Sword of a Thousand Suns

By Dr. Norman P. Johnson

Stirred from the ashes of Tesla's grand experiments in Colorado and the Russian Tunguska event, Sword of a Thousand Suns is the story of a global fight at CERN over the next great discovery of nature's laws that, like Shiva's Sword, could be a godly power or planet destroyer.

 

Physics dropout, Dr. Brad Jorsen, is rocke

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbey Normal Books
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9780999099247

Dr. Norman P. Johnson

Dr. Johnson splits his home between Woodinville, Washington and Molokai, Hawaii. He is married and has two grown daughters. Some of his many former lives include working under the AEC performing high-energy and theoretical particle experiments at Argonne National Laboratory. He later became one of the "Higgs Hunters" at the short-lived Superconducting Super Collider, including an in-between stint with NASA developing large-scale upper-atmospheric computer simulations. Dr. Johnson later helped design and deploy large-scale cellular and satellite digital telecommunications systems worldwide. He loves movies and has spent thousands of hours in obscure projection booths showing vintage 35mm films. He has several more works in process, including a sequel to Sometimes...I Don't Remember Much of the '70s and "Quantum Netopia," a novel about the first engineered GMO humans. In his off hours, he enjoys volcano skiing, raising chickens, deep-sea fishing, and scuba diving.

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Prologue

Pearl Pass, Colorado—June, 1908

The sun was slowly approaching the shimmering white snow-clad mountain peaks to the west. It had been warm and sunny all day despite the chilly altitude and lingering snow patches. At this altitude, there was not much atmosphere to filter the burning ultraviolet rays of the sun. The air was cooled by the lingering snow and high altitude, but anything directly exposed to the sun’s rays became brutally assaulted by the unfiltered high energy photons bombarding the earth. They were so intense and so energetic that molecular bonds were broken and chemical reactions were modified such that life itself was in jeopardy.

In the distance below the horizon and toward the many valleys that cut ragged scars across the very backbone of the continent, a small dust cloud rose up to signify the passing of organized motion—more specifically, humans and their beasts of burden. Horses were straining at two heavily laden wagons. They were dripping with arduous sweat, as were the two teamsters urging them forward with loud threatening shouts backed up with the occasional snap and sting of well-worn leather whips.

Marmots stared down from their rocky burrows, marveling at all the unnatural commotion. Ahead of the two wagons a lone horseman and pack mule led the way over incredibly rugged and rocky terrain, winding between snow-drifted patches of dirty melting snow. Though it was June, it was still way too early in the brief high-altitude summer of the Rockies for this much human activity.

The lead rider’s face was mostly shaded by a broad-brimmed black felt hat. His clothing clearly identified him as an outsider more used to city streets than mountain trails. He wore a dark full-breasted suit under a full-length black duster, which was now greyer and browner from the trail’s pervasive dust and mud. His face was handsomely carved, now slightly reddened by the intense high-altitude spring sun. Its chiseled features and pronounced well-cut jaw line spoke reams about hard times, long determination, uncommon resilience, and extraordinary strength of purpose. His deep-set brown eyes peering out from under the well-endowed hat brim glistened with intense concentration. They were in turn complemented by a bushy handlebar moustache, which was the style of the times, and set-off by equally bushy eyebrows that conveyed a serious no-nonsense character, quick to action and short on doubt.

The two wagons were driven by Mexican vaqueros who looked much more in place with their mud-encrusted serapes and filthy well-broken-in floppy sombreros than the lone rider leading. Their shouts to the horses echoed for miles off the rugged mountainous walls and were well comprehended both by beast and man, even though nobody within range could have possibly translated their earthy Spanish. The man in charge made his directions known by gestures and emphatic shouting of a few English words that the Mexicans understood, if not literally then certainly figuratively.

Several times during the day, the lead wagon had gotten stuck in the muddy snow as it made its way up the precarious mountain road. It had been back-breaking work getting this high in the Rockies this early in the summer season. The trip had already taken three days since leaving the bustling railroad warehouse in the little smoke and ash-choked coal mining town of Crested Butte. Two teams of six horses each pulled the two heavily laden wagons from the nine-thousand-foot rail head to more than twenty miles up Brush creek trail to Pearl Pass at over eleven thousand, five hundred feet.

The road was little more than a pair of worn tracks exactly the width of an ore wagon. Several small silver and copper mines high on the flanks of Teocalli Mountain had established the road some twenty years earlier. At the beginning of mining activities in this remote area, most of the high-altitude summer mines were supplied from the more established gold mining town of Aspen, which lay just fifteen miles on the other side of Pearl Pass. However, since the building of the railroad to Crested Butte, which was required to haul out the huge loads of shiny black coal from deep hard-rock anthracite mines, the road was eventually extended down the west side of the mountain range, providing a route to market less prone to avalanches. The two disparate mining towns from then on became linked by a singularly tenuous overland connection that was only passable with wheeled vehicles in the summertime.

