The Tesla Legacy (12 page)

Edison stopped to sniff the ground. His ears perked up. Probably rats. The dog could track a rat for a mile, but he never attacked them. Joe was grateful for that. He kept Edison’s rabies shots up to date, but you never knew what other diseases tunnel and sewer rats might carry.

He whistled for the dog. Edison barked once, a sign that he wanted to be taken seriously. He probably wanted more time to run around.

“Not in the cards today, buddy,” Joe called. “Come on.”

Casting a glance over his shoulder, the dog loped to Joe’s side.

Joe followed Edison’s look, but he didn’t see anything. But Edison often saw things he didn’t in the tunnels. Dogs had much better low-light vision than people.

Probably a rat.

But the back of his neck prickled while he stood at the end of his tunnel, entering in his security code. He and Edison went through, and he swung the door shut. Just before it closed, a faint crinkling sound came from the tunnel.

Maybe a stray breeze blowing an empty candy wrapper across the tracks, or maybe something more. He was glad the door was closed, and they were safely on the inside.

He checked his phone messages. Vivian had left him a warning about a man who might have followed him into the tunnels. That would have been handy to know a few minutes earlier and made him feel even more worried about Edison’s reaction. Maybe someone was lurking outside his back door.

His phone buzzed, and Joe jumped. It was the bike courier. Joe had to be at the clock at 11:30 (cyan, cyan: red, black) to get the various metal bits he’d need to use to assemble Nikola Tesla’s automaton. Joe grabbed a quick breakfast, then got some actual work done before taking the elevator up to meet the man with his parts.

Evaline gave him a quick wave when he came into the information booth. She was with a customer. Joe let himself out into the busy concourse. Lots of folks hurrying around, out for their lunch breaks. His heart beat a little faster when he glanced at the spot where he had been knocked down, and Edison crowded closer as if he sensed it, too.

He leaned against the booth to wait. Edison sat next to him. Joe looked around the giant room. His gaze lingered on the blue ceiling. He loved the constellations. He’d read they were painted in mirror image, either an artist’s error or a representation of divine perspective—God looking down from the other side. Today he couldn’t enjoy the graceful constellations. He felt as if he were being watched. Hundreds of people walked and stood in the giant room, and any of them might be watching him or not watching him. Maybe his feelings were just his body reacting to being back where he had been attacked yesterday. Or maybe they were serious. Nothing much he could do about them either way.

A sweaty guy in spandex clomped in. He wore specialized biking shoes that rang against the marble. Under his arm was a cardboard package. Joe’s parts. Joe waved him over, signed for the package, and retreated down the elevator.

He had work to catch up on and the GCT video surveillance archive to hack to see if he could get a good look at the guy who tried to take his suitcase. But he knew he wasn’t going to do anything until he’d taken on his father’s challenge and assembled Nikola’s automaton.

He had to know what his father had left for him.

Chapter 17

Ash liked The Campbell Apartment with its tall, open-beamed ceilings, bank of windows looking out onto the station, thick patterned carpet, and the air of old New York that hung like an invisible fog. He ordered a Prohibition Punch—a brandy snifter full of rum, Grand Marnier, fruit juice, and champagne. Prohibition couldn’t have tasted this smooth. It would have been harsher, forbidden, dangerous.

Joe Tesla walked in with a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He looked harmless, like a bike messenger or a college student. His yellow Lab walked next to him. The animal wore a blue vest, like a seeing-eye dog, reminding him of Joe’s disability.

Even in the soft golden light of the bar, Joe’s skin looked white as milk, underlining again the reality that he never got out into the sun. It was hard to remember the tan young man who had climbed to forbidden heights on the Golden Gate Bridge.

Joe exchanged glances with the bartender and took a red velvet chair opposite Ash. The dog sat next to him, its yellow muzzle raised as it studied Ash alertly, clearly sizing him up as friend or foe. It didn’t growl, but it didn’t wag its tail either, so he didn’t know where he stood in the dog’s estimation.

He voiced his condolences, and Joe thanked him politely, clearly as eager as he was to get through the formalities.

“Nice dog.” He petted the dog’s head and neck, sliding his fingers under the animal’s collar and back out again. The dog didn’t move or object. Good.

