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 coldwind whipped loose leaves across the drill field in front of thePhiladelphia Barracks of the North American Continental ThruwayPatrol. There was the feel of snow in the air but the thermometerhovered just at the freezing mark and the clouds could turn eitherinto icy rain or snow. 

Patrol Sergeant Ben Martin stepped out of the door of the barracks andshivered as a blast of wind hit him. He pulled up the zipper on hisloose blue uniform coveralls and paused to gauge the storm cloudsbuilding up to the west. 

The broad planes of his sunburned face turned into the driving coldwind for a moment and then he looked back down at the weather reportsecured to the top of a stack of papers on his clipboard. 

Behind him, the door of the barracks was shouldered open by his juniorpartner, Patrol Trooper Clay Ferguson. The young, tall Canadianofficer's arms were loaded with paper sacks and his patrol work helmetdangled by its strap from the crook of his arm. 

Clay turned and moved from the doorway into the wind. A sudden gustswept around the corner of the building and a small sack perched atopone of the larger bags in his arms blew to the ground and begantumbling towards the drill field. 

"Ben, " he yelled, "grab the bag. "

The sergeant lunged as the sack bounced by and made the retrieve. Hewalked back to Ferguson and eyed the load of bags in the blond-hairedofficer's arms. 

"Just what is all this?" he inquired. 

"Groceries, " the youngster grinned. "Or to be more exact, littlegourmet items for our moments of gracious living. "

Ferguson turned into the walk leading to the motor pool and Martinswung into step beside him. "Want me to carry some of that junk?"

"Junk, " Clay cried indignantly. "You keep your grimy paws off thesedelicacies, peasant. You'll get yours in due time and perhaps it willhelp Kelly and me to make a more polished product of you instead ofthe clodlike cop you are today. "

Martin chuckled. This patrol would mark the start of the second yearthat he, Clay Ferguson and Medical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoothad been teamed together. After twenty-two patrols, cooped up in asemiarmored vehicle with a man for ten days at a time, you got to knowhim pretty well. And you either liked him or you hated his guts. 

As senior officer, Martin had the right to reject or keep his partnerafter their first eleven-month duty tour. Martin had elected to retainthe lanky Canadian. As soon as they had pulled into New York Barracksat the end of their last patrol, he had made his decisions. Aftereleven months and twenty-two patrols on the Continental Thruways, eachteam had a thirty-day furlough coming. 

Martin and Ferguson had headed for the city the minute they put theirsignatures on the last of the stack of reports needed at the end of atour. Then, for five days and nights, they tied one on. MSO KellyLightfoot had made a beeline for a Columbia Medical School seminar ontissue regeneration. On the sixth day, Clay staggered out of bed, swigged down a handful of antireaction pills, showered, shaved anddressed and then waved good-by. Twenty minutes later he was aboard ajet, heading for his parents' home in Edmonton, Alberta. Martin soloedaround the city for another week, then rented a car and raced up tohis sister's home in Burlington, Vermont, to play Uncle Bountiful toCarol's three kids and to lap up as much as possible of his sister'sreal cooking. 

While the troopers and their med officer relaxed, a service crew movedtheir car down to the Philadelphia motor pool for a full overhaul andrefitting for the next torturous eleven-month-tour of duty. 

The two patrol troopers had reported into the Philadelphia Barracksfive days ago--Martin several pounds heavier courtesy of his sister'scooking; 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 sentryat the gate. To their left, the vast shop buildings echoed to thesound of body-banging equipment and roaring jet engines. The darkeningsky made the brilliant lights of the shop seem even brighter and thehulls of a dozen patrol cars cast deep shadows around the work crews. 

The troopers turned into the dispatcher's office and Clay carefullyplaced the bags on a table beside the counter. Martin peered into oneof the bags. "Seriously, kid, what do you have in that grab bag?"

"Oh, just a few essentials, " Clay replied "_Pate de foie gras_, sharpcheese, 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 thoseAlberta chicks of yours for a souvenir?"

"Look, Ben, " Ferguson said earnestly, "I suffered for eleven months inthat tin mausoleum on tracks because of what you fondly like to thinkis edible food. You've got as much culinary imagination as Beulah. Itake that back. Even Beulah turns out some better smells when she'sriding on high jet than you'll ever get out of her galley in the nextone hundred years. This tour, I intend to eat like a human being onceagain. 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, " hesaid, "perhaps you two could be persuaded to take a little pleasureride. It's a lovely night for a drive and it's just twenty-six hundredmiles to the next service station. If you two aren't cooking anythingat the moment, I know that NorCon would simply adore having theservices 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 neverget 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 theclearances. "

The dispatcher opened a loose-leaf reference book on the counter andthen 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 theMississippi River. Ferguson and Martin had pencils out and poised overtheir clipboards. 

The dispatcher glanced at the order board across the room where patrolcar numbers and team names were displayed on an illuminated board. "Car 56--Martin-Ferguson-Lightfoot, " glowed with an amber light. Inthe column to the right was the number "26-W. " The dispatcher punchedanother button. A broad belt of multi-colored lines representing theeastern segment of North American Thruway 26 flashed onto the map in aband extending from Philadelphia to St. Louis. The thruway went on toLos Angeles in its western segment, not shown on the map. Ten bands ofcolor--each five separated by a narrow clear strip, detailed thethruway. Martin and Ferguson were concerned with the northern fivebands; NAT 26-westbound. Other unlighted lines radiated out intangential spokes to the north and south along the length of themulti-colored belt of NAT 26. 

This was just one small segment of the Continental Thruway system thatspanned North America from coast to coast and crisscrossed north andsouth under the Three Nation Road Compact from the southern tip ofMexico into Canada and Alaska. 

Each arterial cut a five-mile-wide path across the continent and fromone end to the other, the only structures along the roadways were theturretlike NorCon Patrol check and relay stations--looming up atone-hundred-mile intervals like the fire control islands ofearlier-day aircraft carriers. 

Car 56 with Trooper Sergeant Ben Martin, Trooper Clay Ferguson andMedical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoot, would take their firstten-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 butdistant cities until they had reached Los Angeles at the end of thepatrol. Then a five-day resupply and briefing period and back ontoanother thruway. 

During the coming patrol they would cross ten state lines as if theydidn't exist. And as far as thruway traffic control and authority wasconcerned, state and national boundaries actually didn't exist. Withthe growth of the old interstate highway system and the Alcan Highwayit became increasingly evident that variation in motor vehicle lawsfrom state to state and country to country were creating impossiblesituations for any uniform safety control. 

 * * * * *

With the establishment of the Continental Thruway System two decadeslater, came the birth of the supra-cop--The North American ThruwayPatrol, known as NorCon. Within the five-mile bands of thethruways--all federally-owned land by each of the three nations--theblue-coveralled "Continental Commandos" of NorCon were the sole lawenforcement agency and authority. Violators of thruway law were citedinto NorCon district traffic courts located in the nearest city toeach access port along every thruway. 

There was no challenge to the authority of NorCon. Public demand forfaster and more powerful vehicles had forced the automotive industryto put more and more power under the touch of the ever-growingmillions of drivers crowding the continent's roads. Piston drive gaveway to turbojet; turbojet was boosted by a modification of ram jet andair-cushion drive was added. In the last two years, the first of thenuclear reaction mass engines had hit the roads. Even as the hotFerraris and Jags of the mid-'60s would have been suicide vehicles onthe T-model roads of the '20s so would today's vehicles be on theinterstates of the '60s. But building roads capable of handling threehundred to four hundred miles an hour speeds was beyond the financialand engineering capabilities of individual states and nations. Thusgrew the continental thruways with their four speed lanes in eachdirection, each a half-mile wide separated east and west and north andsouth by a half-mile-wide landscaped divider. Under the Three NationCompact, the thruways now wove a net across the entire North Americancontinent. 

On the big wall map, NAT 26-west showed as four colored lines; blueand yellow as the two high and ultra-high speed lanes; green and whitefor the intermediate and slow lanes. Between the blue and yellow andthe white and green was a red band. This was the police emergencylane, never used by other than official vehicles and crossed by thetraveling public shifting from one speed lane to another only atsweeping crossovers. 

The dispatcher picked up an electric pointer and aimed the light beamat the map. Referring to his notes, he began to recite. 

"Resurfacing crews working on 26-W blue at milestone Marker 185 toMarker 187, estimated clearance 0300 hours Tuesday--Let's see, that'stomorrow morning. "

The two officers were writing the information down on theirtrip-analysis sheets. 

"Ohio State is playing Cal under the lights at Columbus tonight so youcan expect a traffic surge sometime shortly after 2300 hours but mostof it will stay in the green and white. Watch out for the drunksthough. They might filter out onto the blue or yellow. 

"The crossover for NAT 163 has painting crews working. Might watch outfor any crud on the roadway. And they've got the entrance blockedthere so that all 163 exchange traffic is being rerouted to 164 westof Chillicothe. "

The dispatcher thumbed through his reference sheets. "That seems to beabout all. No, wait a minute. This is on your trick. The Army's got apriority missile convoy moving out of the Aberdeen Proving Groundsbound for the west coast tonight at 1800 hours. It will be moving atgreen lane speeds so you might watch out for it. They'll havethirty-four units in the convoy. And that is all. Oh, yes. Kelly'salready aboard. I guess you know about the weather. "

Martin nodded. "Yup. We should be hitting light snows by 2300 hourstonight in this area and it could be anything from snow to ice-rainafter 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 witnessesback in Edmonton who'll give you glowing testimonials about mymanhood. "

"Testimonials aren't legal unless they're given by adults, " Martinretorted. "Come on, lover boy. Duty calls. "

Clay carefully embraced his armload of bundles and the two officersturned to leave. The dispatcher leaned across the counter. 

"Oh, Ferguson, one thing I forgot. There's some light corrugations inred lane just east of St. Louis. You might be careful with yoursouffles in that area. Wouldn't want them to fall, you know. "

Clay paused and started to turn back. The grinning dispatcher duckedinto the back office and slammed the door. 

 * * * * *

The wind had died down by the time the troopers entered thebrilliantly lighted parking area. The temperature seemed warmer withthe lessening winds but in actuality, the mercury was dropping. Thesnow clouds to the west were much nearer and the overcast was gettingdarker. 

But under the great overhead light tubes, the parking area wasbrighter than day. A dozen huge patrol vehicles were parked on thefront "hot" line. Scores more were lined out in ranks to the back ofthe parking zone. Martin and Ferguson walked down the line of militaryblue cars. Number 56 was fifth on the line. Service mechs were justre-housing fueling lines into a ground panel as the troopers walkedup. 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 Ihad the port engine running up to reline the flow. Thought I'd bettertop 'er off for you, though, before you pull out. She sounds like apurring kitten. "

He tossed the pair a waving salute and then moved out to his servicedolly 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. "Welcomehome, sweetheart. I see you've kept a candle in the window for yourwandering son. " Ferguson looked up at the lighted cab, sixteen feetabove the pavement. 

