by Adam Graham
“All going to charity.”
Naomi 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 a blackmailer or an embezzler.”
“Well, 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 will 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. Anything extra takes time away from crime fighting and the family and that is out unless I can’t help it. Besides, who could I 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 couch cushion his head. “Me, you dork.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and then removed them. “I’m sorry for calling you a dork.”
Her? Dave raised his left eyebrow. “But you’ve won all those awards at work, you’re one of the best employees they have.”
“I have a room full of trophies and great benefits, but a meaningless job. The company may care if I close another mortgage, but what Powerhouse does matters, and I’d like to be part of it. You’re making more than we used to combined, so we could make this work. In addition, incorporation would help protect you from liability.”
“Liability?”
“Think about how crazy people are about suing. If they 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. 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 in his handling of criminals and private property. Jordan is offering the option of suing Seattle’s champion.”
The screen cut to a wiry, wrinkled man at a dais. “Powerhouse will no longer be able to get away with committing actionable offenses. I’ll 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.”
Sued? For what? Dave’s eyes widened.
Naomi crossed her arms. “You were saying?”
Chapter 2
Superhero Incorporated
Mitch “the Pharaoh” Farrow took a drag on an Egyptian cigarette while sitting on a golden throne in an abandoned warehouse. Not bad, not his usual brand, but not bad.
He was dressed in a black Egyptian robe that went to his ankles, a gold belt, and a gold neck piece. He wore a heavy Egyptian head dress.
The disguise felt silly, but at least he could interact with criminals without them knowing his true identity. He peered at the two thugs below dressed in gray suits. “Bring the prisoner to the judgment seat of Pharaoh.”
A middle-aged black man in a teal suit wheeled in a good ol’ boy tied to a cot on a cart. A soundproof clear plastic shield covered it. He looked like a an Army recruiting poster model with his chiseled features, cropped tawny hair, and blue eyes. His Golden Age superhero costume was Air Force blue.
Teal Suit said, “Pharaoh, I’m Tyler Thomas. I’ve brought Major Speed.”
“Remove the shield.”
Thomas pulled back the shield. Major Speed struggled against the ropes.
Pharaoh laughed. “It will do you no good, Major. You’ve been drugged. In the 21st Century, we’re very resourceful.”
Major Speed scowled. “Costumed villains with delusions of grandeur tying me up is hardly the progress we expected. Like King Solomon said, nothing new under the sun.”
Heh, showed what the frozen pop knew. “There’s much new, Major. You were the symbol of goodness, decency, faith, and civic virtue. On all accounts, you’ve hopelessly lost. Outside this warehouse lay the crumbling remnants of your civilization. All your efforts were for nothing.”
The major squirmed. “I don’t believe it. I’ll never believe it.”
Pharaoh grinned. “Thanks, now I know your sentence was appropriate. Before I formally pass your sentence, I must let you know the reason for your punishment. Do you remember Phineas Dubois?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t.” Pharaoh sneered. The true villains of the fifties never remembered the lives they destroyed. “Dubois was a talented actor who died as a blacklisted, heartbroken drunk thanks to the likes of McCarthy and his colleagues on the House Un-American Activities Committee.”
The major blinked. “What are you talking about? McCarthy is—was a Senator. He wasn’t on a committee in the House. I didn’t work for McCarthy or with HUAC.”
Why did hateful jerks like the major always try to confuse the issue with whinny nitpicking over the plain facts? “You were part of an anti-Communist witch hunt that persecuted innocent people based upon their association with a movement that you hated. You must be held to account for your hateful movement’s crimes.”
“Has the meaning of irony changed so much in the last fifty-five years?”
“That remark only adds impudence to your crimes. I sentence you to die by hopelessness.”
“What?”
Pharaoh smiled. “You’ll spend your days under the care of a nurse who will keep you constantly medicated. You’ll see, hear, and feel everything, but you’ll be unable to move, speak, or taste. You will see what’s become of the world you fought for. Pharaoh commands it.” He turned to Thomas. “Lock the shield in place.”
Thomas slammed the shield shut and the chamber filled with gas. The major struggled against his ropes for a minute and then stopped.
Pharaoh sat on his throne and handed Thomas a plastic bag. “Give him these two injections once you have him out of the case, and then take him to the retirement home. I’ve cleared it for his nurse to live with him. She has all the supplies needed to keep him like this for months.” He handed him a piece of paper. “Here’s a television schedule. His days will be filled watching horror movies, anything with sexual scenes that he’ll hate, talk shows, violent crime documentaries, and reality TV.”
“What are you telling the nurse?”
“He’s a vegetable after a car accident. She has a reputation for sadism, but also for following instructions. So he should be taken care of.”
