Tesla's Signal (25 page)

“Feeling sleepy, fellows?” He gave them a pulse blast and put them all flat on the ground.

The old woman strolled up and confronted the men from the Packard. “Good afternoon,” she said, and opened her umbrella with the cylindrical device attached to its handle. She pointed it and pressed a button. Niko could see the shock wave expanding from the umbrella's ribs, though he suspected no one else could.

The squad of pursuers fell like puppets with their strings cut. Smiling, Clara turned to the group that was emerging from the Ford. “Good day, gentlemen. Think it'll rain?”

At the sight of the menacing old woman with her killer umbrella, the gentlemen lost heart and remembered pressing business elsewhere.

Grinning, Clara met up with Niko and linked arms. “Hello, Nikola. Nice day for an outing, eh?”

“Clara.” He couldn't say any more. Tears blurred his vision. Before he knew what he was doing, he had put his arms around her shoulders. Embarrassed, he wiped at his eyes.

14: The Opera House

“Good Lord, look at you.” She grabbed his arm and hustled him away.  “You're bleeding like a fountain. What happened?”

“What? Oh...yes.” Only now Niko became aware of the cuts on his face and hands. “I, uh, had a dispute with a large window.”

She began to laugh. “Oh, you poor
shnook.
Even the windows are after you.” Then she stopped laughing and peered at him. “But Niko, how
are
you? I mean...your mind.”

He shrugged. “'When the world goes crazy, the mad go sane'.”

“That sounds like a quote from somewhere. Your friend Mark Twain?”

“I just made it up,” he admitted. “Threats to my survival have helped me focus. Train wrecks, engineering brawls, police chases...I don't have time to be crazy anymore.”

Clara burst out laughing. “Well, at least you've got your sense of humor back. Come on...we need to get lost in a crowd somewhere. Let's take the subway line back to my uncle's.”

“Oh Clara, it's so good to see you.” Words could not begin to express his feelings.

The underground train lines had just been opened a few years before, and already the subways were packed with New Yorkers in a hurry. Clara and Niko descended the stairs to the Broadway line: the perfect place to disappear.

They walked to the end of the swaying subway car. “We've got to clean these wounds. You look like an escaped gangster.” Clara tried to wipe the blood with a handkerchief.

“I'm sorry I was such an ass. I was insane to think I could ever get by without you.” They clung tightly together, to avoid being separated. “You were tracking me all along. Weren't you?”

“Well of course. I...tried to give up on you. Tried to tell myself that...it was better if I...” Clara seemed to have something in her eye. “Then I started hearing about all the disasters. They weren't your doing...were they?”

“Clara, for God's sake! You know me better than that!”

“Well, you did bring down a building on Fulton Street the other day.”

He didn't answer right away. “Clara, I'm ashamed of things I did. I went through a dark time.”

She straightened his collar. “I understand what that's like. It happened to me too, when...well, back in Kostopol.”

“I managed to get a hold of myself,” Niko said, trying to smooth his hair. “My mind is the engine; my will is the driver.”

Clara chuckled, then turned serious. “Still, the police saw you causing one earthquake. So why not three?”

A few stops later a crowd of well-dressed society ladies and men crowded on. And more of the same at the next two stops. Everyone was dressed for an afternoon or evening at the opera.

“Look at all these people,” Clara said. “Wonder where everyone's
going?”

“Nikola!” a woman's voice spoke up. Startled, Niko looked around. There stood his old friends Robert and Katharine Johnson from
New Century
magazine. Katharine wore an exquisite fringed gown and a wide-brimmed hat. Robert looked the fine gentleman with his neatly groomed beard, silk tie and pocket watch on a chain.

“Our carriage broke a wheel,” Robert explained. “So we thought we'd try out this modern conveyance, the subway train.”

“It's fast and exciting,” Katharine added, “but not as exciting as seeing you! But Nikola...what in God's name happened to you?” She looked him up and down, noting his stained clothing, untrimmed hair and incipient beard. Not to mention the cuts and blood on his face from broken glass.

Niko made frantic shushing motions. Hopefully no one had heard.
Everyone else was in a party mood, talking in loud voices.

“Train wreck,” Clara explained, trying to pull Niko away. “We're going to a doctor.”

The gossip-hungry Katharine turned to Clara. “And Niko, who is this? We haven't been introduced.”

“I am Nikola's aunt from Serbia,” said Clara, putting on a thick accent. “I not speak much English.”

“But Nicky, we haven't seen you in months,” Katharine persisted, still  tugging in the opposite direction. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Probably working on some grand invention,” Robert put in. “Too busy for us mere mortals!”

Niko put a finger to his lips. “Please, dear friends...it's a secret...please don't let on who I am!”

Katharine dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “Nicky, people have been saying such awful things about you. None of it is true, is it?”

“Of course not,” Niko said. “But friends, where are
you
going? To the Opera?”

“Why yes,” said Katharine. “Would you like to come?”

“Ah, no thanks, I'm really not dressed for it.”

“But this show is different,” Katharine insisted. “It's for everyone! It doesn't matter what you wear, and admission is free! The whole city has been invited!”

“Well that's peculiar,” Niko said. “Did some wealthy heir get religion and endow a charity to bring culture to the masses?”

“You must come with us, and your auntie too! It'll be grand!”

Clara whispered to him. “Let's get off with all these people. We can hide in this crowd.”

The sun was setting as they emerged from the subway station, across from the huge Carnegie Opera House. People streamed in from all the surrounding areas, climbing the marble steps and entering between ornately-carved columns. Voices could be heard speculating on the nature of the show. “Maybe it's one of those French chorus lines,” said a grinning youth. “Think they'll show some shapely legs?”

