From pyramid!oliveb!apple!rutgers!bellcore!faline!thumper!ulysses!mhuxo!mhuxu!att!ihlpa!fish Thu Feb 23 08:36:14 PST 1989 [Synopsis: Spike's identity is discovered by the crumbling Corporatist government, and he flees his Illinois home only to be captured in Detroit by Ames Morgan, Secretary of Transportation. There he discovers that Morgan intends to explode a suitcase-sized H-bomb over the cities of Detroit and Windsor, creating an international crisis, and killing key members of the Enterprise Party, who have regained control of the government in the 1998 elections. Spike manages to partially free himself from his restraints, and kills Morgan by kicking him through a window on the top floor of the 103-story CFGM building. But he is too late to stop Morgan from activating the Bomb, which will go off in less than 4 hours. In the year 1998, one man has fought the tyranny of the automobile. Now he must fight to save two cities and a Nation... --- 3:41:58... 3:41:57... 3:41:56... The silent, flourescent display counted down the seconds until an inevitable 30-kiloton nuclear blast. Morgan had said the Bomb could not be disarmed, and he'd had no reason to lie. I got myself turned around and managed to get on my feet. My hands were still bound to the arms of the chair. I gingerly hobbled over to the shattered window, through which poured the chilly November air. The jagged glass cut through one of my bonds, giving me a gash across the wrist in the process, but soon I was free of the chair. Glancing down to the street, I saw tiny flashing red lights converging on the area where I knew Morgan's remains must be splattered. Not good; I'd hoped to get out of here unnoticed. The surrounding streets would be crawling with CFGM Security by the time I reached the ground floor. I turned my attention to the Bomb. Within just over three and a half hours, it would have to be taken to a place where it could be detonated with relatively little harm. There wasn't time. Morgan and his henchmen had kept the theft of the Bomb a secret from the public, and I could not deal with CFGM Security, which policed the city. It could not be exploded on the surface anywhere in the populous East. A fast military plane might get it to the Nevada desert in time, but how could I convince the Air Force or the Navy of the urgency of the situation? And how could I trust them? I had no idea how extensive the conspiracy was. Searching my memory, I thought of one place it could be taken that might suffice: the extensive salt mines under the city. I knew I would have to take it there myself. I retrieved my MAC-10 from Morgan's desk and checked out the bike. It was undamaged, and Morgan had been afraid to tamper with its extensive array of armament. That was good; I had a feeling I'd be needing it. I patched up the cut on my wrist and replaced my flak vest. Then I set about lashing the 36-lb Bomb to the rear rack. It was more weight than I was used to carrying, but I was able to maneuver the bike around the room. I boarded the private elevator which connected Morgan's office to the parking garage under the skyscraper. A brief, sinking feeling assured me I was on my way. On the way down, I broke all the lights in the car's interior. I readied the machine gun, prepared a grenade, and straddled the bike as the elevator slowed to a stop. As the door opened, I saw two grey Plymouth sedans waiting outside. I burst through the doors firing in a wide arc. The guards crouched behind the cars instinctively ducked, and did not return fire for a critical second while I sprinted past the roadblock, tossing the grenade as I passed. One of the guards got off a shot before the blast, and I felt something hot laid across my shoulder. The wound was superficial, but bloody. I waited for more fire, but none came. The next wave would be at the garage's entrance. There was no time for stealth. Repeating my bold move at the elevator, I sprinted up to the street. The Bomb's weight slowed my progress up the ramp, but I still burst out of the door with enough speed to maneuver. Fanning the machine gun at the row of grey Plymouths just outside, I cut towards the alley I had come out of this morning, right between two of the Security cars. This time, none of their shots connected. A second grenade went off behind me and the guns fell silent. A block away, I knew I had made the first hurdle, but I could not get far this way. A mountain bike has tremendous advantages in rough country, but it's not much help on city streets. I thought for a moment about where I should go, and had the answer. I wound my way through the alleys toward the sea of light four blocks from the CFGM building. There was one place in this city where I might find friends, but there would not be any time to explain. Firing into the air, I burst forward into the light. A stretch Lincoln limousine was just pulling up in front of the glittering entrance to Cobo Hall. It would do nicely. Riding up onto the sidewalk, I grabbed the first person in reach, a terrified woman. I hated to do it, but I needed to hold off the guards while I got the limousine door open. I rolled the bike inside and dove in after it, releasing my hysterical hostage. There was a distinguished-looking man inside, rubbing his knee. The bike had jostled him some. "Senator Crisp, I presume." "So. I finally get to meet Spike Bike." I instructed the Senator's driver to get away -- fast. The Bomb silently counted away the seconds. 3:08:18... 3:08:17... 3:08:16... * TO BE CONTINUED * -- __ / \ Bob Fishell \__/ att!ihlpa!fish