by Terry, Mark
“Why not?” Edison shouted back at him.
There came another jarring jolt to the car and the three rocked side to side, steadying themselves against the walls and tables.
“There’s something else,” Tesla said flatly.
“What?” Ida asked.
A terrible cracking, wrenching sound came from the rear of the car. It went on for several long moments until the wall for several feet around the rear door gave way. A gaping hole opened to the night where the rear of the car had once been. The gray of dusk reflected onto the figure on the platform from behind, giving him an eerie illumination.
Mouths agape, the three watched the rear wall of the train hover as if in midair. The figure on the rear platform let the object go and it hurled into the night. Then the darkness stepped into the car. Wedderburn came fully into view. Cowboy hat, jeans and six guns on his hips. He smiled.
Ida lowered her gun and fired. The first shot missed. The second struck Wedderburn high in the chest, staggering him. The third struck his shoulder and made him turn, but only slightly. Her gun clicked empty and Wedderburn took another step closer. Bleeding, he placed his hat gently on one of the sofa seats, then turned back to face the trio.
The grinning face turned malevolent. The eyes grew red. Slowly, the Gunslinger’s face contorted and his pale flesh grew gray.
Ida took a step backward and dropped the gun as the Gunslinger grew another foot and half in height and his hands grew into long razor claws. His shirt ripped as muscles bulged, and his upper body rippled with massive shoulder contortions.
The huge gray creature no longer appeared as much of a man and took another step forward. It let out a massive scream that showed a mouth full of long fangs.
Tesla flipped another switch, took a deep breath and a bolt of blue energy shot from the resonant transformer device.
The light energy struck the screaming beast in the chest and blew a hole through the center of it. The force of the blast knocked the beast off its feet and out the back of the railcar, head over heels. The body caromed off the car behind and disappeared.
When the whine of the invention in Tesla’s hand dropped away, only the sound of the wind from the missing wall in the rear of the railcar could be heard. Tesla took in a rush of air and dropped to his knees heaving.
A sudden heavy gust of wind reached into the open railcar. The Gunslinger’s hat flipped off the chair into the air, held there a moment, then went spinning through the hole and vanished into the night.
He panted for several seconds then turned to look at Edison and Ida who were still standing, frozen in shock, staring into the void where the beast had vanished.
“I may have forgot to mention we were being chased by a vampire.”
Part II
Interlude 49
Friday, March 17, 1893, 7:55 p.m.
Kansas City Union Station
The Wabash Railway ended its line from Brunswick at the Union Depot in West Bottoms. The Burlington Line came in on the southern spur into the outskirts of Kansas City.
The smell of the paper mill hung thick in the air as the train slowed upon entering the Kansas City depot. The gas and oil boom in Kansas had begun. There were prospectors and engineers, workmen and families, all streaming into Missouri and Kansas to seek their fortunes. The era of the Indian attacks and bank robbers would soon be ending.
Ida peered out the window next to Tesla. She looked to the north and saw a baseball field and stands as they passed through some of the eastern industrial heart of Cowtown. The sign over the entrance way proudly proclaimed “Exposition Park—Home of the Kansas City Cowboys.” A large group of people, many waving Cowboy pennants, stood beside the railroad track as the Cannonball came charging past.
Edison, Tesla, and Ida were huddled in the galley quarters of the kitchen car in their shared trauma.
“Nikola, this is amazing. We witnessed history. Why didn’t you tell me?” Edison blurted. His hands shook and he balled them into fists with frustration.
“History? History? That’s what you call that…that…thing?” Tesla asked.
Ida turned her face abruptly from the window. “Would you have believed him, Mr. Edison? I certainly would not have.”
Tesla chuckled and smiled at her. “Perhaps truth would have kept you in Chicago?”
Ida tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Hardly.”
Once the train came to a complete stop, the three moved into the station. Steeples, towers, turrets, and bronze ornamentation stood with a hundred-twenty-five-foot clock tower as its centerpiece. However, smells from the gambling halls, saloons, brothels, tattoo parlors, and meat packing plants surrounding the station masked the showcase of modern design, but if it faltered in aesthetics, the Depot made up its deficits with its accommodations. There were several restaurants, offices, large meeting rooms, and comfortable bathrooms.
The three of them stepped off the train and two bellmen came to carry their luggage. Ida and Edison went inside and settled into one of the meeting rooms as Tesla stood on the platform.
After a few moments, the main baggage car at the end opened, and Grgor and Simon unloaded the large crates and trunks they had brought with them. Tesla approached them and pointed to a mothballed Jenny Lind motor in the corner of the Depot. Then in Croatian he explained to them what he wanted.
When Tesla entered the meeting room Edison and Ida had chosen, he found that his two companions had taken up opposite corners of the room.
A bellman, upon spotting Tesla, rushed to him. The wide-eyed young man said softly, “Mr. Tesla—”
Edison quickly intervened and silently placed a wad of bills into the Visitor Concierge’s pocket.
“Thank you, sir, Mr. Edison, sir. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Good lad,” Edison said.
The young man ran from the room, beaming, with a handful of money.
