Authors: L. Woodswalker
Wardenclyffe Tower must come down!
***
Clara kept her speed down to a demure 20 miles per hour as she entered Manhattan. She drove down First Avenue, carefully dodging carriages, streetcars, pedestrians and trains. The traffic seemed a bit lighter than usual, which was fine by her. She had to admit she was glad to be home.
Good Old New York.
The city looked perfectly quiet and tranquil. Perhaps she and Niko had overestimated the danger? She finally arrived at Essex Street and parked the Roadster in between street hucksters and vegetable stands. The big black motorcar soon attracted an admiring crowd of children and a few adults as well.
“
Gut morgen
,” she greeted them, and guided Dr. Davidson between kerchief-wearing
bubbies and
workers in caps and suspenders.
Home!
“Hello, Uncle,” she called out, entering the shop.
“Clara-leh!” Abraham Lowe gave her the customary bear hug, although this one didn't last as long as usual, and turned to Davidson. “I didn't catch your name, sir.”
Davidson took off his hat. “I'm Professor Norman Davidson. Pleased to meet you.”
Abraham gave him a nod and turned back to Clara. “Where's, uh, Mr. Slate?”
“He decided not to come. The climate in New York doesn't agree with him.”
“No, I suppose not.
Nu,
I've got all your alloys ready. Jacob's Silver, Dragon's Earth and cubed silicon. Let's load it right away.”
She grabbed his arm. “
Onkel,
there's something else I might need. Do you have the Solar Water?”
“The—what? Clara, are you sure you know what you're—”
“Yes, yes, we don't have time to argue.”
Abraham went to a cabinet and came back with a tiny bottle concealed in his fist. “Be careful with this, Clara-leh, it's dangerous. Listen, folks, you shouldn't have come. You should get out as soon as possible.”
“Why? What's going on?”
“Those Angel
meshugas,
they're out of control. Just yesterday, they tried to drag me into a church. For this I left Russia?”
Clara repressed a shudder. “But Uncle, I need to do some measurements on these Silver Chamber shows. I have a theory.” She tapped her head.
“Do you read the papers much, Clara? Take a look at this.”
He handed her today's Times.
Silver Chamber Corporation Installs New Orb Device in Wardenclyffe Tower.
“What! They took over the...”
She read with increasing dismay.
New Device to Spread Blessing and Bliss, Protect From Harm.
The article continued with endorsements from just about every prominent socialite and personage in New York.
The public is invited to a free celebration. Food, drink, beautiful women, and heavenly salvation!
“Oy, vei!”
She struck her forehead. “They took Niko's tower!”
The last quarter of the front page was taken up by a large advertising banner.
Come To The Silver Chamber Nearest You,
it said.
Find shelter from the Tesla Army. Free of charge! New venues opening every day in New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC and other cities.
“Me, I'm leaving town myself for awhile,” Abraham said. “It's not healthy around here anymore. Well—come on, let's load all your materials.”
A voice spoke up. “Wait, Miss Clara's here?” A young boy in an oversized shirt barged in. “I wanna go with you, Miss Clara.”
“Oh look, it's young Ike,” Clara greeted him. “Just in time to help us load up. Make yourself useful.”
Each of them picked up crates, spools, boxes of equipment. There were large metal sheets and ingots, instruments and tools. All of it fit into the spacious back of the Roadster.
“Now let's see what these Angel
meshugas
are up to.” Clara readied her equipment and the three of them headed downtown.
***
“I read all your electrical magazines, Miss Clara,” said Ike. “Someday I'm going to be an engineer, just like you.”
Clara couldn't help smiling. “Smart boy. Keep studying!”
As they arrived in the business district, they started to see odd sights. A large group sat in a park, crooning to themselves, oblivious to everything else. Clara caught the words “Angels...Heaven”. She glimpsed their eyes, shining with a silver glow.
Davidson scanned the group. “I wonder if they've seen my daughter.”
Ike grasped his jacket. “Stay away from 'em, Mister. Or they'll grab ya.”
The three of them hurried away. A few blocks later they saw a crowd of people streaming in and out of the Church of the Transfiguration. “Why's everyone going to church?” Davidson asked. “Today's Thursday.”
A couple of fellows were pestering the passersby. “The Lord is calling. Come and be delivered. Free food!” This last promise was attracting quite a few destitute-looking families.
On Broadway, a similar scene played out with a few differences. Several ample women in elaborate stage costumes were pulling people into a theater. “See the free show! It's the talk of the town! It will change your life!”
Those who had already seen the show looked as if their lives had changed: their clothing was filthy and stained, and their hair uncombed. Yet they beamed like sun-rays, and their vacant eyes shone with silvery bliss.
Clara took out a pocket watch. “Look here, Professor, this watch measures the transmission coming out of that theater. There's a definite spike in this range of frequencies here.” She took out a pencil, jotted down some figures.
“Howdy, folks,” a voice interrupted her. A burly dock-worker had grabbed hold of Davidson's sleeve. “Would you and your missus like to come to the Vanderbilt Hall? Bring your boy with ya, there's a free dinner, courtesy of the Mayor.”
Clara knocked the man's hand away. “I beg your pardon? The Mayor's a crook who never gave anyone a penny. Get lost!”
The man wouldn't let go. Clara noticed his eyes, shining like silver coins. “I said leave us alone,
schmuck!”
“I said come with us, you two! Hank,” he called out to a police officer who strolled by, “help me out here. These folks are being disorderly.”