Aspen was rich from the many gold and silver mines that lined the mountains surrounding it and as a result of this wealth, its downtown buildings were made more permanent—with brick, mortar, and stone. It even sported an opera house that rivaled the best that Denver could offer. Crested Butte, on the other hand, had a few sparse but hardy cattle ranches and a giant seam of much-in-demand, high-energy, clean-burning, steam-generating Anthracite coal. But coal was not gold, and thus Crested Butte could only afford buildings of wood and adobe. It soon became Aspen’s poor little sister on the other side of the mountain.

Coal also couldn’t afford to pay gold-digging American wages; thus, Crested Butte was primarily populated by Croatian and Serbian immigrant miners, and they, like the rest of the town, were owned lock, stock, and barrel by the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company. As such, the little town sported only a single Catholic church and a puny, three-block-long downtown storefront strip of mostly beer halls and upstairs bordellos that helped keep the hard-working miners entertained during the long brutal winters working the dangerous hard-rock mines deep underground. The annual winter snowfall was generally thirty feet or more. The first floor of all buildings were perpetually buried in darkness, and even outhouses had to be built two stories tall so they could be entered from snow level in the winter without tunneling.

The hard-rock mines on this side of the pass were mostly low grade, hard to get to, and usually only worked in late summer when the melting snow allowed access to the high country. Most of these had worn out rapidly and now the road itself was slowly being erased with every winter’s snow dump and the following inevitable spring avalanches, rock slides, and mud flows.

Zeldrack Petroski rode a silvery bay mare followed by a long lead rein attached to a large mule with two large boxes strapped to either side of the pack saddle, one of dynamite and the other carrying the latest in military rocket technology. He was confident of the mule’s steadfast footing in this rocky terrain, but it didn’t hurt to have a little distance between him and the explosive power of a modern iron-clad battleship firing all its guns at once. Several times when they had gotten high enough to encounter isolated deep snow drifts and residual avalanches barring their progress, he had used the dynamite to blow passages big enough for the wagons to pass. Hopefully they would not need to do this much more, as his final destination was now within sight.

He paused as he looked back at the struggling wagons. The two Mexican vaqueros he had hired in Pueblo didn’t seem to mind the hard work. They constantly jabbered at the horses and among each other, which apparently made good sense to them and the horses, but not to Petroski. He didn’t really care as long as he got results. They were making good headway today and he felt confident they would make it to his chosen site before sunset.

Looking in the direction they were headed and scanning the fourteen-thousand-foot craggy peaks ahead, he could now finally make out the reddish-hued ridge and cliffs stretching off to the north from the notch in the mountains that marked the highest point of the road between the two remote mining towns. The early miners working nearby had nicknamed this line of iron-rich red cliffs Electric Ridge. They noted early on that whenever storm clouds, or even snowstorms, were forced over this low pass of heavily laden metal-rich rock, lightening would invariably be sucked out of the angry clouds, discharging huge amounts of electrical energy into the cliffs, sometimes leaving scorched and burned scars in the colorful rocks as testament. It was a perfect spot for what Zel needed to do.

Zel, as he was called by his family back in Slovenia, began to feel excitement. His lifelong dream of discovery, fame, and fortune was now most certainly within his grasp. Too long he had been forced to prostitute his dreams, ideas, and talents to rich patrons who got richer and more famous than they earned or deserved. His face momentarily flushed with flames of hatred. He still harbored bad feelings whenever he thought about his ex-boss, that arrogant imposter Tesla.

It had been Zel’s idea, not Tesla, to build giant power transmitters based on electric Aether waves. It had been his idea to power these machines with equally giant alternating current electric generators. Tesla had stolen his inventions as his own and then gave them to the robber baron, Westinghouse. The days of Zel being someone else’s cow, to be sucked dry every day or butchered of his mind and flesh, only to be discarded as nothing better than dog food, was over at last. All this time he’d patiently endured insults and outrageous injustices. He had slowly stashed away valuable equipment and collected critical components needed to build his greatest invention yet. It was now his time to prove to the world that he was the genius behind the electrical carnival hucksters.

It was just getting dark when they finally arrived at the spot Zel had selected from an earlier trip. This was where he would build his apparatus straight up the sheer vertical cliff face of Electric Ridge. This was where Zel was going to earn his well-deserved glory and make scientific history. This was where Zel would challenge the very gods of nature and write his name forever in the annals of civilization.

His two workers quickly unhitched the horses, fed, watered them, and attached hobbles so they could be let out to graze and wander nearby until morning. Zel saw to the unloading of the dynamite a safe distance from the chosen campsite and proceeded to build a campfire to ward off the plunging temperature. One of the vaqueros, the self-appointed cook, began to make tortillas from corn meal, fry some salted meat, and boil the beans that would be their staple diet for the next few weeks. Zel, with the aid of a lantern, used this time to pace out the locations he had selected in his mind from his last visit and where he would be placing the major components of his ingenious machine.

The next couple of weeks were filled with dawn-to-dusk work as Zel and his two eager assistants laid out the major parts and began construction of the dominating centerpiece to his creation. Slowly it took form as it ascended up the cliff face. When the cliff refused to cooperate with the plan, the dynamite was put to good use, reshaping the rock, complying it to their demands.

