*temp papers 0

*temp freq 3
*temp pow 1
*temp line ""
*temp keyfreq 0
*temp bodyguards true
*temp audience 0
*temp testpassed false

*set year 1888

*text_image nyt1888.png center The New York Times, 1888

[b]WESTERN UNION LINEMAN KILLED BY ALTERNATING CURRENT[/b]

*line_break
A telegraph lineman named John Feeks met a horrible death on Chambers Street last
Friday afternoon from contact with an electric-light wire. He presented a terrible
sight as he died on the network of wires in midair, while the deadly fluid made his
body sizzle and his blood poured down on the sidewalk and over the clothing of the
horrified spectators…. The man smoldered slowly for the best part of two hours,
suspended facedown above the crowd of thousands, as the fire brigade looked for a
way to cut the power…. Every few seconds blue flames spurted from various parts of
his body, fiery tongues twisting from his mouth.

[b]EXECUTIVE DECISIONS[/b]
*line_break
Later this week, a specialized commission appointed by state governor David B. Hill
is scheduled to vote to determine a new, more humane system of execution to replace
hanging…. When pressed for comment, the great inventor Thomas Alva Edison advised
the city council with dark humor to "hire out your criminals as linemen to the New
York electric lighting companies."

[b]DEATH DOES NOT STOP AT THE DOOR[/b]

*line_break
"…but comes right into the house, and perhaps you are closing the door or turning
on the gas, and you're killed," says one expert on dangerous alternating currents.
Merely seeing how our sidewalks are littered with the bodies of insects and birds
is sufficient to comprehend his warning…. Angry citizens have taken it upon
themselves to chop down arc-light towers and ugly electric poles, restoring beauty
and safety to our streets…. The Boston suburb of Newton has opted out of
electricity altogether, considering electric lights "a wasteful indulgence, when
honest citizens should be in bed by ten o'clock."

[b]PROCEEDINGS FROM THE CONFERENCE OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ELECTRICAL

ENGINEERS[/b]
*line_break
A society of electrical engineers and their financiers met at Columbia College last
year to discuss advances in their field…. The proceedings have just been made
public and involve many notable names, as well as some newcomers… Among them, one
Nicola Pesla demonstrated his @{ch2_presentation alternating current motor, a
device he claims can outperform the famous Edison dynamo. | magic trick involving
alternating current, much to the astonishment of the audience. | financial plan to
rival Thomas Edison's direct current monopoly. }

[b]PERSONAL ADVERTISEMENTS SECTION[/b]

*line_break
Offering 25¢ apiece for any stray hounds, cats, or miscellaneous animals brought
alive to the laboratory of one H.P. Brown in West Orange, NJ. No questions asked.
*page_break Next Chapter

*text_image Header03.png center Chapter 3: The Electric Wire Panic

A rubber-gloved hand folds away the top of the newspaper to capture your attention.
"My dear $!{name}, let me relieve you of this pulp, lest I be concerned you're
developing masochistic tendencies." Tesla is leaning over the table and your
freshly steaming breakfast, outfitted in an electrician's black rubber apron.
"Besides, I need the chair you're presently occupying."

*fake_choice
#"Somebody died."
*set papers 1

#"They got your name wrong."

*set papers 2

#"Don't you think it's important to stay informed?"

*set papers 3

@{papers "Truly, a Times columnist is more starved for news than I

suspected,"|"That is, in fact, less shameful than getting named in a Times
columnist's rubric," | "Indeed it is—perhaps the Times' columnists should try it
themselves,"} he says merrily and folds your newspaper into quarters, undeterred.

@{papers "It's not just—he was killed because a telegraph wire was shorted with an
alternating electric somewhere." | "Mr. Edison seems to have no qualms about it." |
"There is a world outside of the laboratory, Mr. Tesla." } You watch him sweep away
the crumbs around your unfinished breakfast, then crouch low to verify the
geometric alignment of the salt and pepper shakers.

@{papers "It's not alternating current that killed him," | "Some make a name for
themselves in the yellow papers,"| "There certainly is,"} he says, focused on the
silverware, @{papers "it's misfortune. |"some in research papers. | "and they can
keep it.} Now, may I have that chair?"

You know that when he gets worked up like this, there's no point in arguing. And so
early today…. You stand up with an extended grunt, wistfully eyeing your breakfast.
Ever since you moved into your very own laboratory on Liberty Street, he has become
nocturnal. What other choice do you have, when the only time the upstairs Globe
Stationery & Printing Company doesn't need electrical power is between 10 PM and 5
AM?

"Marvelous!" He claps his hands and twirls away with the chair. "Come now, forget
these depressing matters. We shall make this laboratory presentable!" He carefully
sets the chair down on a metallic disk atop some kind of hydraulic contraption,
then steps backwards to admire the mysterious throne.

You cast a look at the piles of electrical equipment across the basement, the
creative clutter that's never known order in the six months since you've received
keys to the basement lab. Your eyes have become so adjusted to the immovable stacks
of magnets, coils of corroding copper wire, arrangements of glass jugs, tubes of
glowing gas, and parades of severed frog legs impaled with electrodes that this
menagerie appears to you now as a fixture of the place, a chaos most natural. You
don't even remember a time when you didn't have to contort yourself to get around
the mess.
"What exactly do you mean by 'presentable,' sir?"

He scoffs. "I cannot vouch for American hospitality, but where I come from, the
guest is king." He takes a momentary pause from energetically sweeping the floor.
"In fact, more than king. A guest is venerated. Hospitality is a sacred d—"

"Hold on a minute," you interrupt his tangent. "What guest?"

A grin curls the corners of his mustache. "The most remarkable." He pedagogically
wags a finger. "You shall see." Now you notice that his hair is impeccably groomed,
his slacks ironed and creased. This guest must be important to him.

*fake_choice
#I suppose I could help by emptying the old Leyden jars.
*set science %+5
The head-sized Leyden jars sit arranged in a precariously balanced
pyramid, dusty disused vases for electrical flowers. A single copper prong sticks
out the topside of each lid; a chain hangs from the underside. As you unscrew the
lid and pull the electrode chain out, a sticky, viscous brown sludge from the
bottom clings to it in strands like foul-smelling honey.

It's residue from your experiments with different types of acid between
the contacts. A favorable substance would conduct large amounts of electrical
charge between the chain and the metallic coating on the jar. Tesla would then clip
the prong to a generator, fill the Leyden jar with electrostatic charge, and then
store this charge for quite some time, to take with him wherever he pleased.

Lightning in a bottle.

#The glowing Geissler tubes could be brought out on display.

*set engineering %+5
The finger-wide glass tubes chime against each other as you carefully
slide them off the topmost shelf. They must be handled with utmost care, like the
most precious of Christmas ornaments. Tesla had the uranium glass filled with
rarefied argon and blown into captivating shapes, spirals, and zig-zags.

But the show cannot start without the conductor—Tesla's resonant

transformer. A clunky prototype sits on his desk, one coil as tall as your forearm
with a pronged electrode at the top. You flip the switch on the floodgates of
alternating current and the coil awakens with a faint, unassuming hum; a crackle;
and a whiff of ozone. A small arc, shorter than the white of your fingernail, jumps
the air gap between the electrode and a grounding wire. As the little lightning
dances, the glass tubes in your hands begin to emit a faint green light, weak at
first, then steadily saturating until it can be seen to penetrate the soft pink
skin of your palms. All this without any secret wires. You arrange the radiant
shapes inside the transformer's electric field and admire the excited gas.

Say what you will about Edison's bulbs—Tesla's lights work unplugged.

#The frog legs need to go.

*set empathy %+5
Tesla likes to make the point that we ourselves are electricity. What
better way to demonstrate this than to make frog legs dance with electrical jolts?

Unfortunately, frog cadavers make for short-lived didactic tools. This

parade of legs has become leathery, pinned onto a demonstration board that has
turned into its own funeral procession. At least they have served science—if wiring
them up and zapping them in a coordinated fashion before impressionable visitors
counts as such. Their nerves yielded to the kiss of electricity, a miniature
network of conductors much like the ones that run through poles above your head and
tunnels under your feet, while Tesla worked the switches, biting his tongue with
impish concentration.

But it only works on legs that are fresh. As you slide the withered
legs into the garbage bin, you wonder whether the next time Tesla is in need of
demonstration specimens he would be willing to wade through Central Park himself,
net in hand.

#I'll just go back to my breakfast.

*set individual %+5
If this laboratory wasn't meant to be tidy when you're doing important
research, then why should it be tidy when you're receiving guests? No point in
keeping up appearances.

And even though Tesla doesn't seem to need sustenance to work, you
certainly do.

You watch him muttering to himself, arranging his impossibly complicated equipment.
He takes up one task, and then drops it when his eyes catch the next, spinning
around, alternating between priorities like a confused compass needle.

You've already made some good progress here, but there have also been some…
experimental concepts. Perhaps if this guest is so important, you should put one of
those conversation pieces out of sight.

*fake_choice
#Hide the failed 'thought camera.'
*set ch3_invention 1
An abandoned, half-disassembled photographic camera sits on the shelf,
various tubes and wires snaking out of it. In front of the aperture, it sports a
horrifying extension meant to hook one's eyelids open. Tesla had a theory: "A
definite image formed in thought must, by reflex action, produce a corresponding
image on the retina, which might possibly be read by suitable apparatus." He had
hoped this retinal image might be projected onto a screen, so that the objects
imagined by a person would be clearly reflected on the screen as they were formed.
"In this way, every thought of the individual could be read. Our minds would then,
indeed, be like open books," read his dictation.

For lack of a subject willing to volunteer their eyes as windows into

their soul, Tesla decided to test the apparatus on himself. You still remember the
way his face blanched when the photographic plate developed. You would have thought
he saw a ghost, but it was merely a picture of a boy on a horse. He seared the
image off with bright light, closed himself in his office for three days, and never
mentioned the invention again.

#Hide the failed 'brain bath.'

*set ch3_invention 2
Tesla had no shortage of excuses to run currents through his body.
Among other things, he believed in the application of electricity to his brain to
stimulate his mental capacities "in the same way it stimulates plant growth." On a
particularly altruistic day, he contrived a kind of brain bath for school students,
wherein they would be subjected to invisible high-frequency electric fields in
order to facilitate learning and even, as he said: "turn dull students into bright
ones, saturating the classrooms with infinitesimal electrical waves."
 A mesh of wires lies tangled on the shelf, each intersection of its
grid blooming with a bowl-shaped electric wave-transmission antenna. Tesla's idea
had been to wire entire walls of a classroom without the pupils' knowledge. Once
you had submitted the proposal, the superintendent of New York schools, William H.
Maxwell, had signed his approval. The first test class did not report anything but
their hair standing on end, the crackle of static whenever they touched each other,
and a funny smell. One child, however, claimed to be able to hear messages from an
underground telegraph line. She transcribed a message in Morse code that contained
the encrypted coordinates of a US naval convoy in the Atlantic. As soon as you cut
the power, she had no memory of such a thing. Tesla bargained with a Navy officer
not to take the girl away for investigation by promising to discontinue the
experiment immediately. And that was the end of that.

#Hide the 'ozone cream.'

*set ch3_invention 3
Ever since his time in the ditches, Tesla has been obsessed with
detoxifying his surroundings. And since he purchased a microscope, his obsession
has extended by several negative orders of magnitude into the microscopic level.
His drinking water must be boiled multiple times and inspected under the infernal
Leeuwenhoek lens.

Ozone, the sharp perfume of electrical engineering, also happens to be

a potent germicide. Once he observed this, he developed a technique to bubble the
ozone through different types of oils atop his high-voltage transformer coil to
make a therapeutic gel. He claimed the gel would sanitize the body and heal any
ailments of the flesh.

