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diff --git a/19111.txt b/19111.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0201310 --- /dev/null +++ b/19111.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2969 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Code Three, by Rick Raphael + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Code Three + +Author: Rick Raphael + +Illustrator: Schoenherr + +Release Date: August 24, 2006 [EBook #19111] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CODE THREE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact--Science Fiction, + February 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + Code Three + + + + + The cars on high-speed highways + must follow each other like sheep. + And they need shepherds. + The highway police cruiser of tomorrow + however must be massively different-- + as different as the highways themselves! + + + + by Rick Raphael + + + Illustrated by Schoenherr + + [Illustration] + + + * * * * * + + + + +[Illustration] + + +The late afternoon sun hid behind gray banks of snow clouds and a cold +wind whipped loose leaves across the drill field in front of the +Philadelphia Barracks of the North American Continental Thruway +Patrol. There was the feel of snow in the air but the thermometer +hovered just at the freezing mark and the clouds could turn either +into icy rain or snow. + +Patrol Sergeant Ben Martin stepped out of the door of the barracks and +shivered as a blast of wind hit him. He pulled up the zipper on his +loose blue uniform coveralls and paused to gauge the storm clouds +building up to the west. + +The broad planes of his sunburned face turned into the driving cold +wind for a moment and then he looked back down at the weather report +secured to the top of a stack of papers on his clipboard. + +Behind him, the door of the barracks was shouldered open by his junior +partner, Patrol Trooper Clay Ferguson. The young, tall Canadian +officer's arms were loaded with paper sacks and his patrol work helmet +dangled by its strap from the crook of his arm. + +Clay turned and moved from the doorway into the wind. A sudden gust +swept around the corner of the building and a small sack perched atop +one of the larger bags in his arms blew to the ground and began +tumbling towards the drill field. + +"Ben," he yelled, "grab the bag." + +The sergeant lunged as the sack bounced by and made the retrieve. He +walked back to Ferguson and eyed the load of bags in the blond-haired +officer's arms. + +"Just what is all this?" he inquired. + +"Groceries," the youngster grinned. "Or to be more exact, little +gourmet items for our moments of gracious living." + +Ferguson turned into the walk leading to the motor pool and Martin +swung into step beside him. "Want me to carry some of that junk?" + +"Junk," Clay cried indignantly. "You keep your grimy paws off these +delicacies, peasant. You'll get yours in due time and perhaps it will +help Kelly and me to make a more polished product of you instead of +the clodlike cop you are today." + +Martin chuckled. This patrol would mark the start of the second year +that he, Clay Ferguson and Medical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoot +had been teamed together. After twenty-two patrols, cooped up in a +semiarmored vehicle with a man for ten days at a time, you got to know +him pretty well. And you either liked him or you hated his guts. + +As senior officer, Martin had the right to reject or keep his partner +after their first eleven-month duty tour. Martin had elected to retain +the lanky Canadian. As soon as they had pulled into New York Barracks +at the end of their last patrol, he had made his decisions. After +eleven months and twenty-two patrols on the Continental Thruways, each +team had a thirty-day furlough coming. + +Martin and Ferguson had headed for the city the minute they put their +signatures on the last of the stack of reports needed at the end of a +tour. Then, for five days and nights, they tied one on. MSO Kelly +Lightfoot had made a beeline for a Columbia Medical School seminar on +tissue regeneration. On the sixth day, Clay staggered out of bed, +swigged down a handful of antireaction pills, showered, shaved and +dressed and then waved good-by. Twenty minutes later he was aboard a +jet, heading for his parents' home in Edmonton, Alberta. Martin soloed +around the city for another week, then rented a car and raced up to +his sister's home in Burlington, Vermont, to play Uncle Bountiful to +Carol's three kids and to lap up as much as possible of his sister's +real cooking. + +While the troopers and their med officer relaxed, a service crew moved +their car down to the Philadelphia motor pool for a full overhaul and +refitting for the next torturous eleven-month-tour of duty. + +The two patrol troopers had reported into the Philadelphia Barracks +five days ago--Martin several pounds heavier courtesy of his sister's +cooking; Ferguson several pounds lighter courtesy of three assorted, +starry-eyed, uniform-struck Alberta maidens. + +They turned into the gate of the motor pool and nodded to the sentry +at the gate. To their left, the vast shop buildings echoed to the +sound of body-banging equipment and roaring jet engines. The darkening +sky made the brilliant lights of the shop seem even brighter and the +hulls of a dozen patrol cars cast deep shadows around the work crews. + +The troopers turned into the dispatcher's office and Clay carefully +placed the bags on a table beside the counter. Martin peered into one +of the bags. "Seriously, kid, what do you have in that grab bag?" + +"Oh, just a few essentials," Clay replied "_Pate de foie gras_, sharp +cheese, a smidgen of cooking wine, a handful of spices. You know, +stuff like that. Like I said--essentials." + +"Essentials," Martin snorted, "you give your brains to one of those +Alberta chicks of yours for a souvenir?" + +"Look, Ben," Ferguson said earnestly, "I suffered for eleven months in +that tin mausoleum on tracks because of what you fondly like to think +is edible food. You've got as much culinary imagination as Beulah. I +take that back. Even Beulah turns out some better smells when she's +riding on high jet than you'll ever get out of her galley in the next +one hundred years. This tour, I intend to eat like a human being once +again. And I'll teach you how to boil water without burning it." + +"Why you ungrateful young--" Martin yelped. + + * * * * * + +The patrol dispatcher, who had been listening with amused tolerance, +leaned across the counter. + +"If Oscar Waldorf is through with his culinary lecture, gentlemen," he +said, "perhaps you two could be persuaded to take a little pleasure +ride. It's a lovely night for a drive and it's just twenty-six hundred +miles to the next service station. If you two aren't cooking anything +at the moment, I know that NorCon would simply adore having the +services of two such distinguished Continental Commandos." + +Ferguson flushed and Martin scowled at the dispatcher. "Very funny, +clown. I'll recommend you for trooper status one of these days." + +"Not me," the dispatcher protested. "I'm a married man. You'll never +get me out on the road in one of those blood-and-gut factories." + +"So quit sounding off to us heroes," Martin said, "and give us the +clearances." + +The dispatcher opened a loose-leaf reference book on the counter and +then punched the first of a series of buttons on a panel. Behind him, +the wall lighted with a map of the eastern United States to the +Mississippi River. Ferguson and Martin had pencils out and poised over +their clipboards. + +The dispatcher glanced at the order board across the room where patrol +car numbers and team names were displayed on an illuminated board. +"Car 56--Martin-Ferguson-Lightfoot," glowed with an amber light. In +the column to the right was the number "26-W." The dispatcher punched +another button. A broad belt of multi-colored lines representing the +eastern segment of North American Thruway 26 flashed onto the map in a +band extending from Philadelphia to St. Louis. The thruway went on to +Los Angeles in its western segment, not shown on the map. Ten bands of +color--each five separated by a narrow clear strip, detailed the +thruway. Martin and Ferguson were concerned with the northern five +bands; NAT 26-westbound. Other unlighted lines radiated out in +tangential spokes to the north and south along the length of the +multi-colored belt of NAT 26. + +This was just one small segment of the Continental Thruway system that +spanned North America from coast to coast and crisscrossed north and +south under the Three Nation Road Compact from the southern tip of +Mexico into Canada and Alaska. + +Each arterial cut a five-mile-wide path across the continent and from +one end to the other, the only structures along the roadways were the +turretlike NorCon Patrol check and relay stations--looming up at +one-hundred-mile intervals like the fire control islands of +earlier-day aircraft carriers. + +Car 56 with Trooper Sergeant Ben Martin, Trooper Clay Ferguson and +Medical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoot, would take their first +ten-day patrol on NAT 26-west. Barring major disaster, they would eat, +sleep and work the entire time from their car; out of sight of any but +distant cities until they had reached Los Angeles at the end of the +patrol. Then a five-day resupply and briefing period and back onto +another thruway. + +During the coming patrol they would cross ten state lines as if they +didn't exist. And as far as thruway traffic control and authority was +concerned, state and national boundaries actually didn't exist. With +the growth of the old interstate highway system and the Alcan Highway +it became increasingly evident that variation in motor vehicle laws +from state to state and country to country were creating impossible +situations for any uniform safety control. + + * * * * * + +With the establishment of the Continental Thruway System two decades +later, came the birth of the supra-cop--The North American Thruway +Patrol, known as NorCon. Within the five-mile bands of the +thruways--all federally-owned land by each of the three nations--the +blue-coveralled "Continental Commandos" of NorCon were the sole law +enforcement agency and authority. Violators of thruway law were cited +into NorCon district traffic courts located in the nearest city to +each access port along every thruway. + +There was no challenge to the authority of NorCon. Public demand for +faster and more powerful vehicles had forced the automotive industry +to put more and more power under the touch of the ever-growing +millions of drivers crowding the continent's roads. Piston drive gave +way to turbojet; turbojet was boosted by a modification of ram jet and +air-cushion drive was added. In the last two years, the first of the +nuclear reaction mass engines had hit the roads. Even as the hot +Ferraris and Jags of the mid-'60s would have been suicide vehicles on +the T-model roads of the '20s so would today's vehicles be on the +interstates of the '60s. But building roads capable of handling three +hundred to four hundred miles an hour speeds was beyond the financial +and engineering capabilities of individual states and nations. Thus +grew the continental thruways with their four speed lanes in each +direction, each a half-mile wide separated east and west and north and +south by a half-mile-wide landscaped divider. Under the Three Nation +Compact, the thruways now wove a net across the entire North American +continent. + +On the big wall map, NAT 26-west showed as four colored lines; blue +and yellow as the two high and ultra-high speed lanes; green and white +for the intermediate and slow lanes. Between the blue and yellow and +the white and green was a red band. This was the police emergency +lane, never used by other than official vehicles and crossed by the +traveling public shifting from one speed lane to another only at +sweeping crossovers. + +The dispatcher picked up an electric pointer and aimed the light beam +at the map. Referring to his notes, he began to recite. + +"Resurfacing crews working on 26-W blue at milestone Marker 185 to +Marker 187, estimated clearance 0300 hours Tuesday--Let's see, that's +tomorrow morning." + +The two officers were writing the information down on their +trip-analysis sheets. + +"Ohio State is playing Cal under the lights at Columbus tonight so you +can expect a traffic surge sometime shortly after 2300 hours but most +of it will stay in the green and white. Watch out for the drunks +though. They might filter out onto the blue or yellow. + +"The crossover for NAT 163 has painting crews working. Might watch out +for any crud on the roadway. And they've got the entrance blocked +there so that all 163 exchange traffic is being rerouted to 164 west +of Chillicothe." + +The dispatcher thumbed through his reference sheets. "That seems to be +about all. No, wait a minute. This is on your trick. The Army's got a +priority missile convoy moving out of the Aberdeen Proving Grounds +bound for the west coast tonight at 1800 hours. It will be moving at +green lane speeds so you might watch out for it. They'll have +thirty-four units in the convoy. And that is all. Oh, yes. Kelly's +already aboard. I guess you know about the weather." + +Martin nodded. "Yup. We should be hitting light snows by 2300 hours +tonight in this area and it could be anything from snow to ice-rain +after that." He grinned at his younger partner. "The vacation is over, +sonny. Tonight we make a man out of you." + +Ferguson grinned back. "Nuts to you, pop. I've got character witnesses +back in Edmonton who'll give you glowing testimonials about my +manhood." + +"Testimonials aren't legal unless they're given by adults," Martin +retorted. "Come on, lover boy. Duty calls." + +Clay carefully embraced his armload of bundles and the two officers +turned to leave. The dispatcher leaned across the counter. + +"Oh, Ferguson, one thing I forgot. There's some light corrugations in +red lane just east of St. Louis. You might be careful with your +souffles in that area. Wouldn't want them to fall, you know." + +Clay paused and started to turn back. The grinning dispatcher ducked +into the back office and slammed the door. + + * * * * * + +The wind had died down by the time the troopers entered the +brilliantly lighted parking area. The temperature seemed warmer with +the lessening winds but in actuality, the mercury was dropping. The +snow clouds to the west were much nearer and the overcast was getting +darker. + +But under the great overhead light tubes, the parking area was +brighter than day. A dozen huge patrol vehicles were parked on the +front "hot" line. Scores more were lined out in ranks to the back of +the parking zone. Martin and Ferguson walked down the line of military +blue cars. Number 56 was fifth on the line. Service mechs were just +re-housing fueling lines into a ground panel as the troopers walked +up. The technician corporal was the first to speak. "All set, Sarge," +he said. "We had to change an induction jet at the last minute and I +had the port engine running up to reline the flow. Thought I'd better +top 'er off for you, though, before you pull out. She sounds like a +purring kitten." + +He tossed the pair a waving salute and then moved out to his service +dolly where three other mechs were waiting. + +The officers paused and looked up at the bulk of the huge patrol car. + +"Beulah looks like she's been to the beauty shop and had the works," +Martin said. He reached out and slapped the maglurium plates. "Welcome +home, sweetheart. I see you've kept a candle in the window for your +wandering son." Ferguson looked up at the lighted cab, sixteen feet +above the pavement. + +Car 56--Beulah to her team--was a standard NorCon Patrol