Car 56--Beulah to her team--was a standard NorCon Patrol vehicle. Shewas sixty feet long, twelve feet wide and twelve feet high; topped bya four-foot-high bubble canopy over her cab. All the way across hernose was a three-foot-wide luminescent strip. This was the variablebeam headlight that could cut a day-bright swath of light throughnight, fog, rain or snow and could be varied in intensity, width andelevation. Immediately above the headlight strip were two red-blackplastic panels which when lighted, sent out a flashing red emergencysignal that could be seen for miles. Similar emergency lights andback-up white light strips adorned Beulah's stern. Her bow roundeddown like an old-time tank and blended into the track assembly of herdual propulsion system. With the exception of the cabin bubble and atwo-foot stepdown on the last fifteen feet of her hull, Beulah wasfree of external protrusions. Racked into a flush-decked recess on oneside of the hull was a crane arm with a two-hundred-ton lift capacity. Several round hatches covered other extensible gear and periscopesused in the scores of multiple operations the NorCon cars were calledupon to accomplish on routine road patrols. 

Beulah resembled a gigantic offspring of a military tank, sans heavyarmament. But even a small stinger was part of the patrol carequipment. As for armament, Beulah had weapons to meet everyconceivable skirmish in the deadly battle to keep Continental Thruwaysfast-moving and safe. Her own two-hundred-fifty-ton bulk could reachspeeds of close to six hundred miles an hour utilizing one or both ofher two independent propulsion systems. 

At ultra-high speeds, Beulah never touched the ground--floating on animpeller air cushion and driven forward by a pair of one hundred fiftythousand pound thrust jets and ram jets. At intermediate high speeds, both her air cushion and the four-foot-wide tracks on each side of thecar pushed her along at two hundred-mile-an-hour-plus speeds. Synchromechanisms reduced the air cushion as the speeds dropped to affordmore 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 garbageof yours in the galley and start on the dispensary. I'll help youafter I finish out here. "

As the younger officer entered the car and headed up the short flightof steps to the working deck, the sergeant unclipped a check listfrom the inside of the door and turned towards the stern of the bigvehicle. 

 * * * * *

Clay mounted to the work deck and turned back to the little galleyjust aft of the cab. As compact as a spaceship kitchen--as a matter offact, designed almost identically from models on the Moon run--thegalley had but three feet of open counter space. Everything else, sink, range, oven and freezer, were built-ins with pull-downs for useas needed. He set his bags on the small counter to put away after thepre-start check. Aft of the galley and on the same side of thepassageway were the double-decked bunks for the patrol troopers. Across the passageway was a tiny latrine and shower. Clay tossed hishelmet on the lower bunk as he went down the passageway. At thebulkhead to the rear, he pressed a wall panel and a thick, insulateddoor slid back to admit him to the engine compartment. The servicecrews had shut down the big power plants and turned off the airexchangers and already the heat from the massive engines made thecompartment uncomfortably warm. 

He hurried through into a small machine shop. In an emergency, thetroopers could turn out small parts for disabled vehicles or for otheruses. It also stocked a good supply of the most common failure parts. Racked against the ceiling were banks of cutting torches, a grimreminder that death or injury still rode the thruways with increasingfrequency. 

In the tank storage space between the ceiling and top of the hull werethe chemical fire-fighting liquids and foam that could be applied bynozzles, hoses and towers now telescoped into recesses in the hull. Along both sides and beneath the galley, bunks, engine andmachine-shop compartments between the walls, deck and hull, wereBeulah's fuel storage tanks. 

The last after compartment was a complete dispensary, one that wouldhave made the emergency room or even the light surgery rooms ofearlier-day hospitals proud. 

Clay tapped on the door and went through. Medical-Surgical OfficerKelly Lightfoot was sitting on the deck, stowing sterile bandage packsinto a lower locker. She looked up at Clay and smiled. "Well, well, you DID manage to tear yourself away from your adoring bevies, " shesaid. She flicked back a wisp of golden-red hair from her forehead andstood up. The patrol-blue uniform coverall with its belted waistdidn't do much to hide a lovely, properly curved figure. She walkedover to the tall Canadian trooper and reached up and grabbed his ear. She pulled his head down, examined one side critically and thenquickly snatched at his other ear and repeated the scrutiny. She letgo of his ear and stepped back. "Damned if you didn't get all thelipstick marks off, too. "

Clay flushed. "Cut it out, Kelly, " he said. "Sometimes you act justlike my mother. "

The olive-complexioned redhead grinned at him and turned back to herstack of boxes on the deck. She bent over and lifted one of the boxesto the operating table. Clay eyed her trim figure. "You might act likema sometimes, " he said, "but you sure don't look like her. "

It was the Irish-Cherokee Indian girl's turn to flush. She became verybusy with the contents of the box. "Where's Ben?" she asked over hershoulder. 

"Making outside check. You about finished in here?"

Kelly turned and slowly scanned the confines of the dispensary. Withthe exception of the boxes on the table and floor, everything wasbehind secured locker doors. In one corner, the compactdiagnostician--capable of analyzing many known human bodily ailmentsand every possible violent injury to the body--was locked in itsriding clamps. Surgical trays and instrument racks were all hiddenbehind locker doors along with medical and surgical supplies. Oneither side of the emergency ramp door at the stern of the vehicle, three collapsible autolitters hung from clamps. Six hospital bunks intwo tiers of three each, lined another wall. On patrol, Kelly utilizedone of the hospital bunks for her own use except when they might allbe occupied with accident or other kind of patients. And this wouldnever be for more than a short period, just long enough to transferthem to a regular ambulance or hospital vehicle. Her meager supply ofpersonal items needed for the ten-day patrol were stowed in a smalllocker 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 issecure. " She raised her hand to her forehead in mock salute. "Medical-Surgical Officer Lightfoot reports dispensary ready forpatrol, sir. "

Clay smiled and made a checkmark on his clipboard. "How was theseminar, 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, richand 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 somethingnew about tissue regeneration, " he said. 

"Generation, regeneration, who cares, " Kelly grinned. 

Clay started to say something, got flustered and wheeled around toleave--and bounded right off Ben Martin's chest. Ferguson mumbledsomething and pushed past the older officer. 

Ben looked after him and then turned back to Car 56's combinationdoctor, surgeon and nurse. "Glad to see the hostess aboard for thiscruise. I hope you make the passengers more comfortable than you'vejust made the first mate. What did you do to Clay, Kelly?"

"Hi, Ben, " Kelly said. "Oh, don't worry about junior. He just gets allfluttery when a girl takes away his masculine prerogative to makecleverly 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 restfultime. And how about you. That couldn't have been all work. You've gota marvelous tan. "

"Don't worry, " Kelly laughed, "I had no intention of letting it be allstudy. I spent just about as much time under the sun dome at the poolas I did in class. I learned a lot though. "

[Illustration]

Ben grinned and headed back to the front of the car. "Tell me moreafter we're on the road, " he said from the doorway. "We'll be rollingin ten minutes. "

When he reached the cab, Clay was already in the right-hand controlseat and was running down the instrument panel check. The sergeantlifted the hatch door between the two control seats and punched on alight to illuminate the stark compartment at the lower front end ofthe car. A steel grill with a dogged handle on the upper side coveredthe opening under the hatch cover. Two swing-down bunks were racked upagainst the walls on either side and the front hull door was withoutan inside handle. This was the patrol car brig, used for bringing inunwilling violators or other violent or criminal subjects who mightcrop up in the course of a patrol tour. Satisfied with the appearanceof the brig, Ben closed the hatch cover and slid into his own controlseat on the left of the cab. Both control seats were molded andplastiformed padded to the contours of the troopers and the armrestson both were studded with buttons and a series of small, finger-operated, knobs. All drive, communication and fire fightingcontrols for the massive vehicle were centered in the knobs andbuttons on the seat arms, while acceleration and braking controls wereduplicated in two footrest pedals beneath their feet. 

Ben settled into his seat and glanced down to make sure hiswork-helmet was racked beside him. He reached over and flipped a bankof switches on the instrument panel. "All communications to 'on, '" hesaid. Clay made a checkmark on his list. "All pre-engine start checkcomplete, " Clay replied. 

"In that case, " the senior trooper said, "let's give Beulah someexercise. Start engines. "

Clay's fingers danced across the array of buttons on his seat arms andflicked lightly at the throttle knobs. From deep within the enginecompartment came the muted, shrill whine of the starter engines, followed a split-second later by the full-throated roar of the jets asthey caught fire. Clay eased the throttles back and the engine noisesoftened 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. PhillyCheck estimates white density 300; green, 840; blue 400; yellow, 75. "

Both troopers made mental note of the traffic densities in their firstone-hundred-mile patrol segment; an estimated three hundred vehiclesfor each ten miles of thruway in the white or fifty to one hundredmiles an hour low lane; eight hundred forty vehicles in the onehundred to one hundred fifty miles an hour green, and so on. More thansixteen thousand westbound vehicles on the thruway in the first onehundred miles; nearly five thousand of them traveling at speedsbetween 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, " heexclaimed, "almost forgot. " His finger touched another button and ablaring horn reverberated through the vehicle. 

In the galley, Kelly hurled herself into a corner. Her body activateda pressure plant and a pair of mummy-like plastifoam plates slidcurvingly out the wall and locked her in a soft cocoon. A dozensimilar safety clamps were located throughout the car at every workingand relaxation station. 

In the same instance, both Ben and Clay touched another plate on theircontrol seats. From kiosk-type columns behind each seat, pairs ofbody-molded crash pads snapped into place to encase both troopers intheir seats, their bodies cushioned and locked into place. Only theirfingers were loose beneath the spongy substance to work arm controls. The half-molds included headforms with a padded band that lockedacross their foreheads to hold their heads rigidly against the backsof their reinforced seats. The instant all three crew members werelocked into their safety gear, the bull horn ceased. 

"All tight, " Ben called out as he wiggled and tried to free himselffrom the cocoon. Kelly and Clay tested their harnesses. 

Satisfied that the safety cocoons were operating properly, Benreleased them and the molds slid back into their recesses. The cocoonswere triggered automatically in any emergency run or chase at speedsin excess of two hundred miles an hour. 

Again he kicked off the brakes, pressed down on the foot feed and Car56--Beulah--rolled out of the Philadelphia motor pool on the start ofits ten-day patrol. 

 * * * * *

The motor pool exit opened into a quarter-mile wide tunnel slopinggently down into the bowels of the great city. Car 56 glided down theslight incline at a steady fifty miles an hour. A mile from the mouthof the tunnel the roadway leveled off and Ben kicked Beulah up anothertwenty-five miles an hour. Ahead, the main tunnel ended in a series ofsmaller portal ways, each emblazoned with a huge illuminated numberdesignating a continental thruway. 

Ben throttled back and began edging to the left lanes. Other patrolcars were heading down the main passageway, bound for their assignedthruways. As Ben eased down to a slow thirty, another patrol vehicleslid 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. "Ifit isn't the gruesome twosome, " he called. "Where have you two been?We thought the front office had finally caught up with you and foundout that neither one of you could read or write and that they hadcanned 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 twoby 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'llgladly sell her phone number for a proper price. "

"Wouldn't want to hurt you, Clay, " the other officer replied. "If Icalled her up and took her out, she'd throw rocks at you the next timeyou 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 theright. The thruway entrances were just ahead. Martin aimed Beulah atthe lighted orifice topped by the number 26-W. The patrol car slidinto the narrower tunnel, glided along for another mile and thenturned its bow upwards. Three minutes later, they emerged from thetunnel into the red patrol lane of Continental Thruway 26-West. Thelate afternoon sky was a covering of gray wool and a drop or two ofmoisture struck the front face of the cab canopy. For a mile on eitherside of the police lane, streams of cars sped westward. Ben eyed thesky, the traffic and then peered at the outer hull thermometer. Itread thirty-two degrees. He made a mental bet with himself that theweather bureau was off on its snow estimates by six hours. His Vermontupbringing told him it would be flurrying within the hour. 

