by Adam Graham
The horse replied, “Yes, lots of food, but I wish I could ride out further. They don’t let me go far.”
“Then let’s take a ride.”
The horse neighed. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“We’ll be out for two days. Just you and me, my stallion.”
“Yippee!”
Naomi smiled. This was much better than the unadventurous gelding at the riding academy back home. He’d only do any tricks for sugar cubes. She’d gotten Cyrus one day while Dave and the boys were gone for the weekend. Being able to talk to animals certainly had helped with her, ah, spirited horse.
Once she had his tack on him, supplies in the saddle bag, and everything else prepared, she led Cyrus out of the stall and mounted him.
She gave him a gentle kick. “Let’s get going.”
They trotted to the edge of the corral and out to the smooth dirt horse riding trail lined with Ponderosa pines. Naomi said, “Go ahead and gallop.”
The horse took off, and they zoomed down the road.
Naomi pulled back on the reigns. “Whoa, boy.”
The horse returned to trot. “But I like to gallop.”
“I know you want to run all day, but you’ll wear yourself out unless you pace yourself. We’ll have plenty of time for running.”
The horse neighed. “You’re the boss, lady.”
Naomi grinned. Here in Wyoming, she mattered. People liked her, and nobody would forget her or leave her home alone. She was valued and special.
Too bad, it wasn’t like that back in Washington.
Powerhouse stared down the table at the three artists and writers in t-shirts and jeans. “So let me get this straight, Paul, you have a story arc here.”
The short man with a goatee stood. “Yeah, it starts in Miss Invisible issues 15 and 16, and it goes to Major Speed issue 6, then goes to Powerhouse 35, and back to Miss Invisible 18 and 19. It wraps up in Powerhouse 37.”
Powerhouse folded his arms. “And why was it necessary to tell this story in seven issues in four different magazines?”
“It’s a marketing ploy to make readers go buy comic books they didn’t subscribe to in order to make sense of the story.”
Powerhouse grimaced. He’d always suspected such nefarious doings at comics. “At most, this is a four issue story. Dragging it out kills it. You have whole issues where people sit around talking and say nothing important or dramatic. Give me some action, guys. I expect to see this compressed into four issues, three issues of Miss Invisible and one of Speed. I’ll need a revised script and two new Miss Invisibles. I’ll contact the writers of the other series and tell them to get me new scripts by the time I leave New York.”
Paul sighed. “Look—”
“We’re not doing seven issues in four different comics.” Powerhouse folded his arms.
“Can you make it four issues of Miss Invisible? We can’t come up with two strips in a night. We’re not superhuman.”
“Fine,” Powerhouse said, yawning, “but I expect some good scripts.”
He opened the window and flew to the street level. He landed and looked up at the massive buildings and around at the teaming crowd. He imagined a trench coat over him and a fedora covering his helmet. This always worked for The Thing and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Powerhouse strode down the street and stared up at the buildings. Wow, this really was big—and lonely. He reached inside his trench coat pocket and removed a picture of Naomi and the boys. Too bad he couldn’t find a justification for Naomi to travel with Powerhouse, but it’d be too suspicious.
Behind him, something jabbed into his ribs. A gruff voice said, “Don’t move. Hand me back your wallet and nobody gets hurt.”
Really? Powerhouse rolled his eyes.
He whirled at superspeed. His mugger was four foot eleven and held a Colt. He superimagined his assailant upside down in midair. Mini-Mugger screamed.
Powerhouse grabbed the gun and broke it. “What made you think you could mug the mighty Powerhouse?”
Mini-Mugger’s face turned green. “I thought it was a freak in a costume.”
“You guessed wrong, miscreant.”
“Punk, you gonna leave me up here?”
Several people assembled around them.
One guy said, “Where’s the cup?”
Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. “A cup?”
A portly guy wearing a Mets cap said, “Usually, people have a cup out.”
Why? Miss Invisible never mentioned this. Must be something different in New York. Powerhouse imagined a tin cup.
