The Wells Bequest (18 page)

He described a new, astonishingly destructive weapon he was developing, which would draw power from the earth's electric field. Was that the death ray at last? It was hard to tell from his description. He claimed it would end war because nobody would dare risk using it or provoking their enemies to use it. But what if a terrorist got his hands on Tesla's death ray? Like, for example, Simon?

I dragged my attention back to the podium. “And now,” Tesla was saying, “I require a volunteer from the audience. Today we have the honor to have among us Her Excellency, the Rani of Choba—of Chupu—that is, Her Highness, the rani of one of India's finest kingdoms. Madam, if you would have the kindness to assist with a demonstration of what I may with all modesty claim is a unique advance in electrical science!”

He held out his hand to Jaya. I shook my head vigorously. “He's going to electrocute you!” I hissed. She ignored me.

“The honor is mine,” she said in her rani voice, walking up to the front of the room. Lillie Langtry looked annoyed. I guess she was usually the one singled out.

Tesla held up a lightbulb on a small wire ring. “I shall place this globe in Her Majesty's hands. Observe that the device is completely disconnected from any battery or electric source.” He waved the ring around in the air to show us that it wasn't attached to anything. “If you will be good enough to grasp it, Your Highness, just here and here.” He closed Jaya's hands around the wire on either side of the lightbulb. Nearby stood a big, mean-looking machine. “Please observe, ladies and gentlemen, that Her Excellency is standing beside a resonating coil through which, when I throw this switch, will pass currents of a voltage one or two hundred times as high as that employed in electrocution!”

Oh, no! The electricity was going to jump through the air from the machine to Jaya!

I guess I must have gasped because Mark Twain put his hand on my shoulder and said softly, “Don't worry, Leo, she'll be fine. I've done it myself. It doesn't even tingle.”

“The currents will traverse Her Highness's body and, as they pass between her hands, will bring the lamp to bright incandescence. Yet the extremely high tension of the currents will prevent Her Excellency from experiencing the slightest harm or inconvenience. Gentlemen, if you would assist me in closing those curtains.”

A pair of attendants in the club's yellow-lightning uniform drew heavy curtains across the windows, darkening the room.

“And now, Your Highness, if you are ready?”

“I am,” said Jaya.

Tesla threw the switch.

The lightbulb lit up.

Jaya didn't die.

The audience went wild with applause.

Three or four more demonstrations followed: another bulb-on-a-wire trick, some “phosphorescent lamps,” and what looked like a neon diner sign—it said
Light
and made everyone gasp.

Tesla wound up his presentation with a speech about the glories of the future. Apparently by 1995 we were all going to be living in peace and harmony and riding around in little two-seater electric planes.

As the audience made for the doors, Twain grabbed Tesla's elbow. “Can you spare a few minutes to speak with Her Highness?” he asked.

“Gladly. I had hoped to induce her to join us at Delmonico's for supper, with Madame Langtry.”

“There's no time for that!” said Jaya. “We need to talk to you alone. Right now. It's important.”

“Of course, Your Highness. The club has rooms for private interviews,” said Tesla.

Jaya, Mark Twain, and I followed him up the staircase to a little room with a portrait of Thomas Edison on the wall. Tesla scowled at it. “How may I be of service to Your Majesty?” he asked, turning to Jaya.

“It's really about how
I
can be of service to
you,
” said Jaya. “At this very minute, one of your employees is stealing your death ray. You have to stop him!”

Tesla's nostrils flared. “Forgive me, but may I inquire as to the source of your information?”

“Listen to her, Nik,” said Mark Twain. “Jaya and Leo here are from the future. I know it sounds unlikely, but it's true. They're the ones who visited me from the twenty-first century and inspired
A Connecticut Yankee.
”

That was when Tesla showed the full force of his genius. Most people, if told by the greatest living satirist that a pair of weird-looking kids were visitors from the future, would snort and roll their eyes. Not Tesla. He accepted it without question. “If you come from the future, you must know which of my predictions are correct,” he said. “Tell me!”

