Benjamin Franklinstein Meets Thomas Deadison

by Matthew McElligott

  “Hold them off for as long as you can!” Victor shouted. “We need to destroy the supertransmitter!”

  Jaime turned back to her parents. “Mom, Dad—try to remember. You helped build this thing. How do we stop it?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Winters examined the control panel. Gradually, they began punching buttons, flipping levers, and twisting dials.

  “Is this right?” Mr. Winters asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Winters said.

  THE HARMONIC HYPNOTIC MICROPHONE

  “I know you can do it,” Jaime said. “Just keep trying.”

  As Victor, Scott, and Jaime urged her parents on, a battle was being waged across the room.

  Edison leapt at Franklin and knocked him to the ground. Skip Weaver jumped on Edison’s back. “You’re messing with the wrong meteorologist!” Skip said. “Meet the Weather Wrestler!”

  He wrapped his arms around Edison and locked his fingers behind the old man’s head. “Invent your way out of this move, smart guy!”

  Edison shrugged and sent Skip skidding across the floor. He slid to a stop at the base of Napoléon’s bathtub. Edison stood and charged at Skip, his face filled with fury.

  “Behind you!” Napoléon warned.

  Franklin sprang to his feet and launched himself at Edison. Edison staggered back. Franklin rushed at him again and drove him against Napoléon’s bathtub, knocking it onto its side. Harmonic fluid spilled from the tub, and the microphone rolled away.

  Napoléon tumbled onto the floor.

  “Help!” he cried. “Protect your leader!”

  Victor glanced at the withered little man, dressed in full military regalia from the waist up and soggy, silken bloomers from the waist down. Suddenly, the once-mighty Emperor seemed much less menacing.

  A mob of zombies climbed onto Franklin’s back, but he swatted them off.

  Edison tore a pipe from the wall and swung it at Franklin’s head. Franklin caught it in his hand. The two men grappled with each other as more zombies closed in.

  Skip scrambled across the floor and picked up Napoléon’s microphone.

  “Put that down!” screamed Napoléon. “You don’t understand its power!”

  A funny look appeared on Skip’s face. He switched on the microphone.

  “Hi, everyone. This is Skip Weaver. You are not hypnotized anymore. I repeat, you are not hypnotized anymore. Also, be sure to catch my forecast every night on WURP.”

  The zombies stopped what they were doing. They looked around, confused.

  “They’re all free!” Scott hollered. “You did it, Dad!”

  “Yeah,” Skip said. “I guess I did!”

  “Give me that!” screamed Napoléon.

  “Why don’t you get it yourself?” Skip threw the microphone down into the spinning turbine, where it was ground into dust and electrons.

  “Nooooooo!” Napoléon howled, reaching his arm across the floor.

  CLANG!

  Edison hurled a chunk of steel at Franklin, who swatted it away.

  “Raaaarrrrrghhhhhh!”

  “Hey, why is Edison still hypnotized?” Scott asked.

  “It’s the supertransmitter,” Victor said. “Until we can stop it, the Emperor’s connection with him can’t be broken! Any luck, Mr. Winters?”

  “Nothing’s working.” He studied the console with frustration. “I don’t understand it.”

  Mrs. Winters gazed at the spinning turbine. “If we could somehow jam the blades…”

  “Maybe we can,” Victor said. “Ben! We need your help!”

  Across the room, Franklin sent Edison flying into a wall. He turned toward Victor, his head cocked to one side.

  “He doesn’t recognize you,” said Scott.

  “It’s me, Victor!”

  “Vic-tor?”

  “Ben, can you jam these blades with something?”

  “Like the bathtub!” Scott shouted. “Throw it!”

  Franklin lifted Napoléon’s robotic bathtub high above his head. With a grunt, he hurled it down into the turbine.

  It wedged itself between the whirring blades. There was a screeching, grinding sound, like a thousand fingernails dragging down a chalkboard. Sparks flew, and a horrible burning smell filled the air. The turbine trembled, its mighty blades held still by the metal bathtub.