He increased speed to a steady one hundred and the car sped silentlyand easily along the police lane. Across the cab, Clay peeredpensively at the steady stream of cars and cargo carriers racing by inthe green and blue lanes--all of them moving faster than the patrolcar. 

The young officer turned in his seat and looked at his partner. 

"You know, Ben, " he said gravely, "I sometimes wonder if thoseold-time cowboys got as tired looking at the south end of northboundcows 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 thewhite. "

"Couldn't be too bad in the white, " Ben broke in, thinking of theone-hundred mile-an-hour limit in the slow lane. 

"That's not the problem, " Control came back. "One of the sideswipedvehicles was flipped around and bounded into the green, and that'swhere 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 secondlater, with MSO Kelly Lightfoot snugged in her dispensary cocoon andboth troopers in body cushions, Car 56 lifted a foot from the roadway, and leaped forward on a turbulent pad of air. It accelerated from onehundred to two hundred fifty miles an hour. 

The great red emergency lights on the bow and stern began to blink andfrom the special transmitter in the hull a radio siren wail racedahead of the car to be picked up by the emergency receptor antennasrequired on all vehicles. 

The working part of the patrol had begun. 

 * * * * *

Conversation died in the speeding car, partly because of theconcentration required by the troopers, secondly because alltransmissions whether intercom or radio, on a code two or three run, were taped and monitored by Control. In the center of the instrumentpanel, an oversized radiodometer was clicking off the mileage marks asthe car passed each milestone. The milestone posts beamed a codedsignal 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 fourmiles a minute, Beulah whipped past MM 45 with ten minutes yet to goto reach the scene of the accident. Light flurries of wet snow bouncedoff the canopy, leaving thin, fast-drying trails of moisture. Althoughit was still a few minutes short of 1700 hours, the last of the winterafternoon light was being lost behind the heavy snow clouds overhead. Ben turned on the patrol car's dazzling headlight and to the left andright, Clay could see streaks of white lights from the traffic on thegreen and blue lanes on either side of the quarter-mile wide emergencylane. 

The radio filled them in on the movement of other patrol emergencyvehicles being routed to the accident site. Car 82, also assigned toNAT 26-West, was more than one hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah. Pittsburgh Control ordered Eight Two to hold fast to cover anythingelse that might come up while Five Six was handling the currentcrisis. Eastbound Car 119 was ordered to cut across to the scene toassist Beulah's crew, and another eastbound patrol vehicle was held inplace to cover for One One Nine. 

At mile marker 80, yellow caution lights were flashing on allwestbound lanes, triggered by Philadelphia Control the instant theword of the crash had been received. Traffic was slowing down andpiling 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 toblue on slowdown and seal the yellow. "

"Philly Control acknowledged, " came the reply. 

 * * * * *

The flashing amber caution lights on all lanes switched to red. As Benbegan de-acceleration, diagonal red flashing barriers rose out of theroadway on the green and white lanes at the 85 mile marker and lanecrossing. This channelled all traffic from both lanes to the left andinto the blue lane where the flashing reds now prohibited speeds inexcess of fifty miles an hour around the emergency situation. At thesame time, all crossovers on the ultra high yellow lane were sealed bybarriers to prevent changing of lanes into the over-congested area. 

As Car 56's speed dropped back below the two hundred mile an hour markthe cocoon automatically slid open. Freed from her safety restraints, Kelly jumped for the rear entrance of the dispensary and cleared theracking clamps from the six autolitters. That done, she opened anotherlocker and reached for the mobile first-aid kit. She slid it to thedoor entrance on its retractable casters. She slipped on her workhelmet with the built-in transmitter and then sat down on the seat bythe rear door to wait until the car stopped. 

Car 56 was now less than two miles from the scene of the crash andtraffic in the green lane to the left was at a standstill. A half milefarther westward, lights were still moving slowly along the whitelane. Ahead, the troopers could see a faint wisp of smoke rising fromthe heaviest congregation of headlights. Both officers had their workhelmets 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 thedividing curbing. The big tracks floated the patrol car over thetwo-foot high, rounded abutment that divided each speed lane. Snow wasfalling faster as the headlight picked out a tangled mass of wreckagesmoldering a hundred feet inside the median separating the green andwhite lanes. A crumpled body lay on the pavement twenty feet from thebiggest clump of smashed metal, and other fragments of vehicles werestrung out down the roadway for fifty feet. There was no movement. 

NorCon thruway laws were strict and none were more rigidly enforcedthan the regulation that no one other than a member of the patrol setfoot outside of their vehicle while on any thruway traffic lane. Thismeant not giving any assistance whatsoever to accident victims. Theruling had been called inhuman, monstrous, unthinkable, and lawmakersin the three nations of the compact had forced NorCon to revoke therule in the early days of the thruways. After speeding cars and cargocarriers had cut down twice as many do-gooders on foot at accidentscenes 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 andBeulah was still rocking gently on her tracks by the time both PatrolTrooper Clay Ferguson and MSO Kelly Lightfoot hit the pavement on therun. 

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 95in--" he paused and looked back at the halted traffic piled up beforethe lane had been closed "--seven minutes. " He jumped for the stepsand 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 slappedan electrode to the victim's temple. The needle on the encephalicmeter in the lid of the kit never flickered. Kelly shut the bag andhurried 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 wasalmost impossible to identify at a glance whether the mangled metalwas the remains of one or more cars. Only the absence of trackequipment made it certain that they even had been passenger vehicles. 

Clay was carefully climbing up the side of the piled up wrecks to awindow that gaped near the top. 

"Work fast, kid, " Martin called up. "Something's burning down thereand 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 ofthe wreck. He flipped a switch that cut his helmet transmitter intothe remote standard vehicular radio circuit aboard the patrol car. 

"Attention, please, all cars in green lane. All cars in the left linemove out now, the next line fall in behind. You are directed to clearthe area immediately. Maintain fifty miles an hour for the next mile. You may resume desired speeds and change lanes at mile Marker 95. Irepeat, all cars in green lane. .. . " he went over the instructions oncemore, relayed through Beulah's transmitter to the standard receiverson 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 ina steady stream past the huge, red-flashing bulk of the patrol car. 

Both Clay and Kelly were lying flat across the smashed, upturned sideof the uppermost car in the pile. Kelly had her field bag open on theground 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 womanalive down here but she's wedged in tight. She's hurt pretty badly andKelly'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 andthe big wrecking crane swung smoothly out of its cradle and over thewreckage. The end of the crane arm was directly over Ferguson. "Lemmehave the spreaders, " Clay called. The arm dipped and from either sideof the tip, a pair of flanges shot out like tusks on an elephant. "Put'er in neutral, " Clay directed. Martin pressed another lever and thecrane now could be moved in any direction by fingertip pulls at itsextremity. Ferguson carefully guided the crane with its projectingtusks into the smashed orifice of the car window. "O. K. , Ben, spreadit. "

The crane locked into position and the entire arm split open in a "V"from its base. Martin pressed steadily on the two levers controllingeach side of the divided arm and the tusks dug into the sides of thesmashed window. There was a steady screeching of tearing and rippingmetal as the crane tore window and frame apart. "Hold it, " Fergusonyelled 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 rampstood open to the lighted dispensary. He snatched at one of theautolitters and triggered its tiny drive motor. A homing beacon in hishelmet guided the litter as it rolled down the ramp, turned by itselfand rolled across the pavement a foot behind him. It stopped when hestopped and Ben touched another switch, cutting the homing beacon. 

Clay's head appeared out of the hole. "Get it up here, Ben. I can gether out. And I think there's another one alive still further down. "

Martin raised the crane and its ripper bars retracted. The split armsspewed a pair of cables terminating in magnalocks. The cables dangledover the ends of the autolitter, caught the lift plates on the litterand a second later, the cart was swinging beside the smashed window asClay and Kelly eased the torn body of a woman out of the wreckage andonto the litter. As Ben brought the litter back to the pavement, thecolumn of smoke had thickened. He disconnected the cables and homedthe stretcher back to the patrol car. The hospital cart with itsunconscious victim, rolled smoothly back to the car, up the ramp andinto the dispensary to the surgical table. 

Martin climbed up the wreckage beside Kelly. Inside the twistedinterior of the car, the thick smoke all but obscured the bent back ofthe younger trooper and his powerful handlight barely penetrated thegloom. Blood was smeared over almost every surface and the stink ofleaking jet fuel was virtually overpowering. From the depths of thenightmarish scene came a tortured scream. Kelly reached into acoverall pocket and produced another sedation hypo. She squirmedaround and started to slip down into the wreckage with Ferguson. Martin grabbed her arm. "No, Kelly, this thing's ready to blow. Comeon, 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. "Andthat's an order. "

Clay straightened up and put his hands on the edge of the window toboost himself out. "Ben, there's a guy alive down there. We just can'tleave him. "

"Get down from there, Kelly, " Martin ordered. "I know that man's downthere just as well as you do, Clay. But we won't be helping him onedamn bit if we get blown to hell and gone right along with him. Nowget outta there and maybe we can pull this thing apart and get to himbefore it does blow. "

The lanky Canadian eased out of the window and the two troopers movedback to the patrol car. Kelly was already in her dispensary, workingon the injured woman. 

Martin slid into his control seat. "Shut your ramp, Kelly, " he calledover 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 thedivider. 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 toFerguson. 

"Get the foam nozzles up, just in case, and then stand by on thecrane. "

A mile away, they saw the flashing emergency lights of Car 119 as itraced diagonally across the yellow and blue lanes, whipping withponderous ease through the moving traffic. 

"Take the south side, 119, " Martin called out. "We'll try and pullthis mess apart. "

"Affirmative, " came the reply. Even before the other patrol vehiclecame to a halt, its crane was swinging out from the side, and theganged magnalocks were dangling from their cables. 

"O. K. , kid, " Ben ordered, "hook it. "

At the interior crane controls, Clay swung Beulah's crane and cablemags towards the wreckage. The magnalocks slammed into the metallicmess with a bang almost at the same instant the locks hit the otherside from Car 119. 

Clay eased up the cable slack. "Good, " Ben called to both Clay and theoperating 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 stillgrowing as Clay slammed down on the fire-control panel. A curtain ofthick chemical foam burst from the poised nozzles atop Beulah's hulland a split-second later, another stream of foam erupted from theother patrol car. The dense, oxygen-absorbing retardant blanketsnuffed the fire out in three seconds. The cranes were still securedto the foam-covered heap of metal. "Never mind the caution, " Bencalled out, "get it apart. Fast. "

Both crane operators slammed their controls into reverse and with anear-splitting screech, the twisted frames of the two vehicles rippedapart into tumbled heaps of broken metal and plastics. Martin andFerguson jumped down the hatch steps and into ankle-deep foam and oil. They waded and slipped around the front of the car to join thetroopers from the other car. 

Ferguson was pawing at the scum-covered foam near the mangled sectionof one of the cars. "He should be right about, " Clay paused and bentover, "here. " He straightened up as the others gathered around thescorched and ripped body of a man, half-submerged in the thick foam. "Kelly, " he called over the helmet transmitter, "open your door. We'llneed a couple of sacks. "

He trudged to the rear of the patrol car and met the girl standing inthe door with a pair of folded plastic morgue bags in her hands. Behind her, Clay could see the body of the woman on the surgicaltable, an array of tubes and probes leading to plasma drip bottles andother equipment racked out over the table. 