It did not get to the clinical testing stage. Once you both started
slathering the gel onto yourselves, you noticed some peculiar side effects. First
it was dust, feathers, and scraps of paper that began clinging to your skin, caught
by the microscopic magnetism of static electricity. The second application of the
gel intensified the effect. Your hair became unruly. A touch with any metallic
object sent a spark through your fingertip. The next application made electric
lamps flicker in your proximity. Ten applications after that, lightning struck the
laboratory building while you were both present inside, then struck your apartments
the same night while you were sleeping. Tesla showed up to work the next day with
his suit singed and smoking, after an electric pole he had leaned on sent him
flying three meters across the pavement.

When asked about it, he still considers the disinfectant gel a success.

Your rumination is interrupted by a sudden ring of the doorbell.

"Ah! He's here!" Tesla recovers from the initial surprise only to continue making
last-minute adjustments with even greater urgency. "$!{name}, get the door,
quickly!"

*page_break Open The Door

You take the basement stairs up two at a time and open the entrance door. It does
not open onto the street, but instead leads to the busy office of the Globe
Stationery & Printing Company. Clerks zip past burdened with stacks of paper,
shouting to be heard over printing presses.

A man in a particularly crisp white suit is leaning against the door frame, legs
crossed. His hair is unkempt and wild, tufts of silver fading into white, and his
bristly eyebrows and walrus whiskers enjoy the same degree of unrestricted freedom.
He's a fair deal more bohemian than the bankers and engineers you usually
entertain.

*text_image twain.jpg center The Man in the White Suit

He has an air of wit about him, as one does when they don't take themselves very
seriously. He looks around at the din of paper-pushers and says: "I must say, my
publishing house has reached for all manner of outlandish excuses to try and trick
me to visit their office, but the false pretense of electric homeopathic medicine
is certainly the first."

*fake_choice
#Doesn't look like anyone I know.
"May I help you, sir?"

He raises a mischievous eyebrow. "Well, my friend, you tell me! I've

been summoned by one Nikola Tesla on the promise of curing one of my ailments." He
adds under his breath: "Though this looks just like the place that gave me the
ailments, bugger them."

"In that case, don't judge a book by its cover." You do your best to
suspend your skepticism of whatever promise Tesla made and give him a courteous
smile instead. "Our laboratory is downstairs. Mr. Tesla has been eagerly expecting
you."

#I know who this is!

You temper your excitement enough to ask: "Pardon me, sir…are you Mark
Twain?"

He raises a mischievous eyebrow. "Perhaps to the barkeep who holds my

tab. While he's out of earshot, it's Samuel Clemens, pleased to meet you."

"$!{name} $!{surname}." You shake his hand and gesture inside. "Well,
either of you or both of you, you're very welcome to come in."

#We aren't a publishing company.

"We are not, in fact, affiliated with any publishing house."

"Well, thank God." He raises a mischievous eyebrow. "If they'd come up

with such an intriguing idea on their own, I'd be concerned for my job."

"Electric medicine admittedly does sound like something closer to our

expertise."

"Say no more! I'll give anything a chance."

"Then I have just the person for you to speak to," you say and step
aside for him to enter.

*set met_twain true

He carefully descends the dark stairwell one foot at a time, hands tracing the
narrow walls. "Now this looks promising," he says, sardonic. "If this indeed is an
elaborate trap set by my publisher, then surely at the end of this descent into the
underworld I shall find my editor on his infernal throne."

*page_break Descend

As the visitor steps down into the laboratory, Tesla claps his hands together and
brings them up to his mouth in silent astonishment.
"Mr. Samuel Clemens!" he finally manages.

"Ah, Mr. Tesla, I presume!" Clemens offers him a hand. You wince, familiar with
Tesla's aversion to touch, but to your surprise he takes it.

"Mr. Clemens, words cannot begin to describe what your books have done for me." You
watch him clasp Clemens's hand in both of his. Is this why he wore rubber gloves,
in preparation for this moment?

Clemens chuckles. "And how is that? Are you a reseller?"

"Not at all, it is far more personal. You see, when I was a twelve-year-old boy in
Lika, in the Kingdom of Croatia, I had a devastating bout of cholera. I was
bedridden for nine months, and the doctors had said I would not live much longer."

Clemens's whiskers droop downward as his smile melts away. "I am so sorry."

"Quite the contrary, you should be overjoyed! For it was then that my father
brought me [i]The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn[/i]. Can you believe, even in
Croatia—do you know where this is?—anyway, even there your books are read and
adored. I found it so captivating as to make me utterly forget my hopeless state…I
thought it would be my life's one final adventure, lived between the pages of your
book, but in truth, it may have been the sole reason for my recovery. I owe you my
life, Mr. Clemens."

Clemens sighs and reaches for his handkerchief. "By God, Tesla, that is too kind. I
don't know what to say."

*fake_choice
#You imagine Tesla as a child, sick to death, and get emotional.
*set empathy %+10
*set rel_tesla %+5

It's tragic to think that his life might have ended in a faraway land,
long before you ever met. You cannot imagine how it must feel for a child to make
peace with death. It gives you a new perspective on Tesla's oddities.

#You think this story is a bit of a stretch.

*set idealist %-10
*set individual %+5

If Mark Twain's books could bring people back from the brink of death,
Samuel Clemens would probably have fewer holes in his suit.

#You envy Clemens for being on the receiving end of Tesla's attention.
*set individual %-10
*set romantic_interest_tesla true

A worm of jealousy nibbles at the pit of your stomach. You wonder what
you would have to do to inspire such devotion from Tesla.

The two men hold hands, their eyes watery. You would almost feel guilty, as if
intruding on an intimate moment, but then Tesla says: "This is why I've decided to
repay you by curing an ailment of your own. Is it true you suffer from
constipation, Mr. Clemens?"

Clemens takes it in stride, still sniffling. "You could say I'm as irregular with
my digestion as I am with making my deadlines."
"So I've heard. Don't I just have the contraption for you! Please, follow me."
Tesla guides him through the lab. "My assistant, $!{name}, will help you onto the
apparatus."

You realize that your breakfast chair is the apparatus.

"Aha! Seems there [i]is[/i] a throne down here after all," Clemens says.

"This seat is attached to an oscillating platform right there under your feet,"
Tesla explains as you help Clemens climb onto the platform. "My assistant shall
operate the platform to send vibrations up through your body at precisely the
resonant frequency of your gastrointestinal tract, relieving you of any
obstructions. You will be amazed at how electricity allows us to enhance the
performance of our bodies! A true healing art!"

"I should think you're biased towards electricity, Mr. Tesla," Clemens says,
getting comfortable in the chair.

Tesla smirks, as he does when he's about to deliver one of his aphorisms. "I
[i]am[/i] electricity. Or, if you wish, I am electricity in human form. You are
electricity too, Mr. Clemens, but you do not realize it."

*fake_choice
#"Are you sure this is safe, Mr. Tesla?"
"Of course! I apply it to myself all the time, and you can testify I
evacuate like clockwork!"

"I, uh…will take your word for it. Care to walk me through the
procedure, sir?"

#"I think I might be interested in giving the machine a try myself, too."
"Naturally! There is a scientific solution to every problem," he says.

"We could also install a proper kitchen in the laboratory," you add,
but he has already moved on.

#"How do I operate the machine?"

"We shall fix Mr. Clemens's infrequency by exposing him to the right frequency," he
announces as he brings you to the control panel, a cluttered desk with several
cranks, buttons, and knobs. "Mind the oscillograph strip, start at seven Hertz and
twenty decibels, isolate the proper frequency, and then adjust the power level to
Mr. Clemens's comfort. I shall keep the steam supply going."

"Are you ready, Mr. Clemens?" you ask.

"Ready and electrified," he says and crosses his legs as if he were relaxing in a
smoking lounge.

Tesla tosses a shovelful of coal into the steam engine's belly and it rumbles to
life. The hydraulics underneath Clemens's chair hiss and flex, settling into an
infrasonic oscillation, vibrating faster than the eye can perceive. You pinch the
potentiometer and read the numbers off the strip of paper unrolling under the
meandering needle of the oscillograph.

*if (choice_randomtest)
*comment disables the following minigame for Randomtest purposes
*goto crisismode
*label settarget
*rand keyfreq 1 5
*if (keyfreq = 3)
*goto settarget

"Oho!" Clemens gasps as the vibration intensifies. "This is rather…peculiar!"

Fingers of electricity begin to snap around the perimeter of the platform; he
laughs, relishing the excitement.

*label operate

FREQUENCY: @{freq 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9} Hz
*line_break
POWER: @{pow 20 | 40 | 60 | 80 |100} dB

*fake_choice
*selectable_if (freq<5) #Increase frequency by 1 Hz.
*set freq +1

*selectable_if (freq>1) #Decrease frequency by 1 Hz.

*set freq -1

*if ((freq = 1) or (freq=5)) #Reset frequency to 7 Hz.

*set freq 3

*label powerup
*rand line 1 7
@{line "How's this, Mr. Clemens?" | "Does this feel any different?" | "Is this any
better?" | "Mr. Clemens?" | "Mr. Clemens, talk to me." | "Shall I keep going like
this?" | "Was that good?" } you shout.

*if (freq!=keyfreq)
@{freq "Ah! Ha ha! This is titillating!" Clemens begins to twitch and
wriggle, laughing. "I feel as if I am getting—oh!—jabbed in the ribs! Hah!" |
Clemens shivers and examines his forearm hairs. "Oof! Look at this! Like I've seen
a ghost!" His hair, eyebrows, and whiskers begin to puff up as they charge with
static, giving him an aura of madness. "What a marvelous contraption!" | Clemens
grimaces. "Uhhh…Tesla, I don't much like this one! Makes my stomach turn like an
inebriated carriage ride…." He claps a hand over his mouth. | "By God!" Clemens
smacks his lips as if tasting a delicacy. "What is this flavor? So sweet!" He
sticks his tongue out, examines it with his finger and laughs with delight. "Is it
cake? Ha! Tesla, you are a magic worker!" | Clemens shouts, his voice warbled by
the vibration: "Ah! What is this deafening sound? My ears are ringing!" He seals
his ears. "Do you wish to succeed where my three infant daughters failed, and take
my hearing?" }

*rand line 1 7
@{line "We are nearly there, Mr. Clemens!" Tesla says. "My asisstant merely
needs to make a few adjustments." | "Vary the frequency, $!{name}!" Tesla shouts
over the engine. "Don't be afraid." | "Intensifying the power is no use until we've
found the resonant tone," Tesla shouts his advice, his shovel full of coal. |
"Everybody's internal cavities are different, Mr. Clemens!" Tesla placates him. "It
might take us a few attempts to find the frequency of yours." | Tesla scratches his
chin. "I haven't seen these symptoms before. I don't think this is the right
frequency." | "This is an art as much as it is a science, Mr. Clemens!" Tesla says,
gesturing grandly with his shovel. "Once we have located the right resonant
frequency to provide you relief, trust me, you will know!" | "Er—there is nothing
to worry about, Mr. Clemens, this is all perfectly normal!" Tesla tells him, but
gives you a nonverbal cue to twist the potentiometer. }

*goto operate
*else
*rand line 1 4
@{line "My word! Tesla, you're a genius!" Clemens barks with laughter. "My
innards—they're churning like a snake! Ha ha! Give me more!"| "Oh, I feel it now!"
Clemens's eyes close in a beatific expression. "The obstacle that has been plaguing
me is finally traveling downriver! $!{name}, keep it going!" | Clemens gasps. "This
is it! My God, this will work swifter than any digestive! Make it stronger!" | "Do
not change a thing, Tesla, I beg of you, this might be working!" Clemens laughs
ecstatically. "It's been weeks since I last passed, I can scarcely believe it!" }

*if (pow<4)
*rand line 1 4
@{line Tesla grins with pride. "Haven't I told you so? Imagine the
relief this invention will bring to the world!" | "So we have found the frequency!"
Tesla claps. "Enjoy it for as long as you need to!" | "It is the least I can do for
you, Mr. Clemens!" Tesla bows. "My assistant will make sure the power level is up
to your liking." | Tesla sighs. "How I love to see my invention bringing joy in
action! $!{name}, make Mr. Clemens comfortable!!" }

FREQUENCY: @{freq 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9} Hz
*line_break
POWER: @{pow 20 | 40 | 60 | 80 |100} dB
*set pow +1
*page_break Turn The Power Up By 20 dB.
*goto powerup
*else
*goto crisismode

*label crisismode

A loud gurgling sound emanates from the platform, somehow audible even over the
roar of the steam engine. "Aha! Even my guts are singing your praises, Mr. Tesla!"
Clemens shouts.