People began dropping coins in it.
“That’s an impressive act,” said a guy in a suit. “How do you do it?”
“Through my superimagination. I’m the superhero Powerhouse. You can read my adventures in Blue Cat Comics.”
The man rubbed his nose. “So where do you fight crime? The City of Megalopolis?”
“No, Seattle.”
The man shrugged. “No wonder I never heard of you, if you fighting crime in a two bit burg like that.”
Hey.
People continued to bring quarters by as the snob walked away.
A police officer sauntered over. She asked, “What’s going on here?”
“This man here tried to mug me.” Powerhouse handed the officer the gun. “He had this.”
Mini-Mugger said, “It was his gun.”
She glanced at Powerhouse’s armor. “I’ve read about him. He can create matter with his mind. I doubt he’d be carrying a Saturday Night Special, but we’ll check it out downtown. You don’t happen to have a permit for this?”
Mini-Mugger cursed.
The cop said, “Powerhouse, do you have any ID?”
He superimagined a comic book into existence.
“Okay, I’ll accept you’re the real Powerhouse. You staying in the City?
“Yeah, I’m at the Hilton.”
“I need your room number and a phone number you can be reached at.”
He reached into his inner pocket and handed her a card with that info.
“We need a full statement from you by the end of the day.”
“You want it now?”
She shook her head. “Nah, it’s New York. We’re all about efficiency. The way you costumed types work, it’ll be easier to get all of your crime-busting statements down at once. Plus, as great as you are, you’ll probably fill a whole book full of exploits.”
Powerhouse nodded. “Very well, officer.”
“Could you put him down gently?”
“Right.” Squinting, he lowered Mini-Mugger to the ground.
She handcuffed him.
Mini-Mugger said, “What about my cut?”
Powerhouse said, “Huh?”
“You took in money for our street performance. I want a cut.”
“We didn’t put on a street performance.”
“They thought it was.”
“Oh.” Powerhouse picked up the cup and counted the change. “There’s $1.07 here.”
The cop chuckled. “Why don’t you give him his cut?”
“Crime doesn’t pay.”
The cop nodded. “I gotcha, but he’ll make a fuss about it, and one of those public defenders could turn it into you robbing him before a jury.”
Powerhouse sighed. “Here’s fifty-seven cents. I don’t want the pennies.”
Mini-Mugger smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Powerhouse spun away. This would probably be his only battle in New York, and a pretty petty one at that.
A gunshot pierced the air a from about a quarter of a mile away.
Then again. Powerhouse zoomed through the air.
Below, two armed men were exiting a bank carrying sacks of money. One held a gun to the head of a child who appeared to be about six.
He had to protect the kid. No time for battling. He visualized the robbers unarmed and tied up, the guns safely emptied, and the child on the ground.
Powerhous
e landed on the ground. “There you go, kid.”
“Can I shake your hand, mister?”
Powerhouse extended his hand. “Sure.”
The kid grabbed his hand and tossed Powerhouse over his shoulder.
The child spoke in an all-too adult voice. “Aw, Powerhouse, I’ve longed for this battle. You shall face the might of the Midget Ninja.”
Duh, of course. Powerhouse stood up. “You’re part of Miss Invisible’s rogues’ gallery. I thought the writers made you up.”
“You wish. I’ll be your worst nightmare.” Ninja backed up and took a flying leap at him.
Powerhouse grabbed the pint-sized ninja by one leg and held him upside down. Ninja kicked his arm with his other leg.
Pain surged and he released Ninja.
Ninja landed on his feet. “Fool! With my knowledge of human pressure points, the only reason you’re alive is so that I can properly humiliate you.”
“Seems you missed what I did to your friends.” Powerhouse imagined Ninja tied up.
“Nice try.” Ninja broke through the ropes. “These won’t miss.”
He pulled two throwing stars out of a pocket and tossed them.
