Code Three | Page 6

and
nurse. "Glad to see the hostess aboard for this cruise. I hope you make the passengers
more comfortable than you've just made the first mate. What did you do to Clay, Kelly?"
"Hi, Ben," Kelly said. "Oh, don't worry about junior. He just gets all fluttery when a girl
takes away his masculine prerogative to make cleverly lewd witticisms. He'll be all right.
Have a happy holiday, Ben? You look positively fat."
Ben patted his stomach. "Carol's good cooking. Had a nice restful time. And how about
you. That couldn't have been all work. You've got a marvelous tan."
"Don't worry," Kelly laughed, "I had no intention of letting it be all study. I spent just
about as much time under the sun dome at the pool as I did in class. I learned a lot
though."
[Illustration]
Ben grinned and headed back to the front of the car. "Tell me more after we're on the
road," he said from the doorway. "We'll be rolling in ten minutes."
When he reached the cab, Clay was already in the right-hand control seat and was
running down the instrument panel check. The sergeant lifted the hatch door between the
two control seats and punched on a light to illuminate the stark compartment at the lower
front end of the car. A steel grill with a dogged handle on the upper side covered the
opening under the hatch cover. Two swing-down bunks were racked up against the walls
on either side and the front hull door was without an inside handle. This was the patrol
car brig, used for bringing in unwilling violators or other violent or criminal subjects who
might crop up in the course of a patrol tour. Satisfied with the appearance of the brig, Ben
closed the hatch cover and slid into his own control seat on the left of the cab. Both
control seats were molded and plastiformed padded to the contours of the troopers and
the armrests on both were studded with buttons and a series of small, finger-operated,
knobs. All drive, communication and fire fighting controls for the massive vehicle were
centered in the knobs and buttons on the seat arms, while acceleration and braking
controls were duplicated in two footrest pedals beneath their feet.
Ben settled into his seat and glanced down to make sure his work-helmet was racked
beside him. He reached over and flipped a bank of switches on the instrument panel. "All
communications to 'on,'" he said. Clay made a checkmark on his list. "All pre-engine start
check complete," Clay replied.
"In that case," the senior trooper said, "let's give Beulah some exercise. Start engines."
Clay's fingers danced across the array of buttons on his seat arms and flicked lightly at
the throttle knobs. From deep within the engine compartment came the muted, shrill

whine of the starter engines, followed a split-second later by the full-throated roar of the
jets as they caught fire. Clay eased the throttles back and the engine noise softened to a
muffled roar.
Martin fingered a press-panel on the right arm of his seat.
"Car 56 to Philly Control," Ben called.
The speakers mounted around the cab came to life. "Go ahead Five Six."
"Five Six fired up and ready to roll," Martin said.
"Affirmative Five Six," came the reply, "You're clear to roll. Philly Check estimates
white density 300; green, 840; blue 400; yellow, 75."
Both troopers made mental note of the traffic densities in their first one-hundred-mile
patrol segment; an estimated three hundred vehicles for each ten miles of thruway in the
white or fifty to one hundred miles an hour low lane; eight hundred forty vehicles in the
one hundred to one hundred fifty miles an hour green, and so on. More than sixteen
thousand westbound vehicles on the thruway in the first one hundred miles; nearly five
thousand of them traveling at speeds between one hundred fifty and three hundred miles
an hour.
Over the always-hot intercom throughout the big car Ben called out. "All set, Kelly?"
"I'm making coffee," Kelly answered from the galley. "Let 'er roll."
Martin started to kick off the brakes, then stopped. "Ooops," he exclaimed, "almost
forgot." His finger touched another button and a blaring horn reverberated through the
vehicle.
In the galley, Kelly hurled herself into a corner. Her body activated a pressure plant and a
pair of mummy-like plastifoam plates slid curvingly out the wall and locked her in a soft
cocoon. A dozen similar safety clamps were located throughout the car at every working
and relaxation station.
In the same instance, both Ben and Clay touched another plate on their control seats.
From kiosk-type columns behind each seat, pairs of body-molded crash pads snapped
into place to encase both troopers in their seats, their bodies cushioned