hear me? Not! One! Word! I've had a shithole day and I wanna relax."
Chet's mother dropped a plastic tumbler, which bounced twice, and rolled toChet's toe. He stepped over it, walked out the door, and took the elevator tothe 125th floor.
Chet burst into the guy who thought he was Nicola Tesla's apt and screamed.Nicola Tesla was strapped into a heavy wooden chair, with a metal hood over hishead. Arcs of electricity danced over his body, and he jerked and thrashedagainst the leather straps that bound his limbs. Unthinking, Chet ran forwardand grabbed the buckle that bound his wrist, and a giant's fist smashed intohim, hurling him across the room.
When he came to, the electric arcs were gone, but the guy who thought he wasNicola Tesla was motionless in his straps, under his hood.
Carefully, Chet came to his feet, and saw that the toe of his right sneaker hadbeen blown out, leaving behind charred canvas. His foot hurt -- burned.
He hobbled to the chair and gingerly prodded it, then jerked his hand back,though he hadn't been shocked. He bit his lip and stared. The wood was quiteweathered and elderly, though it had been oiled and had a rich, well-cared-forfinish. The leather straps were nightmarishly thick, gripping the guy whothought he was Nicola Tesla at the bicep and wrist, at the thigh and calf andankle. Livid bruises were already spreading at their edges.
Chet was struck by a sudden urge to climb into the ocean and _stay_ there. Just_stay_ there.
Under the hood, the guy who thought he was Nicola Tesla groaned. Chet gave aninvoluntary squeak and jumped a little. The guy who thought he was NicolaTesla's body snapped tense. "Who's there?" he said, his voice muffled by thehood.
"It's me, Chet."
"Chet? Damn. Damn, damn, damn." His right hand bent nearly double at the wristand teased the buckle of the strap free. With one hand free, the guy who thoughthe was Nicola Tesla quickly undid the straps on his upper body, then lifted awaythe hood. He pointedly did not look at Chet as he doubled over and undid thestraps on his legs and ankles.
Gingerly, he stood and stretched, then sighed tremendously.
"Chet, Chet, Chet. I hope I didn't frighten you too badly. This is Old Sparky,an exact replica of the electric chair at Sing-Sing Prison in New York. Edison,thief and charlatan that he was, insisted that his DC current was safer than myAC, and they built a chair that used my beautiful current to execute criminals,by the hundreds.
"Nicola Tesla and I became one when I was eight years old, and I received atremendous shock from an electrified fence. I was stuck to it, glued by thecurrent, and after a few moments, I just relaxed into the current -- befriendedit, if you will. That's when the spirit of Nicola Tesla, a-wandering through thewires for all the years since his death, infused my body.
"So now I use Old Sparky here to recharge -- please forgive the expression -- myconnection with the current. I once spent eight years in the chair, when Ineeded to disappear for a while. When I woke, I hadn't aged at all -- I didn'teven need to shave! What do you think of that?"
Chet was staring in horror at him. "You electrocute yourself? On purpose?"
"Why, yes! Think of it as a trick I do, if it makes you feel better. I couldshow you how to do it. . ." he trailed off, but a look of hunger had passed overhis face.
#
I get all kinds of access to bat-house records from the vid in my apt on my newworld. No one named Gaylord Ballozos ever lived in any bat-house. Apt 12525, andthe five above it, were never occupied. The records say that the locks havenever been used, the doors never opened. It won't be searched when they evacuatethe bat-house.
That's what the records say, anyway.
Electricity gives me the willies. The zaps of static from the dry air of the FTLI took home to Earth made me scream, little-boy squeaks that made the otherpassengers jump.
I don't remember that it was ever this hot in Toronto, even in the summer. Thesky is all overcast, so maybe it's a temperature inversion. Up here at SteelesAvenue, I'm so dehydrated that I spend a whole dime on a magnum of still waterand power-chug it, though you're not supposed to drink that way. Almost there.