vehicle. She +was sixty feet long, twelve feet wide and twelve feet high; topped by +a four-foot-high bubble canopy over her cab. All the way across her +nose was a three-foot-wide luminescent strip. This was the variable +beam headlight that could cut a day-bright swath of light through +night, fog, rain or snow and could be varied in intensity, width and +elevation. Immediately above the headlight strip were two red-black +plastic panels which when lighted, sent out a flashing red emergency +signal that could be seen for miles. Similar emergency lights and +back-up white light strips adorned Beulah's stern. Her bow rounded +down like an old-time tank and blended into the track assembly of her +dual propulsion system. With the exception of the cabin bubble and a +two-foot stepdown on the last fifteen feet of her hull, Beulah was +free of external protrusions. Racked into a flush-decked recess on one +side of the hull was a crane arm with a two-hundred-ton lift capacity. +Several round hatches covered other extensible gear and periscopes +used in the scores of multiple operations the NorCon cars were called +upon to accomplish on routine road patrols. + +Beulah resembled a gigantic offspring of a military tank, sans heavy +armament. But even a small stinger was part of the patrol car +equipment. As for armament, Beulah had weapons to meet every +conceivable skirmish in the deadly battle to keep Continental Thruways +fast-moving and safe. Her own two-hundred-fifty-ton bulk could reach +speeds of close to six hundred miles an hour utilizing one or both of +her two independent propulsion systems. + +At ultra-high speeds, Beulah never touched the ground--floating on an +impeller air cushion and driven forward by a pair of one hundred fifty +thousand pound thrust jets and ram jets. At intermediate high speeds, +both her air cushion and the four-foot-wide tracks on each side of the +car pushed her along at two hundred-mile-an-hour-plus speeds. Synchro +mechanisms reduced the air cushion as the speeds dropped to afford +more surface traction for the tracks. For slow speeds and heavy duty, +the tracks carried the burden. + +Martin thumbed open the portside ground-level cabin door. + +"I'll start the outside check," he told Clay. "You stow that garbage +of yours in the galley and start on the dispensary. I'll help you +after I finish out here." + +As the younger officer entered the car and headed up the short flight +of steps to the working deck, the sergeant unclipped a check list +from the inside of the door and turned towards the stern of the big +vehicle. + + * * * * * + +Clay mounted to the work deck and turned back to the little galley +just aft of the cab. As compact as a spaceship kitchen--as a matter of +fact, designed almost identically from models on the Moon run--the +galley had but three feet of open counter space. Everything else, +sink, range, oven and freezer, were built-ins with pull-downs for use +as needed. He set his bags on the small counter to put away after the +pre-start check. Aft of the galley and on the same side of the +passageway were the double-decked bunks for the patrol troopers. +Across the passageway was a tiny latrine and shower. Clay tossed his +helmet on the lower bunk as he went down the passageway. At the +bulkhead to the rear, he pressed a wall panel and a thick, insulated +door slid back to admit him to the engine compartment. The service +crews had shut down the big power plants and turned off the air +exchangers and already the heat from the massive engines made the +compartment uncomfortably warm. + +He hurried through into a small machine shop. In an emergency, the +troopers could turn out small parts for disabled vehicles or for other +uses. It also stocked a good supply of the most common failure parts. +Racked against the ceiling were banks of cutting torches, a grim +reminder that death or injury still rode the thruways with increasing +frequency. + +In the tank storage space between the ceiling and top of the hull were +the chemical fire-fighting liquids and foam that could be applied by +nozzles, hoses and towers now telescoped into recesses in the hull. +Along both sides and beneath the galley, bunks, engine and +machine-shop compartments between the walls, deck and hull, were +Beulah's fuel storage tanks. + +The last after compartment was a complete dispensary, one that would +have made the emergency room or even the light surgery rooms of +earlier-day hospitals proud. + +Clay tapped on the door and went through. Medical-Surgical Officer +Kelly Lightfoot was sitting on the deck, stowing sterile bandage packs +into a lower locker. She looked up at Clay and smiled. "Well, well, +you DID manage to tear yourself away from your adoring bevies," she +said. She flicked back a wisp of golden-red hair from her forehead and +stood up. The patrol-blue uniform coverall with its belted waist +didn't do much to hide a lovely, properly curved figure. She walked +over to the tall Canadian trooper and reached up and grabbed his ear. +She pulled his head down, examined one side critically and then +quickly snatched at his other ear and repeated the scrutiny. She let +go of his ear and stepped back. "Damned if you didn't get all the +lipstick marks off, too." + +Clay flushed. "Cut it out, Kelly," he said. "Sometimes you act just +like my mother." + +The olive-complexioned redhead grinned at him and turned back to her +stack of boxes on the deck. She bent over and lifted one of the boxes +to the operating table. Clay eyed her trim figure. "You might act like +ma sometimes," he said, "but you sure don't look like her." + +It was the Irish-Cherokee Indian girl's turn to flush. She became very +busy with the contents of the box. "Where's Ben?" she asked over her +shoulder. + +"Making outside check. You about finished in here?" + +Kelly turned and slowly scanned the confines of the dispensary. With +the exception of the boxes on the table and floor, everything was +behind secured locker doors. In one corner, the compact +diagnostician--capable of analyzing many known human bodily ailments +and every possible violent injury to the body--was locked in its +riding clamps. Surgical trays and instrument racks were all hidden +behind locker doors along with medical and surgical supplies. On +either side of the emergency ramp door at the stern of the vehicle, +three collapsible autolitters hung from clamps. Six hospital bunks in +two tiers of three each, lined another wall. On patrol, Kelly utilized +one of the hospital bunks for her own use except when they might all +be occupied with accident or other kind of patients. And this would +never be for more than a short period, just long enough to transfer +them to a regular ambulance or hospital vehicle. Her meager supply of +personal items needed for the ten-day patrol were stowed in a small +locker and she shared the latrine with the male members of the team. + +Kelly completed her scan, glanced down at the checklist in her hand. +"I'll have these boxes stowed in five minutes. Everything else is +secure." She raised her hand to her forehead in mock salute. +"Medical-Surgical Officer Lightfoot reports dispensary ready for +patrol, sir." + +Clay smiled and made a checkmark on his clipboard. "How was the +seminar, Kelly?" he asked. + +Kelly hiked herself onto the edge of the operating table. "Wonderful, +Clay, just wonderful. I never saw so many good-looking, young, rich +and eligible doctors together in one place in all my life." + +She sighed and smiled vacantly into space. + +Clay snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be learning something +new about tissue regeneration," he said. + +"Generation, regeneration, who cares," Kelly grinned. + +Clay started to say something, got flustered and wheeled around to +leave--and bounded right off Ben Martin's chest. Ferguson mumbled +something and pushed past the older officer. + +Ben looked after him and then turned back to Car 56's combination +doctor, surgeon and nurse. "Glad to see the hostess aboard for this +cruise. I hope you make the passengers more comfortable than you've +just made the first mate. What did you do to Clay, Kelly?" + +"Hi, Ben," Kelly said. "Oh, don't worry about junior. He just gets all +fluttery when a girl takes away his masculine prerogative to make +cleverly lewd witticisms. He'll be all right. Have a happy holiday, +Ben? You look positively fat." + +Ben patted his stomach. "Carol's good cooking. Had a nice restful +time. And how about you. That couldn't have been all work. You've got +a marvelous tan." + +"Don't worry," Kelly laughed, "I had no intention of letting it be all +study. I spent just about as much time under the sun dome at the pool +as I did in class. I learned a lot though." + +[Illustration] + +Ben grinned and headed back to the front of the car. "Tell me more +after we're on the road," he said from the doorway. "We'll be rolling +in ten minutes." + +When he reached the cab, Clay was already in the right-hand control +seat and was running down the instrument panel check. The sergeant +lifted the hatch door between the two control seats and punched on a +light to illuminate the stark compartment at the lower front end of +the car. A steel grill with a dogged handle on the upper side covered +the opening under the hatch cover. Two swing-down bunks were racked up +against the walls on either side and the front hull door was without +an inside handle. This was the patrol car brig, used for bringing in +unwilling violators or other violent or criminal subjects who might +crop up in the course of a patrol tour. Satisfied with the appearance +of the brig, Ben closed the hatch cover and slid into his own control +seat on the left of the cab. Both control seats were molded and +plastiformed padded to the contours of the troopers and the armrests +on both were studded with buttons and a series of small, +finger-operated, knobs. All drive, communication and fire fighting +controls for the massive vehicle were centered in the knobs and +buttons on the seat arms, while acceleration and braking controls were +duplicated in two footrest pedals beneath their feet. + +Ben settled into his seat and glanced down to make sure his +work-helmet was racked beside him. He reached over and flipped a bank +of switches on the instrument panel. "All communications to 'on,'" he +said. Clay made a checkmark on his list. "All pre-engine start check +complete," Clay replied. + +"In that case," the senior trooper said, "let's give Beulah some +exercise. Start engines." + +Clay's fingers danced across the array of buttons on his seat arms and +flicked lightly at the throttle knobs. From deep within the engine +compartment came the muted, shrill whine of the starter engines, +followed a split-second later by the full-throated roar of the jets as +they caught fire. Clay eased the throttles back and the engine noise +softened to a muffled roar. + +Martin fingered a press-panel on the right arm of his seat. + +"Car 56 to Philly Control," Ben called. + +The speakers mounted around the cab came to life. "Go ahead Five Six." + +"Five Six fired up and ready to roll," Martin said. + +"Affirmative Five Six," came the reply, "You're clear to roll. Philly +Check estimates white density 300; green, 840; blue 400; yellow, 75." + +Both troopers made mental note of the traffic densities in their first +one-hundred-mile patrol segment; an estimated three hundred vehicles +for each ten miles of thruway in the white or fifty to one hundred +miles an hour low lane; eight hundred forty vehicles in the one +hundred to one hundred fifty miles an hour green, and so on. More than +sixteen thousand westbound vehicles on the thruway in the first one +hundred miles; nearly five thousand of them traveling at speeds +between one hundred fifty and three hundred miles an hour. + +Over the always-hot intercom throughout the big car Ben called out. +"All set, Kelly?" + +"I'm making coffee," Kelly answered from the galley. "Let 'er roll." + +Martin started to kick off the brakes, then stopped. "Ooops," he +exclaimed, "almost forgot." His finger touched another button and a +blaring horn reverberated through the vehicle. + +In the galley, Kelly hurled herself into a corner. Her body activated +a pressure plant and a pair of mummy-like plastifoam plates slid +curvingly out the wall and locked her in a soft cocoon. A dozen +similar safety clamps were located throughout the car at every working +and relaxation station. + +In the same instance, both Ben and Clay touched another plate on their +control seats. From kiosk-type columns behind each seat, pairs of +body-molded crash pads snapped into place to encase both troopers in +their seats, their bodies cushioned and locked into place. Only their +fingers were loose beneath the spongy substance to work arm controls. +The half-molds included headforms with a padded band that locked +across their foreheads to hold their heads rigidly against the backs +of their reinforced seats. The instant all three crew members were +locked into their safety gear, the bull horn ceased. + +"All tight," Ben called out as he wiggled and tried to free himself +from the cocoon. Kelly and Clay tested their harnesses. + +Satisfied that the safety cocoons were operating properly, Ben +released them and the molds slid back into their recesses. The cocoons +were triggered automatically in any emergency run or chase at speeds +in excess of two hundred miles an hour. + +Again he kicked off the brakes, pressed down on the foot feed and Car +56--Beulah--rolled out of the Philadelphia motor pool on the start of +its ten-day patrol. + + * * * * * + +The motor pool exit opened into a quarter-mile wide tunnel sloping +gently down into the bowels of the great city. Car 56 glided down the +slight incline at a steady fifty miles an hour. A mile from the mouth +of the tunnel the roadway leveled off and Ben kicked Beulah up another +twenty-five miles an hour. Ahead, the main tunnel ended in a series of +smaller portal ways, each emblazoned with a huge illuminated number +designating a continental thruway. + +Ben throttled back and began edging to the left lanes. Other patrol +cars were heading down the main passageway, bound for their assigned +thruways. As Ben eased down to a slow thirty, another patrol vehicle +slid alongside. The two troopers in the cab waved. Clay flicked on the +"car-to-car" transmit. + +The senior trooper in Car 104 looked over at Martin and Ferguson. "If +it isn't the gruesome twosome," he called. "Where have you two been? +We thought the front office had finally caught up with you and found +out that neither one of you could read or write and that they had +canned you." + +"We can't read," Ben quipped back. "That's why we're still on the job. +The front office would never hire anyone who would embarrass you two +by being smarter than either of you. Where're you headed, Eddie?" + +"Got 154-north," the other officer said. + +"Hey," Clay called out, "I've got a real hot doll in Toronto and I'll +gladly sell her phone number for a proper price." + +"Wouldn't want to hurt you, Clay," the other officer replied. "If I +called her up and took her out, she'd throw rocks at you the next time +you drew the run. It's all for your own good." + +"Oh, go get lost in a cloverleaf," Clay retorted. + +The other car broke the connection and with a wave, veered off to the +right. The thruway entrances were just ahead. Martin aimed Beulah at +the lighted orifice topped by the number 26-W. The patrol car slid +into the narrower tunnel, glided along for another mile and then +turned its bow upwards. Three minutes later, they emerged from the +tunnel into the red patrol lane of Continental Thruway 26-West. The +late afternoon sky was a covering of gray wool and a drop or two of +moisture struck the front face of the cab canopy. For a mile on either +side