When completed, it was a towering tube of thick green glass, six inches in diameter and made up of over fifty sections, each about four feet in length, stacked on top of one another. Each section had bulging flanges on each end with polished flat faces where they were mated together end-to-end. It had a supporting structure of wood scaffolding that held the entire array of flanged tubes tightly in place and solidly secured them to the cliff face. The glass tubes formed a single column of hollow pipe that was sealed airtight at each junction, and on each end.

Each glass section was carefully joined with the next one using thick bee’s wax and copper clamps. Each joint clamp was a round plate between the two joined tubes with about a two-inch diameter hole on the inside, which allowed the gas and eventual electrical discharge on the inside to propagate between the sections. On the outside of each glass section were copper plates and coils of thick copper tubing alongside each green glass section and connected between each joint clamp. When the sun shined on the entire apparatus from top to bottom, it shimmered with an impressive look of giant chain of green jewels set in an intricate golden bronze and copper lattice-work, perhaps intended as a mighty trinket for the mountain gods.

The whole structure lay vertically against the cliff face and was held in place by a system of guy ropes and pitons driven into the rock face. Zel had brought along many of the latest technological achievements, chief among them a newly designed gasoline-powered engine driving a special air compressor of his own construction that would be used to power air drills and hammers; it could also be run in reverse to evacuate the glass tube of all atmospheric gases and then partially refill it with a combination of compressed hydrogen and argon gases, along with finely powdered carbon and the very rare metal element, Cesium.

His two helpers didn’t fully understand English, or, for that matter, Slovenian so it was with a lot of emphatic, repetitive, and extreme gesturing that Zel was able to get their jobs effectively communicated. They watched carefully and when they finally comprehended, they worked diligently and with a dogged persistence to accomplish the job to Zel’s exacting standards. The work was intricate and sometimes arduous, but Zel had planned it all out to the minutest detail. When words failed, he would draw extensive diagrams, sometimes in the dirt, to communicate how everything should fit together.

Soon enough, the scaffolding structure with the glass tube in the middle was erected without as much as a crack or any leaks. A large copper cable ran the length of the structure so if a storm came by before it was ready, lightning strikes would be diverted from his apparatus and shunted down the cliff directly to his web-like copper grounding network buried in the rock rubble at the cliff base.

After two weeks of continuous work, Zel’s excitement noticeably heightened. Several times during construction, passing storm clouds released lightning strikes up and down the ridge. But none hit the apparatus directly, being instead diverted by his lightning rod system. He was now confident that he had picked the right spot to conduct his experiment. As the day for the critical test grew closer, he began to allow himself some degree of self-satisfaction that the fame and fortune he so richly deserved would soon be within his grasp.

Zel had rigged a much larger version of his lightening rod at the top of the apparatus that could be raised and lowered by air pressure from his gasoline motor at the bottom of the cliff. When the time was right, he simply had to operate a valve and the larger lightning rod would shoot up above the top of the cliff by fifty feet or more. This, he thought confidently, would be sufficient to entice the big lightning strikes that would be required to energize his apparatus and prove his theories.

If not, he had brought along the military rockets to act as lightning attractors. He had six of them deployed in a semi-circle around the top of the tower, all pointed straight up and ready to be fired by remote control switches located at the bottom. Each had a fine wire attached to the lightning rod that was wound on a spool inside the rocket and capable of deploying a mile of fine copper ribbon wire in less than a few seconds.

About a thousand yards away on an adjacent low ridge, he had erected another much smaller apparatus which would serve to measure the power radiated by his invention. This device was just a miniature version of his main apparatus—with one exception: it had two large copper plates sticking out on opposite sides like bat wings, acting as electrical aerials. These were attached to each end of a short horizontal glass tube which in turn had a few coils of copper wire wrapped around the center. The apparatus was connected by two wires to a large galvanic meter that was mounted on a vertical board so, with the aid of binoculars, it could be read from a distance. He wanted to show that when the main apparatus was excited by a powerful discharge of lightning, part of the energy would be picked up by this secondary receiving device and converted to useable electrical power.

This would prove that he was exciting a powerful Aether energy wave that could be used to deliver electrical power at a distance without the need of wires. He envisioned that one day every city would have a giant version of his Aether generator located at its very center. Buildings would have aerials deployed on their roof tops that could pick up his energy waves, powering all sorts of new and wondrous devices, such as electrical torches and motors, performing all the drudgeries now done by animal, steam, and human muscle.

Whenever Zel had a moment to himself, which was not very often, he would gaze into the distance almost in a spiritual trance. When the weather allowed, the view from Electric Ridge was intense. The clear mountain air revealed distant rocky peaks scouring the sky in all directions. To the west were the rugged Ohio range and the West Elk Mountains. To the north were the Maroon Bells and the East Elks. To the south were the Monarchs, and toward the east were the fourteen-thousand-foot peaks of the Collegiate Range, the very highest mountains in Colorado. From here he could view the world like a king on high or an Olympian God.

Zel could have stared at this gorgeous mountain scenery for hours if he had no other purpose. When he did, his thoughts would go back to his Balkan homeland. It had no such high rocky crags as here, but the feeling of remoteness, isolation, and raw wilderness imparted a soul-cleansing feeling reminiscent of when he wandered the hills and mountains of his youth. It seemed that everything owed its existence to the mountains. Here the purifying white snow fell every year in abundance, creating glaciers and clean mountain streams that fed the world below with life-giving waters and nourishment. How fitting that his revolutionary invention would be born here as well, and be brought down from the mountain like Moses delivering sacred tablets.