"Then we are nearly finished!" Tesla shouts back, then unrolls the oscillograph
paper on your desk to read the numbers.

FREQUENCY: @{freq 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9} Hz
*line_break
POWER: @{pow 20 | 40 | 60 | 80 |100} dB

He looks mildly shocked. "Mr. Clemens, I am impressed!" He attempts to conceal the

panic in his voice. "These numbers are far greater than what I personally can
withstand. Perhaps you should prepare to step off the platform soon?" He gestures
at you to decrease the power.

Clemens throws his head back and howls with mischief. "Let me be! I shall enjoy it
until the last minute, so help me God!"

You pull the lever down a notch, but the mechanism catches. You give it a solid
yank…and the entire lever snaps off the control board.

Tesla's gaze darts between you and the lever in your hand several times. After a
prolonged speechless moment, he runs and leaps over the steam pipe to reach the
valve that shuts off the hydraulics. "Mr. Clemens, I don't mean to alarm you, but
if you don't step off the machine, it might have some adverse effects!" He strains
to unscrew the valve, but it is sealed tight. It will not budge in time.

"But I feel invigorated! Full of vitality!" Another loud gurgle. "Give it a minute
longer, Tesla, what harm could it do?"

*fake_choice
#Well, if that's what he wants….
*set sanity %-10
The gut wants what the gut wants.

You watch as Clemens cries out in surprise, his mouth an "o", gripping
the armrests with white knuckles. A spasm makes him double over and clench his
knees together. "TESLA-A-A!" he shouts, voice strained. "LAVATORY! WHERE?"

No sooner than Tesla points him in the right direction, Clemens leaps
off the machine, desperately clutching his posterior.

#Take a sledgehammer to the control board.

*set idealist %-10
Tesla watches, aghast, as you bring the hammer down over and over onto
the expensive equipment he's been tinkering with for months. Electric arcs split
the air as a rain of cogs, screws, springs, copper wire, and scraps of paper
carpets the floor.

Clemens curses as the platform bucks like a rodeo bull, holding on for
dear life, until the supporting gas piston abruptly deflates with a wet, gassy hiss
and tilts him onto the floor like a heap of wet laundry.

#No time to waste! Tackle him off the machine.

*set showmanship %+10
In a feat of remarkable heroics, you run for the platform and dive over
the snapping electrical arcs and rumbling machinery, colliding violently with
Clemens's torso. You let the momentum throw you both off the platform and onto a
table full of tools.

You land with a thud, the wind knocked out of you, and then shield your
face from the rain of screwdrivers, pliers and hammers falling off the upended
table.

"Mr. Clemens! Are you all right?" He urgently swats away your helping
hands.

He scrambles for the lavatory like a freight train, laboratory glassware smashing
behind him. No sooner than the door is closed do you hear sounds of relief.

"Oh, Tesla!" Muffled laughter. "You beautiful, genius bastard!"

Tesla wipes the sweat off his charcoal-stained forehead, bristling, and whispers:

*page_break "I Told You It Would Work"

You're holding up a privacy curtain while the acclaimed author Samuel Clemens,
alias Mark Twain, steps out of his soiled inexpressibles in a corner of the
laboratory.

You can't help but overhear the rustling and grunts on the other side of the
fabric. "Say, $!{name}, was it?" Clemens starts. "I must say I'm mighty surprised
at the turn of events my day has taken, though I can't imagine you were any better
prepared for this predicament when you woke up this morning."

"Perhaps not prepared, but I'm hardly surprised," you reply. "Stranger things have
happened in this laboratory."

"Hah! Sounds like far more excitement than a writer could stomach." His white pants
drop to the floor. "How'd you end up working with Tesla, anyway?"

"We met at Edison Machine Works, when he had just arrived in America," you say.
@{class "My father is on the board of directors." | "I was an engineer's
apprentice." | "I was a janitor." }

"Intriguing," he says. @{class "That's a lot of privilege you forfeited, choosing

this laboratory over Machine Works. Why?" | "Did you grow tired of the bourgeoisie
fattening themselves on the fruits of your labor?" | "Is that a revolutionary I
sense in you, breaking out of proletarian drudgery?" }

*if (class = 1)
*fake_choice
#"I never chose to be born into wealth and power. I don't care much
about losing it."
*set idealist %+10
*set rel_twain %+5
*set empathy %+5
"That's a good start," he says. "Though, as I'm sure you're
aware, it doesn't change who you are in the eyes of others. To most, you will still
be a rich man's @{gender heir." | daughter." | son."}

"Then I shall prove them wrong."

#"My father had been controlling my life for as long as I know. This
was my way of regaining independence."
*set individual %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
Clemens laughs. "Ho ho! I can always sympathize with a rebel!"

"I presume you speak as an artist, and not as a father."

#"Who says this laboratory won't become more profitable than Machine
Works? I see it as an investment."
*set idealist %-10
*set business %+10
Clemens scoffs. "So you merely replaced one father with the
original American patriarch, Capital."

"Don't you think that's rather dramatic, sir?"

*if (class = 2)
*fake_choice
#"It was rather that I felt like I could be on top for a change."
*set idealist %-10
*set business %+10
Clemens scoffs. "Don't you think there is a better way to fight
your exploitation than by becoming one of the exploiters?"

"Not in this business."

#"Very much so. I've seen how hard the engineers work, and how meagerly
the directorate."
*set idealist %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
"Damn right," he says. "You do all the work, and they reap all
the rewards."

"I much prefer it here. Mr. Tesla is in charge, but it doesn't

really feel so."

#"No, that's just the way it has to be. Mr. Edison worked hard to build
his company."
*set individual %-10
*set tactful %+10
Clemens sighs. "Kid, you would do well to challenge the status
quo. That's what your youth is for."

"We did challenge Mr. Edison, and it didn't end well for us."

*if (class = 3)
*fake_choice
#"Absolutely. I am tired of being held down."
*set idealist %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
Clemens takes a moment of solemn silence. "I am glad we agree.
You should know you have an ally in me."

"Conspiratorial words," you say. "Best not have them overheard."

#"I don't have the privilege of being a revolutionary. Not if I want to

keep my head on my shoulders."
*set idealist %-10
*set rel_twain %+5
*set tactful %+5
Clemens sighs. "That is indeed grim. If America has lost the
rebellious spirit in its young, it has lost everything."

"I'd prefer to live past my youth."

#"No. I don't want to break the world. I want to earn my keep fair and
square."
*set tactful %+10
*set individual %-10
Clemens chuckles paternally. "And do you think this world is fair
and square?"

You ponder it for a moment. "Even if it isn't, who am I to go

against it?"

"How old are you now, may I ask?"

"Just turned twenty-two, sir."

He whistles. "Started out young! I'd reckon this industry of cutthroat monopoly is
no business for a kid. Wouldn't you agree?" You listen for the distant sound of
clanging glassware, indicating that Tesla is well out of earshot preparing tea.

*fake_choice
 #I agree. This industry is cruel at best, morally corrupt at worst. But
perhaps we can make it better.
*set idealist %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
"I do agree, Mr. Clemens. I've seen it firsthand. Entrepreneurs robbing
inventors of their ideas, egomaniacs plotting to sabotage their opponents,
companies feuding over patents and monopolies…What's electric light good for, if it
just illuminates corruption and greed?"

"Well put." He sounds impressed. "But surely you feel some optimism for
the future, else you wouldn't still be in the business."

"My optimism is for Nikola Tesla," you say. "Perhaps when we are
finished, the industry will be a kinder place than it has been to us."

"And perhaps you have already improved it! @{racial_background Before

Tesla, I'd never heard of an immigrant sailing here with two cents to his name and
establishing himself as an inventor to rival Edison himself." | It's good to see an
indigenous person in the electrical business." | I can't imagine there are many
persons of color in electrical engineering."}
#I disagree. The electrical business is the most wondrous frontier. This is
where I can be important.
*set idealist %-10
*set rel_twain %-10
"I respectfully disagree, Mr. Clemens. The electric industry is the
place to be if one wishes to take part in building the future. The competition is
merely a natural feature of a new market. I'll concede that perhaps it suffers from
some growing pains, but would I be any better off working on the railroads, or in a
factory or a mine?"

"Ah, but that's precisely my point," he says in a teasing tone, "I

worry that these industries might raise a kid to believe there is anything natural
about unregulated expansionism."

You retort: "Well, some of us need to expand the economy so that it can
support all the writers."

He laughs loudly. "And we most certainly appreciate it! Though I must

admit I'm surprised at your adherence to electric capitalism, considering
@{racial_background how you've seen it treat an immigrant like Tesla." | that it is
not so forthcoming to indigenous persons." | that it doesn't admit many persons of
color." }
#It's not my first choice of business. I'm only doing this to protect Tesla
from said cutthroats.
*set individual %-10
*set empathy %+10
"I have no illusions about the nature of the electrical industry, Mr.
Clemens, but I can't say the same about Mr. Tesla. When it comes to dealing with
people, he assumes their good intentions to a degree bordering on naiveté. I'm here
to make sure his talent doesn't get exploited."

"And that's very generous of you," he says. "But you should consider
that you're becoming an adult. You should think about forging your own path instead
of following in Tesla's footsteps."

You shrug. "Perhaps you're right, but there's time for that yet. And I
have a feeling his footsteps will lead to extraordinary places."

"With that, I can't help but agree. @{racial_background It's no small

feat, sailing here penniless and establishing oneself as an inventor to rival
Edison himself." | Though I imagine many will be inspired to follow in your
footsteps as well. There are few indigenous persons in the electrical business. |
Though I imagine many will be inspired to follow in your footsteps as well. It is
rare to see a person of color in the electrical business." }
His nether garments land in a crumpled heap.

*if (racial_background=1)
*fake_choice
#"Mr. Tesla got lucky. Nothing was handed to him. It should not have
been so difficult."
*set empathy %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
*set idealist %-10
"That's a damn tragedy," he says. "Honest working men and women
turn over the world to come to the American promised land, only to be exploited
much the same as they were under the boot of their monarchs."

"I could tell from the day we met that he was made to feel like
an outsider."

#"Mr. Tesla's success is a true testament to the American Dream! Here,

anyone can make it."
*set idealist %+10
*set individual %-10
*set empathy %-10
"At what cost, I ask you?" He scoffs. "For every Tesla that pulls
himself up by his bootstraps, a hundred die in the ditches of starvation or
pneumonia. There is nothing natural about this selection, kid."

"I don't deny it's challenging, but the opportunities are equal
for all," you argue.