of the police lane, streams of cars sped westward. Ben eyed the +sky, the traffic and then peered at the outer hull thermometer. It +read thirty-two degrees. He made a mental bet with himself that the +weather bureau was off on its snow estimates by six hours. His Vermont +upbringing told him it would be flurrying within the hour. + +He increased speed to a steady one hundred and the car sped silently +and easily along the police lane. Across the cab, Clay peered +pensively at the steady stream of cars and cargo carriers racing by in +the green and blue lanes--all of them moving faster than the patrol +car. + +The young officer turned in his seat and looked at his partner. + +"You know, Ben," he said gravely, "I sometimes wonder if those +old-time cowboys got as tired looking at the south end of northbound +cows as I get looking at the vanishing tail pipes of cars." + +The radio came to life. + +"Philly Control to Car 56." + +Clay touched his transmit plate. "This is Five Six. Go ahead." + +"You've got a bad one at Marker 82," Control said. "A sideswipe in the +white." + +"Couldn't be too bad in the white," Ben broke in, thinking of the +one-hundred mile-an-hour limit in the slow lane. + +"That's not the problem," Control came back. "One of the sideswiped +vehicles was flipped around and bounded into the green, and that's +where the real mess is. Make it code three." + +"Five Six acknowledge," Ben said. "On the way." + +He slammed forward on the throttles. The bull horn blared and a second +later, with MSO Kelly Lightfoot snugged in her dispensary cocoon and +both troopers in body cushions, Car 56 lifted a foot from the roadway, +and leaped forward on a turbulent pad of air. It accelerated from one +hundred to two hundred fifty miles an hour. + +The great red emergency lights on the bow and stern began to blink and +from the special transmitter in the hull a radio siren wail raced +ahead of the car to be picked up by the emergency receptor antennas +required on all vehicles. + +The working part of the patrol had begun. + + * * * * * + +Conversation died in the speeding car, partly because of the +concentration required by the troopers, secondly because all +transmissions whether intercom or radio, on a code two or three run, +were taped and monitored by Control. In the center of the instrument +panel, an oversized radiodometer was clicking off the mileage marks as +the car passed each milestone. The milestone posts beamed a coded +signal across all five lanes and as each vehicle passed the marker, +the radiodometer clicked up another number. + +Car 56 had been at MM 23 when the call came. Now, at better than four +miles a minute, Beulah whipped past MM 45 with ten minutes yet to go +to reach the scene of the accident. Light flurries of wet snow bounced +off the canopy, leaving thin, fast-drying trails of moisture. Although +it was still a few minutes short of 1700 hours, the last of the winter +afternoon light was being lost behind the heavy snow clouds overhead. +Ben turned on the patrol car's dazzling headlight and to the left and +right, Clay could see streaks of white lights from the traffic on the +green and blue lanes on either side of the quarter-mile wide emergency +lane. + +The radio filled them in on the movement of other patrol emergency +vehicles being routed to the accident site. Car 82, also assigned to +NAT 26-West, was more than one hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah. +Pittsburgh Control ordered Eight Two to hold fast to cover anything +else that might come up while Five Six was handling the current +crisis. Eastbound Car 119 was ordered to cut across to the scene to +assist Beulah's crew, and another eastbound patrol vehicle was held in +place to cover for One One Nine. + +At mile marker 80, yellow caution lights were flashing on all +westbound lanes, triggered by Philadelphia Control the instant the +word of the crash had been received. Traffic was slowing down and +piling up despite the half-mile wide lanes. + +"Philly Control this is Car 56." + +"Go ahead Five Six." + +"It's piling up in the green and white," Ben said. "Let's divert to +blue on slowdown and seal the yellow." + +"Philly Control acknowledged," came the reply. + + * * * * * + +The flashing amber caution lights on all lanes switched to red. As Ben +began de-acceleration, diagonal red flashing barriers rose out of the +roadway on the green and white lanes at the 85 mile marker and lane +crossing. This channelled all traffic from both lanes to the left and +into the blue lane where the flashing reds now prohibited speeds in +excess of fifty miles an hour around the emergency situation. At the +same time, all crossovers on the ultra high yellow lane were sealed by +barriers to prevent changing of lanes into the over-congested area. + +As Car 56's speed dropped back below the two hundred mile an hour mark +the cocoon automatically slid open. Freed from her safety restraints, +Kelly jumped for the rear entrance of the dispensary and cleared the +racking clamps from the six autolitters. That done, she opened another +locker and reached for the mobile first-aid kit. She slid it to the +door entrance on its retractable casters. She slipped on her work +helmet with the built-in transmitter and then sat down on the seat by +the rear door to wait until the car stopped. + +Car 56 was now less than two miles from the scene of the crash and +traffic in the green lane to the left was at a standstill. A half mile +farther westward, lights were still moving slowly along the white +lane. Ahead, the troopers could see a faint wisp of smoke rising from +the heaviest congregation of headlights. Both officers had their work +helmets on and Clay had left his seat and descended to the side door, +ready to jump out the minute the car stopped. + +Martin saw a clear area in the green lane and swung the car over the +dividing curbing. The big tracks floated the patrol car over the +two-foot high, rounded abutment that divided each speed lane. Snow was +falling faster as the headlight picked out a tangled mass of wreckage +smoldering a hundred feet inside the median separating the green and +white lanes. A crumpled body lay on the pavement twenty feet from the +biggest clump of smashed metal, and other fragments of vehicles were +strung out down the roadway for fifty feet. There was no movement. + +NorCon thruway laws were strict and none were more rigidly enforced +than the regulation that no one other than a member of the patrol set +foot outside of their vehicle while on any thruway traffic lane. This +meant not giving any assistance whatsoever to accident victims. The +ruling had been called inhuman, monstrous, unthinkable, and lawmakers +in the three nations of the compact had forced NorCon to revoke the +rule in the early days of the thruways. After speeding cars and cargo +carriers had cut down twice as many do-gooders on foot at accident +scenes than the accidents themselves caused, the law was reinstated. +The lives of the many were more vital than the lives of a few. + +Martin halted the patrol vehicle a few feet from the wreckage and +Beulah was still rocking gently on her tracks by the time both Patrol +Trooper Clay Ferguson and MSO Kelly Lightfoot hit the pavement on the +run. + +In the cab, Martin called in on the radio. "Car 56 is on scene. +Release blue at Marker 95 and resume speeds all lanes at Marker 95 +in--" he paused and looked back at the halted traffic piled up before +the lane had been closed "--seven minutes." He jumped for the steps +and sprinted out of the patrol car in the wake of Ferguson and Kelly. + +The team's surgeon was kneeling beside the inert body on the road. +After an ear to the chest, Kelly opened her field kit bag and slapped +an electrode to the victim's temple. The needle on the encephalic +meter in the lid of the kit never flickered. Kelly shut the bag and +hurried with it over to the mass of wreckage. A thin column of black, +oily smoke rose from somewhere near the bottom of the heap. It was +almost impossible to identify at a glance whether the mangled metal +was the remains of one or more cars. Only the absence of track +equipment made it certain that they even had been passenger vehicles. + +Clay was carefully climbing up the side of the piled up wrecks to a +window that gaped near the top. + +"Work fast, kid," Martin called up. "Something's burning down there +and this whole thing may go up. I'll get this traffic moving." + +He turned to face the halted mass of cars and cargo carriers east of +the wreck. He flipped a switch that cut his helmet transmitter into +the remote standard vehicular radio circuit aboard the patrol car. + +"Attention, please, all cars in green lane. All cars in the left line +move out now, the next line fall in behind. You are directed to clear +the area immediately. Maintain fifty miles an hour for the next mile. +You may resume desired speeds and change lanes at mile Marker 95. I +repeat, all cars in green lane...." he went over the instructions once +more, relayed through Beulah's transmitter to the standard receivers +on all cars. He was still talking as the traffic began to move. + +By the time he turned back to help his teammates, cars were moving in +a steady stream past the huge, red-flashing bulk of the patrol car. + +Both Clay and Kelly were lying flat across the smashed, upturned side +of the uppermost car in the pile. Kelly had her field bag open on the +ground and she was reaching down through the smashed window. + +"What is it Clay?" Martin called. + +The younger officer looked down over his shoulder. "We've got a woman +alive down here but she's wedged in tight. She's hurt pretty badly and +Kelly's trying to slip a hypo into her now. Get the arm out, Ben." + +Martin ran back to the patrol car and flipped up a panel on the hull. +He pulled back on one of the several levers recessed into the hull and +the big wrecking crane swung smoothly out of its cradle and over the +wreckage. The end of the crane arm was directly over Ferguson. "Lemme +have the spreaders," Clay called. The arm dipped and from either side +of the tip, a pair of flanges shot out like tusks on an elephant. "Put +'er in neutral," Clay directed. Martin pressed another lever and the +crane now could be moved in any direction by fingertip pulls at its +extremity. Ferguson carefully guided the crane with its projecting +tusks into the smashed orifice of the car window. "O.K., Ben, spread +it." + +The crane locked into position and the entire arm split open in a "V" +from its base. Martin pressed steadily on the two levers controlling +each side of the divided arm and the tusks dug into the sides of the +smashed window. There was a steady screeching of tearing and ripping +metal as the crane tore window and frame apart. "Hold it," Ferguson +yelled and then eased himself into the widened hole. + +"Ben," Kelly called from her perch atop the wreckage, "litter." + + * * * * * + +Martin raced to the rear of the patrol car where the sloping ramp +stood open to the lighted dispensary. He snatched at one of the +autolitters and triggered its tiny drive motor. A homing beacon in his +helmet guided the litter as it rolled down the ramp, turned by itself +and rolled across the pavement a foot behind him. It stopped when he +stopped and Ben touched another switch, cutting the homing beacon. + +Clay's head appeared out of the hole. "Get it up here, Ben. I can get +her out. And I think there's another one alive still further down." + +Martin raised the crane and its ripper bars retracted. The split arms +spewed a pair of cables terminating in magnalocks. The cables dangled +over the ends of the autolitter, caught the lift plates on the litter +and a second later, the cart was swinging beside the smashed window as +Clay and Kelly eased the torn body of a woman out of the wreckage and +onto the litter. As Ben brought the litter back to the pavement, the +column of smoke had thickened. He disconnected the cables and homed +the stretcher back to the patrol car. The hospital cart with its +unconscious victim, rolled smoothly back to the car, up the ramp and +into the dispensary to the surgical table. + +Martin climbed up the wreckage beside Kelly. Inside the twisted +interior of the car, the thick smoke all but obscured the bent back of +the younger trooper and his powerful handlight barely penetrated the +gloom. Blood was smeared over almost every surface and the stink of +leaking jet fuel was virtually overpowering. From the depths of the +nightmarish scene came a tortured scream. Kelly reached into a +coverall pocket and produced another sedation hypo. She squirmed +around and started to slip down into the wreckage with Ferguson. +Martin grabbed her arm. "No, Kelly, this thing's ready to blow. Come +on, Clay, get out of there. Now!" + +Ferguson continued to pry at the twisted plates below him. + +"I said 'get out of there' Ferguson," the senior officer roared. "And +that's an order." + +Clay straightened up and put his hands on the edge of the window to +boost himself out. "Ben, there's a guy alive down there. We just can't +leave him." + +"Get down from there, Kelly," Martin ordered. "I know that man's down +there just as well as you do, Clay. But we won't be helping him one +damn bit if we get blown to hell and gone right along with him. Now +get outta there and maybe we can pull this thing apart and get to him +before it does blow." + +The lanky Canadian eased out of the window and the two troopers moved +back to the patrol car. Kelly was already in her dispensary, working +on the injured woman. + +Martin slid into his control seat. "Shut your ramp, Kelly," he called +over the intercom, "I'm going to move around to the other side." + +The radio broke in. "Car 119 to Car 56, we're just turning into the +divider. Be there in a minute." + +"Snap it up," Ben replied. "We need you in a hurry." + +As he maneuvered Beulah around the wreckage he snapped orders to +Ferguson. + +"Get the foam nozzles up, just in case, and then stand by on the +crane." + +A mile away, they saw the flashing emergency lights of Car 119 as it +raced diagonally across the yellow and blue lanes, whipping with +ponderous ease through the moving traffic. + +"Take the south side, 119," Martin called out. "We'll try and pull +this mess apart." + +"Affirmative," came the reply. Even before the other patrol vehicle +came to a halt, its crane was swinging out from the side, and the +ganged magnalocks were dangling from their cables. + +"O.K., kid," Ben ordered, "hook it." + +At the interior crane controls, Clay swung Beulah's crane and cable +mags towards the wreckage. The magnalocks slammed into the metallic +mess with a bang almost at the same instant the locks hit the other +side from Car 119. + +Clay eased up the cable slack. "Good," Ben called to both Clay and the +operating trooper in the other car, "now let's pull it ... LOOK OUT! +FOAM ... FOAM ... FOAM," he yelled. + +The ugly, deep red fireball from the exploding wreckage was still +growing as Clay slammed down on the fire-control panel. A curtain of +thick chemical foam burst from the poised nozzles atop Beulah's hull +and a split-second later, another stream of foam erupted from the +other patrol car. The dense, oxygen-absorbing retardant blanket +snuffed the fire out in three seconds. The cranes were still secured +to the foam-covered heap of metal. "Never mind the caution," Ben +called out, "get it apart. Fast." + +Both crane operators slammed their controls into reverse and with an +ear-splitting screech, the twisted frames of the two vehicles ripped +apart into tumbled heaps of broken metal and plastics. Martin and +Ferguson jumped down the hatch steps and into ankle-deep foam and oil. +They waded and slipped around the front of the car to join the +troopers from the other car. + +Ferguson was pawing at the scum-covered