Code Three | Page 9

of wreckage smoldering a hundred feet inside the median separating the green and
white lanes. A crumpled body lay on the pavement twenty feet from the biggest clump of
smashed metal, and other fragments of vehicles were strung out down the roadway for
fifty feet. There was no movement.
NorCon thruway laws were strict and none were more rigidly enforced than the
regulation that no one other than a member of the patrol set foot outside of their vehicle
while on any thruway traffic lane. This meant not giving any assistance whatsoever to
accident victims. The ruling had been called inhuman, monstrous, unthinkable, and
lawmakers in the three nations of the compact had forced NorCon to revoke the rule in
the early days of the thruways. After speeding cars and cargo carriers had cut down twice
as many do-gooders on foot at accident scenes than the accidents themselves caused, the
law was reinstated. The lives of the many were more vital than the lives of a few.
Martin halted the patrol vehicle a few feet from the wreckage and Beulah was still
rocking gently on her tracks by the time both Patrol Trooper Clay Ferguson and MSO
Kelly Lightfoot hit the pavement on the run.
In the cab, Martin called in on the radio. "Car 56 is on scene. Release blue at Marker 95
and resume speeds all lanes at Marker 95 in--" he paused and looked back at the halted
traffic piled up before the lane had been closed "--seven minutes." He jumped for the
steps and sprinted out of the patrol car in the wake of Ferguson and Kelly.
The team's surgeon was kneeling beside the inert body on the road. After an ear to the
chest, Kelly opened her field kit bag and slapped an electrode to the victim's temple. The
needle on the encephalic meter in the lid of the kit never flickered. Kelly shut the bag and
hurried with it over to the mass of wreckage. A thin column of black, oily smoke rose
from somewhere near the bottom of the heap. It was almost impossible to identify at a
glance whether the mangled metal was the remains of one or more cars. Only the absence
of track equipment made it certain that they even had been passenger vehicles.
Clay was carefully climbing up the side of the piled up wrecks to a window that gaped
near the top.
"Work fast, kid," Martin called up. "Something's burning down there and this whole thing
may go up. I'll get this traffic moving."

He turned to face the halted mass of cars and cargo carriers east of the wreck. He flipped
a switch that cut his helmet transmitter into the remote standard vehicular radio circuit
aboard the patrol car.
"Attention, please, all cars in green lane. All cars in the left line move out now, the next
line fall in behind. You are directed to clear the area immediately. Maintain fifty miles an
hour for the next mile. You may resume desired speeds and change lanes at mile Marker
95. I repeat, all cars in green lane...." he went over the instructions once more, relayed
through Beulah's transmitter to the standard receivers on all cars. He was still talking as
the traffic began to move.
By the time he turned back to help his teammates, cars were moving in a steady stream
past the huge, red-flashing bulk of the patrol car.
Both Clay and Kelly were lying flat across the smashed, upturned side of the uppermost
car in the pile. Kelly had her field bag open on the ground and she was reaching down
through the smashed window.
"What is it Clay?" Martin called.
The younger officer looked down over his shoulder. "We've got a woman alive down
here but she's wedged in tight. She's hurt pretty badly and Kelly's trying to slip a hypo
into her now. Get the arm out, Ben."
Martin ran back to the patrol car and flipped up a panel on the hull. He pulled back on
one of the several levers recessed into the hull and the big wrecking crane swung
smoothly out of its cradle and over the wreckage. The end of the crane arm was directly
over Ferguson. "Lemme have the spreaders," Clay called. The arm dipped and from
either side of the tip, a pair of flanges shot out like tusks on an elephant. "Put 'er in
neutral," Clay directed. Martin pressed another lever and the crane now could be moved
in any direction by fingertip pulls at its extremity. Ferguson carefully guided the crane
with its projecting tusks into the smashed orifice of the car window. "O.K., Ben, spread
it."
The crane locked into position and the entire arm split open in a "V" from its base. Martin