The interior of the building is a maze of metal, machines, and wire. Inside the largest room, at the center of the building, four men are gathered to conduct an unofficial after-hours experiment. One of them stands at the far end of the room, looking small and lost under the sixty-foot-high ceiling. Beside him is a tall metal cylinder topped by a five-foot-tall wire cage. He crouches low, adjusting a bolt on the floor, grumbling to himself in a heavy Eastern European accent. His voice remains unheard by the others because of the tremendous noise filling the room.
At the other end of the space, two men tend to a pair of carriage-size generators, which whir and screech like out-of-control trolley cars. In the background, barely noticeable, is the hiss and clank of a kerosene-fed steam engine that drives the generators.
A fourth man stands on a platform above them all. He adjusts the wooden tripod under his camera and plays with the focus.
The man near the cylinder stands up, finally satisfied that the bolts are tight. He shouts something across the room. Heads shake. They can’t hear him. One of them men, his gray mechanic’s coat flapping, jogs the length of the room. “What did you say, Nikola?”
“I said get ready to throw the switch!” Nikola shouts back.
“So it’s time?”
“Yes, it’s time.”
“But you need to stand clear! Get away from there!”
“Nonsense, the electrical field will reach out and up. That’s how it’s designed. It won’t come down at me.”
“I don’t think that’s right. It’s dangerous to stand there!”
“Look, I know how the sparks will jump. Trust me. They will arc right over to that other ball.” He points to a two-foot orb mounted on a side wall. “They will not reach down here.” He looks back at the base cylinder.
“Bahhh … wait a moment. The bottom part of the cage is still not properly aligned. Get the ladder.”
Ladder in place, Nikola climbs up several feet, tugging at the cage, hitting it a bit with his hand. Then he climbs down and adjusts the base bolts again until he’s satisfied that everything is straight.
“This is aggravating,” he laments. “We make do with whatever we can borrow. Working at night. This should be our greatest work, and it’s the poor stepchild to Westinghouse!”
“I’m still not sure I understand,” says the technician. “We already know you can make lightning. What will it prove?”
“It’s not just about lightning, Hans! It’s about understanding the energy. I’ve told you that. It’s about waves. Studying them. Studying how they travel, through the sky. Through the earth. There’s something here that I’m only beginning to understand. Experiments, son! That’s how we understand the mysteries of the universe. We experiment and we look and we see for ourselves.” His eyes look wide and wild as he states his case.
Hans takes the ladder away, and Nikola stands, hands on his hips.
The other technician, Raymond, wanders over. “Does this experiment have anything to do with the radio waves you’ve mentioned? Using them to talk?”
“I don’t know yet. It might. I hope that it will help us with that.”
“But this doesn’t look like a radio experiment.”
“It’s all connected. More than you realize.”
Raymond looks up at the silver ball. “How will you know?”
“For now, we just look at the waves we create. We look at how the electrical fields react. We measure what we find on this small scale, and we expand from there.”
Both Hans and Raymond laugh. Small scale?
“But Nikola! This is the largest thing we’ve ever built. It’s incredible!”
Nikola waves them off as if they’re pesky flies. “Go to your stations now! Get ready!”
The ever-expanding experiments of Nikola Tesla is what keeps these men employed. About half his work week is directly related to Westinghouse products and technology development. The rest of the time is for him alone. The time that he spends with his experiments is both his passion and his obsession. He’s not an easy man to work for, yet this wild-eyed engineer builds things that are remarkable enough that other engineers are pulled into his orbit. They stay late and they help where they can. They’re not here for the money. They’re here for the wonder of it all.
Hans is one of the young engineers who lingers and learns. But he’s troubled by this latest experiment. It’s so grand and difficult to manage that it seems to cross some sort of line.
“I don’t know, sir,” he says as he looks at Nikola standing beneath the structure. “We’re not supposed to be doing this. None of this is authorized.”
