

### Powerhouse Flies Again

By

Adam and Andrea Graham

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Adam and Andrea Graham

Cover Design by Krystine Kercher

All Rights Reserved

Published by Laser and Sword

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Dad Formerly Known As Powerhouse

Chapter 2: Powerhouse's Next Adventure

Chapter 3: A Stab at Heroism

Chapter 4: The Big Break

Chapter 5: Copyright Powerhouse

Chapter 6: Building a Better Powerhouse

Chapter 7: Powerhouse 2.0

Chapter 8: Powerhouse v. the Kidnappers

Chapter 9: Random Acts of Powerhouse

Chapter 10: We Have a Problem

A Special Preview

About the Authors

Chapter 1: The Dad Formerly Known As Powerhouse

Powerhouse flew through the sky and dropped the Joker into jail. Venom raced up from behind him. Powerhouse wrestled with Venom on top of the space needle.

Both action figures fell off the building.

Mild-Mannered Stay-at-home-Dad Dave Johnson flinched and straightened up as he sat on his cream living room carpet. His ten-year-old, Derrick, looked up. "Oops."

Comfortable leathers chairs and couches surrounded them, looking on a 52 inch HD TV set in a walnut cabinet. The walls were painted Naomi's favorite soft baby blue.

Dave wore a Captain America t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His black cropped hair came to the middle of his ear. Derrick wore a Seahawks T-shirt and his hair, black like his father's and was down to his neck in the back.

"Son, it's okay." Dave sighed. "I keep telling them I needed a real rocket pack on this doll, but they say it'd cost too much."

Derrick's eyes sparkled. "Dad, do you think you really could've beat Venom?"

"Son, Powerhouse could've beaten anyone." Dave beamed, puffing his chest out. He bit his lip. "Of course, Venom isn't just strong, he's really smart. I'm glad I didn't have to face him." _Especially with the danger Venom put Peter Parker's loved ones in._

"Who was the toughest bad guy you faced in real life?"

"The Invisibility Master. I couldn't see him and he had a rocket launcher."

"He'd be a cool toy."

Dave rolled his eyes. "The big baby's lawyer threatened to sue us over his action figure. Something about it being prejudicial and trademark infringement. The only villain action figures I could get made were Diablo and Night Lord, because they're both dead. Come to think of it, Diablo's the only action figure you didn't have me get."

Shying back, Derrick scrunched his nose. "Dad! Diablo kidnapped James and me and held us upside down over a swimming pool full of boiling acid."

"I guess that would ruin a toy."

Behind them, Zolgron called from the kitchen, "Dave, pay attention, I have something to tell you."

Dave scooted around on his bottom until he faced Zolgron's direction.

The seven foot tall, gray-skinned, humanoid alien stood wearing his green cape and black armor and a white apron. "I'm off to Italy. I've got to stop a terrorist plot that the head of the Italian Secret Service emailed me about."

Dave's heart constricted. If only it was him. "Have a good time."

"Dinner is being warmed on the stove. Meals for the next three days are in the fridge."

"You probably have enough for the next six days."

"In addition, I've got two extra meals in the freezer. I put defrosting instructions on the refrigerator. If you run out of that, I guess you'll have to go to the store and cook something yourself." Zolgron grimaced.

Derrick ran to Zolgron and hung on his arm. "Does that mean you're not going to finish telling James and I about the Kornoc War on Xylex Seven?"

Zolgron waved it away. "I'll finish when I get back." Zolgron glanced up at the entertainment center's digital clock. "Well, I'm off."

Dave peered at Zolgron. "With the apron on?"

"Oh, right." Zolgron gazed at the apron. It dissipated into nothingness. Zolgron headed toward the kitchen's back door.

Derrick jumped up and headed for the kitchen. "Hey, Dad come and watch him take off in his rocket pack."

"No thanks." _I remember taking off with my rocket pack strapped to my back._

The front door opened and Naomi breezed in wearing a gray skirt suit. Her dark brown hair curled under her chin.

"Hi, honey." Dave shuffled over to her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her full on the lips for a full minute. Her soft manicured hands ran across the back of his neck.

Naomi pulled back. "You usually don't kiss that long at the door."

"Derrick's not usually distracted by watching Zolgron."

"Where's he off to now?"

"Italy." Dave cleared his throat. "I was thinking maybe we could have Carmela baby-sit and see a movie."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget we have counseling tonight?"

Darn it, she remembered. "Oh, that's tonight?"

"Yeah, as soon as we have dinner and Carmela brings James home from his tutoring session, we'll get going."

Dave grimaced. "Okay, but I still don't understand why. What did I do wrong?"

Naomi extended her left hand. "It's not like that. I'm just concerned."

"But he said not to come back for six months."

"He said we didn't have to come back for six months. He didn't say we couldn't." Naomi stared deep into Dave's eyes. "Honey, I'm worried about you."

Dave sighed. "Let's try dinner. Hopefully, he didn't cook snails or something."

"I'm sure Zolgron knows better than to make you escargot." She laughed. "After the last time anyway."

###

Mitch Farrow slouched in a green metal office chair held together by duct tape. His Ebay auction filled the screen of his bulky, third-hand computer monitor. A fast food bag and an empty paper cola cup littered the buckled plywood desk that he also used as a kitchenette table. The green linoleum floor had missing patches. On his right the sink had four days worth of dishes piled in it and smelled of putrid water. The electric stove and refrigerator were cracked with paint peeling, as was the cabinets' frou-frou blue paint.

He refreshed the Ebay auction on his screen. Thirty-five seconds to go. _Come on, a few bucks more._

The auction ended at $315. He made a note in his ledger.

Not bad. This sale would put him at ninety bucks for the month once he paid his bills. He smirked and hummed "If I Were a Rich Man."

He turned the monitor off, grabbed his newspaper off the kitchen counter, and strode to the eight foot square patch of carpet that passed for a living room. The taupe carpet was partially blackened from foot traffic and riddled with teeth marks from rats. He rearranged two red afghans over his gray recliner, covering where the stuffing was coming out while protecting his sensitive skin from the irritants ground hopelessly into it.

He settled into his chair and took a sniff of the newspaper. "Good old newsprint." The only clean smelling thing in this dump. He smiled. Why sit there and read a bunch of lies and fabrications on the internet when he could read lies and fabrications in a good old American newspaper? He reached into the cigarette pack in his pocket, withdrew one of his blissful cancer sticks, and slipped it in his mouth.

No, Rosie needed him. Even with his life insurance, she and her mom wouldn't make it without his alimony checks _._ He put the cigarette back in his pack. On the bright side, he was still worth more alive at the moment, he was down to two packs a week, and he'd be dead before he could get lung cancer from smoking anyway.

"Razzle Dazzle" played on the lace-covered cardboard box serving as an end table. He picked up his cell phone. "Hello, Farrow speaking."

"Hi, this is Anne Falkenberg. The FDA just voted."

Mitch held the phone tight. It was his attorney.

"They decided the drug needed more testing."

Mitch dropped the phone and a stream of curse words left his mouth. He grabbed it. "It's been used in Europe for five years."

"I know this is disheartening. Understand, though, they're just wanting to make sure that the drugs are safe and people are healthy."

Mitch huffed a shallow breath. "None of them have AIDS. None of them have an ex-wife and daughter who have AIDS. This is what 235 years of democracy has produced in this country, a bureaucracy that fiddles while people waste away and die."

"I know it's frustrating."

Mitch laughed. "Frustrating is when your DSL won't work. Seeing your daughter suffer and knowing she and her mom are going to die like you are isn't frustrating."

Tears welled in his eyes. He clutched the receiver with a death grip.

"Mitch?"

"Anne, I'm hanging up. I know you did all you can, but I've got a lot of vinegar to spew." He punched the red end call button, hurled his cell phone across the room, and let out a primal scream. He stared at the ceiling. "Why, God? If you're there, why didn't you let me die in the accident rather than get that accursed transfusion?"

What was he doing? That was silly and pathetic. Time for some meaningful, purposeful venting to the folks who read his website. No question he was going to blog about the FDA Nazis. Still, he should check and see what else was going on. He flipped through the classifieds and spotted:

Help Wanted: Cynic

Change the World

Great pay and benefits.

Send application to Box C, Seattle Guardian

He chuckled. _If you need a cynic, I'm the man for the job_.

###

Dave slouched beside Naomi on a couch in their marriage counselor's waiting room. He mentally played classic death march music. Dr. Rose came out, a man in his sixties, dressed in a mock turtleneck and a pair of khakis. "Dave, Naomi, come on in."

He led them into his office and settled at his desk, which sported a sliver laptop, a brief case, and assorted papers and sticky notepads. Naomi perched on a soft plush gray couch. Dave plopped beside her and folded his arms. Behind them was a large poster of Powerhouse flying by the Space needle next to one of an elephant grazing in the African Savanna. The rest of the wall was oak paneling.

Dr. Rose tapped his finger tips together, "It's good to see you again. I meant to say hello at family camp."

Dave blinked. "You were at our church's family camp?"

"Oh yes, but there were so many people. I did get to see your family get baptized. That was very moving." He flipped open his notebook. "So why are we here?"

"I did something wrong."

Naomi frowned at Dave. "Why do you always have to think like that?"

Dr. Rose smiled. "We may want to talk some more about communication. Naomi, how are you doing?"

"I'm worried about Dave. He seems depressed."

Dave stiffened. She was still mad about his alleged moodiness? "I'm fine."

"Honey, you're just going through the motions, even with your superhero stuff collection. You're not fine, you're on auto pilot."

Dr. Rose leaned forward. "Dave, are you happy?"

Dave pursed his lips. "I got my wife and kids back. We're going to a great church. I've got a good house. There's nothing not to be happy about."

"You didn't answer the question."

Darn, he noticed that. Dave sighed. "Maybe I've felt a little down, but that's life."

Naomi patted his hand. "I did some research online. Maybe it's because the money you're earning is residual income. Maybe you need productive work."

Dave glowered. "Excuse me. What do you call cleaning the toilets, mopping the floors, trimming the hedges, and weeding your garden? That's work."

Naomi laughed. "This is backwards."

Dr. Rose cleared his throat. "Dave, you were employed for someone else before James was shot, I believe. What were your duties, again?"

"I cleaned an FBI warehouse. I'd finish early, grab a comic book, and stand by the broom closet in case an agent came by, so I wouldn't look like I was loafing."

"And what do you do now?"

"Well, I clean inside the house each day and take care of the property outside the house as needed, grab a comic book and stay by the duster so Naomi won't think I'm loafing." Oh wait, the boss was listening. He cringed at his wife. "Oops."

Dr. Rose took off his glasses. "So your work hasn't changed all that much, only whether you're getting a paycheck for it."

"Pretty much."

"Could you go back to the old job?"

"No." Dave scowled. "Agent Polk said I'd been replaced with a robot as a cost-saving measure, though he said it won't save any money for sixty years because it costs two million dollars to buy the robot and I only earned thirty-six thousand a year, but the company that made the robot was owned by our Congressman's nephew."

Naomi cleared her throat. "We're getting a little off-topic."

Dr. Rose glanced to her. "This residual income you mentioned. What's it from?"

Dave adjusted his collar and muttered, "Royalties."

"From what?"

Dave squirmed.

Dr. Rose leaned back in his chair. "Dave, Naomi, our professional relationship has been challenged by one key problem. You're hiding something. I can't give you good counsel, if you don't tell me what's really going on."

Naomi elbowed Dave and whispered, "We can trust him."

"It's too dangerous."

Dr. Rose peered at Dave. "Everything you tell me will is confidential unless it's an illegal activity or you're a danger to yourself or others."

"Neither exception applies to this." Naomi squeezed Dave's shoulder. "If he can understand us completely, we can have fewer counseling sessions."

Dave sighed. "You promise not to tell?"

Dr. Rose nodded. "I'm legally bound not to."

Keeping his gaze on Dr. Rose, Dave pointed over his shoulder at the Powerhouse poster. "That was me."

Chapter 2: Powerhouse's Next Adventure

Dave took a deep breath. Would the doc believe him?

Dr. Rose raised an eyebrow. "You were an African elephant?"

"Oops, wrong poster." He glanced behind him, pointed at the Powerhouse poster, and faced Dr. Rose, leaning forward. "That was me."

Dr. Rose raised an eyebrow at Naomi.

Naomi smiled wide and closed her eyes. "He flew me through the air in his arms just like I was Lois Lane."

"Okay." Dr. Rose coughed. "Dave, how did it happen?"

Dave slouched against the back of the couch. "Long ago, on a distant planet, the strange visitor to our world named Zolgron was champion and protector of the Karonites. He was powerful and mighty and plotted to make himself king. The Creator transformed him into a symbiote only capable of changing shapes and empowering others and sentenced him to wander with no might of his own until he learned his lesson. He journeyed across the galaxy and went through many hosts until he finally reached Earth."

Dr. Rose blinked. "That sounds like it's from a comic book."

"Oh, it is." Dave beamed. "Only my stories are all true."

"Okay," Dr. Rose said with a sigh. "Continue then."

"Where was I? Oh yes." Dave cleared his throat. "Zolgron fell into the hands of a mindless, unimaginative terrorist determined to wipe Albuquerque off the Earth. The Feds killed the villain and found a metal cylinder on his corpse. The Feds issued the cylinder a life sentence in the Top Secret warehouse where I worked and asked me to wash him off before they locked him in his crate."

"Destroying evidence? Dr. Rose gaped.

"Uh, no, the Feds dismissed it as irrelevant to the case they were building. The Feds couldn't destroy Zolgron, though, so they locked him up where they put all the stuff they don't want anyone to know about. Anyway, I became obsessed with the cylinder. I opened the crate, became Z's next host, obtaining untold powers. After choosing a secret identity and costume, I set off to fight as Powerhouse." Dave's mouth was too dry. Man, these origin stories were a mouthful. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge by the couch, gulped half the bottle down, and plopped back down.

Naomi patted his back. "Zolgron enhanced Dave's body. He dropped nearly a hundred pounds and put on serious muscle. Combined with his unexplained absences, I was sure there was another woman. My insecurities from my traumatic childhood and the influence of Leona Campbell led me to file for divorce."

Dave set his bottled water in his lap. "I found out what a rat Leona was, sold my story, and got comic book royalties, so I could hire an even better lawyer."

Dr. Rose jotted down a few notes. "The lawyer representing you in that legal malpractice suit against Leona CampBertrand? How's that going?"

"We won!" Naomi beamed. "She had to pay big time and was disbarred."

The big baby was such a sore loser. Dave laughed. "At the trial, she threatened to get revenge on us, our lawyer, and the judge. She was being led away to do jail time for contempt as her paralegal took a job with our lawyer. After that, she earned resisting arrest for screaming and clawing at the cops detaining her."

Dr. Rose cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair. "Interesting. So why aren't you Powerhouse anymore?"

Dave sipped his bottled water. "The night James was shot, Zolgron learned his lesson and was released from being a symbiote."

"So he's returned to his own planet?"

_I wish._ Dave bit his lip. Where had that come from? _Zolgron's so helpful and loyal but yet..._ "Zolgron decided his own people would still be holding a grudge and thus has stayed on Earth. He helped with James' rehab and has taken care of our food bills."

"How did he do that?"

"Easy." Dave beamed and puffed out his chest. "I taught him how to properly use his super-imagination, though he's stopped making food appear out of thin air. He's gone on a cooking kick and become a gourmet chef."

"You've got the world's only super-powered chef?"

Naomi nodded and shrugged. "When he's not off fighting terrorists, pirates, and drug runners around the world."

"Isn't he worried about the government coming for him? He's an illegal alien."

"Nah." Dave waved. "Officially, he's registered as a Suriname Citizen with legal permanent residence status in the U.S."

"Why Suriname?"

"Do you know anyone from Suriname?"

"No."

Dave put his index finger in the air. "Exactly."

The doctor rubbed his eyes. "How did you feel when you couldn't be Powerhouse any more?"

"I was a little down, but that feeling was selfish and wrong of me. Being Powerhouse almost wrecked my marriage. Plus I had to take care of James."

"It's noble of you to try to push your disappointment aside to focus on your son, but I think the feeling is still there."

Dave cringed at Naomi. Boy was he in for it _._ "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"For what?" Naomi put a finger to Dave's lips. "Powerhouse didn't cause our problems. When I found out you were Powerhouse, I was very proud of you."

"You never told me that."

"Because I felt like a rat. Here I was furious at you for missing family vacations to instead spend time with 'the other woman' when you were really off fighting terrorists and saving the world from a nuclear bomb."

Dr. Rose blinked. "He was?"

Naomi bit her lip. "I'm sorry, that's classified. Forget I said it."

Dr. Rose scratched out what he'd just written. "Okay."

Naomi took Dave's hands and squeezed them. "What caused our problems was that you didn't trust me with your secret."

"I was trying to protect you."

Naomi put a hand on her purse. "That didn't stop your enemies from finding out and kidnapping the boys. Now that we know, we can protect the kids as well as me."

_Yeah, I guess Lois Lane never surprised Lex Luthor by packing a .38 in her purse._ "It sounded like a good idea at the time. I'm sorry."

Dr. Rose said, "Dave, it's okay for you to feel bad about not being Powerhouse any more. You need to mourn that season of your life before you can embrace the new season, but you can still make a difference even without super powers."

