by Adam Graham
“Dr. Fournier.” He petted his pink bowtie and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Right. As you said, just because something didn’t work in the comic books doesn’t mean it won’t work in real life. Second, I’m a superior life form, even though I’ve been disfigured to look like you, my superiority will make it succeed. My first plan has already been successful. I’ve met Powerhouse.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “What happened?”
“I told him I was an interdimensional warlord here to annihilate him and provided him my work address.”
What was this interdimensional bozo supposed to help him do? Get into federal prison? Mitch grit his teeth. “You did what?”
Varlock waved. “It was a measure to prevent him from suspecting me and it worked beautifully. He suggested I try a restaurant called the Rescue Mission.”
“I’m not sure you deceived him.” Seeing as he was tempted to send this idiot down to the Rescue Mission, too. “He pretends to be friendly until your agendas clash.”
“I’ll have to be careful.” Varlock hacked like a cat with a hairball. “I’ve begun to implement Plan One to destroy Powerhouse. I’m replacing all of his allies with android duplicates. I’ve already replaced Agent Polk of the FBI and will dispose of the real Polk as soon as my android’s ready to leave the building. Next up is replacing the guy who gave him that award at the Seattle Press Club.”
Huh? Mitch glared. “That was me!”
“Oh, that’s convenient! You’re right here. I will replace you now, thanks.”
Mitch shook his fist, growling. “I’m not his ally, moron! I gave the speech as a matter of social obligation.”
“Oh, then I guess I’ll move on to his CEO tomorrow and that religious woman who advises him. Let me show you the duplicate Polk.” Varlock pressed a button and a large circle of light lit up on the wall, turning it into a window. At Polk’s desk in the FBI headquarters sat a balding guy with brown eyes and black hair—and reddish-brown skin.
Mitch’s jaw dropped. “You idiot! You got his skin color wrong.”
Varlock sighed. “The identity card said he was white, but the only human skin color my eyes see is a ruddy shade of brown. When my android seized him and locked him in the closet, I did note his color saturation was very low, but color saturation is a minor characteristic in my dimension. I thought it would go unnoticed.”
“Everyone on the planet except you will notice!” Mitch folded his arms and glared at the stooge. “Get that android back here and fix it right now.”
A sound of a door opening came from the speaker.
Fournier gasped. “Too late. Look!”
They stared at the screen.
Powerhouse stood in Polk’s office.
Chapter 13
Powerhouse Meets the Ultimate Agent Polk
A strange feeling of being watched crawled over the back of Powerhouse’s neck as he faced the black guy seated at Polk’s desk. He’d seen a few black women with straight-haired weaves, but never on a guy. Was the guy mixed, maybe? He looked a little like he could be Agent Polk’s cousin. Did Polk have any black relations by marriage?
Powerhouse tilted his helmeted head. “Who are you? Where’s Agent Polk?”
Agent Polk’s black cousin waved like a princess and grinned. “Greetings, carbon-based life form known as Powerhouse! Have no fear, for I am Agent Polk.”
Powerhouse laughed. “You’re definitely not the Agent Polk I want. He’s white, and he doesn’t have your sense of humor.”
“But-but-but-” The imposter froze with his mouth gaping.
What? Guess the guy had wandered into the wrong office or something—or knew what he was doing here and was an imposter. “I want the truth and now.”
Was the imposter even breathing?
The gaping mouth closed and the imposter swallowed.
Powerhouse tapped his foot. “Well?”
The imposter cleared his throat. “I’m the Ultimate Agent Polk.”
“Huh?”
“The original Nick Fury was white. The Ultimate Nick Fury is black.”
True, but an Ultimate Polk would still not be a superhero fan, so even knowing that much was a stretch. He’d better make sure. “I remember Nick Fury from the 1960s. What was he? Lieutenant Fury and his Screaming Warriors?”
“You mean Sergeant Fury and his Howling Commandos?”
