Meeting Mr. Med-School (2)
The next day, reporters had gathered at Edison's company.
I couldn't even guess how minutely the newspaper must have been tilted, how many strings pulled, to make everything move on exactly this schedule.
The poor thing.
I gazed bitterly at the horse tethered in the distance. My first reaction to facing the animal experiment was pure revulsion. And my second was an agonized question — was that horse a Component made from a visitor, or nothing more than an illusion conjured from data?
"You're here."
Just then, Visitor C, who had stepped away for a while, returned to my side. It had struck me as a little odd that she'd slipped off on her own at a moment when we strangers in a strange world were supposed to be leaning on each other.
Come to think of it, she looked awfully anxious yesterday too, when I was explaining my plan.
"Ms. C, where did you go?"
At my question, Visitor C's eyes darted away for a moment. It was a question she could have answered easily, yet the pause stretched on just a little too long. Every second of it deepened my certainty that she hadn't simply gone off to enjoy a stroll.
"Ah, just for a moment. I wanted to look around the area."
"…?"
"Since we'll be witnessing the animal experiment soon, my heart felt rather heavy."
Only then did I nod, satisfied by her answer. Of course, I hadn't truly accepted it — I knew it was an excuse, but I chose not to press.
"Ah!"
Flit—
At that moment, something came tumbling out from inside Visitor C's jacket. It was a handful of tarot cards. Flustered, the woman bent down and reached for them — and this time every card still tucked in her coat went cascading to the floor.
"Did you use your Perk?"
"Oh, no. These are cards I've carried with me since before I entered the tower."
Visitor C picked up a single tarot card and held it out to me. The edges of the card were dulled and worn from use.
"Come to think of it, they do look well-loved."
"Yes. I have a habit of drawing a card reading every morning."
Did she really do the same here, inside this tower? A reading where you asked the question and answered it yourself — that struck me as even stranger.
"And how is your luck today?"
"…My luck?"
"? Yes, of course."
After all, I could hardly have been asking about someone else's fortune.
Visitor C's lips parted slightly, then her gaze dropped back to the cards.
…Why would I suddenly ask about your luck?
"It's good. Very."
"……"
"Let's hope Mr. A's plan goes well, then."
"…I see."
Visitor C smiled, but the smile did nothing to put me at ease. The look in her eyes from yesterday — the one that seemed to reproach me — kept flickering across my mind.
I can only hope it was suspicion. Nothing more.
"Are you really going to do it?"
"Pardon?"
"Edison. A genius, arrogant, a man from a world completely unlike ours. How do you expect to talk a man like that around—"
Perhaps she felt guilty enough for grumbling, Visitor C finally closed her mouth. It wasn't as though she had a better method herself, but my proposal clearly didn't sit well with her.
"Yes. In the end, he's a man of another world. A man of the museum."
"……"
A world that we have to resolve.
I finished my short reply and turned my head toward where the reporters' attention was converging. Heavy footsteps were making their way through the crowd — Edison had arrived.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen."
Edison called out to everyone in that measured, resonant voice of a man perfectly built for handling crowds. Perhaps he'd expected us to come, for he gave no individual signal in our direction.
"I say it once more: today's demonstration is an unavoidable alternative, undertaken to prevent horrors yet to come."
What Edison called an "alternative" was, unmistakably, a demonstration. A demonstration that violated the very sanctity of life he so loved to proclaim.
Crack-crack-!!!
"Hyaaagh!"
At the tremendous sound, Visitor C screamed in fright. Before the horse could even register pain, electricity surged through its body. Twisted violently by the powerful current, the animal collapsed where it stood.
It's fake. This has to be illusion data, not a Component.
I looked upon the horse — dead, its body contorted by electrocution — with quiet grief. It was nothing more than a Sacrifice offered up for the sake of a show.
"……"
"……"
The silence was brief. Then the clamor broke out. The reporters swarmed Edison, each hurling questions with fervent urgency.
"Mr. Edison! Are you telling us that Westinghouse's electricity can kill a human being, just as it killed this animal?"
"Nikola Tesla, an employee of the Edison Company, has agreed to collaborate with Westinghouse on the alternating current patent rights. Doesn't that lend their technology considerable power?"
Edison, who had been listening to the questions in silence, suddenly knotted his brow with terrifying intensity. Nikola Tesla. Westinghouse. Even the word power — there wasn't a single term among them that didn't rake at his mood.
"Power, you say?"
His voice remained perfectly courteous, the exact tone required for handling the press — but a finely honed blade was standing upright inside it.
"I may feel dread toward a killing weapon, but I have no intention of kneeling before mere power."
After all, the reporters lacked scientific knowledge of his depth — Edison was lying through his teeth to them. His rhetoric, cloaked in ethics and justice while fanning the flames of fear, was remarkably impressive to watch.
"Mr. Edison!"
"Mr. Edison!"
"Thank you all for your hard work."
Even as the reporters raised their hands and called his name, Edison permitted no further questions. He readied himself to turn his back on the crowd.
"Delegates of Joseon."
Then, at last, Edison addressed us. Visitor C and I, having finally turned our backs on the cold corpse of the horse, looked at him.
"I ask that you record this murderous weapon for posterity."
He had called us over deliberately to drive home the final blow. Before Joseon — which had used Edison Company light bulbs — could take an interest in Westinghouse, he meant to sever the connection at the very root.
"I'm afraid recording it will be difficult."
"…?"
But I shook my head firmly.