foam near the mangled section +of one of the cars. "He should be right about," Clay paused and bent +over, "here." He straightened up as the others gathered around the +scorched and ripped body of a man, half-submerged in the thick foam. +"Kelly," he called over the helmet transmitter, "open your door. We'll +need a couple of sacks." + +He trudged to the rear of the patrol car and met the girl standing in +the door with a pair of folded plastic morgue bags in her hands. +Behind her, Clay could see the body of the woman on the surgical +table, an array of tubes and probes leading to plasma drip bottles and +other equipment racked out over the table. + +"How is she?" + +"Not good," Kelly replied. "Skull fracture, ruptured spleen, broken +ribs and double leg fractures. I've already called for an ambulance." + +Ferguson nodded, took the bags from her and waded back through the +foam. + +The four troopers worked in the silence of the deserted traffic lane. +A hundred yards away, traffic was moving steadily in the slow white +lane. Three-quarters of a mile to the south, fast and ultra high +traffic sped at its normal pace in the blue and yellow lanes. +Westbound green was still being rerouted into the slower white lane, +around the scene of the accident. It was now twenty-six minutes since +Car 56 had received the accident call. The light snow flurries had +turned to a steady fall of thick wet flakes, melting as they hit on +the warm pavement but beginning to coat the pitiful flotsam of the +accident. + +The troopers finished the gruesome task of getting the bodies into the +morgue sacks and laid beside the dispensary ramp for the ambulance to +pick up with the surviving victim. Car 119's MSO had joined Kelly in +Beulah's dispensary to give what help she might. The four patrol +troopers began the grim task of probing the scattered wreckage for +other possible victims, personal possessions and identification. They +were stacking a small pile of hand luggage when the long, low bulk of +the ambulance swung out of the police lane and rolled to a stop. +Longer than the patrol cars but without the non-medical emergency +facilities, the ambulance was in reality a mobile hospital. A full, +scrubbed-up surgical team was waiting in the main operating room even +as the ramps opened and the techs headed for Car 56. The team had been +briefed by radio on the condition of the patient; had read the full +recordings of the diagnostician; and were watching transmitted pulse +and respiration graphs on their own screens while the transfer was +being made. + +The two women MSOs had unlocked the surgical table in Beulah's +dispensary and a plastic tent covered not only the table and the +patient, but also the plasma and Regen racks overhead. The entire +table and rig slid down the ramp onto a motor-driven dolly from the +ambulance. Without delay, it wheeled across the open few feet of +pavement into the ambulance and to the surgery room. The techs locked +the table into place in the other vehicle and left the surgery. From a +storage compartment, they wheeled out a fresh patrol dispensary table +and rack and placed it in Kelly's miniature surgery. The dead went +into the morgue aboard the ambulance, the ramp closed and the +ambulance swung around and headed across the traffic lanes to +eastbound NAT-26 and Philadelphia. + +Outside, the four troopers had completed the task of collecting what +little information they could from the smashed vehicles. + +They returned to their cars and One One Nine's medical-surgical +officer headed back to her own cubby-hole. + +[Illustration] + +The other patrol car swung into position almost touching Beulah's left +flank. With Ben at the control seat, on command, both cars extended +broad bulldozer blades from their bows. "Let's go," Ben ordered. The +two patrol vehicles moved slowly down the roadway, pushing all of the +scattered scraps and parts onto a single great heap. They backed off, +shifted direction towards the center police lane and began shoving the +debris, foam and snow out of the green lane. At the edge of the police +lane, both cars unshipped cranes and magnalifted the junk over the +divider barrier onto the one-hundred-foot-wide service strip bordering +the police lane. A slow cargo wrecker was already on the way from +Pittsburgh barracks to pick up the wreckage and haul it away. When the +last of the metallic debris had been deposited off the traffic lane, +Martin called Control. + +[Illustration] + +"Car 56 is clear. NAT 26-west green is clear." + +Philly Control acknowledged. Seven miles to the east, the amber +warning lights went dark and the detour barrier at Crossover 85 sank +back into the roadway. Three minutes later, traffic was again flashing +by on green lane past the two halted patrol cars. + +"Pitt Control, this is Car 119 clear of accident," the other car +reported. + +"Car 119 resume eastbound patrol," came the reply. + +The other patrol car pulled away. The two troopers waved at Martin and +Ferguson in Beulah. "See you later and thanks," Ben called out. He +switched to intercom. "Kelly. Any ID on that woman?" + +"Not a thing, Ben," she replied. "About forty years old, and she had a +wedding band. She never was conscious, so I can't help you." + +Ben nodded and looked over at his partner. "Go get into some dry +clothes, kid," he said, "while I finish the report. Then you can take +it for a while." + +Clay nodded and headed back to the crew quarters. + + * * * * * + +Ben racked his helmet beside his seat and fished out a cigarette. He +reached for an accident report form from the work rack behind his seat +and began writing, glancing up from time to time to gaze thoughtfully +at the scene of the accident. When he had finished, he thumbed the +radio transmitter and called Philly Control. Somewhere in the bloody, +oil and foam covered pile of wreckage were the registration plates for +the two vehicles involved. When the wrecker collected the debris, it +would be machine sifted in Pittsburgh and the plates fed to records +and then relayed to Philadelphia where the identifications could be +added to Ben's report. When he had finished reading his report he +asked, "How's the woman?" + +"Still alive, but just barely," Philly Control answered. "Ben, did you +say there were just two vehicles involved?" + +"That's all we found," Martin replied. + +"And were they both in the green?" + +"Yes, why?" + +"That's funny," Philly controller replied, "we got the calls as a +sideswipe in white that put one of the cars over into the green. There +should have been a third vehicle." + +"That's right," Ben exclaimed. "We were so busy trying to get that gal +out and then making the try for the other man I never even thought to +look for another car. You suppose that guy took off?" + +"It's possible," the controller said. "I'm calling a gate filter until +we know for sure. I've got the car number on the driver that reported +the accident. I'll get hold of him and see if he can give us a lead on +the third car. You go ahead with your patrol and I'll let you know +what I find out." + +"Affirmative," Ben replied. He eased the patrol car onto the police +lane and turned west once again. Clay reappeared in the cab, dressed +in fresh coveralls. "I'll take it, Ben. You go and clean up now. +Kelly's got a pot of fresh coffee in the galley." Ferguson slid into +his control seat. + +A light skiff of snow covered the service strip and the dividers as +Car 56 swung back westward in the red lane. Snow was falling steadily +but melting as it touched the warm ferrophalt pavement in all lanes. +The wet roadways glistened with the lights of hundreds of vehicles. +The chronometer read 1840 hours. Clay pushed the car up to a steady +75, just about apace with the slowest traffic in the white lane. To +the south, densities were much lighter in the blue and yellow lanes +and even the green had thinned out. It would stay moderately light now +for another hour until the dinner stops were over and the night +travelers again rolled onto the thruways. + +Kelly was putting frozen steaks into the infra-oven as Ben walked +through to crew quarters. Her coverall sleeves were rolled to the +elbows as she worked and a vagrant strand of copper hair curled over +her forehead. As Martin passed by, he caught a faint whisper of +perfume and he smiled appreciatively. + +In the tiny crew quarters, he shut the door to the galley and stripped +out of his wet coveralls and boots. He eyed the shower stall across +the passageway. + +"Hey, mother," he yelled to Kelly, "have I got time for a shower +before dinner?" + +"Yes, but make it a quickie," she called back. + +Five minutes later he stepped into the galley, his dark, crew-cut hair +still damp. Kelly was setting plastic, disposable dishes on the little +swing-down table that doubled as a food bar and work desk. Ben peered +into a simmering pot and sniffed. "Smells good. What's for dinner, +Hiawatha?" + +"Nothing fancy. Steak, potatoes, green beans, apple pie and coffee." + +Ben's mouth watered. "You know, sometimes I wonder whether one of your +ancestors didn't come out of New England. Your menus always seem to +coincide with my ideas of a perfect meal." He noted the two places set +at the table. Ben glanced out the galley port into the headlight-striped +darkness. Traffic was still light. In the distance, the night sky glowed +with the lights of Chambersburg, north of the thruway. + +"We might as well pull up for dinner," he said. "It's pretty slow out +there." + +Kelly shoved dishes over and began laying out a third setting. About +half the time on patrol, the crew ate in shifts on the go, with one of +the patrol troopers in the cab at all times. When traffic permitted, +they pulled off to the service strip and ate together. With the +communications system always in service, control stations could reach +them anywhere in the big vehicle. + +The sergeant stepped into the cab and tapped Ferguson on the shoulder. +"Dinnertime, Clay. Pull her over and we'll try some of your gracious +living." + +"Light the candles and pour the wine," Clay quipped, "I'll be with you +in a second." + +Car 56 swung out to the edge of the police lane and slowed down. Clay +eased the car onto the strip and stopped. He checked the radiodometer +and called in. "Pitt Control, this is Car 56 at Marker 158. Dinner is +being served in the dining car to the rear. Please do not disturb." + +"Affirmative, Car 56," Pittsburgh Control responded. "Eat heartily, it +may be going out of style." Clay grinned and flipped the radio to +remote and headed for the galley. + + * * * * * + +Seated around the little table, the trio cut into their steaks. Parked +at the north edge of the police lane, the patrol car was just a few +feet from the green lane divider strip and cars and cargo carriers +flashed by as they ate. + +Clay chewed on a sliver of steak and looked at Kelly. "I'd marry you, +Pocahontas, if you'd ever learn to cook steaks like beef instead of +curing them like your ancestral buffalo robes. When are you going to +learn that good beef has to be bloody to be edible?" + +The girl glared at him. "If that's what it takes to make it edible, +you're going to be an epicurean delight in just about one second if I +hear another word about my cooking. And that's also the second crack +about my noble ancestors in the past five minutes. I've always +wondered about the surgical techniques my great-great-great grandpop +used when he lifted a paleface's hair. One more word, Clay Ferguson, +and I'll have your scalp flying from Beulah's antenna like a coontail +on a kid's scooter." + +Ben bellowed and nearly choked. "Hey, kid," he spluttered at Clay, +"ever notice how the wrong one of her ancestors keeps coming to the +surface? That was the Irish." + +Clay polished off the last of his steak and reached for the individual +frozen pies Kelly had put in the oven with the steaks. "Now that's +another point," he said, waving his fork at Kelly. "The Irish lived so +long on potatoes and prayers that when they get a piece of meat on +their menu, they don't know how to do anything but boil it." + +"That tears it," the girl exploded. She pushed back from the table and +stood up. "I've cooked the last meal this big, dumb Canuck will ever +get from me. I hope you get chronic indigestion and then come crawling +to me for help. I've got something back there I've been wanting to +dose you with for a long time." + +She stormed out of the galley and slammed the door behind her. Ben +grinned at the stunned look on Clay's face. "Now what got her on the +warpath?" Clay asked. Before Ben could answer the radio speaker in the +ceiling came to life. + +"Car 56 this is Pitt Control." + +Martin reached for the transmit switch beside the galley table. "This +is Five Six, go ahead." + +"Relay from Philly Control," the speaker blared. "Reference the +accident at Marker 92 at 1648 hours this date; Philly Control reports +a third vehicle definitely involved." + +Ben pulled out a pencil and Clay shoved a message pad across the +table. + +"James J. Newhall, address 3409 Glen Cove Drive, New York City, +license number BHT 4591 dash 747 dash 1609, was witness to the initial +impact. He reports that a white over green, late model Travelaire, +with two men in it, sideswiped one of the two vehicles involved in the +fatal accident. The Travelaire did not stop but accelerated after the +impact. Newhall was unable to get the full license number but the +first six units were QABR dash 46 ... rest of numerals unknown." + +Ben cut in. "Have we got identification on our fatalities yet?" + +"Affirmative, Five Six," the radio replied. "The driver of the car +struck by the hit-and-run vehicle was a Herman Lawrence Hanover, age +forty-two, of 13460 One Hundred Eighty-First Street South, Camden, New +Jersey, license number LFM 4151 dash 603 dash 2738. With him was his +wife, Clara, age forty-one, same address. Driver of the green lane car +was George R. Hamilton, age thirty-five, address Box 493, Route 12, +Tucumcari, New Mexico." + +Ben broke in once more. "You indicate all three are fatalities. Is +this correct, Pitt Control? The woman was alive when she was +transferred to the ambulance." + +"Stand by, Five Six, and I'll check." + +A moment later Pitt Control was back. "That is affirmative, Five Six. +The woman died at 1745 hours. Here is additional information. A +vehicle answering to the general description of the hit-and-run +vehicle is believed to have been involved in an armed robbery and +multiple murder earlier this date at Wilmington, Delaware. Philly +Control is now checking for additional details. Gate filters have been +established on NAT 26-West from Marker-Exit 100 to Marker-Exit 700. +Also, filters on all interchanges. Pitt Control out." + +Kelly Lightfoot, her not-too-serious peeve forgotten, had come back +into the galley to listen to the radio exchange. The men got up from +the table and Clay gathered the disposable dishware and tossed them +into the waste receiver. + +"We'd better get rolling," Ben said, "those clowns could still be on +the thruway, although they could have got off before the filters went +up." + +They moved to the cab and took their places. The big engines roared +into action as Ben rolled Car 56 back onto the police-way. Kelly +finished straightening up in the galley and then came forward to sit +on the jump seat between the two troopers. The snow had stopped again +but the roadways were still slick and glistening under the headlights. +Beulah rolled steadily along on her broad tracks, now cruising at one +hundred miles an hour. The steady whine of the cold night wind +penetrated faintly into the sound-proofed and insulated cabin canopy. +Clay cut out the cabin lights, leaving only the instrument panel +glowing faintly along with the phosphorescent buttons and knobs on the +arms of the control seats. + +A heavy express cargo carrier flashed by a quarter of a mile away in +the blue lane, its big bulk lit up like a Christmas tree with running +and warning lights. To their right, Clay caught the first glimpse of a +set of flashing amber warning lights coming up from behind in the +green lane. A minute later, a huge cargo carrier came abreast of the +patrol car and then pulled ahead. On its side was a glowing star of +the United States Army. A minute later, another Army carrier rolled +by. + +"That's the missile convoy out of Aberdeen," Clay told Kelly. "I wish +our hit-runner had tackled one of those babies. We'd have scraped him +up instead of those other people." + +The convoy rolled on past at a steady one hundred twenty-five miles +an hour. Car 56 flashed under a crossover and into a long, gentle +curve. The chronometer clicked up to 2100 hours and the radio sang +out. "Cars 207, 56 and 82, this is Pitt Control. 