#"Certainly, it's difficult, but my great-grandparents went through the

same ordeal, as did thousands of others. He knew the risks, as well as the
rewards."
*set idealist %-10
*set individual %+10
*set tactful %-10
"Doing things as they have previously been done is no reason to
keep doing them the same way," Clemens says.

"It's how we ensure we get the best of the best," you say.

*if not (racial_background=1)

*fake_choice
#"Perhaps it should be upon white men like you to correct that."
*set tactful %-10
*set showmanship %+10
"You're right," he says. "I can only hope to do my part."

"Stories hold their value, but actions are stronger."

#"I never saw any inventors of color growing up. If I can inspire
others, it'll be more valuable than any invention we might make."
*set idealist %+10
*set empathy %+10
"A noble goal," he says. "Though being a role model is a
challenging task."
 "No more than existing in this world."

#"It's either assimilate, or perish. I don't have much of a choice."

*set idealist %-10
*set tactful %-10
"I should hope in time you'll have a third option," he says. "We
all should live true to who we are."

"That's a touching aphorism, but it's far from reality."

#"It's not my goal to be the representative of an entire race. I've got

enough challenges of my own to deal with."
*set idealist %-10
*set individual %+10
"That's fair enough," he says. "Sometimes living one's own life
is an act of revolution itself."

"It's what we fought for."

He chuckles, pensive. "Truly, there are many humorous things in this world; among
them the white man's notion that he is less savage than the other savages."

*if not (gender=3)

"You know," he says, then pauses to fasten his belt with a grunt, "I have
three daughters, Susy, Clara, and Jean, bless them. I've got them studying piano,
singing, and dancing, as is expected of young ladies these days. They love it. Susy
wants to be an opera singer. But now that I've seen you running about this lab
wielding thunder and lightning, it makes me wonder whether the future I should be
preparing them for will be different than what is expected of them these days." You
hear the slap of shoe soles as he drops them down before his feet. "What do you
think? @{gender It seems to me you are striking your own brave path, through
uncharted lands." |We haven't all had the good fortune to be born ladies."}
*fake_choice
#"They should study science. We need more people who aren't men."
*set science %+10
"That is damn right!" he says indignantly. "Any function I've
been invited to by the electrical companies has been a dour old men's club."

#"I wouldn't send my daughters into an industry like this. It's an

unjust place."
*set idealist %-10
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. "Indeed. And it is cruel
that the burden of improvement should solely fall on your shoulders."

#"They should study whatever they like. It's not up to us."

*set empathy %+10
He chuckles. "You're right. I can't even affect whether they'll
finish their supper, much less their aspirations."

Just as your arms are starting to go weak, Clemens lifts the curtain aside and
steps out. The black slacks Tesla lent him are at odds with the rest of his white
suit, and furthermore appear to be so long that he was forced to roll them up at
the ankles.

"As good as new, Mr. Clemens!" Tesla emerges from the depths of the lab.
"Thank you. I am hoping to pass it off as fashion." He straightens his outfit. "And
it's Sam, please."

"Sam. Well, the tea is ready!" Tesla is holding a conical Erlenmeyer flask full of
bubbling liquid with a pair of fireproof tongs. "Forgive me for taking so long, I
had an invention I wanted to—$!{name}, do you know where we've stored the
@{ch3_invention thought camera? | brain bath? | ozone cream?}—Ah, never mind now.
Help me get a tea set laid out. The good one, please."

You know that the "good one" means the most thoroughly disinfected one kept in a
sealed cupboard, so you fetch it without a word.

Twain sits at the table and begins loading his pipe. "Tell me then, Tesla, what's
your game?"

"My game?"

He gestures broadly at the laboratory. "Your game. Your plan. What do you wish to
do? How do you want to change the world? I want to hear your big ideas."

"Why, I'm glad you asked." Tesla's eyes sparkle as he decants the tea from the
chemist's flask. "Where to start? There is simply so much to do, only one's
imagination is the limit! For one, we wish to distribute free electricity to
everyone on earth, so that they may achieve their best potential. Ah, and what if
we could construct a flying machine? Or perhaps a thinking machine? We have also
been discussing whether electricity could be applied to investigate the existence
of a Martian race—"

*fake_choice
#"Mr. Tesla is getting carried away. For now, we just wish to break up Thomas
Edison's monopoly."
*set business %+10
*set idealist %-10
*set individual %+10
*set AC_DC %+5
*set reputation %+5
Tesla smiles, flustered. "Oh—of course. That's $!{name}, always keeping
me down to earth."

Clemens narrows his eyes. "So you've got a bone to pick with America's
greatest inventor?" The title rings cynical in his mouth.

"Let's just say that if Edison had a needle to find in a haystack,"

Tesla says, "he would proceed at once with the diligence of the bee to examine
straw after straw until he found the object of his search. I was a sorry witness of
such doing, when a little theory and calculation would have saved him ninety
percent of his labor." He nonchalantly sips his tea through the mustache-guard
teacup.

Clemens waves away the pipe smoke and the topic. "Pshaw! Forget Edison.
It takes a thousand men to invent a telegraph, or a steam engine, or a phonograph,
or a telephone or any other important thing, and the last man gets the credit and
we forget the others. He added his little mite—that is all he did!" He waves his
arms in heated monologue. "These object lessons should teach us that ninety-nine
percent of all things that proceed from the intellect are not perspiration, but
plagiarisms, pure and simple. Forget Edison. He is just one man. What the two of
you should think about is how your inventions will affect the world. And
especially, the world order.”
 #"Our dream is to improve people's lives by bringing safe electric power to
the masses, free of charge."
*set idealist %+10
*set empathy %+10
*set rel_twain %+10
*set wireless_energy %+5
*set worker_takeover %+5
Tesla smiles. "That's right. My inventions, especially AC power, hold
the potential to improve people's lives."

"Can you imagine, making factory workers' lives easier and safer with
stable illumination?" you add. "And to light up their homes in the evening, so they
may study and improve themselves."

Clemens raises his eyebrows in interest. "And do you believe the powers
that be would allow you to distribute public goods free of charge?"

"They can try and stop us," you declare.

"And they will," Clemens continues. "What you speak of would be more
than giving electrical power to the people. You would be giving them the power to
demand that which is withheld from them. And the world order depends on withholding
from the people."

#"Mr. Tesla is right. We want to invent, to experiment, to push the limits of

what is possible. Earthly matters don't concern us."
*set idealist %+10
*set individual %-10
*set sanity %-5
*set alien_awareness %+5
*set robots %+5
Clemens squints at you. "And you think flying machines and Martians are
the most pressing thing you can contribute to this society?"

"The pursuit of knowledge and discovery is no less worthwhile than

material endeavors," Tesla says.

"Don't get me wrong, Tesla, I've got quite an imagination myself—but is

it worthwhile getting absorbed in fantasy when your invention is out in the streets
killing folks on power lines?"

"Sir, we are hardly to blame for that," you say.

"Certainly. But as much as you deny it, your inventions do affect

earthly matters. Who gets the electric light and who doesn't determines their
safety, their productivity, and their prosperity. There are a million ways in which
your technology could be used to increase social disparity unless you intervene."

Tesla sets his cup down with a clink and an uncertain smile. "I—I'm not certain
this is within our domain. I'm not particularly interested in utilizing our
inventions for political ends."

"There is no such thing as apolitical, my good man!" Clemens claps his hand onto
Tesla's shoulder; he flinches but allows it. "It's not your fault you haven't
learned this. Studying electrical engineering never radicalized anyone! This is why
you should spend more time speaking to artists and philosophers and other unsavory
types. Listen, I've got just the place for you. Come along for one of our weekly
Party meetings in—"
For the second time today, you're interrupted by the doorbell.

"That's peculiar," Tesla says. "We're not expecting anyone else."

*page_break Open The Door

A dirty-looking boy in a mailman's cap hops impatiently on the other side of the
door. As soon as you've cracked it open, he slurs, "TelegramforNikolaTesla!" in a
rush and shoves a letter through the gap.

You examine the letter, and the sender's name makes you do a double take. When the
boy clicks his tongue with irritation, you realize he's been holding his palm out.

"Hasn't he paid you?" you ask as you unclasp your wallet. The boy shakes his head.
"Figures." No sooner than you've pressed a coin into his palm, he sprints away.

As you descend, Tesla and Clemens pause their dialogue to give you inquisitive
looks over their steaming teacups. "I believe you'll want to read this posthaste,"
you say and hand the telegram to Tesla. He scans the lines while sipping from his
cup and, having seen the signature line, abruptly chokes on his tea and shoots it
out of his nostrils in a spray.

"Good Lord, my man!" Clemens exclaims. "What is it? A debtor? A lover?"

"No," Tesla manages, coughing. "'You are cordially invited to a scientific

demonstration involving alternating current, taking place presently at Columbia
College. STOP.' Signed, G-I-T-A-E." The tea drops on his mustache quiver.

"What sort of a name is that?" Clemens asks.

"Acronym," you say. "Great Inventor Thomas Alva Edison."

*page_break To Columbia College

As you round the block to the chaos of crowds pouring through the ominous neo-
Gothic arches of Columbia College, a blacked-out carriage comes to a grinding halt
beside the curb.

"Here, Tesla!" George Westinghouse swings the door open before the carriage has
stopped moving and urgently beckons you inside. As Tesla and Clemens pile in, you
take one cautious glance around the sidewalk before closing the carriage door
behind you.

You find the gloomy interior more crowded than you expected, with two burly men
scowling at you on each side of Westinghouse's bench, and your two companions
squeezing onto the bench opposite. The air smells of sweetened pipe tobacco. You
awkwardly maneuver yourself onto the seat, thigh-to-thigh with Clemens, knee-to-
knee with a silent brute.

Westinghouse squints in the darkness. "Twain? What are you—" He attempts to

attenuate his volume so as not to catch the attention of the crowd. "All three of
you, what in the Devil's name are you doing here?"

"I've been cordially invited." Tesla grimly passes him the telegram between two
elegant fingers.

"And I can no better resist intrigue than a moth an electric light," Clemens says,
aware that Westinghouse's interest in him appears to have been rhetorical and
entirely replaced by the telegram.

Westinghouse's muttonchops wobble as he shakes his head. "This is ominous." He

produces an identical telegram from his
was cooking something up." He spits the
marking the first time you've witnessed
He sinks his face into his palms. "Dear
games?"
vest pocket. "I knew that bastard Edison
vulgarism out with great hesitation,
his gentle demeanor marred in such a way.
Lord, must he always drag me into his dirty

*fake_choice
#"But what are all these people here for? What's going on at Columbia?"
Clemens carefully lifts the corner of the curtain. "They certainly
aren't here for the education," he says, pointing out two people carrying a sheet
inscribed with "CURRENT KILLS."

#"Why are you hiding in a darkened carriage?"

He rubs his face. "The better question is, why aren't you?"

"Well, I knew good humorists were rare, but I hadn't realized we've
become an endangered species," Clemens jokes, to be ignored once more.

#"I didn't realize you and Twain knew each other."

Westinghouse rubs his face, looking offended by the frivolous change in
topic. "My kids read him."

"And Mr. Westinghouse keeps the night-light on for mine," Clemens says.

"Tesla, listen to me." Westinghouse gravely leans in. "You know how the public
feels about alternating electric these days. Edison's propaganda, it's madness. I'm
reluctant to appear in public without personal detail." The two henchmen show no
reaction, as befits professionals. "But I cannot vouchsafe protection for three
other people. Please, I am urging you to leave. Don't expose yourself to danger."

Tesla seems to consider it for a moment. He stares out the window, jaw clenching
and unclenching. Then finally: "No." Westinghouse huffs. "I need to know, George.
And I kindly suggest you don't waste time trying to change my mind."