“Hans, Hans, Hans,” Tesla lectures the twenty-five-year-old. “George Westinghouse is making hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe millions of dollars, off my patents. And I’m producing more for him every day. If I want to do some experiments using his equipment, I’m damn well going to do them. We’ll break things now and then, to be sure. But eventually we’ll make him even more money.”
He sees the engineer’s nervousness. “You don’t have to be here. But you wanted to come see it and you wanted to help.”
“Yes. But—”
“No buts!” His thick dark mustache curls around his upper lip as he shouts. “I’m sure Raymond will throw the switch if you don’t.”
He waves at Raymond who shrugs, unsure in all the noise if he’s being asked to do something.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll do it. I want to do it.”
“All right. Go over there and throw the damn switch then and let me worry about the rest!” He turns and waves to the camera man, who bends and thrusts his head under a dark cloth hanging from the back of bulky wooden box.
Nikola steps back and squats on the floor, looking up at the support structure and the cage. A set of sensors and dials sits in front of him on the floor. He’s going to watch the whole thing from right there, crouching beneath the electrical field.
Hans balls his hands into fists as he walks to the generator. A table in front of the machinery holds a makeshift switch, a brass lever about one foot long. There’s also a short wall separating the table from the rest of the room. He feels like he’s in a bunker, but the walls are not quite protective enough.
Wires run from the generator to the switch, and from the switch a set of longer, heavier wires run down the center of the room toward the tall column.
Raymond runs to the farthest edge of the room, into a doorway. Peeks around the corner.
Hans nods to Tesla and cranks the generator up to full power. He lets it idle for two minutes then pushes the big lever down by its insolated handle. When it reaches the contact points, there is a crackle and a loud hum. At the far end of the room, the pillar inside the cage also starts to hum. In a few seconds a bluish-yellow glow begins to build around the cage. After fifteen seconds the electrical field becomes visible at the top of the cage, a blue arc dancing along the edge with a loud buzz and crackle. Suddenly a jagged finger of light reaches toward the orb. As it makes contact, an arc the size of a lightning bolt forms between the two, humming and crackling across the room. Nikola looks up, pointing to the photographer, who clicks away, quickly sliding big glass negatives in and out of the back of his camera.
The bitter scent of ozone fills the air.
Nikola shouts something that’s lost in the noise. He finally motions for the photographer to move down the platform. He does so, nervously dragging his equipment forward. Raymond steps out of his hiding place and starts tending the machines, oiling the spinning hubs of both generators. The hum changes slightly and both dynamos start to spin a bit faster. The glow at the top of the cylinder brightens. Suddenly, a second bright arc reaches out from the top of the structure.
The photographer steps back, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. He then grabs the top of his head, and his hair seems to be rising. The arc reaches directly toward him with a loud snap. It curves down toward the platform, then lashes sideways like a whip, striking both the camera and the
photographer. Both are slapped backwards about ten feet. The man lands hard on his back and lies motionless. The camera clatters to the floor.
Tesla motions for Hans to cut the power. The young man lifts the switch, and the noise and the electric arcs immediately stop. Raymond climbs up a ladder while Tesla continues to squat low, waiting for the electric charge in the air to dissipate.
When Raymond reaches the photographer, he finds the man groaning and rocking side to side, holding his head. His hair is singed, and there’s a scorch mark on his face and another on the front of the battered camera. Its wooden frame is broken, either from the shock or the fall, and the negatives are cracked and splayed on the floor.
The other two men finally rush up the ladder.
“Is he okay?”
“Well, he’s alive.”
Hans and Raymond help the photographer to his feet, but Nikola rushes to the broken negatives instead. Staring at them. “Blast! They’re ruined! Now we have no record.”
The photographer coughs and rubs his temples. Catching his breath, he looks at the mess, then at Tesla. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” The sarcasm makes Raymond chuckle, but it’s lost on Tesla.