Near the completion of his apparatus, Zel was enjoying another clear sunny June afternoon, reveling again in the majestic mountain views, when he noticed down lower and in the dim distance a lone rider coming up the same trail they had hauled their equipment up a few weeks earlier. He smiled to himself with the realization that the last piece of his plan was coming together right on schedule. About an hour later, a well-dressed gentleman, although somewhat disheveled, approached the camp on an obviously agitated horse that was giving the rider a lot of trouble maintaining a consistent forward direction.

The man was dressed in a black gabardine suit that looked totally out of place on a mountain top. Zel could hear the curses of the frustrated rider long before he could make out his facial features. He wore a bowler hat that had problems staying in one place, so his hands were constantly busy either pulling on the reins or grabbing his hat to keep it in place. He was heard from a long distance to be speaking to his horse quite creatively with some baser forms of Shakespearian English.

You scurrilous equestrian glue-pot reject! Zel heard him yell in an unmistakable Irish accent as he held tightly to the saddle horn with one hand and his bowler hat with the other. He was bouncing painfully in the saddle as the horse tried every direction possible except the one marked by the wagon trail. You flea-bag four-legged imitation of a broke-back mule from hell! he continued without any concern for his new found audience. If I had any sense, I would put a bullet through your head and replace you with a slobbering cantankerous camel. But I couldn’t in all good conscience tolerate harming so many noble vultures with your poisonous carcass.

Zel just looked on with patient amusement as this spectacle continued unrepentant and unrepeated all the way to the camp. The horse suddenly stiffened its legs as they entered the camp area, whereupon the rider almost lost his seat and slid sideways halfway off the horse. Taking advantage of this position, he attempted to make his dismount as graceful as possible under the circumstances. After a near head down catastrophe, he regained secure ground more or less in a vertical position, turned to face Zel with as much composure as he could muster, doffed his hat, and bowed.

One of the vaqueros standing nearby rushed up and grabbed the reins just before the horse was turning to obviously bolt back down the trail in the direction of home and oats. The Mexican spoke to the horse some soothing words in Spanish, which seemed to calm it immediately. He led it away to a small grassy area where the other horses were staked out. The stranger looked on with somewhat amazement at the instant transformation of his horse from a seemingly uncontrollable devil-horse to a mild-mannered pony. He turned back to face the tall man who was obviously the person he had come to find.

Mister Petroski, I presume? he said as he flourished his hat across his belly and took another slight bow of respect.

"You must be the reporter from the Rocky Mountain Gazette that I asked for," Zel responded as a matter of fact.

Charles O’Riley at your service sir.

He stepped forward holding out his right hand in greeting, though he was still slightly unsteady from his ordeal. The dusty and sweaty reporter was slightly smaller and squatter than Zel. He appeared a bit rattled from his ordeal and obviously had little experience with travelling comfortably, or for that matter, practically, in rugged mountainous conditions.

Zel had long ago put away his suit and was dressed in the more comfortable and appropriate attire of the high-country worker: a thick plaid wool shirt, canvas bibbed coveralls with suspenders, and high-topped laced leather boots. Unlike O’Riley’s stingy brim bowler hat, which was mostly impractical and worn primarily for fashion, Zel still wore his comfortable broad-brimmed felt Stetson that kept the intense high-altitude sun off his eyes and face. They both had well developed handlebar moustaches and showed a couple days’ worth of stubble on their chins and cheeks, giving them a hardier appearance than what was otherwise just simple laziness. Shaving is highly impractical and quite optional while camping in the wilderness.

Zel stepped forward and grasped his outstretched hand firmly.

Pardon my abruptness, old chap, the reporter gasped, but could you perhaps offer a beaten and abused man of letters some form of rejuvenating repast?

Step over to my tent. I don’t drink, but I just happen to have a few bottles of tequila; my employees insisted on it as part of their inducement.

Any old port in a storm, the newcomer mused as he fell in behind Zel, who headed for the biggest of the three canvas tents. All three tents were situated near the base of the imposing and somewhat shaky structure climbing up the cliff face above.

As they walked along, Charles gazed up at the scaffolding rising at least two or three hundred feet from the base of the cliff and extending at least fifty feet above the top. He also noted several large wires and hoses running up the cliff beside the structure. The apparatus was in part obscured inside the scaffolding, but he could just make out a shiny cylindrical column resembling the backbone of some huge fossilized green-boned monster, partially enclosed by the accompanying wooden ribs and copper vessels that ran the full length of the structure.

I take it this is the great contraption you spoke about in your letter? Charles remarked with a sweep of his hand across the sight of the impressive structure.

Zel hardly slackened his long-legged stride and didn’t bother to look up.

It’s not a contraption, Mr. O’Riley, he retorted. It is an electrical energy machine and the greatest invention of the twentieth century. You are going to be uniquely privileged as the first newspaper reporter to witness it come to life.

