Time Twisters Read online

  Berzgi shook his head and shrugged. He didn’t know what Tesla meant, but it intrigued him.

  “Can you show me?”

  “You do not want a drink?” Tesla grinned as he joshed his coworker. It was the first time all day Berzgi had seen the serious man smile.

  “I do.”

  “Then bring what you drink to my laboratory and I will show you how I intend to give everyone free power—and without Edison’s disagreeable power lines dangling everywhere you look!”

  Tesla lifted his shovel and stabbed at the thick, waxy black cables running overhead to the Pearl Street generator. He dropped the blade to the dirt and began digging as furiously as a badger, a dust cloud rising from his industry to obscure him and his work.

  Berzgi heard sizzling and hissing, followed by a cry that sounded as if someone had been seriously injured. He pushed open the heavy steel door to Tesla’s laboratory in the abandoned building and peered inside. He threw up his arm to protect his face from the leaping bolts of actinic fire.

  “Nikolai, are you well?” Berzgi fought down his fear and entered the huge room, littered with broken crates, dusty furniture and electrical equipment unlike anything he had ever seen in his life. His eyes widened when he saw Tesla, standing like a god, outlined in dancing electricity. Tesla wore a long, immaculate white linen lab coat and had thick black rubber gloves on, but it was the thick-lensed goggles that made him seem something more than human.

  “Close the door,” Tesla called. “I must not allow any of my precious power to seep out!”

  “It can escape?” Berzgi considered running through the door before slamming it behind him. This place was too dangerous. Tesla’s mocking laughter caused him to reconsider.

  “I joke. Close the door to prevent the rats from leaving.”

  “You are joking again, aren’t you?”

  Tesla waved him forward. Berzgi had to smile when he saw how the young man’s lank black hair stood on end, the ends twisting about like a living Medusa. When he reached out to point out a safe spot in the laboratory, a five-foot-long white arc of electricity leaped forth from his hand. Berzgi hesitated, then saw Tesla held a knobbed wand. This was nothing more than arcane magic—scientific magic.

  “You are impressive,” Berzgi said. He went to the spot on the bare concrete where Tesla had built up a low platform piled with rubber mats. He stood on them and tried not to show any fear.

  “You are insulated there. Do not leave and you will be quite safe.”

  “What of the rats who have remained inside?” Berzgi asked.

  “I often fry them for dinner,” Tesla said. Berzgi wasn’t able to tell if the man was still joking. “When I was much younger, I built a small windmill powered by June bugs.”

  “June bugs?”

  “May bugs. They call them June bugs in America and I must follow my fellow citizens in this.” Tesla cleared his throat as he spoke, a distant look of fond memory in his eyes. “Sixteen June bugs. All glued to the windmill to give motive power. They were remarkably efficient, working for hours to turn the rotor. The hotter it became, the harder they worked.”

  “A bug-powered windmill,” muttered Berzgi, wondering at the man’s sanity.

  “It ultimately failed when a strange boy came and ate the bugs. It was then I realized we can eat anything with relish given adequate hunger. And that it is not good to power equipment with bugs.”

  Turning back to the vast gray metal panel studded with meters, dials and heavy switches, Tesla began to touch a control here and adjust a rheostat there like some sinister, goggled musician playing a demented concert. Berzgi felt his inner organs begin to vibrate, then what few windows remained in the old warehouse exploded. The earthquake threw him to his knees. He clung fiercely to the rubber mats, remembering what Tesla had said. Safety. Here. In spite of the rusted beams overhead beginning to buckle and plaster and dust cascade down, Berzgi stayed put.

  Tesla stumbled from the temblor, braced himself against the panel, and grasped a huge power switch with both hands. Putting his back into it, he pulled the switch and plunged the warehouse into utter darkness.

  “I am sorry,” Tesla said, through the murk and dust now filling the warehouse. “I miscalculated the resonant frequency.”

  “What? What’s that?” Berzgi shouted. Only then did he realize he was partially deafened from the roar caused by Tesla’s equipment.