“Officer, this man is bothering me—” Clara began.
“You'll want come with us,” said the police officer. “The Angels want everyone to hear their holy message.”
Clara took out her electric gun and fired it at the two men. “Here's a holy message for
you!”
She grabbed Ike's hand and the three of them ran for it.
They ducked behind a vegetable wagon. Clara listened to the cop and the dock worker running by, then cautiously peeked around the side. The two pursuers seemed to have lost interest. They'd stopped running and simply wandered off as if completely forgetting their quarry.
That's interesting,
Clara thought. People controlled by the 'Angels' seem to lose their brain power. Now the pair were harassing a throng of young women. “Come and see the show at the Vanderbilt—there's a great party with lots of dancing!”
Ike clung to Clara's hand. “It's like that all the time now,” he whispered. “I'm scared to go to school.”
“The police can't do anything to protect people?”
“The cops were the first to go over to them,” Ike whispered. “After the mayor, I mean. All the other bigwigs, too.”
“Dear God.” Clara couldn't wait to get out of New York. “Come on, let's get back home.”
They jumped on a streetcar. It had only gone a few blocks when they heard a buzzing and crackling overhead and the car came to a screeching halt. “What the devil—” the passengers exclaimed in fright.
“Lost power,” Clara said.
The passengers disembarked, muttering uneasily. A moment later a whining sound filled the sky. People looked up and started screaming as a fleet of three Martian ships came zooming over the horizon and hovered overhead.
People ran for cover; many dashed to the nearest subway entrance and sought shelter underground. Clara and her companions crawled beneath a parked Model T. She clutched her measuring watch with a shaking hand, and took more readings.
“Attention, New Yorkers!” A woman's voice, hugely amplified and echoing, boomed out from the largest ship. “This is your blessed day! The Angels have come to save you!”
Clara grabbed Davidson's arm. “That's her! It's 'Sister Shelia'—the Martians' stooge. She was preaching at the Opera House—stealing souls.”
Now, those who had already been in the Silver Chamber acted as if their Messiah Jesus had come. They raised their arms, fell to their knees, shouted
hallelujah
. Others, not yet converted, put their hands over their ears and prayed to the traditional God to deliver them.
Meanwhile the Angel ships gathered around the top of the Woolworth Tower, the tallest skyscraper in New York. Clara clenched her fists and made herself watch. Using an anti-grav platform, several tall figures floated a a large glowing sphere out of their ship—
just like the one they tried to install at Wardenclyffe—
and placed it on top of the building.
Soon afterward she began to feel the vibrations: at first, an annoying buzzing. It became a pressure, as if her thoughts were being squeezed out. She pressed her hands to her ears.
Oy, what's happening?
“It's the Martian frequency,” she realized. “We've got to get away! Quick—the subway!” She grabbed Ike and Davidson's arms.
Everyone else seemed to have a similar idea. In the stampede of the crowd, she got separated from her companions. “Ike! Dr. Davidson!” She reached out for them but could not push through the crowd.
A moment later, a glowing forceful presence seized hold of her mind. She held onto her head, as a rapturous wave of joy stopped her in her tracks.
What was I doing? Where was I going?
It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered, now that Clara was blessed by the Angels.
22: Mirror Phasing
“Miss Clara!” A voice called out from the subway ventilation grate. “Come down quick!”
She looked down and saw Ike waving at her from below, but she ignored him. Whatever he wanted, it didn't matter. All that mattered was to follow the blessed Sky Ships...adore them...obey and be taken up. She let the crowd carry her along, not even caring when she stumbled over the curb and bruised her knee. She fell across the subway ventilation grate and others trampled over her. She barely felt it, because her body didn't belong to her anymore: it was just a vessel to contain this wonderful bliss.
“Glory, glory,” she murmured, getting to her feet and being pulled along with a great shambling mob of worshipers, like a splinter in a flood. Now they all existed only to receive this blessing and wait for commands from their masters, the holy Angels.
A buzzing vibration intruded on her golden mental screen. Annoyed, she reached in her pocket and found a watch case which held a tiny wireless receiver. She recalled building this piece of junk; it meant nothing to her now.
“Clara?” The voice was nearly unintelligible; something was interfering with the transmission. “Martians...took the Tower! You must get...”
The voice sounded familiar, but her memory had gone fuzzy and it
s
eemed unimportant. Ignoring it, she let herself be carried along with the crowd that streamed into the church of the Assumption.
She had never been inside a church before. She thought there should be a crucifix or image of Christ at the front, but now there was only a huge silver panel which glowed with the same kind of light as that Orb. A woman in white feathers, stood in front of it, shrieking and ranting. “Obey the commands of the Angels! Give yourselves to the Heavenly Ones! All machines, all technology is now forbidden! Bring us the Evil One, Nikola Tesla!”
She had heard that name before. Did it mean something to her? Every memory of her former life was quickly fading. She could not tear her eyes away from the blinding, hypnotic screen: it pulled her into an ocean of bliss. She fell to her knees, immobilized with an ecstasy of body and soul. Beyond the merely physical, it was an emotional rush as well: the fulfillment of all yearnings, like an embrace with the mother she had lost so long ago. For such bliss she
would gladly exchange everything else: autonomy, mind, freedom... her own life. Certainly she would gladly betray this villain Tesla for the privilege of surrendering to the Blessed Angels, serving them and letting them fill her, possess her...and empty her.