"How is she?"

"Not good, " Kelly replied. "Skull fracture, ruptured spleen, brokenribs and double leg fractures. I've already called for an ambulance. "

Ferguson nodded, took the bags from her and waded back through thefoam. 

The four troopers worked in the silence of the deserted traffic lane. A hundred yards away, traffic was moving steadily in the slow whitelane. Three-quarters of a mile to the south, fast and ultra hightraffic 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 sinceCar 56 had received the accident call. The light snow flurries hadturned to a steady fall of thick wet flakes, melting as they hit onthe warm pavement but beginning to coat the pitiful flotsam of theaccident. 

The troopers finished the gruesome task of getting the bodies into themorgue sacks and laid beside the dispensary ramp for the ambulance topick up with the surviving victim. Car 119's MSO had joined Kelly inBeulah's dispensary to give what help she might. The four patroltroopers began the grim task of probing the scattered wreckage forother possible victims, personal possessions and identification. Theywere stacking a small pile of hand luggage when the long, low bulk ofthe ambulance swung out of the police lane and rolled to a stop. Longer than the patrol cars but without the non-medical emergencyfacilities, the ambulance was in reality a mobile hospital. A full, scrubbed-up surgical team was waiting in the main operating room evenas the ramps opened and the techs headed for Car 56. The team had beenbriefed by radio on the condition of the patient; had read the fullrecordings of the diagnostician; and were watching transmitted pulseand respiration graphs on their own screens while the transfer wasbeing made. 

The two women MSOs had unlocked the surgical table in Beulah'sdispensary and a plastic tent covered not only the table and thepatient, but also the plasma and Regen racks overhead. The entiretable and rig slid down the ramp onto a motor-driven dolly from theambulance. Without delay, it wheeled across the open few feet ofpavement into the ambulance and to the surgery room. The techs lockedthe table into place in the other vehicle and left the surgery. From astorage compartment, they wheeled out a fresh patrol dispensary tableand rack and placed it in Kelly's miniature surgery. The dead wentinto the morgue aboard the ambulance, the ramp closed and theambulance swung around and headed across the traffic lanes toeastbound NAT-26 and Philadelphia. 

Outside, the four troopers had completed the task of collecting whatlittle information they could from the smashed vehicles. 

They returned to their cars and One One Nine's medical-surgicalofficer headed back to her own cubby-hole. 

[Illustration]

The other patrol car swung into position almost touching Beulah's leftflank. With Ben at the control seat, on command, both cars extendedbroad bulldozer blades from their bows. "Let's go, " Ben ordered. Thetwo patrol vehicles moved slowly down the roadway, pushing all of thescattered scraps and parts onto a single great heap. They backed off, shifted direction towards the center police lane and began shoving thedebris, foam and snow out of the green lane. At the edge of the policelane, both cars unshipped cranes and magnalifted the junk over thedivider barrier onto the one-hundred-foot-wide service strip borderingthe police lane. A slow cargo wrecker was already on the way fromPittsburgh barracks to pick up the wreckage and haul it away. When thelast 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 amberwarning lights went dark and the detour barrier at Crossover 85 sankback into the roadway. Three minutes later, traffic was again flashingby on green lane past the two halted patrol cars. 

"Pitt Control, this is Car 119 clear of accident, " the other carreported. 

"Car 119 resume eastbound patrol, " came the reply. 

The other patrol car pulled away. The two troopers waved at Martin andFerguson in Beulah. "See you later and thanks, " Ben called out. Heswitched to intercom. "Kelly. Any ID on that woman?"

"Not a thing, Ben, " she replied. "About forty years old, and she had awedding band. She never was conscious, so I can't help you. "

Ben nodded and looked over at his partner. "Go get into some dryclothes, kid, " he said, "while I finish the report. Then you can takeit for a while. "

Clay nodded and headed back to the crew quarters. 

 * * * * *

Ben racked his helmet beside his seat and fished out a cigarette. Hereached for an accident report form from the work rack behind his seatand began writing, glancing up from time to time to gaze thoughtfullyat the scene of the accident. When he had finished, he thumbed theradio transmitter and called Philly Control. Somewhere in the bloody, oil and foam covered pile of wreckage were the registration plates forthe two vehicles involved. When the wrecker collected the debris, itwould be machine sifted in Pittsburgh and the plates fed to recordsand then relayed to Philadelphia where the identifications could beadded to Ben's report. When he had finished reading his report heasked, "How's the woman?"

"Still alive, but just barely, " Philly Control answered. "Ben, did yousay 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 asideswipe in white that put one of the cars over into the green. Thereshould have been a third vehicle. "

"That's right, " Ben exclaimed. "We were so busy trying to get that galout and then making the try for the other man I never even thought tolook for another car. You suppose that guy took off?"

"It's possible, " the controller said. "I'm calling a gate filter untilwe know for sure. I've got the car number on the driver that reportedthe accident. I'll get hold of him and see if he can give us a lead onthe third car. You go ahead with your patrol and I'll let you knowwhat I find out. "

"Affirmative, " Ben replied. He eased the patrol car onto the policelane and turned west once again. Clay reappeared in the cab, dressedin 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 intohis control seat. 

A light skiff of snow covered the service strip and the dividers asCar 56 swung back westward in the red lane. Snow was falling steadilybut 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 steady75, just about apace with the slowest traffic in the white lane. Tothe south, densities were much lighter in the blue and yellow lanesand even the green had thinned out. It would stay moderately light nowfor another hour until the dinner stops were over and the nighttravelers again rolled onto the thruways. 

Kelly was putting frozen steaks into the infra-oven as Ben walkedthrough to crew quarters. Her coverall sleeves were rolled to theelbows as she worked and a vagrant strand of copper hair curled overher forehead. As Martin passed by, he caught a faint whisper ofperfume and he smiled appreciatively. 

In the tiny crew quarters, he shut the door to the galley and strippedout of his wet coveralls and boots. He eyed the shower stall acrossthe passageway. 

"Hey, mother, " he yelled to Kelly, "have I got time for a showerbefore dinner?"

"Yes, but make it a quickie, " she called back. 

Five minutes later he stepped into the galley, his dark, crew-cut hairstill damp. Kelly was setting plastic, disposable dishes on the littleswing-down table that doubled as a food bar and work desk. Ben peeredinto 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 yourancestors didn't come out of New England. Your menus always seem tocoincide with my ideas of a perfect meal. " He noted the two places setat the table. Ben glanced out the galley port into the headlight-stripeddarkness. Traffic was still light. In the distance, the night sky glowedwith the lights of Chambersburg, north of the thruway. 

"We might as well pull up for dinner, " he said. "It's pretty slow outthere. "

Kelly shoved dishes over and began laying out a third setting. Abouthalf the time on patrol, the crew ate in shifts on the go, with one ofthe patrol troopers in the cab at all times. When traffic permitted, they pulled off to the service strip and ate together. With thecommunications system always in service, control stations could reachthem 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 graciousliving. "

"Light the candles and pour the wine, " Clay quipped, "I'll be with youin a second. "

Car 56 swung out to the edge of the police lane and slowed down. Clayeased the car onto the strip and stopped. He checked the radiodometerand called in. "Pitt Control, this is Car 56 at Marker 158. Dinner isbeing served in the dining car to the rear. Please do not disturb. "

"Affirmative, Car 56, " Pittsburgh Control responded. "Eat heartily, itmay be going out of style. " Clay grinned and flipped the radio toremote and headed for the galley. 

 * * * * *

Seated around the little table, the trio cut into their steaks. Parkedat the north edge of the police lane, the patrol car was just a fewfeet from the green lane divider strip and cars and cargo carriersflashed 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 ofcuring them like your ancestral buffalo robes. When are you going tolearn 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 Ihear another word about my cooking. And that's also the second crackabout my noble ancestors in the past five minutes. I've alwayswondered about the surgical techniques my great-great-great grandpopused 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 coontailon 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 thesurface? That was the Irish. "

Clay polished off the last of his steak and reached for the individualfrozen pies Kelly had put in the oven with the steaks. "Now that'sanother point, " he said, waving his fork at Kelly. "The Irish lived solong on potatoes and prayers that when they get a piece of meat ontheir menu, they don't know how to do anything but boil it. "

"That tears it, " the girl exploded. She pushed back from the table andstood up. "I've cooked the last meal this big, dumb Canuck will everget from me. I hope you get chronic indigestion and then come crawlingto me for help. I've got something back there I've been wanting todose you with for a long time. "

She stormed out of the galley and slammed the door behind her. Bengrinned at the stunned look on Clay's face. "Now what got her on thewarpath?" Clay asked. Before Ben could answer the radio speaker in theceiling came to life. 

"Car 56 this is Pitt Control. "

Martin reached for the transmit switch beside the galley table. "Thisis Five Six, go ahead. "

"Relay from Philly Control, " the speaker blared. "Reference theaccident at Marker 92 at 1648 hours this date; Philly Control reportsa third vehicle definitely involved. "

Ben pulled out a pencil and Clay shoved a message pad across thetable. 

"James J. Newhall, address 3409 Glen Cove Drive, New York City, license number BHT 4591 dash 747 dash 1609, was witness to the initialimpact. He reports that a white over green, late model Travelaire, with two men in it, sideswiped one of the two vehicles involved in thefatal accident. The Travelaire did not stop but accelerated after theimpact. Newhall was unable to get the full license number but thefirst 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 carstruck by the hit-and-run vehicle was a Herman Lawrence Hanover, ageforty-two, of 13460 One Hundred Eighty-First Street South, Camden, NewJersey, license number LFM 4151 dash 603 dash 2738. With him was hiswife, Clara, age forty-one, same address. Driver of the green lane carwas 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. Isthis correct, Pitt Control? The woman was alive when she wastransferred 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. Avehicle answering to the general description of the hit-and-runvehicle is believed to have been involved in an armed robbery andmultiple murder earlier this date at Wilmington, Delaware. PhillyControl is now checking for additional details. Gate filters have beenestablished 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 backinto the galley to listen to the radio exchange. The men got up fromthe table and Clay gathered the disposable dishware and tossed theminto the waste receiver. 

"We'd better get rolling, " Ben said, "those clowns could still be onthe thruway, although they could have got off before the filters wentup. "

They moved to the cab and took their places. The big engines roaredinto action as Ben rolled Car 56 back onto the police-way. Kellyfinished straightening up in the galley and then came forward to siton the jump seat between the two troopers. The snow had stopped againbut the roadways were still slick and glistening under the headlights. Beulah rolled steadily along on her broad tracks, now cruising at onehundred miles an hour. The steady whine of the cold night windpenetrated faintly into the sound-proofed and insulated cabin canopy. Clay cut out the cabin lights, leaving only the instrument panelglowing faintly along with the phosphorescent buttons and knobs on thearms of the control seats. 

A heavy express cargo carrier flashed by a quarter of a mile away inthe blue lane, its big bulk lit up like a Christmas tree with runningand warning lights. To their right, Clay caught the first glimpse of aset of flashing amber warning lights coming up from behind in thegreen lane. A minute later, a huge cargo carrier came abreast of thepatrol car and then pulled ahead. On its side was a glowing star ofthe United States Army. A minute later, another Army carrier rolledby. 

