Women of Power

by Allison, Wesley

  Stella knew from experience that she was vulnerable to the supervillain’s radiation and she sensed that he knew it too, though she couldn’t tell from his unchanging Halloween expression. He certainly wasn’t going to rely only on the lethal rays emanating from his radioactive face though. Clutching her neck in his left hand so tightly that she couldn’t draw a breath, he began punching her with his right. He pummeled her again and again until she thought she might once more lapse into unconsciousness. Worse, she could tell that her face was becoming bruised and swollen. Then with a tremendous roundhouse, he sent her tumbling blindly end of end. She barely regained her balance when he hit her again. And again. And again. Then with a horrendous kick, he sent her flying back towards the shore. Stella came crashing down onto something sharp and jagged and metal.

  The Atomic Jack-O-Lantern floated from over Lake Michigan into the city, following the trajectory through which he had sent All American Girl hurtling. She had come down in Lincoln Park, crushing the statue of Johnny Liberty and gouging a great ditch into the earth next to a bike path. But where was her body? Then suddenly something was grasping him from behind, squeezing him in some kind of metal shell. It was crushing him, turning his radioactive energy in on himself. He blinked and teleported away.

  * * * * *

  Tigershark, still wearing the nun’s habit, grinned down at the shrinking form of Skygirl. She was already weakened to the point where she was unable to lift an arm. Even breathing was becoming difficult. He grabbed hold of the Polarite, tossing the shell of the bible aside, and pointed it at the stricken super.

  “I wish I could think of something suitable to say at a time like this,” he said. “I guess I should have prepared some words for the day I killed the daughter of Skyman.”

  A large slab of metal suddenly dropped from the sky, interposing itself between the supervillain and his fallen prey. Half a second later, All American Girl landed next to it, and before he could move, she snatched the precious gem from his hands and threw it high into the atmosphere.

  “My guess is that you’ve got some time to work on that speech,” she said.

  Tigershark waited for her to attack, but she didn’t. She looked pretty beat up. In fact, she looked as though she might fall over. She looked so beat up that he thought he might have had a chance of beating her in a fair fight. But he wasn’t one for a fair fight. This was his chance to get away. He could always attack either of the super-chickies from behind another day. He turned and ran straight into the rock solid body of Skygirl.

  “But you were…” he started.

  “I feel better now,” she said, then knocked him unconscious with a single blow to the top of the head.

  “Thanks for the assist, A.G.,” she said, turning to Stella. “Where’d you get the lead shield?”

  “It’s the cape from the statue of Johnny Liberty,” Stella replied wearily. “I snagged it to catch the Jack-O-Lantern, but he got away, so I used it to block the Polarite radiation from you.”

  “Where is that Polarite, anyway?”

  “It should be burnt up in the atmosphere by now.” Stella stepped away from the lead sheet and slumped against the wreck of the van.

  “Oh, A.G. I’m so sorry.” Skygirl put a supporting shoulder under Stella’s arm. “I should be asking if you’re okay, rather than worrying about that Polarite. It’s just that I tend to obsess about it, since it can kill me.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “What happened to your beautiful face? Did the Jack-O-Lantern hit you with a train?”

  “No, just his fists.”

  “I should get you to the hospital.”

  “No, I’m fine. I just need something to eat.”

  Suddenly the sounds of sirens began filling the air. Flashing red lights approached from all four cardinal directions.

  “We can at least let the paramedics check you out,” said Skygirl.

  “Oh, fricking hell,” said Stella. “I can’t let that bomb squad guy see me like this. Get me out of here.”

  “Right.”

  Putting her right arm around Stella’s waist, Skygirl soared up into the sky carrying All American Girl along with her. She circled the intersection several times just to make sure that the Chicago PD’s meta-enforcement squad had taken Tigershark into custody. Then she turned and shot toward Wabash Avenue and their Smithson Building Penthouse Apartment, somewhat slower than a speeding bullet.

  “So, do you have a new boyfriend?” she asked.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Stella.

  Chapter Six

  Smithson Building Penthouse Apartment;

  Wabash Avenue;

  Stella stared ruefully at her reflection in the hall mirror. The side of her face was still bruised and she had quite a shiner around her left eye. She thought briefly about applying make-up over it, but decided against it. She would probably end up making it look worse. After all, she had never used make-up before. Of course, she had never been this bruised up before. Stepping into the living room, she plopped down on the sofa, and grabbing the remote from the cushion beside her, turned on the television.

  “Can I bring you anything,” said Linda, suddenly beside her.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quit hovering over me. I’m fine.”

  “If you say so,” said Linda, sitting down primly in the overstuffed chair. “You don’t look fine.”

  “It’s just a bruise.”

  “You saved my life, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Stella grabbed the remote again and turned up the volume.

  “… Find out if Airstream keeps his lead or falls to Madame Luna tonight on Dancing with the Supers, right after The Naked Truth and your local news.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” asked Stella.

  “Yes.”

  “You know your dad?”

  “Yes…”

  “And um… your mom, I mean Doris Drake.”