"If I may politely interject, Mr. Westinghouse," says Clemens, casually reclaiming
the attention denied him, "I believe prevention to be the best cure. Namely,
preventing any incidents by blending in with the crowd as civilians. Then we
wouldn't require the services of these fine gentlemen at all. But in order for us
to achieve this, it would be prudent to leave these gentlemen out here in the
carriage. I mean no disrespect, but they appear to blot out the sun."

Westinghouse looks apprehensive. "Go in without security? Have you a death wish?"

*fake_choice
#"Clemens is right. We should go in discreetly, without the henchmen drawing
attention to us."
*set bodyguards false
*set rel_twain %+10
*set rel_westinghouse %-10
*set individual %-10

Westinghouse crosses his arms. "And what, pray tell, if we are

recognized?"

You shrug. "Then at least it won't appear as if we arrived looking for

a fight."
 Clemens gives him a pat on the knee. "Worry not, partner! I assure you,
being one of the commoners will hurt nothing but your pride."

Before you can address the antagonism between bohemian and businessman,
Tesla cracks open the door and lets in the blinding sunlight. "Shall we?"

#"Tesla is right. We need to see this. The two bodyguards will at least give
us some peace of mind."
*set bodyguards true
*set rel_tesla %+10
*set rel_twain %-10
*set individual %-10

"I don't like this at all. My boys will be stretched thin between the
four of us," Westinghouse says. "Who knows what the temper of the mob will be?"

"This is plainly embarrassing," says Clemens, disgruntled. "Perhaps if

you cannot face honest citizens without repressive muscle at your side, you are
overdue for some introspection."

"That's no fault of ours," you argue. "Our reputation is not of our

making. It's Edison's."

Before you can address the antagonism between bohemian and businessman,
Tesla cracks open the door and lets in the blinding sunlight. "Shall we?"

#"Westinghouse is right. I think it's too dangerous to risk going inside. It

could be a trap."
*set bodyguards true
*set rel_westinghouse %+10
*set rel_tesla %-10
*set individual %+10

Before you've even finished the sentence, Tesla snaps, "I do not intend
to cower before Thomas Edison any longer!"

The carriage lapses into a momentary silence.

He appears to regret his tone. "Forgive me, $!{name}." He cracks open

the door and lets in the blinding sunlight. "But if Thomas is taunting me, I shan't
turn down his challenge. Not after all he's put me through—and you."

"Wait, Mr. Tesla," you call as he steps out.

"I wouldn't ask that any of you put yourself at risk. If you feel it is
too dangerous, don't follow me," he says and, theatrically, as is his way, he puts
his hat on and closes the door.

All five of you cuss under your breath and climb out of the carriage to
catch up with him.

You weave through the crowd towards the college. Right before the entrance, Tesla
stops, as if faced by an invisible barrier, then quickly excuses himself and
vanishes around the corner in long strides without an explanation.

"Where's he off to now?" Clemens tries to look after him, puzzled.

Of course, you've witnessed this behavior before—including the day you met. Sure
enough, he comes around the other side of the building, rushes past you with just a
wave of his hand, and disappears again around the same way.

"$!{name}, what's he doing?" Westinghouse asks you.

Tesla never speaks about the nature of his compulsions, not even to you. And yet,
people often turn to you as the interpreter between Nikola Tesla and the world.

*fake_choice
#"Mr. Tesla sometimes feels compelled to circle the building three times
before entering, if he is feeling nervous."
*set tactful %-10

Westinghouse just nods solemnly, as people usually do when they're not

sure what to make of Tesla's oddities. To your surprise, Clemens doesn't skip a
beat. "Ah. I was going to ask how he maintains that enviable physique."

#(Cover for him.) "He is just checking the surroundings before we go in."
*set tactful %+10

Clemens doesn't look convinced. "Clever," Westinghouse says.

#Join him.
*set empathy %+10

You signal them to wait and wordlessly join Tesla on his final two
laps. At first, he seems anxious about your company—as if worried he would have to
explain himself—but gradually relaxes as he realizes he won't need to.

After his third revolution of the building, Tesla rejoins the group with a nod and
you enter the academic ambush of Columbia College.

*page_break To The Lecture Hall

The lecture hall is packed with guests from wall to wall, some sitting on each
others' shoulders, some—such as yourself—cramped in awkward, immobilized positions,
all sides of your body pressing against someone else's. There are journalists
practically scaling the walls for a better view. Despite Tesla's efforts to appear
stoic, you can see him swallowing a lump every time an unknown body pushes up
against him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, concerned citizens of New York City!" The din in the hall
dies down as a man in an unassuming suit steps out on stage. He bears the
appearance of impassive professionalism; a drooping mustache, a tall and broad
forehead, and small eyes cushioned between heavy porcine eyelids. "I gather you are
all here because, like myself, you are tired of living with a killer hanging above
your rooftop, waiting above the pavements, preying from the power lines. I have
therefore designed this scientific demonstration with the intention of appealing to
our legislators and saying: behold, the alternating current is too dangerous for
our streets!"

Shouts of approval erupt across the crowd. You exchange uneasy looks with your
entourage.

He calmly paces the stage. "Until now, we have let electrical companies run the
show, and with poor lineman John Feeks—may God rest his soul—we have learned that
men's lives are cheaper to this monopoly than insulated wires." A wave of outrage
washes over the audience, instilling fear in George Westinghouse's eyes. The man
continues in his eerily expressionless way: "My name is Harold Pitney Brown, and
without further ado, behold exhibit number one."

Two men appear from the sides of the stage, one in a well-tailored suit and one in
a doctor's coat, pushing trolleys. The businessman pushes what you recognize to be
an Edison Electric direct current dynamo. The doctor pushes some kind of cage,
covered with a tarpaulin.

*if (class = 1)
You make the dreadful realization that the businessman on stage is your
father.

*fake_choice
*if (class=1)
#"What's going on here? Why is my father involved in this?"
"If you don't know, how should I?" Westinghouse frowns. "Look at
that. He's got Edison's manager and Edison's chief of research. It's plain as day
who's behind this."

*if not (class = 1)

#"Westinghouse, do you know who his assistants are?"
Westinghouse frowns. "He's got Edison's manager and Edison's
chief of research. It's plain as day who's behind this."

#"How did Brown get an Edison dynamo?"

Westinghouse frowns. "What do you think? It's plain as day Edison
wouldn't pass up publicity like this."

#"Why were we invited to watch this?"

Westinghouse frowns. "I don't know, but if Edison wants us here, it
must be working in his favor."

Brown gestures at the covered cages with unreadable composure. "Allow me to

introduce you to our generous assistants in this demonstration."

The doctor yanks the tarpaulin off the cage and exposes a seventy-pound
Newfoundland dog pacing inside. The muzzled mutt pants nervously, tugging at the
cables attached to its foreleg and hind leg. The crowd reacts with unease.

Brown kneels to pick up a cable. "These here electrodes connect Fido to the device
on my right—known to many of you as the Edison direct current dynamo—the likes of
which are also illuminating this very hall." While the audience expresses its
discontent, he slides his hands down the length of the cable like a snake wrangler
from the Central Park menagerie. "This dynamo, however, produces currents which are
absolutely safe for the living body. Observe."

Brown snaps his fingers and @{(class=1) your father | the businessman} puts all his
weight onto the lever of the Jumbo generator. It rumbles to life, the floor under
your feet vibrates in resonance, and everyone's breath hitches in their chest.

The dog whimpers, but it could have just been the loud noise that disturbed it.
Eerily stone-faced, Brown places a monocle on his puffy eye and reads off the dial:
"Ladies and gentlemen, three hundred volts, DC. And the animal still lives."

Nervous relief in the crowd. Twain says, through his teeth: "He'd best make his
point quickly. I have mighty little patience for this display."

Without waiting for the din to die down, Brown pinches and twists the dial. "Five
hundred volts." The dog growls, its fur expanding like a storm cloud. Gasps in the
audience. Another twist. "Seven hundred volts." The dog begins to pace more
urgently, pushing against the bars, but it still lives. Tesla whispers something
about current.

"Come again?" You look at him and realize he is sweating under his bowler hat,
black strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Being in forcible physical contact
with so many people must be sensory overload to him.

"Low current," he says, wrestling with his hollow voice as the crowd pushes him
around. "The current kills. He is limiting the current and only increasing the
voltage."

Just as you note that the whites of his eyes are as frightened as the animal's,
Brown twists the dial once more and announces: "One thousand DC volts, ladies and
gentlemen. Ten times more than needed for the incandescent bulbs in your homes!"

The dynamo kicks into higher pitch. The dog cries out. The crowd begins to shout.

And then, at the culmination of the noise and excitement, Brown abruptly kills the
dynamo. Except for the barking, the din dies down with a rapid decrescendo. The dog
is distressed, but still alive. After a dramatic pause, Brown announces, "After
exposure to direct current: alive and safe. Now we shall make him feel better."

The Edison dynamo is immediately wheeled out of the room, and another half-ton
device emerges onto the stage. Tesla's breath leaves him with a squeak.
Westinghouse utters a blasphemy.

The generator on stage bears the embossed nameplate: WESTINGHOUSE-TESLA.

*fake_choice
#"Where the hell did they get one of ours?!"
*set business %+10
"They must have purchased it from a reseller," Westinghouse says,
aghast. "Where would he get the money? This reeks of Edison, I'd stake my life on
it."

#"Slandering our name like this can't be legal!"

*set idealist %+10
"It may not be," Westinghouse says, aghast, "but no amount of money and
lawyers I come up with will make the people unsee whatever show he wants to put on,
and he knows it."

#"This is all your fault, Westinghouse. If you had insulated your wires, this
never would've happened."
*set rel_westinghouse %-10
You would have expected him to argue, but he hangs his head. "I know.
By God, I know."

As he connects the electrodes to the Westinghouse generator, Brown says, "You may
know that a certain electric light syndicate has acquired the alternating current
stations and distribution lines culpable in the current string of deaths by wire."

"Those are accidents! Bloody slander," Westinghouse whispers, sinking into his coat
collar, eyes fearfully darting around the room. "Would Edison see me killed at the
hands of his customers?"

"They offer cheaper electricity on cheaper uninsulated power lines, but for what?"
Brown continues. "To bring death to your door? If the esteemed George Westinghouse
should argue this fact, I shall challenge him to an electrical duel, whereby I
agree to be shocked by ever-increasing amounts of direct current power if he
submits himself to the same amount of increasing alternating current power. First
to quit loses."

The people cheer. "Absolute insanity," Westinghouse mouths, aghast.

"But in the absence of our culprit, the honorable Fido will have to take his place.
Observe: three hundred volts, AC." He points a finger at the troubled animal and
jump-starts the Tesla dynamo into operation. The rotating electromagnets that have
graced Tesla's visions for years now rumble menacingly, corrupted and cursed.

The animal howls horribly, in the worst pain yet, followed by the distressed
members of the front rows. Tesla crosses himself the Orthodox way, hands shaking,
eyes wide and horrified. "The current. Liars. They have increased it."

Brown announces: "Only three hundred and thirty volts, AC." He begins to twist the
dial. The zap of electric arcs slices through the air.

*fake_choice
#Look away.
*set empathy %+10
You shut your eyes, clamp your hands to your ears. And yet you can
still tell when it happens as the collective cry of the crowd penetrates through
the humming in your ears.

#Watch.
*set sanity %-10
It's finished quicker than you expected. Just one convulsion, a pop and
a sizzle, and the dog collapses instantly. The scientist in the lab coat approaches
to feel its pulse before redundantly declaring the animal dead.