Dave peered at him. "How?"

"I don't know what God has planned, but he'll prepare you for it and show you when it's the right time."

"Ooh, I know!" Naomi squeezed Dave's hand, her eyes sparkling. "We could visit the church office and see what volunteer opportunities there are."

"Not a bad idea." Doctor Rose nodded. "I've also got a book at home that I can give you and there's a website where you can take a career test." Dr. Rose stood and walked them to the door. "I'll see you again in six months?"

Dave nodded. Out in the lobby again, he ducked his head and smiled as he glanced sidelong at his wife. "You really were proud of me?"

Naomi kissed him on the cheek. "I still am."

Chapter 3: A Stab at Heroism

Dave stood on the doorstep of the townhouse eyeing the two little boys inside watching _Sponge Bob._ The harried brunette in her mid-twenties returned to the door and handed Dave his empty cardboard box. "Thank you for bringing the food. It really helps."

He beamed. "I was glad to do it, Miss Carter. I'll be by again next week."

The woman closed the door of the townhouse. Dave set the box down on the cement walk, reached into his pocked, and pulled out the list of needy families that the church secretary had printed up. Where was his next stop?

"Look, jerk! I'm not going to take this from you."

Dave glanced around. Across the court of half-brick yellow townhouses, a woman in a mid-1990s Jeep Cherokee screamed at a greasy smoking man standing outside a unit. "I'm leaving and you're not going to stop me!"

The smoker made an obscene hand gesture and stomped inside the townhouse.

She screamed at full screech, jumped out of the Cherokee, and ran in after him.

Dave blinked. Huh? What was the crazy woman doing?

The crazy woman's Cherokee began to roll towards Miss Carter's car. Dave dropped the list and race to the rolling SUV's driver's side.

The window was rolled down, so Dave put his hand on the stripping where the window would've been and pushed forward. The four-wheeled beast came to a stop three feet in front of Miss Carter's car.

Dave peeked in the Cherokee's cabin. It was a stick shift. Oh no. He didn't know how to get a stick shift out of gear. "Miss Carter! Miss Carter!"

Miss Carter strolled out of the house and gasped. "You saved my car."

"Get the neighbor across the way to come and take her vehicle back."

Miss Carter nodded and ran across the court. The crazy woman emerged from the townhouse, screamed, and ran over, wide-eyed. "Oh my gosh, did I forget to take that out of gear? I'm so sorry. Thank you so much."

Dave beamed. "Not at all, citizen."

"Citizen?" The crazy woman blinked.

_You're not Powerhouse._ "I'm a superhero fan."

She giggled. "Oh right. Thanks, hero."

The crazy woman pushed past Dave, hopped in the Cherokee's driver seat, and drove it back.

Dave sighed. Of course, it wasn't really a job for superhero. Anyone could stop a rolling car in neutral. Powerhouse could've stopped an airplane going in reverse.

###

Mitch sauntered up to room 304 at the Holiday Inn Express and rapped hard on the door. A small bald man in a tweed suit opened up a crack. "Mr. Farrow?"

"In the rotting flesh."

The bald man opened the door. "Come on in." He led Mitch to a table with fresh fruit in a woven-straw basket. "Banana? Mango? Papaya?"

Mitch waved. "I'm fine."

The bald man pointed at a black chair at the glass table. "Have a seat."

"Sure." Mitch lowered himself into the chair.

The man eased into the chair across from him and extended his hand. "My name's Dewey Poindexter. How do you feel today?"

Mitch shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Poindexter. I'm ambiguous."

Poindexter delivered a plastic smile. "How so?"

"At a job interview, you're supposed to be optimistic, confident, and positive if you want the job. Since you're advertising for a cynic, what am I supposed to be?"

"Yourself. I'll fake being cheerful and enthusiastic for both of us."

"So you admit you're insincere?"

Poindexter's smile grew wider. "I'm nothing but a corporate shill with no sincere human actions whatsoever."

"As long as we understand each other."

"First, I do want to apologize for the principle that it's taken so long to process your application. You did quite well on the written test. You scored with one of the highest cynic ratings recorded."

Where was the camera? "Usually, being cynical is considered a problem."

Poindexter chuckled. "For this job, it's a prerequisite. Now, I just want to check a few answers. Your opinion on politics?"

"Two wolves with different labels leading the sheep to the slaughter."

Poindexter nodded, pulled out a Blackberry from his jacket's inside pocket, and typed something on its tiny keyboard. "Organized religion?"

"People who build hundred million dollar monuments to their own greatness called megachurches. They do so while ignoring the orphans who are starving and the destitute people who are homeless only a few blocks away."

"Excellent. The press?"

"Blind idiots who report trivia and ignore how we're getting robbed blind."

"Corporate America?"

"Leeches that suck communities dry and discard them like shells. They are as committed to their employees as a Hollywood starlet seeking happily ever after is to her latest husband when a real man inevitably can't live up to a movie hero's standard."

"Wonderful. Family?"

Considering what his own family was like? He smirked. "The American family is the institution that screws up kids for life and keeps therapists in business."

"What's your outlook on the human race?"

Mitch snorted. "We're the lowest order of primates. When did you see a baboon blow up a building so he gets seventy-two virgins? When have gorillas run up impossible debts? All humans use our intellect for is to invent more ways to destroy ourselves."

Poindexter smiled and pointed both hands at him. "Fantastic!" He annunciated each syllable as separate words. "Do you care about your daughter?"

Mitch's heart wrenched. He nodded, swallowing as he closed his eyes. "I miss her a lot, but I hate to see her suffering."

"What about the poor, do you care about them?"

"Sure, but the poorest people in the world are kept in poverty thanks to the foolishness of their governments. Take a look at Africa. You have people starving there when Africa has enough arable land to not only feed Africa but the entire world. It's politics and warlords that are starving people, and there's nothing we can do."

"The sick?"

"Overseas, politics and superstition kill the sick. Here we let the FDA do it."

"And you're currently self-employed?"

"I sell books for $200 that I purchased from garage sales for 99 cents."

Poindexter scanned Mitch's resume. "I see you've worked for multiple respected newspapers. Why did you leave journalism?"

"My editors thought I was too cynical."

Poindexter whistled. He covered his mouth and cleared his throat. "That's all I need. What questions do you have?"

Mitch leaned back. "It's not a question, but you should know. I'm dying."

Poindexter's smile faded. "Oh?"

"I have AIDS and treatments can only prolong the inevitable."

"But I've heard they've make remarkable strides in treating HIV."

"Sure, if you have an early diagnosis. I received a concurrent diagnosis of HIV and AIDS. I apparently contracted it from a blood transfusion when I got in a car accident in Rio twelve years ago. I spread HIV to my wife and she gave it to my daughter when we had her. I didn't find out I had it until my daughter was six. A doctor decided to test her only after her fourth life-threatening bacterial infection."

"You still married?"

"Divorced." Mitch scowled and ground his teeth. "There was a lot of strain on our marriage. Then my wife went and got religion. Spent all her life ignoring God and goes running to the Church when she gets sick. One thing I can't stand is a hypocrite."

Poindexter lowered his head and whistled. "It sounds like you've been through a lot. I'm sorry you've had such a hard time."

"Do you really care?"

Poindexter smirked. "No, but I'm trying to build rapport."

Mitch chuckled. "You're a card."

"Nah, just a sycophant, but you're ready to meet the principles. Can you be at the top of the old Ross Insurance Building, tomorrow at ten for a follow-up interview?"

"Yeah, sure." Mitch shrugged. "Didn't some big corporation buy the building when old man Ross went to prison?"

Poindexter tucked his Blackberry back in his coat. "Yes, but I've lived in Seattle a long time. To me, it'll always be the Ross Insurance Building."

###

Dave and Naomi walked out of the Kirkland Performance Center. Dave slipped his arm around his wife's shoulders. "So what did you think?"

Naomi strolled in silence way too long before speaking. "Hearing people perform a vintage Radio show in the 21st Century wasn't what I expected."

"It was cool. It's too bad they didn't do Superman."

Naomi smiled. "You look quite dapper tonight, Dave."

"In a gray turtle neck and black jeans?"

"For you, that's dressing up."

Dave peered at Naomi's navy blue polka dot dress. "Well, you were the best dressed woman there."

Naomi blushed. "I was overdressed! The theaters I went to that summer in New York, people dressed up for, not just show up in their normal casual wear."

"That's how I like it."

They approached near to their car. Naomi fished in her purse for her keys. "Has that whole food route helped you?"

Dave whipped his keys out first and pressed the button that unlocked the car. "It's not leaping tall buildings in a single bound, but when I'm delivering meals to folks in need, I feel useful and like life's got a point. I even have a business idea."

Naomi stopped in her tracks. "Did the aliens abduct my husband—again? You've never talked about starting a business."

Sure, he'd only dreamed about it quietly until they started going to that therapist, but he wasn't going to admit that was helpful at all for the world. "I've been thinking that, with all the kids in town, Bryerton needs a kid-friendly comic book store."

Naomi kissed Dave on the cheek. "Okay, you're still my husband, but that idea frankly sounds like an oxymoron to me, honey. Some of those comics are nasty."

"Exactly why we need a comic book store that doesn't sell those."

"I guess we do finally have some money saved up. Let's pray about it. If it still sounds like something we want to do, we can work on it."

Was that a yes or a no?

The cry of an old man pierced the air. "Leave me alone!"

Dave sped toward the screaming, his arms and legs pumping full steam.

Naomi called. "Dave, wait for me!"

Dave turned down an alley packed with garbage cans. A hood held a knife at an elderly man's throat and sneered. "Seven dollars? What am I supposed to get with that?"

"A five year term in the State pen." Dave clenched his fists on his hips. He might not have superpowers anymore but he could still wisecrack like a pro.

The miscreant spun in a slow circle and glared. "Who are you?"

"Someone who thinks you shouldn't rob old men. Give him his wallet and leave him alone before someone gets hurt."

The hood laughed. "Okay, wise guy. As a bone for you being so amusing, I'll let this waste of space live and simply take what you've got on you."

The hood charged toward Dave with the knife. "Hand over the wallet or you'll be the one who gets hurt."

Dave jumped out of the way and grabbed the elbow of the knife arm. Dave squeezed and twisted the hood's arm.

The hood pulled a switchblade out of his pocket with his right hand and slammed the blade into Dave's stomach. Pain sliced through him in agonizing waves as the hood cursed at him. "I can use both hands, fool."

Naomi screamed. Dave gasped, clutched his stomach, and fell to his knees on the ground. _Batman never had to face an ambidextrous hood._

The world faded around Dave as his face raced toward the pavement.

Chapter 4: The Big Break

Naomi ran into the dead-end alley Dave had disappeared into. He grabbed and twisted the knife arm of a young man with saggy pants as an elderly man fled toward the exit from the alley, moving pretty spry for a senior citizen. Saggy Pants stabbed a second knife into Dave's stomach.

Dave grunted and stumbled backwards onto the pavement.

_God, no._ She opened her purse, whipped out her .38 Smith and Wesson, and pointed it at Saggy Pants. "Drop that knife and get on the ground."

Saggy Pants dropped his other knife and lay face down on the asphalt.

Naomi called to the fleeing old man, "Call 9-1-1!"

"Yes, ma'am." The old man sighed, stopped, and pulled a cell from his pocket.

Naomi knelt on the ground and slapped Dave. "Wake up."

"I think I fainted." Dave stared at the knife. "Pull it out!"

Naomi cupped his cheek and took a deep breath. That was a horrendous idea. "I can't, honey. You'd bleed to death. We'll need to let a doctor do that."

Naomi glanced around. Saggy Pants had gotten to his knees and was grasping for the fallen knife. Naomi fired a shot in the air. "Next time, I won't miss, punk."

Saggy Pants dropped back to the ground.

She pressed the wound, keeping Saggy Pants in her vision as he glared at her from the ground. _Did I really just say punk?_

Dave gazed up at her. "Naomi, I love you."

Naomi checked Dave's pulse. It was beating like a bongo drum. He was going into shock _. God, please help me._ "Dave, it's going to be okay,"

Dave laughed. "I guess the detective show came outside. Where's Harry Nile?"

What? Naomi loosened Dave's belt. She grabbed her purse, stood, and glared at Saggy Pants. "You, come here."

Saggy Pants stood and stomped toward Naomi.

Naomi pointed the gun at his heart, fingering the trigger. "Lift his legs very carefully and then get under them."

Saggy Pants blinked and cursed at her a refusal. He eyed the gun she had trained on his heart and cursed a surrender. He lifted Dave's legs and lay down under them.

The old man said, "The ambulance will be here any minute."

Naomi knelt by Dave and held the pressure on his chest one-handed, since she had to keep the gun on Saggy Pants to maintain his cooperation. "You're going to be okay, Dave. Remember the old hymn they sang at family camp."

"Which one?"

Naomi sang. "When peace like a river attendth my way."

The old man sung the hymn with her.

During the chorus, the ambulance pulled up with its sirens wailing. A police sirens followed right behind them and an officer came over to the scene. Paramedics loaded Dave onto a gurney and put him in the ambulance. The officer pulled out a police report notepad. "What happened here?"

The old man pointed at the criminal on the ground. "That punk kid tried to rob me, but this young lady and her husband saved my life. Poor guy got stabbed."

The officer stared hard at Saggy Pants. "Get up. What do you have to say?"

"I want a lawyer and get me away from this crazy lady."

The officer glanced to Naomi. "Do you have a permit?"

Naomi fished into her purse, dug out the permit under her compact, and showed it to the officer. The officer jotted on his notepad. "We had reports of a shot fired."

"That was me." Naomi ducked. She had cause, right?

A paramedic with a southern accent said, "Miss, we're ready to roll, if you want to ride with your husband to the hospital."

Naomi nodded to the paramedic and glanced at the officer. "I'll be happy to make a full statement at the hospital."

"Of course, go with your husband."

Three minutes later, the ambulance pulled up to the Evergreen Hospital Medical Center. Naomi stumbled out of the ambulance's cab and rushed around to the back. A paramedic wheeled out a stretcher with an elderly woman on it. Huh? Oh, there were two ambulances parked next to one another. She must've gotten turned around.

She dashed into the emergency room and caught up with the gurney as Dave was being wheeled toward an area cordoned off by a curtain.

The nurse monitoring Dave's IV line glanced to her. "Mr. Johnson, the doctor will be here right away."

Dave gritted his teeth and groaned. "Is the doctor going to take the knife out?"

"Yes, she'll take care of that."

"That's good. It doesn't belong there."

Naomi smiled. That was her Dave.

A blonde woman approached in a pair of scrubs and spoke in a Minnewegian accent. "I'm Dr. Kowalski."

Another woman followed with a machine. Dr. Kowalski examined the wound.

Dave grunted. "When can it come out?"

"First we need to do a sonogram and check the wound. Your wife did the right thing by leaving the knife in. We don't want to mess it up by causing massive bleeding."

The sonogram technician smeared blue gel on Dave's stomach around the wound and moved a wand around his abdomen. The doctor watched the scan and left with the sonogram technician.

After an endless couple minutes, the doctor and the sonogram technician returned. Dr. Kowalski pursed her lips. "Mr. Johnson, the knife pierced your liver. We need to operate immediately." Dr. Kowalski turned to Naomi. "Mrs. Johnson, if you'll go out in the waiting room, a nurse will be by with some papers for you to sign."

Heart in her throat, Naomi nodded and shuffled toward the waiting room.

###

Powerhouse stood in a valley.

A voice whispered, "Powerhouse, help the man from the past."

Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. "What?"

" _The Major."_

" _What Major?"_

"Mr. Johnson, Mr. Johnson."

Dave's opened his eyes. Dr. Kowalski stood over him with Naomi.

Dr. Kowalski smiled. "Hello, Mr. Johnson."

"Wow." Dave peered at his abdomen. "There's no knife."

Dr. Kowalski chuckled. "No, no knife. The surgery went wonderfully and you'll be going home in a couple days, but you're going to have to take care of yourself."

Dave nodded. "Okay."

Dr. Kowalski patted Naomi's shoulder. "You should be thankful to this lady. It could've been a lot worse if it weren't for her." Dr. Kowalski removed her arm. "I'll let you folks be alone for a little while."

Dr. Kowalski headed out the door.

Naomi squeezed Dave's hand. "I almost lost you."

Dave looked up at her. His heart leaped. "You were incredible."

"I had to be." Naomi waved. "Promise me, you won't do something like that again. You don't have superpowers any more. You were almost killed."

Not a chance. "Sorry, but I can't make you any such promises. The guy was in trouble and needed help."

"Well, at least get a gun."

Dave blinked. She was the only one allowed to play with weapons. "You said I was never to bring a gun in the house and didn't let the boys even have water guns."

"That was a foolish hypocrite. This woman has to keep her husband safe."

"I don't know." Dave bit his lip. "I get kind of nervous around real guns."

"You just need to be safe and responsible."

Dave scratched his head. "You'd trust me with a gun?"

Naomi hesitated before nodding.

"I don't know. Powerhouse carrying a gun?"

Naomi's eyes narrowed to slits. "Dave, you're not Powerhouse any more."

"Then why do I have dreams where I'm still Powerhouse?"

Naomi shrugged. "Obviously, you miss doing that, dear, but be more careful. You don't have super powers, a black belt, or the money to build a billion dollar robot suit. So think about a gun."