“His name’s Edison,” Joe said. “Probably named in honor of all the dogs the great man electrocuted.”

Ash was familiar with the rivalry between Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison over the safety of direct current, Edison’s baby, and alternating current, Tesla’s idea, the one that ended up being adopted around the world. Edison had tried to show how unsafe alternating current was by electrocuting animals with it, including dogs and cats captured off the streets.

“You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs,” Ash said.

“Dog omelet?” Joe grimaced. “I thought you were always on the side of the natural world.”

“Domestic dogs aren’t any more a part of the natural world than PCBs. Or overpopulation,” Ash said. Joe was hopelessly naïve.

The waiter arrived with a drink and a plate of sliders. The waiter grinned at Joe like an old friend, then hand fed a meat patty to the dog after setting the plate on their table. Apparently, Joe was so well known here that he didn’t even need to order. They knew what he, and his dog, wanted. He probably didn’t need money here either, probably had an open line on his credit card at the bar. Ash felt a stab of envy.

Joe gestured to the tiny hamburgers, but Ash, a vegetarian, shook his head.

“I read about your ribbon cutting online,” Joe said. “The plant sounds like a worthy cause.”

“All my causes are worthy.” He palmed a GPS tracker from his pocket. Smaller than his thumbnail, it should provide him with data on the dog’s location for up to two months. It was even waterproof. From what he’d heard, the dog went everywhere Joe did, so tracking one meant he’d have tabs on the other as well. “If I don’t work to clean things up, people like the Bakers are going to wipe out this world. A few inconvenienced homeless people here or there are insignificant compared to that.”

Joe took a long sip of his drink as if he were swallowing his response to Ash’s words, which he probably was, because he did not have a long-term perspective. He was a small-minded thinker.

Ash kept his hand under the table and worked the chip down to his fingertips, peeling off the strip that covered the adhesive side. Under the guise of petting the dog, he stuck the chip to the inside of its collar. Even if Joe found the little device, he’d have a hard time tracing it to Ash. Lots of people probably petted the dog in the course of a day.

“What’s in the bag?” Ash picked up his drink again.

Joe’s blue eyes shone as they had before he dragged Ash up the Golden Gate Bridge. “Surprises.”

Ash’s heart beat faster, but he kept calm and waited him out, which took all of a minute. Joe was clearly bursting to tell someone his news. He was like a child, although not, sadly, like Ash’s child. Mariella was never excited to tell him anything.

“I acquired plans from my father for a mysterious device.” Joe sipped his drink and wolfed down a slider.

Ash held his breath. Was Joe going to pull the Oscillator out of his bag? He could offer to buy it, or take it and run. Once he got outside, Joe couldn’t follow. “What kind of device?”

“One that hasn’t seen the light of day in quite some time, I’ll warrant.” Joe unbuckled his satchel and took out an object the size of a small flashlight.

Ash stared at it for a moment, trying to make out details in the dim light. It didn’t look like the pictures he had seen of Tesla’s patented Oscillator. He leaned in for a closer look.

The object looked like a tiny man made of metal. The man had a round stomach, a round head with a painted handlebar mustache, and short metal legs that ended in feet clad in metal spats. It wasn’t the damn Oscillator. It was a doll. “It looks like Tik-Tok of Oz.”

Joe grinned. “I thought I was the only one who read that book.”

“Mariella likes the Oz books.” Or at least she sat still during them. Ash wasn’t sure what she liked and disliked. It was hard to tell. And, like Mariella herself, this tiny man wasn’t what Ash had hoped for. Trust Joe to disappoint.

“It winds up.” Joe turned a crank on the contraption’s back, and it produced clicking sounds.

Then he let go of the lever and watched the automaton. Ash was struck by the enthusiasm and energy in his gaze. Joe might be down, but he definitely wasn’t out. Ash found that this simple optimism made him hate Joe even more.

Maybe this doll wasn’t the Oscillator, but it was a curious object, one Ash hadn’t expected. A surprise now and then was a good thing, he told himself even as he clenched and unclenched his hand under the table. But where in the hell was the Oscillator?