  “Doris Drake-Ford,” corrected Linda.

  “Right.”

  “What about them?”

  “Did you ever see or… hear them?”

  “What are you talking about?” wondered Linda.

  “You know… did you ever see them or hear them having sex?”

  “Eww! That is so gross! Those are my parents!”

  “Well, sure,” said Stella. “Only she’s a normal and he was…you know.”

  “Oh,” said Linda with a look of recognition. “You like a regular guy.”

  “I just met… no!”

  “Stella likes a normal,” sang Linda. “Stella likes a normal.”

  “Shut up. Just never mind. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  “We need to talk,” said Linda, and when Stella didn’t say anything, she continued. “Don’t you think we should make some plans? After all, the Atomic Jack-O-Lantern got away.”

  “Are you saying that’s my fault?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Just leave me alone and let me watch the news.”

  Newswoman Tanya Everson appeared on the screen. “On the world stage today, middle eastern strongman Bloodstone vowed never to relinquish power in his home country of Magogistan—this in the wake of two weeks of pro-democracy demonstrations in the capital city of New Babylon.”

  The screen switched to male co-anchor Bill Drake. “An explosion rocks the downtown area today as resident supergals All American Girl and Skygirl battle two well known villains. Find out which ones after the break.”

  As the television screen switched to a commercial for cholesterol lowering drugs, the house telephone on the kitchen counter rang and Linda got up to answer it.

  “Hello? Yes. And whom may I say is calling? Who? Hipp? Hippo?” She put a hand over the receiver. “Do you know a Hippy somebody?”

  Stella jumped up and pulled the phone from her hands.

  “Hello?”

  “Stella? Who is that foolish mortal?”

  “Hi, Daddy. That’s j
ust my room-mate. I can’t believe you called.”

  “What does she mean by pretending she doesn’t know me?”

  “Never mind about that, Dad…”

  “All of Greece knows the legend of Hipparion.”

  “…cholesterol doesn’t just come from what you eat. Family history, exercise, and the machinations of power-hungry supervillains can all play a part…”

  “Can you turn that thing off?” Stella asked Linda. Then she turned her concentration back to the phone conversation. “Look, Dad. First of all, you’re not that famous anymore. Secondly, I don’t live in Greece. I live in Chicago.”

  “The land of the Skraelings?”

  “No, Daddy. Home of the Cubs.”

  “Hmm. The Cubs is not a name that would inspire much fear in one’s enemies.”

  “Yeah, well their home record was 35-46—not exactly fierce.”

  “Your mother told me that you asked after me.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Stella. “I didn’t think you two talked.”

  “We bumped into one another. What did you need—a magical weapon or the answer to a riddle, perhaps?”

  “Um, no. I just wanted to… where did you bump into mother?”

  “It was a sort of a… religious festival… event… party.”

  “What kind of religious festival event party?”

  “It was a Bacchanal.”

  “What is wrong with you people up there?” wondered Stella. “Is that all you do?”

  “Make war, make music, make dancing, make love—what else is there in life?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe enjoy a quiet evening with your family.”

  “What was it that you required, Stella?”

  “I don’t need anything,” she said, exasperated. “I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and, you know… tell you ‘I love you’.”

  There was silence and after a moment Stella thought she had lost the connection.

  “Are you there, Daddy?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Well, I’ll let you go then. I know you probably have a murder or an orgy to go to.”

  “Stella, be sure to let me know if you ever need a weapon or anything. I have this new magical armor…”

  “Yeah, thanks Dad. Goodbye.” She dropped the handset onto the base stand of the phone. “Thanks a lot.”

  “So that was your father?” asked Linda.

  “Yeah.”

  “He has a nice telephone voice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s nice that you are still able to talk to your dad.”

  “I suppose.” Stella got up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  She made her way toward her bedroom and its attached master bath and a moment later the sound of running water could be heard from the rear of the apartment. Linda busied herself cleaning the already clean kitchen. Then the phone rang again.

  “Do you want me to answer that?” called Linda.

  “I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Stella called back, and then continued under her breath. “You’d think you’d remember by now that I don’t have super hearing.”

  “And you’d think you would remember that I do,” said Linda, who stared at the phone undecided as it rang again. When it rang a third time, the sound was followed by a click and the answering machine message.

  “This is you know who,” said Stella’s recorded voice. “Leave me a message; maybe I’ll call.” Beep.

  “Stella, baby! Irving here. I’ve got to say it—fantastic, fantabulous, phenomenal, and lots of other f words—good f words. Not the bad ones. That was beautiful, my mega-powered babe. First, you save the city from a really big bomb. Then you rescue skyslut, who was lying helpless in the middle of the street in front of God and everybody. Nice.”

  “Skyslut?” said Linda.

  “Irving sees what you’re doing, my little super genius. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Take every opportunity to stand out. Show the world that All American Girl is Chicago’s number one hero, and if you get a chance to make little blue look like the Kansas rube she is, so much the better. Call me. I’ve got a calendar gig for you.”