  “The resonant frequency of Manhattan,” Tesla said. “I fear I might have created quite a lot of damage as a result.”

  “You destroyed the entire island?” Berzgi dusted himself off and stood on the pillar of mats. He knew there was no longer any danger but still had to force himself to leave this island of insulated safety. He walked to stand beside Tesla.

  “Don’t be absurd. All I did was shake the buildings. I haven’t enough power to destroy the entire island.” Tesla grinned sheepishly. “Though if I had a larger generator, I might find the resonant frequency of the world and crack it open.”

  “The whole world?”

  “It is possible, but not what I was attempting to do,” Tesla said.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Broadcast power,” the inventor said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I haven’t the money to build my alternating current generator—Westinghouse’s death guaranteed that failure. So I went on.”

  “On?”

  “To the next step. Radiometric power. I will do away with power cables entirely. Everyone will receive my power from a broadcast unit.”

  “I don’t understand,” Berzgi said.

  “It is quite simple. I tap the magnetic power of the world itself, then broadcast it through my antenna.” Tesla pointed to a heavily insulated column rising more than twenty feet that ended in a smooth copper-colored ball almost ten feet in diameter. “From here I can send my power to anyone who wants it. There will be no need for ships to carry heavy fuel. All that will be needed is a simple receiving unit and my broadcast power unit.”

  “No need for fuel aboard a ship? No coal? Or oil?”

  “None. That space can be given over to cargo or passengers. I even envision flying machines powered by my radiometry broadcasts. My radio broadcasts,” Tesla said, looking smug. “Yes, my radio waves will fill the skies and allow machines to fly and ships to sail. Why, even small conveyances like horseless carriages can be powered easily with my broadcast power.”

  “Who would give up their horse and buggy?” asked Berzgi.

  “My radio-powered horseless conveyance would not need to be fed or groomed. If it breaks, a mechanic could fix it and no veterinarian would be required. And it would never tire. It could drive forever!”

  “You would need a man to steer it.” Berzgi saw Tesla turn wary and knew he had trod on sensitive areas.

  “Not necessarily. My radio waves can control as well as power.”

  “They can do anything,” Berzgi said.

  “I think that is so.”

  “They cannot do one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?” Tesla asked.

  “Enjoy a bottle of beer. Here, my friend, I brought you one, also.” Berzgi fished two brown glass bottles from his coat pockets and handed one to Tesla. “We should toast your fine demonstration of . . . almost shaking the entire island apart.”

  “The world,” Tesla said, taking the bottle and looking at it critically. He reached into his pocket, drew out a screwdriver and deftly skewered the cork and pulled it out. As he lifted the bottle in toast, the outer door exploded inward.

  Both Tesla and Berzgi swung about, spilling their beer.

  “Git yer hands where we kin see ’em,” came the shouted order. Four policemen trained their pistols on the pair.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Tesla demanded. He handed the beer to Berzgi and then froze. The policemen cocked their pistols and obviously longed to pull the triggers.

  “That’s the device responsible, officers,” came a querulous voice from outsi
de. “I want him arrested!”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Edison,” said an officer with lieutenant’s bars on his collar. He entered the warehouse a pace ahead of the inventor. Edison pushed past him and pointed.

  “That’s the generator he used. He could have destroyed the entire city!”

  “But all he did destroy was your—whatcha call it?—electrical turbine generator.”

  “That’s right, Lieutenant. He did it deliberately.”

  “You did this?” Berzgi asked, his eyes wide. His answer came in the tiny smile dancing on Tesla’s lips.

  “Cuff ’im, boys,” the lieutenant said, folding his arms across his barrel-chest. “Take the bastard to the Tombs.”

  “Where are you taking him?” asked Berzgi, pushed aside.

  “Centre Street and Leonard,” Tesla said, still grinning. “Edison has sent me there before.”

  “I’ll get a lawyer,” Berzgi cried. “You cannot be—”

  “Shut up or we’ll run you in as an accessory,” Edison called. “I’ll have my crew here within the hour. There won’t be a stone left on this block by the end of the week.”