The figure lifted its metal hand. Its tiny fingers were curled around a stick. At first he thought the man was brandishing a gun, but it didn’t have a stock or a barrel. “What’s he holding?”

“I think it’s a pointer, like teachers use.” Joe’s eyes danced.

The end of the pointer lit up red, and the stick made a series of precise movements. Then the automaton’s stored energy ran out, and it stood still.

Ash marshaled up his politeness and asked the obvious question. “What’s he pointing at?”

Joe laughed. “I have no idea. That’s the best part.”

Ash didn’t think so. The best part would be if he actually had the Oscillator hidden in his fat little belly, but there simply wasn’t room. “Did you build him yourself?”

Joe took another sip of his drink before answering. “I did. My father left me detailed plans for it, but they weren’t his. They were drawn by the great man himself.”

“Nikola Tesla?” Ash asked before he could stop himself.

Joe’s lips pursed as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He’d always hated being a Tesla.

“So, you have plans drawn by Nikola Tesla?” Leave it to Joe to have built the most useless device first.

“Just plans for this.” Joe wound the automaton up again.

Either Joe was lying, or he had no idea what he had.

The metal figure waved its pointer again and then fell still. Disappointment washed over Ash, replacing the anger. He’d reached a dead end. He’d spent the last few days searching for a windup doll. No matter how intriguing the little figure was, it didn’t have possibilities.

The dog cocked its head and stared at him intently, as if sensing his distress. Hell, it was probably trained to do that.

He was damned if he was going to let a dog read him. Besides, he had no reason to give up hope. If he hadn’t been misled, then Joe must have been. There must be more possibilities than Joe had originally seen.

“Fascinating man, your ancestor. Did you know he liked Grand Central Terminal quite a lot?” Ash imagined the eccentric inventor standing alone in the concourse, talking to the artificial stars. Those were the last years that Earth had a sustainable population, so what had old Nikola had to worry about? “Used to come here at night.”

“Really?” Joe looked uncomfortable.

Ash knew that he’d never liked talking about the genius in the family, so he kept going. “The concourse was his favorite sanctum. It’s said he came late at night, when he could be alone, to bounce ideas off Pegasus, Hercules, and the other heroes.”

“Did he?” Joe raised his hand to order another drink.

Ash had never understood this casual disregard for his famous ancestor. “Of all the drawings to have in the family, why pass down a drawing of a toy?”

“Maybe it’s more than a toy.”

Ash picked it up and examined it. A simple hook latch on one side held the body together. On the other side was a hinge. He lifted the latch and opened the tiny man’s round stomach. Gears and cogs filled the space inside. He saw, in a rough way, how they led to the actuators that moved the arms. A clever piece of machinery, but it wasn’t the Oscillator—it was a toy. He closed it up, latched it, and handed it to Joe. Nothing interesting there.

“I can’t stay long,” Ash lied. “I have to get home to Mariella.”

“How is she?”

“The same,” Ash said. “I spend a fortune on therapists and teachers and God knows what all, but she just sits there with her broken brain and rocks.”

Joe downed his drink in one long swallow. “It’s not necessarily broken. Just different.”

The crazy man was sensitive about broken brains.

Ash kept going. “Her brain is broken. We broke it. We brought her into this polluted world with all her other risk factors, and we broke her brain.” He had read enough studies on autism and pollution, autism and genetics, autism and parental age, autism and preterm birth to know what had happened to Mariella. All that knowledge didn’t help. “Broken brains can’t be fixed.”

Joe slammed his glass onto the table. Ash felt good that he had provoked him. Joe was usually an even-tempered guy, but clearly he’d found a soft spot.

The dog nudged Joe’s knee, and he dropped his hand onto its head, fondling its ears and running his hand down its back. He might pet the dog’s neck and find the GPS tracker. Ash would have to act properly shocked if he did, but he was more than up to that challenge.

Joe packed his automaton into the satchel, stood, and exchanged a hand signal with the bartender that seemed to indicate he wanted the drinks put on his bill.

“I don’t want to keep you from Mariella,” Joe said stiffly. “She needs her father.”

Ash rose, too. “I hope to see you around more, Joe.”

Joe shook his hand. “You know where to find me.”

Ash watched him walk out the door with the dog at his side. He knew where to find him.