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