Hans pulls the camera upright and looks at the lens. “At least this part’s not cracked. Shutter still works.”
“God damn it!” the photographer sneers. “I didn’t know it would do that! Why didn’t anyone tell me? I might have been killed!”
“Nonsense.”
“Like hell it’s nonsense. You’re a dangerous group of men. I don’t think I’ll be doing business with you again.” He gathers his equipment and slowly climbs down. Once on the floor he quickly heads for the door.
“There will be trouble if he reports this,” Hans whispers. “We’re not supposed to be risking these generators like this.”
“Bah,” Tesla says again. “What is Westinghouse going to do? Fire me? I think not.” His eyes scan the room. “But I do need a larger place than this. And I need someplace far away from here, where anxious eyes won’t watch what we do.”
His hand rubs his chin. “Someplace where I can build a larger lab. Bigger orbs. Someplace with my own special funding where I don’t have to borrow and steal equipment.”
As they take down the cables and clean up, Hans chides, “You must have the money by now to build your own place. You have more patents than anyone I know. Westinghouse is killing Edison because of you.”
Tesla smiles. “Indeed.” He tosses the negatives in a trash bin, swearing under his breath. “And soon enough, I will make the move. But for now, our research is centered right here.”
He looks at the men, first one, and then the other.
“I’m glad you think I’m wealthy. But much of what I earn here goes right back into buying what I need to keep the experiments going. I buy the things that I need. Things that Mr. Westinghouse won’t supply.” He motions to the cylinder and the orb. “Like these things right here, which you’d better take apart and get them stored.”
As they dismantle the experiment, Hans asks about the test. “Did you pick up anything during the sparks? Any radio waves?”
“Not that I could see. But the experiment didn’t run long enough.”
“Isn’t a bigger spark supposed to produce bigger waves?”
“That’s one of the things I’m testing, but no, I’m starting to think it doesn’t work quite that way. Making the waves stronger isn’t just a matter of making bigger sparks.”
“Well, if this radio, or radio waves, or whatever, can really do what you say, I think you could end up being the wealthiest man in the country.”
Tesla smiles. “You think so? Well, that means we need to beat men like Marconi, and some of the other clowns who are trying to do the same thing. And it means we need funding—lots of it—and I don’t think I’m going to get that here. Old George just wants to sell more power to old ladies who want to read their newspapers in the evening.”
He looks over to his workbench. “I thought I had an investor lined up. A very wealthy diamond merchant in England. We were supposed to show him a little prototype a colleague of mine built for him. But I’m not sure now that’s going to happen.”
“Why not?” Raymond asks.
Tesla shrugs. “Let’s just say there was a change in the weather. So we’ll just have to build another one and try again. Now let’s get this stuff away so the morning crew doesn’t see it.”
Chapter 22
Northwest
Eventually Amanda rises, hastily preparing for her nighttime departure. As she dresses, she can hear a steady hiss coming from the barn. Elmer, God bless him, has stayed awake and started the engine of the steam wagon. He’s a wonderful, silly man, and she wonders why he doesn’t just go to bed to get his rest. He deserves it.
She finishes dressing and starts to pack her bag when she hears a sharp knock on the front door of the Quincys’ farmhouse. Amanda and Agnes Quincy both step out into the hall. They nervously catch each other’s gaze but remain silent. Agnes, white hair awry, is in her nightclothes, clutching the white cotton gown tightly around her neck.
Amanda wonders if it’s Wayne but doesn’t voice her concern. It’s certainly possible that he’s tracked her down to this hiding place. If he asked enough people, one of them was bound to know where he could find a white-haired woman who doesn’t mind driving a wagon. Especially a woman who’s recently allowed a younger woman to come live in her home.
Suddenly Elmer isn’t in the barn anymore. He’s back inside, and they can hear him hastily lighting a fire in the kitchen stove. He places a kettle on the front burner, hoping it will start hissing—to mask the steamy hiss emanating from behind the house. Elmer walks through the front hall and answers the door just as the visitor knocks again.