"That's the missile convoy out of Aberdeen, " Clay told Kelly. "I wishour hit-runner had tackled one of those babies. We'd have scraped himup instead of those other people. "

The convoy rolled on past at a steady one hundred twenty-five milesan hour. Car 56 flashed under a crossover and into a long, gentlecurve. The chronometer clicked up to 2100 hours and the radio sangout. "Cars 207, 56 and 82, this is Pitt Control. 2100 hours densityreport follows. .. . "

Pittsburgh Control read off the figures for the three cars. Car 82 wasone hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah, Car 207 about the samedistance to the rear. The density report ended and a new voice came onthe air. 

"Attention all cars and all stations, this is Washington CriminalControl. " The new voice paused, and across the continent, troopers onevery thruway, control station, checkpoint and relay block, reachedfor clipboard and pen. 

"Washington Criminal Control continuing, all cars and all stations, special attention to all units east of the Mississippi. At 1510 hoursthis date, two men held up the First National Bank of Wilmington, Delaware, and escaped with an estimated one hundred seventy-fivethousand dollars. A bank guard and two tellers, together with fivebank customers were killed by these subjects using automatic weaponfire to make good their escape. They were observed leaving the scenein a late model, white-over-green Travelaire sedan, license unknown. Acar of the same make, model and color was stolen from Annapolis, Maryland, a short time prior to the holdup. The stolen vehicle, nowbelieved to be the getaway car, bears USN license number QABR dash 468dash 1113. .. . "

"That's our baby, " Ben murmured as he and Clay scribbled, on theirmessage forms. 

". .. Motor number ZB 1069432, " Washington Criminal Control continued. "This car is also now believed to have been involved in a hit-and-runfatal accident on NAT 26-West at Marker 92 at approximately 1648 hoursthis 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 graysports cap. He was wearing a ring with a large red stone on his lefthand. 

"Subject Number Two is described as WMA, twenty to twenty-five years, six feet, light, ruddy complexion and reddish brown hair, lightcolored eyes. Has scar on back left side of neck. Wearing light-brownsuit, 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 controlof contact. Both subjects now under multiple federal warrants chargingbank robbery, murder, and hit-and-run murder. All cars and stationsacknowledge. 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 herfeet. "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-greatgrandpop would have gone around with his bare scalp hanging out if hehad 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 asKelly came charging back. She slammed into the door, screamed and thenwent storming back to the dispensary while Clay doubled over inlaughter. 

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 hisseat to go over the APB from Washington. Car 56 bored steadily throughthe night. The thruway climbed easily up the slight grade cut throughthe hills north of Wheeling, West Virginia, and once more snow beganfalling. 

Clay reached over and flipped on the video scanners. Four smallscreens, one for each of the westbound lanes, glowed with a soft redlight. The monitors were synchronized with the radiometer and changedview at every ten-mile marker. Viewing cameras mounted on towersbetween each lane, lined the thruway, aimed eastward at the on-comingtraffic back to the next bank of cameras ten miles away. Infra-redcircuits took over from standard scan at dark. A selector system inthe cars gave the troopers the option of viewing either the block theywere currently patrolling; the one ahead of the next ten-mile block;or, the one they had just passed. As a rule, the selection was basedon the speed of the car. Beamed signals from each block automaticallyswitched the view as the patrol car went past the towers. Clay put theslower lane screens on the block they were in, turned the blue andyellow lanes to the block ahead. 

They rolled past the interchange with NAT 114-South out of Cleveland andthe traffic densities picked up in all lanes as many of the southboundvehicles 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 anhour blue lane, a glowing dot remained motionless in the middle of the laneand the other racing lights of the blue lane traffic were sheering aroundit 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 invitationto disaster. The bull horn blared as Beulah leaped past the twohundred mile an hour mark and safety cocoons slid into place. Aft inthe dispensary, Kelly was sealed into her bunk by a cocoon rolling outof the wall and encasing the hospital bed. 

Car 5 slanted across the police lane with red lights flashing and edgedinto the traffic flow in the blue lane. The great, red winking lightsand the emergency radio siren signal began clearing a path for thetroopers. Vehicles began edging to both sides of the lane to shift tocrossovers to the yellow or green lanes. Clay aimed Beulah at themotionless dot on the screen and eased back from the four-mile-a-minutespeed. The patrol car slowed and the headlight picked up the stalledvehicle a mile ahead. The cocoons opened and Ben slipped on his workhelmet and dropped down the steps to the side hatch. Clay brought Beulahto a halt a dozen yards directly to the rear of the stalled car, thegreat bulk of the patrol vehicle with its warning lights serving as ashield against any possible fuzzy-headed speeders that might not beobserving the road. 

As Martin reached for the door, the Wanted bulletin flashed throughhis head. "What make of car is that, Clay?"

"Old jalopy Tritan with some souped-up rigs. Probably kids, " thejunior officer replied. "It looks O. K. "

Ben nodded and swung down out of the patrol car. He walked quickly tothe other car, flashing his handlight on the side of the vehicle as hewent up to the driver. The interior lights were on and inside, twoobviously frightened young couples smiled with relief at the sight ofthe uniform coveralls. A freckled-faced teenager in a dinner jacketwas in the driver's seat and had the blister window open. He grinnedup 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 headingfor a school dance at Cincinnati and she was boiling along like shewas 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 forany vehicle that old. " He waved his hand in protest as the youngsterstarted to tell him how many modifications he had made on the car. "Itdoesn't make one bit of difference whether you've put a first-stageMoon booster on this wreck. It's not supposed to be in the blue oryellow. And this thing probably shouldn't have been allowed out of thewhite--or even on the thruway. "

The youngster flushed and bit his lip in embarrassment at the gigglesfrom the two evening-frocked girls in the car. 

"Well, let's get you out of here. " Ben touched his throat mike. "Dropa light, Clay and then let's haul this junk pile away. "

In the patrol car, Ferguson reached down beside his seat and tugged ata lever. From a recess in Beulah's stern, a big portable red warninglight dropped to the pavement. As it touched the surface, itautomatically flashed to life, sending out a bright, flashing redwarning signal into the face of any approaching traffic. Clay easedthe patrol car around the stalled vehicle and then backed slow intoposition, guided by Martin's radioed instructions. A tow-bar extrudedfrom the back of the police vehicle and a magnaclamp locked onto thefront end of the teenager's car. The older officer walked back to theportable warning light and rolled it on its four wheels to the rearplate of the jalopy where another magnalock secured it to the car. Beulah's two big rear warning lights still shone above the lowsilhouette of the passenger car, along with the mobile lamp on thejalopy. Martin walked back to the patrol car and climbed in. 

He slid into his seat and nodded at Clay. The patrol car, with thedisabled vehicle in tow moved forward and slanted left towards thepolice lane. Martin noted the mileage marker on the radiodometer andfingered 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 382and we've got them in tow now, " Ben said. "Have a wrecker meet us andtake 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 emergencyentrance to the middle police lane and slowly rolled westward. Thesenior trooper reached into his records rack and pulled out a citationbook. 

"You going to nail these kids?" Clay asked. 

"You're damn right I am, " Martin replied, beginning to fill in theviolation report. "I'd rather have this kid hurting in the pocketbookthan dead. If we turn him loose, he'll think he got away with it thistime 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 littlerough. "

Ben swung around in his seat and surveyed his junior officer. "Sometimes I think you spent four years in the patrol academy withyour head up your jet pipes, " he said. He fished out another cigaretteand took a deep drag. 

"You've had four solid years of law; three years of electronics andjet and air-drive engine mechanics and engineering; pre-med, psychology, math, English, Spanish and a smattering of Portuguese, tosay nothing of dozens of other subjects. You graduated in the uppertenth of your class with a B. S. In both Transportation and Criminologywhich is why you're riding patrol and not punching a computer ortinkering with an engine. You'd think with all that education thatsomewhere along the line you'd have learned to think with your headinstead of your emotions. "

Clay kept a studied watch on the roadway. The minute Ben had turnedand swung his legs over the side of the seat and pulled out acigarette, Clay knew that it was school time in Car 56. InstructorSergeant Ben Martin was in a lecturing mood. It was time for all goodpupils to keep their big, fat mouths shut. 

"Remember San Francisco de Borja?" Ben queried. Clay nodded. "And youstill think I'm too rough on them?" Ben pressed. 

[Illustration]

Ferguson's memory went back to last year's fifth patrol. He and Benwith Kelly riding hospital, had been assigned to NAT 200-North, running out of Villahermosa on the Guatemalan border of Mexico toEdmonton Barracks in Canada. It was the second night of the patrol. Some seven hundred fifty miles north of Mexico City, near the town ofSan Francisco de Borja, a gang of teenage Mexican youngsters had goneroaring up the yellow at speeds touching on four hundred miles anhour. Their car, a beat-up, fifteen-year-old veteran of less speedyand much rockier local mountain roads, had been gimmicked by the kidsso that it bore no resemblance to its original manufacture. 

From a junkyard they had obtained a battered air lift, smashed almostbeyond use in the crackup of a ten-thousand dollar sports cruiser. Thekids pried, pounded and bent the twisted impeller lift blades backinto some semblance of alignment. From another wreck of a cargocarrier came a pair of 4000-pound thrust engines. They had jury-riggedthe entire mess so that it stuck together on the old heap. Then theyhit the thruway--nine of them packed into the jalopy--the oldest onejust seventeen years old. They were doing three hundred fifty whenthey flashed past the patrol car and Ben had roared off in pursuit. The senior officer whipped the big patrol car across the crowded highspeed blue lane, jockeyed into the ultra-high yellow and then turnedon the power. 

[Illustration]

By this time the kids realized they had been spotted and they crankedtheir makeshift power plant up to the last notch. The most they couldget 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 patrolcar was still three hundred yards astern when one of the bent andre-bent impeller blades let go. The out-of-balance fan, turning atclose to 35, 000 rpm, flew to pieces and the air cushion vanished. Atfour hundred miles an hour, the body of the old jalopy fell the twelveinches to the pavement and both front wheels caved under. There was amomentary shower of sparks, then the entire vehicle snappedcartwheeling more than eighty feet into the air and exploded. Piecesof car and bodies were scattered for a mile down the thruway and theonly whole, identifiable human bodies were those of the threeyoungsters thrown out and sent hurtling to their deaths more than twohundred feet away. 

Clay's mind snapped back to the present. 

"Write 'em up, " he said quietly to Martin. The senior officer gave aSatisfied nod and turned back to his citation pad. 

 * * * * *

At marker 412, which was also the Columbus turnoff, a big patrolwrecker was parked on the side strip, engines idling, service andwarning lights blinking. Clay pulled the patrol car alongside andstopped. He disconnected the tow bar and the two officers climbed outinto the cold night air. They walked back to the teenager's car. Claywent to the rear of the disabled car and unhooked the warning lightwhile Martin went to the driver's window. He had his citation book inhand. The youngster in the driver's seat went white at the sight ofthe violation pad. "May I see your license, please, " Ben asked. Theboy fumbled in a back pocket and then produced a thin, metallic tabwith his name, age, address and license number etched into theindestructible and unalterable metal. 

"Also your car registration, " Ben added. The youth unclipped similarmetal strip from the dashboard. 