2100 hours density +report follows...." + +Pittsburgh Control read off the figures for the three cars. Car 82 was +one hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah, Car 207 about the same +distance to the rear. The density report ended and a new voice came on +the air. + +"Attention all cars and all stations, this is Washington Criminal +Control." The new voice paused, and across the continent, troopers on +every thruway, control station, checkpoint and relay block, reached +for clipboard and pen. + +"Washington Criminal Control continuing, all cars and all stations, +special attention to all units east of the Mississippi. At 1510 hours +this date, two men held up the First National Bank of Wilmington, +Delaware, and escaped with an estimated one hundred seventy-five +thousand dollars. A bank guard and two tellers, together with five +bank customers were killed by these subjects using automatic weapon +fire to make good their escape. They were observed leaving the scene +in a late model, white-over-green Travelaire sedan, license unknown. A +car of the same make, model and color was stolen from Annapolis, +Maryland, a short time prior to the holdup. The stolen vehicle, now +believed to be the getaway car, bears USN license number QABR dash 468 +dash 1113...." + +"That's our baby," Ben murmured as he and Clay scribbled, on their +message forms. + +"... Motor number ZB 1069432," Washington Criminal Control continued. +"This car is also now believed to have been involved in a hit-and-run +fatal accident on NAT 26-West at Marker 92 at approximately 1648 hours +this date. + +"Subject Number One is described as WMA, twenty to twenty-five years, +five feet, eleven inches tall, medium complexion, dark hair and eyes, +wearing a dark-gray sports jacket and dark pants, and wearing a gray +sports cap. He was wearing a ring with a large red stone on his left +hand. + +"Subject Number Two is described as WMA, twenty to twenty-five years, +six feet, light, ruddy complexion and reddish brown hair, light +colored eyes. Has scar on back left side of neck. Wearing light-brown +suit, green shirt and dark tie, no hat. + +"These subjects are believed to be armed and psychotically dangerous. +If observed, approach with extreme caution and inform nearest control +of contact. Both subjects now under multiple federal warrants charging +bank robbery, murder, and hit-and-run murder. All cars and stations +acknowledge. Washington Criminal Control out." + +The air chattered as the cars checked into their nearest controls with +"acknowledged." + +"This looks like it could be a long night," Kelly said, rising to her +feet. "I'm going to sack out. Call me if you need me." + +"Good night, princess," Ben called. + +"Hey, Hiawatha," Clay called out as Kelly paused in the galley door. +"I didn't mean what I said about your steaks. Your great-great-great +grandpop would have gone around with his bare scalp hanging out if he +had had to use a buffalo hide cured like that steak was cooked." + +He reached back at the same instant and slammed the cabin door just as +Kelly came charging back. She slammed into the door, screamed and then +went storming back to the dispensary while Clay doubled over in +laughter. + +Ben smiled at his junior partner. "Boy, you're gonna regret that. +Don't say I didn't warn you." + + * * * * * + +Martin turned control over to the younger trooper and relaxed in his +seat to go over the APB from Washington. Car 56 bored steadily through +the night. The thruway climbed easily up the slight grade cut through +the hills north of Wheeling, West Virginia, and once more snow began +falling. + +Clay reached over and flipped on the video scanners. Four small +screens, one for each of the westbound lanes, glowed with a soft red +light. The monitors were synchronized with the radiometer and changed +view at every ten-mile marker. Viewing cameras mounted on towers +between each lane, lined the thruway, aimed eastward at the on-coming +traffic back to the next bank of cameras ten miles away. Infra-red +circuits took over from standard scan at dark. A selector system in +the cars gave the troopers the option of viewing either the block they +were currently patrolling; the one ahead of the next ten-mile block; +or, the one they had just passed. As a rule, the selection was based +on the speed of the car. Beamed signals from each block automatically +switched the view as the patrol car went past the towers. Clay put the +slower lane screens on the block they were in, turned the blue and +yellow lanes to the block ahead. + +They rolled past the interchange with NAT 114-South out of Cleveland and +the traffic densities picked up in all lanes as many of the southbound +vehicles turned west on to NAT 26. The screens flicked and Clay came alert. +Some fifteen miles ahead in the one-hundred-fifty-to-two-hundred-mile an +hour blue lane, a glowing dot remained motionless in the middle of the lane +and the other racing lights of the blue lane traffic were sheering around +it like a racing river current parting around a boulder. + +"Trouble," he said to Martin, as he shoved forward on the throttle. + +A stalled car in the middle of the high-speed lane was an invitation +to disaster. The bull horn blared as Beulah leaped past the two +hundred mile an hour mark and safety cocoons slid into place. Aft in +the dispensary, Kelly was sealed into her bunk by a cocoon rolling out +of the wall and encasing the hospital bed. + +Car 5 slanted across the police lane with red lights flashing and edged +into the traffic flow in the blue lane. The great, red winking lights +and the emergency radio siren signal began clearing a path for the +troopers. Vehicles began edging to both sides of the lane to shift to +crossovers to the yellow or green lanes. Clay aimed Beulah at the +motionless dot on the screen and eased back from the four-mile-a-minute +speed. The patrol car slowed and the headlight picked up the stalled +vehicle a mile ahead. The cocoons opened and Ben slipped on his work +helmet and dropped down the steps to the side hatch. Clay brought Beulah +to a halt a dozen yards directly to the rear of the stalled car, the +great bulk of the patrol vehicle with its warning lights serving as a +shield against any possible fuzzy-headed speeders that might not be +observing the road. + +As Martin reached for the door, the Wanted bulletin flashed through +his head. "What make of car is that, Clay?" + +"Old jalopy Tritan with some souped-up rigs. Probably kids," the +junior officer replied. "It looks O.K." + +Ben nodded and swung down out of the patrol car. He walked quickly to +the other car, flashing his handlight on the side of the vehicle as he +went up to the driver. The interior lights were on and inside, two +obviously frightened young couples smiled with relief at the sight of +the uniform coveralls. A freckled-faced teenager in a dinner jacket +was in the driver's seat and had the blister window open. He grinned +up at Martin. "Boy, am I glad to see you, officer," he said. + +"What's the problem?" Ben asked. + +"I guess she blew an impeller," the youth answered. "We were heading +for a school dance at Cincinnati and she was boiling along like she +was in orbit when blooey she just quit." + +Ben surveyed the old jet sedan. "What year is this clunker?" he asked. +The kid told him. "You kids have been told not to use this lane for +any vehicle that old." He waved his hand in protest as the youngster +started to tell him how many modifications he had made on the car. "It +doesn't make one bit of difference whether you've put a first-stage +Moon booster on this wreck. It's not supposed to be in the blue or +yellow. And this thing probably shouldn't have been allowed out of the +white--or even on the thruway." + +The youngster flushed and bit his lip in embarrassment at the giggles +from the two evening-frocked girls in the car. + +"Well, let's get you out of here." Ben touched his throat mike. "Drop +a light, Clay and then let's haul this junk pile away." + +In the patrol car, Ferguson reached down beside his seat and tugged at +a lever. From a recess in Beulah's stern, a big portable red warning +light dropped to the pavement. As it touched the surface, it +automatically flashed to life, sending out a bright, flashing red +warning signal into the face of any approaching traffic. Clay eased +the patrol car around the stalled vehicle and then backed slow into +position, guided by Martin's radioed instructions. A tow-bar extruded +from the back of the police vehicle and a magnaclamp locked onto the +front end of the teenager's car. The older officer walked back to the +portable warning light and rolled it on its four wheels to the rear +plate of the jalopy where another magnalock secured it to the car. +Beulah's two big rear warning lights still shone above the low +silhouette of the passenger car, along with the mobile lamp on the +jalopy. Martin walked back to the patrol car and climbed in. + +He slid into his seat and nodded at Clay. The patrol car, with the +disabled vehicle in tow moved forward and slanted left towards the +police lane. Martin noted the mileage marker on the radiodometer and +fingered the transmitter. "Chillicothe Control this is Car 56." + +"This Chillicothe. Go ahead Five Six." + +"We picked up some kids in a stalled heap on the blue at Marker 382 +and we've got them in tow now," Ben said. "Have a wrecker meet us and +take them off our hands." + +"Affirmative, Five Six. Wrecker will pick you up at Marker 412." + + * * * * * + +Clay headed the patrol car and its trailed load into an emergency +entrance to the middle police lane and slowly rolled westward. The +senior trooper reached into his records rack and pulled out a citation +book. + +"You going to nail these kids?" Clay asked. + +"You're damn right I am," Martin replied, beginning to fill in the +violation report. "I'd rather have this kid hurting in the pocketbook +than dead. If we turn him loose, he'll think he got away with it this +time and try it again. The next time he might not be so lucky." + +"I suppose you're right," Clay said, "but it does seem a little +rough." + +Ben swung around in his seat and surveyed his junior officer. +"Sometimes I think you spent four years in the patrol academy with +your head up your jet pipes," he said. He fished out another cigarette +and took a deep drag. + +"You've had four solid years of law; three years of electronics and +jet and air-drive engine mechanics and engineering; pre-med, +psychology, math, English, Spanish and a smattering of Portuguese, to +say nothing of dozens of other subjects. You graduated in the upper +tenth of your class with a B.S. in both Transportation and Criminology +which is why you're riding patrol and not punching a computer or +tinkering with an engine. You'd think with all that education that +somewhere along the line you'd have learned to think with your head +instead of your emotions." + +Clay kept a studied watch on the roadway. The minute Ben had turned +and swung his legs over the side of the seat and pulled out a +cigarette, Clay knew that it was school time in Car 56. Instructor +Sergeant Ben Martin was in a lecturing mood. It was time for all good +pupils to keep their big, fat mouths shut. + +"Remember San Francisco de Borja?" Ben queried. Clay nodded. "And you +still think I'm too rough on them?" Ben pressed. + +[Illustration] + +Ferguson's memory went back to last year's fifth patrol. He and Ben +with Kelly riding hospital, had been assigned to NAT 200-North, +running out of Villahermosa on the Guatemalan border of Mexico to +Edmonton Barracks in Canada. It was the second night of the patrol. +Some seven hundred fifty miles north of Mexico City, near the town of +San Francisco de Borja, a gang of teenage Mexican youngsters had gone +roaring up the yellow at speeds touching on four hundred miles an +hour. Their car, a beat-up, fifteen-year-old veteran of less speedy +and much rockier local mountain roads, had been gimmicked by the kids +so that it bore no resemblance to its original manufacture. + +From a junkyard they had obtained a battered air lift, smashed almost +beyond use in the crackup of a ten-thousand dollar sports cruiser. The +kids pried, pounded and bent the twisted impeller lift blades back +into some semblance of alignment. From another wreck of a cargo +carrier came a pair of 4000-pound thrust engines. They had jury-rigged +the entire mess so that it stuck together on the old heap. Then they +hit the thruway--nine of them packed into the jalopy--the oldest one +just seventeen years old. They were doing three hundred fifty when +they flashed past the patrol car and Ben had roared off in pursuit. +The senior officer whipped the big patrol car across the crowded high +speed blue lane, jockeyed into the ultra-high yellow and then turned +on the power. + +[Illustration] + +By this time the kids realized they had been spotted and they cranked +their makeshift power plant up to the last notch. The most they could +get out of it was four hundred and it was doing just that as Car 56, +clocking better than five hundred, pulled in behind them. The patrol +car was still three hundred yards astern when one of the bent and +re-bent impeller blades let go. The out-of-balance fan, turning at +close to 35,000 rpm, flew to pieces and the air cushion vanished. At +four hundred miles an hour, the body of the old jalopy fell the twelve +inches to the pavement and both front wheels caved under. There was a +momentary shower of sparks, then the entire vehicle snapped +cartwheeling more than eighty feet into the air and exploded. Pieces +of car and bodies were scattered for a mile down the thruway and the +only whole, identifiable human bodies were those of the three +youngsters thrown out and sent hurtling to their deaths more than two +hundred feet away. + +Clay's mind snapped back to the present. + +"Write 'em up," he said quietly to Martin. The senior officer gave a +Satisfied nod and turned back to his citation pad. + + * * * * * + +At marker 412, which was also the Columbus turnoff, a big patrol +wrecker was parked on the side strip, engines idling, service and +warning lights blinking. Clay pulled the patrol car alongside and +stopped. He disconnected the tow bar and the two officers climbed out +into the cold night air. They walked back to the teenager's car. Clay +went to the rear of the disabled car and unhooked the warning light +while Martin went to the driver's window. He had his citation book in +hand. The youngster in the driver's seat went white at the sight of +the violation pad. "May I see your license, please," Ben asked. The +boy fumbled in a back pocket and then produced a thin, metallic tab +with his name, age, address and license number etched into the +indestructible and unalterable metal. + +"Also your car registration," Ben added. The youth unclipped similar +metal strip from the dashboard. + +The trooper