Authors: L. Woodswalker
“Larger ones, too, for a city block—powered by the Tussey Network. In fact, we should build some powerful enough to protect an entire city. I'd wager the Martians will soon move on Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia.”
“I know what! We'll disguise them as town clocks.”
***
“I knew this moment would come. I knew that I would be called for a great destiny—chosen as a handmaid of the Light-Bearer,” said Isabelle to Clara. “Here, try this dress on.”
“Really, Miss Isabelle, I don't need—”
“Nonsense, we've got to get some style into you, girl. Where have you been living, in a gutter somewhere?” Isabelle adjusted the corset that she had made Clara wear, pulling the laces until Clara thought she would choke. “The Light-Bearer Lord Telstar—he is simply a divine man, is he not?”
When Miss Isabelle had learned that Clara and Niko were not husband and wife, she had immediately started getting ideas. But Clara had to refrain from her impulse to set Miss Isabelle straight. It was necessary to keep this new patron happy.
“Tell me, does the Light-Bearer have a human need for love, befitting his destiny as a ruler of mankind?”
“Ah...he loves all of humanity, but he has no time to satisfy his, uh, personal desires. The Noble One is entirely focused on the deliverance of the human race. As I was saying, Miss Isabelle, our plan is to build protection amulets to repel the influences of the, uh, Dark Forces.”
“Why of course! Last night I dreamed that the Light-Bearer took me to a great Tower and we attuned the vibrations of our spiritual bodies.”
Spiritual bodies?
Plainly Miss Isabelle was interested in more of Nikola than just his 'spiritual' body. “Uh, sure. When is our appointment with Mr. Griffin?”
“Appointment with—? Ah...yes. Forgive me. Meeting the promised Light-Bearer in the flesh has put me in a tizzy, my dear.”
Clara thought she might need a baseball bat to defend Niko against the desires of Miss Isabelle. But she held her tongue. Miss Isabelle of the American Revolutionary Daughters was only the latest in a long line of scheming females with designs on Nikola...but she was certainly the most critical to their plans.
If Niko can charm her with his good looks—then it is all in the name of our cause: saving humanity from the Martians!
“But what am I thinking? Miss Clara, if you're to meet Mr. Griffin, you will definitely need to wear
this
lovely dress.” Miss Isabelle held up a frilly, low-cut frock composed of multiple layers of muslin in a pink, nearly see-through fabric. “Mr. Griffin is a connoisseur of lovely women, my dear.”
Clara scowled. It seemed that she too would have to charm a benefactor—for the good of the cause!
***
While Niko stayed to work in the lab, Isabelle took Clara into town to meet with Mr. Whitley Griffin, the Iron Mill officer.
A great iron and steel mill with a great blast furnace dominated the town of Phoenixville. Smoky chimneys rose from the foundry, to fill the air with soot. A maze of railroad tracks girdled the plant.
The mansions of the owner, officers and the town's elite gazed down on this scene from High Street above. This street was where Isabelle's carriage took Clara, and a servant showed the two women into the parlor of Mr. Whitley Griffin.
“Whitley, this is the young lady I told you about,” said Miss Isabelle. “She has come here on Lodge business and needs a quantity of metals.”
“Greetings, sir.” Clara inclined her head toward the officer, a dandy whose sideburns joined with his voluminous mustache. He wore a fur-trimmed coat and top hat, which he doffed with a gentlemanly flourish.
“Charmed, Miss.” Whitley Griffin bowed low and gave Clara a courtly kiss on the hand. He gazed with approval at the too-frilly gown that Isabelle had loaned her. “Now what can I do for a lovely lady like you?”
Clara had never been treated this way and was not sure she liked it. Women on Essex Street were not regarded as lovely little dolls. “Ah, sir, I am in need of some materials. Here is my list. Miss Isabelle has graciously offered to foot the bill.”
“Hmm. Why is a pretty young lady like you involving herself with industry and construction? Are these not matters for your husband or father?”
