Tesla's Signal (13 page)

“So I know you're alive. It transmits your heartbeat. You are correct, by the way. You
do
carry a measurable electric charge.”

“So you used that to track my movements. Why?”

“I need to test my theories. And...maybe a bit of cussedness,” she admitted. “I wanted to show you up. I thought you were a bit of an arrogant prig.” Her lips twitched in a wry grin. “Besides...if something ever happened to you, I wanted to be able to rescue...” She broke off. “Silly of me, I suppose.”

“But...a watch converted to a transmitter. How did you ever think of it?”

She shrugged. “As a child, I was fascinated with watches. I took hundreds of them apart and put them together. Look here.” She reached into an overall pocket and took out an object wrapped in a silk kerchief. “My family has been watchmakers and metalsmiths for hundreds of years. This is my greatest treasure—my father's Kronos Imperial Timekeeper.”

She unwrapped the watch, polished it against her trouser leg and unscrewed the cover to reveal its engraved back: a design of ornate swirls and rosettes, surrounding a gleaming balance wheel. “A watch gets its energy from a coiled metal spring, and releases it in timed pulses. So, what if you replace the mainspring and gears with voltage? Like this one here.” She took out a smaller watch. “It has an electrical inducer that gets energy from my walking movements. Here, take a look.” She put it in his hand.

He put it to his ear, trying to get a feel for its current flow. “How does something this small generate enough voltage?”

“Because of the alloys I used. I worked in my uncle's foundry and developed some metals with extremely high conductivity. This little device here...” she bent close and pointed at a cylindrical nub inside the watch, “allows switching the flow. This other one controls frequency.”

She took a few more watches out of her many pockets: small delicate ones, and big ones with thick cases. “Receivers, meters, sensors. I'm working on a camera transmitter—a sort of picture telephone, if you will. Want to spy on your enemies? Just leave one of these nearby.”

“I'm not in the spy business. I'm a scientist.”

“You're no fun at all.” Clara grinned.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well.” It was a bit unnerving to know that Clara had been following him, for who knew how long? “Why haven't you patented these? You would be rich. You could challenge me as the 'top wizard' inventor,” he said, with a wry smile.

“No I couldn't. Nobody would accept a woman as an inventor. They'd just say I stole it from a man. I'd be ridiculed—sent back to the kitchen.”

“Yes, I can see your point.” Niko sighed. “Well, and what about your... electrical walking stick, the one you used to chase off those thugs?”

She reached into her rucksack and pulled out a shorter version of that device, about a foot in length. The shaft was made of a dark, shiny metal he couldn't identify. Bands of copper wire encircled it, and it was topped by a large crystal, the size and shape of a glass doorknob.

“Look out.” Grinning, she pressed a button and a discharge of electricity sizzled from the end.

“By St. Sava!” Niko was used to amazing other people with his gadgets. Now he was on the receiving end!

“The staff is made of an insulating alloy. Inside, I have a nested series of coils, magnets...see? It generates voltage from the movement of my walking. The crystal magnifies the charge. These streets are dangerous—but if anyone tries to rob or assault me, they'll be sorry!” She brandished the staff in undisguised glee.

Niko broke into laughter. “You sure had me fooled, Miss Clara. You're one clever girl.”

“My hat, too. The one you hated? I admit it was ugly. I thought that was what well-dressed American women were supposed to wear. But it had another purpose: those jeweled ornaments had conductive properties. And my quartz brooch and earrings provided resonance, like antennas. It all functioned as a transmitter. So that I could communicate with my uncle, in case...in case something happened to him,” she ended, with vulnerability showing in her eyes. “And here you just thought I was a vain woman who wore too much jewelry.”

“Yes.” Niko smiled at the memory. “Your disguise was impeccable. But why did you hide your face, and wear that blond wig?”

She shrugged. “When I got off the boat, I wanted to look and act like a real American. I changed my name, wore the right clothes, learned perfect English so I could get a better job. I didn't want to work in those horrid garment factories like the other greenhorn girls.”

“You are certainly made for better things than the sweatshops. What can I say?” Niko spread his hands. “If you really want to work with a washed-up old man who has 'lost his marbles', I'd be delighted to have your help. Of course...” he hesitated for a moment... “our relationship will remain on a strictly professional level. Here, why don't you sleep on that couch tonight. I don't need much sleep—no more than an hour per night. I'll just catnap in that chair.”

***

The next day he took her on a tour of the station and showed her the huge direct-current generator. “I spent several months fixing that for Tom Edison. I suppose that we could strip it for materials.”

“So this is going to be your new lab?”

“Sure. It's the perfect hideout—from bill collectors, and those bastards who want to
rub me out.”
He couldn't resist a wry grin. He was starting to like his new self-image—a wily trickster who had slipped into a shadow realm to evade his powerful persecutors. “Even the tramps stay away. They think this place is haunted. Several of Edison's workers were electrocuted here.”

They climbed the rusting metal stairs to the top floor. “But Nikola, the roof leaks. What did I tell you about the conductivity of water?”

“There are plenty of dry areas in the first floor. Look out, there's a dead rat.” He carefully steered her away. “Are you sure you want to work here, Miss Clara? It's dark and dirty. Not a place for a lady.”

“I'm not scared of dark and dirty. I hid in a basement for three days. Then we crawled through a filthy drainage conduit.”

“Really?” He stopped and faced her. “What happened?”

Clara stopped walking and picked up a rusty bolt from the floor. “The...the Cossacks started a pogrom. They whipped everyone up...trampled people with their horses. Yelled 'death to the Yids.' The mob started burning, looting...raping and killing. Uncle and I...we hid in the basement for three days, and when we came out...” She rolled the bolt between her palms, continuing barely above a whisper. “The house was burned to the ground, and my family...th-they were all dead.” She tossed the bolt away. It went clattering down the stairs.

