Authors: L. Woodswalker
The time slipped by and soon a year passed, then two years and three. While Niko struggled to put his vision into being, the rest of the world rushed headlong into the new century. The wealthy gave up their horses and carriages for the newfangled automobile. Electricity transformed the streets, industries and homes of America. New York City stayed lit all night long, humming with energy and optimism. All because Nikola had given them the gift of practical, abundant electrical power.
The world took his gift for granted now. They rushed about, faster and faster, doing more business and consuming more goods and entertainments. New fads came on the scene. People listened to ragtime bands on Mr. Edison's phonographs. They flocked to Mr. Edison's movie parlors, where they put a nickel in a slot and watched boxers and belly dancers.
People sought novelty in the spirit realm as well as the material. The wealthy held séances in their parlors to speak with the dearly departed. Any girl with exotic looks and a talent for ventriloquism could set herself up as a medium. Just recently, a woman had come from out West proclaiming that she had received guidance from angelic beings.
Come visit the Silver Chamber
said her advertisement.
Receive the spiritual benefit of Sister Shelia's advanced knowledge and miraculous silver light rays.
She became very popular and all the most prominent people went to her sessions. Rumor was that she was giving astrological advice to J. P. Morgan himself.
She staged a special showing in Mr. Edison's movie parlor. “Come in and be enlightened,” said the silver-gowned usher to every passer-by.
“No thank you,” said Niko. “I don't care to patronize any of Mr. Edison's charlatanry.”
***
At the end of the fifth year, workers placed the final touch on the Tower framework: a great crown of copper and aluminum ribs. Niko stood admiring the structure: how grand it looked, silhouetted against the clouds, shining in the rays of sunset! And what a struggle it had been...he had used up the funds advanced to him by Morgan, then dipped into his own resources. Bill collectors were starting to buzz around like flies around offal. He still needed more resources to complete the outer covering of the tower, and the great transmitter that would signal beings from the other planets.
He stared at the Tower from every angle and thought about what still had to be done. Wireless radio and energy...such gifts he wanted to give to the human race!
There were many things Niko wanted, he admitted to himself. He wanted a place in history along with the great scientists of the ages. And a few other things. He'd like to show up that lying scoundrel Edison and those other scoffers who made fun of him as a dreamer.
And he wouldn't mind some financial reward either. Living at the
Waldorf Hotel wasn't cheap, and he liked to entertain friends such as Katharine and Robert in style. And of course, more funds would mean a bigger lab, more research, grander experiments.
Niko wanted to please his mother and father, who were now perhaps watching him from a realm beyond Death. He wanted to be a benevolent Zeus to mankind. Who wouldn't?
But most of all, he wanted someone to talk to.
Niko could work alone for days on end, but sometimes loneliness overwhelmed him. Yet social occasions were awkward and unfulfilling. He found little in common with most people: they admired him, but he knew they thought him strange and sometimes even a bit frightening.
But once, in a dream, he had visited beings who had given him an inkling of something more.
My colleagues, the Seekers, have been searching for intelligent life for many turns. We wish to exchange knowledge.
Me too
. Deep in his heart, Niko's greatest yearning was to find intelligent beings with whom he could have deep conversations...and they'd understand what he was talking about.
***
Void Stalker
“Our first contact has been very successful,” K'viin reported, at one of his briefings with the High Council. “We have learned quite a bit about this world's biology, language and social structure.”
“Excellent. Have you found any potential threats?”
“None, Abode Lord. These beings possess rudimentary technologies which we might actually be able to put to our advantage. But in terms of weaponry, the planet is a primitive backwater.”
“Excellent. Maintain a high orbit. Obtain more preliminary contacts.”
“Yes, highest Lord.” After his superior cut the contact, Captain K'viin turned to see his Science Specialist waiting to speak.
“What is it, K'va Z'duun?”
“Sir...” Z'duun's winglets fluttered with uncertainty. “I am not absolutely sure that this world has no high technology. That transmission we picked up...I cannot think of any natural phenomenon that would explain it.”
“By my
oscus,”
the Captain exclaimed. “We have already made an official report of this world's pre-tech status.”
“Nevertheless, sir,” said Z'duun, “I recommend we maintain alert.”
“Very well. And I recommend that
you
sharpen your powers of analysis, Science Specialist. We cannot afford a mistake.”
5: Alouette
“Mr. Tesla, you'd better have a look at this.” Niko's assistant George Scherff handed him the newspaper as he walked into his office.
Guglielmo Marconi Sends Radio Signal Across The Ocean.
“By the saints, how dare he!” Fuming, Niko scanned the article. “That thief! He visited my lab—I taught him the essentials. He is using 17 of my patents. And now he claims
he
invented radio!”
“I'm afraid so,” Scherff agreed.
But that was not how J. P. Morgan saw it at their next meeting.
“Clever fellow, that Marconi,” said the big-shouldered millionaire. “I see he figured out how to send a radio signal for a fraction of what your tower is costing. So tell me: why should I continue to finance
you,
rather than him?”
Niko tried to loosen his tie: stress was making it hard to breathe. “You see, sir, Marconi doesn't understand the concept of tuned frequencies. All he did was send a Morse signal on one bandwidth. My plan is to transmit messages on an infinite variety of frequencies—”
But Morgan didn't appear to be listening. He got up, lit a cigar, spun a globe that sat on a shelf.
Niko sighed.
Morgan has already tired of me.