Powerhouse morphed them into string cheese and sent them in reverse, back into the villain’s hands. “Oh, please.”
Snarling, Ninja dropped the cheese sticks. “So I must defeat you with my bare hands.”
The ninja charged towards him.
Powerhouse activated his personal force field.
Ninja’s hand sliced through the barrier and slammed into Powerhouse’s arm. Powerhouse’s armor dented. He flicked away Midget Ninja.
Ninja landed five feet away on his feet and charged again. Powerhouse imagined a giant steel cylinder encasing the Midget Ninja.
Powerhouse dusted off his uniform. “Well, that’s that.”
Clank!
The small hand split the cylinder. Ninja stormed back.
He slammed into the force field at an angle. It bounced at Powerhouse and knocked him back to the bank steps.
He glared at Ninja. “How dare you turn my own force field against me!”
The tiny villain chuckled. “I’ve been taking down giants since I was in high school.”
He’d try showing Ninja something he hadn’t seen. Grinning, Powerhouse dashed at top speed to three blocks away. Then he imagined shrinking to two feet ten inches tall and his costume shrinking to scale.
He rocketed back toward the fight.
Ninja was laughing. “Yes, run from the might of the Midget Ninja.”
Powerhouse aimed for Ninja like a dive bomber.
Ninja hit the dirt.
Powerhouse landed and charged at Ninja. “Time you fought someone your own size, chum.”
Ninja stood and gasped.
Powerhouse raced around Ninja at top speed. He delivered an upper cut to the jaw, resumed running, and delivered more punches.
His enemy flailed and stumbled like he was drunk.
Powerhouse delivered two quick jabs to Ninja’s stomach.
Ninja bowled over. Powerhouse delivered two upper cuts to the jaw. Ninja collapsed. Powerhouse returned to full size and scooped Ninja up. “Nap time for you, little man.”
Farrow sat in front of the view screen in his office on his knees.
King Bel’s angelic face appeared. “Greetings, my servant.”
Farrow swallowed. “Your majesty.”
“Your message indicated you had an urgent request.”
“Yes, your majesty, it’s my daughter. She’s deteriorating quickly.” Farrow swallowed. “I’d like you to consider sending your healer to her. While I have yet to defeat Powerhouse, I couldn’t go on if she died.”
King Bel smiled sadly. “I know you can. When your sister overdosed on LSD, you continued to fight the drug dealers who’d taken her down. You will likewise continue to fight the religious fundamentalists and deceitful sense of hope in humanity’s ability to create a positive future. Anger and bitterness will be as powerful a motivator as love in your life.”
Farrow cheeks burned. “But will you help?”
“There are two reasons I cannot. Firstly, it would be unfair. How many children are dying of AIDS today? Hundreds of thousands. When I come, I’ll heal them all. In the meantime, picking out one child and healing her would be unfair to all the others. Secondly, I do not wish my existence to be known by the people of your world. If I heal anonymously, the credit will go to the Christian god. It will be viewed by your fundamentalist ex-wife as a sign and it will give hope rather than spreading cynicism.”
But she’s my little girl. “What can I do to change your mind?”
“To allow this proclamation of the miraculous can only be done if you accomplish something of supreme greatness. So far, you have done well at the general spread of cynicism. If you were to give me Powerhouse, then I would be compelled to reward you by extending your daughter’s life for two years. At the end of that time, we should be ready to takeover and she should receive her whole healing.”
“Me get Powerhouse?”
Bel frowned. “That is Varlock’s prerogative at the moment. Only if his current plan fails do you have a chance.”
I’ve never been so tempted to pray for something: Varlock’s failure.
Powerhouse sat in his titanium chair, waiting in the New York Chief of Police’s office. He imagined the cell phone in his helmet dialing the number for Miss Invisible’s apartment.
She picked up, gasping for breath. “Hi, Powerhouse, you caught me in the middle of my evening workout.” She screamed. “Cha! Come on, get up.”
“Huh?”
