Tesla's Revenge

by Renee Sebastian

  I heard a creak and then Tesla said, “Welcome comrades to my home away from home.”

  We removed our blindfolds and I examined the cavernous room that was lit by eerily green- filled gaseous bulbs mounted one square foot apart in shallow recesses set in the ceiling.

  He noticed my attention and said, “It is halogen bonded with chlorine, then I laced it onto a tungsten base. It makes for a most stable and efficient form of lighting.” The chlorine in its gaseous state was close to an absinthe hue. “But one must be expertly trained in the handling of chlorine gas. If a person were to inhale such a dangerous gas, one's blood would turn into hydraulic acid, evoking death in about a minute or two.”

  Dorian said, “Impressive.”

  I looked about the room and observed an emporium of brass, copper, gold, and silver contraptions between chem sets. Tiny transistors and glass tubes sparked and spewed smoke from all four corners of the room, which in turn filled the spaces in between. Large gears cranked who knew what in even clicking motions, like the workings of some sort of massive clock.

  Tesla, dwarfed by all of this, wore a rubber apron. The visor of his welder's mask was up and in his right hand was a blowtorch and in his left, he clutched iron grippers. It was not unlike viewing a mad scientist version of Willy Wonka in his own version of paradise.

  “I was wondering what was taking you so long,” Tesla boasted.

  Dorian replied with a, “Harrumph.”

  Tesla put down his tools and removed his mask. Then he said, “I hope you didn't have any problems journeying here. Are you ready for me to reveal the finer details of my plan?”

  Dorian raised an eyebrow and replied, “Do tell.”

  “Follow me,” Tesla said.

  We did. He pulled a carriage style door to the side and revealed another chlorine lit space filled with about a hundred of his T.R.A.M.s. Some were obviously earlier versions, with their varying colors of metal alloy shells and the arrays of blinking lights in sundry configurations. He said, “At the very least, if I ever do find myself lacking real friends in all the right places, then I always have my T.R.A.M.s to keep me company.” I soaked in the importance of such a revelation. He had a highly skilled army at his disposal.

  “How long have you been building these?” I asked.

  “Not long after I gained immortality,” he replied smugly. “Beautiful, aren't they?”

  “What if Edison's guards have pistols like I use?”

  “Now with the White House defenses depleted, even if the remaining militia were each armed with five firearms a piece, my numbers would simply overwhelm them. I will take over the capitol easily. Bullets are so antiquated. Apparently, only the odd immortal, the military, and mountain outliers still feel the need to lug them around. Everyone else uses the stun guns, knives, swords, spells, and potions to use as they see fit.” I thought he was wrong about that.

  Dorian asked, “How will you control them in tandem?”

  “They are artificial intelligences at heart. I program them with directives and they carry them out. I currently have them hooked into an electrical programming device. I use a binary code with the device to input the orders they are to carry out.”

  Dorian asked, “Are you certain they won't kill Wendy or me in the heat of the fray?”

  “Absolutely. I have fed them your images, via the scanned pictures that I took from the newspapers. Actually, I am most pleased by your timely arrival.”

  I asked, “Tesla, what about your shakers? Are you planning on using those tonight as well?”

  “I had wanted to use them on the surrounding infrastructures, but we will need as much infrastructure in tact as possible in the days following, in order to rebuild our nation.

  “While I do realize that there is a small probability of Lovecraft's diabolical plans coming to fruition, there is still one planned to go off under the Pentagon. I would not change that one even if I could now. There is a timer on that one that has been ticking down since the time I initially placed it over three years ago.

  “It is set to go off tonight. There is no time to disengage it. You see, I really do need to get to Washington because the shaker could go off, and I could miss my opportunity to storm the capitol with my T.R.A.M.s. Its purpose is to divert any remaining troops to it, leaving Edison the skeleton crew of his bodyguards. And we all know that werewolves don't shoot guns, since their pride gets in their way.” Really? I hoped he was correct on that one. They were dastardly difficult to beat in a fair fight. But to be honest, I couldn't personally risk any part of Lovecraft's plan coming to fruition. I probably wouldn’t even make it to the White House tonight, since he had turned into my priority. Lovecraft had to be stopped, Edison alive or not.

