The Tesla Legacy Read Online Free PDF Page B

sandwiches for himself and for Edison. Joe also got fries and a Coke, but Edison would have to make do with water once they got back to the house.
    The dog’s eyes fastened on the brown paper bag, and he licked his lips.
    “Soon enough,” Joe said. “Greedy Gus.”
    Edison gave him an injured look and stood, ready to go.
    By way of apology, Joe fished a piece of meat out of Edison’s sandwich and fed it to him, resting his hand on the dog’s shoulder before they hurried up the long ramp to the concourse.
    He usually stopped to admire his surrogate heaven—the green-blue ceiling painted with Zodiac constellations was the only sky he saw these days—but today he gave it only a quick glance because he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A gray and white pigeon flew diagonally across the space, landing behind a carved ship’s wheel far from the floor.
    A pair nested at the edge of the green-blue ceiling—the only wild animals in this man-made room. He wished that he had some dry corn to feed them. He and his father had fed the pigeons in Central Park during Joe’s rare visits. His father had practically tamed the pigeons, and they had perched on his wrist and had taken the corn from his palm. Joe would have liked to have tried to tame these two, but suspected that feeding them would draw unwanted attention and maybe get the birds in trouble, so he left them alone and admired them from afar.
    He wove between travelers to get to the iconic clock mounted on the round information booth at the very center of the concourse—a familiar meeting place to any New Yorker. The clock read almost 12:30 (cyan, blue: red, black). He tapped on the brass door, and waved to Miss Evaline, the woman who presided over the booth with good-natured authority.
    The information booth was built around a large, hollow column. Inside the column, a spiral staircase led to the creaky elevator that would carry Joe and Edison to their underground home.
    “Did you have a nice walk?” Miss Evaline opened the door to the concourse and let them in. Curious tourists stopped to look. Civilians didn’t go through that door.
    “We did, thank you.” Joe stepped inside and fitted his key into the second door. He needed to go downstairs, and he dreaded it. “How was your morning?”
    “Busy. Can’t complain.” She straightened the black cap on her head before stooping to pet Edison. He was on duty, so he kept his serious face, but the tiny wag of his tail betrayed him. He liked her. “But I’m sorry to say you can’t go down right now.”
    The bottom fell out of Joe’s stomach. “Why not?”
    “Elevator inspection,” she said. “Should only be a few hours.”
    Edison licked his hand, but it didn’t calm Joe down.
    He thanked Evaline, but the words stuck in his throat. He needed to go home, but he didn’t have time to wind through the tunnels again. He had to be somewhere with Wi-Fi by one (cyan). Quickly, he ran over his Wi-Fi options: the Apple Store—too public; Track 36 (red, orange) by the Station Master’s office—even more public, he might not even get a chance to sit down; and the Hyatt—which would have to do. He could check into a hotel room for a few hours and get the Wi-Fi password from the concierge. Not long ago he would have balked at the expense, but it didn’t matter anymore. After Pellucid went public, he’d never had to worry about money again.
    He jogged across the terminal, slid through the hallway separating the Hyatt from Grand Central without looking toward the glass doors leading outside, checked in, and took the elevator up to his temporary room. Even though he’d lived in the Hyatt for months before moving down below, he didn’t feel comfortable in the room. Its anonymity felt wrong, today of all days. This wasn’t where he should be for this call. But he didn’t have a choice.
    He dumped Edison’s sandwich onto a towel in the bathroom and filled the ice bucket with water so the dog could have a