Zel reached the tent and continued inside. Mr. O’Riley hesitated, still staring up at the imposing structure, searching for more details to register in his reporter’s eye. Zel reemerged almost immediately with a large brown bottle encased in a loose basket-weave jacket in one hand and two heavy clay mugs in the other, which, from the dark stains inside, were more accustomed to coffee than cocktails. Zel gestured for Mr. O’Riley to follow him to a nearby work table littered with papers and odd-shaped devices.

A sizable rock lay on top of each paper pile keeping everything in place. This was clearly necessary due to the almost continual wind that blew from west to east as the atmosphere climbed over the high Rockies bringing Pacific weather and moisture to the Great Plains hundreds of miles farther east and downwind.

Zel placed the bottle and mugs on the table and pulled up a slightly rickety stool on one side as he gestured for Mr. O’Riley to do likewise. Zel uncorked the bottle and began to pour a yellowish-brown liquid into one of the mugs. He pushed the cup toward Mr. O’Riley who was getting settled on his shaky stool and then turned around to a fire pit nearby; he picked up a battered and blackened coffee pot that had been sitting on hot coals, left over from an earlier meal. As he poured some of the thick, well-boiled liquid into his own mug, Zel looked at Mr. O’Riley.

What do you know about Aether waves, Mr. O’Riley?

Aether waves? he replied, perplexed.

"Yes. Aether waves. Perhaps, Mr. O’Riley, you know something of the more common nomenclature, Hertzian waves, named after the great German scientist who discovered them," Zel explained as he took a big gulp of the steaming hot liquid.

Charles thought Zel’s mouth must be made of asbestos because the obviously boiling liquid seemed not to give Zel any concern for something that obviously would have made a normal person spit and scream with pain. He took a big gulp of the cooler and almost certainly more soothing Mexican liquor from his cup as he eyed the man opposite him.

Please, call me Char-gh, Charles, he stuttered as he almost gagged in trying to reply. Finally, he was able to sputter out, Th-this is g-good Tequila. Cheers! He saluted Zel with his cup and promptly took another big gulp.

I wouldn’t know, Mr. O’Riley, Zel explained patiently. Perhaps you can inquire of my men where to get some when you get back to Denver. Now...back to my machine.

Charles took another drink but this time there was only the hint of some discomfort as he blinked back his tears.

Ah, yes. Yes. The machine, he said gesturing toward the tower.

Charles was beginning to loosen up from his arduous travels and feeling was slowly returning to his posterior. He gestured wildly at the apparatus looming over them. Exactly what is it that this thing is supposed to do and why in God’s name did you have to build it in such a hellishly forsaken place?

I will answer your second question first, Zel stated slowly so that even an impaired halfwit could follow. I need tremendous amounts of energy to activate even this small version of my apparatus. Here I hope to obtain a reliable source of natural electrical discharges which are necessary to power my machine—

You mean lightning? Charles blurted out.

He took another drink, draining his mug, and placed it back on the table near the clay bottle. The intent was obvious and Zel reluctantly refilled his mug.

Isn’t that a little dangerous? Someone could get hurt. All that wood could catch fire. Charles gestured at the apparatus with his full cup.

Zel replaced the cork in the clay bottle as Charles greedily took another long drink.

Zel looked at Charles suspiciously. Shouldn’t you be taking notes, Mr. O’Riley?

Of course, pardon me. I got so caught up in our pleasant conversation I almost forgot. By all means, my editor asked for someone to come up here and find out all about your machine that you described in your letter. Apparently, me straw was a wee bit short. Just a second.

He held his free hand up waving it haltingly as he put the mug down and began searching his breast pockets. He quickly found and retrieved a small battered leather-bound notebook and a half-chewed pencil from an inside coat pocket. He leafed through many pages looking for an empty one. Finding one at last, he quickly scribbled something and then looked up at Zel.

Could you tell me what day this is old chap? I seem to have lost all connection with time in getting to this God-forsaken wilderness.

It’s June twenty-eighth in the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and eight. Zel was beginning to wonder if he should remove the Tequila from the table.

Ah yes, it is, he went on with a smile. He paused while he furiously wrote some more in his little book. Looking up again, he seemed to be thinking or composing his next question. And again, pardon my ignorance, but where is it exactly that we are at, here at the present? he said while pointing down at the ground.

Zel looked Charles directly in the eyes hoping he would detect his disdain with this behavior. We are near Pearl Pass in the Teocalli Mountain range of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. This cliff face we are on is part of Electric Ridge, which runs for about five miles along the top of the pass. He gestured in both directions indicating the same reddish cliffs that meandered off in a northwesterly to southeasterly line.

Ah yes, indeed. Could you spell Teocalli for me? asked Charles as he furiously scribbled some more in his little book.

T-E-O-C-O-L-L-I replied Zel. He began to reach for the clay bottle but Charles beat him to it. Grasping the bottle firmly with both hands, he filled the mug to the top.

You don’t mind, my good fellow. But I think I am onto something here. I must congratulate your employees in their very fine taste for this Tequila. You simply must tell me where you got it.

Can we get back to the machine? Zel interjected trying to control his growing anger.

Ah. The apparatus. Yes. Of course, he managed to sputter out between two sips from his mug. What is it again that you call this thing?