Edison turned and leaned on the table in the center of the room. He banged a fist on its top. “We may have killed it! That would be a disaster!”
Tesla shook his head. “He’s not dead.”
Edison looked skeptical. “You’ve shot him with a beam of light before?”
“He is invulnerable to damage, understand?”
Ida and Edison said nothing.
Tesla sighed and looked down. “In Bavaria, working on a road crew. I’d been there for several months, digging trenches. He showed up.”
“He found you?” Ida asked.
Tesla nodded. “Again. He came dressed as wealthy gentleman, which is how I first saw him. Once he had been butcher. Another time he had been proprietor at front desk of hotel I found on road to Konigsberg.” Tesla looked at both in turn. “He arrived before I did. Figure that one out. Then, I had been hired to dig ditches and slept in boarding house on edge of little town in Bohemia. He showed up again.”
“What happened?” Ida whispered.
Tesla hesitated. “It is a right question. And I will try and give you a right answer to it.”
Interlude 50
June 8th, 1892
A Little Town in Bohemia
Tesla’s Story
The large horse carriage came down the rocky path in the early moments of the dawn. The slight man sat hunched in a corner of the carriage, rubbing his knees as the man next to him awakened with the cart’s jostling.
“Ah, the rheumatism,” the man groaned.
Tesla, lying on his back with his head propped on the sideboard, looked up from underneath his dark fedora. He wore a common worker’s shirt and a pair of faded, patched, and grimy Baxter Knickers. A dozen other men were crammed shoulder to shoulder in the carriage, many with their legs bent and pulled up close to their bodies.
The man looked at Tesla, still rubbing his knees then extended a hand in greeting. “Schweik. They call me the good soldier.”
Tesla briefly shook the hand. “So, you’re a soldier.”
Schweik shook his head. “No, they kicked me out for incompetence
.”
Tesla smiled to himself, thinking about that response, as the cart came to a jerking halt.
“Aus!” shouted the Germanic driver.
Groups of Czechs, West Slovaks, and Germans had taken residence in the Bohemian kingdom. Tesla joined a crew of day laborers to dig ditches on one of the large estates. The work crew started the morning with a heavy breakfast of meat, potatoes, and dumplings, and Tesla felt sluggish from the repast. He yawned as he climbed out of the cart, stretching his back and adjusting the carpet bag slung over a shoulder. Schweik groaned as he climbed out.
Tesla leaned over by the side of the road to pick some of the yellow flowers growing there. Each was about seven inches tall and had a thick central stem and alternate leaves. He stuffed the flowers into one of Schweik’s coat pockets. “These are yellow primrose—Oenothera biennis. They will help ease your pains.” Tesla said. “Eat some leaves. Boil flowers down into oils and paste for your knees.”
“Start digging here!” one of the foremen barked, pointing to a line of unfinished trenches.
After only a few minute’s work Schweik began talking. “They arrested my brother for political heresy,” he said, between throws of the shovel. “They asked him if he admitted to everything. He said ‘if you wish me to admit to everything, I will.’”
Ah, my new friend, will you not stop talking?
Schweik’s incessant conversation caused the supervisors to keep Tesla and him close to the front section, which turned out to be fortunate. Had he been further from the forward earthmoving, he might not have spotted the Gunslinger.
“And so,” Schweik continued, “I endeavored to take the train to help my brother, but I missed the train and had to wait for the next one. Then while I waited in the station pub for the next train, I had the misfortune of drinking one beer after another until I had no money for another ticket on the train. This is what they asked me, and this is what I told them. And so, I am here.”
Tesla swung the pick axe and broke up another three feet of hard clay. “The turning point really is just knowing you're an imbecile.”
Schweik stopped shoveling. “We had an imbecile on our street growing up. He cleaned the street. He claimed his father to be a Polish Count and asked people to call him Your Excellency.”
The foreman stood with his back to them and growled, “Back to work Schweik!” He glanced over his shoulder at Tesla, but he kept shoveling.
The work crew had labored for several hours when one of the foremen came round looking for someone who could work on engines. Tesla volunteered.
A massive steam engine tractor was being used to spread fertilizer across the open fields the laborers were breaking apart. Tesla looked into the body of the tractor, and stepped back. “I am going to have to pull off the canopy, separate the return flue engine from the wood burner, and clean everything.”
The foreman nodded. “What do you need?”
Nikola took a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. “Naptha. Several cans of it.”
Tesla lay flat on his back under the tractor when the tall gentleman entered the grounds. The foreman appeared very eager to please him, waving his arms and gesticulating wildly. The foreman pointed to several areas of the ground, and then they went off. The tall gentleman wore a high button sack coat and a tall Bailey on his head. The day had grown humid and he wore the coat open to display the waistcoat. The American Civil War holster and familiar Colt in its place became visible only for a moment.
The foreman gave a tour of the property and works. They passed by the laborers several times. Tesla noted that the Gunslinger didn’t look his way. He surveyed the property. He surveyed the work, but each time it would seem he would turn toward Tesla, he would turn away.
He knows me.
“Schweik,” Tesla whispered loudly.
The ex-soldier swung the pick axe wildly. It stuck deeply into the earth and he couldn’t extract it.