"Living at a thousand volts of direct current, and dead at only three

hundred and thirty volts of alternating current, ladies and gentlemen," Brown
announces. The crowd grows bewildered, frightened, outraged, a maelstrom of
emotion.

#Make sure Tesla is well.

*set individual %-10
"Mr. Tesla! Tell me if this is too much for you. Do you hear me?" You
grab him by the arm. He is gelatin. He is too flaccid to protest.

"I am…trying, $!{name}," he whispers, "I need to be here…this is my

work."

A pop and a sizzle, and the dog's barking cuts off abruptly.

Suddenly everyone is moving. Everyone is pushing, shoving, like a shoal of

frightened fish. The horrible scent of ozone and burnt hair crawls up your
nostrils.

For the first time, Brown's face changes when he raises an eyebrow. "Is this what
your wife should be cooking with?" he asks, arms wide, gesturing at the smoking
horror on the stage. The crowd is shouting: some against his savagery, some against
those protesting his savagery, some merely from shock.

"$!{name}." Your name, shaky and breathless. You turn to find Tesla pincered by the
crowd, jostled left to right, his personal space violated beyond his strength.
"Help me," he says. His skin is white and green and dripping with sweat. "Can't…
breathe." His fingers are desperately clawing underneath his bow tie, looking for
the breaths that won't come.

You grab his hand, try to pull him back from the prison of angry bodies.

"They will tell you the alternating electric is more efficient," you hear Brown
shouting over the crowd. "The only thing it is more efficient at is the destruction
of life! To the New York Commission for Execution, I propose a new contraption: a
chair to execute criminals in the same way as our generous Fido! I should like to
name the procedure after its main benefactor: [i]Westinghousing[/i]."

"You poxy son-of-a—I'll take you to goddamn court, you sleazy fraud!" Westinghouse
finally snaps, belting with the full force of his lungs. "How much did Edison buy
you for, you disgusting bootlicker?" His voice doesn't reach the stage.

"Oy! You, the round one!" Two men in engineering overalls shout in Westinghouse's
direction. "We know you, don't we?"

Tesla's hand is slippery from sweat. Your grip slips down to his fingers as the
bodies pull him the opposite way. "I need…out…please!" His words are sliced by
hyperventilation.

"$!{name}!" Suddenly you're grabbed by the other elbow, pulled in the opposite
direction. "Look!" It's Clemens, pointing towards the stage. You can no longer make
out what Brown is shouting in the din, but his assistants are pulling a colossus
onto the stage.

This is not how you imagined seeing your first elephant. Its tree-stump legs
shuffle uncertainly across the stage, warping the floorboards. Its trunk works
hopelessly at the blindfold blocking its vision. On its head, a metallic crown
glistens with the menace of electric shock.

"This is madness!" Clemens shouts. "We must stop this!"

*choice
#Forget Brown! Tesla is suffering some kind of an anxiety attack. I need to
get him out of this place.
*gosub trial_end
*set teslarescued true
*set rel_tesla %+20
*set individual %-20
*set empathy %+10

You are willing to forfeit this battle if it means Nikola Tesla will
make it through the war.

"Mr. Tesla!" You grab him by the hand and forearm and pull him towards
you with all your might. He clings to you like a man sinking in quicksand. "I'm
getting you out! You'll be fine!"

*if bodyguards
Westinghouse's henchman wedges his bulging arms between you and
the crowd, his sleeves rolled up, carving out a pocket of breathing space. "Stand
back! Hands off, or I'll halve them off!" Rising to the provocation, someone slaps
the hat off his head. The bodyguard roars, unable to locate the culprit. Clemens
was right—there is no way to slip away unnoticed with the brutes at your side. You
will have to fight your way out.
 *goto fightbad
*else
*label fightescape
You hook one of his arms around your shoulders and the other
around Twain's. Together, you heave him towards the exit with Westinghouse at the
prow, hiding his face under his hat and clearing the way before you, using his cane
as a baton.

@{brownwins You flinch as the elephant's dying throes shake the

ground under your feet. Today, a war has been declared. | Today is a small victory,
but this war is just starting. }

*goto nextpage

#Damn it. I could try to find the breaker box and sabotage his equipment, but
the electrical installations might be complicated.
*gosub trial_end
You cannot stand by and watch. You give Tesla an apologetic look. His
desperate eyes widen with betrayal. "Mr. Clemens! Take care of Mr. Tesla! I need to
handle this."

You try not to look back as you barrel through the raging crowd towards
a side door. In the commotion you slip into a maintenance room full of dusty
lecturing equipment. The men posted there are absorbed in conversation and don't
notice you sneak past them, using a table piled with electrostatic experiments for
cover.

Down a flight of stairs, and you find yourself underneath the stage.
The stomping of feet is thunderous. Shouts are muffled. The elephant's weight is
communicated in treacherous squeals of the floorboards over your head, sprinkling
you with dust whenever the animal moves. You follow a row of dim yellow light bulbs
to the circuit breaker box.

*if (engineering>=60)
You pry it open with the screwdriver you always carry in
@{dresscode the pocket of your suit. | a hidden pocket in your dress. | a pouch on
your overalls.} The wiring is nothing new to you. They should have known that any
electrical engineer could snuff them out in a heartbeat. You tear out the fuses one
by one, and listen to the hum of electricity go out with dying zaps: first the
Tesla generator on stage, whirring down, then the stage lights, marked by the
audience's gasps, and then the mains for all of Columbia College, dropping you into
darkness and silence as if plunged into the ocean.

The disaster is sure to cast some doubt on Brown's electrical

expertise, though you won't get the credit for it.

The silence is only momentary. The elephant stomps its feet and
trumpets like a deafening siren, smashing the generator with a chorus of metal
crunching sounds, and you hear the audience break into a stampede for the exits.

*set brownwins false

*set AC_DC %+20

[i]Tesla[/i]. The thought pops into your mind. You feel your way
through the dark to go find him.

*if (class = 1)
 *set testpassed true
*goto fatherencounter
*else
You push through the wild river of fleeing people towards
Tesla's recognizable bowler hat.

*goto fightescape

*else
You break a fingernail before you've even managed to open the
box. As you finally manage to work the metal cover open without any tool to your
name, you come to the dreadful realization you're in over your head. You stare at
the exposed circuitry as if it's a maze, desperately applying your textbook
knowledge of ground, live, neutral.

Your first attempt at disconnecting a conductor gives you a

sudden, painful jolt to your right hand. You yelp, staggering backwards, separated
from death by the rubber soles of your boots—

And bump directly into another person.

*if not (class = 1)

"There you are." The lab-coated man from the stage grabs
you by the bicep. "We were so hoping to have a Westinghouse spokesperson available
for comment!"

"Lunatic! Unhand me!" You struggle, but he yanks you

towards the stage entrance. Another pair of hands joins in to push you up the
stairs and into the spotlight.

*label debateintro

You stumble forward and stop yourself mere inches from

falling onto a colossal beast. The elephant startles you with a deafening trumpet,
as if feeling your proximity even with the blindfold.

You turn around and see the crowd you were a part of just
minutes ago. Harold Brown stands on the other side of the stage.
*goto debate
*else
*label fatherencounter
"Why did it have to be you?" You recognize this voice. The
voice that's scolded you your entire life. "Why does it always have to be you,
looking for trouble?"

You turn around to find your father, his eyes pools of

shadow in the low illumination, his oiled mustache casting shadows like daggers.

You grit your teeth. "And why does it always have to be

you, on the wrong side of history?"

"Spare me your platitudes, $!{name} $!{surname}!" he booms,

dignified in his gold-threaded bordeaux suit. "Why do you think Thomas has me doing
this work? It's because of you. It's because you disgraced me that I owe him no end
of favors."

You cross your arms. "So leave, like I did."

"Leave what I've been building at Machine Works my entire

life?" You step back from the sting of his disappointment. "Leave that which has
clothed you, fed you, kept a roof over your head since you were born? Without my
work with Thomas, you couldn't be running around here playing inventor. Never
forget that."

His voice breaks at the end in a way that fills you with
guilt.

"I'm not leaving anywhere," he begins again in a murmur,

"but I'll let you. Go. Get out of here. I won't tell anyone I saw you."

*if (testpassed)
You search for the right thing to say, but the
shouting overhead reminds you that time is up. You sprint away into the darkness.

*page_break Back To The Lecture Hall

You push through the wild river of fleeing people
towards Tesla's recognizable bowler hat.

*goto fightescape

*choice
#"I'll leave, because of all you've done for me, but
after this I owe you no more courtesies."
*set tactful %+10
*set empathy %+10

"I don't need courtesies," he says grimly and

turns away. "I hope to see you at home."

Without a word, you run back the way you came

and disappear in the audience.

*goto fightbad

#"I'll leave, but it's because Mr. Tesla needs my

help, not because you asked."
*set tactful %-10
*set individual %-10

"So long as you're loyal to that man, you're

doomed," he says grimly and turns away. "I hope to see you at home."

Without a word, you run back the way you came

and disappear in the audience.

*goto fightbad

#"No. I'm going onstage to end this charade."

*set showmanship %+10
*set individual %+10

"$!{name}! Wait!" he shouts as you bolt up the

stairs towards the spotlight. "$!{name}! Stop!"

*goto debateintro
 #He can't keep doing this unchallenged. I'm getting up on the stage.
*gosub trial_end
You cannot stand by and watch. You give Tesla an apologetic look. His
desperate eyes widen with betrayal. "Mr. Clemens, get Mr. Tesla out of here. I need
to handle this."

*if (showmanship>=60)
*set audience +1
Whether it is the jab of your elbows or the determination in your
stride, the roiling crowd parts before you as you make your way to the stage
through a storm of shouts, arguments, and curses.

Brown's voice is barely discernible in the din. "…no mistake,

although a lovely specimen, Topsy is responsible for the bloody deaths of half a
dozen zookeepers—"

The audience gasps as you vault onto the stage and yank the
cables out of the Tesla generator. Brown's lab-coated assistants flinch, taking
immediate stock of the nearest blunt weapon as if primed for a physical
altercation. The elephant trumpets, startling the room into silence.

Brown himself freezes mid-word to study you, devoid of surprise

or intimidation.

You toss the electrical cables at his feet and hijack the show.
"This spectacle is barbaric! Do you intend to pass off this repugnant sadism as
science?"

"Now, I could ask you the same thing."

*goto debate

*else
Despite your shouts, the crowd refuses to give way, seemingly not
even noticing you. You squeeze through the tightly packed bodies and do your best
to ignore how they snag your clothes, your hair.

Brown's voice is barely discernible in the din. "…no mistake,

although a lovely specimen, Topsy is responsible for the bloody deaths of half a
dozen zookeepers—"

You pull yourself up onto the stage, teeth gritted, disheveled

from being pushed around. Brown doesn't even notice. You scramble to your feet and
begin to shout the speech you had prepared in your head, but your voice is drowned
out by the noise of the generator. Anger and shame warm your cheeks as the crowd
grabs at your feet to pull you back down.

Only then does Brown deign to notice you, devoid of surprise or

intimidation, and slowly moves to shut down the generator.

So much for first impressions. If only you knew to command the

stage like Nikola Tesla.

*goto debate

*label debate
Still eerily emotionless, Brown calmly gestures at you as if you were another one
of his exhibits. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to be joined on stage by $
{address} $!{name} $!{surname}, a contractor on payroll at one Westinghouse
Electric Company, known to you as the state's largest distributor of the murderous
alternating current."

The crowd cries out in disgust. A few shout names you wish you hadn't heard.
Suddenly self-aware, you straighten your @{dresscode suit. | dress. | overalls. }
As the realization sinks in that he knows your name, you can't help but feel like
the invitation was a setup.