“Well, you're going to win the War of the Currents, but you probably already know that. You're right about the wireless telephones and remote-controlled missiles. But you're wrong about war and mmmphff!”

I had managed to get my hand over her mouth. “Jaya! Stop it! You can't tell him all that stuff! You'll change the future!”

Tesla swung his crazy lightning gaze at me. “But why
not
change the future? Why not speed humanity's progress to perfection?”

“Because we're not heading toward perfection! Humanity sucks!”

“The boy's right,” said Twain. “Given half a chance, the average specimen of mankind is as crooked as a congressman.”

“We don't have time for this,” said Jaya. “Simon's ancestor could be stealing the death ray
right now
!”

Jaya and I explained about Simon, his great-great-grandfather, the repository, the death ray, the time machines, and the possible destruction of New York—with lots of pauses for me to put my hand over Jaya's mouth to stop her from blabbing too much about the future and for her to kick my shins.

“Which of my employees is trying to steal my inventions?” asked Tesla.

“That's the thing—we don't know,” said Jaya. “It's Simon's great-great-grandfather, but we don't know his name. That's why we have to catch him in the act.”

“It can't be Ted or Robert,” said Tesla. “I would trust them both with my life. Maybe one of the new men?”

“We're wasting time. Let's go find out—and stop him,” said Mark Twain, with something of Jaya's impatience.

A Firefight on South Fifth Avenue

T
he sun had set while we'd been watching Tesla shoot electricity around the lecture room, and the gas streetlights didn't do all that much to illuminate the street. There were stars everywhere, just like in the country. I could even make out the Milky Way. I had never seen stars like that in New York.

Tesla hailed a horse cab. The four of us piled in and clattered down Broadway, dodging around carriages and cable cars. Jaya unpinned the ruby and tucked it into her bag with her scarf. She sat leaning forward, as if she could somehow make the horses go faster by gritting her teeth.

We drew up at Tesla's lab. Tesla unfolded himself through the carriage door, and Mark Twain sprang out after him.

The windows were dark, except for a faint glimmer on the fourth floor. “Someone's up there,” said Tesla.

“That's your lab, isn't it?” said Twain. “It's probably him. Come on!”

• • •

The four of us ran clomping up the wooden stairs. We sounded like a horse in a hurry.

The lab door opened on a cavernous room full of shadows and looming dark shapes. A lone desk lamp shone on a table in one corner. The stocky assistant—the one who looked like a redheaded calf—was packing papers into a crate. The light glinted on his hair.

He straightened up when he saw us, looking less like a calf and more like a startled rabbit.

“Good—ah—good evening, Mr. Tesla,” he said.

“Mr. Smith! What are you doing with my notebooks?”

“I was working late. . . . I was just . . . straightening up.”

Tesla pushed a button in the wall. Electric light flooded the room. We could see that an entire cabinet had been stripped bare, its contents packed in crates.

“Why are you packing my notebooks, Smith? What are you doing with my models? Put them down at once!” Tesla's voice crackled with rage. His Serbian accent suddenly got much stronger. “Is Edison paying you?”

Mr. Smith was holding something that looked like a big, awkward pistol. There were several more of them in the crate in front of him. The pistol had a long barrel with two metallic rings around it and a sort of octagonal cap at the end. It had a brass boxy part above the handle and a scary-looking swirly bit. It looked very familiar.

Then I recognized it. It was a small version of the death ray that Simon had been standing in front of when we saw him on the telelectroscope, back in the repository.

“That's the death ray, isn't it?” gasped Jaya.

Mr. Smith looked at the model death ray in his hand. Then he looked at Tesla. Then he pointed the death ray at Tesla and said, “I'm sorry, sir. I have a boat to catch. If you leave now, I won't hurt you.”

I snatched up the nearest object—a complicated copper rod—and pointed it at Mr. Smith. “Put the gun down!” I yelled.