  “It worked!” Jaime exclaimed. “He did it!”

  Franklin dropped to the floor, exhausted.

  Edison blinked his eyes. “Where…where am I?”

  The turbine creaked and groaned.

  “Will it hold?” Jaime asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Winters said, “but we may have a bigger problem. According to these readouts, the dynamo is feeding back. It could go into meltdown.”

  “What does that mean?” Scott asked.

  “If we can’t bleed the extra energy,” Mr. Winters said, “it will explode, taking half of the city with it.”

  Edison turned, a puzzled look on his face. “I did this, didn’t I?”

  “How do we stop it?” Mrs. Winters shouted.

  Edison stumbled across the bridge and studied the control panel. “It’s too late. You can’t stop it,” he said grimly. “But I can.”

  He climbed up to the second level and gripped two electrical terminals, one with each hand. His body stiffened as electricity coursed through his veins. He began to glow white.

  “Thomas!” a weak voice called out. “I command you to stop! I am your Emperor!”

  The inventor released his grip on the terminals. “My…Emperor?”

  Crawling on his elbows, Napoléon dragged his withered body toward the footbridge. “Do not interfere. Let the dynamo explode.”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Jaime shouted. “If it blows, you’ll die too!”

  He laughed a weary laugh. “With my Leyden casket destroyed, I cannot survive. And if I must die, so must you!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  All or Nothing

  “Mr. Edison,” Jaime cried, “please help us!”

  “No, Thomas!” Napoléon demanded. “Return to me at once!”

  “You don’t…control me…anymore!” Edison grabbed the terminals again. White energy flowed into his hands.

  Mr. Winters analyzed the readouts on the console. “It’s working! Edison’s absorbing the energy. But if the dynamo starts to spin again, we’re done for.”

  CRACK!

  “The bathtub!” Mrs. Winters cried. “It’s not going to hold!”

  With a horrifying crunch, the bathtub split in two and was swallowed up into the turbine. Slowly, the great blades began to move again.

  Equipment overloaded all around them, filling the room with sparks and smoke. Victor recoiled as a nearby generator exploded, showering him with sparks.

  Edison glowed brighter and brighter. “Everyone, listen to me! I can’t absorb any more electricity. You must leave or you’ll be reduced to ashes!”

  Around the room, the scientists were regaining their senses. Orville and Wilbur raced back and forth at superspeed, ushering them out the door to safety.

  Jaime’s parents continued to type frantically at the console, searching for any way to stop the turbines from spinning. “Jaime, you all need to go—now!” Mr. Winters ordered.

  “But—”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Mrs. Winters said. “There’s probably nothing we can do, either, but we need to try.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” said Mr. Winters. “I promise. Now go!”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Something snapped inside the great machine and it suddenly began to spin faster. Edison flashed like a camera. Jaime hugged her parents and ran for the exit.

  Victor, Scott, and Skip raced to Franklin’s side.

  “Come on,” Victor urged. “We need to leave right away!”

  Franklin lurched for the door, then paused and looked toward the dynamo. Edison glowed white-hot as Jaime’s parents worked desperately at the cons
ole. Franklin turned to Victor, confused.

  “Why…do…they…?”

  “They’re trying to stop the dynamo,” explained Victor. “It’s going to explode if they can’t shut it down.”

  THE HARMONIC SUPERTRANSMITTER CONSOLE

  “I…can stop…dynamo!” Franklin roared. “GO!” He pushed Victor, Skip, and Scott through the doorway. Victor watched as Franklin lumbered across the room, his finger pointing at the console where Jaime’s parents sat. “You! Go!”

  Mr. Winters looked up, an expression of confusion and terror on his face. “You don’t understand. We need to—”

  “RAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” roared Franklin. He ripped the massive metal console from the floor and held it high above his head. Terrified, Mr. and Mrs. Winters scrambled across the footbridge and out the door.