  Dorian asked, “Devil's in the details, Tesla. What is your plan in getting all these T.R.A.M.s to the D.C. Area?” I had to agree that I was curious as well. I believed an airship was out, what with all the weight.

  He replied, “I have arranged for transport via barge. There is no one left in the immediate vicinity, so we will march out and load onto the designated ship. Next we’ll head down the Chesapeake Bay, and go around Fort Henry down to the John Hancock Waterway.”

  About a hundred years ago, the Hancock Waterway had been dredged from the Bay making a straight shot to the White House. It was made to allow supplies to be delivered in a more efficient manner to the D.C. congressional complex and to provide the easier dispatching of militia. Fort Cunningham stood at the mouth of the Waterway now, but it was mainly a tourist trap, widely known to be manned by only a handful of unskilled volunteers. I was certain that Tesla would have all the necessary papers and bribes appointed to crossing such a flimsy checkpoint.

  Edison had truly grown lackadaisical in his security. What with his over confidence in his belief that nothing could touch him in the White House, it was just a matter of time before someone would assassinate him. Most likely, Edison would not have even boosted his security with the recent activity concerning the shakers, since it seemed that the threat would be coming from the Natives, far, far away from the White House. He was about to get a nasty surprise, because it was going to be Tesla who might just succeed at killing him. Quite brilliant, if I stopped and thought about it.

  His visage turned frenzied though, when he asked, “Are you prepared for a revolution? For the first day of an Edison free world? The birthday of a new Republic?”

  Dorian asked, “When do you plan to storm the capitol?”

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  The bomb was set to go off in the middle of the night. While Tesla did some last minute programming, Dorian and I had a moment to discuss the part we would play in his plan.

  I complained, “I feel that there is a rat somewhere in D.C. How else would Lovecraft be managing to get to the other locations so quickly in the attempt to pull off his inter-dimensional portal?”

  “You saw his continental portal. He may have gotten the news one minute and made the land portal the next.” The trouble was to me with the who that was feeding him the news. Someone was keeping his portals out of the papers. I guessed that the how was not as important as the stopping part was at this moment.

  “Those portals are outlawed for good reason. It would take an immense amount of power to activate those things and keep them from collapsing in on the traveler,” Dorian said. I didn't know they were outlawed, but then again, I had never seen one before Lovecraft's. I had only heard rumors and read about them in historical texts. They were first developed and heavily used during the civil war to transport zombies out of the killing fields as part of an Underground Railroad system to give the North the edge they needed to win the war. It usually took at least several Users working together to cast the difficult magic.

  “Do you think he was getting an extra boost of magic from a sacrificial base of magic? Do you think he was acting with Edison's knowledge?”

  “Doubtful on both counts. Edison's looking more and more like a puppet than usual, I fear.
I think if Tesla doesn’t accomplish his coup tonight, then Lovecraft may be angling for his own.”

  “I wonder if Lovecraft could be getting an additional boost from the demon plane,” I said.

  “Let's hope not.” But in reality, it really didn't matter how he was pulling it off, as long as his secrets died with him when I killed him.

  “Do you think we best serve Tesla's cause by accompanying him for the direct assassination or addressing the Lovecraft factor?” I asked. I knew which side I was on the question.

  Suddenly the lights dimmed and I heard Tesla call for us. We approached him still inputting data. Distractedly, he managed to say with some venom, “You've been followed.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  He showed us a grainy, printed picture of a man with a derby hat and small mustache standing outside the warehouse. He seemed very nondescript, average height and build, but I knew from experience that the black and white photograph was hiding a most bland brown for his hair color. He was one of the assassins from S.O.A.R. that I studiously stayed away from. The most remarkable thing about him were his ice blue eyes, which were flat and dead all of the time. With the one exception... when he was in the act of killing.