Thomas put up a hand. “I’m not questioning your judgment, but would you mind sharing with me why you don’t just shoot him?”
“That’d be a waste of a fine scientific specimen. I’m doing a sociological experiment to see if the media can destroy hope in the symbol of hope.”
Thomas nodded. “You’re the first boss I’ve had who was interested in sociology.”
“Mr. Thomas, you’d be surprised by my interests. Send Dr. Fournier in when you leave.”
“Sure thing.”
A minute later, an age-spotted man entered, Dr. Fournier apparently. Thin brown hair covered a bald spot like it was a pup tent trying to cover the National Mall. He wore a lab coat a size too big, thick plastic glasses, a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a red bowtie.
Dr. Fournier eyed Pharaoh’s cigarette. “You know there’s a regulation against smoking in the workplace.”
Ph
araoh laughed. “Today, I’ve ordered the imprisonment and torture of a man, as well as approving a new drug lord for Columbia, and you think I’m worried about a smoking regulation?”
“Penalties can run kind of high for violating it.”
Pharaoh stared at Fournier.
Fournier’s eyes watered.
Pharaoh growled. “Let me guess. This bothers you.”
“A little.” Fournier coughed.
“You should’ve said so.” Pharaoh dropped his cigarette and put it out with his boot. “Now, about that order I sent you.”
“Yes, sir.” Fournier adjusted his glasses. “We’ve received a device that could do the trick from your inter-dimensional sources. It can fire powerful energy beams and fly. Perhaps most importantly, it omits a pulse that makes it hard for anyone to focus, which would help against Powerhouse. His mental powers far exceed his physical ones.”
“I’ve never heard anyone accuse Powerhouse of having mental powers. He’s a bit of a cranium lightweight.”
“I said mental not intellectual. Regardless, the weapon we received has a major flaw. To operate, it requires an artificial intelligence with analytical skills far beyond anything we currently have.”
“How did you find out what it could do then?”
Fournier pulled a plastic box out of his pocket. “Remote control, but that’s not practical for battle. In addition, the device takes a lot of power and quickly runs out.”
“How long will it take you to work around the problems?”
“For the AI, about ten years. For the power issue, I’d say about fifteen.”
“What type of mad scientist are you?”
“None.” Fournier adjusted his glasses. “I’m a level-headed inventor who thinks outside of the box. It appears there was a second component they left out that could fill this need.”
Left out nothing. King Bel didn’t trust him with it. “Could you alter the design so humans could control it as battle armor?”
Fournier removed his glasses. “Sir, my last boss sent humans to battle Powerhouse.”
“So?”
“It didn’t go well.”
It won’t go well for me with King Bel if I don’t deliver. “Spare me the excuses. I expect you to come up with a version of the weapon that works. Get me an effective way for a human to control it and to recharge its batteries quickly.”
“Sir, trying something that has already been proven ineffective would be madness.” Fournier looked Pharaoh over from head to toe. “I’ll get on it.”
It’d better be good.
Dave and Naomi sat at the dining room table, which had papers strewn across it. Naomi had a pen behind her ear as she read over the incorporation papers.
Zolgron entered carrying a plastic white pitcher. He stood at seven feet tall and wore black armor, a green cape, and a white apron. He extended the pitcher. “Care for iced red tea?”
They shook their heads.
Naomi threw the papers in her hand on to the table, too. “I give up. I have a master’s degree, and I can’t make sense of this.”
Why did she expect a degree in French History to help her read legalese? Dave shrugged. “Maybe we need to hire Brent McCall. He’s a good lawyer.”
Naomi rested her right arm on the table and made an upside-down fist. She extended her pink-painted index finger. “One, Brent McCall does family law, not corporate law.” She added her middle finger. “Two, he charges $100 if he even breathes on a case.” She added her ring finger. “Three, we’d have to let him in on the secret.”
Zolgron put down the pitcher. “I have no idea how you people have made things so complicated. There are so many forms, laws, and procedures all designed to appease your attorneys. You’d think you let lawyers rule over you.”
“Generally they do.”
Zolgron laughed. “Oh, that explains it. On my home world, we had no lawyers. We used a machine that you would call, ‘The Robotic Law Adviser.’”
What? Dave arched his eyebrow. “You had Robolawyers?”
“In a manner of speaking. They would answer all legal questions, fill out all forms correctly, and ensure the litigants pursued proper procedure. They had the best computers on the planet, since they had to make many strategic decisions. Then seven wise women would decide the case.”
“We could use a Robolawyer. Then we wouldn’t have to pay McCall, and I could keep my identity secret.” Dave snapped his fingers. “Could you make us one of those?”
“Yes, but I’d have to program him with your planet’s laws.”