It is not a thing, Zel growled, exasperated at the reporter’s lack of proper interest in his accomplishments. What is it exactly, Mr. O’Riley, that you normally report on at your newspaper?

Who? Me? Charles asked, perplexed that anyone would question his credentials. I mostly cover sports and politics, he interjected with a flourish of his hand. As it is between elections and any major sporting events, my editor thought I deserved a little rest and relaxation in the mountains. I really have no idea why he might think I would enjoy having my ass pounded into something resembling ground beef or for that matter being fried to a bloody crisp in the daytime only to be frozen like my former wife’s heart at night. I’m beginning to think he just wanted to get me out of town for some nefarious reason. He fell silent and pensive for a few seconds as he emptied his mug.

Nonetheless, Mr. O’Riley, Zel explained deadly seriously, you have been assigned to report on this great achievement for mankind and I assure you that fame and fortune will surely be your reward if you will just concentrate on doing your job.

On the contrary, Charles exploded with a giant smile, it is you who will be famous when I tell the world of your gigantic, world-shattering achievement.

Charles’ smile made Zel wonder if this man was in full possession of what little sane faculties he might have left.

The reporter feigned being fully engrossed with Zel’s explanation of his invention as he launched into his favorite subject again. Charles wrote almost continuously as Zel gave him a complete background briefing of all the important steps undertaken by other scientists and engineers in their discovery and subsequent investigations into the phenomena of transmitting electrical power, wirelessly, through the air.

He gestured to his apparatus many times and drew diagrams to help with Mr. O’Riley’s edification. Charles asked several questions, interrupting Zel’s progress, but that only seemed to heighten Zel’s enthusiasm as he became more and more engrossed with his story. At some point it became necessary to get up from the table and move closer to the apparatus for a more detailed examination. The reporter tucked the pencil behind his ear, put the notebook in his vest pocket, refilled his mug with more of the foul-tasting liquid, and scurried after Zel as he received a personal guided tour.

In the course of Zel’s explanations, it became evident that the apparatus was more or less completed and ready for powering up. Zel was beginning to watch his barometer about every hour, looking for any hint of a declining air pressure that might signal an oncoming storm system.

Finally, Zel finished his exposition and then excused himself to begin working with the gasoline-powered compressor. He wanted to prepare his apparatus by filling the glass column with his special mixture of gases, carbon powder, and finely ground particles of Cesium. Zel mentioned to Charles that the barometer was lowering, which could predict a storm approaching and he wanted to watch closely to see if it might be strong enough to conduct his experiment.

Charles asked him to wait just a few minutes more. He rushed to his horse, which had settled into a nearby meadow munching patches of grass, unconcerned about any earlier apprehensions of being in the mountains or carrying a newspaper reporter. Charles returned carrying one of the latest inventions of the Kodak company—a portable folding bellows camera.

Please! he shouted to the two Mexicans hovering nearby.

He motioned for them to join Zel while he prepared the camera by loading it with a film magazine. Each magazine contained two flat sheets of 5 x 7 celluloid film on each side, which were protected from being exposed to light by two removable metal sheets. After loading the magazine in the back of the camera, he removed the inside protective metal sheet and then held the camera at eye level as he lined up the three subjects and part of the apparatus in the background.

Smile, he yelled as he pushed down the shutter lever exposing the first film sheet.

That was good, but I should take another one just in case. This will be a great addition to my story about your invention. He replaced the metal sheet to the exposed side, removed the magazine from the camera, flipped it over, and replaced it in the camera. He removed the second metal sheet, held up the camera, and yelled, Watch the birdie! as he clicked off the second exposure.

That’s great! he shouted, as he replaced the protective metal sheet in the film magazine. Thank you very much. You may go about your duties while I work on my story.

He waved them off as he looked around for his empty mug he had set down before getting his camera. He spotted it sitting on a big rock near the table next to Zel’s tent. He walked over to it, placed the camera on the ground in the shade of the rock, picked up the mug and proceeded to settle himself at the table. Looking around to make sure nobody was paying him any attention, he poured himself another goodly portion of the Tequila and began leafing casually through his notes. He began to gain a perplexed look as he added notes over the top of older notes, took a long swig of the mug, and added little diagrams and arrows in a vain attempt to make it all clear.

Zel went back to work and finished filling the long glass column with his mixture of gases and metallic powders. He shut down the noisy compressor with a self-satisfied, even smug look indicating all was well and now it was just a matter of time. He returned to his tent pleased to note a further drop in the barometer reading.

Clouds began hiding the sun as it settled toward the western horizon. Zel noted the dark color of these clouds and their blossoming height above the mountains, which indicated that his waiting might finally be at end.

The sun had been hiding behind the building thunderheads to the west, but just before setting, it broke through briefly between the bottom of the clouds and the mountain-tops bathing everything in an eerie flame-like brilliance of deep yellow and amber rays. One of the vaqueros began lighting torches and whale-oil lamps as the sun slowly dipped behind the now glowing red mountain peaks.