  “I know him. He goes by the name of Sad Soren.” He was Finnish and the sad part was for his sadistic tendencies to play with his hits before he finished them off. The world would be better off without him. I began looking forward to this little diversion leading up to the big showdown with Lovecraft.

  Dorian frowned and said, “I've also heard of him by name.”

  I said, “At least he will be alone. He always works alone.”

  Tesla said, “You must lead him away from my laboratory. I am almost through with my programming. I must maintain the element of surprise if this is going to work. We'll meet up at the personal residence of Edison at three o'clock in the morning.”

  Dorian, said, “No. If Lovecraft is controlling Edison, then he can also open up a portal from anywhere. What will keep him from ambushing you, while you are laying siege to the White House?”

  Tesla looked grim.

  I touched Tesla's arm and received an unpleasant shock, again. I jerked my hand away and said, “We will lead the assassin off and address Lovecraft directly. If we have time, we will then meet you at the White House. Precisely what time is the shaker set to go off?”

  “Two thirty in the morning.”

  It was just past eight o'clock now. Plenty of time to deal with Soren.

  I said, “Good luck, Tesla.”

  “No need for luck. Fate will play its hand. Let one of my T.R.A.M.s lead you to another exit. I'll see you both on the other side,” he replied.

  Chapter 22

  Assassins

  “Our assassins are what distinguish the organization, Lord Gray. It is simply what we do best. We analyze the chessboard and determine which pieces need to be eliminated. After all, does the earth really need all these extraneous pawns shuffling about, not contributing to society in a productive manner?”

  -Mr. Van Moot, Interview for Dorian Gray for a temporary field assignment (on loan from Agora, London office), 2232

  From Dorian's Journal of Memorable Quotes to Live By

  I took a moment to change back into my riding pants and blouse that Dorian must have transferred earlier to his satchel. Then he pulled out my book, also. He must have taken both things out of the bag before Tesla took off without us. That won him a smile. I took my book and then impulsively shoved it in the breast pocket of my coat. I was leaving the dress, bag, and large reticule behind. Next, I readied my weapons. I sneaked a glance over at Dorian and he rolled his eyes, but said mum.

  Once the door shut behind us, I began thinking about how much time we had left and the time line that we needed to carry out our evening successfully. I estimated that we had about a five-minute head start before Soren would know we were out on the streets, if we were lucky. We had about six hours total to travel to the Pentagon and infiltrate the building to reach the bombsite before Lovecraft got there. The best I could come up with was to arrive a few miles outside of the typical bomb perimeter and then make a mad dash for the epicenter after the bomb had exploded. Hopefully, we would arrive before Lovecraft.

  I figured that if we managed to find another mechcarriage to bring us into the D.C. area then that should give us enough time to find an adequate position to wait for the bomb to explode. We'll just have to be diligent that we maintain enough distance so that we didn't get any of the immediate radiation sickness from it.

  All being accounted for, I think that we could afford about three hours to shake off or eliminate Soren. I had begun to look at Dorian as my ace in the hole. It was the two of us versus the one of him. As Dorian had said earlier, the odds were looking in our favor. But if I've learned one thing, it is that underestimating the danger of a situation is a good way to get dead.

  The rain had stopped, which cast about a patchwork quilt of colors across the wet cobbled roads. I could see no trace of people walking the streets. That's when I heard a sickly hurdy-gurdy, playing it's slightly off-kilter music. It echoed across the alleys between the warehouses. Soren wasn't alone. He had been partnered with Merry Andrew. I guessed that S.O.A.R. was forcing Soren to take a partner, just as I had. I'm quite sure that this partnership was a sharp contrast to the one that I now shared with Dorian.

