Tesla's Signal (29 page)

“No!
The world is worth nothing without you
,
”
Niko cried. And
realized: what had he just said?

He didn't get time to consider the matter any further.

“Don't move!” a voice commanded. “Hands in the air!” He felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his neck.

Rough hands seized him. A mob of thugs appeared from the shadows beneath the elevated tracks. They grabbed Niko's arms and held him, pointing pistols at his head. Others confronted Clara. “Put your hands up, kid! Or your sugar daddy gets his noggin blown off.” They pulled Clara up, brutally wrenching her foot out of the hole where it had been trapped.

They slammed Niko's face up against a brick wall and tightened a rope around his neck. The one in charge leaned in to inspect him. Sure enough, Niko recognized 'Professor' Kirk, Edison's hit-man.

“Yep, that's Tesla,” said Kirk. “Go on, search him. Search 'em both. Get all their dangerous little toys.”

“Well, 'Professor', it's been awhile.” Niko could not be sure if Kirk's eyes had a silver sheen. He affected nonchalance, while trying to get a  clearer look. How many people did the Martians control? “Have you gone to any opera shows lately?”

“Shut your trap.” They picked up Clara's bag of tricks, and riffled through Niko's pockets and found a wire-cutter, screwdriver, battery pack. “Where's the rest of your gizmos, Tesla?

“What gizmos? I'm a law-abiding citizen.”

“You're lyin'!” The rope was twisted a bit tighter. “The Boss knows you got an arsenal of weapons.”

“Who's your boss now? Still with Edison? Or did you sell out humanity and sign up with those Martians?”

“I'm a special investigator. My job is to find your secret lab.”

“You wrecked all my labs. Aren't you satisfied?” Niko's fear had been swallowed up by hatred for this two-bit bully. “Did you get bored with torturing puppies?”

Kirk put his snarling face up next to Nikola's. He smelled of stale tobacco. “Shut your hole. You're gonna make me rich—there's a huge reward out for you—but first I'm gonna find where you keep your death ray—the one you used to destroy half the city. Now come along!”

“I didn't destroy the city. Your Martian friends did that.” But no one was listening. Kirk's gang hustled them along in the direction of a huge old industrial plant. It looked like another of Edison's direct current
stations.

“You can't arrest us without a warrant,” Niko said. “We have rights here in America!”

“Shut up. You ain't even a real American. I've got authorization to question you at my secret facility. I'll fire up my special equipment and run some electric currents up your cornhole till you tell us what we want to know.”

Niko had to laugh in spite of his situation. “What
special equipment?
Edison's electric chair? I'm the King of Lightning, remember? Touch me, and you might get a face full of sparks yourself!”

“Yeah? Well what about your cute little boyfriend here? How about we plug some high voltage into
him?”
Kirk's bald-headed associate whipped Clara's cap off and her braids fell out.

“Well I'll be God-damned,” Baldy said. “I don't think this here's a boy—this is a
dame!”
He howled with glee. “Since when did you have a girlfriend, Tesla? Thought you was queer!”

Niko looked at Clara out of the corner of his eyes. Her face was a stoic mask, betraying nothing.

“You sure that's a broad? Maybe we better check.” Kirk reached for Clara's shirt front. “C'mere sweetheart, let's see what you got to show us.”

Before he could see what Clara had, the sound of a gunshot interrupted him. A bullet pinged the wall behind him.

“You leave her be
, kaker punim!”
cried a voice from up on the elevated platform.

“Jake,” Clara cried.

“What the hell!” Baldy pulled Clara close against him, and held his
pistol to her head. “Drop the gun now,” he called to the hidden attackers, “or I blow this floozy's head off!”

A look of fire came into Clara's eye. Her hand became a claw that whipped down into her captor's groin and twisted, while her foot came down on his instep. Baldy howled in pain and lost his grip on her. She dove away and grabbed her sack of gizmos.

As soon as she broke away, Jake and the Landsmen opened fire from the El platform. Baldy grabbed his chest as a bullet struck him.

Niko threw off Kirk's grip and dashed toward Clara, while Kirk's men dove for cover and began returning fire. Jake clambered halfway down the girders of the El and hung on with one hand while firing his pistol with the other. Shots pinged against the brick walls and metal girders.

He grabbed Clara's arm and they made a break for it. But Clara could not get far before her injured foot gave out.

“Is your foot broken?” Not waiting for a reply, he picked her up in his arms and ran. They made it to the abandoned tram line and dashed behind a streetcar while Kirk and the Landsmen battled it out.

“Oh, thank God,” Clara muttered.

“Thank your gangster friends. How's your foot?”

Clara didn't answer. Niko could see the beads of sweat on her forehead. “Let's get out before more of Kirk's friends show up. Maybe the New York Transit Authority can help us.” He pulled some tools out of Clara's pack, then scurried over to the side of the car, pulled up a panel and accessed the electrical controls. He clipped a few wires, made quick connections. Sparks lit up, and the power flowed from the overhead wires to the wheels below.

“All aboard!” He helped Clara onto the streetcar and jumped on after her as the streetcar rolled into life. “This line ought to at least give us a few blocks head start.”

“Oh, Niko. Stealing a streetcar!” Clara burst out laughing. “You talk about
my
criminal past! When the Transit Authority gets hold of you, they'll wipe the street with your
tuchis
.
”
 

“They'll have to catch me first.”

Niko watched the train yard recede from his view. “That whoreson Kirk...what an ape,” he said with a shaky laugh. “He...he probably doesn't even know how to operate that 'special electrical equipment' of his.”

“Yeah. What a
putz
,
”
Clara agreed. “A shit face—
a kaker punim!”
 