  “Kansas Rube? Hmph,” said Linda after the connection clicked off.

  Grabbing her sweater off the hook, she stormed out of the apartment.

  * * * * *

  Backdraft Restaurant;

  West Erie Street;

  Stella’s stomach rumbled as she stepped through the glass double doors of Backdraft, Chicago’s preeminent steakhouse, and smelled the aroma of wood-smoked meat wafting through the air. She felt much better and the swelling on her face had gone down. All that remained was a dark circle around her left eye. But with the little black dress she was wearing, she doubted that anyone would be looking at her face. She’d planned on showing Linda that Kansas City wasn’t the only place to get a great steak, but the girl had been gone when she had come out of the shower and hadn’t returned. So, Stella resigned herself to eating supper alone.

  The Backdraft’s lobby was dark, wood paneling and red upholstery lit by a large fireplace and dim track lighting. Stella held up her index finger to the maître de, indicating a table for one. There was a full waiting room, but Stella expected to be seated immediately, and she was. Pulling out a chair for her in the center of the restaurant at a table normally seating four, the waitress then handed her a menu and asked for her drink order.

  “Two pitchers of iced tea, some water, and a glass of orange juice, please.”

  Quite a few people were snapping cell-phone pictures of her, but at least they weren’t being too overt about it. The large room was quite full, which combined with the heat of the fireplaces to make it feel very cozy after the flight through the cool Chicago air.

  “Would you like to start with an appetizer, or are you ready to order?” asked the waitress, removing Stella’s drink order from a tray and setting the items on the table.

  “Both. Bring me two crabtinies, two orders of blue crab cakes, and the stuffed mushrooms. Then for dinner I’ll have two porterhouses, and two lobsters, baked potatoes with the works, and salads with blue cheese.”

  “How would you like your steaks?”

  “They should say ‘moo’ when I poke ‘em.”

  “Very good,” said the waitress. “I’ll get started on your appetizers.”

  Stella drank her tea and looked around at the other patrons of the restaurant. Most of them were looking back at her. There were quite a few couples, a few families, and a couple of tables of women. She seemed to be the only lone diner in the room. Then there was some kind of disruption at the front of the building. People began to stand up at their seats and peer around in that direction.

  Then she flowed into the room. Omega Woman’s silver body was coldly beautiful, like an icicle or an atom—flawlessly smooth, without a single blemish or dimple between her forehead and her feet. Her golden hair, surrounding her like a halo and falling almost to the ground, shimmered in the air as though it were not quite on the same plane of reality as the rest of her. She floated, not bothering to take steps, across the dining room to a table, following the maître de. Her cold, pupil-less eye noted Stella’s presence without expression. Perry followed behind her, his crisp grey Italian suit looking like it had been cut out of a men’s fashion magazine, his blonde hair disheveled just enough to be indecently sexy. He didn’t look Stella’s way, at least not then.

  Stella, like everyone else in the place, watched as the super-couple sat, though Meg actually floated above her chair. She said something to Perry, who only then looked in Stella’s direction. His eyes touched hers nervously, and then looked away. The couple began a quick discussion as the room, quiet since they had entered, suddenly erupted in noise as patrons excitedly chatted and once again snapped cell-phone pictures. The waitress had just brought Stella’s appetizers, when Perihelion got up and walked across the room to her table.

  “May I sit down for a moment?”

  Stella waved toward
the chair opposite hers, but he sat down in the one just to her right, much closer than she would have preferred. He was close enough that she could smell him. He smelled really good.

  “Hello, Stella.”

  “Hi. I didn’t know you were going to be in town.”

  “We’re not. I mean, we weren’t until just a few minutes ago. Meg wanted me to take her to my favorite restaurant, and this was always one of my favorites.”

  “This was our place.”

  “Um, yeah. Listen, I was going to call you later anyway, but now I don’t have to.”

  “What did you want to say, Perry?”

  “I just needed to tell you that I’m no longer your contact for the Emergency Alert System.”

  “Was that your idea or Meg’s?” asked Stella.

  “It’s the Secretary General’s... or nobody’s. I don’t live here anymore. Skygirl does.”

  “This is about her?”

  “It’s not about anybody. It’s just the way it is, Stella,” said Perry. “Things change. I’m in Washington. Skygirl’s here. Dina’s in Detroit. She’s your contact now.”

  He stood up.

  “Things change,” he said again.

  He turned and walked back across the room to the golden goddess. Three waitresses arrived with Stella’s order. Fricking hell. She couldn’t very well not eat now, could she? At least she had ordered light. Ripping a lobster in two and sucking out the insides, Stella glanced sidelong at the couple on the other side of the room. What was she ordering—a glass of fricking quicksilver?

  “Hey, All American Girl.”

  Stella looked up into a handsome face. It was Officer Glenn King of the bomb squad. Without his bomb gear on, he looked thin with a boyish face and a dark buzz cut.

  “I don’t want to bother you...”

  “I’ll give you five thousand dollars to sit down here with me.”