SON OF TESLA

Can one man convince a world he's never known to stand together against a madman who wields the power of the stars?

Nikola Tesla never died, and not in the sense that memories are forever. From the moment he stepped through the doorway to the transdimensional world of Volos, he began to change. Now, his son Petar has escaped the nightmare world to warn Earth of Tesla's imminent attack. The only problem is, nobody believes him.

Excerpt from Son of Tesla:

"He was power-mad," the man continued in his half-whisper. "Starving for more knowledge of the interactions between the two worlds. See, he was convinced he'd spent a month there, but when he came back, he'd been gone nearly half a year. If you look it up, you'll see that there are about five months when nobody seems to have any record of him existing. That was when he was on the other side.
"When he got back, he began pouring every penny into his research. He was driven. The world saw what he wanted to show them, but the real stuff, the things that could have brought the world to its knees, he kept secret. Most of that work he did out in Colorado."
"You realize how wild this sounds," Brodham felt it was time to step in. "You're talking about other dimensions, time travel..."
"I never said time travel."
"...an immortal electrician!"
"Electrical engineer, and please don't underestimate him. He may have been harmless then, but something about those early years on Volos changed him. His soul took a trip to hell and came back with scars."
"Volos." Brodham tried to keep his voice flat, but he couldn't quite keep out the note of curiosity.
"That's what he called it. The Slavic god of death," the man said with a wry chuckle. "Ironic for a planet that's so alive it breathes under your feet."
"Is it a planet or...what was it you said? 'Another dimension.' "
"It's about the size of Earth, but that's the only similarity. I don't think it exactly exists in this universe. More like a parallel dimension. Most of the rules of physics are the same there, but not all of them."
"How do you know about this place?" Brodham made an effort to keep the conversation on track. He'd heard most of this before, but every time the man told his story, he added new details. It was a clever trick. "Have you been there?"
"Been there? I was born there!"
"And you..." Brodham looked over his notes, "...escaped."
"Right."
"To warn us that Nikola Tesla is going to invade our planet with an 'army of robots,' in your words."
"No, not robots," the man sighed wearily. "Nanophrenological clones. They just sort of look like robots. Now are you ready to start taking me seriously?"
"Why would his own son have to escape?"
"Let's just say we don't see eye-to-eye on some things."
"Like the destruction of Earth."
"That'd be the main thing, yeah.
"Alright, that's enough for now. We'll hold you in a cell for a few days until we can get some background information. In the meantime, if you ever feel you'd like to change your story, just ask to see me." Brodham stood and signaled to the door. It buzzed and then clicked open to allow two burly men through. Each one cradled an M4 beneath his shoulder.
"You're making a mistake." The man's voice wasn't accusing, simply matter-of-fact, as if he'd already realized nobody would believe him. It also sounded sad.
"I'm sure I am."
Brodham turned to the door and nodded a greeting to one of the armed guards. They'd worked a field assignment several months previously. James, or Gerry, maybe. Brodham tried to remember, came up only with a "Juh" sound. Two kids, one in a wheel chair. Some disease. Nice guy.
The guard smiled back, and the base of his throat exploded.