Powerhouse frowned. The imposter definitely knew way too much about comics to really be Agent Polk. “I was just wanting an update on your investigation into Major Speed’s disappearance.”
“I can’t discuss the status of an ongoing investigation with you.”
The real Agent Polk had promised to, so that must be why someone had replaced Polk with an imposter. “I guess I’ll be going.”
“Enjoy the rest of our planet’s current rotation!”
“Um, sure.” Powerhouse marched out to the elevator across the hall but then glanced back. Ultimate Polk had followed him as far as the door. Powerhouse pressed the down button to open the elevator.
The door opened. Powerhouse stepped into the elevator. Once the doors closed, Powerhouse used his X-ray vision, but Ultimate Polk had gone back into the office and was apparently out of range. Darn. What was he dealing with here?
He tuned his superhearing to human heartbeats other than his own. One heartbeat came faintly from where Polk’s closet was, so that thing at Polk’s desk was a robot.
Powerhouse opened the elevator door. The bell above the door dinged. He held his fingers to his lips and shushed it.
He superimagined his armor’s color changed to blend in with the cream colored walls, rested against the wall, and waited.
Seconds ticked by as silence buzzed.
Apparently, Ultimate Polk didn’t hear.
Powerhouse turned his jetpack on low power and glided across the floor. The heartbeat grew strong enough for him to locate it in the closet in the corner of the office.
Great. Now how to get there without Ultimate Polk stopping him?
Ha, the big idiot actually bought his improvisation. Smirking, Mitch Farrow returned to his seat. “All right, I got rid of Powerhouse for you. Now get what you need from the office, dispose of the real Agent Polk, and redesign your duplicate.”
Boards cracked loudly on the magic screen, out of Mitch’s view. He glanced to it. In cream armor, Powerhouse burst through wall, ripped the door off the closet, grabbed the real agent Polk, and fired an energy blast right at the android’s power supply.
The computer beeped. “Agent Polk duplicate exterminated.”
Mitch cursed and pulled a flask of whiskey from his inside jacket pocket.
Powerhouse X-rayed the inside of the paralyzed robot. There was a weird mechanism with a blank timer on it and sticks of dynamite. Self-destruct. Better disable the bomb. Powerhouse superimagined the dynamite gone.
He turned to Agent Polk. The balding FBI agent was unconscious with duct tape around his mouth. Powerhouse ripped off the duct tape and patted his cheek.
Agent Polk opened his eyes. “What happened?”
“You tell me.”
“I was in my office and this African-American man in a professional suit came in unexpectedly. I asked him what he wanted, and, well, now I’m waking up here.”
“He claimed he was you.”
Polk chuckled. “Really? He wasn’t a very good imposter.”
“Yeah, I saw right through him. He, um, pretended to be you from a universe where you were black instead of white, but he knew too much about comic books for me to buy that explanation. Changing your race wouldn’t change the fact that you haven’t read a comic book in your life.”
“Fortunately for me.” Agent Polk sighed. “Help me up.”
“Let me fix the mess I made, too.” Powerhouse lifted up his friend before he superimagined the wall and closet door fixed and glanced down at Polk’s dust-covered suit. Oops. Powerhouse superimagined the suit as good as new, too. “See your suit?”
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Polk peered down at it and smiled. “You could do a business like that. By the way, I did read a Smokey the Bear comic at a ranger station when I was a kid.”
“Sorry, that doesn’t count.” Powerhouse rolled his eyes behind his visor.
Polk glanced over at his chair, where the Ultimate Polk’s android body slumped. “I’m going to call the lab boys. Hopefully they’ll get done in here quickly so I can get my desk back. We’d better get out before we accidentally disrupt the crime scene any more than we may have already.”
They carefully made their way out into the hall.
Powerhouse asked, “Any idea why someone sent that thing after you?”
“Could be to get to you. If so, they’ll go after other known associates.”
“I’ll check on the Chief, Reverend Jones, and Brent McCall and make sure they’re still themselves.”
“Also might want to check on your CEO.”