“Oh, dear Lord. I'm sorry.”

“We hid in the conduit...barely made it out of town. But...it wasn't safe anywhere. The pogroms were happening everywhere.” Clara wiped at her eyes. “Our only hope was to go to America. We traveled westward, trying to earn passage. I wanted so badly to go to school! I picked up crumbs of knowledge, wherever I could. Taught myself to read German; English. When we reached the port at Hamburg, I found a copy of a magazine with one of your articles. It became my dream, to learn from you and follow in your footsteps. It gave me a reason for living. You see? That's why I said that
you saved my life
.
”
 

He searched for words. “That's...quite a story.”

“Your articles spoke of a bright future: world communication would bring a time of peace and understanding. There would be no more hatred and prejudice. I believed in your dream. When I saw you face to face, I knew the truth, as if it were written in your glowing light tubes: you were one of the Righteous.”

“The Righteous? What do you mean?”

“Our people have a legend. In every generation there are 36 Righteous people who keep the world on course. If the number ever goes below that—the world comes crashing to ruin. The Righteous go about their work quietly. Nobody knows who they are. Not even they themselves know it.”

He stared at her and tried to think of a comment for such a strange story. “My work isn't exactly quiet,” he finally said. “I make thunder and lightning.”

***

In the next few days they put in long hours at the work bench, reassembling Niko's equipment. But Niko insisted that Clara spend her nights back at her uncle's place on Essex Street.

“Why can't I sleep here? I won't bother you. It's crowded at home. I sleep on a pallet on in my uncle's shop.”

“I wouldn't want your uncle to get the wrong idea.”

“What
wrong idea?”
Clara made a rude noise. “Dear Lord, you're such a prig. I'm a grown woman, not a child.”

“Don't you have anyone who might come looking for you? A gentleman friend who might be jealous? I don't need any more trouble.”

Her laugh turned sharp. “Are you joking? Who'd want to court a woman who makes dangerous electrical devices? I used to haunt the lecture halls at Columbia University. One of the professors took a shine to me—but he dropped me when he found that I was there for knowledge, not a turn in the sheets.” She reached into the metal enclosure with her soldering iron. “Nope, I'm saving myself for the perfect man. Now can we talk about something else? What's your next project?”

“I plan to send a transmission from Wardenclyffe Tower.” He picked up a wrench and tightened a bolt. “I have to do it now, before the creditors haul away the equipment. Hand me that metal cutter, would you please?” He clipped off a wire end.

“Now, Miss Clara, here is my plan.” He looked up at this woman who had somehow found her way into his confidence. This was the final test. If she laughed...she'd be out the door.

“I made a vow to give something to the human race—a clean, inexhaustible energy source. But...there's something else too. Several years ago, I received a transmission from outer space—from the direction of Mars.”

“Ah!” She didn't blink an eye. “Go on.”

“I tried to reply, but my transmitter burned out.” She wasn't laughing at him! “So I'm going to send another signal.” He handed her the notebook, pointing at an entry. “Here are my power calculations. I'll send a signal on the 25th of next month, when Earth is closest to Mars.”

She grinned. “Oh, that's going to be spectacular! I can't wait!”

Niko turned, not letting her see his own smile. For a moment, he felt as pleased as a boy who has found a new pal to join him in his escapades.

***

Clara's eyes roamed over the collection of cylindrical gadgets. They ranged from the size of a pill jar, to that of a milk jug. “Why have you built so many oscillators, Niko?”

“Because each type has a different function. The secret is frequency.” He picked up a cigar box from which two electrodes protruded. “Inside here is my violet ray device. It stimulates cell growth, helps me recover from injuries and keep my youthful appearance, despite my advancing age.”

“Ah, so that's how you manage to be so handsome.”

Hiding his grin, he picked up a larger device. “Some of these are more than just a health aid. Turn it up a bit and it can knock a wall down. One time the police came to my door. It seems one of my devices had caused a mild earthquake.”

“Oh, you. What a bad boy.”

“I wasn't too popular with my neighbors. Now...this one here creates pulses that send instructions—what I call a logic circuit. I sent instructions by remote control to a
tele-automaton—
a sort of mechanical brain,” Niko went on. “It was just a demonstration model—a small boat that could follow the audience's directions. I tried to sell it to the Navy for submarine guidance, but they weren't interested. They thought it was a trick...said I had a monkey or a dwarf inside the boat.”

“Oh, for God's sake.” Clara dissolved into laughter.

As they worked, Niko held forth on the subjects of Roentgen rays, the bladeless turbine, and the Teleforce Ray. “I went to the military,” he said, “and told them I could develop a defensive weapon which could shoot down enemy planes from far away. Every country would feel secure from attack, and war would be obsolete.”

“Let me guess—they didn't go for it?”

Niko shook his head. “The press got hold of the idea and called it 'Tesla's Death Ray'.”

She put down her pliers. “Have you ever built a motorcar?”

“No, Henry Ford has not seen fit to hire me as a consultant.”

“The hell with that
putz
. Why couldn't you design an electric automobile powered by one of your transformers?”

“Well...I prefer the streetcar, or the train. The streets of New York are way too crowded for an automobile.”

“Nonsense. We have to build an automobile, Nikola. We've just
got
to. I
love
motorcars. Did I ever tell you?”

***

They went back to the Fulton Street lab for another load of equipment, locked it securely, and got back to their routine 18-hour workday. Clara would show up punctually at six every morning, dressed in her overalls and a head kerchief or cap, with a lunch pail full of bagels, pickles and deli meats. They would spend hours on end hunched over machinery, their hands reaching into enclosures, grasping wires, eyes focused on the components. These shared activities engaged his emotions, far more intensely than any other social interactions had ever done.