The trooper took the two tabs and walked to the rear of the patrolcar. He slid back a panel to reveal two thin slots in the hull. Martinslid the driver's license into one of the slots, the registration tabinto the other. He pressed a button below each slot. Inside the car, amagnetic reader and auto-transmitter "scanned" the magnetic symbolsimplanted in the tags. The information was fed instantly toContinental Headquarters Records division at Colorado Springs. Infractions of a second, the great computers at Records were comparingthe information on the tags with all previous traffic citations issuedanywhere in the North American continent in the past forty-five yearssince the birth of the Patrol. The information from the driver'slicense and registration tab had been relayed from Beulah via thenearest patrol relay point. The answer came back the same way. 

Above the license recording slot were two small lights. The firstflashed green, "license is in order and valid. " The second flashedgreen as well, "no previous citations. " Ben withdrew the tag from theslot. Had the first light come on red, he would have placed the driverunder arrest immediately. Had the second light turned amber, it wouldhave indicated a previous minor violation. This, Ben would have notedon the new citation. If the second light had been red, this would havemeant either a major previous violation or more than one minorcitation. Again, the driver would have been under immediate arrest. The law was mandatory. One big strike and you're out--two foul tipsand the same story. And "out" meant just that. Fines, possibly jail orprison sentence and lifetime revocation of driving privileges. 

Ben flipped the car registration slot to "stand-by" and went back tothe teenager's car. Even though they were parked on the service stripof the police emergency lane, out of all traffic, the youngstersstayed in the car. This one point of the law they knew and knew well. Survival chances were dim anytime something went wrong on thehigh-speed thruways. That little margin of luck vanished once outsidethe not-too-much-better security of the vehicle body. 

Martin finished writing and then slipped the driver's license into apocket worked into the back of the metallic paper foil of the citationblank. He handed the pad into the window to the driver together with acarbon 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 sloton the patrol car and pressed both the car registration and license"record" buttons. Ten seconds later the permanent record of thecitation was on file in Colorado Springs and a duplicate recording ofthe action was in the Continental traffic court docket recordernearest to the driver's hometown. Now, no power in three nations could"fix" that ticket. Ben withdrew the citation and registration tag andwalked back to the car. He handed the boy the license and registrationtab, together with a copy of the citation. Ben bent down to peer intothe 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 minorviolation. By rights, I should have cited you for illegal usage. " Helooked around slowly at each of the young people. "You look like nicekids, " he said. "I think you'll grow up to be nice people. I want youaround long enough to be able to vote in a few years. Who knows, maybeI'll be running for president then and I'll need your votes. It's acinch that falling apart in the middle of two-hundred-mile an hourtraffic is no way to treat future voters. 

"Good night, Kids. " He smiled and walked away from the car. The threeyoung passengers smiled back at Ben. The young driver just staredunhappily at the citation. 

Clay stood talking with the wrecker crewmen. Ben nodded to him andmounted into the patrol car. The young Canadian crushed out hiscigarette and swung up behind the sergeant. Clay went to the controlseat 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 thentake the first shift. You keep Beulah 'til I get back. "

Clay nodded and pushed the throttles forward. Car 56 rolled back intothe police lane while behind it, the wrecker hooked onto the disabledcar and swung north into the crossover. Clay checked both thechronometer and radiodometer and then reported in. "Cinncy Controlthis is Car 56 back in service. " Cincinnati Control acknowledged. 

Ten minutes later, Ben reappeared in the cab, slid into the left-handseat. "Hit the sack, kid, " he told Ferguson. The chronometer read2204. "I'll wake you at midnight--or sooner, if anything breaks. "

Ferguson stood up and stretched, then went into the galley. He pouredhimself a cup of coffee and carrying it with him, went back to thecrew quarters. He closed the door to the galley and sat down on thelower bunk to sip his coffee. When he had finished, he tossed the cupinto the basket, reached and dimmed the cubby lights and kicked offhis boots. Still in his coveralls, Clay stretched out on the bunk andsighed luxuriously. He reached up and pressed a switch on the bulkheadabove his pillow and the muted sounds of music from a standardbroadcast commercial station drifted into the bunk area. Clay closedhis eyes and let the sounds of the music and the muted rumble of theengines lull him to sleep. It took almost fifteen seconds for him tobe in deep slumber. 

 * * * * *

Ben pushed Beulah up to her steady seventy-five-mile-an-hour cruisingspeed, moved to the center of the quarter-mile-wide police lane andlocked her tracks into autodrive. He relaxed back in his seat anddivided his gaze between the video monitors and the actual scene oneither side of him in the night. Once again the sky was lighted, thistime much brighter on the horizon as the road ways swept to the southof Cincinnati. 

Traffic was once again heavy and fast with the blue and green carryingalmost equal loads while white was really crowded and even the yellow"zoom" lane was beginning to fill. The 2200 hour density reports fromCinncy had been given before the Ohio State-Cal football game traffichad hit the thruways and densities now were peaking near twentythousand vehicles for the one-hundred-mile block of westbound NAT 26out of Cincinnati. 

Back to the east, near the eastern Ohio state line, Martin could hearCar 207 calling for a wrecker and meat wagon. Beulah rumbled onthrough the night. The video monitors flicked to the next ten-milestretch as the patrol car rolled past another interchange. Morevehicles streamed onto the westbound thruway, crossing over anddropping down into the same lanes they held coming out of thenorth-south road. Seven years on patrols had created automaticreflexes in the trooper sergeant. Out of the mass of cars and cargoesstreaming along the rushing tide of traffic, his eye picked out thetrack of one vehicle slanting across the white lane just a shadefaster than the flow of traffic. The vehicle was still four or fivemiles ahead. It wasn't enough out of the ordinary to cause more than asecond, almost unconscious glance, on the part of the veteran officer. He kept his view shifting from screen to screen and out to the sidesof the car. 

But the reflexes took hold again as his eye caught the track of thesame vehicle as it hit the crossover from white to green, squeezedinto the faster lane and continued its sloping run towards the nextfaster crossover. Now Martin followed the movement of the car almostconstantly. The moving blip had made the cut-over across the half-milewide green lane in the span of one crossover and was now whipping intothe merger lane that would take it over the top of the police laneand drop down into the one hundred fifty to two hundred mile an hourblue. If the object of his scrutiny straightened out in the blue, he'dlet it go. The driver had been bordered on violation in his fastcrossover in the face of heavy traffic. If he kept it up in thenow-crowded high-speed lane, he was asking for sudden death. Themonitors flicked to the next block and Ben waited just long enough tosee the speeding car make a move to the left, cutting in front of aspeeding cargo carrier. Ben slammed Beulah into high. Once again thebull horn blared as the cocoons slammed shut, this time locking bothClay and Kelly into their bunks, sealing Ben into the control seat. 

Beulah lifted on her air cushion and the twin jets roared as sheaccelerated down the police lane at three hundred miles an hour. Benclosed the gap on the speeder in less than a minute and then edgedover to the south side of the police lane to make the jump into theblue lane. The red emergency lights and the radio siren had alreadycleared a hole for him in the traffic pattern and he eased back on thefinger throttles as the patrol car sailed over the divider and intothe blue traffic lane. Now he had eyeball contact with the speedingcar, still edging over towards the ultra-high lane. On either side ofthe patrol car traffic gave way, falling back or moving to the leftand right. Car 56 was now directly behind the speeding passengervehicle. Ben fingered the cut-in switch that put his voice signal ontothe standard vehicular emergency frequency--the band that carried theautomatic siren-warning to all vehicles. 

 * * * * *

The patrol car was still hitting above the two-hundred-mile-an-hourmark and was five hundred feet behind the speeder. The headlamp bathedthe other car in a white glare, punctuated with angry red flashes fromthe emergency lights. 

"You are directed to halt or be fired upon, " Ben's voice roared outover the emergency frequency. Almost without warning, the speeding carbegan braking down with such deceleration that the gargantuan patrolcar with its greater mass came close to smashing over it and crushingthe small passenger vehicle like an insect. Ben cut all forward power, punched up full retrojet and at the instant he felt Beulah's trackstouch the pavement as the air cushion blew, he slammed on the brakes. Only the safety cocoon kept Martin from being hurled against theinstrument panel and in their bunks, Kelly Lightfoot and Clay Fergusonfelt their insides dragging down into their legs. 

The safety cocoons snapped open and Clay jumped into his boots andleaped for the cab. "Speeder, " Ben snapped as he jumped down the stepsto the side hatch. Ferguson snatched up his helmet from the rackbeside his seat and leaped down to join his partner. Ben ran up to thestopped car through a thick haze of smoke from the retrojets of thepatrol car and the friction-burning braking of both vehicles. Ferguson circled to the other side of the car. As they flashed theirhandlights into the car, they saw the driver of the car kneeling onthe floor beside the reclined passenger seat. A woman lay stretchedout on the seat, twisting in pain. The man raised an agonized face tothe 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 thepatrol car, medical bag in hand. 

She shoved Clay out of the way and opened the door on the passengerside. On the seat, the woman moaned and then muffled a scream. Thepatrol doctor laid her palm on the distended belly. "How fast are yourpains coming?" she asked. Clay and Ben had moved away from the car afew feet. 

"Litter, " Kelly snapped over her shoulder. Clay raced for the patrolcar while Ben unshipped a portable warning light and rolled it downthe lane behind the patrol car. He flipped it to amber "caution" and"pass. " Blinking amber arrows pointed to the left and right of thehalted passenger vehicle and traffic in the blue lane began picking upspeed and parting around the obstructions. 

By the time he returned to the patrol car, Kelly had the expectantmother in the dispensary. She slammed the door in the faces of thethree 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 shakingdriver. 

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 tokilling your wife, your baby and yourself, " Ben said softly, "to saynothing of the possibility of killing several other families. Justwhat did you think you were doing?"

The driver's shoulders sagged and his hand shook as he took thecigarette from his mouth. "Honestly, officer, I don't know. I just gotfrightened to death, " he said. He peered up at Martin. "This is ourfirst baby, you see, and Ellen wasn't due for another week. We thoughtit would be all right to visit my folks in Cleveland and Ellen wasfeeling just fine. Well, anyway, we started home tonight--we live inJefferson City--and just about the time I got on the thruway, Ellenstarted having pains. I was never so scared in my life. She screamedonce and then tried to muffle them but I knew what was happening andall I could think of was to get her to a hospital. I guess I went outof my head, what with her moaning and the traffic and everything. Theonly place I could think of that had a hospital was Evansville, and Iwas going to get her there come hell or high water. " The young mantossed away the half-smoked cigarette and looked up at the closeddispensary door. "Do you think she's all right?"

Ben sighed resignedly and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Don'tyou worry a bit. She's got one of the best doctors in the continent inthere with her. Come on. " He took the husband by the arm and led himaround 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 thetraffic, Clay, " he directed. "You drive it. "

 * * * * *

Ben went back and retrieved the caution blinker and re-racked it inthe side of the patrol car, then climbed up into the cab. He took hisseat at the controls and indicated the jump seat next to him. "Sitdown, son. We're going to get us and your car out of this mess beforewe all get clobbered. "

He flicked the headlamp at Ferguson in the control seat of thepassenger car and the two vehicles moved out. Ben kept the emergencylights on while they eased carefully cross-stream to the north and thesafety of the police lane. Clay picked up speed at the outer edge ofthe blue lane and rolled along until he reached the first "patrolonly" entrance through the divider to the service strip. Ben followedhim in and then turned off the red blinkers and brought the patrol carto 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 therea 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 tous 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 tothe 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 acrossfrom the young husband. "Got a name picked out for the baby?" heasked. 