My Naomi, replaced by a robot? No! Dave Johnson-er-Powerhouse shuddered and gulped. Zolgron was with her today. “I think she’s okay, but I’ll double check.”
“What originally brought you by the office? The Speed investigation?”
“Yeah.”
“The trail appears to be cold. No new leads.”
“Drat.” Powerhouse punched his left palm. “The Fortieth Street Detectives found out Speed was loaded onto a truck that went to Nevada. Speed was removed while the unwitting driver was eating at a truck stop. They lost his trail there.”
The Powerhouse Cell Phone rang.
He picked up on his Bluetooth extension. “Hello.”
“Hey, Powerhouse,” Naomi said. “You got a voice mail from Powerhouse Family Insurance. They heard from the nurse’s aide who was with Major, Karen Jerome. She thinks she’s found him.”
Powerhouse sighed. “Thanks. Talk to you later. I’m with Agent Polk.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Powerhouse hung up and turned to Agent Polk. “I’m tempted to wish I’d never heard of Powerhouse Family Insurance!”
“Why?”
Powerhouse snorted. “People have the weird idea that they contact me through the insurance company. According to the message they left with my CEO, Speed’s old nurse’s aide gave an important lead in our case to them.”
Agent Polk frowned. “I’ll have to chat with them about the proper procedure to take if they ever get another misdirected lead in a criminal investigation. Leaving you a message with still another outside party wasn’t it. Any idea where she’s calling from?”
“No, but I’ll get in touch with the sales line and have them patch any call from her right to my cell phone.”
“Wrong procedure. If you get another call about an officially open case, redirect the call to the agency investigating it. This is my case, so I will inform the insurance company they need to patch any additional calls about the Speed kidnapping to my office.” Agent Polk folded his arms, but his eyes twinkled. “You’re a person of interest, so I will be in touch.”
Oh, right, in the eyes of the law, he was an ordinary citizen in a Halloween costume. Polk could get in trouble for allowing him to “interfere.” Powerhouse’s cheeks warmed. “I have to go check on my other allies. Until next time, Powerhouse away.”
Varlock stared at Farrow. “Good job of ruining everything! He never would’ve caught on if it weren’t for you.”
None of the terms that came to mind to describe Varlock were things Mitch would say in front of his daughter. He scowled and grit his teeth. “How do you figure?”
“You had the duplicate know too much about comic books. That makes the whole mission failure your fault, which is what I’ll say in my report.”
Was this guy a habitual liar or delusional? “Don’t you recall having created a duplicate that looked and talked nothing like the guy you were duplicating? My failed attempt to save your hide doesn’t relieve you of the responsibility of blowing it.”
Varlock turned up a palm. “When a planet is incorporated into King Bel’s realm, it’s people must also assimilate into our culture. Since you’ve sworn your allegiance to King Bel already, from now on, anytime there is a failure, you must find someone else to blame. It must never be someone the evil culture of your birth would assign with any responsibility. Instead, you should be thinking up a reason it is really Fournier’s fault.”
Fournier adjusted his glasses. “Someone at a company I worked for when I was in graduate school must have been from your dimension.”
Varlock kept his gaze on Mitch. “If you fail to come up with any alternatives, then it is acceptable to write a report blaming me. King Bel, will of course blame us and send us a harshly worded warning, and we’ll try plan two.”
Lovely. “I’ll get to work on that right after I call security at Speed’s lockdown. By the way, what’s plan two?”
Varlock smiled. “Meet me at the waterfront tomorrow. I’ll text the address.”
Naomi stared in the full length mirror in her bedroom and petted her luscious blond hair. Superimagination was better than any dye job. What would Dave say?
She glanced at her watch. Why was he so late? It shouldn’t take this long to just shoot the breeze with Agent Polk.
“You have no idea what-!” Dave called. He carried a bowl of popcorn as he sauntered in wearing a T-shirt and a pair of Seahawks shorts. He screamed at her.
The popcorn flew all over the room. The bowl landed upside down on the dresser.