  Franklin carried the console to the end of the footbridge. Beneath him, the turbine was now spinning wildly out of control.

  “I’m burning out!” Edison shouted. “Hurry!”

  Franklin kicked the safety railing over and threw the console down into the turbine. It wedged itself between the blades and the machine came to a sudden stop. There was a horrible grinding noise and the floor began to quake.

  Franklin leapt into the pit and began ripping the turbine blades from their axle.

  Edison looked down at Franklin, his whole body aglow with electricity. “Yes! It’s working! I’m absorbing all of it…all of it…” The air around him rippled from the intense heat.

  At the doorway, Victor shielded his eyes from the brilliant light. The Wright brothers ushered the last of the scientists out. “That’s everyone,” Wilbur said. “Close the door.”

  “But what about Ben?”

  An arm pulled Victor back and the door slammed shut.

  There was a thunderous explosion, then all was silent and dark. The crowd of people filling the stairwell stood motionless.

  “I’m going in!” said Victor. He threw open the door and raced inside.

  A pungent burning smell filled the smoky air. Emergency lights flickered to life.

  Victor looked up. Where Edison had once stood, there was now only a pile of smoldering ash. He raced to the pit. The turbine’s steel blades had been torn off and twisted into useless strands. Franklin lay crumpled at the bottom of the pit, motionless. Steam rose from his jacket.

  “Ben!” Victor climbed down a ladder to his friend and rolled him over. “Someone help!”

  Jaime and her parents sprinted to Franklin’s side, followed by Scott, Skip, and the Wright brothers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Winters examined Franklin, checking his neck bolts for a charge and listening for a heartbeat.

  “How is he?” Victor asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Mrs. Winters looked up at him gravely. “He’s dying.”

  Victor gasped. “No! Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “We must return him to his Leyden casket at once,” Mr. Winters said. “It’s his only hope.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A Last Request

  Victor pulled his bike up next to Scott’s and paused to catch his breath.

  “See, Victor? There’s nothing like a good bike ride to clear your head. I try to clear my head at least once a day. Sometimes more.”

  Victor observed the city all around him. It was hard to believe that only a week earlier, everyone had been under Napoléon Bonaparte’s hypnotic control. They didn’t realize it, but they had Skip Weaver to thank. His message over the microphone hadn’t just released all the scientists in the room. It had released everyone in the city.

  “I just can’t stop thinking about Ben,” said Victor.

  “Me too,” said Scott. “But Jaime’s parents haven’t given up on him yet. I mean, he’s still alive…sort of.”

  Victor’s phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and read the screen. “Something’s happened.”

  Back at Victor’s house, they ran into Orville and Wilbur, who had just arrived on their bicycles. Behind them, a WURP news van screeched to a stop on the sidewalk. Skip Weaver jumped out, dressed as an Italian sausage.

  “I got the message,” said Skip. “What’s going on?”

  “We don’t know,” said Wilbur.

  The group raced into Franklin’s apartment, then down the ladder to the secret laboratory. Jaime and her parents were standing over Franklin’s Leyden casket.

  “How is he?” Orville asked.

  “He’s waking up,” whispered Jaime.

  They gathered around the casket. Franklin’s eyelids fluttered, then opened.

  “Did…did it work?” His voice was weak. “Did we stop the Great Emergency? Did we stop the Emperor?”

  Scott leaned in. “Napoléon’s totally gone. He must have burned up in the explosion.”

  Franklin nodded. “And what of Edison?”

  Wilbur shook his head. “He gave his own life to save the city.”

  “A noble sacrifice,” said Franklin. His eyelids closed.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Victor whispered.

  Mr. and Mrs. Winters exchanged a sad look.

  “No, Victor,” said Franklin, opening his eyes again. “I am afraid this chapter of my life is drawing to a close.”

  “We can keep him in suspended animation in the Leyden casket,” explained Mrs. Winters. “It’s possible that someday we’ll find a way to bring him back.”