Haverstraw's face lighted. "Oh, yes, " he exclaimed. "If it's a boy, we're going to call him Harmon Pierce Haverstraw. That was mygrandfather's name. And if she's a girl, it's going to be Caroline Mayafter 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 afine-looking son. "

"Hey, " the happy young father yelped, "hey, how about that? I've got ason. " He pounded the two grinning troopers on the back. Suddenly hefroze. "What about Ellen? How's Ellen?" he called out. 

"She's just fine, " Kelly replied. "We'll let you in here in a coupleof minutes but we've got to get us gals and your new son lookingpretty for papa. Just relax. "

Haverstraw sank down onto the jump seat with a happy dazed look on hisface. 

Ben smiled and reached for the radio. "I guess our newest citizendeserves a ride in style, " he said. "We're going to have to transferMrs. Haverstraw and er, oh yes, Master Harmon Pierce to an ambulanceand then to a hospital now, George. You have any preference on wherethey go?"

"Gosh, no, " the man replied. "I guess the closest one to wherever weare. " He paused thoughtfully. "Just where are we? I've lost all senseof distance or time or anything else. "

Ben looked at the radiodometer. "We're just about due south ofIndianapolis. How would that be?"

"Oh, that's fine, " Haverstraw replied. 

"You can come back now, Mr. Haverstraw, " Kelly called out. Haverstrawjumped up. Clay got up with him. "Come on, papa, " he grinned, "I'llshow 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 ContinentalThruway 26-West, Mile Marker 632. 

Fifteen minutes later, mother and baby were in the ambulance headingnorth to the hospital. Haverstraw, calmed down with a sedativeadministered by Kelly, had nearly wrung their hands off in gratitudeas he said good-by. 

"I'll mail you all cigars when I get home, " he shouted as he waved andclimbed into his car. 

Beulah's trio watched the new father ease carefully into the trafficas the ambulance headed down the police-way. Haverstraw would have tocut over to the next exchange and then go north to Indianapolis. He'darrive later than his family. This time, he was the very picture ofcareful 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 plumpeddown 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 goodnap 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 finishedslapping together a sandwich. Munching on it, he headed into theengine room to make the midnight check. Car 56 had now been on patroleight hours. Only two hundred thirty-two hours and two thousand milesto 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 daysof 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'dthink that after a year I would have realized that nothing couldpenetrate that thick Canuck's skull. He gets me so mad sometimes thatI want to forget I'm a lady. " She paused thoughtfully. "Come to thinkof 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 herchin cupped in both hands, Kelly gave the senior officer a quizzicalsideways look. 

Ben was watching his monitors and missed the glance. Kelly sighed andstared out into the light streaked night of the thruway. The heavysurge of football traffic had distributed itself into the general flowon the road and while all lanes were busy, there were no indicationsof any overcrowding or jam-ups. Much of the pattern was shifting frompassenger to cargo vehicle as it neared midnight. The football crowdswere filtering off at each exchange and exit and the California fanshad worked into the blue and yellow--mostly the yellow--for the longtrip home. The fewer passenger cars on the thruway and the increase incargo carriers gave the troopers a breathing spell. The men in thecontrol buckets of the three hundred and four hundred-ton cargovehicles were the real pro's of the thruways; careful, courteous andfast. The NorCon patrol cars could settle down to watch out for theoccasional nuts and drunks that might bring disaster. 

Once again, Martin had the patrol car on auto drive in the center ofthe police lane and he steeled back in his seat. Beside him, Kellystared moodily into the night. 

"How come you've never married, Ben?" she asked. The senior troopergave her a startled look. "Why, I guess for the same reason you'restill a maiden, " he answered. "This just doesn't seem to be the rightkind 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 toquit the Patrol and you wouldn't. And secondly, if you must know thetruth, I've never been asked. "

Ben looked thoughtfully at the copper-haired Irish-Indian girl. All ofa sudden she seemed to have changed in his eyes. He shook his head andturned back to the road monitors. 

"I just don't think that a patrol trooper has any business gettingmarried and trying to keep a marriage happy and make a home for afamily thirty days out of every three hundred sixty, with anoccasional weekend home if you're lucky enough to draw your hometownfor a terminal point. This might help the population rate but itsure 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 pullme off the cars and stick me behind a desk somewhere, then I'll thinkabout 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. Justthinking. " She averted her eyes and looked out into the night again. "I wonder what NorCon would do with a husband-wife team?" shemurmured, almost to herself. 

Ben looked sharply at her and frowned. "Why, they'd probably splitthem 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 thathardwood burns long and leaves a fine ash. And that's what you've beenfor 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, " hesnapped. "You may be eight years younger than I am but you only haveone third the virility and one tenth the brains. And eight years fromnow 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 yoursbefore you go making unsubstantiated statements about my virility. "

Kelly stood up. "If you two will excuse me, I'll go back to thedispensary and take a good jolt of male hormones and then we can comeback 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 onesingle, tiny one of your feminine traits, princess. I like you justthe way you are. "

Kelly looked at him with a wide-eyed, cherubic smile. "You really meanthat, Ben?"

The older trooper flushed briefly and then turned quickly into thegalley. "I'm going to try for some shut-eye. Wake me at two, Clay, ifnothing 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 bedBen. I'm going to try something new in psychiatric annals. I'm goingto try and psychoanalyze a dummy. " She sat back down on the jump seat. 

At 2400 hours it was Vincennes Check with the density reports, alldown in the past hour. The patrol was settling into what looked like aquiet night routine. Kelly chatted with Ferguson for another half hourand 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 afast breakfast in case we have to eat on the run. I'm just aboutthrough now. "

A couple of minutes later she stuck her head into the cab. "Coffee'sdone. 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 blueox. "

"I know what I said, " Kelly retorted and strolled back to thedispensary. As she passed through the crew cubby, she glanced at Bensleeping on the bunk recently vacated by Ferguson. She paused andcarefully and gently pulled a blanket up over his sleeping form. Shesmiled down at the trooper and then went softly to her compartment. 

In the cab, Clay sipped at his coffee and kept watchful eyes on thevideo monitors. Beulah was back on auto drive and Clay had dropped herspeed to a slow fifty as the traffic thinned. 

At 0200 hours he left the cab long enough to go back and shake Benawake and was himself re-awakened at 0400 to take back control. He letBen sleep an extra hour before routing him out of the bunk again at0700. The thin, gray light of the winter morning was just taking holdwhen Ben came back into the cab. Clay had pulled Beulah off to theservice strip and was stopped while he finished transcribing hisscribbled notes from the 0700 Washington Criminal Control broadcast. 

Ben ran his hand sleepily over his close-cropped head. "Anythingexciting?" he asked with a yawn. Clay shook his head. "Same old thing. 'All cars exercise special vigilance over illegal crossovers. Keep alllanes 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 galleydoor. "Obviously you both went to sleep after I left and allowed ourhelpless 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 sevenhours of sleep. When you sleep, I sleep. I slept. Ergo, you didlikewise. "

"Nope, " Clay said, "for once we had a really quiet night. Let's hopethe day is of like disposition. "

Kelly began laying out the breakfast things. "You guys want eggs thismorning?"

"You gonna cook again today?" Clay inquired. 

"Only breakfast, " Kelly said. "You have the honors for the rest of theday. The diner is now open and we're taking orders. "

"I'll have mine over easy, " Ben said. "Make mine sunny-up, " Claycalled. 

Kelly began breaking eggs into the pan, muttering to herself. "Overeasy, sunny-up, I like 'em scrambled. Next tour I take I'm going toget on a team where everyone likes scrambled eggs. "

A few minutes later, Beulah's crew sat down to breakfast. Ben had justdipped 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 andget it all down my gullet before that radio gives me indigestion. " Helaid down his fork and reached for the message pad. 

The radio broadcast continued. "A late model, white over greenTravelaire, containing two men and believed to be the subjects wantedin earlier broadcast on murder, robbery and hit-run murder, wasinvolved in a service station robbery and murder at Vandalia, Illinois, at approximately 0710 this date. NorCon Criminal Divisionbelieves this subject car escaped filter check and left NAT 26-Westsometime during the night. 

"Owner of this stolen vehicle states it had only half tanks of fuel atthe time it was taken. This would indicate wanted subjects stopped forfuel. It is further believed they were recognized by the stationattendant from video bulletins sent out by this department last dateand that he was shot and killed to prevent giving alarm. 

"The shots alerted residents of the area and the subject car was lastseen headed south. This vehicle may attempt to regain access toNAT-26-West or it may take another thruway. All units are warned onceagain to approach this vehicle with extreme caution and only with theassistance of another unit where possible. Acknowledge. WashingtonCriminal Control out. "

Ben looked at the chrono. "They hit Vandalia at 0710, eh. Even in theyellow they couldn't get this far for another half hour. Let's finishbreakfast. It may be a long time until lunch. "

The crew returned to their meal. While Kelly was cleaning up afterbreakfast, Clay ran the quick morning engine room check. In the cab, Ben opened the arms rack and brought out two machine pistols andbelts. 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 inthe front panel of the cab. It exposed the breech mechanisms of apair of twin-mounted 25 mm auto-cannon. The ammunition loads werefull. Satisfied, Ben shut the inspection port and climbed into hisseat. Clay came forward, saw the machine pistol on his seat andstrapped it on without a word. He settled himself in his seat. "Engineroom check is all green. Let's go rabbit hunting. "

Car 56 moved slowly out into the police lane. Both troopers had theirindividual sets of video monitors on in front of their seats and werewatching them intently. In the growing light of day, a white-toppedcar was going to be easy to spot. 

 * * * * *

It had all the earmarks of being another wintery, overcast day. Theoutside temperature at 0800 was right on the twenty-nine-degree markand the threat of more snow remained in the air. The 0800 densityreports from St. Louis Control were below the 14, 000 mark in all lanesin the one-hundred-mile block west of the city. That was to beexpected. They listened to the eastbound densities peaking attwenty-six thousand vehicles in the same block, all heading into themetropolis and their jobs. The 0800, 1200 and 1600 hours densityreports also carried the weather forecasts for a five-hundred-mileradius from the broadcasting control point. Decreasing temperatureswith light to moderate snow was in the works for Car 56 for the firstcouple of hundred miles west of St. Louis, turning to almost blizzardconditions in central Kansas. Extra units had already been put intoservice on all thruways through the midwest and snow-burners werewaging a losing battle from Wichita west to the Rockies aroundAlamosa, Colorado. 

Outside the temperature was below freezing; inside the patrol car itwas a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. Kelly had cleared the galleyand taken her place on the jump seat between the two troopers. Withall three of them in the cab, Ben cut from the intercom to commercialbroadcast to catch the early morning newscasts and some pleasantmusic. The patrol vehicle glided along at a leisurely sixty miles anhour. An hour out of St. Louis, a big liquid cargo carrier was stoppedon the inner edge of the green lane against the divider to the policelane. The trucker had dropped both warning barriers and lights a halfmile back. Ben brought Beulah to a halt across the divider from thestopped carrier. "Dropped a track pin, " the driver called out to theofficers. 

Ben backed Beulah across the divider behind the stalled carrier togive them protection while they tried to assist the stalled vehicle. 

