Tesla's Signal (61 page)

The song caught on. People started making up new lyrics.
“Won't give up the fight, because we know we're right...the Good Lord will save us... followers of the light.”
 

“She's good with the children, your girlfriend,” Clara muttered to Niko. “I wonder how much farther it is?”  

“That song is getting annoying,” Niko remarked, after the crowd had sung about 100 verses. “Listen to what they're singing now.”

“Bringer of the Light, Bringer of the Light...Tesla will save us...bringer of the light.”

“They're substituting you for the Good Lord. How about that!”

Niko listened with intense embarrassment, recalling how Shelia and the U'jaan had tried to play on his ego.
People will worship you like a god.
 

But this was somehow different. It reminded him more of the heroes of the Battle of Kosovo. Today he, too, had become a mighty liberator.
A bringer of the light
.

Yes. This was his calling, the thing he had lived for. “It's true, Clara. You and I, we're the light bringers. We'll do it—we'll save all these people.”

***

Shoreham, Long Island

The remains of a lavish steak-and-lobster dinner littered the table.

“Ready for dessert, Tom?” Shelia began peeling off her gown, revealing her over-ripe bosom in all its glory. “I like banana cream pie...do you?”

Edison lay back on the silk sheets and smiled, anticipating:
it's going to be great
.

Oh, yes. He hadn't been back to the old lab in several months, but he knew he had enough chemicals back there to put together hundreds of cannisters. They could be dropped into every subway ventilation grate, every entrance that hadn't already been blocked. The wretched little heretics, who scurried about trying to defy his Glorious Masters, would suffocate like rats in a sewer. And Tesla...well, he'd die along with them.
Like he should have died before!
 

Oh, what a sweet moment it had been, when Tom had sprung his clever trap! That look on Tesla's face, when he realized he'd been duped... and the gas took effect. Even better than the time that criminal had fried in Tom's electric chair!

“Ooh, Tom,” said Shelia. Her fingers trailed across Tom's groin. “What a big man. Big as Wardenclyffe Tower.”

Laughing, he lay back and raked his fingers through the Chosen Vessel's hair while she applied her exquisite ministrations. Oh yes. That bastard Nick had escaped him this time, but there'd be more chances, that was for sure. Edison knew his foe's fatal weakness. Tesla postured like Zeus, but he had a soft core of mushy sentimentality that made him natural prey.

But...as his brain wandered, the rest of the memory came back to him. He'd been so close to success...he and his men had had Tesla subdued and tied up like a Christmas turkey for their Glorious Masters. And then a giant machine-man had snatched their prize from them and sent them running, like schoolgirls from a spider!

His gleeful memories turned to bitter ashes.

“What's the matter, Tom?” For Shelia's wiles were losing their effect. Wardenclyffe Tower was slowly receding back into the surrounding brush.

“Aw, c'mon. You're no fun tonight,” she finally said. “What's on your mind, big guy?”

“Nothing. Just waiting for Kirk to get back with good news. I sent him on an important errand. Once I hear from him, I'll be in a much better mood. Ah, that must be him.” He brightened at the sound of an automobile, followed by footsteps and a knock on the door.

“Kirk! C'mon in, old boy. You got everything I sent you for?”

But Kirk wasn't smiling like he should be. “Nope. I couldn't get any of your chemicals, boss.”

“What? Goddamn it, why not?”

“Because your old lab at Menlo Park has been wrecked. Sorry, boss. Someone burnt it to the ground, and the whole block around it.”

“What? How on Earth—”

“It must have been Tesla who did it. He's the most dangerous man on this planet, he is.”

“What? That
mother-jumper
destroyed my lab?” Edison picked up a bottle of bourbon and threw it against the far wall. “Now what in God's name am I going to tell the Masters? God damn—” Edison began to curse a blue streak, pronouncing every barnyard curse he had ever heard.

“Now now, Tom,” Shelia spoke up, “watch your language. There's a lady present. Come on, Tom, ain't you going to finish what you started? If you're not up for it, maybe your buddy Kirk would like to go for a spin in my flivver...”

Edison didn't even hear. Wardenclyffe Tower had come crashing to ruin.

***

The subway stop at 30th Street could not compare to the splendor of City Hall Station. When the group of refugees at last arrived, all they found was a dingy platform with a few benches. A crowd of dispirited people sat or leaned against the walls. When the newcomers came, they grabbed their bundles and glared.

A man with a scruffy beard came up and confronted them. “Get lost,” he said. “You can't stay here. This is
our
home.”

“This ain't nobody's home,” said Jerome. “The tunnels ain't safe no more. We're afraid the enemy has poison gas.”

This produced a moment of panic, and Jerome continued. “We're headed for the Hudson Tubes to Hoboken. It's the only way out.”

“That's crazy. I heard it's full of plague rats.”

“We'll chance it. Better the rats than those Martian monsters.”

“Hugo?” Niko took his friend aside. “Clara and I are slipping out. we're going to get our Saucer and continue the fight. Tell these people that we said goodbye.”

He wanted to make a quick exit. He hated goodbyes.

“Clara!” a voice called after them. “Going somewheres?”

She stopped, turned. “Yes, Jake. We're going to battle the invaders.”

“Without the Landsmen? You two don't stand a chance.”

“Jake, aren't you going to stay and help the Station dwellers?”

“The hell! Jake Flint doesn't hide in the dark—if there's a fight, he's right there blazing away. Right,
Maidele?”
 

“Sure thing, Jake. But—”

Niko stepped in. “Thank you for the offer, but we're going to call our flying Saucer for the final battle.”

“You're gonna call your
what?
This I gotta see.”