You look the crowd over: they're working men and women, angry and distressed,
unlikely to care for mathemathics or finances. What will you say to them?

*fake_choice
#I appeal to their emotions by challenging Brown on his animal cruelty.
Following Brown's example, you address the audience directly. "People
of New York, is this what we will allow to pass for civil discourse? Sadism,
torture and murder of innocent creatures, all for the sake of resolving commercial
disputes?"

"You electric folks kill creatures all the time!" heckles a housewife
in a kitchen apron. "I can't leave my house these days without stepping on a dead
bird on the sidewalk." People mutter in agreement.

*if (empathy>50)
*set audience +1
You address her concerns. "I understand your unease. Indeed, our
technological advancements are infringing on the natural world, just like railroads
and telephone lines, but these incidents have been accidents! Accidents we are
working to eliminate to make people's lives better! Would you instead favor the man
who commits these atrocities on purpose, with no intention but to shock you? Who
proposes to graduate to executing people? Ladies and gentlemen, electricity might
be a weapon, but Mr. Brown is the murderer, plain and simple."

Brown rolls his eyes. "A bold claim from a company with several
notches on its belt already."

"And we regret each of them dearly. Mr. Westinghouse has been

paying generous reparations to the families struck by tragedy. It won't bring the
victims back, but neither will slaughtering innocent animals." The audience
murmurs, your words taking hold. "Electricity has a frightening novelty, I
understand this. But ask yourselves who profits off of manufacturing this outrage."

*if (empathy<=50)
You wave her off. "These are but unfortunate accidents! It is not
the same as intentional cruelty."

"I don't care for your intentions!" she doubles down ferociously.
"Our children and spouses are falling dead in the streets just the same!" Scattered
applause and encouragement.

Brown nods in satisfaction. "Hear, hear. Where is your bleeding

heart for the people you kill?"

"At least they lay down their lives for progress, and not for
profit!" You feel the crowd slipping away from you. They did not appreciate that.

#The best way to fight prejudice is with fact. I defend alternating current
with scientific rationale.
 Following Brown's example, you address the audience directly. "Fellow
citizens, don't allow those in power to manipulate you by keeping you ignorant. Mr.
Brown has taken the time to demonstrate the ills of alternating current, but he has
taken no time to explain the benefits. It is in his interest not to present the
situation in a fair and informed light, but to keep the threat as vague as
possible, because you wouldn't fear that which you can comprehend."

"Oh, please." Brown rolls his eyes. "Do not patronize these honest men
and women with your intellectual elitism. They are perfectly capable of
understanding lethal technology when they see it."

*if (science>50)
*set audience +1
"On the contrary, I believe they are also capable of recognizing
life-altering technology. Let me ask a question—how many of you present have an
Edison illumination system installed in your homes?" A scattered show of hands,
perhaps a fifth of the entire audience. "Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen; you
must be very privileged to find yourselves living within a single-mile radius of an
Edison DC generating plant. And what about the less privileged? Those who don't
live in brand-new Manhattan townhouses? What about those who have to work in the
dark, walk in the dark, allow their children to play in the dark? What if I told
you that alternating current was nothing but a means to transform electricity so it
may be transported over distances seven times as large? What if I told you that
with alternating current, you could all enjoy the privilege of illumination in your
homes, and more cheaply?"

"I'd never let that damn thing in my house!" heckles a housewife

in a kitchen apron.

"Would it change your mind if I told you that the voltages of an

in-house Westinghouse system are also lower than the ones supplied by Edison
Electric?" Fright washes over the faces of those who had raised their hands.
"Furthermore, what if I told you that voltage is not the quality which makes
current lethal in the first place, and that Mr. Brown has been deceiving you?" The
audience murmurs, your words taking hold.

"And why do you presume a civilian like myself would do such a

thing?" Brown hastily hijacks the audience's attention, feeling his advantage
receding.

"For profit, of course."

*if (science<=50)
"Alternating current by itself is not lethal," you counter. "It
is merely a means to transform electricity so it may be distributed over longer
distances."

"By transmitting it through wires at lethal voltages."

"Yes, but—" The crowd groans, booing you out of the rest of your
sentence. You've talked yourself into a corner.

"You cannot cherry-pick the facets of the truth which suit your
agenda, ${address} $!{surname}," Brown says, jubilant.

"My agenda has facts on its side," you attempt to argue, "yours
only has profit."
 #These people just want to know that their loved ones are safe from death by
wire. I’ll speak to them plainly, practically.
*comment test pragmatism
Following Brown's example, you address the audience directly. "I know
none of you came here to see animals tortured and killed." You shoot daggers at
Brown. "You came here because you fear for your safety and the safety of your loved
ones on our city's streets. I understand it. I walk the same streets as you do. But
I'm not afraid. Do you know why?"

"Because it lines your wretched pockets," heckles a housewife in a

kitchen apron.

*if (idealist < 25)

*set audience +1
You respond to her. "Let me ask you something. How many people do
you know working in the mines? On the railroads? In construction?"

She hesitates, arms defensively crossed. "I've got a son laying

rails in Missouri, so what?"

"Then you're surely aware railroad work injures one in twelve

workers and kills one for every hundred twenty. Hundreds of sons like yours perish
in mines every month. And this year in New York alone, there have been eighty-seven
deaths caused by street cars and gas lighting. Even elevator shafts take more lives
than electric power lines! And yet nobody would belabor their benefit to our
prosperity, to our daily lives." She averts her gaze, disgruntled for lack of a
counterargument. The audience murmurs, your words taking hold. "Electricity has a
frightening novelty, I understand this. But ask yourselves who profits off of
manufacturing this outrage."

*if (idealist>=25)
"Not all of us are in this business for profit," you counter.
"Some of us are in it because we believe in a future with electrical power
everywhere and for everyone, in being at the forefront of scientific discovery and
technological advancement—"

"I believe in a future where we don't drop dead in the streets!"

She doubles down ferociously. "I don't give a damn about your utopia if it'll be
death by wire for our spouses and children!" The crowd rewards her with applause
and encouragement.

Brown looks as close to jubilant as he is capable of doing. You

feel your advantage slipping.

"Interesting that you should mention profit, ${address} $!{surname}," Brown says,
his arms indifferently crossed behind his back. "Was that not what you were looking
to extort from your previous employer and electrical safety advocate, the great
inventor Thomas Alva Edison?" The audience repeats his name amongst themselves like
Sunday Mass. @{edisonfired "In fact, were you not fired for your dishonesty?" |
"Did you not hand in your resignation over profit?" }

You glare at him over the unexpected ad hominem argument. Thomas Edison is a hero
to the people—you know it'll be tough to convince them otherwise. Were you invited
here as a prop in Brown's demonstration? His lack of human reaction gives no
indication of his game plan.

*fake_choice
#Explain the business advantages Edison has from suppressing alternating
current.
*if (business>50)
*set audience +1
"My time at Machine Works ended when Thomas Edison forfeited his
objectivity in favor of a petty feud," you say. "He sees alternating current as a
threat to his direct current distribution system because it can transport power
over longer distances, snatching away his customers. He is also the sole patent
holder for the entire DC system, from generation to illumination, and therefore has
every incentive to defend his electrical monopoly from ever being reinvented for
the better. Why should he consider innovation when he has already invested so much
into the present state of the market?"

"What gall it takes to criticize the Father of the Light Bulb,"

Brown scoffs. "Thomas Edison is a visionary, a pioneer of innovation, and we all
know it."

"Certainly, Thomas Edison is a visionary," you concede, "but he

is also a millionaire who wishes to stay one. He has less in common with the people
in this room than he has with the bankers of Wall Street. Asserting otherwise is
disingenuous."

From the new timbre of conversation in the audience, you can tell
that speaking the unspeakable has had a riveting impact.

*if (business<=50)
"My time at Machine Works ended because Thomas Edison refused to
modernize," you say. "He is simply prejudiced against alternating current because
it is a competitive technology. He resists the fact that other entities in the
industry might be able to do the same thing as he does, but cheaper and better."

"Nonsense," Brown scoffs, "Thomas Edison is a visionary, a

pioneer of the rational, objective mind. Thinking outside the box is what brought
him fame and success. How can you argue he would obstruct progress?"

You stutter. "I don't know what his personal motivations are, but
they are certainly not rational." The crowd grows agitated by your insolence
against their hero.

"This sounds to me like you've got a personal bone to pick with

Edison, rather than any knowledge of how a business is run," Brown gloats. "Who's
to blame him for refusing to allow his patents to be infringed and circumvented?"

"Asserting that alternating current is merely a way to circumvent

his patents is absolutely disingenuous," you argue.

#Tell the story of how Edison's actions inspired your loyalty to Tesla.
"Won't you tell us how Mr. Edison treated one of his most brilliant
employees, who crossed oceans to put his genius into Edison's service: my mentor,
Nikola Tesla?" you challenge him.

"Would that be the same Nikola Tesla whose name rests on this here
deadly dynamo?" He points at the plaque.

"The one who redesigned and reinvented Mr. Edison's own dynamo to be
over thirty percent more effective," you say, "after which Mr. Edison refused to
financially compensate him, dooming him to digging ditches."

"It sounds to me like Mr. Edison saw the perfidious potential in this
young fellow."

*if (individual<25)
*set audience +1
"You're wrong. Mr. Tesla works harder than any of us." You face
the audience. "I don't know about you, ladies and gentlemen, but I wouldn't sell my
labor to a boss who doesn't pay fair wages. Thomas Edison is a calculating despot,
not a hero, and Mr. Brown here is disingenuous in his adoration."

From the new timbre of conversation in the audience, you can tell
that speaking the unspeakable has had a riveting impact.

*if (individual>=25)
"You're wrong."

"And if I prove not to be, in time?" he taunts. "Would you be

willing to tie your career to the trainwreck that is Nikola Tesla even if he were
to drive off a cliff?"

You hesitate. This is a question you have already asked yourself.

The audience notes your hesitation. "No, I don't follow Mr. Tesla blindly. I have
my own judgment."

Brown makes a show of shrugging. "What is there to say? This

@{gender person's | woman's | man's} loyalty alternates as frequently as their
current."

Frustration fills you as the audience hurls insults. "This is a

completely disingenuous hypothetical. Mr. Tesla has done no wrong."

#Don't rise to his bait. Try to remain composed and impersonal.

*if (tactful > 75)
*set audience +1
"My employment at Machine Works terminated in favor of a better
paid position at Westinghouse Electric," you say calmly. "There is no cause to
scandalize the matter. I'm certain that few people in this room would turn down a
better paid job."

"Few people in this room work in an industry that shocks people

dead in the street."

You resist his provocation. "Well, Mr. Brown, unless you are
going to be transparent about your entire employment history, I'll have to assume
your accusations are disingenuous."

*if (tactful <= 75)

"My personal history with Mr. Edison is beside the point."

"So ${they} @{irreg_them are | is} not denying betraying Mr.

Edison to pursue the murderous current!"

You bite your tongue. "It's not betrayal, it's business."

"You see, ladies and gentlemen, human decency does give way to
business at Westinghouse Electric." The gall makes you gasp.

"You're preaching about human decency?" you snap. "In defense of

Thomas Edison, the Swindler of Menlo Park? You must be as disingenuous as he is
shortsighted."

You are simply not one for tact, and the outraged citizens do not
like that one bit. The audience erupts in argument again, defending their electric
messiah. The elephant rumbles in fear.

"Disingenuous?" Brown raises an eyebrow. "Such a claim could only be made by

someone who refuses to see the hard evidence I have brought before their eyes." He
gestures at the cage holding the twisted canine corpse, fur singed and smoking. The
elephant whimpers, as if aware of the threat.