#
The other kids in the abandoned apt on the 87th floor ignored me. They'd beenpaying less and less attention to me, ever since I started spending myafternoons up on 125, and I was getting a reputation as a keener for all thetime I spent with The Amazing Robotron.
That suited me fine; the corner of the gutted kitchen was as private a space asI was going to find in the bat-house. I had the apparatus that Nicola Tesla hadgiven me plugged into the AC outlet under the sink. I closed my eyes andbreathed deeply, concentrating on the moments after my breath left my chest,that calm like the ocean's silence. Smoothly, I reached out and grasped thehandle of the apparatus and squeezed.
The first time I tried this, under Nicola Tesla's supervision, I'd jerked myhand away and squeezed it between my legs as soon as the current shot throughme. Now, though, I could keep squeezing, slowly increasing the voltage andamperage, relaxing into the involuntary tension in my muscles.
I'd gotten so good at it that I'd started using the timer -- I could lean intothe current forever without it. I had it set for three hours, but when thecurrent died, it felt like no time at all had passed. I probed around myconsciousness for any revelation, but no spirit had come into my body during theexercise. The guy who thought he was Nicola Tesla didn't know if there were anyother spirits in the wire, but it stood to reason that if there was one, therehad to be more.
I stood, and felt incredibly calm and balanced and centered and I floated pastthe other kids. It was time for my session with The Amazing Robotron.
"Chet, how are you fee-ling?"
"I'm well, thank you." Nicola Tesla spoke well and carefully, and I'd started toape him.
"And what would you like to dis-cuss to-day?"
"I don't really have anything to talk about, honestly. Everything is fine."
"That is good. Do you have any new ob-ser-va-tions about your friends?"
"I'm sorry, no. I haven't been paying much attention lately."
"Why hav-en't you?"
"It just doesn't interest me, sorry."
"Why does-n't it in-ter-est you?"
"I just don't care about them, to be frank."
The Amazing Robotron was absolutely still for a moment. "Are things well withyour par-ents, too?"
"The same as always. I think they've found their niches." _Find your niche_ wasan expression I'd pirated from the guy who thought he was Nicola Tesla. I wasvery proud of it.
"In that case, why don't we end this mee-ting?"
I was surprised. The Amazing Robotron always demanded his full hour. "I'll seeyou on Wednesday, then?"
"I'm af-raid not, Chet. I will be gone for a few months -- I have to re-turnhome. There will be a sub-sti-tute coun-sel-or arri-ving next Monday."
My calm center shattered. Sweat sprang out on my palms. "What? You're leaving?How can you be leaving?"
"I'm so-rry, Chet. There is an em-er-gen-cy at home. I'll be back as soon as Ican."
"Frick that! How can you go? What'll I do if you don't come back? You're theonly one I can talk to!"
"I'm so-rry, Chet. I have to go."
"If you gave a shit, you'd stay. You can't just leave me here!" I knew as I saidit that it didn't make any sense, but a picture sprang into my mind, one thatI'd been carrying without knowing it for a long time: The Amazing Robotron andme as an adult, walking away from the bat-house, with suitcases, leavingtogether, forever. I felt a sob hiccough in my throat.
"I will re-turn, Chet. I did-n't wish to up-set you."
"Frick that! I don't give a shit if you come back, asshole."
#
Chet went straight to 87 and plugged in to the apparatus. He didn't set thetimer, and he stayed plugged in for nearly two days, when two fighting boystumbled into him and knocked his hand away. He was centered and numb again, anddidn't have any sense of the intervening time. He didn't even have to pee. Hewondered if he was trying to commit suicide.
He checked his comm and got the date, noticed with distant surprise that it wastwo days later, and wandered up to 125.
The guy who thought he was Nicola Tesla shouted a distant "Come in" when Chettapped on the door. He was playing with his ocean again. Chet felt his hairfloat up off his shoulders. He stopped and watched the coral squirm and dance.
"I spent nearly two days on the apparatus," Chet said.
"Eh? Very good, very good. You're progressing nicely."
"My counselor has left. He had to go home."
"Yes? Well, there you are."
"What were your parents like?"
"Nicola