“Jake, I'm sorry, but we can't take you.” Niko envisioned half the Station dwellers clamoring for a ride in his futuristic sky vehicle.

Jake's shoulders drooped like a disappointed child's. “Oh, all right. Just lemme see this flying Saucer. It'll be something to tell my grandkids.”

A few armed youths guarded the barricaded stairwell that led up to the street. “You can't go out there, folks,” said one. “Ain't safe.”

But after looking at the weaponry pointed in their general direction, the guards moved aside. “What the hell, it's your funeral.”

Jake wriggled past the exit barrier and bounded up the stairs. A few steps behind, Clara bent to pick up a small object. “Jake, wait. You dropped your lapel flower.”

“I did?” He turned back. “Oh, thanks.” He took the flower, cradled it between his palms. “Wouldn't want to lose that.”

“Really?” Niko asked. He had never liked jewelry and adornments. And it seemed especially strange on a gangster like Jake. “If you don't mind my asking, why do you wear that silly—er, I mean, that fine decoration?”

“My mama used to wear it. Her name was Rose.” Jake touched it to his lips and carefully placed it back in his lapel. “She was wearing it when I found her.”

“When you found her
where?
What happened?” Niko asked.

“There was a pogrom.”

“Really? You, too—you're from Clara's village?”

“No, from Kishinev. There was hundreds of pogroms. Don't you know
anything?”
Jake turned to Clara.
“Maidele,
I got something for you. Here.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an object wrapped in a silk handkerchief.

Clara unwrapped the silk. Inside lay a small pearl-handled revolver, of the type known as the 'Saturday Night Special'.

“I was gonna give to you, awhile back when you were with the Landsmen. But you left us to go and run with those eggheaded science types instead.” Jake's glance slid toward Niko, with a bit of challenge.

“Jake! Thank you, but...I have weapons of my own,” said Clara.

“Yeah, well, I don't trust those scientific gizmos if you want the truth. There's nothing like a good shooting iron for real security.”

“Perhaps,” Niko said. “But it won't do much against Angel ships. Well, let's go. It's time to bring our Saucer to us.”

They gathered at a corner of the stairwell, and Clara spoke into her watch. “Calling Conductor, calling Conductor.”

After calling for several minutes and getting absolutely no signal, she shook the watch gently. “
Nu
, that's odd. I'm not getting any response—not from Conductor, or any other Tele-man.” She opened the watch and examined it with a tiny probe. “It seems in working order.”

“Let me check the readings,” said Niko. “Something might have changed.” He studied one meter and another, and came to the inevitable conclusion. “The Orb readings have increased. They must have installed a new one—it's somewhere nearby. Look how it's rising in this bandwidth here. That's why we can't contact anyone.”

Several more minutes of frantic attempts met with no success.

“If we can't signal Conductor, we're helpless.” Clara squeezed the watch as if that might get results. “And we're trapped in New York.”

They shared a horrified look. “It appears that way.”

Jake looked from one to the other. “Your plan ain't working?”

“It seems not.” Niko tried to conceal his dread. “Clara, we have no choice now but to smash that Orb.” He checked for the outline of his wave rifle, concealed in his jacket.

Clara frowned. “How are we supposed to get to it, without our Saucer?
Walk
up to it?”

“If we have to.”

“You sure do like to live dangerously.”

“Sure. I took a million volts, didn't I?”

“You took
what?”
Jake was following the conversation, in open-mouthed awe.

“I'm not afraid of risk.” Niko flashed what he hoped was a jaunty grin at the gangster lad. “I was a gaming man in my youth.”

“No kidding,” said the gangster. “Never would have guessed.”

“Poker, billiards, and chess too. Undefeated champion, Budapest 1881.”

“Well, you got one piece of gamers' luck:
me,”
said Jake. “I'm coming with ya.”

“But we don't have time to train you in our weapons,” Niko began.

“Don't worry yourself,
boychik,
I got my own hardware.” Jake took out his semi-automatic pistol, and raised an index finger: the Landsmen's  hand-sign.

Niko shrugged. “Oh, very well, come with us if you don't value your life. An extra hand with a weapon wouldn't hurt.”

“Yeah, Jake, welcome to the 'Tesla Army',” Clara said with a grin.

They made sure their Amulets were secure, and cautiously crept to the surface. During their underground journey, an entire day had passed by; the sun had set and dusk had fallen.

As they emerged onto Park Avenue, they saw a most dreadful sight: a huge flotilla of Martian ships hovered barely 30 feet above the street. They floated by, as evenly spaced as an army regiment and just as relentless. They glowed with a faint eerie light, and a vast mob of humanity followed them like dolls on a string.

Jake gripped Clara's arm. “Where are they going?”

The ships occasionally emitted a faint chime. More people kept joining the stream of followers, like streams feeding into a great river. Today there was not even any rejoicing; no 'glory glory'. They had all the animation of wax dummies whose legs somehow worked.

A larger ship appeared, maybe the flagship, lit up like 100 Christmas trees. Niko could see how it would attract everyone who had lived in a blacked out city for weeks. Yes, the human brain and soul responded to light. Even he could feel the pull.

“Attention, dear disciples,” Sister Shelia blared out from the ship, her voice impossibly perky, shrill and luscious-sounding.“It is the time of the Divine Harvest!”

 At the sound of the Chosen Vessel's voice, Niko put his hands over his ears and fought an overwhelming urge to run the other way. It had the opposite effect on the Angel disciples, who quickened their steps in response to the rants of Shelia. “This is the great day! Come, come! You are all commanded to join us in a heavenly banquet. Hurry, hurry! Come to Bliss in the Angels' Tower and their great heavenly Sky Vessel. Glory, glory!”