"Okay, I'll think about." _I won't get one, but I'll think about it._

"A detective will be by the morning to get your statement, and Carmela will bring the kids by after work."

"She still watching them?"

Naomi nodded, yawned, and gave Dave a peck on the lips. "I'm going to call the office and tell them I won't be in tomorrow, then go to a motel for the night."

She scurried toward the door.

Dave called, "Naomi?" He swallowed. "Would you have really shot him?"

Naomi leaned against the door. "If it was you or him, yes."

"Oh. Night."

"Night." Naomi slipped out of the room.

She shouldn't have been shouldered with that responsibility. Maybe he should carry a weapon. Not a gun, but maybe a samurai sword. Nah, too big. Crossbow, maybe. Were there any belts made for crossbows? Which superhero used a crossbow?

Dave's heavy eyelids sagged.

###

Mitch approached the old Ross Insurance Building and peered up the black glass edifice. The signage on the third floor now read, "Dorado Incorporated."

He pushed through the front door, strode across the lobby's silver carpeting, and took the elevator. He punched the button for the eightieth floor.

On the second floor, someone got on the elevator, another got on at the fourth floor and got off at the fifth floor. The second floor guy got off at the seventh floor.

Mitch hopped from foot to foot and peered at his watch. Nine fifty. All these people getting on and off the elevator were going to make him late.

The elevator zoomed up, and no one got on until someone pushed a mail cart into the elevator on the thirty-sixth floor and got off on the thirty-seventh. From there, it was a straight shot to the eightieth floor. He checked his watch. Nine fifty-six.

He sped off the elevator into another silver-carpeted lobby. A man sat at a desk typing on a computer. He looked up at Mitch. "Your name's sir?"

"Mitch Farrow."

The male receptionist pointed to a door. "Mr. Bertrand will see you now."

Mitch rushed to the door and scanned the inscription on the nameplate. "Mike Bertrand, Chief Executive Officer."

He was getting interviewed by the CEO? This had to be a big job, whatever it was. Mitch strode inside. On the couch spread a wide-legged, large balding man in a white suite with a diamond ring on his pinky.

"Aw, Mr. Farrow." The CEO lumbered to his feet and shook Mitch's hand.

Mitch dipped his head. "Mr. Bertrand, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Bertrand settled at the big shiny power desk. "Have a seat."

Mitch unbuttoned the top button on his suit jacket and sat in the small black grunt office chair across from the power office chair. "Thank you."

Bertrand smiled. "Mr. Farrow, I have to admit you astonish me."

Mitch smirked. "I astonish myself sometimes."

"You are perhaps the most outwardly cynical man I've ever heard of. I've read your blog and all of your views match what you said in the interview."

Mitch arched his left eyebrows. "You're so cynical, you investigated mine?"

"I would apologize for not taking you at your word."

"It'd be insincere like everything else in the world, so skip it."

Bertrand nodded. "You also still care about humanity and its unsolvable problems. It's a rare combination. We turned down many apathetic cynics, but you were exactly what we're looking for: an extreme cynic that cares."

"It's a depressing combination, but I'm glad you find it appealing."

"Quite. To solve the problems of humanity, we must get to their root. The root cause of humanity's problem is—"

"—the humans. We're selfish, corrupt, and easily manipulated."

"Precisely. Human control of the Earth has led to mankind's problems."

Uh-oh. Mitch narrowed his eyes. "What's the alternative?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. It will suffice for now to say you will be the instrumentation of this solution if you accept the job."

_If you're the fourth Reich, I'm so out of here._ "What's the job?"

Bertrand raised his hand, palm up and facing out. "Patience. All will be explained, but I must ask you if you wish to continue this interview. If I explain our position to you and you decline to participate, I will have no choice but to have you eliminated."

Mitch hesitated. This guy was far more likely to be simply another mob boss moving in to the void Ross had left. If the system was so corrupt, maybe not everyone in the underground that the system called a criminal was really all that bad.

Besides, what did he have to lose? Mitch shrugged. "I'm dying and don't have any relationships with anyone. The only people who'd care that I was gone would be the bidders on my eBay auctions. So go ahead, bump me off, but please make it look like a reasonable accident, so my daughter can collect on my accidental death policy."

"Fair enough, but that proviso was really almost unnecessary in your case. You'll work out splendidly. Do you know anything about the Dorado Incorporate?"

"Nah, I didn't cover the corporate world much."

Bertrand nodded and spread his hands out on his power desk. "Officially, Dorado Incorporated is the little company that could. We were a conservatively run mining outfit that built up a healthy reserve and expanded into the world of venture capital. Over the past sixty years, we've enjoyed an ever-increasing portfolio and have acquired large stakes in other corporations. We've grown to $120 billion a year in annual profits."

"Save your official story for the tourists when they buy pencils at the gift shop."

The portly CEO chuckled and leaned in. "The truth is, we were a conservatively managed company going back to 1848, with enough reserves to keep us solvent through wars and depressions. We would have remained small if it weren't for James Dorado the fourth, the great grandson of the founder. He wanted bigger things. One night, he was offered a chance to get it. He'd be given stocks to short sell, build profits, and invest in other companies. Dorado was a cynic about the world and despised the 1950s culture's jingoistic sunshiny attitude. He readily agreed to the program given him."

Mitch laughed. "I certainly can't blame him for hating the 1950s."

Jury was still out on the going corrupt, though.

"Dorado made money hand over fist and acquired interests in entertainment and media. Thirty years ago, he turned the reigns over to me, along with his fortune as he'd left no heir. At the time, I was the downcast, cynical head of a non-profit. Now, I'm getting ready to leave, knowing that mankind's future will be secure."

What did this have to do with him? Mitch glowered. "I don't understand."

"Because you don't listen. We've all benefited, but the goal has been to serve our benefactor and his ultimate purpose, saving mankind from itself. Our benefactor is King Bel from Rezella, a world located in a completely different dimension than ours."

Mitch laughed for a full minute. Now, it was time for the camera. "ET has been giving you investment advice? Okay, this has been fun, but you're a few stocks short of a mutual fund. I won't tell anyone. It might cause a sell off of your stock."

He leapt up and sauntered toward the door. It locked. Mitch whirled.

Bertrand held a remote in his hand and remained seated, stone-faced. "Mr. Farrow, this is no joke. Please sit down. I'd rather not have to kill you."

Mitch returned to his chair and took a deep breath. "Okay, so the space men came and advised this Dorado guy. You've been helping the space men ever since."

"The Rezellians are an advanced race. They have cures for many diseases that are still fatal on Earth. Do you know how obscene the idea of dying of AIDS sounds to the Rezellians? It'd be like dying of a tension headache. Rezellians can cure nearly every human disease. They can end human wars through peacekeeping. They can abolish the barriers of travel that keep our world divided through their teleportation technology."

Mitch clucked his tongue. Good thing for the alien Nazis that Captain America wasn't real, eh? "Let me guess. They can't do all this without conquering the world."

"Imagine what would happen if they introduced a vaccine for AIDS. Some religion would object."

"More to the practical point, the FDA would hold it up."

"And imagine introducing teleportation! Thousands of lobbyists would oppose it. A teleportation station on every corner would make it so the average person could travel to see relatives all over the world or to work with no pollution, but it'd also put the car companies, airlines, and oil companies out of business. It'd also hurt companies that do road construction. There would be a ban on teleporters or it would get tied up in red tape. Governments likewise will never voluntarily surrender their ability to make war."

"So we have to make them, but how?" Method was the potential deal-breaker.

Bertrand leaned back in his chair. "The Rezellians are fully capable of conquering this planet via the direct, violent route, Mr. Farrow. If they'd done that sixty years ago, they'd already be our overlords, but that goes against their culture of peace. If they advanced their cause the odious way that villains like the Nazis and Soviets did, every human would become their avowed enemy, and there'd be a bloody guerilla war for centuries."

Mitch chuckled. "People don't like aliens invading. Everybody freaked out about Orson Welles' _War of the Worlds._ "

"The 1930s were a Xenophobic time. Opposition to foreign rule of any sort has always been proportional to how violently that rule is established and the value people place on the status quo. The aliens see the people of Earth as a divided, foolish nation at war with itself. However, its fractions still tend to be patriotic and committed to their own beliefs about the world, humanity, family, ethics, rights, and the divine. The aliens are especially fascinated by the U.S.A. as it was the first fraction to consist almost exclusively of people from every other fraction of Earth's people, united under a single flag. They view the U.S.A. as humanity's first failed attempt to build the United States of Earth."

Mitch roared with laughter and slapped his leg. "Failed is right. We're the most pathetic, corrupt, backwards first-world country on Earth."

"Without a Rezellian governor at the helm of a united Earth, certainly, but before she'll accept new hope, we need you to undermine the things she values, so that Earth's people will be far less willing to risk their lives in a war against the spacemen."

"How?"

"Through cynicism, of course." Bertrand smiled like a hungry lion. "Our goal is to undermine belief in Christianity especially, political institutions, economic institutions, and the family. We have a great team of lobbyists who push for bills that deepen public cynicism. They don't know our prime motivation for pushing the legislation we do, they only know they are well-paid. Dorado Incorporated began to acquire media companies in the 1950s and choose executives who would be our unwitting allies."

"You mean useful idiots."

Bertrand flashed him another toothy grin. "Well put. Through them, we've created mass amounts of public cynicism all around the world. Earth has a growing population of people who are fat, lazy, cynical and only interested in free bread and circuses like Rome of old. In addition, we control the world's largest network of organized crime. It adds to our bottom line and undermines the authority of every county on the planet."

Yeah, some corporation he'd never heard of had managed to do all this. "So what do you want me to do?"

Bertrand folded his hands on his desk and pressed his lips into a thin line. "To take my place, just as I succeeded Mr. Dorado thirty years ago. The Rezellians have determined there's a need for fresh blood in my office."

"Should I scream at the top of my lungs, 'I'll never join you'?"

"If you did so sincerely, you would not be the man I thought you to be."

This guy expected a cynic who cared not to also be cynical regarding a free lunch offer from a megalomaniac, delusional mob boss heading up a crooked corporation he'd never heard of? Mitch renewed his smirk. "Here's the problem, Mr. Bertrand. You put an ad out for a cynic, invite me here for a follow-up interview, and instead you spin me a conspiracy fable about aliens who are inside traders and running the media. Now you want me to agree to be the Chief Executive Officer of Cynicism with no proof."

Bertrand let go a loud laugh. "Quite right, Mr. Farrow." He pressed a button on his desk. "Here is your proof."

A glowing red portal opened on Mitch's right. From it emerged a seven or eight foot tall, radiant, rainbow-skinned creature with glowing eyes and huge hands that held a silver staff. The alien plodded toward Mitch.

Mitch got out of his chair, "Okay, okay! I believe you."

Radiance held up his staff. It lit up, glowing in a luminous blue.

What had he gotten himself into _?_ Skin crawling, Mitch raised his hands over his head and backed away from the radiant creep toward the door.

Radiance twirled the staff like it was a baton and he was leading a parade. A blue burst of energy slammed into Mitch's body.

Agony ripped through every fiber of him as green sparkles wiped out the world.

Chapter 5: Copyright Powerhouse

Mitch Farrow groaned. Every nerve in his body ached. If he ever caught Radiance without that stick, he'd pummel him.

Mr. Bertrand extended a hand down to him. "Come, we have much to discuss."

"You are one for the dramatic." Mitch gave Bertrand his hand.

Bertrand lifted helped him. "We're not done yet."

Mitch looked up. A view screen was behind Bertrand's desk.

The screen powered on and displayed a glowing cherub. "I'm sorry for the pain you're experiencing now, but it was necessary to illustrate our good intentions."

Yeah, right. Cherub didn't sound the least bit sorry about inflicting pain. Mitch groaned. "Oh yeah, I'm loving you guys."

"That was a healing beam, Mitch. You no longer have AIDS."

Mitch took a deep breath. Oh come on _._ "Come again?"

"Check with your doctor tomorrow." The creature smiled like a vulture. "I healed you, and I want to heal your ex-wife, you child, and the whole world: To end disease, poverty, and war, to bring mankind into a new age. First I need your help, Mitch."

Talk about an offer he couldn't refuse. "Providing, you did cure me and this isn't a scam, I'll help you."

The creature nodded. "Mitch, you'll be the father of a better world for your people. Mike has laid the groundwork for the work that you will soon complete."

"So when will you take care of my ex-wife and daughter?"

"When I come to bring your world into our union."

"They may not have too many years left."

"It won't be years, I promise. It will be very soon. Mike will brief you on the rules of your position. Good day."

Mr. Bertrand resumed his seat behind the desk and pressed a button on the remote. The view screen receded into the ceiling. "While Dorado Incorporated is a publicly listed stock, 90% of the shares are held by the late Mr. Dorado's trust, of which I am the trustee. I shall designate you as my successor. You will be paid a salary of $667,000 a month, as is commiserate with your position. "

"Wow." Mitch whistled, his pulse quickening. "With that I can send my ex-wife and daughter to Europe for treatment."

"That will probably be best. You are not allowed to marry, live with any person in a romantic way, or develop a long-term relationship. Such could compromise our mission. Your hours will be constant and irregular. Other than the necessary restriction on any committed romantic relationships, however, you are free to get relaxation and recreation at any time and in any way you can."

"Irregular hours? I'm a blogger, so I'm already on that."

"Also, as an officer, you too will be obliged to die when you turn seventy."

_Who cares? I only had two years to live a few minutes ago._ "Fine, but why?"

"Mitch, we can't eliminate disease from this planet and let everyone live as long as they want. The Earth could not support it. There must be an age when having lived a good healthy life, we contribute to the Earth's future by voluntarily departing."

"Makes sense." Mitch nodded as his stomach irrationally tightened into knots and his legs stupidly wanted to flee. "Too many people on this rock already." Right?

"The new order will ensure overpopulation is addressed, I've been assured."

###

Varlock lay on his back on a surgical table, covering his eyes with his left arm.

"I'm done," the gravely voice of his master rumbled.

Vorlock lowered his arm. The room was dark and lit by candles. He peered at his lord and master, who stood and had one large eye in the center of his forehead. "Oh master, why do you deface yourself by creating the illusion of having two eyes?"

"The Earthmen think a two-eyed creature of light is beautiful and beauty is important to those fools. So the healer is going to perform surgery on you to make you look like one of them and equip you with a translator."

Varlock extended his tongue and lowered it the whole six feet to the ground in obeisance. "Master, please do not leave me so disfigured."

The master nodded. "When we take over the planet, we'll end your suffering."

"And my family shall become noble?"

"Yes, Varlock."

Varlock raised his nose and inhaled. "I shall bring honor to my family and go to the place of darkness."

"To be greeted by twenty-one young maidens."

"Why do you offer to do more than honor the Earthman's family?"

The master sneered. "Humans are most efficient destroyers when they mistakenly believe they're doing good. Go, the Healer will prepare you and Merdron for the journey and teach you to walk as an earthman."

Varlock nodded and turned the door. He extended his tongue out toward the nearest wall and used his tongue to haul himself six feet forward.

"One more thing, Varlock."

Varlock slithered around.

The Master peered at him. "There is one word that shall not be translated. The name of our planet. You will use our word for it. We mustn't betray ourselves. They must never suspect that we are from Perdition."

###

Mitch Farrow entered his new office. He stared at the mural of the Seattle skyline on the left side wall. In front of the wall were two tree-sized ferns. In front of the window was a marble-topped desk and three new brown leather chairs. Just above the doorway was a 52 inch plasma television.

He settled in at his desk, leaned back in his power chair, and let out a sigh. _This is the life, Farrow._ He swiveled around to face the highest window in Seattle.

"Well, let's build some cynicism." Mitch turned on the computer and pulled up a browser. He'd begin with his favorite tool to awaken the masses to how bad things really were: comic books.

Mitch pulled up a list of the top ten comic books. He stared at the names. All cynical comic books he subscribed to except for #4.

_The Adventures of Powerhouse._ Huh. He'd never gotten that one. He surfed onto the Blue Cat Comics Online Store. He pressed the purchase button, downloaded a copy, and opened it on his computer.

A picture of Powerhouse in all his glory appeared on the front cover, hurtling towards Earth. Mitch turned the page. A terrorist with rocket shoes was plotting to kill the Ambassador from Japan who was visiting Seattle.

On the next page, Powerhouse happened to be in the area, patrolling the city. The terrorist fired a weapon from across the street at the Ambassador. Powerhouse spotted the terrorist and rocketed down to stop the bullet. He threw the ambassador out of the way

Mitch turned the page. The bullet hit Powerhouse's rocket pack as he pushed the Ambassador out of the way. Powerhouse leapt up to pursue the fleeing terrorist and got six feet off the ground. The rocket pack failed.

A dialogue bubble rose from Powerhouse's mouth. "Drat!"

Mitch gaped and his eyes widened. Drat? Powerhouse said drat?

Yuck. That was so awful. Scowling, Mitch slammed closed the comic book and yanked up the phone. "Hello, Janie, get me the CEO of Blue Cat Comics. I'm going to make him an offer he won't refuse."

###

Dave sat on the brown leather couch in his basement, flipping through the latest issue of _Powerhouse_. He sighed. Too bad he didn't have any new real adventures that hadn't involved him jabbering incoherently while his wife saved his life.