Looking for the reporter, Zel spotted him in animated discussion with one of the vaqueros as the cook prepared the evening’s tortillas and beans. They were passing one of the tequila bottles back and forth and Zel was surprised to see that the vaquero seemed to understand his gibberish and both were laughing. Zel tried to ignore it and concentrate on the impending actions he must perform to complete the most exhilarating adventure of his life. Only hours now separated him from his life’s destiny.

Zel continued to alternately hover around his equipment and check the barometer as the sky grew darker and the wind began to build. He constantly checked the gauges on the compressor and the apparatus, making sure they stayed pinned to the numbers he required. Rain began to fitfully spit from the low passing clouds. One of the vaqueros brought him a rain poncho and stayed to help him put it on. The reporter and cook, however, seemed reluctant to leave the comfort of the camp fire.

Soon the pot of well-boiled chili beans, roasted venison, and tortillas were placed on the table for everyone to eat. The men hastily put away the evening meal and continued to stand around the fire for warmth and comfort as the weather grew more threatening.

As the rain started in earnest, they all donned rain ponchos and stood uneasily around the fire, rubbing their hands above the flames and sipping on the brown bottle a little more anxiously. They were all mostly looking down at the fire, while some warily— and one expectantly—would glance up from time to time at the darkening clouds passing over. They began to hear a rumbling and occasional booming in the distance. Finally, Zel gave the signal that he was going to start the experiment.

Zel fired up the gasoline air compressor. When it was revved to its highest power setting, he turned a big valve handle, causing a loud whooshing sound as compressed air expanded into a long hose stretching up the cliff. From the dim light thrown up the cliff by their campfire, they could see the giant lightning rod begin to move up above the top of the apparatus.

It seemed to Charles that the rod with its copper ball on top was trying to beckon a ride from a passing freight train of swirling, visceral raw energy. Was it courageous or foolish to grab powers beyond your imagination? Was it reckless and mad to beckon way beyond your proper reach, or was it a singular stroke of genius?

Zel watched the rod come to rest at its full extension. Now it was time for the real test. He grabbed one of six switches attached to a board near the compressor and closed it. Immediately, there was another tremendous whoosh as a sky rocket shot straight up above the cliff, unreeling a fine line of copper wire as it disappeared into the black clouds directly above.

In response, there appeared a faint purplish glow dancing around the base of the machine. Charles could hear a faint crackling sound coming from the apparatus. He set down his mug without looking away and fished out his notebook from under his poncho. The vaquero standing near the fire began to mumble the rosary in Spanish as the sound changed to something resembling a pit full of rattlesnakes being poked with a very big stick.

The hair on Charles neck began to stand up and his skin began to crawl. He looked at Zel and witnessed Zel’s eyes wide open and pinned to the top of the apparatus. A sardonic grin was stretched across his face, giving him a grotesque look in the bright flashes of lightning. He picked up his mug, took another long drink, and then began to feverishly write in his notebook. Zel closed another switch and another rocket roared off into the black inferno churning overhead.

A bright flash of light exploded from everywhere, lighting up the entire ridge and the air was split by a huge explosion. The vaqueros instinctively jumped, making the sign of the cross in a futile attempt to gain immunity. Charles started looking around for a place to hide in case things got any worse. Zel stood transfixed by his apparatus as the glass tube flickered with a dull yellowish-green light, presumably from the massive electrical discharge it had just received.

Charles became aware of a strong ozone smell. He feverishly wrote some more in his notebook as he began to hear that crackling sound again coming from the top of the apparatus. He looked up and noticed another rocket tracing a fiery path into the clouds. Another giant flash of lightning hit the rod, causing the top of the apparatus to be bathed in a blue dancing fire that began to expand down the copper coils. The glass tube began to glow more brightly with an intense greenish-blue light, spilling out lightning up the entire ridge for thousands of feet in both directions.

Zel fired two rockets at once. As they carved a path of fire into the belly of another passing angry cloud, two bright white bolts of blue-white plasma explode down the trail of smoke, ending directly at the rod. A shock wave of sound exploded in a thunderous crash of a thousand giant gongs being hammered at once. Everyone instinctively jerked in response.

The entire apparatus flashed a brilliant greenish-blue as smaller bolts of jagged electricity danced down the outside of the glass tube along the copper coils in an eerie snake-like pattern. Charles could hear a rasping noise now coming up out of the ground below his feet. He glanced down at his lead pencil and was temporarily mesmerized at the tiny wisps of electricity dancing off the exposed end of the lead point. Zel let out a whoop of excitement and began running toward the distant detector, which he could already see was lit up with a sympathetic dancing glow of light.

No sooner had the effects of the first bolt of lightning faded from the apparatus when the rod on top began to glow again with a ghostly mantle of purple fuzzy light. No rocket was needed this time. Another bright bolt shot out from the base of what was now a solid ceiling of angry clouds. This time it followed a crazy zigzag path ending up at the rod. Again, the air was violently split apart only to be sucked back upon itself, creating another ear-damaging thunderclap. Charles dropped his notebook and pencil to cover his ears in an attempt to save his eardrums. The area was again bathed in a bright unearthly blue-white light that transformed normal colors into hellish hues of electric fire.