“No, only the laws of the U.S. and Washington state.” Naomi clasped and unclasped her hands.
“Very well.” Zolgron closed his eyes.
A seven-foot tall, black steel humanoid robot appeared. It had two red diodes on a head shaped like a Walmart smiley and a small slot where its chest would go. It had steel arms with skeletal hands and thin sturdy steel legs.
Dave stood and ran his hands over the smooth metal. “Nice.”
“You haven’t seen it in action.” Zolgron turned to the machine. “Robolawyers, prepare an application for Articles of Incorporation.”
The machine beeped. “Name of company?”
“Um.” Naomi blinked. “Powerhouse Incorporated.”
“Um Powerhouse Incorporated, correct?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Is he mocking me?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think to program him to recognize lazy human speech patterns.” Zolgron stared at the machine. “There, I changed it.”
Robolawyer responded, “Powerhouse Incorporated, correct?”
“Yes,” Naomi said.
The Robolawyer spent another twenty minutes asking questions while they each had a cup of red tea. It had an odd kick.
Dave grabbed a packet of Splenda from the bowl on the table.
Robolawyer printed out the form.
Naomi said, “I’ve heard of websites and software that can do something like this.”
Zolgron put up his finger. “Robolawyer is not a do-it-yourself legal form. It’s a complete substitute for a lawyer. Let’s say your business involved setting up a daycare.”
Dave raised his hand. “Why would a superhero be running a daycare?”
Zolgron cleared his throat. “If for some reason you did have to start a daycare, it would immediately research all the requirements for the business and obtain all of the verifications required to ensure the business got off the ground.” Zolgron grinned, his eyes actually sparkling. “What you have here is a law firm in your own home.”
Uh oh. “It sounds like you’re selling them.”
Zolgron stood up. “That’s it! I will achieve a place of greatness in your world’s history by eliminating your greatest scourge.”
“Cancer?”
“Poverty?” Naomi asked.
“No, I’ll eliminate lawyers. My fame will spread throughout the entire Earth.” Zolgron paused. “Right after I check on the macadamia nut cookies in the oven.”
Naomi glanced at Dave. “Is he always that ambitious?”
“Nah.” Dave took another sip of his red tea. “This is the first time he’s made cookies with macadamia nuts.”
Chapter 3
Return of the Emerald Avenger
Naomi sat at her desk at work and slammed down the phone. If one more insurance agent mocked her, she was going to go insane. She looked at her computer screen and dialed the last number on the list.
A man answered. “Ziegler insurance, this is Mike.”
“Yes, I’d like to get a quote on a blanket insurance policy for a million dollars, please.”
“Sure. I assume this is for a business.”
“Yes, it’s for Powerhouse Incorporated.”
“And what do you do?”
Naomi braced herself against her desk. “We employ the superhero. He flies around with a jet pack and fights crime, you know, with superpowers and all that.”
Silence buzzed on the line for a full minute. “This
is serious, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not on the radio?”
“No.”
“Okay, to be honest, I don’t think we can come together. I love Powerhouse, my kids love Powerhouse, but the underwriters don’t love anybody. Trying to insure Powerhouse now is like trying to insure a house someone has threatened to burn down.”
“I see.”
“In addition, a million dollars is nowhere near enough coverage when you have someone maliciously willing to sue. You’d need five million to be safe. With the high risk, you’d probably be looking at $20,000 a month.”
“But that’s more than we take in from royalties.”
“Welcome to small business, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I appreciate your courtesy.”
“Not a problem, ma’am, and I hope the big fella is able to work things out. He’s definitely making things better in the city.”
“Thank you.” Naomi hung up and rubbed her eyes.
Carmela Carmichael strolled in, her long amber curls bouncing. She’d slung her purse over her shoulder and was carrying two cardboard Grande cups of Starbucks coffee. Like Naomi, Carmela wore a skirt suit, but hers was pink and Naomi’s was dark gray.
Two cups of Starbucks? Naomi’s crown glowed. “Hey. You didn’t say you were getting coffee or ask what I want.”
Carmela smiled. “Dear, you’ve gotten the same thing every time for the last twelve years.” She extended a cup to Naomi. “A half-caf, non-fat Grande latte with sugar free chocolate syrup.” Carmela put her own cup on the desk, reached into her breast pocket, and pulled out four little yellow packets of sweetener. “And your exact number of Splenda packages.”
Naomi sighed. “I’m boring and predictable.”
“No, you just know what you want.” Carmela smiled and plopped on the chair across from Naomi. “Not that I don’t like having you around, but I thought you were going to be leaving us for Powerhouse Incorporated. Aren’t the Articles of Incorporation done yet?”
