his instinctive fear of unsanitary eating conditions. He hadn't eaten in...how long? Twenty-four hours? He found himself forced to choose between starvation or disease, and his belly made the choice. “It smells delicious. Thank you kindly.”
Abraham sat on another crate. “I'm glad you finally came around to visit,” he told Niko. “Me and my niece Clara have studied your works for the last 20 years.”
Niko looked at the spoon, hoping it harbored no dangerous germs. Not a single clean napkin anywhere!
“My Clara's crazy about you, y'know,” Abraham said with a wink. “Are ya gonna make an honest woman of her, or what?”
“
Onkel! Sha!”
Clara made shushing motions with her hand.
At last Abraham came to the point. “So. I hear there's been a little trouble...?”
“Yes sir. Creatures from space have invaded New York. They are destroying buildings and bridges, and putting the blame on me.” Niko gazed at the soup bowl and tried to calm himself by calculating its contents.
If the radius of the bowl is 8 inches, and the depth is 2 inches...
“They're staging revival shows, where they hypnotize people into obedience. They tell their followers that I'm the devil, and call for my extermination.”
“Oy gevalt.
That's quite a load of
tsuris.”
Abraham ran a finger over his lips, thinking. “I think you need some bodyguards. We'll alert the Landsmen's Association.
Landsmen
are folks from the same village, or at least the same
guberniya
in the Old Country,” he explained. “Some of them have banded together. A neighborhood protection society.”
“A gang, you mean.” Clara put in.
“Whatever ya wanna call it. We have to look out for our own. The city cops are all on the take.”
“The newspapers must be involved too,” Niko said. “Are they just corrupt, or are they under hypnosis as well?
Someone
is feeding them those ridiculous headlines...”
“Well, they haven't controlled the Yiddish dailies yet,” Abraham said. “And we'll see that they don't.” He stood up. “All right, you need a place to hide. You want to stay at the foundry? It ain't the Waldorf, but nobody goes back there. They're scared something will explode. Oh—a word of advice: if anyone wants to know who you are, give 'em a fake name. Say, 'Nick Slate', how about that? We can get you some phony papers too.”
Clara gave her uncle's arm a squeeze. “Thanks, Uncle. You're a
mensch
. That means a great guy,” she explained to Niko.
***
Their newest hideaway was a shed at the back of the foundry yard. Niko watched with curiosity as Clara and her uncle prepared a row of molds for casting ingots.
“So what's your plan now, Nick?” Abraham said.
“We must warn everyone. We'll send out a radio message.”
“Really? I thought wireless telegraphy was just for ships.”
“Oh, it has become way more than that. After I demonstrated the wireless principles, Hugo Gernsback published articles in his magazine. Now every scientific tinkerer wants to build one.” He paced, reviewing all the transmitters he knew about. “If we broadcast on several frequencies, someone will surely pick up the message.”
“But what about the regular folks? Not many scientists around here.”
“Yeah, your plan has a hole in it,” said Clara. “What we need to do is print up handbills,” Clara said. “Translate the message into lots of languages and post them everywhere.”
Done with casting ingots, Clara started writing up a message. “We won't mention other planets. People think 'Martians' are
meshugoss
. But they sure are scared of 'foreigners' who might hypnotize their wives and daughters to do wanton things. Hmm...how about this:
'Urgent! Citizens of New York: We have been invaded! Stay away from the free Silver Chamber shows! They are a chamber of lies—a front for alien invaders who want to control your minds with hypnosis.'”
They translated the message into several languages and Clara fished out a handful of cash from her performances. “I'll get young Ike to run to the print shop. And we'll pay the neighborhood kids to post them everywhere.”
While Clara handled that, Niko pondered the technical details of the radio message. Maybe an Edison recording cylinder?
Old Tom can finally be of some help
.
“Nick, listen.” Abraham put a hand on his shoulder. “Clara tells me you need to build some gizmos.”
“Oh, yes. Flying machines, beam weapons...anything we can use against the Martians.”
“I may be able to help,” said Mr. Lowe, as they walked around the yard. “Our family has secret formulas for producing stronger, more lightweight materials, which can improve the...forgive me, I do not know all the English. How you say, lower resistance...higher conductivity.”
He spoke with a thick accent, accompanied with expansive hand gestures. But his keen gaze and thoughtful demeanor revealed a deep intelligence. “Our names for them...” he searched for the English words. “Braided Copper, Steel Lattice, Cubed Silicon.”
“Yes sir, Clara has showed me some of this. It's quite brilliant. She's done some things I haven't thought of.”
“I read one of your articles, sir, about the 'flying flivver'. We have developed a metal we call Jacob's Silver, with with superb, uh, tensile strength. Extremely light.” His hands outlined a shape for the vehicle. “You would need this for flight. I haven't found much of a market for it yet.”
Niko listened closely, as the man continued to describe some of the Epstein-Lowe innovations. He began to visualize the possibilities: metals of the future, combined with his advanced electrical wizardry. “There have been problems with my bladeless turbine,” he murmured. “It could operate with tremendous efficiency—surely enough for flight—but I can't find a material that won't warp under the strain. If I had better alloys...Mr. Lowe, how is it you haven't patented your discoveries and become fabulously wealthy?”
