Crossover Earth '98

"Marky, would ya watch it!? You're killin' us back here!" Dino cried, struggling to keep his balance in the back of the truck's empty cargo bay.

"Sorry bro, but ya try drivin' this thing. It's hard. I'm fuckin' grindin' gears here." Marky explained, not sounding too apologetic.

"What we need this truck for anyway?" Raoul said sitting beside Dino and Art.

Art hit Raoul hard in the arm, "Are ya serious? Marky told ya, we need a truck to make a delivery for Maurice. Since we didn't have a truck, we stole this one. If we do this job right, Maurice will put us on his payroll. And that's when the real coin rolls in."

The late eighties five ton truck rolled down the street.

"Shhhhht! I'm trying to friggin' concentrate." There was a nervous edge to Marky's voice. "I thought I saw something. We might have someone following us."

As if in answer to the thug's concerns, the glimmer of a lone headlight filled the passenger side mirror. The three men in the back of the truck looked at each other and began picking up their guns from the floor of the cargo area as the roar of a high-performance engine grew louder. Raoul called up to Marky, "What's that?"

"A motorcycle cop, I think." Emptiness filled Marky's voice. "He's gaining on us. I can't shake him in this shitty truck." Marky pressed the gas pedal harder.

"Relax. Let the pig get closer," Dino said, as the crooks waited tensely with their guns at the ready.

The motorcycle devoured the roadway that distanced it from the speeding truck.

"No, no. That ain't no cop man," Art replied looking out the back window. "He's big. Like that Russian mother in Rocky IV. How many cops do ya know that're that big? 'Sides he's wearing a fuckin' cape."

The red, white and blue bullet bike continued to grow larger and larger in the passenger side mirror.

Dino replied "Big!? Who cares if he's big? He's wearing the stars and stripes, ya stupid ass. How many cops wear uniforms that look like that?" The gunmen paused for a moment, looking carefully at the man on the motorcycle as he gained on them. "Man, I think we got one of those friggin' super-dudes on our ass."

"Shit man!" Raoul turned milk white. "That's... that's Old Glory!"

"Old Glory?!" Marky said shocked. "It can't be! He busted my gramps once - an' he must've been 27 back then! Shit, I figured he'd be in the Caymans sipping cocktails with all the other fogies! This fucker's old, man."

Art barked, "Who gives a shit!? Lets waste 'im!"

An assertive voice suddenly boomed, "You, in the truck - pull over!"

The gunmen threw open the truck's sliding side door and opened fire. To their surprise, their bullets deflected right off the man on the motorcycle. In fact, several slugs reflected back into the truck, nearly hitting the triggermen.

"This dude has fuckin' armor!" Dino yelled.

Old Glory suddenly leapt from his speeding motorcycle into the open truck, his well-placed fists and feet slammed into the hoodlums. Guns and bodies went flying in all directions.

"Whatcha doing back there?!" screamed Marky. "He ain't that good, is he? Kick his friggin' ass! We can't let this crusty old fart stop us!"

Suddenly, a big hand reached out and grabbed Marky by the collar, and a cool, even voice whispered in his ear, "Your friends make lousy shooters. I don't need to be bulletproof. Now, for the second time, pull this truck over!"

Moments later, Old Glory was sitting back astride his motorcycle, giving his statement to the police as they loaded the dazed gunmen into separate police cruisers. "... that's the story, Officer Winters. I don't know why these kids went to the trouble of stealing a delivery truck. Maybe you can get them to tell you."

"Well, Old Glory, even if we can't, we have plenty to hold 'em on. In addition to grand theft auto and weapons charges, there're warrants out on the whole lot of 'em. Still, we may have a problem - at least, you may, Old Glory." The policeman shock his head. "Those creeps are accusing you of using unnecessary force. If they can make their stories jibe, they could file charges against you."

"Let them try. Liberty recorded everything."

"Liberty - ?"

