Tesla's Stepdaughters

by Wesley Allison

  “Where are you from?” Piffy asked Agent Andrews.

  “Cape Horn enclave.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of the disease?” asked Steffie.

  “Are you married?” asked Ruth.

  “We need to ask you the questions, I’m afraid,” said Agent Wright. “The NYPD has made a preliminary finding that it was a bomb on your dirigible that caused the explosion at LaGuardia. We have to assume that it was an attempt on your lives. That’s why we’re here.”

  “We need any information you might have on anyone who might want to do you harm,” said Agent Andrews. “Have you received any recent threats, either as a group or individually?”

  “I like it when he talks,” said Ruth.

  “The group has gotten hundreds of death threats since last year, and they’ve gotten them as individuals for years,” said Alexa.

  “Some more than others,” said Steffie, looking at Penny, who glared back at her.

  “We’ll need copies of all of those, plus we’re going to need to interview each of you separately; you and your crew members.”

  “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” asked Alexa. “It’s past midnight and the girls are exhausted.”

  “Perhaps that would be best,” said Agent Andrews. “We’ll meet here first thing in the morning. In the meantime we have posted police officers outside your door, at the elevator, stairwell, and at every building entrance. You’ll be safe here tonight.”

  As the agents were leaving E!piphanee pulled Agent Wright aside.

  “I felt something when I… um, met your partner.”

  “It’s the pheromones.”

  “Pheromones?”

  “It’s the smell—the first time you smell one. Your body just responds. Don’t worry; it won’t happen again, at least not the same way—not to the same degree.”

  “I was kind of hoping that it would happen again.”

  “It is kind of fun,” the agent grinned. “But it’s more fun to watch when it happens to somebody else. You’d be amazed. He gets in a large group and panties just start dropping.”

  “I would imagine that can be annoying… I mean trying to work with him.”

  “Not really. Besides, I’m hoping to catch some of the fallout.”

  The next morning the Ladybugs assembled back in the living area having each spent the night in one of the suite’s four bedrooms. Alexa and the other staff had a string of other rooms on the same floor and the one below it. It was still early, but all four were dressed to the nines, their hair and makeup carefully done.

  “Interesting,” said Penny.

  “What’s interesting?” asked Ep!phanee.

  “It will be interesting to see if he notices or cares.”

  “He who?” asked Ruth, but she couldn’t keep a straight face and a moment later all four women were laughing. Ruth had put on a pair of leather leggings and a rather small bikini top, along with what looked like fifteen pounds of gold necklaces and bracelets that matched the gold hoops in her ears and nostril. At least with her dark skin, she looked like she had spent less time applying makeup than the others had, even though that was not the case.

  The Science Police arrived at the door at eight o’clock sharp, along with Alexa.

  “I’m having all the relevant information sent here by special delivery, but in the meantime, the agents would like to interview each of you. They’re going to start with Ruth. There’s a small conference room right through there.”

  The two agents led the Ladybugs’ drummer into the conference room, where the three of them sat down. Agent Wright sat at the head of the table, while Ruth and Agent Andrews sat across from one another.

  “Miss De Molay, have you had any threats against you beyond those your manager is privy to?”

  “Nothing worth reporting. The usual.”

  “We’ll need to look at them.”

  “I didn’t save them.”

  “You’re from the Virgin Islands?” asked Agent Andrews.

  “That’s right; a little place called Black Point on Jost Van Dyke. I live in St. Croix now most of the time though, with my mother. Wait till I tell her about meeting you. That will give her quite a thrill. In fact, I’ll have to get a picture with you. She’ll tell me how much you look like my father.”

  “Your father was a white man?”

  Ruth glowered. “Have you ever seen a black man?”

  “Yes, but it’s true; there aren’t very many of them.”

  “It’s because they didn’t want to waste resources saving them. They sent the white men south to the enclaves, and let the black ones die.”

  “I was told that was because there was very little infrastructure in Africa and that many of them didn’t want to go.”

  “And did they teach you that there were plenty of black men in America then? There were. Few of them made it south either.”

  “I’m sure there is plenty of truth in that,” he said. “We see too much racial prejudice in the world despite the best efforts of the Science Council. Are the death threats against you because of your color?”

  “Mostly. Some hate me because I’m black and some because I’m part white. Some just because I’m black and my band mates are white—mixing of the races and all that, as if there was much mixing going on... No offense.”

  Alexa stuck her head in the door and looked at Wright. “Agent, there’s someone at the door for you.”

  Wright followed her out.

  “You’re not the original drummer of the group,” said Andrews. “Do you know Betty Rocksit?”

  “I used to know her. We hung out in the clubs in L.A. In fact, I knew her before the group got together, long before I met Piffy, Penny, or Steff. Her real name is Betty Moore. She’s nice enough; not a very good musician though. That’s why they let her go. They gave her the boot before they even met me. I had to audition. She was pretty devastated when the band fired her, but that was a long time ago. Besides, she’s no explosives expert, that is, if you’re thinking that she set a bomb.”