So it was time to step out and take a risk: he must reveal the truth. “Sir, my plan is far greater than just a radio tower. I aim to do wonders for mankind, much more than Marconi ever could. I plan to transmit not only messages, but also
electrical energy
anywhere in the world...without wires! We will give power to that whole globe which you are spinning—”
“Did you say
'without wires'?
Good God, man!” Morgan turned and stared at him with bloodshot eyes. “I've just acquired the controlling stock in American Copper! What's going to happen to my investments if you make copper wires obsolete? And tell me, if you are giving electrical power away through the air, how do you intend to collect the bill?”
Niko realized he may have made a mistake. But now it was too late to hold back the truth. “Sir...” he wet his lips. “This is beyond money...it is a gift to be given freely, for the benefit of the whole human race. With abundant energy, there will be an age of plenty...improved agriculture, an end to war...” He held out his hands in a pleading gesture. “Here is your chance to become a benefactor to Mankind. As well as your great wealth, your name will go down in history as the most generous—”
“Sweet Christ!” Morgan burst out in a guffaw. “Why would I want to donate free electrical power to Indian beggars and Chinese peasants?” He blew out a cloud of cigar smoke. “Such a plan is foolish—and dangerous. Free energy...think how that would disturb the economic order.”
Niko stared at the floor, counting the squares of exotic wood from Brazil. “It is badly disturbed already,” he murmured.
“Listen here, Tesla.” The financier stubbed out his cigar. “I took a risk financing your project, but it appears that you're an impractical dreamer who's building a castle in the air.”
“But sir, I only ask for a very small loan—”
“I'm sorry, but I don't care to advance any more funds toward this project.
Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm a very busy man.” Morgan waved him toward the door. “Good day!”
***
Niko rallied his determination and requested another meeting, but Morgan's secretary put him off. He tried for the next two weeks. After being repeatedly rejected, he began sending letters. He never got an answer.
He started appealing to other wealthy men who had invested in his projects at one time or another. For some reason, all of them seemed to have an unusually busy calendar, or they were “indisposed”. Soon after that, the social invitations also slowed to a trickle.
Scherff showed him a newspaper.
Is Tesla a Crackpot? Financier J. P. Morgan pulls funding from inventor Nikola Tesla's World Wireless Tower Project. Says that Tesla has “lost his marbles.”
Niko crumpled the newspaper. A sudden feeling came over him, as if he had fallen from his tower to land shattered on the ground. “He has ruined me, Scherff!”
He began to pace in a tight circle, hands pressed against his head. “Morgan controls the finances of America. He can make or break an enterprise. They say he collects companies, like a boy collects butterflies.”
Scherff nodded. “I'm afraid so. And when he tires of them, he crushes them up and tosses them in the trash bin.”
“And that's what he'll do with me.” A panicky feeling overwhelmed Niko as he saw the truth. “I depended on Morgan's help. I overextended my finances so much in building the tower......that now I'll go bankrupt. My creditors will repossess everything I own.”
And all that Niko really owned was what he had built—the oscillators in his lab. Transformers, Tesla coils, prototypes for the future: remote control devices, signal switches, priceless one-of-a-kind instruments that he needed in order to keep on inventing and creating.
Niko began to feel sick..he needed fresh air! He stepped out and began walking a square of three blocks. He took this route three times three, but still no solution came.
***
“There's someone at the door, sir.” said George Scherff. “Says he's from Financial Reclamations, to collect a debt of $5,000. Says if you don't pay, they'll repossess your equipment.”
Niko rubbed his temples. Lord, he had such a headache. “I'll write him a check tomorrow.”
That was a bluff...almost as much as his card games used to be. Where the devil would he get the money? Go to one of his wealthy friends, maybe J. J. Astor? For a second Niko thought about slipping into a gambling den and running a gigantic hustle.
No, no
. That had been a weakness of his youth, long since put aside. Anyway, he was way too famous now to be able to fool anyone.
“George, I'm going for a walk. Perhaps I'll find a thousand-dollar bill in the street,” he muttered, in a feeble attempt at a joke.
He stepped out of the lab and walked his circuit: up Pearl Street, down Frankfort, across Beekman and back to Fulton. While he walked his familiar pattern of threes, he sought comfort in calculation.
Three to the third power is 27. Twenty seven to the third power is 19,683...
He arrived at Liberty Park and took out a bag of bread crusts he had saved for the pigeons. As he sat feeding the birds, his attention was caught by a woman sitting nearby.
He recognized her at once by her hat: it was his former secretary, Clara Eps. She sat there gazing intently at a small object in her hand. Occasionally she looked up from the object, directly at him. Then she'd look down and adjust the object with a fine tool.
What the devil is she doing? Should I go and talk to her?
He watched the woman for about ten minutes, reflecting that it had been almost five years since she had left his office. Surely whatever her reason for leaving, it would be of no importance now.
On the other hand, he hoped she wouldn't ask for her old job back, because he certainly couldn't afford to hire her at the moment.
Still he hated unfinished business; unanswered questions. Finally his curiosity overcame his reticence and he strolled toward her, tipping his bowler hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Eps. How do you do?”
She gave him a blank look. “I'm sorry, sir, you must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“I think not. Miss Clara, why did you leave my office without giving notice? You didn't even stop to collect your pay.”
She stood, smoothed her skirt. “I left because of your unforgivable insult.”
“Excuse me? Which insult do you mean?”