  “You can’t do that!” Tesla struggled for the first time, trying to get his shackled hands around Edison’s throat. “This is all I have in the world. Every penny was spent building my generator.”

  “Your deadly generator,” Edison said haughtily. “I am doing the city and state of New York a great favor destroying everything here. They pose a great threat to the public.”

  “Only to your worthless direct current generators!”

  “You heard his confession, Lieutenant. Take him away!” Edison looked on with satisfaction as the police shoved Tesla from his warehouse. Berzgi watched for a moment, then picked up the cork from the beer Tesla had opened and stuffed it back into the bottle’s neck. With his own bottle securely returned to his coat pocket, he left amid the clicking of the bottles and Edison’s gloating laughter.

  “I should have remained in jail,” Tesla said, dejected. He stared at the destroyed warehouse. Not one single strand of electrical wire remained of his equipment. Edison’s workmen had spent the past three days assiduously removing the equipment and then razing the building. “There is nothing for me here.”

  “You did not belong in jail,” Berzgi said. “I had to get you out, even if it did cost one hundred dollars.”

  Tesla’s dark eyes bored into Berzgi’s.

  “So much? Where did you get so much money?”

  Berzgi averted his eyes, taking in the piles of brick and the lingering cloud of mortar dust from the wrecking ball. He summoned his courage and faced Tesla. The man’s intent gaze had not wavered for an instant and made Berzgi feel as if he might be reduced to a smoking mound of fat.

  “Not everyone thinks Edison is right.”

  “Westinghouse is dead. No one else will speak to me because of Edison. I went to the banker Morgan, and he refused me. I approached the War Department advisory board, but Edison has a seat on it and they denied my application for development money.”

  “For the death ray?”

  “Death ray? Oh, that?” Tesla laughed harshly. “It was no death ray. I could build one, of course, but this—” he pointed dramatically at the rubble, “was only to inconvenience Edison and show the world how unsuitable his electrical equipment is.”

  “You blew out every light bulb on the circuit,” Berzgi said.

  “Circuit, eh? You are learning from me, is that it, Berzgi? I would hire you as an assistant, had I a laboratory.”

  “You say the War Department turned down your applications for money?”

  “It was Edison’s doing,” Tesla said, waving his long-fingered hand in dismissal. “As was having me fired from my job. But finding another laborer’s job will not be hard. Repaying you will be, however.”

  “It was not my money. Come with me, Nikolai. I want to show you something.”

  Tesla followed in silence, brooding. Berzgi wended his way through the maze of streets on the East Side until he came to the spot where he had been once before. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a shiny key for the new lock on the door. Berzgi took a deep breath to quiet the pounding of his pulse, inserted the key, turned and swung the door open for Tesla.

  Tesla stepped inside, then stopped so fast that Berzgi ran into him. Tesla recoiled as if he had been shot.

  “My hair, don’t touch my hair,” he said, backing off. He recovered some of his composure and pointed at the laboratory stocked with equipment. “What is this?”

  “Yours, Nikolai. All yours, to do with as you see fit.”

  “But how is it possible?”

  “You are an American citizen, but you were born in the old country. Austria-Hungary laments the loss of such a brilliant scientist,” came a grating voice. “You can show your gratitude for my generosity in, as they say, ‘springing you from jail’ and for the use of this equipment by revealing the nature of your experiment. The one Berzgi claims was responsible for destruction of Edison’s plant.”

  “Who are you?” Tesla faced the squarely built, mustached man, who barely came to the scientist’s chin. The man wore a plain black coat, pants pressed with creases rivaling a cavalry saber’s sharp blade and boots so highly polished they might have been mirrored.

  “You are out of uniform,” Tesla went on.

  “You recognize me? Good.” The man clicked his heels and bowed slightly. “Duke Leopold Gottel.”

  “I did not recognize you personally, but as a military man,” Tesla said. “I am a loyal American. No matter what Edison and the War Department decide, I will not furnish weapons to a foreign power.”