took the two tabs and walked to the rear of the patrol +car. He slid back a panel to reveal two thin slots in the hull. Martin +slid the driver's license into one of the slots, the registration tab +into the other. He pressed a button below each slot. Inside the car, a +magnetic reader and auto-transmitter "scanned" the magnetic symbols +implanted in the tags. The information was fed instantly to +Continental Headquarters Records division at Colorado Springs. In +fractions of a second, the great computers at Records were comparing +the information on the tags with all previous traffic citations issued +anywhere in the North American continent in the past forty-five years +since the birth of the Patrol. The information from the driver's +license and registration tab had been relayed from Beulah via the +nearest patrol relay point. The answer came back the same way. + +Above the license recording slot were two small lights. The first +flashed green, "license is in order and valid." The second flashed +green as well, "no previous citations." Ben withdrew the tag from the +slot. Had the first light come on red, he would have placed the driver +under arrest immediately. Had the second light turned amber, it would +have indicated a previous minor violation. This, Ben would have noted +on the new citation. If the second light had been red, this would have +meant either a major previous violation or more than one minor +citation. Again, the driver would have been under immediate arrest. +The law was mandatory. One big strike and you're out--two foul tips +and the same story. And "out" meant just that. Fines, possibly jail or +prison sentence and lifetime revocation of driving privileges. + +Ben flipped the car registration slot to "stand-by" and went back to +the teenager's car. Even though they were parked on the service strip +of the police emergency lane, out of all traffic, the youngsters +stayed in the car. This one point of the law they knew and knew well. +Survival chances were dim anytime something went wrong on the +high-speed thruways. That little margin of luck vanished once outside +the not-too-much-better security of the vehicle body. + +Martin finished writing and then slipped the driver's license into a +pocket worked into the back of the metallic paper foil of the citation +blank. He handed the pad into the window to the driver together with a +carbon stylus. + +The boy's lip trembled and he signed the citation with a shaky hand. + +Ben ripped off the citation blank and license, fed them into the slot +on the patrol car and pressed both the car registration and license +"record" buttons. Ten seconds later the permanent record of the +citation was on file in Colorado Springs and a duplicate recording of +the action was in the Continental traffic court docket recorder +nearest to the driver's hometown. Now, no power in three nations could +"fix" that ticket. Ben withdrew the citation and registration tag and +walked back to the car. He handed the boy the license and registration +tab, together with a copy of the citation. Ben bent down to peer into +the car. + +"I made it as light on you as I could," he told the young driver. +"You're charged with improper use of the thruway. That's a minor +violation. By rights, I should have cited you for illegal usage." He +looked around slowly at each of the young people. "You look like nice +kids," he said. "I think you'll grow up to be nice people. I want you +around long enough to be able to vote in a few years. Who knows, maybe +I'll be running for president then and I'll need your votes. It's a +cinch that falling apart in the middle of two-hundred-mile an hour +traffic is no way to treat future voters. + +"Good night, Kids." He smiled and walked away from the car. The three +young passengers smiled back at Ben. The young driver just stared +unhappily at the citation. + +Clay stood talking with the wrecker crewmen. Ben nodded to him and +mounted into the patrol car. The young Canadian crushed out his +cigarette and swung up behind the sergeant. Clay went to the control +seat when he saw Martin pause in the door to the galley. + +"I'm going to get a cup of coffee," the older officer said, "and then +take the first shift. You keep Beulah 'til I get back." + +Clay nodded and pushed the throttles forward. Car 56 rolled back into +the police lane while behind it, the wrecker hooked onto the disabled +car and swung north into the crossover. Clay checked both the +chronometer and radiodometer and then reported in. "Cinncy Control +this is Car 56 back in service." Cincinnati Control acknowledged. + +Ten minutes later, Ben reappeared in the cab, slid into the left-hand +seat. "Hit the sack, kid," he told Ferguson. The chronometer read +2204. "I'll wake you at midnight--or sooner, if anything breaks." + +Ferguson stood up and stretched, then went into the galley. He poured +himself a cup of coffee and carrying it with him, went back to the +crew quarters. He closed the door to the galley and sat down on the +lower bunk to sip his coffee. When he had finished, he tossed the cup +into the basket, reached and dimmed the cubby lights and kicked off +his boots. Still in his coveralls, Clay stretched out on the bunk and +sighed luxuriously. He reached up and pressed a switch on the bulkhead +above his pillow and the muted sounds of music from a standard +broadcast commercial station drifted into the bunk area. Clay closed +his eyes and let the sounds of the music and the muted rumble of the +engines lull him to sleep. It took almost fifteen seconds for him to +be in deep slumber. + + * * * * * + +Ben pushed Beulah up to her steady seventy-five-mile-an-hour cruising +speed, moved to the center of the quarter-mile-wide police lane and +locked her tracks into autodrive. He relaxed back in his seat and +divided his gaze between the video monitors and the actual scene on +either side of him in the night. Once again the sky was lighted, this +time much brighter on the horizon as the road ways swept to the south +of Cincinnati. + +Traffic was once again heavy and fast with the blue and green carrying +almost equal loads while white was really crowded and even the yellow +"zoom" lane was beginning to fill. The 2200 hour density reports from +Cinncy had been given before the Ohio State-Cal football game traffic +had hit the thruways and densities now were peaking near twenty +thousand vehicles for the one-hundred-mile block of westbound NAT 26 +out of Cincinnati. + +Back to the east, near the eastern Ohio state line, Martin could hear +Car 207 calling for a wrecker and meat wagon. Beulah rumbled on +through the night. The video monitors flicked to the next ten-mile +stretch as the patrol car rolled past another interchange. More +vehicles streamed onto the westbound thruway, crossing over and +dropping down into the same lanes they held coming out of the +north-south road. Seven years on patrols had created automatic +reflexes in the trooper sergeant. Out of the mass of cars and cargoes +streaming along the rushing tide of traffic, his eye picked out the +track of one vehicle slanting across the white lane just a shade +faster than the flow of traffic. The vehicle was still four or five +miles ahead. It wasn't enough out of the ordinary to cause more than a +second, almost unconscious glance, on the part of the veteran officer. +He kept his view shifting from screen to screen and out to the sides +of the car. + +But the reflexes took hold again as his eye caught the track of the +same vehicle as it hit the crossover from white to green, squeezed +into the faster lane and continued its sloping run towards the next +faster crossover. Now Martin followed the movement of the car almost +constantly. The moving blip had made the cut-over across the half-mile +wide green lane in the span of one crossover and was now whipping into +the merger lane that would take it over the top of the police lane +and drop down into the one hundred fifty to two hundred mile an hour +blue. If the object of his scrutiny straightened out in the blue, he'd +let it go. The driver had been bordered on violation in his fast +crossover in the face of heavy traffic. If he kept it up in the +now-crowded high-speed lane, he was asking for sudden death. The +monitors flicked to the next block and Ben waited just long enough to +see the speeding car make a move to the left, cutting in front of a +speeding cargo carrier. Ben slammed Beulah into high. Once again the +bull horn blared as the cocoons slammed shut, this time locking both +Clay and Kelly into their bunks, sealing Ben into the control seat. + +Beulah lifted on her air cushion and the twin jets roared as she +accelerated down the police lane at three hundred miles an hour. Ben +closed the gap on the speeder in less than a minute and then edged +over to the south side of the police lane to make the jump into the +blue lane. The red emergency lights and the radio siren had already +cleared a hole for him in the traffic pattern and he eased back on the +finger throttles as the patrol car sailed over the divider and into +the blue traffic lane. Now he had eyeball contact with the speeding +car, still edging over towards the ultra-high lane. On either side of +the patrol car traffic gave way, falling back or moving to the left +and right. Car 56 was now directly behind the speeding passenger +vehicle. Ben fingered the cut-in switch that put his voice signal onto +the standard vehicular emergency frequency--the band that carried the +automatic siren-warning to all vehicles. + + * * * * * + +The patrol car was still hitting above the two-hundred-mile-an-hour +mark and was five hundred feet behind the speeder. The headlamp bathed +the other car in a white glare, punctuated with angry red flashes from +the emergency lights. + +"You are directed to halt or be fired upon," Ben's voice roared out +over the emergency frequency. Almost without warning, the speeding car +began braking down with such deceleration that the gargantuan patrol +car with its greater mass came close to smashing over it and crushing +the small passenger vehicle like an insect. Ben cut all forward power, +punched up full retrojet and at the instant he felt Beulah's tracks +touch the pavement as the air cushion blew, he slammed on the brakes. +Only the safety cocoon kept Martin from being hurled against the +instrument panel and in their bunks, Kelly Lightfoot and Clay Ferguson +felt their insides dragging down into their legs. + +The safety cocoons snapped open and Clay jumped into his boots and +leaped for the cab. "Speeder," Ben snapped as he jumped down the steps +to the side hatch. Ferguson snatched up his helmet from the rack +beside his seat and leaped down to join his partner. Ben ran up to the +stopped car through a thick haze of smoke from the retrojets of the +patrol car and the friction-burning braking of both vehicles. +Ferguson circled to the other side of the car. As they flashed their +handlights into the car, they saw the driver of the car kneeling on +the floor beside the reclined passenger seat. A woman lay stretched +out on the seat, twisting in pain. The man raised an agonized face to +the officers. "My wife's going to have her baby right here!" + +"Kelly," Ben yelled into his helmet transmitter. "Maternity!" + +The dispensary ramp was halfway down before Ben had finished calling. +Kelly jumped to the ground and sprinted around the corner of the +patrol car, medical bag in hand. + +She shoved Clay out of the way and opened the door on the passenger +side. On the seat, the woman moaned and then muffled a scream. The +patrol doctor laid her palm on the distended belly. "How fast are your +pains coming?" she asked. Clay and Ben had moved away from the car a +few feet. + +"Litter," Kelly snapped over her shoulder. Clay raced for the patrol +car while Ben unshipped a portable warning light and rolled it down +the lane behind the patrol car. He flipped it to amber "caution" and +"pass." Blinking amber arrows pointed to the left and right of the +halted passenger vehicle and traffic in the blue lane began picking up +speed and parting around the obstructions. + +By the time he returned to the patrol car, Kelly had the expectant +mother in the dispensary. She slammed the door in the faces of the +three men and then she went to work. + +The woman's husband slumped against the side of the patrol vehicle. + +Ben dug out his pack of cigarettes and handed one to the shaking +driver. + +He waited until the man had taken a few drags before speaking. + +"Mister, I don't know if you realize it or not but you came close to +killing your wife, your baby and yourself," Ben said softly, "to say +nothing of the possibility of killing several other families. Just +what did you think you were doing?" + +The driver's shoulders sagged and his hand shook as he took the +cigarette from his mouth. "Honestly, officer, I don't know. I just got +frightened to death," he said. He peered up at Martin. "This is our +first baby, you see, and Ellen wasn't due for another week. We thought +it would be all right to visit my folks in Cleveland and Ellen was +feeling just fine. Well, anyway, we started home tonight--we live in +Jefferson City--and just about the time I got on the thruway, Ellen +started having pains. I was never so scared in my life. She screamed +once and then tried to muffle them but I knew what was happening and +all I could think of was to get her to a hospital. I guess I went out +of my head, what with her moaning and the traffic and everything. The +only place I could think of that had a hospital was Evansville, and I +was going to get her there come hell or high water." The young man +tossed away the half-smoked cigarette and looked up at the closed +dispensary door. "Do you think she's all right?" + +Ben sighed resignedly and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't +you worry a bit. She's got one of the best doctors in the continent in +there with her. Come on." He took the husband by the arm and led him +around to the patrol car cab hatch. "You climb up there and sit down. +I'll be with you in a second." + +The senior officer signaled to Ferguson. "Let's get his car out of the +traffic, Clay," he directed. "You drive it." + + * * * * * + +Ben went back and retrieved the caution blinker and re-racked it in +the side of the patrol car, then climbed up into the cab. He took his +seat at the controls and indicated the jump seat next to him. "Sit +down, son. We're going to get us and your car out of this mess before +we all get clobbered." + +He flicked the headlamp at Ferguson in the control seat of the +passenger car and the two vehicles moved out. Ben kept the emergency +lights on while they eased carefully cross-stream to the north and the +safety of the police lane. Clay picked up speed at the outer edge of +the blue lane and rolled along until he reached the first "patrol +only" entrance through the divider to the service strip. Ben followed +him in and then turned off the red blinkers and brought the patrol car +to a halt behind the other vehicle. + +The worried husband stood up and looked to the rear of the car. +"What's making it so long?" he asked anxiously. "They've been in there +a long time." + +Ben smiled. "Sit down, son. These things take time. Don't you worry. +If there were anything wrong, Kelly would let us know. She can talk to +us on the intercom anytime she wants anything." + +The man sat back down. "What's your name?" Ben inquired. + +"Haverstraw," the husband replied distractedly, "George Haverstraw. +I'm an accountant. That's my wife back there," he cried, pointing to +the closed galley door. "That's Ellen." + +"I know," Ben said gently. "You told us that." + +Clay had come back to the patrol car and dropped into his seat across +from the young husband. "Got a name picked out for the baby?" he +asked. + +Haverstraw's