Authors: L. Woodswalker
“I'm sure it was. Go on.”
“I quarreled with him. I accused him of deliberately shorting me. He...swore that one of the spools must have fallen off the back of the wagon. Or a thief must have snatched it. He promised he would go back and get another, but I...well, I'm afraid I lost my temper. I tossed him out and slammed the door.”
“Do you recall the vendor's name?”
He closed his eyes. “It was...Abraham Lowe of Essex Street. Miss Eps, what's this about?”
“What happened after he left? You said something to me.”
Niko massaged his temples. “Ah, I remember.
'Never trust a Jew'
, that's what I said.”
“Yep. That's what you said.”
“Well? What about it?”
Clara folded her arms. “Abraham Lowe is my beloved uncle.”
“What!” He stood up in surprise, bumping the table. Tea splashed over onto the table and floor, but he took no notice.
“That's right, sir. My uncle Abraham brought me to America after we survived the pogrom, back in dear old Mother Russia.”
A flush of embarrassment swept over him. “Good Lord. I...I didn't know you were...”
“My uncle is like a father to me—the only family I have left.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “My Hebrew name is Chaya. Chaya Epstein.”
Niko wrung his fingers together. “Oh Lord, I didn't mean to offend... my deepest apologies, Miss Clara.”
Her dark intense eyes held him. “How disappointed I was, Mr. Tesla, to find that the man I admired as an enlightened genius, who saw the universal humanity in all of us...was just another ignorant
anti-Semite!
Just like all the rest of them! Just like the...the filthy Cossacks who murdered my family!”
He had never felt like such a complete heel. “I'm sorry, Miss...my deepest regrets...” He searched for words that would undo his offense, but nothing sufficed. “I meant nothing by it. It was just...a foolish prejudice... unthinking attitudes I grew up with—”
“Unthinking attitudes?”
Clara stood up, hands on her hips. “From a man as smart as you? For shame!” Her withering scorn made him wish he could melt into the floor. “I see that kind of ignorance every day, from morons like that
putz
Henry Ford with his filthy, lying
Protocols of Zion
pamphlets.
I thought you were better than that!”
“Good Lord, of course I'm not like—”
“The last time I heard someone make a remark like that, I gave him a black eye.” Clara raised a fist. “I had to leave the office, before I did the same thing to you.”
Niko gave an uneasy laugh. For the first time, he became aware of the wiry strength in her slender frame, and her posture like a coiled spring. “Miss Clara...as you can see, I'm not perfect...I have my failings, like any other man. Please forgive me—I'll do anything I can to make it up to you.”
“Anything?”
A gleam appeared in her eye. “All right, here's what you can do...” She clasped her hands together, as if gathering her courage. “I want to work with you.”
His breath caught. “I'm sorry, Miss Eps, truly I would like to hire you, but with my current finances I can't afford a secretary right now.”
“I didn't say a
secretary.
I said work
with
you.”
“Work
with
me? What do you mean? That would require some
scientific—”
“I'm not stupid, Mr. Tesla. I have deep understanding of chemical wisdom, electrical conductivity. I could teach you—”
“Wait. Did you say
conductivity?”
He stared closely at her. “A girl once came to my electrical demonstration. She told me I needed
better conductors.
Was that you?”
Clara smiled. “Yep, that was me. My dream since childhood was to meet you—the Electrical Wizard. As soon as I got off the boat, I found my way to you. Speaking of conductors, water's a great one. You've spilled your tea.” She pointed at a spreading pool of liquid on the floor. “Silly man, don't you know you can get a shock from a wet floor?”
With a grin, she turned to look for a cleaning rag, and bumped her head on the cabinet, knocking her cap off. Beneath, her hair fell out in two long dark braids.
The entire picture came together: a burning building...a young girl, her braids singed, hands covered with soot, handing him a charred bundle of notebooks.
I saved these from fire.
“Bože moi!
You're the girl who ran inside my burning lab to save my notes.”
“That's right.” She stood there regarding him with luminous dark eyes.
“You stopped me from jumping into the East River.
Why?”
“Because I knew that you and I were the same kind.”
“The same kind?
Whatever do you mean?”
“We can see things...understand things that others can't: the movement of currents, the combinings of elements. We are destined to work together.”
What?
Niko wrung his hands, as his emotions warred.
He preferred to work alone. It was just too hard to trust people: they were always wanting to visit his lab and “consult”. Then they accused him of stealing their ideas, and blatantly pirated his. For example, that donkey Marconi!
Now along came Miss Eps, a young woman barely out of her teens—not bad-looking, either—who claimed to be able to teach him something! Comparing herself to him—invoking
destiny!
Every instinct warned him that this could only mean trouble.
And yet...and yet...he owed Clara everything. If not for her...he surely would have taken his own life.
I saved your notes from fire.
For months afterward, he had searched for her, wanting to somehow pay her back for her brave deed.
Instead, he had repaid her with rudeness and insult.
Oh Lord, she should have given me that black eye. I deserved it!
And even after that, like a guardian angel, she had continued to keep an eye on him. She had rushed to his rescue...saved his lab yet again.