  Agent Wright peeked into the room. “The women of New York’s finest want to go over some things with me.”

  “Not both of us?”

  “No. Just me.” She grinned. “They’re afraid of you… or they don’t trust you… or both.” Then she left.

  “How long have you been partners?” asked Ruth.

  “Since last night when we got the assignment, though we’ve known each other for a few weeks.”

  “You seem to get along well together though.”

  “I knew of her, even before I got my posting. She’s one of the top agents in the SP.” He pulled a small notepad from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. “Would you write down anything that you can think of? Names, even partial names, any organizations mentioned, and whatever else you can thing of; anything might be helpful.”

  “Are you married yet?” she asked.

  “Um, no.”

  A half hour later, Ruth left the conference room and told Ep!phanee that the agent was waiting to see her. Piffy joined him but didn’t take either of the empty seats. Instead, she sat on the edge of the table. She was wearing a sequined silver mini-skirt and a matching crop top that ended just above her naval, which itself was adorned by diamond encrusted ring. She had another diamond on her left nostril and a row of them on each ear. She also had on a pair of glittering seven inch platform heels. Her bright blue hair now hung loosely around her shoulders.

  “If you’d like to sit down we can get started, Miss Epp-Fanny.”

  Piffy’s face reddened. “It’s pronounced ‘epiphany’.” Her voice was soft in an indefinable way and some would have said scratchy, perhaps even annoying. It sounded nothing like her singing voice which was clear and instantly recognizable, capable of reaching any note written for a female voice or a male one.

  He smiled, but then when she didn’t, his face fell.

  “You know how it’s pronounced, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Of cours
e I do. I grew up in an enclave, not another planet. Your band mate persuaded me to play a little joke.”

  Piffy stuck her chin in the air insolently, and then shifted, crossing her legs. Her left thigh was just inches from his elbow. A row of colorfully tattooed tropical fish, unseen when she had been standing up, were swimming in circles around both of her thighs.

  “Just for that, I’m not answering any of your questions…” He started to form a reply, but she continued. “…until you take me out for breakfast.”

  “I wouldn’t feel comfortable… It’s not safe for you to go out at this time.”

  “You said the hotel was secure. They have a restaurant right downstairs. Besides, I’m sure you could protect me. You are armed, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” He pulled aside the lapel of his jacket to reveal a very large pistol stuffed in a shoulder holster.

  “There you go then.” She stood up and pulled down her skirt, which had now ridden up to her buttocks, then turned and walked out of the room. Andrews got up and followed her.

  The hotel restaurant was closed, but the coffee shop was not only open but relatively empty. They took a booth in the back where Andrews had a clear view of the entrance and Piffy was turned away from it. The waitress came to take their order and had eyes only for the famous rock star in her presence, at least until the blood began rushing to her face and her breath caught in her throat. Then she cast shocked eyes on the man she now recognized for what he was. They both pretended not to notice her discomfort and ordered. Ten minutes later she returned with two eggs, two pieces of fried chicken, and a waffle for her and coffee for him.

  “You’re going to sit there and watch me eat?”

  “I had a bagel earlier.”

  “How long have you been away from the enclave?”

  “About two years.”

  “And you’ve been working in the Science Police all that time?”

  He nodded. “Part of that time was spent at the Academy.”

  “You’re not married? Every man I’ve heard of living north has six or eight wives.”

  He shook his head. “No wives yet.”

  “And they listen to my music in the enclaves?”

  “Of course. I’ve been a huge Ladybugs fan for years. You’re huge there. Maybe you could do a concert there. That would really be historic.”

  Ep!phanee’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “That would be historic. That would be big.”

  “Have you received any threats recently?”

  “Not really; not recently. I’m having my personal manager gather them together. Then she can send them to us. It’s all the usual—religious nuts that think I’m an atheist, lunatics that think I’m speaking to them through the music—things like that.”

  “You saved them?”

  “I have my manager save all my mail.” She dragged a piece of fried chicken through the syrup and took a bite. “What’s your favorite song?”

  “How about anyone else who might want to do you harm? Jilted lovers, business partners, distant relations that might feel snubbed?”

  “I’ll get you a list. I asked about your favorite song.”

  “I like all the ones you played last night.”

  “Everyone likes those. What’s your favorite?”

  “I like Noble Corpses and Where are you, Frances Perkins?. Of course, the song you’ll be remembered for is Memories of Dust.”

  “It’s a pretty good song,” she smiled with seldom practiced humility. “But I don’t think any of our solo songs will ever be as popular as any one of the Ladybugs hits.”

  “You might be surprised. How did you come up with the set list for the concert?”

  “It took us months to negotiate that list. I would have been happy to play nothing but the Buddy Holly covers. Nobody else would have agreed to that though. Steffie wanted to play the new songs off Rebel Girls, but the fans expect to hear their favorites. Of course if we are going to play oldies, we’re each going to fight tooth and nail to get as many of our own works as possible included.” She stopped and took another bite of chicken followed by a gulp of water. “We made a list of more than seventy titles and over the weeks pared them down to twenty-one.”