Dave heard a beep. It couldn't be. He turned toward his computer. It was. The red phone was beeping. Someone was calling for Powerhouse.

True, it was only someone calling on his business, rather than the chief of police wanting him to rush to city hall.

But it was ringing.

Dave swallowed and deepened his voice. "Powerhouse, speaking."

"Hello, Powerhouse, it's Wallace Kandinsky, Blue Cat Comics. We received an offer to buy out your rights to the comics and the Powerhouse character. A corporation wants to pay you four million dollars."

Dave glowered. "So they would own Powerhouse?"

"Exactly."

"I'm not for sale."

A pause. "Powerhouse, we expected you to provide us a lot of real story lines and to keep fighting crime to increase publicity."

"I though you said you were fine with me losing my powers."

"Yes I understood, but you keep fighting with the writers' plot ideas."

"They violated my code. I'd never do the things they proposed, particularly in that one issue where they wanted me to go to bed with a sleazy woman."

"Look, Powerhouse, squeaky clean heroes are out. The Golden Zebra is the sort of comic that is in."

Dave waved it away. "That trash is the twelfth best selling comic. Mine is number four."

"But Powerhouse, we have a code, too. We want to be respected in our industry."

"Fine. Release me from my contract and I'll find another publisher."

Silence.

"I can't. Your sales are the only thing between us and bankruptcy. If I let you go without compensation, we're done. But you've got to stop this wholesome garbage."

"I think this conversation's over."

Kandinsky swore and hung up.

Dave sighed. Well, he'd get to have that conversation again in six months. The new bit was weird, though. Who would pay four million dollars to buy Powerhouse?

###

Mitch growled into his cell phone. "What do you mean he wouldn't sell? You told me he lost his powers."

Kandisky sighed. "He did."

"Then why wouldn't he cash in? " Mitch leaned back in his chair. "Well, you don't leave me a lot of choice but to send those pictures to my friend in New York."

"Are you so new to having power that you'd throw a pointless tantrum? What do you expect to accomplish? He'll still have an ironclad contract with the company that allows him to approve and make edits to every draft we send him. Once you send those pictures, you can no longer use them against me."

Mitch frowned. That was true. "Mr. Kandinsky, I'll hold on to this information for now. I'll suggest that you send $1,000 to the Marville Journalism fellowship."

"A thousand won't be the end of it."

"I don't plan on wasting my time calling the CEOs of small comic book companies for petty blackmail. I won't call you until I need something and that won't be for a while. I just want us to be clear where we stand, which is why I ask for the $1,000."

"It'll be in the mail tomorrow."

"Good day." Mitch pressed the disconnect button on the base of his phone. On his computer, Mitch closed the world's largest database of blackmail material. Guess this would only be helpful if the person he was blackmailing could do what he wanted. With Powerhouse refusing to sell out even at his generous price, it was time for plan B. He dialed a number.

"What do you want?" A middle aged woman snapped over the phone.

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Is that how you answer the phone? Is this the office of Doug Bartel?"

"Yeah, who the heck are you?"

"Just tell Doug, his old buddy Farrow is calling."

"Pharaoh? Like in the Bible?"

"Could I just speak to Doug?"

The woman called. "Hey, Dougie boy, someone who thinks he's the Pharaoh is on the line wanting to talk to you."

"Give me the phone." Bartel came on the line. "Hello?"

"Hi Doug, this is the Pharaoh." Mitch smirked. Dumb broad. "I'm wondering what type of phone etiquette that was."

"Forgive her, she's my cleaning woman. I was just headed out the door."

"Do you still need another panelist for the Powerhouse retrospective?"

"Yeah, I thought you were too busy."

Mitch rubbed his hands together. "My schedule will need some re-arranging, but in this business, people bow to the might of the Pharaoh, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, CEO. You've come up in the world. See you Wednesday night."

"See you then." Mitch chuckled. "The Pharaoh."

Hah. Maybe he could decorate in a whole Egyptian theme and dress like the Pharaoh. Nah, that'd be taking things too far even with a board of directors filled with yes-men, but it would work for a nickname for underworld activities. Who would guess that a guy nicknamed the Pharaoh was really named Farrow?

###

Mitch pulled his brand new red Lamborghini to the curb half a block away from the TV studio. He got out dressed in a teal sports coat, black turtleneck, and khaki pants.

Outside the studio, several dozen people were gathered, many wearing Powerhouse T-shirts. A couple had homemade Powerhouse suits. A man barely over five feet tall stood in a complete replica of Powerhouse's costume. He had his helmet off and a female reporter held a microphone toward him.

Mini-Powerhouse beamed. "I spent eight months on the costume. I used more than five hundred photos from every angle to make sure I got it just right. " He rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

_Gotta_ _love geek pick-up lines._

By the door, a fat lady with a nose ring popped bubble gum as she spoke with a male reporter. "Powerhouse is the one spoken of in an Indian prophecy. When he returns, it will set about the end of time."

A female dwarf elbowed the fat lady. "Dottie, that was fan fiction."

_What gullible rubes_. Mitch smirked, swaggered through the TV station doors, and passed the vacant receptionist desk down a white corridor to the studio. Over at the make up table, Chief of Police Stone Bachman sat, combing his hair.

Mitch swallowed. _Here I am, the head of the world's largest group of freedom fighters, sitting next to a high-ranking evil minion of the law. Good thing I never liked cops much to start with or I'd have to worry about arousing Bachman's suspicions._

A make up artist sashayed over to him. Oh no. Makeup artists made him look like he was performing as Bozo the Clown rather than like a respectable guest on a news program. He waved her away. "No thanks, I'll take care of myself."

She wrinkled her nose and smacked her lips but walked away.

Chief Bachman glanced sideways at him. "Can you believe it's been a year since Powerhouse was last seen?"

Mitch applied the right amount of foundation and powder and began to comb his hair. "Other than in his comic book?"

"You know, you're looking much better than when I saw you last."

Uh-oh. Best not to have people focused on his improving health or it'd raise questions _._ Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Last time, I saw you was when your old cop buddy Welch went up for life."

Bachman leaned back, his lips parted. He closed his trap.

Mitch smiled. That had worked like a charm.

A young woman wearing a jacket with the station logo walked in. "We're ready to mic you two."

The production assistant wired them with lapel microphones. Doug jogged out of the wings and sat in the anchor chair. The red light on the camera came on. "In the studio with us are a couple familiar faces, Chief of Police Stone Bachman and the new CEO of Dorado Incorporated, long-time news blogger Mitch Farrow."

Doug turned to Bachman. "Chief Bachman, early on you made some statements against Powerhouse, but you seemed to warm to him as time went on."

Bachman flinched. "My early statements were influenced by a false report from an officer that's since been convicted of some very serious crimes. I'm always bothered by vigilantism, but Powerhouse became much better as he gained experience, and the city owes him a debt of gratitude for his part in bringing down the Ross crime family." The chief smiled. "More than that, Doug, Powerhouse really brought a spirit of genuine caring and a sort of, almost, innocence, and infectious enthusiasm that we all miss."

Mitch smirked. Powerhouse was innocently, enthusiastically raking in a fortune.

Doug gazed at Mitch. "I take it you don't agree."

"I wrote a few posts on Powerhouse back when he was flying around the city in his little suit. The thing I always asked was, 'What's this guy's angle?' Now we know. Since, he disappeared; he's continued to publish Powerhouse Comic Books and action figures. He's shamelessly profiting off of the misery and suffering of the city. Rather than decrying that sleazy con artist, everyone's acting like he's some big hero. It's disgusting."

Bachman scowled at Mitch. "I'm glad if Powerhouse is earning something off his experience. He risked his life more than once. Thanks to his efforts, we have a more honest police department and the Ross crime syndicate is out of commission."

"You owe that to Marcos Silvano coming forward. The police in this city have always been corrupt and still are. The few people that managed to get caught in the Silvano probe have only been replaced by other crooked cops."

The chief cupped his hands together and inhaled. "You're making unproven and false assertions."

_Got you_. Mitch sneered. "You cops are crooked. Everyone knows it. The rate for all crimes is at almost the exact same level now as it was when Powerhouse first arrived on the scene. He made no difference whatsoever."

The chief leaned forward. "Some of the crime he stopped was not stuff that shows up in the rate. It's unreported. It's called the dark figure of crime."

Yuck. The only thing worse than a cop was an educated cop. "Nobody can trust the cops. What we really need is less people calling the cops and more people calling the ACLU to report abuses at the hands of cops."

The chief's face flushed red and a vein popped out in his forehead as he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "We have a complaint board to address that."

"Oh yeah, like people can trust that."

Doug raised his hands. "Gentlemen, we've gotten off-topic. We're not talking about the police. But if I'm understanding you, Mr. Farrow, your stance is Powerhouse didn't accomplish anything and is profiting from his powers?"

_Good old Doug still goes for controversy like a dog after meat_. "It's all about the Benjamins, baby. It makes Seattle look bad. We are a forward-looking, progressive city with a grimy underbelly of poverty and corruption. Powerhouse comics hide that."

Bachman raised an eyebrow and put his hand up. "You claim that Powerhouse is making our city look bad by not having his comic book portray us as a hellhole?"

"His portrayal of Seattle is so _Leave it to Beaver_ , other cities won't take us seriously." Mitch stared into the camera and spread his hands out as if to show he had no weapons. "Tell you what, Powerhouse, if you're not about the money, call my office. I'll take over the rights to the whole Powerhouse biz and donate 100 percent of the profits to my personal charitable trust to help causes in the greater Seattle area."

Doug cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, thank you for your time. And thank you for watching, I hope you enjoyed this special: Powerhouse: One Year Later. Join us tonight and every night for the news at eleven. Good night from your news station. "

A production assistant held up three fingers, then two, and one. "You're out."

Doug slapped Mitch on the back. "That's the old muckraker. Who would've thought the anniversary of Powerhouse's departure could become controversial?"

Bachman glowered. "Yeah, who would've thunk it?" He stomped away, stopped, sighed, and spun back. "You ready to go?"

Mitch scowled. "We didn't come as couple."

Bachman folded his arms. "Mr. Farrow, you have insulted Powerhouse on live television. This studio is surrounded by rabid fans who saw it on the monitor outside the station. I would not want to be responsible for what happens if they get their hands on you. Now, would you like me to walk you to your car, or would you rather wait for the ACLU to send someone?"

Help from the evil system's enforcers? Guess he had no choice. Mitch strode toward the back entrance. "I think we can avoid the crowd by going this way."

"You sure? The crew went out there to smoke after the show."

"Why would that bother me?"

Bachman blinked. "Isn't second hand smoke bad for people with AIDS?"

Mitch swallowed. He'd have to answer a lot of questions from this guy if he wasn't careful. "No, it's not a big deal." Mitch pointed to the door. "After you."

###

Zolgron stood over Dave and Naomi in the living room with a plate of Waffle shaped cookies. "Want another stroopwafel?"

"No, I lost my appetite." Frowning, Dave leaped up and paced. He clinched his fist. "How can that jerk say that?"

Naomi stood and patted his back. "Ignore him. Everyone else loves Powerhouse."

"Well, the city still needs Powerhouse!" Or did they? Dave sighed. "Or maybe not. Farrow said everything's just as bad as if I'd never been there."

"You helped a lot of people. You can't help it if new criminals move in."

"I wish I still had powers. Then I could get things cleaned up," Dave sighed. "But that's not going to happen."

Zolgron put the plate of stroopwafels on the coffee table."Why not?"

Huh? Dave peered at Zolgron. "Duh, the source of my powers learned his lesson, is no longer a symbiote, and is now the world's next top chef."

"Dave, I didn't know you wanted powers. I thought you were all done with that after James' accident."

Was he hearing right? Dave gaped up at Zolgron. "I can get superpowers?"

"Of course." Zolgron took another Stroopwafel. "When I was planning to take over my world, I realized I couldn't manage the whole planet by myself. While I hoped to get an army of loyal sycophants together, I needed some stronger people. I created a cylinder that allowed me to transfer a portion of my powers to its wearer."

"So that's why you were a cylinder?"

Zolgron nodded. "Precisely. So, any time you want powers, I can, in the vernacular, hook you up."

Dave stared at Naomi. "What do you think?"

Naomi closed her eyes and opened them. She smiled. "If you're going to keep putting yourself in danger, I'd rather you have superpowers. Before you do it, though, I think we should pray about it and meet with Dr. Rose."

Why couldn't he just leap at the chance and start right now? Dave sighed. Naomi was probably right _._ "I've been waiting months for this. What's another day of people dying rather than me saving them?"

"Very subtle, Dave." Zolgron laughed. "Still, it'd better not be much more than that. I have to fly to Tahiti to break up a ring of pickpockets on Friday."

What? That was rather small potatoes for Zolgron. Dave blinked. "You're going to waste superpowers on pick pockets?"

"Dave, Dave, Dave." Zolgron tsked and put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "If it involves going to Tahiti, nothing is wasted."

Chapter 6: Building a Better Powerhouse

Naomi sat in her red, mesh fabric office chair at work staring at the sales report for the branch office, as Martina McBride sang in her ear. "Let freedom ring. Let the righteous say—"

The door opened and Carmela crossed the grey blue carpeting. "Hey, Naomi."

"One sec." Naomi turned off her computer monitor and pressed pause on her Ipod. "Yeah?"

Carmela dropped a file on the marble top desk. "Unfortunately, the underwriter said no on Mr. Figueroa's refinance. Appraisal came back underwater."

"And I get to tell him." Naomi sighed. "There are days I love this job. Why couldn't today be one of them?"

"I hear you."

Naomi snapped her fingers. "Oh, we're going to have to go to the salon another night." She smiled. "We have an emergency counseling session tonight."

Carmela raised an eyebrow. "Why is a counseling session making you smile?"

Naomi played with a pen on her desk. "Oh it's a little unexpected surprise."

Carmela gasped and beamed. "Congratulations! When did you find out?"

Huh? "Uh, Zolgron promised to hook us up last night."

Carmela scratched her head. "Zolgron does adoptions, too?"

Oh, duh. Naomi laughed. "Sorry, not that kind of little surprise. No, you're not going to get to be a godmother again. Zolgron's going to give Dave back his powers."

"He can do that?"

"Apparently."

"That had you smiling?" Carmela scrunched her nose. "You guys almost got divorced last time he had super powers."

Naomi waved it away. "That's only because he was being secretive. Now I know what's going on. This is exactly what he needed. If the dope had just told me the truth to start with, I would've been proud of him. This time I will be."

Carmela sighed. "I hope it works out. I'll be praying for you guys."

###

Dave sat with his arm around Naomi on the leather couch in Dr. Rose's office.

Dr. Rose doodled on his notepad. "I don't usually do career counseling, let alone superhero career counseling, but let's try. So, what do you think about this, Dave?"

Naomi beamed. "He's really excited. You should've seen his face."

The doctor smiled and looked at Dave.

Dave swallowed as his stomach churned a bit. "I'm a little scared. Lass time, I made mistakes as Powerhouse. People got hurt. I'm afraid of making more mistakes."

Dr. Rose nodded and tapped his fingers together. "That's normal, but the only way to stop making mistakes is to stop living. Do your best and leave the results in God's hands. If you make a mistake, admit and move on. Another thing, understand that even though you have all these powers, you're not God."

Duh. Dave laughed and waved. "Zolgron and I learned that. That's how he got out of being a symbiote."

"What I mean is that you're not responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world or even in the city. Don't let guilt weigh you down."

"I also want to make a difference. The guy on TV claimed I didn't."

"You'd be surprised." Dr. Rose pointed to his Powerhouse poster. "If nothing else, you've inspired a lot of people."

That was part of the problem. Dave squirmed. "I was uncomfortable watching those Powerhouse fans on TV. It's like they were obsessed. I felt almost like they were worshipping me. It was weird and uh . . . " Why did this sound familiar? "Pathetic."

Naomi elbowed him. "Don't be so hard on your fans, Dave. They're doing what you do with Spider-man, Superman, and Batman."

_No, what I did do. Shudder._ "If I ever sound like them in your opinion ever again, slap me. I mean, some of those guys are giving me praise that only God should get."

Dr. Rose beamed at him like a proud father. "It seems like you need to find a way to redirect some of the glory to God."

"Yeah. It won't weird God out."

Dr Rose cleared his throat. "Let's go back to your concern about how effective Powerhouse has been. Maybe the best way to explain it is like this. Did you ever watch _Lois and Clark_ when it was on the air?"

"Only about a dozen times for each episode."

"Then may I assume that you remember what happened after the first season when Lex Luthor was killed off?"

"Intergang moved in, as did new villains."

"Why was that?"

Dave shrugged. "It wouldn't have been much of a show without villains."

"It's more than that. In Matthew 12, Jesus talks about a man who had an evil spirit and it was cast out. The evil spirit wanders around and decides to come back, and finds everything cleaned up. But the house was empty and so he comes back and brings seven spirits even more wicked than himself."

Dave blinked. "What does that have to do with crime fighting?"

"You can throw the criminals in jail and get them off the street, but if all the conditions remain the same, and nothing good replaces the bad, you end up with the same problems. Particularly with big problems like fatherlessness. There are a lot of churches and organizations that are really trying to help, and they could use a hand."

"I could Super Imagine some new youth centers into existence for them."