  “Do not mourn,” said Franklin, a faint smile upon his lips. “I have had the rare chance to live a second life, and the magnificent honor to spend it with all of you.”

  He motioned for Victor to step closer.

  “Victor, you have done more for me than I can ever repay. But I have one final request.”

  Victor sniffled. “Anything.”

  “There is a box in my apartment, filled with gold. Enough to last you and your mother a lifetime. I want you to have it.”

  “I can’t take your money, Ben.”

  “I’m not giving it to you. It will be payment for services rendered.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am about to begin another long sleep, and I will need special care. The care of someone I can trust with my life.” He looked Victor in the eyes. “Will you be my Custodian?”

  “Your Custodian?” Victor said. “But I don’t know how to…”

  Mrs. Winters put a hand on his shoulder. “We can help you.”

  “We’ll all help,” added Skip.

  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN’S CUSTODIANS

  1790–1832 George Whitlock

  1832–1861 Zachary Whitlock

  1861–1891 Abigail Whitlock Bowman

  1891–1930 James Bowman

  1930–1974 Edith Bowman Mercer

  1974–1990 Clifford Mercer

  1990–2011 Dean Mercer

  2012–???? Victor Godwin

  Victor nodded, overcome with emotion. “I’d be honored, Ben.”

  “Mind you,” Franklin said wryly, “this means you’ll have to finally tell your mother about all this.”

  Victor smiled. “Of course.”

  Franklin began to wheeze. The Leyden casket emitted a series of beeps.

  “It’s time,” Mr. Winters said. “We dare not wait any longer.”

  “Good-bye, Ben,” Victor said. “I’ll miss you.”

  “No, not good-bye,” Franklin whispered. “Let us just say ‘until we meet again.’”

  Mr. Winters placed the breathing mask over Franklin’s face, and the old man sank into the harmonic fluid.

  Mrs. Winters closed the casket.

  EPILOGUE

  Victor sat on a hillside, reading a book. A kite string was tied to his foot.

  “Hey, Victor.”

  “Oh, hi, Scott.”

  “What are you reading?”

  Victor held up the book. “It’s called The Custodian’s Guide to Maintaining Your Mop.”

  “That sounds boring.”

  “It’s actually a secret guide to being a Promethean Custod
ian. There’s a lot to the job I never knew about.”

  Scott sat down next to Victor. “So how’s Ben doing? Any better?”

  “Mostly the same. The Prometheans say his vital signs are growing stronger. But it could be a long time before we can wake him up. Months, years…maybe even centuries.”

  Scott looked up. “Is that one of his kites?”

  “Yup. He built it to study air currents.” Victor squinted at the sky. “Are those storm clouds?”

  “Can’t be. My dad says one hundred percent clear skies all day.”

  “He does, huh?” Victor considered Skip’s forecast and then began reeling in the kite.

  “Hey, that reminds me,” said Scott. “The science fair is in a couple of weeks. Want to team up on a project?”

  “What are you thinking of?”

  “Get this: a new potato battery…made of eggplant  !”

  “Eggplant?”

  Scott’s face fell. “What’s wrong with eggplant?”

  Victor laughed. “Nothing at all. It’s exactly the kind of idea Ben would have loved.” He stuffed the book into his backpack and threw the kite over his shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”

  The rapid Progress true Science now makes, occasions my Regretting sometimes that I was born so soon. It is impossible to imagine the Height to which may be carried in a 1000 Years the Power of Man over Matter. We may perhaps learn to deprive large Masses of their Gravity & give them absolute Levity, for the sake of easy Transport. Agriculture may diminish its Labour & double its Produce. All Diseases may by sure means be prevented or cured, not excepting even that of Old Age, and our Lives lengthened at pleasure even beyond the antediluvian Standard. O that moral Science were in as fair a Way of Improvement, that Men would cease to be Wolves to one another, and that human Beings would at length learn what they now improperly call Humanity.

  —Benjamin Franklin, 1780