He laughed and swung the death ray around to point at me. “Or what? You'll induce a magnetic field?”

Suddenly the room went dark. Mark Twain had turned off the lights. Only Mr. Smith was left illuminated. “Duck, Leo!” Twain yelled.

Mr. Smith switched his table lamp off, leaving the whole room in velvety darkness.

I ducked low and crept sideways. Maybe if I could get to Mr. Smith's crate, I could grab one of those model death rays myself. I had to stop him—if Tesla got hurt, the future would get scrambled up like shaken dice.

I was halfway there when Jaya yelled, “Turn on the lights, Mr. Clemens!” When they came on again, Jaya was standing by Mr. Smith's table, pointing another model death ray at his head. She must have grabbed it out of a crate when the lights were out. Hers was bigger than his—she needed two hands to hold it. “Drop it or I'll shoot!” she said.

“You? You're not going to shoot,” he said.

Instead of answering, she pointed the death ray over his shoulder and pulled the trigger. With a horrible hiss, a stream of hot, blinding silver shot out of the muzzle and racketed into the wall behind him. The impact shook the lab.

Jaya pointed the model death ray back at Mr. Smith. “I said, put it down.” Her voice was shaking a little.

He put his ray gun down.

“Come here, Smith,” said Tesla. “Right now!”

Mr. Smith took a step toward the door.

Suddenly there was another earsplitting sound like a zillion fingernails tearing a chalkboard apart. The air next to Mr. Smith split open, and Simon stepped through.

We all stared at him with our mouths open. The gap in the air was still open. The edges pulsed with ribbons of blue and purple light. I could see through it, but I couldn't really make sense of what I was seeing. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope, but not just the flat kind—like a kaleidoscope with five or six dimensions. I saw tiny bits of trees and chairs and people and galaxies and daylight and night sky, all oozing and swirling. For a second I saw something sickeningly pink, like the inside of somebody's intestines. For a second I saw what looked like fire.

While we were all staring into the horrifying portal, Simon picked up the model death ray that Mr. Smith had been holding.

Simon pointed it at Jaya. That snapped us out of it.

“Put the gun down, Jaya, and take me to the Wells time machine,” he said.

“Seriously?” Jaya said. “Seriously, Simon? You're going to shoot me?”

“If I have to.”

“But you kept saying you loved me.”

Mark Twain had recovered his voice. “Who is
that
?” he said. “How did he get here?”

“It's Simon! Mr. Smith's great-great-grandson, the one Jaya told you about! We have to stop him!”

Simon was saying, “I do love you, Jaya. I don't want to hurt you. So put the gun down.”

“No, you put
your
gun down. Or I'll shoot your ancestor, and you'll never be born!” said Jaya.

Mr. Smith stared at Simon. “Who are you? Where did you come from?” he gasped.

“I'm on your side. I'm your great-great-grandson, from the future,” said Simon.

Mr. Smith looked shocked. “My great-great—but where—but how—?”

“How did you even know we were here, Simon?” asked Jaya, still pointing her weapon at Mr. Smith.

“I used the people finder at the Burton. It has a time setting,” said Simon. “It showed you in 1895, so I knew you'd used the Wells time machine. I knew you were trying to stop my ancestor. I came back to stop you and get the time machine. Where is it?”

I still had the copper rod in my hand. I was edging around toward Simon. I wasn't sure what I was planning to do, but I had to do
something.
Maybe I could knock the death ray out of his hand.

“Stop right there, Leo! Nobody moves or I'll shoot,” said Simon.

Tesla had picked up a big metal object and was bearing down on Simon. “Get out of my lab! All you, get out!” he roared. He moved like a giant skinny gorilla.

Simon yelled, “Everybody stand still! Or I'll shoot her, I swear I will!”