face lighted. "Oh, yes," he exclaimed. "If it's a boy, +we're going to call him Harmon Pierce Haverstraw. That was my +grandfather's name. And if she's a girl, it's going to be Caroline May +after Ellen's mother and grandmother." + +The intercom came to life. "Anyone up there?" Kelly's voice asked. +Before they could answer, the wail of a baby sounded over the system. +Haverstraw yelled. + +"Congratulations, Mr. Haverstraw," Kelly said, "you've got a +fine-looking son." + +"Hey," the happy young father yelped, "hey, how about that? I've got a +son." He pounded the two grinning troopers on the back. Suddenly he +froze. "What about Ellen? How's Ellen?" he called out. + +"She's just fine," Kelly replied. "We'll let you in here in a couple +of minutes but we've got to get us gals and your new son looking +pretty for papa. Just relax." + +Haverstraw sank down onto the jump seat with a happy dazed look on his +face. + +Ben smiled and reached for the radio. "I guess our newest citizen +deserves a ride in style," he said. "We're going to have to transfer +Mrs. Haverstraw and er, oh yes, Master Harmon Pierce to an ambulance +and then to a hospital now, George. You have any preference on where +they go?" + +"Gosh, no," the man replied. "I guess the closest one to wherever we +are." He paused thoughtfully. "Just where are we? I've lost all sense +of distance or time or anything else." + +Ben looked at the radiodometer. "We're just about due south of +Indianapolis. How would that be?" + +"Oh, that's fine," Haverstraw replied. + +"You can come back now, Mr. Haverstraw," Kelly called out. Haverstraw +jumped up. Clay got up with him. "Come on, papa," he grinned, "I'll +show you the way." + +Ben smiled and then called into Indianapolis Control for an ambulance. + +"Ambulance on the way," Control replied. "Don't you need a wrecker, +too, Five Six?" + +Ben grinned. "Not this time. We didn't lose one. We gained one." + +He got up and went back to have a look at Harmon Pierce Haverstraw, +age five minutes, temporary address, North American Continental +Thruway 26-West, Mile Marker 632. + +Fifteen minutes later, mother and baby were in the ambulance heading +north to the hospital. Haverstraw, calmed down with a sedative +administered by Kelly, had nearly wrung their hands off in gratitude +as he said good-by. + +"I'll mail you all cigars when I get home," he shouted as he waved and +climbed into his car. + +Beulah's trio watched the new father ease carefully into the traffic +as the ambulance headed down the police-way. Haverstraw would have to +cut over to the next exchange and then go north to Indianapolis. He'd +arrive later than his family. This time, he was the very picture of +careful driving and caution as he threaded his way across the green. + +"I wonder if he knows what brand of cigars I smoke?" Kelly mused. + + * * * * * + +The chrono clicked up to 2335 as Car 56 resumed patrol. Kelly plumped +down onto the jump seat beside Ben. Clay was fiddling in the galley. +"Why don't you go back to the sack?" Ben called. + +"What, for a lousy twenty-five minutes," Clay replied. "I had a good +nap before you turned the burners up to high. Besides, I'm hungry. +Anyone else want a snack?" + +Ben shook his head. "No, thanks," Kelly said. Ferguson finished +slapping together a sandwich. Munching on it, he headed into the +engine room to make the midnight check. Car 56 had now been on patrol +eight hours. Only two hundred thirty-two hours and two thousand miles +to go. + +Kelly looked around at the departing back of the younger trooper. +"I'll bet this is the only car in NorCon that has to stock twenty days +of groceries for a ten-day patrol," she said. + +Ben chuckled. "He's still a growing boy." + +"Well, if he is, it's all between the ears," the girl replied. "You'd +think that after a year I would have realized that nothing could +penetrate that thick Canuck's skull. He gets me so mad sometimes that +I want to forget I'm a lady." She paused thoughtfully. "Come to think +of it. No one ever accused me of being a lady in the first place." + +"Sounds like love," Ben smiled. + +Hunched over on the jump seat with her elbows on her knees and her +chin cupped in both hands, Kelly gave the senior officer a quizzical +sideways look. + +Ben was watching his monitors and missed the glance. Kelly sighed and +stared out into the light streaked night of the thruway. The heavy +surge of football traffic had distributed itself into the general flow +on the road and while all lanes were busy, there were no indications +of any overcrowding or jam-ups. Much of the pattern was shifting from +passenger to cargo vehicle as it neared midnight. The football crowds +were filtering off at each exchange and exit and the California fans +had worked into the blue and yellow--mostly the yellow--for the long +trip home. The fewer passenger cars on the thruway and the increase in +cargo carriers gave the troopers a breathing spell. The men in the +control buckets of the three hundred and four hundred-ton cargo +vehicles were the real pro's of the thruways; careful, courteous and +fast. The NorCon patrol cars could settle down to watch out for the +occasional nuts and drunks that might bring disaster. + +Once again, Martin had the patrol car on auto drive in the center of +the police lane and he steeled back in his seat. Beside him, Kelly +stared moodily into the night. + +"How come you've never married, Ben?" she asked. The senior trooper +gave her a startled look. "Why, I guess for the same reason you're +still a maiden," he answered. "This just doesn't seem to be the right +kind of a job for a married man." + +Kelly shook her head. "No, it's not the same thing with me," she said. +"At least, not entirely the same thing. If I got married, I'd have to +quit the Patrol and you wouldn't. And secondly, if you must know the +truth, I've never been asked." + +Ben looked thoughtfully at the copper-haired Irish-Indian girl. All of +a sudden she seemed to have changed in his eyes. He shook his head and +turned back to the road monitors. + +"I just don't think that a patrol trooper has any business getting +married and trying to keep a marriage happy and make a home for a +family thirty days out of every three hundred sixty, with an +occasional weekend home if you're lucky enough to draw your hometown +for a terminal point. This might help the population rate but it +sure doesn't do anything for the institution of matrimony." + +[Illustration] + +"I know some troopers that are married," Kelly said. + +"But there aren't very many," Ben countered. "Comes the time they pull +me off the cars and stick me behind a desk somewhere, then I'll think +about it." + +"You might be too old by then," Kelly murmured. + +Ben grinned. "You sound as though you're worried about it," he said. + +"No," Kelly replied softly, "no, I'm not worried about it. Just +thinking." She averted her eyes and looked out into the night again. +"I wonder what NorCon would do with a husband-wife team?" she +murmured, almost to herself. + +Ben looked sharply at her and frowned. "Why, they'd probably split +them up," he said. + + * * * * * + +"Split what up?" Clay inquired, standing in the door of the cab. + +"Split up all troopers named Clay Ferguson," Kelly said disgustedly, +"and use them for firewood--especially the heads. They say that +hardwood burns long and leaves a fine ash. And that's what you've been +for years." + +She sat erect in the jump seat and looked sourly at the young trooper. + +Clay shuddered at the pun and squeezed by the girl to get to his seat. +"I'll take it now, pop," he said. "Go get your geriatrics treatment." + +Ben got out of his seat with a snort. "I'll 'pop' you, skinhead," he +snapped. "You may be eight years younger than I am but you only have +one third the virility and one tenth the brains. And eight years from +now you'll still be in deficit spending on both counts." + +"Careful, venerable lord of my destiny," Clay admonished with a grin, +"remember how I spent my vacation and remember how you spent yours +before you go making unsubstantiated statements about my virility." + +Kelly stood up. "If you two will excuse me, I'll go back to the +dispensary and take a good jolt of male hormones and then we can come +back and finish this man-to-man talk in good locker room company." + +"Don't you dare," Ben cried, "I wouldn't let you tamper with one +single, tiny one of your feminine traits, princess. I like you just +the way you are." + +Kelly looked at him with a wide-eyed, cherubic smile. "You really mean +that, Ben?" + +The older trooper flushed briefly and then turned quickly into the +galley. "I'm going to try for some shut-eye. Wake me at two, Clay, if +nothing else breaks." He turned to Kelly who still was smiling at him. +"And watch out for that lascivious young goat." + +"It's all just talk, talk, talk," she said scornful. "You go to bed +Ben. I'm going to try something new in psychiatric annals. I'm going +to try and psychoanalyze a dummy." She sat back down on the jump seat. + +At 2400 hours it was Vincennes Check with the density reports, all +down in the past hour. The patrol was settling into what looked like a +quiet night routine. Kelly chatted with Ferguson for another half hour +and then rose again. "I think I'll try to get some sleep," she said. +"I'll put on a fresh pot of coffee for you two before I turn in." + +She rattled around in the galley for some time. "Whatcha cooking?" +Clay called out. "Making coffee," Kelly replied. + +"It take all that time to make coffee?" Clay queried. + +"No," she said. "I'm also getting a few things ready so we can have a +fast breakfast in case we have to eat on the run. I'm just about +through now." + +A couple of minutes later she stuck her head into the cab. "Coffee's +done. Want some?" + +Clay nodded. "Please, princess." + +She poured him a cup and set it in the rack beside his seat. + +"Thanks," Clay said. "Good night, Hiawatha." + +"Good night, Babe," she replied. + +"You mean 'Paul Bunyon,' don't you?" Clay asked. "'Babe' was his blue +ox." + +"I know what I said," Kelly retorted and strolled back to the +dispensary. As she passed through the crew cubby, she glanced at Ben +sleeping on the bunk recently vacated by Ferguson. She paused and +carefully and gently pulled a blanket up over his sleeping form. She +smiled down at the trooper and then went softly to her compartment. + +In the cab, Clay sipped at his coffee and kept watchful eyes on the +video monitors. Beulah was back on auto drive and Clay had dropped her +speed to a slow fifty as the traffic thinned. + +At 0200 hours he left the cab long enough to go back and shake Ben +awake and was himself re-awakened at 0400 to take back control. He let +Ben sleep an extra hour before routing him out of the bunk again at +0700. The thin, gray light of the winter morning was just taking hold +when Ben came back into the cab. Clay had pulled Beulah off to the +service strip and was stopped while he finished transcribing his +scribbled notes from the 0700 Washington Criminal Control broadcast. + +Ben ran his hand sleepily over his close-cropped head. "Anything +exciting?" he asked with a yawn. Clay shook his head. "Same old thing. +'All cars exercise special vigilance over illegal crossovers. Keep all +lanes within legal speed limits.' Same old noise." + +"Anything new on our hit-runner?" + +"Nope." + +"Good morning, knights of the open road," Kelly said from the galley +door. "Obviously you both went to sleep after I left and allowed our +helpless citizens to slaughter each other." + +"How do you figure that one?" Ben laughed. + +"Oh, it's very simple," she replied. "I managed to get in a full seven +hours of sleep. When you sleep, I sleep. I slept. Ergo, you did +likewise." + +"Nope," Clay said, "for once we had a really quiet night. Let's hope +the day is of like disposition." + +Kelly began laying out the breakfast things. "You guys want eggs this +morning?" + +"You gonna cook again today?" Clay inquired. + +"Only breakfast," Kelly said. "You have the honors for the rest of the +day. The diner is now open and we're taking orders." + +"I'll have mine over easy," Ben said. "Make mine sunny-up," Clay +called. + +Kelly began breaking eggs into the pan, muttering to herself. "Over +easy, sunny-up, I like 'em scrambled. Next tour I take I'm going to +get on a team where everyone likes scrambled eggs." + +A few minutes later, Beulah's crew sat down to breakfast. Ben had just +dipped into his egg yolk when the radio blared. "Attention all cars. +Special attention Cars 207, 56 and 82." + +"Just once," Ben said, "just once, I want to sit down to a meal and +get it all down my gullet before that radio gives me indigestion." He +laid down his fork and reached for the message pad. + +The radio broadcast continued. "A late model, white over green +Travelaire, containing two men and believed to be the subjects wanted +in earlier broadcast on murder, robbery and hit-run murder, was +involved in a service station robbery and murder at Vandalia, +Illinois, at approximately 0710 this date. NorCon Criminal Division +believes this subject car escaped filter check and left NAT 26-West +sometime during the night. + +"Owner of this stolen vehicle states it had only half tanks of fuel at +the time it was taken. This would indicate wanted subjects stopped for +fuel. It is further believed they were recognized by the station +attendant from video bulletins sent out by this department last date +and that he was shot and killed to prevent giving alarm. + +"The shots alerted residents of the area and the subject car was last +seen headed south. This vehicle may attempt to regain access to +NAT-26-West or it may take another thruway. All units are warned once +again to approach this vehicle with extreme caution and only with the +assistance of another unit where possible. Acknowledge. Washington +Criminal Control out." + +Ben looked at the chrono. "They hit Vandalia at 0710, eh. Even in the +yellow they couldn't get this far for another half hour. Let's finish +breakfast. It may be a long time until lunch." + +The crew returned to their meal. While Kelly was cleaning up after +breakfast, Clay ran the quick morning engine room check. In the cab, +Ben opened the arms rack and brought out two machine pistols and +belts. He checked them for loads and laid one on Clay's control seat. +He strapped the other around his waist. Then he flipped up a cover in +the front panel of the cab. It exposed the breech mechanisms of a +pair of twin-mounted 25 mm auto-cannon. The ammunition loads were +full. Satisfied, Ben shut the inspection port and climbed into his +seat. Clay came forward, saw the machine pistol on his seat and +strapped it on without a word. He settled himself in his seat. "Engine +room check is all green. Let's go rabbit hunting." + +Car 56 moved slowly out into the police lane. Both troopers had their +individual sets of video monitors on in front of their seats and were +watching them intently. In the growing light of day, a white-topped +car was going to be easy to spot. + + * * * * * + +It had all the earmarks of being another wintery, overcast day. The +outside temperature at 0800 was right on the twenty-nine-degree mark +and the threat of more snow remained in the air. The 0800 density +reports from St. Louis Control were below the 14,000 mark in all lanes +in the one-hundred-mile block west of the city. That was to be +expected. They listened to the eastbound densities peaking at +twenty-six thousand vehicles in the same block, all heading into the +metropolis and their jobs. The 0800, 1200 and 1600 hours density +reports also carried the weather forecasts for a five-hundred-mile +radius from the broadcasting control point. Decreasing temperatures +with light to moderate snow was in the works for Car 56 for the first +couple of hundred