Old Glory smiled as he raised his left arm out to his side. Suddenly, a massive bald eagle descended from high above, steely talons outstretched, and perched itself on the super-patriot's forearm. The avian's head craned and turned, twin opalescent eyes taking in the city surroundings, and then looked directly at the police officer.

"That's right," Old Glory said. "There's a camera built into him which relays the audio and video information to the my bike's onboard computer to be recorded." He pressed a button on the handlebars, and a silvery disc immediately popped out of the console atop the gas tank. "The entire chase was recorded on this disc."

Officer Winters slipped the disc into an evidence folder and broke into a big smile. "The Police Commissioner is gonna love you for this."

"My pleasure. Tell him and your department that I'll be in touch."

With a single kick, Old Glory started up his motorcycle and peeled off down the street with Liberty following from above. That didn't go too badly, he said inwardly. It's been 15 years since I last patrolled these streets, and being back brings back memories. God, who am I kidding? I just stopped four 18 year old punks. I used to do that in my sleep. If it wasn't for this force field-hardened bodysuit I'd be staring at my eyelids right now. What's an old coot like me gonna do against the Mockery Brigade? I gotta remind myself that I'm not 35 or 45 years old any more. I'm 65. I should be sitting back at the farm living off a sweet pension, for Pete's sake. And I think I pulled a muscle jumping into the damn truck.

As Old Glory turned east, he heard a voice come from the motorcycle's built-in intercom.

"Old Glory!"

"Copy."

"We need you at the base ASAP."

Old Glory made a quick U-turn and headed uptown. He didn't know what was going on, but it had to be important if he was interrupted during his rounds. He motored down some alleys and side streets until he reached a small run-down service station. He flipped a switch on his bike and the garage's overhead door began squeaking open. Liberty swooped out of the sky and landed on bike's seat behind the crimefighter.

Old Glory rode into the darkened garage, the door automatically closing behind him. A soft, diffuse light hummed to life and illuminated a section of the large room. He dismounted his motorcycle, walked it to where the light shone. A synthesized feminine voice abruptly pealed. "This is a DARPA security zone. Please state your clearance number and full name for voice recognition."

Old Glory cleared his throat. "Clearance number 492-544-028. Agent Earl Stafford. Codename Old Glory."

There was a beep eep from above. "Voiceprint confirmed. Old Glory cleared to enter."

Unconsciously, he nodded to the computer, and laughed at himself for doing so. But his laughter fell short as a square of floor began to rapidly sink under him. The elevator hissed to a gentle halt nearly 100 yards below street level, revealing a very sophisticated lounge area. With Liberty still roosting on the motorcycle's seat, Old Glory walked his bike off the landing.

Right when Old Glory stepped down, stainless steel paneling began to retract and shift. Banks of monitors and control units seemingly metamorphosed out of the floor and walls about him. He marveled at the automated systems the engineers of Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency kept concealed below the sewers of the old neighborhood. DARPA's maintenance were quick with the renovations, Old Glory thought. Just last month this area was dripping in sewage.

"Please have a seat, Old Glory." The metallic matron's voice greeted with a ring. "Mister Carter will be with you in just a moment."

With the heel of his boot, Old Glory dropped the kickstand and parked his bike in the corner of the sterile room. "Computer run a standard diagnostic on my motorcycle... please." He grinned.

Old Glory began to ponder the urgency of his summons while he sat in a cushioned leather chair. It usually takes a pretty intense situation to pull me from my patrols. I wonder what it could be? Mastiff in the city?

In the corner, small machines hovered above and beside the motorcycle, sweeping faint, multi-colored lights over the entire vehicle. Within seconds, the machines ceased and immediately retract within concealed compartments. The computer then replied, "The Ducati 900 Super Sport has suffered a minor breach in structural integrity. Recommend DARPA mechanics analyze and run a systems check."

Old Glory waited impatiently, rapping his forefingers on the armrest of his chair.

(To be continued...)

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