"If you want to get away from people worshipping you, then you can't simply do everything for them. People would start depending on Powerhouse for everything. You want to help and inspire people to get involved, not get them dependent on you to solve all their problems. Remember, not everything you do has to involve a flashy superhero entrance. You can provide food or clothing to people secretly and leave a simple note. When that gets around, it'll inspire imitators of the good sort."

Dave smiled. "Superman should've come to you."

Dr. Rose shrugged and glance to Naomi. "What are your concerns?"

Naomi bit her lip. "I have only one, really." She took Dave's hands. "Honey, when you rescue women, could you not carry them in your arms?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "Should I carry them upside down by their ankles?"

She giggled. "Tempting, but no. Try carrying them over your shoulder."

"Like a sack of potatoes?"

"Exactly!" Naomi squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek.

Dave rubbed his forehead. What was he supposed to say to that?

Dr. Rose cleared his throat. "Naomi, we've talked about healthy jealousy versus insecurity. Do you remember what constitutes healthy jealousy?"

Naomi slid down on the couch a few inches. "When something threatens a covenant relationship."

"Exactly, even God is jealous in that way. Does Dave carrying a woman from a burning building in his arms pose a serious threat to your marriage?"

"I guess not." Naomi sighed, yanked her hands back from Dave, and slapped her lap. "Okay, fine. Just don't carry women for fun."

Dr. Rose pressed out of his chair and stood beside them. "You know this is going to be a big change for both of you and it'll require patience and prayer. It's also very important to make time for each other and the kids."

"I intend to." Dave nodded and he and Naomi stood, too.

"I hope I've helped. I didn't get a certificate in Superhero Counseling in college."

"Would you pray for us before we go?"

"Sure."

###

Dave opened the front door and entered the living room with Naomi. Zolgron sat on their couch watching _Nineteen Kids and Counting_ while munching on stroopwafel.

Zolgron looked up. "You ready?"

"Let's do this." Dave swallowed and grinned.

Zolgron pressed pause on the remote and led Dave and Naomi back to their bedroom. Zolgron lifted the bed frame and moved it to the side. He stared at the floor and something that looked like a metal tackle box appeared with a scanner on it. "Dave, put your hand on the box."

Dave did. A light passed over it and beeped. Dave removed his hand from the box. "Now what?"

Zolgron pointed to Naomi. "It's your turn."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Why do you need my handprint?"

"Dave may someday need access to the box, but not be able to come. In such an emergency, it's helpful to have a back up."

Naomi shrugged and placed her hand on the box. The light scanned it and beeped.

Zolgron spoke in an alien language and then in English. "The box is now sealed, so only the two of you can access it."

"Great, what's in it?"

"Your cylinder, of course. Use your hand to unlock the box and reach inside."

Dave placed his hand on the scanner thingy and the box popped open. He reached inside and pulled out a cylinder only four inches long and three inches across, much too small to slide up his arm like before. "Is this one a ring?"

"Put it by the spot on your arm that you want it to fit onto."

Okay, that was weird, but if Zolgron said so. Dave unbuttoned his outer shirt and remove it and his t-shirt. He put the cylinder next to his bicep. The cylinder expanded so it was big enough to encompass the area and disappeared into his skin.

Dave's head exploded in pulsating pain. Clutching his head, he screamed and collapsed to the carpet. The world fell out from under him and the lights went out.

Chapter 7: Powerhouse 2.0

Dave's head throbbed as he opened his eyes. He lay shirtless on his bedroom carpet next to the electronic box. Naomi hovered over him. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Dave rubbed his head and looked up at Zolgron. "What happened?"

Zolgron smiled. "Nothing to worry about, folks. Dave, have you ever had to restart your computer after installing new hardware?"

"Yeah." Too many times.

"The cylinder represents a major change to your body's mental and physical capabilities. So it had to reboot you once we installed the hardware."

"Hopefully, I don't start freezing up." Dave laughed, climbed to his feet, and rubbed his hands together. "So, let's see what this upgrade can do."

Dave super imagined the bed moving itself back into place above the metal box.

The bed lifted along the path he'd pictured and settled back where it belonged.

Naomi whistled. "Wow."

Dave tapped his bicep. "Why do we need that box if I've got this on my arm?"

"I originally planned on ten helpers on my home world, so the box contains nine more cylinders. Use them as spares in case something happens to the first."

Huh? They could break? Dave scratched his head. "What could happen?"

Zolgron shrugged. "I never got a chance to test these out. I doubt there's an actual 'need' for them, but they come in sets of ten"

"As long as no one but Naomi or me can open that box, that's fine I guess." Dave super imagined the Powerhouse suit on.

He stood there in gray body armor, a space motorcycle helmet with bulletproof visor, and a rocket pack on his back. "Any changes in powers?"

Zolgron flinched and bit his lip. "Instead of having the strength of one hundred men, you only have the strength of seventy-five. You can't run quite as fast, but you never used that power much. You also can't go inside computers anymore."

Powerhouse smirked. Going inside computers made him sick. "That's a big loss. Can I still absorb books by touching them?"

"Yes, all your other powers are intact, but only at three quarters strength. Sorry, when I made these, I thought it prudent to be more powerful than my cronies."

"So I'm the Silver Age Powerhouse?"

"An apt comparison."

Beat being retired anyway. Dave glanced to Naomi. "We need to tell the kids."

Naomi's eyes widened. "We can't! What if they tell their friends?"

"Um, Derrick figured it out last time, honey, on the silly basis that he named me. As far as I know, he kept my secret. Besides, they both remember Diablo. I'm sure they'd rather be avoid getting kidnapped by bad guys." Powerhouse marched into the hall and headed toward James's and Derrick's room. "Besides, no one will suspect Dave Johnson is a Superhero. I'll be a little goofy with a wild imagination and not exactly bright."

Zolgron chuckled. "I don't know how you'll pull it off."

"I'll manage it." Powerhouse shrugged. He'd simply have to pretend that he'd never gotten a brain-power boost from becoming Powerhouse as well.

Naomi rubbed the back of her neck. "This may seem silly request, but could you take me for a ride?" She touched Powerhouse's helmet. "It's the only way to fly."

Powerhouse hugged her. "I'll take everyone in the family on flights."

He entered the kids room and strode through the toys, clothes, and junk on the floor up to their oak bunk bed. Derrick sat on the top bunk reading an issue of the kid-friendly Spider-Man comic book. On the bottom bunk, James was typing on a laptop.

James looked up. "Did you b-b-buy a costume?"

Powerhouse puffed out his chest. "This is real son. I've got my powers back."

Derrick closed the comic book and his eyes lit up. "Cool, Dad! You're going to be Powerhouse again?"

"I am Powerhouse."

Derrick shook his finger at him. "Dad, you need to train first. It's been a long time." He got out of bed and circled around Powerhouse. "Does this suit get hot?"

Zolgron perked up. "No, it's got a great cooling system in it that I adapted it from technology I encountered on Betra 7."

It did? Dave blinked.

Derrick knocked on the rocket pack. "Wow, it's huge."

Zolgron nodded. "We could go smaller on that. Dave's design attracts fire in battle. I could adapt a rocket pack that would emit less heat and also be half the size."

Powerhouse grimaced. "The Powerhouse costume's a classic. Why mess with it?"

Naomi draped her arm on his shoulder. "Dear, it's a family project now."

Guess this would make things go smoother. Powerhouse spread his hands."Okay guys, we can change the rocket pack. Anything else?"

Derrick raised his hand. "Could you take off your helmet when you're talking to us and no one else is around?"

Powerhouse removed the helmet. "Okay."

James closed his laptop and sat up. "D-dad, we should t-t-test your suit out."

"Yeah!" Derrick pumped his fist in the air. "Lets go where there's not a lot of people so you can run, test weapons, and fly around. See how fast you can go."

Naomi grinned. "And see if he can blow things up? Sounds like a fun father-sons weekend to me."

That was a good idea. Powerhouse could make it harder to spend time with the boys _._ "If Zolgron will help me figure out a destination, we'll go and test things out."

James' lips spread into a tiny smile. "I'll m-m-make you a w-website. You need a blog, and an easy w-way for p-people to e-mail you."

Dave smiled. "I didn't know you did that sort of thing."

"You d-don't stutter when writing online."

"Consider yourself commissioned, son. Just be careful not to use your real name to get things registered."

James snorted. "Dad, I'm not stupid."

"If there's nothing else, I'm going to give everyone turns on the Powerhouse express." Powerhouse slipped on his helmet and swooped Naomi into his arms.

Naomi laughed. "Oh Dave."

Powerhouse imagined the visor open. "I'm in costume. It's Powerhouse!"

###

Powerhouse dashed toward the tank barreling at him. He grabbed it by its big gun, flung it around the Nevada dessert, and smashed it on the ground repeatedly.

The immobile tank lay upside down, and it's wheels slowed. It looked a lot like an oversized tortoise that had fallen on its back. Powerhouse grabbed the machine with both hands in the middle and tore it apart like it was Reynolds rap.

Powerhouse super-imagined his armor contracting into a metal square on his chest. He stood in blue tights with the gold Powerhouse lightening bolt on the metal plate on his chest. His helmet remained and continued to blow cool air into his face. Powerhouse dashed across the desert.

A low orbiting rectangular-shaped spaceship appeared and swooped after him. He spun and fled the other way as fast as he could run. The sand, hills, and cacti blended to a big blur. He was nowhere near as fast as the Flash, but he was surely breaking a world record ten times over. Good enough.

His lungs started to burn. Powerhouse panted. He had to stop _._ He glanced back behind him at the ship overhead, right on his tail. _Gotta_ _keep running._

Powerhouse sped up. He passed miles of desert. His legs ached. His throat matched his surroundings. He peered at his watch. _I've been going half an hour._ It was surely enough. He slowed and came to a gradual stop. He breathed in, out nice and slow.

The space ship landed and Derrick and James got out.

James eyes' were wide. "That was so c-cool."

Derrick nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I timed it. For the first five minutes, you were going 1500 miles an hour. I could barely keep up in the spaceship. Then you slowed down to 800 miles an hour."

Powerhouse nodded. "I could practice so that I don't slow down so much, but I don't know how I'd use it practically. I have my jetpack."

Derrick shook his head. "Dad, your jet pack only goes 250 miles an hour. You're way faster when running on the ground."

"Too many obstacles on the ground in the city. I'll keep working on it."

Derrick waved back at the spaceship. "Come inside and rest."

"Right away, son." Powerhouse yawned. Showing off for the kids was harder than actually fighting crime. Still, it was worth it to spend time with them.

Powerhouse plodded into the ship and plopped in a plush captain's chair on the bridge of the stealth spaceship.

Derrick settled into the navigator's chair beside him. "One more thing, Dad."

That was it. "One more thing, Derrick Johnson. Who am I?"

"I mean Powerhouse. Zolgron said there was some information you needed to memorize and wanted to be sure you got it because he's in Tahiti." Derrick reached into a bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "City of Seattle Map."

Powerhouse touched the map and his head was filled with a complete scale map of the city. "Very cool."

Derrick tossed him another map. "City of Seattle sewer map."

Powerhouse touched it. His mind filled with the layout of the Seattle sewer system. "Always handy to have."

Derrick reached into the satchel. "Greater Seattle area phone book."

Powerhouse touched it. His body jolted and numbers zipped through his head. It figured. That always happens with the bigger books. "That's good."

Derrick reached in and pulled out half a dozen books. "And here are some martial arts books we got from the library."

"Super!" Powerhouse grabbed them. Karate instructions and illustrations wrote themselves onto his brain's hard drive. He added Judo, Akido, and then Kung Fu. He grabbed the fifth book and pictures of delicious pastries filled his mind.

Huh? Powerhouse gaped at the cover. " _The Betty Crocker Dessert Cookbook_."

"Oops." Derrick flinched. "That must have been put back on the wrong shelf."

Powerhouse grabbed the last book and acquired knowledge of Tae Kwon Do.

His head throbbed. Rubbing it, he moaned.

"W-what's wrong?" James asked.

"Information overload. It's like an ice cream headache, only worse and without getting to eat the yummy ice cream." Powerhouse closed his eyes and imagined one of the confections in Betty Crocker's book. A peach cobbler with ice cream, plates and a knife appeared on his lap. Powerhouse cut off a slice and lifted it toward his mouth. He waved at the kids and the cobbler. "Have some."

Derrick took a place, cut off a piece of the cobbler, and put it on his plate. He pressed a button on the spaceships control panel. "I'll get us back to camp."

James snatched up the remaining plate and sliced himself a piece of the cobbler, too. "D-dad, you okay?"

"Yes, son."

Derrick glanced at his older brother and slipped sound-proof earphones on.

James sighed and swallowed. "D-d-dad, you're not a d-dork. I'm s-sorry."

"You're forgiven, son." Powerhouse smiled. "From what I've heard, most sons your age think their dads are dorks."

"Heard? Didn't you?"

"My father died when I was four."

"Oh." James blinked. "Y-you never mentioned it."

"Not a happy memory." Powerhouse's chest constricted.

"Well, y-you're cool."

That alone made the whole trip worth it _._ "Son, have another piece of cobbler."

Chapter 8: Powerhouse v. the Kidnappers

Powerhouse landed on the window sill of Chief of Police Stone Bachman's office at police headquarters and crept inside. "Hello, Chief."

The chief pulled his nine millimeter handgun from his shoulder holster and turned his head toward Powerhouse. "Oh, it's you." He put the gun away. "Didn't I tell you not to come in that way?"

Powerhouse smiled. "You also moved the bookshelf so it wouldn't be in my way and left the window open."

"I rearranged my office and leaving the window open is a green initiative."

"Yeah, I saw a few green bugs crawling around. I just came by to give you my card." Powerhouse handed the card to Bachman.

The chief held the card up to the light. "A number for the Powerhouse phone?"

"Yes, initially only you and one other guy will have the number."

"Well, it beats that Powerhouse signal they used in Bryerton." The chief locked his computer. "So, is it going to be the same deal as before? Just fighting crime and telling us where to pick up the criminals?"

"I'm going to work to build churches and youth centers as I clean out the criminal element."

The chief grinned. "Now, that's a good idea. It's gonna be tough, but let me know if I can help."

"Will do chief. Now, I'm off to see a balding man. Powerhouse away!" He flew out the window, toward 3rd Street, and stopped outside a building that said, _Seattle FBI Field Office._ Powerhouse scanned the three story building from top to bottom until he found the office of Special Agent in Charge Polk.

Polk was out, but there was a paper notepad on his desk. Powerhouse flew up to Polk's window and focused on the piece of paper. He imagined a pen running lightly across the top of the piece of paper to reveal what was written on the piece that had been above. An address appeared of 3136 NE 140th Street #504. He checked that against the phonebook. That was the address of Dr. Ronald Carter and his wife, Jan.

Ah ha. " Now, I'm off to see Agent Polk. Powerhouse away."

Though he'd best not fly up to the window again. The FBI would probably not react well to the surprise and he wasn't completely bulletproof _._ Powerhouse landed at an apartment building, dashed inside, and got in the elevator. He pressed the button for the fifth floor. A red-haired man in a spring weight green jacket jumped in to the elevator before the doors closed.

The red-haired man stared up at Powerhouse. "Wow, that's the second best Powerhouse costume I've ever seen."

Powerhouse grunted. Second best?

The little man got off on the fourth floor. Powerhouse got off on the fifth floor, marched to Apartment 504, and rapped hard on the door.

It creaked open and out peered a woman with short mousey brown hair and lines under her eyes. "Are you really Powerhouse?"

"Yes ma'am."

She wrapped her arms around him. "I can't believe you came! You're going to find him. I know you will."

Find who? Powerhouse raised his eyebrow. "I will?"

"Of course you will, you're Powerhouse."

A young man with a full head of blonde hair came forward. "Sir, please get out of the way. You're interfering with a federal matter."

"Who are you?"

The man removed a wallet and flashed his badge. "Donaldson, FBI."

Huh? Where was Polk? "That's not possible."

"The badge is genuine."

"Yeah, but you're not balding."

Donaldson's eyes widened and he gaped.

The woman grabbed Powerhouse's elbow and pulled him into the apartment's living room. Agent Polk sat on the couch with a man wearing a grey cardigan sweater.

Agent Donaldson put up a hand. "Stop!"

The woman smacked her lips and put her hand on her hip. "You FBI people are not God Almighty. I want my boy back and Powerhouse can help."

Powerhouse grimaced. _A kidnapping case? Definitely a job for Powerhouse._

Special Agent in Charge Polk jumped up, frowning. "What's going on?"

Donaldson glared at Powerhouse "He's interfering with our investigation."

Powerhouse eyed Polk. His hair had retreated entirely off the top of his head leaving a thin layer of brown hair on either side of his bald skull. Polk's trim athletic frame remained the same.

Polk nodded at Powerhouse and turned to Donaldson. "A good agent uses every available resource. Powerhouse has provided cooperation to the bureau in the past. If Mrs. Carter wants him here, we'll welcome him."

Mrs. Carter smiled up at Powerhouse. "Our boy is your biggest fan."

"I'll do everything I can." Powerhouse turned to Polk. "What happened?"