Clara kept a tight lid on her irritation. “With respect, sir, I am no stranger to industry. I come from a family of metal-workers.”
“Is that right. A lovely lady like you? Who'd have thought!” Griffin smirked. “Why don't you come into my private office and we'll discuss it further.” He took hold of her wrist.
“I beg your pardon, sir.” She firmly removed his hand, wishing she had an oscillator that could protect her from lecherous men. She knew how to repel attackers with electricity, and shoot down Martians...but she knew nothing about situations like this! “You see, sir, my
husband
is a
wealthy
and
influential
man...but his face is too well known for him to be seen in public.” One could always appeal to the snobbery of this class of people.
“Is that right?” Griffin backed away and his face took on that expression that people get in the presence of a social superior. “What is his name, if I might ask?”
“I'm not at liberty to say. This is deep and essential Lodge business, of the utmost secrecy.”
She maintained her air of mystery until Griffin introduced her to two hefty men, both sporting elaborate mustaches. “These are the Helsburg brothers, Johann and Fritz,” he said.
“You have heard of the Masons,” said Fritz, doffing his hat. “We are similar to them. We're the Metalsmiths Guild.” He made a sign with his fingers. “We can fill special orders of any type.”
“We have been told that this is Lodge business,” said Johann. “Top
secret.”
“Indeed it is. It is of the highest importance.” Clara was not actually sure what the Lodge and the Guild were all about, and she knew nothing of secret signs, but she was in no position to question. “My husband and I need materials with highly unusual properties. Let us go to your shop and I'll give you the formula.”
Fritz Helsburg gazed at her with adoration. “Ma'am, I've heard a rumor that you're a sorceress queen from the Ancient Kingdom of Atlantis, come here by way of a magical gateway. Is this true?”
Clara smiled, assuming a queenly posture. “Well, of course.”
The talented Metalsmiths did not disappoint. That week they came out to Windbrook Estate with a wagon full of the alloys Clara had requested, along with chemicals, a lathe and metalworking equipment.
By Sunday, Clara and Niko had produced a great number of 'Protection Amulets'. “Now all we have to do is distribute these somehow,” Niko said.
“That's easy,” said Clara. “We'll let the Lodge do it for us.”
27: The Messenger of Light
“K'va K'viin!” The Abode Lord's imperious tones crackled on the screen “You told us there would be no military resistance from Earth. Explain your disastrous error!”
K'viin bent nearly double in apology. “Most august one, we did receive good news from the last ship...just before it went down...”
The highest Lord folded his claws.“Tes'laa has been eliminated?”
K'viin looked away from his superior. “The Pilot Kyn reports that the enemy tower and base are destroyed.”
“And what of Tes'laa?” the Abode Lord demanded. “Is he destroyed as well?”
“It...” K'viin wiped at his skin. “It is assumed so.”
“An assumption is not enough! We must have proof!” The Abode Lord's rage seemed to jump off the screen. “Your performance is unsatisfactory. Stand by for discipline!”
The punishment was so intense and prolonged that K'viin could not resume his duties. Under-Captain D'vaan had to take over.
K'viin lay in his quarters, his skin bathed with a slick fluid: the exudation of an all-consuming anger that he could not quench. His delirious dreams were filled with images of the savage punishments he would inflict on the Tes'laa creature and all of the wretched humans.
Meanwhile the Abode High Council debated their next action.
“Punish the Earthmen severely,” said the Second Commander.
“A punitive foray may be risky,” said the First Commander. “What if there are others like Tes'laa with deadly weapons? We cannot afford to lose more ships.”
“Cowardly words,” the Second Commander said. “If the humans are not punished, it will only encourage their rebellion. I suggest we destroy a city every day. I would volunteer for this mission myself.”
“That may not be advisable,” said the Resource Director. “Our Mission is to bless these creatures, not destroy them. That would be a waste of resources which could be put to good use on the Abode.”
