A Clockwork Goldberg

The flashing, thrumming device was almost mesmerizing in its futuristic simplicity. Pulses of violet light chased each other, seemingly at random, across its front panel, while brilliant blue-white electric arcs surged upward from its central coil via a Jacob's Ladder: two tapered copper antennae reaching nearly to the ceiling. The combination cast an eerie and ever-changing series of shadows across the figures of the two men observing it.

The older of the pair was a dignified, gray-haired gentleman with a silk bow tie and bowler hat. His straining waistcoat, however, recalled slimmer days long since past; while his measured silence and slight frown spoke of an ego nearly as large as his girth. After some time, he turned to the slender brunet beside him and asked:

"This, then, is your clock?"

The younger man nodded, a quick jerky movement reminiscent of a wary passenger pigeon eying its captor. "Entirely electromagnetic. Is it not magnificent?" His voice had an odd accent: not quite German, not quite Russian. Almost Greek.

His companion harrumphed. "Magnificent is one word for it, I suppose. I might consider another."

"You don't appreciate it, then?"

"I appreciate the feat of engineering for what it is, Nikola: a brilliant use of galvanic principles, and the unprecedented construction of a practical voltaic pile. I've never seen anyone else succeed in maintaining that large a battery of plates and acids without it somehow blowing up in their face. You Austrians appear to have a knack for this sort of thing."

"Please, Professor Butts. Not Austrian; Serbian," the dark-haired gentleman corrected, his nervous fingers brushing his trim mustache. "If it succeeds at what it does, what then is your objection?"

The professor coughed. "That's just it, my young friend: it doesn't succeed at all. For one thing," he cleared his throat again, "do you smell that awful acrid tang? I've no doubt that those continual electrical discharges are poisoning the very air we breathe."

"Nonsense, sir; that is the very same odor one encounters after a sudden storm, once the rain has had a chance to wash the soot from—"

"In addition," the older gentleman interjected, "no right-minded person would be willing to permit such an obvious galvanic, magnetic and incandescent hazard in their personal environs. Not to mention going to the trouble of learning to decipher the fanciful enigma you've chosen to use to communicate the hour."

"Enigma? Why, it's a standard mathematical progression, graspable by the youngest schoolchild!"

"Perhaps it is in Aust— I mean, Serbia. Here in civilized America, not even close."

Nikola's shoulders slumped; he let out a soft sigh. "Very well, Professor. What changes would you suggest be made?"

"That's the spirit!" Professor Butts gave his protégé a hearty clap on the back, completely failing to note how the brunet Serb flinched from the contact. He'd already turned his full attention back to analyzing the various components of the futuristic timepiece.

"For starters," he continued, "we need to dismantle your wet-cell; not only is it a hazard, as I've just pointed out, it also takes up far too much room. We'll need that space for a safe and proper gravitational or torsion-based power source. That central magnetic coil has to go as well, unfortunately, but don't despair: I'm sure we'll find a use for all that brass and copper. As for these lights, best to eliminate them entirely; it's all a bit too fancy and far-fetched. Nobody in their right mind will want a clock whose face glows at night: why, how would they sleep? Now that oversized knife switch, that has possibilities; of course, first we'll have to unbolt it from the wall...."

The clock's reconversion project took the two men the best part of a week, much of which involved forming the components the professor required out of the materials they had on hand. Nikola did most of the shaping, while Professor Butts did most of the assembling; the fastidious young Serb couldn't bring himself to handle grease, or anything coated with it.

The finished product also took up more than double the space of its predecessor, and its metallic clacks and bangs were to Nikola's ear far more jarring than his original machine's soothing electrical thrum. In fact, he found he couldn't think of this cobbled-together apparatus as a proper machine at all: while it was in fact mechanical, it was such a hodgepodge assemblage of parts that the only word he felt could fittingly describe it was 'contraption'.

Naturally, Professor Butts — no, at some point during the week he'd said to call him Luce — thought it was the bee's knees. "Look at this, my dear Nick! What a glorious monument to modern ingenuity and efficiency. Every component retested and reliable; why, that central timing chain alone is a veritable work of art! As soon as word of this gets out, every household in America is sure to want one."

His restless eyes darting everywhere, the younger man tried to view the mechanical timekeeper from his mentor's perspective. The power formerly supplied by that magnificent battery had been replaced by what felt like a random selection of weights, springs, pendulums, and even a pressurized steam chamber. Often one such component fed another, which seemed like a horribly inefficient transfer of energy.

Then there were the gears. A giant notched primary gear, surrounded by a half dozen interlocking planetary gears. More gears to turn the clock's slender hands, which had been repurposed from what used to be the antennae for his prized Jacob's Ladder. Gears to act as governors for the various and assorted springs; gears to turn the aforementioned timing chain; even an oversized partial gear, which the professor called an escapement, to make sure the entire apparatus moved forward at precisely one click per second.

And in-between: ball bearings which rolled along ramps to activate switches, only to then be lifted up again by pulleys strung with rubber cord; a collection of levers, valves, pivots and joints, of every conceivable size and jutting in any available direction; steam being directed through a coiled copper tube, and dripping down into an open Erlenmeyer flask. When said flask was filled, it would lower, lifting the other end of its attached lever; this would close the knife switch, bringing together two bare wires to create a spark with which to ignite a cotton wick and thereby light a candle: the only remotely galvanic effect left over from Nikola's original device.

The fidgety Serb jerked his neck and shoulders from side to side: his version of shrugging and shaking his head. It was no use. He couldn't drive away the conviction that in agreeing to allow this... monstrosity to be built, he'd somehow managed to turn a technological advance into a technological retreat.

And all to no avail, as he realized that his companion had continued speaking unabated right through his reverie. "...a bona fide masterpiece of design! No one could help but be captivated — nay, mesmerized! — by its very operation; it's a testament to the indomitability of brass and brains, steel and steam.

"Electricity isn't the way forward, my friend; this is! Can a battery track the flow of time, or light up a room better than a well-made candle? Can a magnet propel a dirigible through the air? Can galvanic energy reinvigorate a tired heart, etch a daguerreotype, or regenerate an injured limb?"

Lucifer Butts wrapped his arm around his protégé's slumped shoulders; Nikola did his best not to flinch. "Of course not! But inherently elegant devices such as this will carry us into the twentieth century and well beyond. Why, let us invite the newspapermen here this very eve; it's high time the world had its first look at the incredible Butts-Tesla Electromechanical Timekeeping Apparatus! We shall even have them call it 'Beta' for short."

He extended his other arm across his massive chest, presenting his oversized hand. "What do you say, Nick? Partners? Let's shake on it."

Nikola Tesla took a moment to compose himself; then opened his mouth to reply.