The other man shrugged. “It's the same problem you yourself have. American investors haven't caught on to the possibilities.”
“Yes, that is the case. Sadly, I myself currently lack the finances to purchase any of your materials.”
“What?” Mr. Lowe threw up his hands. “You think this is just
business?
This is a gift, for the benefit of the human race. Let me know the quantities you need, and I will start producing these materials for you. I could have them ready by next week.”
“Thank you sir.” Niko began to smile. “As Clara said, you are a
mensch
. That means a hero, does it not?”
***
“It should be no problem to copy this simple little toy.” Clara bent over an Edison phonograph she had found in a pawnshop. “We just need to make it small enough to carry. How about a disk of super-fine aluminum to produce sound...”
Niko grinned. “If Edison can make terrible recordings of off-key marching bands, then we can record
this
. We can amplify it with the telephone repeater I developed in Budapest.”
By the end of that day they had developed a playback machine the size of an overnight valise, and recorded a message similar to that on the handbills.
Abraham watched in fascination, leaning against the wall with folded arms. “How long will that message keep playing?”
“Until the
schmucks
get a giant pain in the head,” replied Clara.
While Niko worked on the recording device, Clara took a streetcar back to the Clinton Street Station. She returned in the Roadster, packed to the roof with devices and material.
“Clara? Nick?” Abraham Lowe came in wheeling a huge wagon-load of handbills. “I had more papers printed up—Clara? You're all loaded up...you going somewhere?”
Niko spoke up. “We wanted to collect our most important equipment in case we need to make a quick exit. I don't feel safe here after yesterday. This whole town is turning against me.”
“But...I'm preparing your alloys. They won't be ready till next week. And...I want to explain some of my processes. Our family secrets, you know,” he whispered.
“All right. After we finish our broadcast, you can teach me. That is, if I haven't been arrested or 'exterminated'.”
That evening Niko made a telephone call, and they got ready for a trip to Midtown. “Better not to take the Roadster,” he decided. “It would attract too much notice. I hope it's still safe to take a streetcar.”
“You need a disguise,” said Clara. “Here, put on this suit. It's the latest style.” She handed him an awful jacket with wide lapels. “It would be better if you shaved your mustache.”
“Oh, no. I could
never
do that!” Niko covered it with his hand.
“Then why don't you grow a beard? No one would ever recognize you.”
“Absolutely not! It is unhygienic!”
“But you'd look so
handsome!”
A grin crept onto her lips.
“Do not mention it again.”
“Hm! And they say
women
are vain.”
Niko cleared his throat. “Um. If you are finished having fun at my expense, let us continue with our mission.”
In the Midtown district, they met Hugo Gernsback in his magazine office, a tiny cubicle jammed with stacks of paper up to the ceiling. The clock on the wall read 10 p.m.
“You caught me just in time.” Hugo stubbed out a cigarette. “I was about to close down for the night. Come on, the lab is in the back.”
“Mr. Gernsback, I read every one of your magazines,” Clara said. “It's such a thrill to meet you.”
Hugo shrugged. “I'm no hero...all I do is sit here in my office. It seems you two are the dashing adventurers, like something out of a Jules Verne tale. Hell, Nick, I was afraid they'd lock you up in the Tombs, after your last little...escapade. So, what madness are you up to now?”
When Niko told him what they planned to do before dawn the next morning, he gave a gasp. “Dear Lord. You're serious? It's insane.”
“Then I'm the man for the job. Don't you read the papers? I'm crazy.”
Hugo smiled. “Here, will this do it?” He hauled out several spools of strong cable. “Don't tell me any more of your plans. I have a feeling the less I know, the better.”
***
The Williamsburg Bridge loomed up over Delancey Street. “That should be tall enough,” said Niko, gazing upward at the tremendous support towers. The open framework reminded him of the structure of Wardenclyffe Tower. He thought regretfully of the fine laboratory and majestic tower at Shoreham. Of course he dared not go there...that would be the first place they'd look for him.
“You sure about this?” Clara frowned.
“I seem to have an affinity for high places. When I was five, I jumped off a barn and tried to fly.”
“I wouldn't advise that today.”
The two of them had brought a suitcase full of equipment. Now they donned small battery headlamps and Niko loaded the transmitter and cable spool into a backpack while Clara searched for the best ground connection.
“Well then, I'm off.” He gripped the first cross-girder, hauled himself up to the next and the next. Fortunately the cross-girders were close enough that he could climb them, with much exertion. Clara stood below, paying out the cable. As he climbed, Clara grew smaller and smaller and the city itself shrank to a vast island of tall blocks, outlined with electrical glows.
As he ascended higher, the wind grew stronger and his legs began to feel the strain. He remembered his first experiment with flight. He'd studied birds obsessively, and jumped—certain that a rusty umbrella would be enough to carry him off into the air. A few broken bones only convinced him to engineer better devices. What about now? Natural vertigo fought with a feeling of exaltation. Farther and farther from earth...closer to the heavens. A flock of seagulls came screeching past.