Donning work helmets to maintain contact with the patrol car, and itsremote radio system, the two troopers dismounted and went to see whatneeded fixing. Kelly drifted back to the dispensary and stretched outon one of the hospital bunks and picked up a new novel. 

Beulah's well-equipped machine shop stock room produced a matchingpin and it was merely a matter of lifting the stalled carrier anddriving it into place in the track assembly. Ben brought the patrolcar alongside the carrier and unshipped the crane. Twenty minuteslater, Clay and the carrier driver had the new part installed and thetanker was on his way once again. 

Clay climbed into the cab and surveyed his grease-stained uniformcoveralls and filthy hands. "Your nose is smudged, too, dearie, "Martin observed. 

Clay grinned, "I'm going to shower and change clothes. Try and see ifyou can drive this thing until I get back without increasing thepedestrian fatality rate. " He ducked back into the crew cubby andstripped his coveralls. 

Bored with her book, Kelly wandered back to the cab and took Clay'svacant control seat. The snow had started falling again and in themid-morning light it tended to soften the harsh, utilitarian landscapeof the broad thruway stretching ahead to infinity and spreading out ina mile of speeding traffic on either hand. 

"Attention all cars on NAT 26-West and east, " Washington CriminalControl radio blared. "Special attention Cars 56 and 82. Suspectvehicle, white over green Travelaire reported re-entered NAT 26-Weston St. Louis interchange 179. St. Louis Control reports communicationsdifficulty in delayed report. Vehicle now believed. .. . "

"Car 56, Car 56, " St. Louis Control broke in. "Our pigeon is in yourzone. Commercial carrier reports near miss sideswipe three minutes agoin 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. Ourposition is mile marker 970. .. . "

Kelly had been glued to the video monitors since the first of thebulletin. Suddenly she screamed and banged Ben on the shoulder. "Therethey are. There they are, " she cried, pointing at the blue lanemonitor. 

Martin took one look at the white-topped car cutting through trafficin the blue lane and slammed Beulah into high. The safety cocoonsslammed shut almost on the first notes of the bull horn. Trapped inthe shower, Clay was locked into the stall dripping wet as the waterautomatically shut off with the movement of the cocoon. 

 * * * * *

"I have them in sight, " Ben reported, as the patrol car lifted on itsair pad and leaped forward. "They're in the blue five miles ahead ofme and cutting over to the yellow. I estimate their speed at twotwenty-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 markercrossover 1032. Car 82 divert all blue and yellow to green andwhite. "

Eight Two was one hundred fifty miles ahead but atthree-hundred-mile-an-hour speeds, 82's team was very much a part ofthe operation. This would clear the two high-speed lanes if thesuspect car hadn't been caught sooner. 

"Cars 414, 227 and 290 in NAT-26-East, move into the yellow to coverin case our pigeon decides to fly the median. " The controllercontinued to move cars into covering positions in the area on allcrossovers and turnoffs. The sweating dispatcher looked at his lightedmap board and mentally cursed the lack of enough units to cover everyexit. State and local authorities already had been notified in theevent the fugitives left the thruways and tried to escape on a statefreeway. 

In Car 56, Ben kept the patrol car roaring down the blue lane throughthe speeding westbound traffic. The standard emergency signal wasdoing a partial job of clearing the path, but at those speeds, driverreaction times weren't always fast enough. Ahead, the fleeing suspectcar brushed against a light sedan, sending it careening and rockingacross the lane. The driver fought for control as it swerved andscreeched on its tilting frame. He brought it to a halt amid a haze ofblue smoke from burning brakes and bent metal. The white over greenTravelaire never slowed, fighting its way out of the blue into theultra-high yellow and lighter traffic. Ben kept Beulah in bulldogpursuit. 

The sideswipe ahead had sent other cars veering in panic and a clusterinadvertently bunched up in the path of the roaring patrol car. Like aflock of hawk-frightened chickens, they tried to scatter as they sawand heard the massive police vehicle bearing down on them. But likechickens, they couldn't decide which way to run. It was a matter offive or six seconds before they parted enough to let the patrol carthrough. Ben had no choice but to cut the throttle and punch once onthe retrojets to brake the hurtling patrol car. The momentary drops inspeed unlocked the safety cocoons and in an instant, Clay had leapedfrom the shower stall and sped to the cab. Hearing, rather than seeinghis 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 tothe galley. A second later she was back. Without a word, she handedthe nude Ferguson a dangling pair of uniform coveralls. Clay gasped, dropped the rifles and grabbed the coveralls from her hand andclutched them to his figure. His face was beet-red. Still withoutspeaking, Kelly turned and ran back to her dispensary to be ready forthe next acceleration. 

Clay was into the coveralls and in his seat almost at the instantMartin whipped the patrol car through the hole in the blue traffic andshoved her into high once more. 

There was no question about the fact that the occupants of thefugitive car knew they were being pursued. They shot through thecrossover into the yellow lane and now were hurtling down the thruwayclose to the four-hundred-mile-an-hour mark. 

Martin had Beulah riding just under three hundred to make thecrossover, still ten miles behind the suspect car and following onvideo monitor. The air still crackled with commands as St. Louis andWashington Control maneuvered other cars into position as the pursuitwent westward past other units blocking exit routes. 

Clay read aloud the radiodometer numerals as they clicked off a mileevery nine seconds. Car 56 roared into the yellow and the instant Benhad it straightened out, he slammed all finger throttles to fullpower. Beulah snapped forward and even at three hundred miles an hour, the sudden acceleration pasted the car's crew against the back oftheir cushioned seats. The patrol car shot forward at more than fivehundred miles an hour. 

The image of the Travelaire grew on the video monitor and then the twotroopers had it in actual sight, a white, racing dot on the broadavenue of the thruway six miles ahead. 

Clay triggered the controls for the forward bow cannon and a panel boxflashed to "ready fire" signal. 

"Negative, " Martin ordered. "We're coming up on the roadblock. Youmight miss and hit one of our cars. "

"Car 56 to Control, " the senior trooper called. "Watch out at theroadblock. He's doing at least five hundred in the yellow and he'llnever be able to stop. "

Two hundred miles east, the St. Louis controller made a snap decision. "Abandon roadblock. Roadblock cars start west. Maintain two hundreduntil subject comes into monitor view. Car 56, continue speedestimates of subject car. Maybe we can box him in. "

At the roadblock forty-five miles ahead of the speeding fugitives andtheir relentless pursuer, the four patrol cars pivoted and spread outacross the roadway some five hundred feet apart. They lunged forwardand lifted up to air-cushion jet drive at just over two hundred milesan hour. Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on video monitors set for theten-mile block to the rear of the four vehicles. 

Beulah's indicated ground speed now edged towards the five hundredfifty mark, close to the maximum speeds the vehicles could attain. 

The gap continued to close, but more slowly. "He's firing hotter, " Bencalled out. "Estimating five thirty on subject vehicle. "

Now Car 56 was about three miles astern and still the gap closed. Thefugitive car flashed past the site of the abandoned roadblock andfifteen seconds later all four patrol cars racing ahead of theTravelaire broke into almost simultaneous reports of "Here he comes. "

A second later, Clay Ferguson yelled out, "There he goes. He'sboondocking, 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 bigpatrol cruisers outlined against the slight rise in the thruway almostat the instant he flashed onto their screens ten miles behind them. Hebroke speed, rocked wildly from side to side, fighting for control andthen cut diagonally to the left, heading for the outer edge of thethruway and the unpaved, half-mile-wide strip of landscaped earth thatseparated the east and westbound segments of NAT-26. 

The white and green car was still riding on its airpad when it hit thelow, rounded curbing at the edge of the thruway. It hurtled into theair and sailed for a hundred feet across the gently-slopingsnow-covered grass, came smashing down in a thick hedgerow ofbushes--and kept going. 

Car 56 slowed and headed for the curbing. "Watch it, kids, " Bensnapped over the intercom, "we may be buying a plot in a second. "

Still traveling more than five hundred miles an hour, the huge patrolcar hit the curbing and bounced into the air like a rocket boostedelephant. It tilted and smashed its nose in a slanting blow into thesnow-covered ground. The sound of smashing and breaking equipmentmingled with the roar of the thundering jets, tracks and air drives asthe car fought its way back to level travel. It surged forward andsmashed through the hedgerow and plunged down the sloping snowbankafter the fleeing car. 

"Clay, " Ben called in a strained voice, "take 'er. "

Ferguson's fingers were already in position. "You all right, Ben?" heasked anxiously. 

"Think I dislocated a neck vertebra, " Ben replied. "I can't move myhead. Go get 'em, kid. "

"Try not to move your head at all, Ben, " Kelly called from her cocoonin the dispensary. "I'll be there the minute we slow down. "

A half mile ahead, the fugitive car plowed along the bottom of thegentle draw in a cloud of snow, trying to fight its way up theopposite slope and onto the eastbound thruway. 

But the Travelaire was never designed for driving on anything but amodern superhighway. Car 56 slammed through the snow and down to thebottom of the draw. A quarter of a mile ahead of the fugitives, thefirst of the four roadblock units came plowing over the rise. 

The car speed dropped quickly to under a hundred and the cocoons wereagain 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 herselfthrough the cab door. She clasped his forehead and held his headagainst the back of the control seat. 

Suddenly, the fugitive car spun sideways, bogged in the wet snow andmuddy ground beneath and stopped. Clay bore down on it and was abouttwo hundred yards away when the canopy of the other vehicle poppedopen and a sheet of automatic weapons fire raked the patrol car. Onlythe low angle of the sedan and the nearness of the bulky patrol carsaved the troopers. Explosive bullets smashed into the patrol carcanopy and sent shards of plastiglass showering down on the trio. 

An instant later, the bow cannon on the first of the cut-off patrolunits opened fire. An ugly, yellow-red blossom of smoke and fireerupted from the front of the Travelaire and it burst into flames. Asecond later, the figure of a man staggered out of the burning car, clothes and hair aflame. He took four plunging steps and then fellface down in the snow. The car burning and crackled and a thickfunereal pyre of oily, black smoke billowed into the gray sky. It wassnowing heavily now, and before the troopers could dismount and plowto 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 forWichita barracks and needed repairs. In the dispensary, Ben Martin wasstretched out on a hospital bunk with a traction brace around his neckand a copper-haired medical-surgical patrolwoman fussing over him. 

In the cab, Clay peered through the now almost-blinding blizzard thatwhirled and skirled thick snow across the thruway. Traffic densitieswere virtually zero despite the efforts of the dragonlike snow-burnerstrying to keep the roadways clear. The young trooper shivered despitethe heavy jacket over his coveralls. Wind whistled through the shellholes in Beulah's canopy and snow sifted and drifted against the backbulkhead. 

The cab communications system had been smashed by the gunfire and Claywore his work helmet both for communications and warmth. 

The door to the galley cracked open and Kelly stuck her head in. "Howmuch farther, Clay?" she asked. 

"We should be in the barracks in about twenty minutes, " the shiveringtrooper replied. 

"I'll fix you a cup of hot coffee, " Kelly said. "You look like youneed it. "

Over the helmet intercom Clay heard her shoving things around in thegalley. "My heavens, but this place is a mess, " she exclaimed. "Ican't even find the coffee bin. That steeplechase driving has got tostop. " She paused. 

"Clay, " she called out, "Have you been drinking in here? It smellslike a brewery. "

Clay raised mournful eyes to the shattered canopy above him. "Mycooking wine" he sighed. 

[Illustration]