"About eight o'clock this morning, Mrs. Carter stepped into the shower. About four minutes after that, she heard the boy scream, got out of the shower, and at 8:06, she found the boy gone with a note on the door for ransom. She slipped on her robe, looked down the hall, and walked all the way down the stairs and found no one. She contacted the FBI field office at 8:15 a.m. We've begun a citywide manhunt for the boy and coordinated with state and local officials. We are ready to trace any calls and we have the initial kidnap note promising a call at 2:30 and we're having that analyzed."

Agent Donaldson snarled at Powerhouse. "What can you do that we can't?"

Powerhouse tapped his left ear. "I have superhearing. If you have a recording of his voice, I can listen for his voice and track it like a homing signal."

Agent Polk's eyes smiled. "That could be helpful. Doctor Carter, do you have a recording of your son's voice?"

The man in the gray cardigan sweater nodded slowly. "Yes, on the computer."

He led Powerhouse and the two agents over to a blue laptop with the name Jeff sprawled on the case in white crayon.

The doctor pressed a button on the lid and opened the videos folder and pressed play on a video.

An eight-year-old boy with brown hair, green eyes, and pierced ears ran out from behind a tree. He beamed into the camera. "Happy Anniversary."

Mrs. Carter put her arm on Dr. Carter's shoulder.

Powerhouse memorized the sound. "I'm going to hone in on his voice signal. I won't be able to hear you or anything else."

Dr. Carter pulled a notepad out of his pocket and handed it to Polk. "Write down whatever you need to say and he can read it."

"Thank you." Polk took the pad and wrote down a phone number. "Powerhouse, here's my cell phone. Notify me when you've found him."

Powerhouse opened his ears and a world of sound came at him. Dripping faucets, ringing phones, thousands of discordant pieces of music slammed him to the ground. He covered his ears and screamed. _Now I remember why I don't like this power._

Okay, he simply had to focus on just the male children.

That made a slight dent in the overwhelming amount of sounds. "Okay, folks, I'm going to focus on your son now."

The sound stopped altogether.

Drat. Powerhouse growled. "He's not talking."

Agent Donaldson smirked.

Agent Polk wrote on the paper and his lips moved while looking at Mrs. Carter. Polk held up his note. _The kidnapper will call in five minutes. Mrs. Carter will insist on speaking to the boy._

Powerhouse nodded. "Right, I'll fly outside and wait for it, so I can get wherever the kidnappers are." He handed Polk his business card. "Text me if anything changes."

Polk nodded and flashed him a grin. Powerhouse opened the window and flew thirty feet up on his jet pack.

Eight minutes later, the boy's voice came. "Mom, I'm scared."

Powerhouse flew to the sound of the voice.

The boy cried, "No, don't. You jerk!"

Powerhouse focused in on the wall as he used his x-ray vision to look through it. A man in a black suit slapped a piece of duct tape back over the boy's mouth and carried him to the bedroom. His partner waited out front. Powerhouse x-rayed them.

Powerhouse pulled out his cell phone and restored his ears to normal. He dialed the number for Agent Polk.

"Just a second," whispered Agent Polk. A door closed. "Go ahead."

"I found them," said Powerhouse.

"Where are they?"

"In apartment 516."

"What?"

"They're on the same floor as you. Get down to 516 and get ready to make a bust. Text me when you're at the door."

"Powerhouse, we have ways of handling this."

"Ways that are dangerous for the kid. These guys don't have guns and they put the boy by the window. I can have this over in minutes if you'll cooperate."

Silence. "Okay, Powerhouse, we'll play this one your way."

Powerhouse waited three minutes. A text came through:

"At door."

Powerhouse texted back. "Now!"

He flew over by the window and super-imagined the thug who was watching the boy tied up and gagged and that the window was gone. He grabbed the boy.

The boy's eyes grew wide. "Powerhouse is that you?"

"Yes, let's get you out of here son." He flew the boy out the kidnappers' window and into the window of his parents' apartment.

The mother ran over. "Jeff!"

Powerhouse smiled. "You'll be okay, son. I'll give you a longer ride later."

He flew back to the apartment and in the window.

The kidnapper in the black suit ran in. "Barney, it's the FBI." He gasped. "Powerhouse. I thought you were retired."

"Justice never retires. It only takes long vacations. You will either surrender or face my martial arts skills."

"Martial arts?"

Powerhouse closed his eyes. What had those books said? "Take two eggs."

Two eggs appeared and hit the criminal in the face.

"Flour."

White powder poured out of the sky and knocked the criminal to the ground.

"Add diced ham and shredded cheese."

A pound of each fell on the criminals.

Polk and Donaldson ran in, guns drawn.

The criminal jumped and raised his hands. "I surrender; get me out of here before he turns me into an omelet."

Agent Donaldson smirked. "You sure deliver them quickly, but a little messy, don't you think?"

Powerhouse imagined the miscreant clean.

Agent Polk said, "Go process him, Donaldson. I'll be down later with his friend."

Donaldson nodded, cuffed the criminal, and took him away.

Polk said, "For my report, what was that egg-throwing all about?"

"I memorized several martial arts books and a cookbook at the same time, so I accidentally called up the cookbook. I'll forget it."

Polk nodded. "You might as well forget the martial arts books, too. You can't learn martial arts by memorizing a book. Martial arts are about muscle memory."

"Oh, really?"

Polk nodded. "Officially, I have to advise you to be sure and defer to the Bureau in the future. We don't usually let civilians take charge of this, but I made a discretionary decision that I believe was justified and for that I want to thank you, albeit unofficially."

"That's the only thanks I need. If you need some unofficial help, keep my card."

Polk smiled. "I have it in the unofficial side of my wallet."

Chapter 9: Random Acts of Powerhouse

Powerhouse flew up to the Heating Assistance Office. The parking lot was empty. He scanned the building. Empty.

Okay, no problem. He imagined the window opening and unlocking from the inside. He crept across to the desk of the director. On the desk was a list, "Families in need of weatherization assistance." Those who they'd been able to help were marked in yellow. Powerhouse touched the list. His head tingled as it downloaded into his brain.

He climbed out the window, closed it, and flew across town to the first house on the list. A mother and two children gathered around the television in the living room.

He couldn't do this one now without detection. Next candidate.

Powerhouse flew off toward a trailer court. A white, rusted trailer sat in space 4. Powerhouse x-rayed it. Yay, no one home. He imagined the trailer properly insulated and weather proofed. The insulation appeared.

They probably needed more than weather proofing _._ Powerhouse landed, went to the door, and imagined it open and walked in. The pet door drooped down on the left side. An old couch and recliner rested on brown carpeting covered with stains and dirt.

Powerhouse imagined the pet door fixed and new thick brown carpeting laid. He walked to the washing machine and it was disassembled. An older dryer sat by it.

Powerhouse imagined it replaced with a brand new washer and dryer. He walked into the kitchen and checked the cupboards. Empty except for only three soup cans. Powerhouse opened the fridge. Only mold and sticky dirt. The freezer contained only a thick layer of ice. Time to imagine some food here.

Powerhouse imagined half a dozen cheese pizzas in the freezer and dozens of bags of chips in the cupboards.

Naomi's voice echoed in Powerhouse's head. " _Kids need a balanced diet."_

Dave sighed. He imagined cans of corned beef, green beans, and corn as well as cereal in the pantry, and lunch meat, tomatoes, and cucumbers in the fridge along with a gallon of milk. He imagined a note on the fridge:

From A Friend

God Bless

Powerhouse rubbed his stomach. All this super-imagining food into existence was making him hungry. He grabbed a can of corn beef, opened it, and walked to the kitchen. He scooped the canned meat out bite by bite with his gloved finger.

He finished the last bite as a car's headlights shined from the parking space beside the trailer.

"Drat!" He'd fail in his mission if they found him here. How did he get out?

Powerhouse stared at the pet door. Of course. He could change his physical appearance into that of a cat.

He super-imagined himself as a little cat.

His body began to swirl, but the dizzying sensation stopped. He was still himself.

Outside, a car door opened.

Maybe a kitty cat was too small. Powerhouse super-imagined himself as a jaguar. His body transformed into a jaguar's and he crept behind the chair.

A boy about James' age entered carrying a hamper of laundry. "I hate the laundromat."

A chubby, short-haired blonde entered. "Just because your DVD's are here."

"What's for dinner, Mom?"

"Soup." The mother sighed.

"Again?" The boy lugged the hamper over to the laundry area. "Mom, the washer!"

"What?" The mother raced to the washer. "How did that get here?"

"Duh. Somebody broke in and put it here."

"A burglar that gives people things? Come on, let's eat."

Footsteps echoed and they left the carpet and stepped on to linoleum.

The mother read, "From a friend. God bless."

The fridge door opened. "Oh my God, Tyler!" Her voice cracked. "Look at this."

Now to make his escape. They'd be distracted in the kitchen for a while _._

Powerhouse dashed through the pet door.

Now to get out of this form before someone called the police _._

A window smashed.

What the devil? Powerhouse climbed up a tree and looked down. A teenage boy was climbing out the window of a well-painted white and red trailer across the court, carrying a jewelry box.

Powerhouse jumped from the tree onto the gravel.

The boy screamed.

Powerhouse snarled. "Unhand that jewelry box, miscreant!"

The young criminal screamed. "Awwww, a talking jaguar!"

Powerhouse roared and peered down at his Jaguar body. Oops. He'd forgotten to change back. "Down on the ground or I'll devour you. There's no escaping me. I'm the fastest cat on Earth."

"B-b-but, I thought that was the cheetah."

Powerhouse roared again.

The quivering criminal hit the ground.

Now he really had to finish this guy off and escape before someone called animal control. Powerhouse super-imagined the criminal tied up and dashed behind a bush. He transformed back into his normal human body and superhero costume, pulled out his pay-as-you-go cell and dialed police dispatch. "I've got a miscreant here for law enforcement to apprehend and bring before the great bar of justice."

A female dispatcher's voice came. "What?"

Police hacks had no sense of poetry. Powerhouse sighed. "I got a burglar at the Budget Trailer Park with the jewelry box he stole still on him. Do you want him?"

"Why didn't you just say so? We have an officer a few minutes away from your location."

"Thanks."

A white 1990 Crown Victoria pulled into the trailer court. A white-haired woman wearing a peach-colored shirt and a pair of white capris got out. She looked at the boy lying on the ground. She put her hands on her hips. "Why is my grandson tied up?"

"He was breaking into this trailer."

"This is my trailer. Why would he break into it?"

"To steal your jewelry box."

"You're lying. He's a good boy."

A police car pulled up. An officer got out and jogged over to Powerhouse. "What going on here?"

Powerhouse looked at the officer's name on his badge. "Officer Willis, I caught this boy breaking into his grandmother's trailer. He stole this jewel box."

The grandmother ran over to Powerhouse and pounded on his armor. "Not true! Ow!" She rubbed her hand. "Arrest him! He tied up my grandson for no reason."

Officer Willis sighed. "Powerhouse, there's a coffee shop at the corner. Would you mind going down there and waiting for me?"

The grandmother waved her fist. "You're letting him go? Powerhouse and the cops work together. All you guys ever do is hassle people."

Officer Willis extended his hands. "I'll talk to him once I talk to you."

Powerhouse nodded. "Powerhouse-away!"

He zoomed three block down the street to the coffee shop, landed, and dashed inside. The barista was a young man in his early twenties with a diamond stud in his left ear. He smiled at Powerhouse. "Sir, welcome to Coffee King. May I say, that is the second best Powerhouse costume I've ever seen."

Under his helmet, Powerhouse rolled his eyes. "Uh, thanks."

"Can I take your order?"

"I'll have a Large Chocolate Latte, decaf."

"Sorry, we don't have a large. We have dainty, average, and mondo."

Man, he so hated ordering in coffee shops. "Which of those is the largest?"

"Mondo."

"Then I'll have the mondo size."

"Coming right up, sir."

Powerhouse reached into his armor, pulled out Dave Johnson's wallet, and dropped down a $5 bill. "Keep the change, citizen."

"Wow, fifty-five cents, sweet." The barista deposited the change in his apron.

Powerhouse walked over to a table, sat down, and imagined a hole in his helmet big enough to put a straw through. He sipped his latte.

A little girl said, "Daddy, it's Powerhouse."

Powerhouse looked up.

"It's just someone in a costume, honey," The girl's father said.

How obsessed were his fans getting, for people to just think he was another guy in a Powerhouse costume? Powerhouse sipped from his latte.

The door opened. Officer Willis walked right past him to another table behind Powerhouse and said to someone sitting there, "Good news, Powerhouse."

"It's just a costume, officer."

What? Powerhouse jerked his head around. A man was sitting in a Powerhouse suit, typing on a laptop. Clenching his fists, Powerhouse got up and marched over to the table. The imposter pointed both his index fingers and thumbs as him. "Hey, your costume's pretty good. It's a little dirty though. You should shine it."

"A suit doesn't stay shiny for long if you're flying around in it, actually fighting crime and doing good deeds. The rocket pack creates heat and then there's the air."

"Flying around?" The little imposter jumped up and down three times. "You mean you're really, really Powerhouse?"

Powerhouse raised his shoulders. "Yes, I'm really, really Powerhouse."

The little imposter hugged Powerhouse. "You're my hero! I've got all your comic books, action figures, and all three Powerhouse video games." The little imposter squeezed even tighter. "I love this guy."

The entire shop was staring at the two metal clad figures. _Must be nice to fans, no matter how annoying they are._ "I have some business to attend to."

The fanboy let him go. "Can I have your autograph?"

"I don't do autographs, citizen. However I'd be happy to make your suit look more authentic."

"Please, please, please!"

Powerhouse imagined a less shiny suit. "Now, it looks just like mine."

"Oh thank you! If you need any help, I'll be at your every beck and call. The name is Melvin Stankewicz."

Powerhouse gripped Melvin's hand and shook it. "Thanks, citizen."

"Do you need my card?"

_Is he serious?_ "Don't worry, citizen. I know how to find you. "

"Really?"

"You live at 324 Wordley Circle apartment three oh seven and your number is 835-3704."

"The phone number is right, but they moved me to apartment two nine two."

That must not have made it in the phone book he'd absorbed _._ "I'll update my records, citizen. Now, I have to talk to the officer`."

"It was awesome meeting you."

"Officer Willis—" Powerhouse started, but two small hands pulled on his thigh. He glanced down. A little girl maybe three or four years old in a pink shirt and a pair of Osh Kosh Migosh overalls was squeezing his leg.

Powerhouse smiled. "Hello, honey."

She held her arms up, making a lifting motion.

Powerhouse picked her up. This was one female who wouldn't make Naomi jealous.

Her father pointed a cell phone camera at him. "Can I get a picture?'

"Sure." Powerhouse nodded.

The father snapped three pictures.

Powerhouse put the girl down. "I have to go talk to the policeman." Best to get out of here before Melvin decided that he wanted a picture, too. Powerhouse turned to Officer Willis. "Can we ride in your car a bit?"

"Sounds good."

They walked to the cruiser and got in. Officer Willlis pulled out of the spot and on to the road. "It took a while, but the grandmother at last accepted what had happened. Her grandson burglarized her house to get money for drugs. Kid is hooked. He's got it written all over him. She wouldn't buy it until he told that story about being attacked by a talking jaguar. I've heard of some crazy hallucinations but that wins first prize."

"Yeah." Powerhouse gulped.

Officer Willis said, "Another unit took him to be booked. I wish I could get the guy who's been selling drugs. Pete Gorman. Every time we get a warrant to search the place, it's clean, and we can't get probable cause to go in without a warrant."

The car turned off on a side street and Officer Murphy pointed at a large well-kept two-story house standing in the middle of a block of run down homes. "That's it."

Outside it, a balding, middle-age man had patchy black hair salted liberally with gray and was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and a pair of Khaki pants. Red Hawaiian Shirt ambled out to the police car. "Oh, Officer Willis, how to nice to see you."

Officer Willis made an expression like he was drinking pickle juice. "This is Mr. Gorman, owner of the aforesaid house."

_Lets make it a menacing mutter like Batman to introduce myself to this scum._ "I'm Powerhouse."

"You're what?"

Powerhouse raised his hoarse whisper a tiny bit and practically spit. "I'm Powerhouse."

Officer Willis asked, "Did some coffee go down the wrong way?"

Powerhouse sighed. Apparently only Christopher Nolan could do that. He swallowed and took another sip of coffee. "I'm Powerhouse."

Gorman smirked. "It's a pleasure I'm sure."

"I'm sure its not. Drug-dealing scum, Powerhouse will defeat you."

Gorman laughed. "Sure, you'll huff and you'll puff and you'll blow my house down." Gorman did an exaggerated blowing motion like he was telling the story to a five-year-old. "But there's nothing in my house. You do any damage to it and the cops will hunt you down. Ain't that right, Officer?"

Willis nodded. "Of course."

"I'm a law-abidin' citizen. Cops have searched my place four times and found nothin' and no tin-plated boy scout is going to get away with violatin' my rights."

Times like this, he so wished that he hadn't killed off the Emerald Avenger. _Lord, I've got to stop him_. "Citizen, I won't blow your house down, but I will stop this."

"You have a really overactive imagination just like the cops. Good night, friends." Gorman strolled down the walkway, chuckling and whistling to himself.

Officer Willis drove away. He glowered. "I feel like going into real estate."

"But people need you."