Dave scowled at her and grabbed her shoulders. He shook her. “Who sent you and what have you done with my real wife? Don’t play dumb. My wife’s a brunette.”
He’s dead serious! Naomi mustered a reassuring smile. “Dave, I know change is difficult, but it’s just part of my self-improvement. I’m getting fitter and changing my looks. I’m still your wife. I’m just becoming the ultimate version of your wife.”
Dave blinked. “Uh-huh. What’s the name of the original Robin?”
“There was anyone after Dick Grayson?”
“Ah ha! The real you wouldn’t know it was Dick Grayson!”
“Dave, we watched the ‘60s Batman TV show together. What I haven’t paid attention to is anyone who wore Robin’s mask after him.”
“Guess that’s true.” Dave sighed and released her. His lip wobbled. “How do I know you’re really my wife?”
“How’s this?” Naomi grabbed Dave’s shoulders, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips.
Dave melted and started to pull her down onto the bed at normal human strength.
Naomi held them upright by tugging in the opposite direction. “Now, do you believe I’m your wife?”
“Yeah.” Dave smiled. “On the way down, I X-rayed you.”
Naomi screamed. “Fine, you win! I’ll go change my hair!”
She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Dave shouted through the door, “Did I do something wrong?”
He should love me no matter what my hair color is. I’m gonna call Dr. Rose and set up an appointment.
Mitch strode beside Fournier to the pier address Varlock had texted to him. Mitch folded his arms. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”
“Only if we really are looking for the lost city of Atlantis.”
“Leave the sarcasm to me, Fournier.”
They walked past a surfaced submarine. A captain’s cap emerged from its hatch, and it turned out to be on Varlock’s head. He waved at them with his tongue. “Come aboard. We’re headed for the lost city of Atlantis.”
“Ha! I knew it.” Fournier raced down the submarine’s hatch.
Okay, I’m gonna have a word with that Varlock. Mitch blew out his breath and climbed down the ladder to the floor of the submarine. it was a mix of complex machinery, gears, and valves, but for sleeping quarters it mustered only two slim bare mattresses slapped on wall-mounted bunks.
Varlock pointed at the lower bunk. “Be seated.”
They complied.
Farro
w cleared his throat. “The lost city of Atlantis is a myth.”
Varlock chuckled. “My advanced scanning technology picked up your myth in the depths of the Pacific ocean, behind a shield your ancient radar can’t penetrate.”
Mitch sighed. “What makes you think they’ll help, if there’s anyone still living?”
“Your media indicates the people of Atlantis are angst-filled sea creatures angry at the evils of the surface. It shouldn’t take much to get them to launch a full scale invasion of Seattle and destroy Powerhouse in the process.”
Mitch cringed. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“Always use as much force as you can without it backfiring on you. If there is any disagreement among team members on where that line lay, the dissenter may challenge for the right to make that call with their choice of chance games.”
Something wasn’t adding up. Mitch bristled. What if—no. Primitive humans’ imaginations didn’t need double-crossing aliens to invent a personification of evil.
Fournier raised his hand. “Sir, wouldn’t a Greek legend’s source be found in the Mediterranean Sea, not the Pacific Ocean?”
Varlock stuck out his tongue and wagged it. “You ask annoying questions.”
“But as an all-wise alien, you have the answer.”
“Certainly, I’m an all-wise alien, and it’s obvious.” He spent a minute trying to lick his nose and not quite reaching. “Plato heard about Atlantis from the Japanese.”
“Oh.” Fournier rubbed his hands together. “Then it’s a good thing I watched the Japanese channel. I’ll know how to greet the lords of Atlantis.”
Mitch swam through the ocean wearing a diving outfit. At the outer edges of his helmet light’s reach, he could just make out Fournier and Varlock. He shivered. Who knew the sea was so cold and dark down this deep?
In the glow of their helmet lights, a school of ugly brown fish swam by. They looked as angry as a talk show host blathering about the invented outrage of the day.
