From pyramid!voder!apple!bloom-beacon!mit-eddie!rutgers!att!ihlpa!fish Thu Feb 23 07:38:46 PST 1989 [Synopsis: Driven from his home, his identity known to the the evil Corporatist government, fugitive Spike hops a freight train bound for Detroit. Ironically, the day he has hoped for has nearly arrived. The midterm elections have defeated the Corporatists, and it is only a matter of time before he can live as an ordinary man again. However, he must now escape to Canada to collect himself and decide on a course of action. But while attempting to reach downtown Detroit, thence Windsor, Ontario, he is intercepted by the grey Plymouth sedans of the CFGM Security Police and ultimately pursued into a garage in the base of the imposing CFGM building. A drugged dart is fired into his leg and the world goes black. In the year 1998, one man fights the tyrrany of the automobile...] --- At first there was only a blur of agonizing light and a noise like a buzz-saw ripping through my skull. After a few moments, the blur became a face, and I realized it was speaking. " ---ming around, Mr. Bikopoulis. Can I offer you a drink?" A pail of icy water was thrown into my face, and I sputtered for air, choking and nearly throwing up. It began to clear my head though. As my vision returned, I observed that I was in an opulent office. Before me was a heavy mahogany desk. On it were my MAC-10 and a drab- looking suitcase. Behind, a panoramic window displayed the city lights of Detroit-Windsor, seen from the exhilarating heights of what I realized was the top floor of the 103-story CFGM building. The last fringes of twilight glowed in the west. It had been early morning the last I'd been conscious. I was bound to a chair with duck tape, uncomfortably tight across my wrists and ankles. I had been stripped to the waist. A glance assured me that my heart monitor was still there. Looking around the room, I saw my specially-equipped mountain bike leaned against a wall, its armament intact. My gun belt and flak vest lay beside it. "Yes, the bike's here," my host offered, "We know about that little electronic gizmo of yours, but we didn't have time to figure out how to disarm it. We thought it wise not to fool with anything, in fact. It was easier just to keep it in range of the transmitter for now. You're quite ingenious, Mr. Bikopoulis. Or is it Spike Bike?" "That'll be _Mister_ Bikopoulis to you, Butt-brain." A mistake. That brought knuckles across my face. "You should show proper respect for authority, _Mister_ Bikopoulis. Don't you know who I am?" I knew who he was. Ames Morgan, Secretary of Transportation and Executive Vee Pee of CFGM, Iacocca's right-hand man. It was rumored that Morgan was the real boss of the Corporatist government. What was an important cabinet member doing smacking me across the face? "The face and charming manner are familiar. You grunt for the Prez." "The President of the United States is rather upset with you, Spike." "The American People are rather upset with him, so I guess he's entitled. But why does he care about me? Senator Crisp..." "Joseph Crisp is merely the political leader of this disloyal rabble. You're their folk hero. You inspire them. You're too much of a nuisance to have around." "Somehow I think it's Mr. Iacocca who won't be around, at least not much after the 3rd of January. Is it true that they're just going to impeach him, or are they going to throw his ass in jail, too?" "That's rather outlandish, coming from a terrorist." "Terrorist? I'm just a concerned citizen, doing my best to keep our highways free of trash." "Terrorist. Particularly after the little stunt you pulled in New Mexico Thursday." "I was in New York Thursday, filling out reams of your goddam forms just to receive a shipment of Metaxa from Greece." "Quite the contrary, Spike. You shot up a top-secret government installation. We've got it all on video tape. Killed thirteen people, including a janitor and a couple of secretaries, before you got away with this." He placed a hand on the suitcase sitting on the desk. He removed a panel to reveal an array of switches and displays. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a key and inserted it into a slot in the control panel. The displays jumped to life. "The CIA whipped this up. Quite clever, really, only thirty-six pounds, and most of that's the shielding." "What is it, a crystal set? Captain Video decoder, maybe?" "I thought you were a weapons expert, Spike. It's a thermonuclear device. Oh, it's just a little one -- thirty kilotons, maybe -- but enough for you to do a great deal of damage to this fair city and its distinguished guests." I suddenly saw what he was getting at. It was monstrous. The Enterprise Party had fittingly chosen Detroit's Cobo Hall as the site for its first Transition Planning Conference. Every important member of the Anticorporatist movement would be in attendance. The conference was to open this evening. So that was why they'd timed my capture for this date! They intended to destroy the cities of Detroit and Windsor, and make it look like an act of terrorism, with me the perpetrator. A quarter mile in the air, this office would be ground zero. We were half a mile from the convention center. None of the delegates would survive, and hundreds of thousands of innocent people would perish with them. "You're insane!" I hissed. I tugged and jerked at my restraints. Morgan leaned back in his chair, placed his feet on the desk next to the Bomb. His laughter filled every inch of the spacious office. * TO BE CONTINUED * -- __ / \ Bob Fishell \__/ att!ihlpa!fish