“Elmer Quincy?”
“What? Well, of course I am, Tucker. You know it’s me.”
Upstairs Agnes covers her mouth. She rushes to Amanda’s side and whispers, “Tucker is the town constable. Oh my ….”
Downstairs, Tucker continues. “Listen, Elmer, I feel funny about this, but I need to do my official duty. You understand? That’s the only reason I’m asking you officially what your name is. Of course I know who you are. My father’s known you for years.”
Elmer is very cordial as he invites the young constable inside.
“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, Elmer. Especially at this hour. I know it has to be after midnight. I thought you’d be in bed, what with you being sick and all!”
Elmer fights the urge to look toward the stairs. “Well, usually I am. But I had some extra chores this evening. Now I’m fixing a cup of tea. Do you want one?”
“Oh no. All right, then. Here’s the official business that brings me here. Some fool farmer over by the Brewster line says his wife ran out on him. And he says your wife helped his wife come back and steal some of his belongings. Says she stabbed him too.”
Upstairs, Agnes looks at Amanda.
“I didn’t,” Amanda whispers. “He swung at me. I told you I just blocked… ”
Agnes shushes her. “It’s okay. We just need to get you out to the barn.”
There is no back stairway in the house. The front stairs would take them right past where the men are standing.
“How do we get out?”
She motions to Amanda to follow her into a back bedroom. Below them the conversation continues, with Elmer trying to stall for time.
“Is your wife around?” the constable asks.
“Yes, but she’s sleeping, Tucker.”
“Well, I guess I won’t ask you to wake her just yet. But what about that woman? Do you have the woman here?”
“Well, I … I did ….” His voice is just loud enough so that it drifts upstairs, meant as a warning to the women.
Agnes nods. “Good. He didn’t exactly lie. He won’t get in trouble for lying at least.”
“What do you mean you did?” Tucker demands.
“Well, I mean she was he
re for a while. But she left. I mean. I think she did.”
“Dad-burn it, Elmer, you think she did? You mean you don’t know?”
Agnes pushes Amanda ahead of her. They tiptoe to the window, which, thankfully, is already open on this warm night. Amanda manages to wiggle through it and out onto a porch roof.
“Can you reach the tree?” Agnes asks in a loud whisper as she leans out the window.
Amanda tries. “No. It’s too far!” She looks down and sees that the ground slopes sharply away from the porch. It’s not a safe distance to jump.
“Try the downspout!”
Amanda walks to the corner of the roof and tugs at it. Notched into the wooden gutter, the downspout is an iron pipe, painted white. It seems solid enough, so she nods.
Agnes slides Amanda’s bag out the window. “Drop that down first. I’ll meet you out by the barn.” She disappears back into the bedroom.
Amanda listens to the hiss of the steam engine. Every few moments the engine thuds slightly. She waits for the next thud and drops the bag so the sound of its landing is covered by the noise.
Gripping the downspout, she closes her eyes, shivers, then swings over, all her weight hanging by her hands. She can’t hug the pipe like a fireman’s pole because it’s too tight against the house. The best she can do is to quickly lower herself, hand over hand, hurrying before her strength gives out. Her hands make a squeaking sound and her shoes clunk a bit. As Amanda slides past the lower window, she hears the constable ask about the noise coming from the barn.
“Oh, that?” Elmer laughs, “It’s that blasted steam engine. You know, the one that I have. It’s been leaking like a sieve. I patched it today. Just wanted to test it. Fired it up a while ago.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Oh, I’m letting it idle overnight with the valve half open. Needs a good long test. If there’s any water under the boiler in the morning, then I’ll know it’s still leaking.”
“Jesus, Elmer, you’ve left that thing fired up and running all alone out in the barn? That doesn’t seem safe!”
Wreck of the Gossamer Page 15