"They need someone who can get scum like Gorman off the streets. If only we could see what goes on in the house. We'd get that guy for sure."

_You can with my help._ Powerhouse smiled. "Don't worry. You'll catch him."

###

Dave Johnson stood across the street from the drug dealer's house in a pair of black coveralls, pulling weeds from an overgrown lawn.

Gorman walked over. "What are you doing here?"

"Cleaning up the neighborhood."

"You a cop?"

"No, I'm a mild-mannered citizen with herbicides far beyond the power of mortal man, fighting a never ending battle against weeds, filth, and liter."

"At eight o'clock at night? When the sun's down?"

"Slime never sleeps."

Gorman cracked up. "Okay, you're too much. Continue your battle elsewhere."

"Once I've banished the evil weeds from this place."

He waved Dave off. "I said amscray."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "You gonna make me? You could call the cops. Or, if you want to fight me to get out of here, I'll call the cops."

Gorman put up his right hand and smiled. "Hey, no need to make a federal case out of it, but get all your weeding done tonight. There are some people who might not like you coming here again."

Gorman crossed the street back to his house.

Dave knelt and began to pull the weeds one at a time. _Hopefully a drug dealer shows up soon or I'll have to come up with something else for tomorrow._

A Black Mercedes pulled up and a woman got out wearing a pair of jeans and carrying a duffel bag. Dave scanned the bag with his x-ray vision. It was stuffed full of $50 bills.

Dave dialed the number of the police business office.

"Seattle dispatch."

"Tell Officer Willis to go to Gorman's house, on its eastern side."

Dave continued weeding until Willis arrived. Dave tuned to his super hearing to across the street.

"What the blazes?" Willis pulled out his walkie talkie. "I need a back up unit here. We're going to have a big arrest."

Yes, another bust by your amiable, neighborhood-weeding Powerhouse.

A few minutes later, the Mercedes woman left the house and Willis ran toward her. "Halt, police!"

The woman smacked her lips. "Leave me alone, cop."

"You're under arrest for possession of narcotics." Willis read her rights to her and added, "Hands against the wall." He frisked her and held up a pistol and a ziplock bag toward Dave. "Looks like enough heroin to supply an elementary school for a month. Lady, do you have a concealed carry permit?"

"I'm not saying anything until I talk to a lawyer."

"Suits me."

Another officer arrived to take her away. Willis knocked on Gorman's door.

It opened a crack. Gorman said, "Yeah?"

"Mr. Gorman, you're under arrest for trafficking narcotics."

"I suppose you have proof."

"We just arrested a woman right outside your house who bought from you."

"I don't know nothing about it. You can't arrest me for someone in my house possessing drugs."

"I saw you sell her the drugs."

"Impossible."

"Apparently, you've never seen the side of your house."

"What are you talking about?"

Handcuffs clicked. "Let me show you."

_About time to leave, but there's still a lot of work to do._ Dave super-imagined all of the lots on the block cleaned of weeds and trash.

"What type of game is this?" Gorman demanded. "The entire side of the house is a two way mirror."

"Not a smart move. People in glass houses shouldn't sell drugs."

"You dirty rotten cops installed this!"

Willlis laughed. "Sure, we brought in a busload of workmen and replaced your wall with a two-way mirror without you noticing."

Best for neither Powerhouse nor Dave Johnson's car to be seen here _._ Dave walked to the bus stop across the street from the bust.

Gorman cursed.

"Tell it to the judge." Willis led Gorman to the car and put him in. Willis looked around at the cleaner neighborhood. "This could be a good neighborhood without you."

Dave got on the bus and frowned. _Not if we don't plant something good here._

Chapter 10: "We Have a Problem"

Powerhouse landed outside the brick building of the Power Street Community Church. The sign out front still read, "Reverend Jones, Pastor."

It's been a year and a half since he died. It's about time to change the sign.

Powerhouse scanned the church. "No one in the building."

A basketball bounced in the youth center. Powerhouse marched over to the entrance. On the door was a gold plaque. _In loving memory of Pastor Thaddeus Jones._

Powerhouse bowed his head. If only he hadn't gotten lured away and left Jones unprotected long enough for Marco to kill him. _If only I'd listened to you when you were alive. I hope you know your words weren't wasted on me._

Swallowing, Powerhouse ducked through the open gym door. A young black woman in a sleeveless white t-shirt and a pair of blue gym shorts raced up the basketball court with her hair in a pony tail that flowed out of her Seattle Storm baseball cap.

"Excuse me!" Powerhouse waved. "Do you know where the pastor is?"

The woman stopped and caught the basketball. "You're looking at her."

Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. She didn't look like a pastor. "I need to talk to you."

"Let me clean up."

"Okay, I'll be back in half an hour." Powerhouse exited the gym and rocketed over the area. There had to be something he could do while he waited. Powerhouse flew over a neighborhood grocer.

A young woman in an orange blouse and a pair of denim capris got out of her dirty blue Ford Escort with a little boy. Tears streamed down her face.

The boy tugged on her arm. "Momma, are you okay?"

She wiped her eyes. "It's okay, honey. I just miss Daddy."

"Me too, Momma."

Powerhouse hovered above the market. Maybe he could help her somehow. But what did she need?

A man in a blue polo shirt and a pair of shorts passed the woman, sauntered by her car, and sneered at it. He wrote on the dirty windshield, "Wash me."

Powerhouse landed and eyed the car's back bumper. Gold star. He snarled and counted ten. He whispered, "Lord, help me not to be a big jerk when I confront this guy."

Powerhouse raced across the parking lot on foot. The man in the khaki shorts opened the door to a blue Jeep.

"Hold up, citizen!"

The man jumped. "Powerhouse? What can I do for you?"

"Come with me."

"Sure, it's my day off."

Powerhouse led the man to the car he'd written on.

The man ran his fingers through his hair. "Why are you leading me to this filthy thing? I don't get why anyone would let their car get that dirty."

"I do." Powerhouse pointed to the bumper sticker. "Do you see that?"

The man eyed the bumper sticker. "Gold star wife? What does that mean? Her husband got a good grade in school?"

Powerhouse clinched his fist and swallowed. "A blue star wife's husband is serving in the military. A gold star wife's husband died while serving in the military."

The man swallowed. "Oh." He gazed at the unfaded bumper sticker. "It looks like she just put it on." He stared at his shoes. "Okay, so I'm a big jerk. What can I do?"

"The car's already told you."

He stared at his writing. "I don't have anything to wash the car with."

Powerhouse super-imagined a portable power sprayer filled with water, a bucket of soapy water, two sponges, and a large towel.

"Oh." The man blinked. "Pretty nifty."

"All right, citizen. Let's fight grime." Powerhouse scrubbed the front of the car and the man in the khaki shorts scrubbed the rear.

Powerhouse finished scrubbing the passenger front door. "Citizen, I have an appointment. I'll leave the rinsing and drying to you. Keep the equipment."

"What for?"

"In case you see another car that needs cleaned. Powerhouse away!"

Powerhouse rocketed back to the church. The church door was unlocked. He walked back to the office. The sign said, " _Leticia Jones, Pastor."_

Powerhouse found the women's basketball player in Reverend Jones' office pacing as she read _Smith's Bible Dictionary_. She stood at six foot, one inch tall. Tiny black braids fell to the middle of her back. She wore a saffron, mid-calf dress.

Wow. She looked more like a princess than a pastor.

She put down the dictionary and sat behind Reverend Jones' desk. "Have a seat."

Powerhouse lowered himself into the leather office chair. "Are you related to the old pastor, Reverend Jones?"

"He was my uncle."

"I'm sorry. I was supposed to be guarding him, but there was an emergency."

She put up her left hand. "I read the news articles. My uncle would've wanted you to save downtown from the nut with the rocket. He would've put their lives first. Now, what is it I can do for you today?"

Guess she didn't want to talk about his failure. Powerhouse sighed. "I'm back to fighting crime, but my counselor tells me it's not enough to clean and sweep the house. I have to replace the evil with good. Otherwise, the evil will just come back."

She scribbled on a yellow legal pad. "What's your idea?"

"I can clean up the neighborhoods, help churches move in to replace the crime."

"By setting up youth centers, food pantries, satellite churches, that sorta thing?"

"Yeah."

She dropped her pen and leaned back, putting her hands behind her head. "We're struggling to keep our existing ministries going. I don't know how Uncle Thaddeus managed to pay for all this. Must have been like the Lord feeding the five thousand."

Powerhouse frowned. If there was one congregation in Seattle that he could count on, it was this church. "What about other churches?"

"Are you a believer?"

Powerhouse nodded. "A late comer, but yes."

"I could see if I could get together some of the pastors. You could share your testimony and see who you can get to come on board."

What? Powerhouse shook his head. "I'm not a preacher. Superheroes don't testify as their superhero identities, and why would the pastors need to hear my testimony? There are people that need help. I'm willing to help them."

"This is a ministry effort you're organizing, Powerhouse. The faith of the leaders of a ministry they support matters to most pastors who preach the gospel." She leaned forward. "Also, superheroes do to testify."

"No, they don't."

"You mean superheroes never tell anyone their origin story? I've read it in hundreds of comic books."

Powerhouse blinked. "You read comic books?"

"Yeah. Superheroes testify all the time about what happened to them, how the spider bit them or their daddy got shot. So why can't you explain what God has done?"

"They don't tell this type of thing to everybody in the comic books."

She waved. "It'll be closed doors with pastors only. No recording. Anything you got to keep secret for safety, you don't have to share. Think of all those raggedy super villains that have showed up pretending to be heroes and roped stupid folks into helping them. When they're unmasked, it's a big embarrassment. Why did it happen? Because super villains had a different testimony."

Okay, she was related to Thaddeus Jones. "Do you think I'm a super villain?"

"No. Uncle Thaddeus spoke well of you and he was a wise man, but we're tapped out. If you think the support of the youngest pastor in the city is going to do anything for you, you got another think comin'. However, I know a few pastors of big churches who'd like to meet you. They'll listen to you, but you better be prepared to talk to them about what you're about. Just tell your story. Nobody expects you to be a preacher."

Powerhouse nodded. "All right, you get the meeting together. Any day other than Sunday and any night other than Tuesday."

"I'll get it set up. How do I get in touch with you?"

Powerhouse pulled out a card. "I set up an email address."

"I'll be in touch."

Powerhouse stood and headed out. He turned. "Do you really read comic books?"

"Not much any more, but I still subscribe to your comic books."

Powerhouse smiled. Maybe this would work out after all.

###

Mitch Farrow grinned as he spoke into the receiver to the managing editor of the Guardian. "Jeff, you came through with some interesting information on Powerhouse."

"I don't know how interesting it'll be. He's not allowing press in. Only a select group of pastors. We can't sneak in, but we can still run a story about the meeting."

_And step all over my plan._ "You'll do no such thing. Your boys may not know how to get information, but I do. I'll handle this."

Jeff took a deep breath. "Mr. Farrow, you're not a newshound any more."

Farrow wiggled a finger. "If there's a story I'll get it." And if he could gain more by keeping it to himself, he'd have that option _._ "Now, you've got a paper to run. Let me know if you get any more Powerhouse tips."

He hung up on the editor and called his secretary. "Have Marcy bring the car around. I need to go to Radio Shack." Farrow twirled a 360 in his office chair. "It's going to be like old times."

###

Powerhouse stood near the podium. Seventy-five pastors sat at banquet tables, with the remains of ham sandwiches and potato chips on their paper plates.

Leticia Jones joined Powerhouse. "You ready to go?"

"With a lot of prayer, yes."

She pointed at Zolgron. "Who's he?"

"Oh, that's the Gray Giant." Powerhouse smirked. Zolgron was really going to regret choosing that secret identity one of these days. "He's helping out with security."

The Gray Giant strode to Powerhouse and whispered, "There's a listening device under one of the front row tables broadcasting to a location several miles away. Start your speech and I'll get that out of here once I'm able to hone in on where the receiver is."

"Thanks, Big Gray." Powerhouse nodded and turned to Leticia. "Pastor, go ahead with the introduction."

Leticia stood at the podium and turned on its mic. "Brothers and sisters, we're ready to start. Pastor Levitz, will you open us in prayer?"

An old man wearing a black sweater stood. "Let us pray."

Powerhouse bowed his head. _Lord, if you could have a super villain like Doc Oc show up right now, so we could fight a battle to the death and I wouldn't have to give the speech, I'd like that. If not, help me to do a good job._

Pastor Levitz intoned, "Amen."

Leticia beamed at Powerhouse. "We're glad to have Powerhouse with us today. Come ahead and share."

She took a seat and Powerhouse stepped behind the podium. Maybe it'd be good to start with something familiar. "Everyone bow their head and close their eyes."

Everyone closed their eyes except for the Gray Giant.

Powerhouse cleared his throat. "Who wanted to be a superhero when they grew up? Raise your hand. Don't be embarrassed. No one can see you but me."

Two thirds of the hands shot up.

Powerhouse smiled. This would be easier than he'd thought. "Thank you, you can lower your hands and look up. I had that same dream. Only for me-"

Boom! Paper plates flew all over the room. Powerhouse jumped and glanced around for the Gray Giant, but only found pastors ducking for cover.

###

Mitch sat at his desk, listening to his bugged table's radio, a scrap of blue paper at his side and a pen in hand. Of all the idiotic exercises he'd ever heard speakers use over the years, that had been the lamest. Now, it was time to get to the action.

A noise like a semi-truck passing a compact car replaced Powerhouse's voice. Mitch grabbed the receiver and shook it. He swore. Made in China.

His door banged open. In burst a basketball-football player sort dressed in a green cape and black body armor and wearing gray skin paint that looked authentic. Costumed Jerk stood before him holding the transmitter. "No problem with the receiver"

Costumed Jerk tossed the transmitter on the desk.

Mitch scowled. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm the Grey Giant and I'd like a show on Food Network, though that's more of a long-term goal. My card."

Mitch took the card. A vaguely familiar western theme song emitted from it as he read it. _Have Superpowers, Will Travel. Email Gray Giant._

The Grey Giant puffed out his chest. "I got the idea from Paladin."

Who? Mitch chuckled. "Nice card. With a name like Gray Giant, you'd fit right in on the Food Network." Mitch closed his eyes and sung, "Ho ho ho, Gray Giant!"

The Gray Giant grimaced. "I was curious who'd be listening in to Powerhouse's little talk and why."

Mitch adjusted his tie. "Ever hear of freedom of the press?''

"Ever hear of the right to privacy and journalistic ethics? Your people seem to forget whatever is inconvenient at the moment."

"Look, it'd be a heck of a story and I do know somebody who knows someone at the Food Network. Just put that bug back and the show's yours."

Gray Giant glowered. "Do you really think that I, the mighty Gray Giant, am subject to such petty bribery?"

"Everyone has their price."

"You're the most cynical person I've met."

"I'd better be. That's how I got this job."

The Gray Giant turned towards the door

"Hey, I also know someone at TLC."

The Grey Giant spun around. "Bah! If you have any other great ideas to surreptitiously record the meeting, forget it. I put a dampening field around the room that will stop all transmissions in or out until the speech is done."

"What if someone has an emergency and needs to make a cell phone call or text?"

"Your people's idea of an emergency text is usually 'OMG, I left my keys at school.' Hardly worth the security risk." Gray Giant burst out the door.

Mitch leaned back in his chair and laughed. Good thing that guy wasn't a threat to the Cause right now. When it was time to invade, Gray Giant would need to be dealt with, if he still hadn't been made to see that he was fighting on the wrong side.

###

Dressed in his Superman bathrobe, mild-mannered father Dave Johnson walked past Zolgron. Zolgron slouched on the couch drooling at the Home Shopping channel.

Dave smiled. "Morning, Gray Giant."

"For the last time, stop calling me that."

"I told you it'd get you teased before you took that name."

Zolgron sighed. "Yes, but I didn't think adults would be that childish, particularly a CEO, and I didn't know what it was like to be teased."

Dave waved it aside. "Everyone gets teased."

"Not the champion of the Karonites. Most would dare not tease me. I could've scattered Mitch Farrow's molecules throughout the galaxy for that impudence. For the sake of your reputation, however, I refrained from unleashing my fury on him."

"Very thoughtful of you."

Zolgron sighed. "This seems to have lessened my powers slightly. I think I only ran 250 miles an hour back to the conference room."

"So that's why you've been moping around the house."

He shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "I haven't been moping. I've been recovering."

One thing would snap Zolgron out of this for sure. "We're running out of groceries. I'm going to get some TV dinners."

Zolgron gasped. "Don't shame me like that!"

"I could always imagine some food into existence."

"The true chef can't cook with that." He stood. "I shall go get fresh ingredients, prepare the family appropriate meals for the next few days, and then I'll fly off to India and take my frustrations out on Marxist guerillas that are harassing villagers."

Dave slapped Zolgron on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."

Zolgron headed for the back door. Dave opened the front door and picked up the newspaper. Front Page headline was "City Councilman Charged with Bribery." The second headline was, "Fire in Tacoma Kills Seven."

He flipped to the bottom of page A-11and read under a giant ad for a used car sale. "Local Pastors form Alliance with Powerhouse to Fight Poverty and Crime."

Dave slipped into his bedroom. Naomi lay in their bed, wearing a pink flannel night gown. Dave tossed Naomi the paper. "Here you go."