  “Of course not, and we are not asking for that. But can you claim I represent a foreign power, when you were born in Smiljan? Your education was in Austria-Hungary and what family remains—condolences on the deaths of your beloved parents—is in our homeland.”

  “You rescued me from prison and will give me this to do what, then?”

  “The world changes rapidly as we enter the last ten years of this aging century. Political alliances ebb and flow throughout Europe. Austria-Hungary will not be destroyed by powers, shall we say, inimical to us. You would not want to see that, would you, Herr Tesla?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Berzgi watched the byplay and felt as if he drowned. The intent expression on Tesla’s face as he stared at the banks of equipment convinced Berzgi that the scientist would relent and work for Gottel. That was good. He had been promised a huge sum of money to convince Tesla, but even as how he would spend the money came to him, Berzgi began to grow uneasy about his friend and what Gottel wanted from him.

  “All we desire is a chance to use your inventions for peaceful purposes. Berzgi has mentioned how you are able to send electrical power to an airship, so that no fuel storage is required. Is this so?”

  “It is,” Tesla said. He stepped forward and laid his hand on the cold metal side of an equipment rack. It was as if a powerful magnet drew him to the new apparatus.

  “Think of how Austria-Hungary will prosper if our fleets of dirigibles and airships can carry tons more cargo. We will become the trading power of the continent!”

  “There is that benefit, yes,” Tesla said distantly. Berzgi began to worry about him.

  “You will do this work for the duke, then?” Berzgi asked anxiously.

  “On one condition, Duke,” Tesla said, as if he had not heard Berzgi.

  The duke warily answered, “Most conditions can be met.”

  “Berzgi must be my assistant.”

  Berzgi stood, open mouthed. Duke Leopold laughed heartily and started to slap Tesla on the shoulder. Berzgi stopped him in time, sternly shaking his head. The flare of anger in the duke’s eyes faded as he heard Tesla’s words.

  “A broadcast unit—for cargo airships, of course—can be built and tested by the end of the month.”

  “Excellent. Whatever you require, let me know. Let Berzgi know and he will tell me,” Go
ttel said, but Tesla had pulled up a chair and faced a bank of dials and knobs.

  “So much calibration needed. Who was the fool who installed such fine equipment, then did not calibrate it?”

  Gottel snorted, nodded brusquely to Berzgi, then left the scientist to his work.

  The heat of summer finally escaped the city, leaving behind a grudging warmth that still, yet, refused to give way to winter. Momentarily blocking the lukewarm sun, the ten-foot-long dirigible drove itself ever higher into the cloudless sky on quiet electric motors. Tesla stood on the rooftop of his laboratory, hands clasped behind his back, staring upward.

  “More power,” he ordered Berzgi. “I would see how high the model can climb before the engine is out of range shuts down.”

  “It is at a thousand feet now, Nikolai,” came Berzgi’s worried voice. “We dare not go much higher.”

  “Higher,” Tesla insisted. “It will go five times this. Ten!”

  Berzgi slowly turned the rheostat, broadcasting more power to the aerial balloon. He grabbed binoculars and scanned the sky until he caught sight of the reflector-laden mini-dirigible. Even with the bright disks shining in the clear sky, he almost lost track of it.

  “It is very high,” he said anxiously. “I have lost contact with it.”

  “What altitude?”

  Berzgi worked feverishly on the panel, then said, “Six thousand feet. The signal is too weak to supply enough electricity to keep the props turning.”

  “Six thousand feet,” mused Tesla. He began to pace on the rooftop. Then he stopped and clapped loudly, applauding himself. “Excellent! The prototype can be scaled up to even greater distances.”

  “How great?”

  Berzgi dropped his binoculars in surprise. He had not heard Gottel come out onto the tar-papered roof.

  “Duke, I was not aware you—”

  “How far can you broadcast your power, Herr Tesla?” Gottel ignored Berzgi, as he had for the past three months. This irritated Berzgi because he had recruited Tesla’s talents for the duke and now was no longer necessary, except as a conduit for tidbits Tesla forgot to pass along. He had learned much and contributed to the effort. Without him, Tesla would not have progressed this much!