Was this how he could repay his boundless debt to Miss Clara? Admit her to his confidence, accept her as...what? An assistant?
A colleague?
Suppose she was right?
Destined to work together!
He cleared his throat. “We shall see. Come back next week, Miss Clara, and we'll discuss it further.”
7: The Power of the Gods
That afternoon, Niko took three wagon loads of his equipment and moved into his new lab: Edison's abandoned Clinton Street Station.
The door opened with a great rusty creak. A few pigeons flew upward and settled on the metal framework far above.
It's perfect
. Niko smiled in grim satisfaction, recalling his hours of toil in this plant.
Tom Edison owes me $50,000. So the least he can do is give me this old building.
His footsteps stirred up the coal dust as he entered the cavernous, deserted plant. Since alternating current had become the undisputed king, most of Edison's direct current stations had been decommissioned. Edison was out of the electricity business.
The joke's on you, Tom!
The station consisted of three floors of crumbling bricks, rusting machinery, broken windows, and a roof that let sunlight in.
He installed a few of his sun and wind collection devices on the rooftop, along with a transformer. This would provide enough energy to run equipment and light up the office.
A squeaky door gave him entrance to the plant office, where a desk with a typewriter sat waiting for correspondence long forgotten. Niko pulled open a filthy curtain and lifted a dropcloth from a couch, at which point a mouse squeaked and ran away.
Home sweet home.
At the end of the day he put a pot of water on the burner coil and brewed some tea.
It's perfect,
he thought.
Utter solitude...just what I need for my work.
Nobody would find him here: no creditors, no enemies who wanted to
rub him out
...and no eager young women wanting to share his secrets.
The muted sounds of the city floated to him from far away.
He had managed to lose the too-eager Miss Clara Eps. Now all he had for company was the memories of this place : the hiss of steam, the rumble of coal boilers, the hum of Edison's DC generators. All of them had been scrapped, except for 'old sparky', the one that had given Niko the most trouble. Nothing else remained but the mice and the pigeons.
Now that he had a safe hideout, he could begin his biggest project: an array of transmitters powerful enough to return the signal from Mars.
But for some reason Niko had trouble concentrating. He kept seeing Clara's face; hearing her proclamation:
we are destined to work together.
And despite the life-debt he owed her—and her intriguing hints of
chemical wisdom
—he had run away from her like a despicable coward.
He sighed. Already he regretted the callous way he'd brushed her off.
Why am I afraid to trust anyone? I'm just too egotistical, too selfish to share.
He forced his mind back on track. For the rest of that evening he paced as the visions and ideas marched through his head.
Transforming circuits...harmonic resonance...
he visualized a device, turned it every which way, but it wouldn't come together right. About midnight he imagined he heard footsteps downstairs.
Just nerves
. Working too hard...
For a second he wished he had his old revolver.
“Hello? Mr. Tesla? I know you're there,” a voice called out.
“Who is it?” Then he realized: “Miss Clara! Good Lord!”
“Well, there you are—running away and hiding from me like a coward.” She stepped into the room, carrying a satchel of tools.
“Miss Eps! What are you doing out at this ungodly hour?”
“You think you can hide from me? Well, forget it.” Grinning, she took off her cap and set it on the desk. “I always know where you are.”
He spread his hands. “Look, Miss Clara. You wouldn't really enjoy working with me. It's dirty, dangerous work.”
“It's partly selfish. I want to test my conductors.”
“I have no money to pay you. Don't you read the papers?”
She made a rude noise. “If I wanted money and fame I'd have joined Vaudeville.” She began unpacking her tools, apparently determined to move in.
“But...you saw what happened. Someone out there doesn't want me to continue my work. I'm an outcast, Clara!”
She shrugged. “So am I. My kind aren't exactly on the social register, in case you hadn't noticed. And who'd let a woman be a scientist? They can all kiss my—I mean, they can go to hell.”
Niko tried not to laugh. “Ma'am, I don't know how to put this, but...just in case you had certain ideas...” he felt himself blushing. “It would be quite improper for you to stay with me.”
She snorted with laughter. “What! You think I want to climb into bed with you? Don't flatter yourself, Mister. You're old enough to be my
father!”
“It's really for your own protection,” he muttered, very softly.
But Clara had good hearing. “Protection? What on earth do you mean? Do you carry a dangerous disease?”
“It's...it's even more dangerous than a disease. I've remained celibate because...well, I have absorbed so many millions of volts that I'm like a...a human capacitor. If I was to touch someone...they might get hurt. I prefer not to risk it.”
“Yes yes, I already know about your capacitance.”
“You do?” That stopped him for a moment. She knew an awful lot about him. “All right then. I need some answers. Tell me about this pocket watch.” He laid it on the table. “You left it on purpose for me to pick it up. It's not really a watch, is it?”
“No sir. It's my own invention—a pocket transmitter.” She released a hidden catch and the watch sprang open. Within, instead of the ticking balance wheel and gears, he saw several tiny copper coils of different sizes.
“Incredible...a miniature frequency detector” Niko held out his hand and inspected the tiny radio inside its watch case. “What's it's function?”