  “You left out a lot of number one hits.”

  “Had to. We also didn’t include any solo material. That would have been too much. Peggy Sue was our first hit, so we had to include it. It’s the only cover we played. The rest were all ours. Every album had to be represented by at least one song, including the new one, and we put them more or less in chronological order with the exception of the final two.”

  “Good choices for the finale.”

  “It had to be Rotting Garden of Eden and Tesla’s Stepdaughters. The crowd would have rioted otherwise. Well they did riot, but I mean in a bad way. Most people would have told me one of those two was their favorite.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  The waitress interrupted, bringing a phone to the table. It looked pretty much like phones always had, a receiver resting in its cradle, but modern phones didn’t need wires.

  “Call for you ma’am… um, I mean sir?”

  “Thanks.” Andrews picked up the receiver. “Andrews. Now? All right. We’ll be right up.”

  When the call was done, he looked at Ep!phanee. “You have to finish your breakfast. Then we’ll go upstairs and you can pack. They want to get you and the others to Chicago a day early to throw off any more attempts.”

  “Suits me,” she said, taking a bite of waffle.

  “Can I ask you one other thing?”

  She nodded, still chewing.

  “Tesla’s Stepdaughters—great song, but what does the title come from? I get the part about stepdaughters. It’s about living without fathers and men. There really isn’t anything about Tesla in it though. Why is it his stepdaughters?”

  “Do you know who Nikola Tesla was?”

  “Sure. An inventor. Vat babies and all?”

  “He invented our entire world, and here we women are, stuck in it without men… well, mostly without. But it’s his world. If he hadn’t created the transmission of energy, radio and radio-vid, and wireless telephony in 1902 the world would be very different than it is.”

  “He’s a hero of yours, I see. Maybe somebody else would have invented all of that.”

  “Maybe, but that’s too deep for me.” She smiled. “Maybe then you would be protecting some other singer, from a group named after an entirely different kind of bug.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “I don’t know. We named ourselves the Ladybugs as a tribute to Buddy Holly and the Crickets. Anybody could do that.”

  Chapter Three: The Rosalie Morton

  All four of the ladybugs were pleased to get out of New York early. The stress of being locked up in their hotel under guard and the threat against their lives hung over them like a cloud. Having the chance to spend two full days in Chicago before the concert, instead of only one was just as welcome. Rather than chartering another dirigible, the band was given the use of an official government airship.

  “I didn’t know a Science Police agent could summon a dirigible at her whim,” commented Ep!phanee to Agent Andrews.

  “We can’t, but the Science Council can. There are quite a few Ladybugs fans among them, I’m sure, and I doubt that they want any of you to hitchhike to Chicago.”

  Every school girl knew that the Science Council ran the world. They had since the great Science War, which began in 1956. At that time the last remaining totalitarian rulers had tried to expand across Europe and Asia. A coalition of nations picked themselves up from the depths of the Great Depression and fought back. When the war was won, a new world government had been created. Science Council members were chosen for their knowledge and wisdom and acted for the good of humanity.

  Once the airship S.V. Rosalie Morton had left LaGuardia, the two agents continued their investigation. Agent Wright spoke to each of the crewmembers and support staff of the ban
d and Andrews interviewed the two remaining musicians. The first was Penny Dreadful. They met in Andrew’s cabin and sat at the small desk beside a large window as the clouds passed by outside. She was a large woman though not fat. If she had been a building, she would have been called structurally sound. And a skyscraper. She was about five foot eleven. She weighed around one hundred fifty pounds, a good thirty pounds heavier than she was on the old album covers, on which she had seemed extraordinarily skinny. The white corset, not quite reaching down to her waist left plenty of cleavage, and she wore long white gloves decorated with tiny pink bows. Her white layered net tutu skirt left fourteen inches of bare, white thighs above her knees, which were covered by white lace stockings. She wore white combat boots. Her huge mane of red hair was still styled in the dreadlocks she had worn on stage, and she had two huge hoop earrings and a smaller hoop in the middle of her lower lip.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” he said.

  “You’re kidding, right? Before yesterday I’d never seen a man in real life before. This is really a treat for me… you know, besides somebody trying to kill me and all.”

  “So you think you are the target?”

  She shrugged. “Steffie’s probably right. A lot of people were pissed off when Carpetmuncher hit the air. That’s the name of the song, um… no offense.”

  “I think it’s a great song,” he said.

  “You’ve heard it?”

  “I bought the album the day it came out.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m a huge Ladybugs fan, and that includes your solo albums. I remember watching you on the Dorothy Kilgallen Show, and I had to present my PhD thesis the next day. So you see; it’s at even bigger treat for me to be assigned here with you.” He watched her for a moment, and then asked. “I’ve been north for two years now, but I still don’t really understand the anti-homosexual attitude. There are plenty of women running around dressed as men, my partner for instance, with her little fake mustache. It all seems pretty open.”