17: An Army of Demons

“Don't you dare walk on that foot for three days,” said the upstairs neighbor Miss Feigel, as she fussed about with her bag of medicaments.

After leaving the streetcar a few blocks away, Clara and Niko had finally made it to 101 Essex Street, where the helpful Miss Feigel had insisted Clara lie down and be doctored. Now she lathered Clara's ankle with painkilling ointment and splinted it a with leather wrap.

“Ought to settle down...quit running around...find a good husband,” she muttered, giving Niko a dirty look. “You're confined to bed, girlie.”

“Of course,
tante
. I won't move a muscle.”

As soon as Miss Feigel turned her back, Clara made a quick exit. “Hurry—before she sees us,” she whispered.

They changed clothes and got more leaflets, and a few weapons to replace the ones lost in the river. And they were out the door, ready to continue their mission.

They took the Roadster towards the downtown and concealed it behind the Water Street Boiler Works.  Niko stopped to touch up his disguise: a shabby, rumpled cotton jacket he would normally never be caught dead in. A straw hat, phony pair of glasses and lots of soot on his face to simulate the unshaven look, completed the ensemble. He hoped it would be sufficient.

Heading downtown, they began spreading their leaflets on every park bench, coach and wagon. They used glue and thumbtacks to attach them to trees, lamp posts and electric poles. They tucked them into windows and doors, pasted them on storefronts where people were sure to congregate. What a shame, Niko thought, to be reduced to this primitive method of communication, when he knew that messages could be encoded and sent through the sky along electromagnetic carrier waves. Yet he had to admit the old ways were still effective.

“Think we're safe here?” Clara said.

“I hope so. Too many witnesses for Kirk to grab us.”

“Just act normal,” she suggested.

“I wish I could. I don't even remember what 'normal' means anymore.” He noticed she had begun to limp again. “How's your foot? Do you want to rest awhile?”

“Shut up. I'm fine. Come on, take my arm. Pretend we're a regular couple passing a day in the Big City.”

They continued to post leaflets whenever nobody was looking their way. People picked up the leaflets, pocketed them or tossed them away. “So, Clara, tell me about you and this Jake fellow.”

“He was the first friend I had when I came to America. He taught me lots of survival tricks, like how to shoot a gun and stand up to bullies. I recognized their boat this morning; that's why I jumped. It's their regular territory.”

“Well...he kissed you. Were you in love?”

“Gosh, Niko, I didn't know you cared about my love life! We had a short-lived fling.” Clara shrugged. “I got tired of the gangster life. Don't worry, Niko, he's not going to come after you. He's not a bad guy, really. ”

“So what is he...an East-Side Robin Hood?”

“Sure is. He saved your
tuchis,
didn't he?” Clara gave him a nudge.

They bought Italian bread sticks, sat on a park bench and had a snack. A flock of pigeons strutted about and he tossed the crumbs to them. He heard a flutter of wings and looked up: a white bird circled overhead and glided to a landing on the back of the bench.

“Alouette.” He held out his hand. The white pigeon hopped on and looked into his eye. A few liquid notes emerged from the bird's beak.

“That bird's awfully tame, isn't she?” said Clara.

“Yes. This pigeon is a...a friend of mine.” Emotions warred in him: this bird housed an alien being...admittedly, one who seemed benevolent. And yet...who could tell what an alien actually wanted? Alu could see inside his mind. Niko did not feel comfortable with that.

Clara leaned close to inspect the bird. “I think this is the same pigeon who enjoyed my Theremin music.” She held out a hand toward the pigeon. “Perhaps she is one of the Serafim.”

“The...what? What do you know about Alu—I mean Alouette?”

“All I know is, she seems to be trying to tell you something.” Clara put out her hand, and the pigeon hopped on. Clara stroked the bird's smooth white head.“You're a beautiful little
petitza,
aren't you. Do you have a message for us?”

Alouette emitted a small warble. Clara shut her eyes as if listening. “Ah,” she said. “You'll look out for us? Well, thanks, birdie!”

Alouette suddenly launched herself from Clara's hand and shot into the sky. The closest pigeons followed her, and then more. Still more birds from nearby roofs rose to join them, until the sky swirled with thousands of birds, calling and flapping their wings in a deafening cacophony.

“Will you look at that! Alouette seems to be their leader,” said Clara.

Niko was about to reply when he saw a flash of movement on the next block, in the gap between buildings. He abruptly stood up as his brain translated what he had seen. “Clara—I just saw that Packard again, on 6th Avenue. It's turning our way.”

His heart quickened as he pictured an army of pursuers relentlessly sectioning off the grid of streets.
How many?
Were they police, plain-clothes detectives, or...something else? If an alien being could take the form of a bird,  could the Martians disguise themselves as human?

Panic seized him. “Let's go.” They turned onto a street full of grand marble dwellings and hurried up an alley. Arriving at a stout wooden doorway, Niko pulled it open. “In here,” he whispered.

Inside, cooks and maids rushed back and forth. Clara grabbed his arm. “Niko, we can't go in here, this is a swanky place—for the upper crust!”

“Shh. Servants' area. I know this hotel—the Regency Providence. I set up their electrical system.”

At the end of the hall they caught a glimpse of the grand lobby. Amid the décor of columns and tall vases, a crowd of well-dressed society swells were shedding coats, hats and capes.

“They'll never look for us here,” he began, when a commotion at the doorway interrupted the gathering.

“Ladies and gentlemen, excuse us,” shouted the Mutton Chop man from the Packard. “There's a dangerous criminal on the loose.”

“An anarchist,” a second man added, waving one of Niko's leaflets. “Bent on overthrowing society.”

“See here,” a large-bellied grandee stepped forward. “How dare you come barging in! We're having an exclusive gala for the cream of New York—”