“Schweik!” Tesla almost shouted.
The clumsy man looked around as if he had forgotten where Tesla worked. Seeing him, he waved.
Tesla motioned him over and handed him his carpet bag. “Schweik, I need you to fill my bag with the fertilizer.”
Schweik eyed him doubtfully. “You sure? You want the manure…in the bag?”
Tesla nodded. “And when you come back, I need you to work on this side of the tractor.” Tesla pointed to the ground under the man’s feet. “There. Understand?”
Schweik nodded. He took Tesla’s carpet bag, went to a pile of fertilizer, dropped the bag on the ground and began kicking dung into the bag. The foreman looked over at Schweik, so he dropped to his knees and pushed the fertilizer into the trenches by hand. The foreman shook his head and looked away.
Schweik ran back and tossed the carpet bag under the tractor to Tesla.
“Schweik, in a moment I am going to show you how to turn the tractor on. Then we are going to turn it off and you are going to go back to shoveling. If they ask about me, tell them you don’t know where I went. You can show them the tractor works and that may save you punishment. All right?”
“I don’t know where you went. So that would be a right thing. If I did know where you went and if you say to me, admit nothing, then I will admit nothing to the end of my days.” Schweik lifted his chin proudly.
“Good.” Tesla nodded.
Tesla escaped the work crew with naptha from cleaning the engines and manure, which contained the sulfur he needed. He had calcium phosphide from his self-igniting weapons experiments. It made an excellent semiconductor—and it kept the rodents away. He had all the elements necessary for Greek Fire.
That night, the American Gunslinger walked down the street, wearing his familiar Stetson. Here and there, street torches lit the way. Two young boys ran past him. The Gunslinger even whistled.
Earlier in the evening, Tesla had convinced everyone in the boarding house that one of the renters, who only had a slight case of diarrhea, had cholera. Subsequently, everyone left quite quickly. Now he watched between bags of dry goods stacked across the street from the boarding house, not bringing his head up, only catching glimpses through the gaps.
He saw the Gunslinger stop at his horse, take off his Stetson and his jacket, tie them to the saddle and walk into the boardinghouse. He watched for a couple more minutes and then there came a tremendous sucking sound as air from up and down the street rushed in to the feed the flame that burst from the building. So overwhelming, it blew out every window on both floors and a geyser of flame erupted through the tar roof. As glass and wood rained down upon the street, Tesla was unable to look away.
As the fire raged, Wedderburn stepped from the doorway, completely engulfed in flames. His clothing melted off his body. As everything burned, he stood on the sidewalk, looking across the street directly at Tesla. The fire did not consume the Gunslinger’s body. His hair did not singe. His skin did not blister. He walked to his rather startled horse, put on his Stetson and his jacket—as if he had placed them there for safekeeping—and mounted his ride.
Several nearby owners of their various establishments came out and threw water on the fire, which only made it burn hotter.
The horse and rider set off down the street, the Gunslinger smiling as he left. It would be days before they would get the fire under control.
Interlude 51
Friday, March 17, 1893, 8:12 p.m.
Kansas City Union Station
Edison sat back, disgusted. “You were seeing things.”
“Ah,” Tesla said, amused, “You should know, he walked out front door, looked at me hiding across street, and then went off, naked as you please.”
“Nikola, you’re talking about something that is completely impossible. It’s not science. It’s not nature. It’s absurd bedtime fables. And if you’re a man of religion,” Edison scoffed, “it should offend your very sense of self!”
“The second law of Creation is spreading
of darkness, which is true nature of light,” Tesla said.
“What does that mean?” Edison barked.
“It’s a mutation, or possibly an evolution.”
“Nikola,” Ida leaned forward, “Why would there be such a monster? Why would creation itself, either through evolution or through God, find it necessary to manifest such a thing of death and destruction. Evil itself?”
Tesla nodded at that, then answered levelly, “Entire universe is in certain periods sick of itself and of us.”
“Well, I share your sentiments, Tesla. I believe in a Supreme Intelligence. That Intelligence has set the world about us in motion, and it is up to us to discern it. The laws of nature govern the world. If it lives, it can die. If it walks, we can cripple it. If it feels, we can make it cry—”
“Like that poor animal on your table, Mr. Edison?” Ida interjected.
Edison glanced at Ida, then back to Tesla. “So what are we going to do? How do we catch him?”
“Why do we want to catch him?” Tesla asked, aghast.
“We need to study him. We need to understand him!”
“Life is and will ever remain an equation incapable of solution,” Tesla said softly.
“What does that mean, Nikola? If you’re not going to help, then I am going to get it done.”
“I’ve told you. Is electricity.”
“What does that mean?” Edison barked to the ceiling again.
“Why did we end up on same train to Kansas City? Why did your train get sabotaged? Why did we not die on Missouri plain?”
Edison waved his arms in exasperation.
“Is because,” Tesla continued, “ending not enough. Death not final enough.”
“It’s not enough for him. That’s what you’re saying?” Edison looked at Ida, exasperated, then turned back to Tesla. “The monster wants to suck our blood for dinner, and that’s not good enough!”