"If we announce that the dokkaebi fire destined to light our Joseon lamps is this terrifying in nature, who would ever switch on an electric light?"
At my words, Edison's eyes narrowed into flat slits.
"You seem not to have known. Electricity that steals life is alternating current. My company's technology is direct current. It is not dangerous. Never."
"Is that so?"
Any other reporter, any other person of this era, would have swallowed Edison's words whole unless they'd studied science. But to me and Visitor C, people of the future, it was nothing but malicious propaganda.
"Was it technology that burned that horse's body, Mr. Edison? Or electricity?"
"……"
"Was it technology that boiled the fish in the palace pond of Gyeongbokgung to death? Or electricity?"
I hurled questions designed, as much as possible, to set his nerves on edge. If I wanted to draw his attention, hold a long conversation with him, and secure the quest's success… I would have to speak of things he found unpleasant yet could not bring himself to cut short.
"That was a matter of the equipment, sir. The heated cooling water flowed backward and—"
"Then it was technology that killed the fish."
By now, only Edison, Visitor C, and I remained in the space. Edison confirmed that the reporters had all filed out, then took a single step closer to me. And with a gaze brimming with killing intent, he glared at me.
"What is your objective."
"……"
"You two. Are you really the delegation from Joseon?"
I gave no detailed answer, only regarded him in silence.
"Mr. Med-School — no. Mr. Edison."
"……"
"Let us talk about the true future of electricity."
Not this farce of a show — the genuine future of electricity and of mankind.
"……"
Edison, belatedly realizing that we were no ordinary pair, deliberated for a moment. Could he really let us into his domain? Could he afford such a reckless gamble? That, no doubt, was what he was weighing.
"This way."
In the end, Edison guided us to his office. Beyond the warehouse holding the horse, the Edison Company sprawled wide across the surrounding grounds. On the way to the office, the eyes of the employees kept snapping toward us in succession.
Two Easterners trailing behind the boss, Mr. Edison. The stares, braided from curiosity and wariness in equal measure, were easy enough to understand.
"You have a great many employees, Mr. Edison."
"Only the cleverest minds in America."
Even in the midst of light conversation, Edison radiated confidence in his company.
…What's wrong with her?
It was then that I belatedly noticed Visitor C's face had drained chalk-white. It was a completely different expression from yesterday's — when she had boasted of her tarot and preened with confidence.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
The answer that left her lips was remarkably listless. But with Edison ushering us into chairs, there was no chance to check on her further.
"Now then. Enough of the pathetic theatrics — let us talk."
The moment the three of us were alone inside the office, Edison dove straight into business.
"It didn't strike me as theatrics. Given your position, Mr. Edison, a psychological tug-of-war over business terms is only natural."
"A smooth-tongued young man with a pretty face. Spare me the honeyed words."
"……"
Edison drummed his fingers against the chair at precisely the same tempo as the second hand of the wall clock.
"Too much knowledge for men who have only just begun to accept the marvels of electricity."
Tap—
Tap—
Tap—
"And no sign of the usual scheme to haggle the deposit down even a fraction."
Tap—
The tick of the clock hands seemed to seize anxiously at my ears.
"Mr. Edison. Your passion for direct current — it's admirable."
I knew the compliment was bait, and so, this time, Edison's expression didn't brighten in the least.
"But do you truly believe this is the best way?"
"…What?"
Edison was sharp — which meant it was time for a frontal assault.
"You are the genius Thomas Edison, are you not? You know perfectly well that alternating current is not the only electricity that summons death."
Visitor C apparently thought my choice of words far too reckless — she grabbed hold of my sleeve. I met her eyes and gave a small, silent nod, meant to reassure her. Then I pressed the attack.
"It's only because your technology, your pride, and your money are so precious to you that you resort to such inhumane methods."
"You — are insane."
"You did tell me to cut the flattery, so I'll come directly to the point."
Edison's face was twisted with fury. I had to press on quickly, before he threw us out.
"I am your conscience, Mr. Edison."
"…?!"
"Angel, god, devil — interpret it however you like. It makes no difference."
"Kuh—"
When I suddenly invoked a transcendent being, Edison sneered at me as though I were a lunatic.
"You have already sought counsel on the electric chair design, haven't you?"
"…You're a Westinghouse man. Get out. Now."
"There is no need to change what you have done. That, too, is who you are."
No need to change his actions — a declaration that I would not touch his plans. At those words, Edison's pupils trembled, ever so slightly.
Yes. That's it.
"But you are Thomas Edison — the man who loathed slaughter, who prayed his electricity would never become a weapon of war."
"……"
"A single line in the biographies of great men that doesn't belong to you. Don't you think it would remain as a stain?"
The fear-mongering propaganda against alternating current, destined to be cited among his countless achievements as the one flaw deserving of censure. If I could undo only this, Edison could become the man who had held fast to his own ethics of life.
"I am a businessman. A businessman who must protect his employees and his technology."
"I know."
"No matter what you prattle on about, I will not change my actions."
But Edison was stubborn — naturally so, the man guarding his company and his fortune. His lucid tone and unflinching eyes drew a quiet breath of relief from me.
Thank heavens. It seems he won't rewrite history even without pinning him down with tarot cards.
"Fine. You've already sought counsel, and the electric chair will be carried out. Fear of alternating current will spread as well."
"……"
"Only one thing will change."
What Thomas Edison must change is—
"Admit that Thomas Edison's stance on alternating current was 'not genuine fear, but strategic marketing.'"