“I was talking to Angela. I’m sparring with her. Can this wait?”
“I needed your permission to borrow Midget Ninja.”
“Keep him for all I care.”
“I meant in the comics. We just had a fight.”
Feet pounded. Miss Invisible screamed, “Cha! Be careful about leaving your jaw open like that. Wait a second, Powerhouse, I put Midget Ninja in Riker’s Island. How’d he get out?”
“Maybe he ran between the bars.”
“Something fishy about this. I’ll call you back! Cha! That was sneaky but not sneaky enough though.” The phone clicked off.
Powerhouse glanced around the office and tapped his foot. Maybe he should try Naomi.
Her voicemail picked up after four rings. “Hi, you’ve reached Naomi. I can’t answer my cell phone right now. I’m not anywhere exciting like New York City, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Growling, Powerhouse hung up. She hadn’t even hinted about wanting to come. Was she expecting him to know? Their counselor had told her to stop doing that. He sighed. Naomi would love it here, but there was no way to make an excuse for her coming. Maybe if she had powers and could change her appearance with a thought she could have come in disguise and they could not be recognized as Powerhouse and his CEO.
A man with a tan complexion in a dress uniform entered. “Hello, I’m Chief Herrera.” He smiled like he was selling a used car. “Powerhouse, that was some fancy work there against the ninja.”
“Um, thanks.”
“He’s not our toughest villain. We attract all the best criminals.”
Powerhouse raised his left eyebrow inside his helmet.
The New York chief puffed out his chest. “There’s a lot of crime here. Enough to keep several superheroes busy. And you should see the Northeast when a bad storm hits. We could really use another superhero then. And all that snow, Miss Invisible can’t do much about it.”
And your point is? “Maybe you could teach her to drive a snow plow.”
The New York chief laughed. “You got a great sense of humor. Does the Chief of Police in Seattle ever tell you that?”
“Not really.”
“A shame. You deserve to be more appreciated. Speaking of which, isn’t the other thing you do fighting poverty?”
“Yes.”
The New York chief beamed.
“We have so much of it, the Missionaries of Charity has people working here, and they usually only operate in the Third World. There is so much need. It’d be a real challenge.”
“I hope you’re able to do something about that.” Though he doubted it, given how proud this guy sounded about having so much poverty.
“Let’s go to the game. Did the Seattle chief ever take you to the game?”
“Um, no, we only have time for a bowling night twice a month.”
“I got season tickets to the Mets. I don’t get to go to most games because of work, but if you were in the area, I’d loan them to you any time.”
“Thanks.” What was this all about? “Well, I should probably get over to Citi Field.”
The New York Chief waved. “I insist you come with me. A police escort, and we can chat more.”
Powerhouse nodded. Naomi would probably say he should.
They walked down to the New York chief’s black Ford sedan, got in, and crawled through traffic towards Citi Field.
In the midst of the sky appeared a giant armored ship that looked liked a silver bathtub. A voice spoke from a loud speaker. “Attention, citizens of New York, my name is Lord Mocklieu and I am here from the thirty-fifth century to crush you and conquer your primitive Earth.”
Chapter 6
Powerhouse and the Invaders from the Thirty-Fifth Century
The New York Chief gaped up at the spaceship that looked liked a silver bathtub. Powerhouse whistled. “This looks like a job for Powerhouse.”
He got out of the police car and rocketed up towards the alien ship. It fired energy cannons at him. He made the cannons disappear and soared over the ship’s deck. The crew wore beards and belted black dresses that fell to just above their knees. The guy in a crown had on a baby blue dress that swished around his ankles. Powerhouse landed on the bridge.
The crowned dude scowled. “You dare to approach the battle cruiser of the Mighty Lord Mocklieu! Who are you, impudent dog?”
“I am Powerhouse.”
One alien streaked with gray hair gasped. “P-p-powerhouse, we thought you were a silly myth, like Ronald Reagan and pet rocks.”
“They’re all real.”