Charles reached down for his mug of fortification without taking his eyes off the dancing display of lights. As he brought it up to his face, he felt a warm stream of brown liquid escaping out of a crack and onto his hand. Before he could get the mug to his lips, it disintegrated, throwing what was left of its contents all over his face and hands. It was then he became aware of the burning sensation. He dropped the remains of the handle and yelped in pain and surprise. Nobody heard him continue to scream, as more lightning bolts began striking the apparatus almost continuously.

Zel came running up to Charles out of the intermittent darkness between brilliant flashes of lightning. Charles was still trying to get the hot tequila wiped off his face and hands as Zel began screaming in his ear.

It’s working! he yelled. He grabbed Charles by the shoulders and began shaking him violently in order to get his words through the glaze of fear.

It’s working just like I predicted. Maybe even better! The readings at the detector site are completely off the scale! Look! he commanded, and swung Charles around in the direction from where he came.

Charles was not the least bit surprised when he saw flames exploding around the small device. He looked back at Zel with desperation pouring out of every cell in his body.

We’ve got to get out of here! he yelled back at Zel and grabbed him by the shoulders. What in most Holy God have you done?

That’s right! Zel yelled back, bubbling with tremendous excitement. I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’ve captured the power of the universe! It’s now mine! All mine!

Charles just looked at him and saw nothing but a screaming lunatic hell-bent on destroying him and all that was sacred and profound. Charles let go and broke free from Zel’s grasp.

We’ve got to get out of here! Charles screamed at the top of his lungs in order to be heard above the constant thundering of lightning striking the apparatus.

Zel just stared at him, comprehending nothing.

Where are the horses? Charles asked no one in particular as he looked about frantically. The vaqueros were nowhere to be seen. Neither were the horses.

Charles looked back trying to decide what to do next. He pointed at the machine and shouted, Turn that thing off! It’s going to kill us!

Zel was mesmerized by the machine, lit up and glowing with dancing discharges up and down its length, a look of awe and rapture etched on his face. Then multiple continuous bolts struck the rod with a tremendous crash of thunder and intense flashes of blue-white light. Instantly, both Charles and Zel sensed something different was happening.

The bottom of the glass column continued to glow faintly after the lightning dissipated momentarily. A tiny, yet intense bluish point of light danced around randomly and suddenly jumped out of the glass column and began dancing around the base of the apparatus. They could hear a loud buzzing sound coming from the object as it changed slowly to a tiny bluish halo and back to a point of intense light. As it changed colors, it seemed to dip into the ground only to reappear a few feet away. It rose up the cliff a few feet and then simply disappeared.

The lightning resumed its almost continual hits on the apparatus. Other bolts of lightning were seen striking the ridge at many points along the ridge, disappearing in the distant misting rain. The two men stood transfixed as a few more of these little bright dots of bluish-white light seemed to appear out of the lower end of the glowing glass tube. Sometimes the dots of light were red turning blue and then back again, falling sometimes into the earth, bouncing back up and sometimes just disappearing altogether.

Zel and Charles began to back away from one of the glowing objects as it began to drift erratically in their direction, like a dancing spark from a welder’s torch. This one had a strange halo of deep blue radiance around a tiny black center. Charles backed away a little faster than Zel, who was obviously more fascinated by this odd phenomenon. He approached the object, which slowly began to reignite its blue halo.

It seemed to dance about randomly with a life of its own. It would dip down and disappear into the ground only to pop up again in another location. Zel noticed that its movement seemed to be in tune with the lightning bolts that kept hitting the apparatus and the cliff nearby. Each time there was a blast of lightning, the little intense spark of light would jump first below the ground and then back out again.

Zel could feel the effect of static electricity coming from his buried grounding system of wires and driven ground rods. It seemed to prefer being more or less right at ground level, but each time the system of ground wires was electrified with another bolt hitting the apparatus, it would jump either up or down depending on something Zel could not quite understand. One seemed to be moving closer to where the two men stood and Zel stepped forward to get a better look.

Just as it came within an arm’s length, Zel reached out–as if to touch it—but the strange object began to reverse its drift downward and ascended rapidly, rising in response to another series of lightning bolts striking the ridge nearby. It quickly accelerated toward each strike of lightning along the cliff, moving rapidly away and curving toward the northwest, skirting along the upper cliff edge as lightning struck all along the ridge. It skirted along the cliff face and soon even its intense light disappeared into the watery darkness. Electric Ridge was demonstrating its trademark name in good fashion this night.

Zel groaned loudly with the realization of extreme pain coming from his outstretched hand. He grabbed the injured hand with his other and held it up to his face. In the dim light from the fire and the occasional bright flash of lightning, he was shocked to see black patches of burned and scorched skin on his finger tips that had come closest to the object. Grimacing from the painful damage to his fingers, he wondered how it could burn his fingers so intensely from such a distance.

Meanwhile Charles was searching around near the main tent looking for his saddle bags and any other belongings he might have left there. Zel ran up to him holding his burned fingers out for his inspection.

Look at this! he was able to blurt out in spite of the pain. That glowing spark is radioactive! It burned me at a distance. It must be some new form of Roentgen ray and I produced it right here!

That’s marvelous, O’Riley countered without any semblance of the excitement affecting Zel’s claim. "Congratulations. Now can you help me find my notebook? I must have dropped it somewhere