*fake_choice
#Accuse Brown of collusion with Edison. You have no proof, but say it
confidently enough and people may not notice.
"What's disingenuous is your claim to be involved in this controversy
out of the goodness of your heart, rather than your own self-interest."

He scoffs. "I have no financial or commercial interest in the results

of my experiments. Citizen safety does not have a price."

*if (showmanship>50)
*set audience +1
"How convincing that would sound, if only you were not plainly
receiving assistance from an electric light company."

He studies you like a chess opponent, still unreadable. "Blatant

lies."

You pick up one of the ammeters off the ground. The nearest
engineer tries to snatch it from you, but you move faster. You toss it into the
front row of the audience. "Tell me, what does it say? Who manufactured this
instrument?"

The man who caught it holds it uncomfortably, as if it's a bomb.

"A…Ampère?"

"The other one."

"Oh." He turns it over. "Uh, Edison Electric."

You unscrew a bulb from the generator, pick a screwdriver from a

toolbox, remove a fuse. Each time, the answer is the same. Edison Electric. The
audience wrestles over the parts. "Pray tell, how could a hobbyist like you afford
not just Edison's generator, but a Westinghouse as well?"

"Blatant conjecture," Brown waves you off, masking the first

glimpse of nervousness in his voice.

@{(class=1) Your father | The businessman } emerges onstage to

pull you away from the remaining electrical parts. You tear yourself from him. "And
this? Your lead assistant? Thomas Edison's chief of research, ladies and
gentlemen!"

The crowd begins to protest.

*if (showmanship<=50)
 "How convincing that would sound, if only you were not plainly
operating under the agenda of Thomas Edison."

He studies you like a chess opponent, still unreadable. "Blatant

lies."

"It's clear as day who profits here!"

He waves you off. "Conspiracy theories. You have nothing better

to offer."

The heckling in the crowd grows louder, more mocking, sending you
scrambling for replies. "I…I have proof!" you exclaim. "It was Thomas Edison who
invited us here!"

"And my gratitude goes out to Thomas Edison for sending the

invitation! You ought to see what you've wrought upon our citizens!"

"Damn right!" someone shouts from the crowd.

#Expose how his experiment was falsified.

"The evidence, respected citizens, is fabricated."

He studies you like a chess opponent, still unreadable. "If you don't
believe your eyes, you're welcome to look for a pulse. He's not going anywhere."

"The dog is dead, there is no denying that," you say, "but the means by
which you killed it were fradulent. You claim it was the increase in the voltage
that did it, when in fact it was an increase in the current that killed this dog.
It is a completely independent variable, which you manipulated behind the scenes!"

He scoffs. "Do not attempt to befuddle the minds of the people with
technical jargon. I can tell you as an expert, ladies and gentlemen, it makes no
difference. Alternating current killed the dog, and direct current did not."

*if (engineering>50)
*set audience +1
"This is precisely my point," you say, picking up an ammeter from
his equipment box. The nearest engineer tries to snatch it from you, but you move
faster. "Direct current would have killed the dog just the same, at voltage just as
low, if it had been set to output the same amount of current. It would have been
just as lethal!" You see the front rows scratching their heads. You attach the
ammeter to the electrodes of the Tesla generator. "I ought to provide you with an
analogy: if the voltage were a barrel, then the water level inside it would be
electric current. What Mr. Brown demonstrated was that a dog could drown in a
barrel full of water, by allowing high current to pass through an AC generator. But
he never allowed the same amount of water into the barrel when he was demonstrating
the apparent "safety" of DC—he kept increasing the voltage, the size of the barrel,
but he never allowed you to see that it was empty." The audience now looks between
the two of you with skepticism as you adjust the generator.

"If you are making a case that all of electricity is a danger,

you are not helping your case, nor this industry," he argues.

"On the contrary," you say. "I am making a case that all of
electricity can be made safe." You hold up two wires from the circuit that connects
the dog to the generator and make sure everyone can see them. "Observe: the same
voltage that killed the dog, but with the amplitude of the current kept low." You
push the power crank with your elbow and close the electrical circuit with yourself
as the resistor.

At first, the people shout warnings, recoil, and cover their

eyes, but the disaster they expect doesn't come to pass. As they slowly realize
that you are still alive and well while holding the live wires in your hands,
astonishment pours into the cauldron of unrestrained passions bubbling in the hall.

*if (engineering<=50)
"This is precisely my point," you say. "Alternating current would
not have killed it if the current were kept low."

The smallest, most malicious smile curls the corners of his lips.
"If you are so convinced, won't you be so kind as to volunteer for an experiment?"
Someone from the crowd gives you a nasty laugh.

You cannot back down now. If you don't trust your own math, what
can you trust? The generator's control board is a nightmare of switches, knobs, and
potentiometers, but you don't give Brown the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate.

You wish you had Tesla by your side as you try to decrease the
current output. How low is low enough not to fry you?

You swallow the lump in your throat and face the audience with a
live wire in each hand. "Observe: the same voltage that killed the dog, but with
the amplitude of the current kept low." You push the power crank with your elbow
and close the electrical circuit with yourself as the resistor.

The breath is knocked out of you through a sudden, painful jolt

in your right hand. You yelp, staggering backwards, separated from death by the
rubber soles of your boots.

As you struggle for breath, the audience erupts in a cacophony of

laughter, curses, and concerned shouts.

"See, ladies and gentlemen?" Brown gloats. "Not even their

inventors can operate these devices safely!"

The shock of near death gradually gives way to embarrassment. You

should have used an ammeter.

#Argue that his "electric chair" concept is inhumane, and must be prevented
at all costs.
"What's disingenuous is taking technology which could be used to help
people, and aiming to weaponize it to murder them," you argue. "How do you stand
before your fellow citizens and speak of subjecting them to electric shock as
punishment?"

"Not my fellow citizens," he patiently corrects you, "but criminals.

They do not have a place in society. And please, we do prefer the term
'Westinghousing.'"

*if (empathy>50)
*set audience +1
"If you truly wished to improve society, why not speak of
abolishing the death penalty? Why not reeducate the convicts, perhaps to assist in
the electrical business?"
 "There are already quite enough criminals in the electrical
business," Brown sneers.

"No, it's because scandal and propaganda are your bread and
butter, not humanitarianism," you persist. "Fellow citizens, will you allow your
grief and fear to be used as fuel for industrial rivalries? Will you allow a
dispute over technological standards to be used as an excuse to modernize murder?
If the suffering you've witnessed today should be used towards anything, then it
should be used to pass legislation to bury the live wires underground and install
thicker insulation. These are compromises Westinghouse Electric can work toward.
Intentionally inflicting more deaths by electricity will help nothing, except to
deepen the industrial feuds and the reckless competition that have brought us into
this mess in the first place." You gesture at Brown. "This is what Harold Brown
offers you. More death, institutionalized by the state and baptized by private
companies."

Faster than the eye can see, an egg explodes on the side of
Brown's thigh, temporarily shattering his composure in a rain of yolk.

*if (empathy<=50)
"People, can't you see the absurdity?" you shout, exasperated.
"This is about propaganda, not justice."

"It's entirely about justice!" Brown retorts. "Where's the

justice for the innocent souls Westinghouse struck from above? Why should we cower
in fear every time we leave our homes?"

Faster than the eye can see, an egg explodes on the side of your
thigh, temporarily shattering your composure in a rain of yolk.

*if (audience>1)
*set brownwins false
*set AC_DC %+20
*set reputation %+20
*set showmanship %+20

You look around at the enraged mob, a foaming sea of bobbing hats and reddened
faces, and you realize…

*if not (brownwins)

*page_break The Crowd Is Yours

The heckling grows louder, escalating until you can no longer hear your own
thoughts. People begin to pour onto the stage, kicking the equipment, wrestling the
assistants from the elephant's reins, chasing after Brown. He flees behind the
curtain, wasting no time. You can hear shouting and crashing as his pursuers fall
in behind him.

You have no time to feel proud of yourself. You push through the wild river
of fleeing people towards Tesla's recognizable bowler hat. They are where you left
them: Westinghouse, Tesla, and Twain, pushing in the opposite direction of the mob.
Tesla looks weak.

*goto fightescape

*else
*page_break You've Lost The Crowd
 "As a matter of fact, respected citizens, why not speak to the men directly
in charge of your suffering?" You watch, horrified, as Brown points his finger into
the crowd. "We have some very esteemed guests here! Mr. Westinghouse and his top
lackey, Nikola Tesla! Why not give them a piece of your mind?"

The heckling grows louder, escalating until you can no longer hear your own
thoughts. People begin to pour onto the stage, hands grabbing your arms, your
shoulders, struggling to remove you from the premises.

*label fightbad

In the crowd, you can see someone snatch Tesla's bowler hat and throw it to
the ground. His face is pale, petrified, as the crowd moves in to crush him between
Clemens and Westinghouse. @{bodyguards Veins are popping on the foreheads of the
bodyguards as they shield them with their arms. | Regret washes over you as you
remember the bodyguards you dismissed.}

"Mr. Tesla!" You tear yourself from the hands holding you and rush towards
him, but making your way through the crowd is as laborious as moving through
molasses. The first pained shouts start. Curses. "Mr. Tesla!"

You can hear Westinghouse shouting: "Out! Out! Let us out!"

A man in overalls collapses in front of you, clutching his throat, falling

backwards into helping hands.

"I warned you!" Clemens shouts at him, spittle flying. "Keep your distance!"
Tesla is cordoned off by Clemens's outstretched arms, his black curls disheveled,
stuck to his head. He stares at the injured man, white-eyed and breathless, as
sweat drips down his mustache.

In the commotion, someone sweeps Westinghouse's legs out from under him and
the man tumbles like a barrel, shouting, still clutching Tesla's shirt, yanking
@{bodyguards him and the bodyguard | him} off-balance.
*if not (bodyguards)
A dirty brawler sees his opening, and you watch as a fist flies into
Tesla's face. Tesla claps his hand over his nose, blood bursting between his bony
fingers.
*set injured true

*fake_choice
#Clear a getaway corridor.
*set tactful %+10
You don't hesitate to push and shove against the wall of
bodies blocking your exit.

"Make way! Make way, damn you!" you shout, parting the
crowd just a sliver, enough for Clemens to pull Tesla out by his armpits.

Westinghouse guards the rear, swatting away your followers

with his cane, shouting breathless warnings and empty threats.

#Strike back at the man who hurt Tesla.

*set tactful %-10
Without much time for second thought, you grab a fistful of
the man's hair and yank.

"You wretched son of a bitch!" Clemens barks at him,

rolling up his sleeves. "Come here!"
 Other hands, including the man's own, try to pry you away
from the back of his head, but you manage to hold on long enough for Clemens to
grab him by the shoulders and deliver a devastating head butt. The man stumbles
back, howling.

"$!{name}, come on!" Clemens offers you a hand, his silver

hairline streaked with the man's blood.

#Help Tesla up.

*set individual %-10
You reach out your hand, and for the first time, he takes
it. You pull him up, enduring the rough blows to your back from accidental and
intentional assailants both, and drape his arm over your shoulders. He is lighter
than you expected.

Clemens clears the way with shouts and fists, and

Westinghouse guards the rear, swatting with his cane.

*if bodyguards
Before you know it, the other bodyguard wraps a meaty arm around your
waist and hoists you up to carry you out of the mess. You watch Clemens fend off
attackers with fists and shouts as the downed guard collects Tesla and Westinghouse
off the floor, and you suddenly find yourself dropped outside of the lecture hall.

"Run!" the guard tells you.

*label nextpage
With the fanfare of angry shouts and an elephant's trumpeting behind you, you push
your way out of Columbia College.

*finish Next Chapter

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