BABY JOGGER WITH CAR SEAT

II
THE MARK

Dressed in little more then a haggard pair of stained "I spent time in Alcatraz" boxers that barely coped with the responsibility of retaining his man hood, Pike wasn’t sure what to expect when he’d first come onto the bridge. Outside of thinking "Whatever just happened, it ain’t good" all of the previous thought’s he’d had rattling through him mind had suddenly drifted away into a redundant file in his mind it would seem, as he had what appeared to be a serious situation on his hands.
The day had by all rights been an up hill effort from the moment the Good Captain had forced him out of his bunk, six hours earlier then he’d planned. He had equally been frustrated by the fact that despite a great deal of complaining on his part, a reward in the form of a paycheck for the past three months had yet to be extended to him, again. This on going begrudgenment had only further escalated the loathsome realization, that the only comfortable even slightly clean pair of skives he could find in his bunk were being held together by little more then a handful of stiching’s, and a pair of bobby pens. Despite his disdain for this particular morning, it would seem now that all of these facts had been compacted into trivial if not near nil events now.
Taking note of the groans and shrieks still emanating from with in the vessels questionably sturdy superstructure, and the undeniably stressing, at times teeth rattling shutters, coursing their way through the bowels of the craft, Pike made a quick glance over the main console, and the primary array, which warned of not only a proximity threat, but of a full on confirmed impact. These facts seemed to take little notice to the near naked, half awake Pike, as the sudden violent jolt he’d experienced only a moment ago, seemed to have been more then enough evidence to suggest that the vessel had just been struck by something.
Over the past year Pike had managed to garner more then four hundred and eighty hours in the pilots seat of the Colonial Fiction, more then enough flight time to know that it was not uncommon for an asteroid or other various random space debris to bounce off of or out right impact with the hull in deep space, but this was not deep space. The Colonial Fiction had for the better part of the last three days been quietly nestled in docking berth F-86 of Atlas station, safely protected from such natural space anomaly’s by the stations military grade superstructure and thick armor hulled plating. No, whatever had just slammed into the side of his employers D class Gregson Stack Train, with enough force to not only nock Pike completely off of his feet, but equally scatter the entire contents of his re-hydrated bacon and egg breakfast all over the galley floor, was not a chunk of space debris. Somebody had just side swiped them.
Ignoring the proximity and impact warnings, Pike’s first concern was insuring that hull integrity had not been compromised. While the thick skin of Atlas station did provided suitable protection from outside unworldly or other wise unpleasant smack into your ship and you’re dead like threats to vessels nesting inside, it did not offer such luxuries as avoiding the deep vacuum of space. However, like most deep space freighters, the Colonial Fiction had been designed to withstand natural impacts. It was Pike who couldn’t help but feel a mere chill of concern about the fact that this particular Gregson Stack Train, was in fact older then he was, and to say it’s condition was poor at best might have been putting it lightly.
Safety protocol suggested that all interior doors automatically slam shut whenever the computer detected possible hull de-stabilization, but Pike knew that these systems had long since been deactivated. The Good Captain had for one reason or another disengaged these emergency protocols some years ago. The conclusion was that if such a breach had actually taken place, he would most certainly already be dead by now, Thou the fact of the matter was taking some time to sink in.
It was one of a small pile of concerns rapidly layering themselves onto his already disoriented mind. There was that other concern given their current location.
Operating out on and beyond the rim meant keeping a comfortable somewhat fluffy buffer between himself and the law. It was the number one reason he had opted to second on the Colonial Fiction in the first place. It was rare to see government navel vessels operating beyond Alpha Prime, and he’d never once detected so much as an inkling of law enforcement outside of privately owned public sectors on various stations and hubs beyond Saturn’s moons. It had equally been advantages to sign on aboard a vessel that turned very few, if any heads. It basically summed up to taking every effort in not being noticed.
The rim was vast and sparsely occupied by a military or law enforcement presence. Atlas station was the rare exception. A lone beacon of the law on the tip of th

Indian PowerPlus 1916 998 cc side valve V- twin engine# 70 H 215



Oscar Hedstrom and Oliver Hendee, prominent figures in the cycle racing world, ventured into the infant North American motorcycle industry as early as 1901.
From the outset they were pioneers, adopting chain drive for their Indian motorcycles when most of their competitors used belt drive.
The single cylinder, F-head engine of their 1901 prototype formed part of the frame and, unlike other contemporary machines, the Indian engine sloped rearwards rather than forwards, acting also as the seat tube support.
The Indian found instant appeal and by 1905 had a strong following.
In that year the company introduced leaf spring front forks and twistgrip throttle and ignition controls.

The real landmark year for Indian was 1907 when the company introduced the first of its mighty V-twins, the rear cylinder of the early models continuing to form part of the frame until 1909.
In that year the loop frame was adopted and continued development and innovation saw the development of the overhead valve, four-valves-per-cylinder racers in 1911.
The hugely popular PowerPlus, a 61 cu.in. (998cc) flathead V-twin appeared in 1916.
The mighty engine drove through a three-speed, hand-change gearbox with foot-operated clutch and all-chain drive.
The side-valve engine of the PowerPlus proved utterly reliable and almost unbreakable, even in the hands of the tuning shops which developed it to its limit to achieve that extra ounce of power.
Commercially the PowerPlus vied with rival offerings from Harley-Davidson and enjoyed a nine year production run.

This bike was mechanically rebuilt in 2001 and is cosmetically presented to an exceptionally high standard, liveried in ‘Red Indian’, and with nickel plated fittings throughout.
Distinctive American features are the white tyres.
This outstandingly original and exciting American super-bike, of an internationally recognised marque, was in an exclusive private collection.

Source: Yesterdays.nl