miles west of St. Louis, turning to almost blizzard +conditions in central Kansas. Extra units had already been put into +service on all thruways through the midwest and snow-burners were +waging a losing battle from Wichita west to the Rockies around +Alamosa, Colorado. + +Outside the temperature was below freezing; inside the patrol car it +was a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. Kelly had cleared the galley +and taken her place on the jump seat between the two troopers. With +all three of them in the cab, Ben cut from the intercom to commercial +broadcast to catch the early morning newscasts and some pleasant +music. The patrol vehicle glided along at a leisurely sixty miles an +hour. An hour out of St. Louis, a big liquid cargo carrier was stopped +on the inner edge of the green lane against the divider to the police +lane. The trucker had dropped both warning barriers and lights a half +mile back. Ben brought Beulah to a halt across the divider from the +stopped carrier. "Dropped a track pin," the driver called out to the +officers. + +Ben backed Beulah across the divider behind the stalled carrier to +give them protection while they tried to assist the stalled vehicle. + +Donning work helmets to maintain contact with the patrol car, and its +remote radio system, the two troopers dismounted and went to see what +needed fixing. Kelly drifted back to the dispensary and stretched out +on one of the hospital bunks and picked up a new novel. + +Beulah's well-equipped machine shop stock room produced a matching +pin and it was merely a matter of lifting the stalled carrier and +driving it into place in the track assembly. Ben brought the patrol +car alongside the carrier and unshipped the crane. Twenty minutes +later, Clay and the carrier driver had the new part installed and the +tanker was on his way once again. + +Clay climbed into the cab and surveyed his grease-stained uniform +coveralls and filthy hands. "Your nose is smudged, too, dearie," +Martin observed. + +Clay grinned, "I'm going to shower and change clothes. Try and see if +you can drive this thing until I get back without increasing the +pedestrian fatality rate." He ducked back into the crew cubby and +stripped his coveralls. + +Bored with her book, Kelly wandered back to the cab and took Clay's +vacant control seat. The snow had started falling again and in the +mid-morning light it tended to soften the harsh, utilitarian landscape +of the broad thruway stretching ahead to infinity and spreading out in +a mile of speeding traffic on either hand. + +"Attention all cars on NAT 26-West and east," Washington Criminal +Control radio blared. "Special attention Cars 56 and 82. Suspect +vehicle, white over green Travelaire reported re-entered NAT 26-West +on St. Louis interchange 179. St. Louis Control reports communications +difficulty in delayed report. Vehicle now believed...." + +"Car 56, Car 56," St. Louis Control broke in. "Our pigeon is in your +zone. Commercial carrier reports near miss sideswipe three minutes ago +in blue lane approximately three miles west of mile Marker 957. + +"Repeating. Car 56, suspect car...." + +Ben glanced at the radiodometer. It read 969, then clicked to 970. + +"This is Five Six, St. Louis," he broke in, "acknowledged. Our +position is mile marker 970...." + +Kelly had been glued to the video monitors since the first of the +bulletin. Suddenly she screamed and banged Ben on the shoulder. "There +they are. There they are," she cried, pointing at the blue lane +monitor. + +Martin took one look at the white-topped car cutting through traffic +in the blue lane and slammed Beulah into high. The safety cocoons +slammed shut almost on the first notes of the bull horn. Trapped in +the shower, Clay was locked into the stall dripping wet as the water +automatically shut off with the movement of the cocoon. + + * * * * * + +"I have them in sight," Ben reported, as the patrol car lifted on its +air pad and leaped forward. "They're in the blue five miles ahead of +me and cutting over to the yellow. I estimate their speed at two +twenty-five. I am in pursuit." + +Traffic gave way as Car 56 hurtled the divider into the blue. + +The radio continued to snap orders. + +"Cars 112, 206, 76 and 93 establish roadblocks at mile marker +crossover 1032. Car 82 divert all blue and yellow to green and +white." + +Eight Two was one hundred fifty miles ahead but at +three-hundred-mile-an-hour speeds, 82's team was very much a part of +the operation. This would clear the two high-speed lanes if the +suspect car hadn't been caught sooner. + +"Cars 414, 227 and 290 in NAT-26-East, move into the yellow to cover +in case our pigeon decides to fly the median." The controller +continued to move cars into covering positions in the area on all +crossovers and turnoffs. The sweating dispatcher looked at his lighted +map board and mentally cursed the lack of enough units to cover every +exit. State and local authorities already had been notified in the +event the fugitives left the thruways and tried to escape on a state +freeway. + +In Car 56, Ben kept the patrol car roaring down the blue lane through +the speeding westbound traffic. The standard emergency signal was +doing a partial job of clearing the path, but at those speeds, driver +reaction times weren't always fast enough. Ahead, the fleeing suspect +car brushed against a light sedan, sending it careening and rocking +across the lane. The driver fought for control as it swerved and +screeched on its tilting frame. He brought it to a halt amid a haze of +blue smoke from burning brakes and bent metal. The white over green +Travelaire never slowed, fighting its way out of the blue into the +ultra-high yellow and lighter traffic. Ben kept Beulah in bulldog +pursuit. + +The sideswipe ahead had sent other cars veering in panic and a cluster +inadvertently bunched up in the path of the roaring patrol car. Like a +flock of hawk-frightened chickens, they tried to scatter as they saw +and heard the massive police vehicle bearing down on them. But like +chickens, they couldn't decide which way to run. It was a matter of +five or six seconds before they parted enough to let the patrol car +through. Ben had no choice but to cut the throttle and punch once on +the retrojets to brake the hurtling patrol car. The momentary drops in +speed unlocked the safety cocoons and in an instant, Clay had leaped +from the shower stall and sped to the cab. Hearing, rather than seeing +his partner, Martin snapped over his shoulder, "Unrack the rifles. +That's the car." Clay reached for the gun rack at the rear of the cab. + +Kelly took one look at the young trooper and jumped for the doorway to +the galley. A second later she was back. Without a word, she handed +the nude Ferguson a dangling pair of uniform coveralls. Clay gasped, +dropped the rifles and grabbed the coveralls from her hand and +clutched them to his figure. His face was beet-red. Still without +speaking, Kelly turned and ran back to her dispensary to be ready for +the next acceleration. + +Clay was into the coveralls and in his seat almost at the instant +Martin whipped the patrol car through the hole in the blue traffic and +shoved her into high once more. + +There was no question about the fact that the occupants of the +fugitive car knew they were being pursued. They shot through the +crossover into the yellow lane and now were hurtling down the thruway +close to the four-hundred-mile-an-hour mark. + +Martin had Beulah riding just under three hundred to make the +crossover, still ten miles behind the suspect car and following on +video monitor. The air still crackled with commands as St. Louis and +Washington Control maneuvered other cars into position as the pursuit +went westward past other units blocking exit routes. + +Clay read aloud the radiodometer numerals as they clicked off a mile +every nine seconds. Car 56 roared into the yellow and the instant Ben +had it straightened out, he slammed all finger throttles to full +power. Beulah snapped forward and even at three hundred miles an hour, +the sudden acceleration pasted the car's crew against the back of +their cushioned seats. The patrol car shot forward at more than five +hundred miles an hour. + +The image of the Travelaire grew on the video monitor and then the two +troopers had it in actual sight, a white, racing dot on the broad +avenue of the thruway six miles ahead. + +Clay triggered the controls for the forward bow cannon and a panel box +flashed to "ready fire" signal. + +"Negative," Martin ordered. "We're coming up on the roadblock. You +might miss and hit one of our cars." + +"Car 56 to Control," the senior trooper called. "Watch out at the +roadblock. He's doing at least five hundred in the yellow and he'll +never be able to stop." + +Two hundred miles east, the St. Louis controller made a snap decision. +"Abandon roadblock. Roadblock cars start west. Maintain two hundred +until subject comes into monitor view. Car 56, continue speed +estimates of subject car. Maybe we can box him in." + +At the roadblock forty-five miles ahead of the speeding fugitives and +their relentless pursuer, the four patrol cars pivoted and spread out +across the roadway some five hundred feet apart. They lunged forward +and lifted up to air-cushion jet drive at just over two hundred miles +an hour. Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on video monitors set for the +ten-mile block to the rear of the four vehicles. + +Beulah's indicated ground speed now edged towards the five hundred +fifty mark, close to the maximum speeds the vehicles could attain. + +The gap continued to close, but more slowly. "He's firing hotter," Ben +called out. "Estimating five thirty on subject vehicle." + +Now Car 56 was about three miles astern and still the gap closed. The +fugitive car flashed past the site of the abandoned roadblock and +fifteen seconds later all four patrol cars racing ahead of the +Travelaire broke into almost simultaneous reports of "Here he comes." + +A second later, Clay Ferguson yelled out, "There he goes. He's +boondocking, he's boondocking." + +"He has you spotted," Martin broke in. "He's heading for the median. +Cut, cut, cut. Get out in there ahead of him." + +The driver of the fugitive car had seen the bulk of the four big +patrol cruisers outlined against the slight rise in the thruway almost +at the instant he flashed onto their screens ten miles behind them. He +broke speed, rocked wildly from side to side, fighting for control and +then cut diagonally to the left, heading for the outer edge of the +thruway and the unpaved, half-mile-wide strip of landscaped earth that +separated the east and westbound segments of NAT-26. + +The white and green car was still riding on its airpad when it hit the +low, rounded curbing at the edge of the thruway. It hurtled into the +air and sailed for a hundred feet across the gently-sloping +snow-covered grass, came smashing down in a thick hedgerow of +bushes--and kept going. + +Car 56 slowed and headed for the curbing. "Watch it, kids," Ben +snapped over the intercom, "we may be buying a plot in a second." + +Still traveling more than five hundred miles an hour, the huge patrol +car hit the curbing and bounced into the air like a rocket boosted +elephant. It tilted and smashed its nose in a slanting blow into the +snow-covered ground. The sound of smashing and breaking equipment +mingled with the roar of the thundering jets, tracks and air drives as +the car fought its way back to level travel. It surged forward and +smashed through the hedgerow and plunged down the sloping snowbank +after the fleeing car. + +"Clay," Ben called in a strained voice, "take 'er." + +Ferguson's fingers were already in position. "You all right, Ben?" he +asked anxiously. + +"Think I dislocated a neck vertebra," Ben replied. "I can't move my +head. Go get 'em, kid." + +"Try not to move your head at all, Ben," Kelly called from her cocoon +in the dispensary. "I'll be there the minute we slow down." + +A half mile ahead, the fugitive car plowed along the bottom of the +gentle draw in a cloud of snow, trying to fight its way up the +opposite slope and onto the eastbound thruway. + +But the Travelaire was never designed for driving on anything but a +modern superhighway. Car 56 slammed through the snow and down to the +bottom of the draw. A quarter of a mile ahead of the fugitives, the +first of the four roadblock units came plowing over the rise. + +The car speed dropped quickly to under a hundred and the cocoons were +again retracted. Ben slumped forward in his seat and caught himself. +He eased back with a gasp of pain, his head held rigidly straight. +Almost the instant he started to straighten up, Kelly flung herself +through the cab door. She clasped his forehead and held his head +against the back of the control seat. + +Suddenly, the fugitive car spun sideways, bogged in the wet snow and +muddy ground beneath and stopped. Clay bore down on it and was about +two hundred yards away when the canopy of the other vehicle popped +open and a sheet of automatic weapons fire raked the patrol car. Only +the low angle of the sedan and the nearness of the bulky patrol car +saved the troopers. Explosive bullets smashed into the patrol car +canopy and sent shards of plastiglass showering down on the trio. + +An instant later, the bow cannon on the first of the cut-off patrol +units opened fire. An ugly, yellow-red blossom of smoke and fire +erupted from the front of the Travelaire and it burst into flames. A +second later, the figure of a man staggered out of the burning car, +clothes and hair aflame. He took four plunging steps and then fell +face down in the snow. The car burning and crackled and a thick +funereal pyre of oily, black smoke billowed into the gray sky. It was +snowing heavily now, and before the troopers could dismount and plow +to the fallen man, a thin layer of snow covered his burned body. + + * * * * * + +An hour later, Car 56 was again on NAT 26-West, this time heading for +Wichita barracks and needed repairs. In the dispensary, Ben Martin was +stretched out on a hospital bunk with a traction brace around his neck +and a copper-haired medical-surgical patrolwoman fussing over him. + +In the cab, Clay peered through the now almost-blinding blizzard that +whirled and skirled thick snow across the thruway. Traffic densities +were virtually zero despite the efforts of the dragonlike snow-burners +trying to keep the roadways clear. The young trooper shivered despite +the heavy jacket over his coveralls. Wind whistled through the shell +holes in Beulah's canopy and snow sifted and drifted against the back +bulkhead. + +The cab communications system had been smashed by the gunfire and Clay +wore his work helmet both for communications and warmth. + +The door to the galley cracked open and Kelly stuck her head in. "How +much farther, Clay?" she asked. + +"We should be in the barracks in about twenty minutes," the shivering +trooper replied. + +"I'll fix you a cup of hot coffee," Kelly said. "You look like you +need it." + +Over the helmet intercom Clay heard her shoving things around in the +galley. "My heavens, but this place is a mess," she exclaimed. "I +can't even find the coffee bin. That steeplechase driving has got to +stop." She paused. + +"Clay," she called out, "Have you been drinking in here? It smells +like a brewery." + +Clay raised mournful eyes to the shattered canopy above him. "My +cooking wine" he sighed. + +[Illustration] + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Code Three, by Rick Raphael + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CODE THREE *** + +***** This file should be named 19111.txt or 19111.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1/19111/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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