Another tremendous noise—this time a deep boom that made my bones itch—and another copy of Simon materialized in the lab. He was riding on what must have been the Burton's other time machine. It had rounded lines—it looked like something out of a 1950s space comic. He had the beginning of a black eye, his shirt was ripped, and his nose was bleeding.

He leapt at the first copy of himself, screaming, “Stop! Stop! You'll hurt Jaya!”

Then everything got very confusing.

The new Simon knocked the death-ray pistol out of the first Simon's hand. Then the two Simons were fighting like demons, punching and kicking and yelling. They were perfectly matched. Simon One was fresher and unhurt, but Simon Two knew every move he was going to make seconds before he made it.

Meanwhile, Mr. Smith dove for Simon's model death ray, and I dove to stop him. I grabbed what I could reach—his back and shoulder—and hung on tight. His jacket was pulling loose from him, and I was losing my grip. And he was strong! We went down together. I tried to get on top of him and pin him to the floor, but he wiggled his arms free, grabbing the model death ray.

“Get out of the way, Leo! I can't shoot him—I'll hit you!” yelled Jaya.

Mr. Smith lurched beneath me and I heard that horrible hiss as he fired his death ray. I pushed myself up with all my strength and threw my weight on him. He rolled over, throwing me off and hitting my head hard on the floor.

For a moment I couldn't move. I saw a flash through my closed eyelids and I heard the death ray hiss again. Something else crackled. Suddenly the air filled with crackling and hissing. It was deafening and blinding, as if everyone in the lab were shooting death rays at once. And then, to my terror, I smelled smoke.

When I got my eyes open, some machine—a Tesla coil?—was shooting lightning all around the room and something in the far corner had caught fire.

I looked for Tesla and Mark Twain. They were wrestling the ray gun away from Mr. Smith. One of the Simons was yelling, “Drop it, Jaya! Drop it!”

Where was Jaya? I couldn't see her.

A voice was yelling, “Jaya, watch out! Help her, Leo!” The voice sounded really familiar—almost like mine. I looked around. Where was Jaya? Who was talking?

“She's over by the window. Quick, Leo! Go help her!” The voice
was
mine! How? Where was it coming from?

No time to find out. I hauled myself to my feet and ran to the window.

Then one of the Simons—they were both so bloody and messed up now that I couldn't tell them apart—got away from the other one and jumped at Jaya. He pushed her over and she fell, hitting her head on the table leg with a loud crack. The ray gun went flying from her hand, and I saw it hit a metal tank. From the corner of my eye I saw what looked like lightning. Jaya was moaning and holding her head, and Simon was on top of her.

I threw myself on Simon and tore him off her with a strength I didn't know I had.

“Get out
now,
Simon!” yelled the other Simon. “The dark energy is destabilizing the portal! Run!”

The Simon I was fighting wrenched himself away and ran for the portal that Simon One had come out of. The whole thing was getting smaller.

Screaming, Simon leapt in.

The portal snapped shut behind him with a zipping wail, like a subway car crushing a zillion kittens.

The other Simon yelled, “Run, Mr. Smith! You have to make your ship!”

But Mr. Smith wasn't going anywhere. Tesla and Twain had him firmly by the arms.

The fire was spreading. Mr. Smith's crates and papers were blazing brighter than the electric lights, and the lightning was brighter than everything.

Tesla yelled something in Serbo-Croatian. It sounded like a curse. “The hydrogen!” he yelled.

“Everybody get out!” shouted Mark Twain. “It's going to explode!”

Swearing, the remaining Simon—it must have been Simon Two—jumped onto the space-age time machine. It disappeared with another tooth-jarring boom.

Jaya still looked stunned. I pulled her to her feet. “Come on! We've got to get out of here!” I yelled. We started for the door.

Then I remembered. “Wait! The time machine!”

“There's no time! Come on!” screamed Jaya, pulling my arm.

“You go! I'll get it!”

I wrenched free and ran across the room to where we'd left the traveling bag. I grabbed the bag just as flames were licking at the handle.