Under-Captain D'vaan, who had viewed the meeting, grumbled something about the hypocrisy of all this talk of 'Mission' and 'blessing'. Any youngling could see right through it!
As soon as he got the chance, he would take that incompetent K'viin's place. Then, he vowed, he would deal with these human
scurfs
as they deserved.
***
“Miss Isabelle, I certainly can't fault your hospitality,” said Niko, helping himself to another serving of roast beef.
After months of sleeping on dingy lab floors and subsisting on stale crackers, it was almost heavenly to be staying in a real home. There were some rules, of course. The lady of the house required that they sleep in the upstairs bedrooms of the old stone mansion. The rooms all shared the feel of genteel antiquity, with oak furniture, heirloom quilts and lace curtains. Miss Isabelle also insisted on feeding her guests morning, noon and evening. “Dinner will be served at 6 o'clock sharp. ”
Today the dinner menu was soup, pot roast, apple pie, coffee with cream. Niko gazed at the lavish spread while abstractedly wiping down the silverware with a pile of snow-white napkins.
“Your cooking is divine and much appreciated,” Niko said, after he had filled his belly, “but I regret I cannot spend much time taking meals in the future. I need to be spending all my time in the work space.”
“Really? I'm so fascinated...what sort of workings do you have in progress? Could I be of assistance?” She leaned close, brushing against him.
He flinched back just a bit. “Please don't think it rude...but Miss Clara and I need to work alone. Our work involves, uh, dangerous travel between the dimensions, and visiting with beings from other planes of existence.”
And that wasn't even really a lie! This odd woman was the first person he'd met to whom he could tell something close to the truth...but she insisted on using mythological language that seemed to come out of a Theosophy book.
He excused himself, and went back to the lab. “And people think
I'm
strange,” he muttered to himself.
***
Clara lit up her welding torch. “Ready for the next project—the Tesla Army!”
Tesla Army
indeed! Clara had picked up this phrase in New York...a phrase from the imaginative Shelia or another of the Martians' human stooges. The Angels were going to find their lies thrown in their faces.
The Metalsmiths had come by in a horse-drawn wagon, bringing the equipment and materials Clara had requested. Another wagon arrived filled with scrap—salvaged pieces from trains, bicycles and machines of all sorts.
“What I really need is some fine crystals,” Clara said. “It would give us much finer control over our logic gate circuitry.”
“I don't suppose you'd want to ask our good hostess to loan us her heirloom diamonds,” Niko murmured.
Miss Isabelle brought a pot of stew to the barn the next day, to find the two Light Bearers hard at work. Wearing gloves, overalls and goggles, Clara and Niko were cutting scrap metal. A fantastical array of constructions surrounded them. On one table lay metallic grasping pincers that resembled hands; another table held small cameras enclosed in glass. In front of them stood a device that resembled a collection of stovepipes assembled in the rough shape of a man.
“Good God,” said the fine lady, fanning at the air in front of her face. The air was filled with smoke, dust, and the smell of the hot soldering iron. “Whatever have you got here?”
“These are the Tele-men: our magical footsoldiers,” Niko explained. “We built them from salvage that the Metalsmiths brought from stove shops, automobile works, train yards. We will animate them with the force of Life, to do battle with the force of Darkness.” Niko held up a panel the size of a large book, covered with small dials. “This is the control panel to send them commands.”
“Oh my Lord. A magical army,” said Isabelle, flashing Niko a glance of worshipful fascination.
“Allow me to show you.” Niko took their new patron about, showing her the oddest army ever assembled: 10 Tele-men of all shapes and sizes, built from Phoenixville scrap metal, along with some of Clara's unique materials from her uncle's shop. The robots had appendages of light aluminum, trunks from chimney-pipe material, ball joints of the flexible cubed silicon. Most of their heads were little more than metal cans, containing circular lenses where eyes would be. Some had wheels instead of legs. In place of hands, the machine-men had magnetic grips and pincers. And some of the upper appendages sprouted something resembling a nozzle.