  No one knew Merry's real name, excepting maybe Mr. Van Moot from S.O.A.R. He fancied himself a clown of sorts, wearing brightly colored silk clothing, and specializing in a brand of Drunken Monkey style of martial arts that I had hardly ever seen anyone but he perform. He also had two monkeys that were meaner than he was. In addition, I heard that he also had his front eight teeth removed, probably since they were rotten due to a reputably insatiable sweet tooth. The few times I had ever seen him in the S.O.A.R.’s offices, he was eating cotton candy. He was big and mean... but not too smart. Soren would be another story. He was my contemporary in skill and technique, if not attitude. His real weakness was in that he was not immortal, as best as I could tell. That is no small Achilles heel. Hopefully I could take the advantage.

  I told Dorian the short version about the man with the hurdy-gurdy and he looked nonplussed. “We need to avoid them until we have an advantage,” I said.

  “This way,” he said and we ran. I looked for any ladders that would give us a height edge, but there were none to be had. I wondered briefly what each of these mammoth buildings held, besides secret labs. The music seemed to drift closer, but then drifted further away. Finally it stopped, giving us no clue whatsoever to Merry's location, but then we never really knew where Soren was in the first place.

  When the music stopped, I knew that he was about to set the monkeys after us, and they wouldn't be wanting money. Teeth... maybe. Eyeballs... definitely. Those creatures gave Merry an edge in a fight, especially if one of his monkeys could grab onto your face and act as a blindfold.

  Dorian grabbed me and pulled me into an alcove. It was cold enough to see our breath pool in the dim light of the argon lamplight. He then gestured with one finger at one end of the alley and then he lifted his other hand and motioned with one finger towards the other end. His meaning was clear: we were cornered. One of them was at each end of the street. I looked at the door at our backs and examined the three lock assemblies closely. I had to make a decision and quickly. Try to pick the locks and then lead them into the building to fight, or face them out in the alley, in open space. For me, the monkeys tipped my way of thinking. I withdrew the set from my boot and started working on the series of locks. Dorian removed a small mirror from one of his pockets and peered into it to see around the corner.

  After about three minutes, he said in a quiet and clipped manner, “Now or never, Miss Darling.”

  I had only one pin left. Turn... turn... click... open. We were in. He ushered me into the darkness of the building without spending a second thought to relocking the door. It must have been closer than I h
ad thought.

  We slipped through rooms and hallways, most of which were filled with dark, amorphous shadows. Finally, we reached a room that had a security bulb hanging from a lone wire. It appeared we had entered some sort of cloth manufacturing plant, as I spotted bolts of dark fabric piled against one of the walls. We dashed past these, but out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw a monkey perched on top of one of them. Finally, we made it into a loom room and I almost slipped on the abundant dust and thread balls that littered the floor. Why couldn't this have been a munitions distributor, a steel foundry, or even an apothecary? There was nothing I could use here. Or was there?

  We slowed down, as Dorian made cursory glances, obviously trying to figure out a way to use the oversized machinery to our advantage. I passed by him to see the next room. Abruptly, the music lanced the air again, overpowering the enclosed space. Merry started to laugh. His deep, maniacal bass tone boomed through the rooms, making me dart even more swiftly into the next room. I was met with rack after rack of hanging fabrics, cascading from ceiling to floor in a maze of moving fabric. It was a drying room for the fabric they had dyed earlier that day.

  Next, I found the exit on the other side of the room and I opened up the reinforced metal door. I saw a sprawling atrium filled with vats of dye surrounded by a wall over three stories tall.

  In order to walk between each vat, a narrow ledge of four by twelve boards had been set up. I flipped the lights on in this room and a few bulbs flickered from wall sconces mounted around it. No chance of electrocution in this room. I then surveyed the vats again. A few were simmering on a slow boil with large, thick bubbles gurgling up from their chemical-induced, steamy surfaces. I readjusted my resplug to secure the fit more properly into my nostrils.