Niko squinted, trying to see a name on the marquee. “All it says is
'Special Free Show! Welcome, New York City'
.
”

“It's a mystery. All the advertisement said was 'a marvelous surprise from an anonymous benefactor'. Oh, I do love adventures!” Katharine giggled, showing her perfect white teeth.

Ushers in bright jackets could now be seen beckoning all the passers-by to enter. “Ladies and Gentlemen, you won't want to miss the Special Show—a gift to New York City!”

“I wonder if this is that 'Silver Chamber' that Lily's friends talked about,” Clara said. “It seems to be the latest fad. They wouldn't tell me anything about it, except that it was the greatest thing in the world....”

She broke off, yanked on his arm and pulled him aside. “Niko—look at this.” She clutched a small rusted pocket watch with no cover. The thing was buzzing like a hornet. “It picks up certain frequencies. It was doing this when...when
They
took you.”

He looked around wildly as if the Martians might be ready to snatch him away again. “Clara, let's get out of here!”

 “Just a minute. I want to find out the truth.” She took out one of her Elgin camera transmitters, which she had disguised as a boutonnière.

“Watch this.” She crept behind a gentleman, deftly removed his hat and clipped the device to its crown. The man reached up, noticing the hat was missing.

“'scuse me sir, you dropped your hat,” said Clara, and placed it back on his head. In the bustle of the crowd, the gentleman seemed to notice nothing amiss. He moved with the crowd, flowing into the hall. Clara and Niko alone stood their ground, resisting the flow.

“Let's get somewhere safe.” They took refuge in a nearby recessed doorway. Clara took out the matching receiver: a large Hamilton with a blank silver surface and highly reflective glass cover. They peered at the glass, which showed them a portion of what was going on inside the Opera House.

Niko flinched in revulsion. There, looking like a tiny doll, stood...
that woman,
bathed in bright light, wearing a sparkling, outlandish costume. She wore headgear made to resemble a halo, and sleeves fitted with white feathers to resemble wings.

A chunk of memory surfaced:
“...made me one of their Chosen Vessels. I could be yours, Nicky dear,”
said Sister Shelia. He remembered the feel of her hands caressing his body, and fought a wave of nausea.

A line of showgirls, attired in white, surrounded her. They cavorted about as though it were a Vaudeville extravaganza, in front of a huge, glowing silver screen.

The sight of the screen, even just as a tiny transmitted image, woke an echo of what Niko had felt the last time he had looked into a device like this. It was a portal that sucked him down into an ocean of sweet, mind-numbing bliss.

With a cry, he wrenched himself away. “Clara—the screen emits a hypnotic frequency. It's
Them!”

“Shh...I want to hear this. What's she saying?”

They bent close and listened to the transmission. “Brothers and
sisters! I am Sister Shelia, the Chosen Vessel of our glorious Angel
visitors! The Heavenly Ones are waiting in their glowing chariots to bring enlightenment to the human race. Come and accept their eternal blessing  and bliss!” Crowds could be seen moving forward at Shelia's invitation, pushing frantically to accept the altar call. Not a single person walked out in disgust.

“I don't believe this,” Clara muttered. “She's got the whole city duped into some holy-roller cult.”

After the people had received whatever 'blessing' Shelia gave them, they dropped to their knees, moaning in ecstasy. They danced about, singing and waving their hands and carrying on. “This is
meshugoss!
What's she doing to them?” Clara muttered.

“Brothers and sisters, listen,” cried the Chosen Vessel, mounting the stage again. “The Angels need your help to rescue humanity from its greatest threat: that devil mad scientist, Nikola Tesla! This villain plans to destroy the whole human race! On behalf of the blessed Angels I beg you: help us find this demon and exterminate―”

“That's enough,” Niko said. Anger finally overrode his horror of the Martians. “How dare they tell such outrageous lies!”

He rummaged in his pack, and came out with a machine about the size of a small desktop clock. “See if you can lie about me,” he muttered, “after I pull the plug on you!”

A few days ago he had gone mad and caused a blackout. Now he was forced to do it again. But this time he would do it with precision, only blacking out a small area. Adjusting a control, he placed the gizmo next to the building.

The machine began to hum. A stream of charged particles emerged, visible only to himself. It interfered with the electromagnetic field surrounding the nearby electrical wires, transformers and power connections. With a shower of sparks, the wires overloaded. When the circuit fried, the first transformer blew.

“Lights out!”

The effect spread and the street lights blinked out in a wave over about three blocks―including every light in the Carnegie Opera House.

“Look.” Clara handed him the camera watch. He peered at the glass and saw what was happening inside the Opera House. The screen itself still flickered faintly―proving for sure that it ran on an un-Earthly power source. But the stage lights and house lights were down. People milled about, exclaiming in shock, rushing out of the theater. Sister Shelia shouted and waved her arms, but no one could hear her.

“All right―let's get out of here.” Now all he wanted was to be as far away from the 'Chosen Vessel' as possible.

With the lights out, the fugitives escaped unmolested. They covered about 10 blocks in record time. But he could not walk fast enough to get away from the memory of the show he had just witnessed. Had to keep walking, round and round and round...

“Where are you going, Niko? We're headed toward Essex Street―over
that
way.”

“But...this is 33rd Avenue...we
have
to take 33rd Avenue!”

“No we don't.” Clara stood in front of him. “Stop it, Nikola.” She held her palms against his shoulders and wouldn't let him pass. “Your superstitions about the number three aren't going to help matters.”

He sighed, and hung his head like a child caught misbehaving.