She picked up the paper. "Why is it turned to page eleven?"

"Look at the article on the bottom."

Naomi gasped. "Really? I'm so proud of you!"

Dave beamed.

Naomi scanned the article. "How many projects are they going to establish?"

"First we have to raise the money and see how much we can afford to do."

"Too bad you just can't make everything appear."

"Don't tempt me. I'm going to be the main attraction at our kickoff. People will pay to get in and I'll sign autographs. Whatever we take in goes to our first project."

"Why don't you sound excited?"

Dave paced. "They had an idea for an extra fundraiser that only I can run."

"Wow, what is it?"

Dave swallowed and braced himself. "Flying with Powerhouse."

Naomi leaned back and bit her lip. She pulled a pen and paper out of the drawer and doodled. She dropped her pen. "Powerhouse can do that, but on one condition."

###

"Powerhouse!" a deep voice bellowed behind him as he stood across the street from the park near a one block row of closed shops. He turned around.

Chief of Police Stone Bachman ran up in a short-sleeved black shirt and a pair of jeans. "There you are. They're waiting on you."

"Just a moment, I'm taking steps to make sure my time at the fundraiser is not interrupted by crimes."

The chief sighed. "We have two extra cars patrolling the area."

"We need to be sure. I've seen all the warning signs around the city. I thought if I could put a few up here, I could get criminals to stay away during the fundraiser."

"Signs? What signs?" The chief turned to the bakery behind them. "Oh, I see. 'No Crime allowed,' eh?"

"I put one on that vacant shop."

The chief strode over to it "Thank you for not stealing cars." The chief chortled. "Nice." They marched down to the jewelry store and glanced at the white sign on its door. "This is a crime-free zone."

On the shop at the end of the block was the last sign. Bachman smiled. "No Crime. Violators will be punished at their own expense."

"So what do you think?" Powerhouse grinned and rubbed his hands together.

"I guess it's an interesting experiment in criminology." The chief laughed. "If it makes you feel better by all means. Just have them down after the fundraiser."

"Thanks, Chief." Powerhouse slapped the chief's back. "Now, to the fundraiser!"

###

Powerhouse lowered the captain's chair containing a fortyish woman with medium-length blonde hair. The crowd applauded. The grinning woman stood beside Powerhouse. A volunteer professional photographer took a picture of them.

She shook his hand. "Powerhouse, thank you."

"It was a pleasure, citizen." Powerhouse walked away to where Naomi was standing, wearing a white sleeveless dress with a red zigzag pattern.

She beamed. "So how has it been?"

"No one's complained." Powerhouse shrugged. "I guess it works."

Pastor Leticia Jones stood with a mobile microphone in her hand and waved to the crowd. "Hey, ya'll. Is this a fundraiser or what? This beat everything we expected. This community is ready to take back our city and bring light into the realm of darkness."

The crowd cheered.

"We only need one more ride with Powerhouse and we'll have the money for a down payment for a new church where a drug dealer used to live. Anyone want a ride?"

A seven-year-old girl near Powerhouse tugged on a thin woman's baggy dark gray wool coat. "Mummy, can I go up with Powerhouse?"

The thin woman also spoke with a British accent. "Dearie, it's a thousand dollars. With our medication, we have to watch our pennies."

Her daughter lowered her chin and frowned. "Okay, Mummy."

Naomi looked at them and over at Powerhouse.

He nodded. _Go ahead, Naomi._

She smiled at the girl's mother. "I'd be happy to pay for your daughter."

The woman sniffed. "Madam, I don't take charity."

"It's not. It's something I want to do not just for your daughter, but for the city."

"Fine." The woman reached into her wallet. "I insist on paying $200 of it. My ex-husband finally got a new job and made good on my alimony. I think he'd find some irony in _his_ money going to help build a church." She handed Naomi money but kept her eyes down.

Naomi nodded. "Okay, your $200 and my $800."

Stomach tied in knots, Powerhouse shifted from foot to foot _. When do they stop negotiations and I start flying?_

"Thank you. I'm Rebecca Farrow." She extended her hand.

Powerhouse arched his eye brow _._ Mitch Farrow's ex-wife?

Naomi shook Rebecca's hand. "You're welcome. My name is Naomi."

The women walked over to the pastor and handed her their money.

Powerhouse bent down by the girl. "Hello, honey. What's your name?"

She beamed. "My name is Rosalyn, but you can call me Rosie, Powerhouse."

"Rosie, let's go for a ride." Powerhouse flew up into the Seattle sky with Rosie in his arms, past the ocean and mighty skyscrapers.

Rosie pointed at the old Ross Insurance building and read the sign. "El-Door-ado. My daddy works there. Can we go see him?"

Her daddy really was Mitch Farrow? Wow. Well, if the jerk had such a sweet daughter, he couldn't be all bad. "He may be busy working in a big office, but we can fly by his window. What floor is he on?"

###

Mitch tossed the newspaper on his desk and cursed. "Here I'm trying to get skepticism and cynicism up and along comes Mr. Goody Good and starts this thing in my own backyard." That and the anonymous 'God bless' guy doing all the random acts of kindness had to be stopped.

Mitch paced. Powerhouse was a sadistic, evil spreader of medieval fairy tales, a cruel false prophet of non-existent hope. He'd put an end to him one way or another.

Someone was tapping on his window. Clumsy window washers.

Mitch spun and gasped. "Rosie!"

She waved at him, her gaunt body ravaged by the disease he'd given her. He clinched his fist. Did Powerhouse dare taunt him with the pain he'd caused? That smile. It was the result of false hope from her mother, the cruelest thing in the world. Her only real hope lied in the invasion that would bring a cure for Rosie and all like her.

He turned away from Rosie. It was too painful to look at her. He had to bring this thing to a head to save her. He had to focus. He pressed a button on his desk. Electronic curtains closed and Rosie's heartbreaking face disappeared from the window.

He took a breath and dialed a number. "This is the Pharaoh. I need to talk. We have a problem."

###

Outside the window, Powerhouse clutched Rosie to his chest. She sobbed uncontrollably. Powerhouse scowled at the closed shutters. What kind of heartless creep could treat a sweet little girl like this?

Rosie craned her neck toward Powerhouse. "Why doesn't my daddy love me no more?'

"I don't know what's wrong with him." Powerhouse shook. He was the most powerful man on Earth, second only to Zolgron, but there was nothing he could do to fix her heart. Except pray. _Lord, you can help Rosie. I don't know how, but please help her._

Rosie touched his shoulder. "Powerhouse, can I go back to my mom?"

Powerhouse clutched Rosie tight to him. "Sure thing, honey."

**Powerhouse will return with Captain France and Major Speed in** _Powerhouse and Rise of the Robolawyers_ **:** _Coming December 2012_

A Special Preview of Powerhouse and the Rise of the Robolawyers

~Chapter 1:  
The Secret Weapon~

1957

Major Joshua Speed burst through the garage door of the dimly lit warehouse, leaving a hole his shape. Speed frowned and scanned the place with his supervision. The warehouse piled high with crates. Finding Leopold was going to be a job. That Commie spy had probably hidden in a hole with the rest of the rats.

Speed blinked in the same space of time as he moved fifty yards to the center of the warehouse, surrounded by hundreds of crates. "All right, Leopold. I know you're in here. I can tear this building apart. You and your comrades aren't going to destroy this country. I'm going to find you sooner or—"

A beam of light blinded Major Speed. He raised his arms and squeezed his hands into fists, firing his electric gloves. It was no good, the energy was dissipating. A spark flew from the left glove as it shorted out. Major Speed pushed down with his magnetic boots, but they wouldn't stick to the Earth.

He slammed into the side wall, and the shock spread like a tidal wave through his body. The energy pushed him in—into what? Into the side wall? No, this wasn't something solid. He was being shoved into nothing.

Major Speed flailed against the oncoming oblivion. He couldn't feel his legs. He twisted until he couldn't do that either. He closed his eyes. "Christ have mercy."

###

Big Ralph's bottom flowed over the edges of his stool in a diner a mile from the warehouse. The four foot eleven crime boss shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.

Beside him, Little Louie wore a brown rumpled suit on his skin and bones, fit onto his stool with room to spare, and was around seven feet tall. Little Louie glanced down at Big Ralph. "Boss, what was that thing you used on Major Speed?"

Big Ralph shrugged. "Don't know."

Louie blinked and rubbed his head. "You whacked Major Speed and you don't know how?"

Ralph glanced around the empty restaurant and leaned toward Louie. "I bought it from a rogue Ruskie. Back when Stalin was in power they executed a scientist, thinking he was a dissident. He left behind an invention, but they had no idea what it was, other than it wasn't part of their defense plan. The rogue got it out of a warehouse and sold it to me for fifty g's. I only got it so cheap because he couldn't make any guarantees."

Louie's eyes widened. "You didn't know what it would do?"

Ralph shoveled another spoon full of spaghetti into his mouth. "Nah, he said it might even blow itself up."

Louie's eyes widened. "Boss, you didn't tell me that before you had me fire it!"

Ralph reached up and slapped Louie's shoulder. "It worked. Why worry you?"

Louie smiled. "Gee, that was nice of you. So what is Mr. Dorado giving us?"

Ralph twirled Spaghetti on his fork. "He'll give you an RCA color television."

"Wow, boss! Now I can watch Superman in color!"

Ralph glowered. "Don't you see anything ironic about that?"

Louie scratched his head. "What's ironic mean?"

"Skip it." Ralph cleared his throat. "My reward is I'm going to get set up in politics. He said I'll be a Congressman or Governor in a few years. Maybe President, but that might be asking too much."

"You got rid of Major Speed forever and ever. You deserve it."

"I don't know if I did."

Louie scratched his head. "Boss, we saw him disappear."

Ralph took a bite of meatballs. "The Russkie said it might not disintegrate him. The scientist was trying to create a fifty or sixty year time warp. I'll be dead by then, though, so Major Speed will be someone else's problem."

Louie grinned. "Boss, you're thinking like a politician already."

###

Major Joshua Speed ran through the nothingness of the limbo that surrounded him. It was like he was inside a transistor radio with all these circuits.

A shining portal opened up. _Here's hoping this leads somewhere good._ Major Speed dashed into it and ran through the blinding light in his solid blue costume.

He emerged back in the warehouse. A man stood in a T-shirt with writing on it, had a gun in a hip holster, and was sitting. He had plastic black things stuck in his ears and tiny black ropes leading from the little things in his ears. The little lines disappeared into the guy's pants' pocket. His face and ears were covered in piercing like a pagan.

He ran over to the pagan and pulled the gun out of the pagan's holster.

The pagan swore.

Major Speed glared. "Who are you?"

The pagan swore again.

Major Speed grabbed the pagan by the shoulders and lifted him. "Where's Leopold? What was that trick you pulled on me?"

"I don't know any Leopold." The pagan swore again.

"Leopold is taking his orders right from Moscow. I don't know what he's paying you and your fellow tribesmen, but it doesn't pay to help the Commies."

The pagan blinked and cursed. "Dude, what are you talking about?"

Could this guy really be that oblivious? Major Speed glanced at the man's T-shirt and focused on the writing. _Bumbershoot Festival 2012._

"2012?" Major Speed gasped.

"Let him have it!" the pagan shouted.

A jolt of electricity shot through his back and filled his body.

He screamed Where was that coming from?

The world fell out from underneath him.

###

Mitch Farrow scowled. "He's got to die."

King Bel's shining visage smiled through the viewscreen on the back wall of Farrow's office. "Mr. Farrow, first of all, when you are in the presence of the king, you must remember to kneel."

Farrow sat in front of the webcam. "I'm not in your presence."

"Even if you're talking on a view screen."

This whole king thing was going to be hard to get used to, but if it meant curing his ex-wife and daughter of the deadly disease he'd given them, so be it. Farrow kneeled before the screen. "Forgive me, your majesty. I'm new to the protocol."

Bel smiled. "The people of your planet will all learn how to treat a king. Now, what is your request, Farrow?"

"I have to destroy Powerhouse. He is not only very powerful, he's beginning to create a sense of hope. Right now his activity is limited to Seattle, but it's gonna spread as soon as someone gets a good viral video of him."

Bel grimaced. "We can't have such evil trash menacing our streets, creating such cruel false hope. Talk to Dr. Fournier. His technology will be at your disposal."

"I'll contact him at once, your majesty. In the meanwhile, I'll unleash the most horrific weapon I have."

"And what's that?"

Farrow smirked. "A lawyer."

Bel bellowed laughter. "Fournier's weapon may be less severe punishment."

Mitch bowed his head. "Thank you."

"You're learning."

The monitor went blank.

###

Mild-mannered stay-at-home-dad Dave Johnson sat on the sofa across from his wife Naomi and smiled at the check as he and Naomi sat watching television. "Hey Naomi, take a look at this before I deposit it. This is the biggest check I've ever seen."

Naomi stared at it. "I've seen bigger, but I work at a mortgage company. For personal revenues, this is really nice." She frowned and dropped the check on to lap of her jeans. "This check is from Blue Cat Comics and is made out to you for Powerhouse's royalties. Do you see a problem with this, Mr. Secret Identity?"

Yes, a huge one. Dave sighed. "I couldn't figure out how they could pay me without getting my name in the system. Their Chief Accountant knows, but that's it."

"You should have incorporated."

Dave laughed. "Whoever heard of a Superhero incorporating?"

"Whoever heard of a Superhero getting $50,000 per quarter or helping build churches and community centers? How are you handling the proceeds for the toys?"

"All going to charity, Naomi."

She shook her head. "Only because you don't want someone else having your true identity. That one guy is dangerous enough. What do you know about him?"

"Um, he's an accountant."

Naomi's eyes widened. "He could be blackmailed or become an embezzler."

"Well, he knows now. I can't make him forget it. The only way Superman could do that in the movies is by kissing them. He's definitely not my type."

"Very funny. He hasn't told so far, but as long as you're paid personally, somebody else could find out. Besides, you could use a business manager and the corporation could pay both of you. I mean, there are going to be a lot of details. You'll need to start a foundation so people can send you non-profit donations for your charity work. There will probably be a movie, other endorsements, personal appearances."

Dave put up his right hand. "I'm a superhero not a baseball player. Any thing extra that will take more time away from crime fighting and the family is out unless I can't help it. Besides, who could I find that I could trust with my secret?"

"Someone who already knows, silly."

"Hmm, tempting." Dave sighed. "No, I can't see Agent Polk leaving the FBI."

Naomi tossed a cushion his head. "Me, you dork." She cupped her hands over her mouth and then uncupped them. "I'm sorry for calling you a dork."

Dave raised his left eyebrow. "But Naomi you've won all those awards at work, you're one of the best employees they have."

"Yeah, I have a room full of trophies and great benefits, but a meaningless job. The company may care if I close another mortgage or so, but what Powerhouse does matters and I'd like to be part of. You're making more than we used to combined, so we could make this work. In addition, incorporation would protect you from liability."

"Liability?"

"Yeah, you know how crazy people are about suing. If they want to sue for something you did as Powerhouse, they could take everything. However, if you're working for Powerhouse Incorporated, they can only sue the corporation."

Dave shook his head. "Now who is mixing fiction up with reality? No one has ever sued a superhero in real life. That only happens in the _Incredibles_ or on that one episode of _Lois and Clark._ "

On the television, a female anchor said, "In other news, a lawyer is publicly offering to take lawsuits against Powerhouse. Our Dick Matabyas has details."

A male reporter stood with a microphone. "Seattle-based Attorney John Jordan says Powerhouse is getting away with far too much. He will soon be offering the option of suing Seattle's champion."

The screen cut to a tall thin man standing at a dais. "I'm here today to announce that Powerhouse will no longer be able to get away with committing actionable offenses. I will help those who have been harmed by this so-called 'do-gooder' to be compensated. I will stand by the little guy who wants to sue that big tin-plated bully."

Dave's eyes widened. For what?

Naomi crossed her arms. "You were saying?"

Find out what happens next in _Rise of the Robolawyers_ (Now available where good ebooks are sold.)

About the Authors

Mild-Mannered Goofball and recovering journalist Adam Graham is a strange visitor to Earth whose ancestors hailed from Scotland and Ireland. With his amazing powers of wit and poignancy, he writes science fiction stories appearing in Residential Aliens, Light at the Edge of Darkness, and in the Laser & Sword e-zine, and he writes a political column that appears on pjmedia.com. With his astonishing ability to pack twenty six hours into twenty four, he is the host of the Truth and Hope Report podcast, the Old Time Dragnet Radio Show, the Great Detectives of Old Time Radio, and of course the Old Time Superman Radio Show. Our hero does all this with the help of a Journalism Associates degree from Flathead Valley Community College and his auburn-haired leading lady, Andrea.

High-spirited but serious-minded, Andrea Graham has been envisioning fantastic worlds since childhood and writing science fiction novels since she was fifteen. She studied religion and creative writing as Ashland University. She writes a devotional at www.christsglory.com and posts writing advice and book reviews at her freelance editing service's website, povbootcamp.com.

Andrea and Adam live with their cat, Joybell, in Boise, Idaho.

Other Powerhouse Stories

Tales of the Dim Knight _(Novel)_

Rise of the Robolawyers _(Novella)_

Powerhouse Hard Pressed (Novel)

Self-Help/Non-Fiction

All I Needed to Know I Learned from Columbo
