rgency lane, out of all traffic, the youngsters
stayed in the car. This one point of the law they knew and knew well.
Survival chances were dim anytime something went wrong on the
high-speed thruways. That little margin of luck vanished once outside
the not-too-much-better security of the vehicle body.

Martin finished writing and then slipped the driver's license into a
pocket worked into the back of the metallic paper foil of the citation
blank. He handed the pad into the window to the driver together with a
carbon stylus.

The boy's lip trembled and he signed the citation with a shaky hand.

Ben ripped off the citation blank and license, fed them into the slot
on the patrol car and pressed both the car registration and license
"record" buttons. Ten seconds later the permanent record of the
citation was on file in Colorado Springs and a duplicate recording of
the action was in the Continental traffic court docket recorder
nearest to the driver's hometown. Now, no power in three nations could
"fix" that ticket. Ben withdrew the citation and registration tag and
walked back to the car. He handed the boy the license and registration
tab, together with a copy of the citation. Ben bent down to peer into
the car.

"I made it as light on you as I could," he told the young driver.
"You're charged with improper use of the thruway. That's a minor
violation. By rights, I should have cited you for illegal usage." He
looked around slowly at each of the young people. "You look like nice
kids," he said. "I think you'll grow up to be nice people. I want you
around long enough to be able to vote in a few years. Who knows, maybe
I'll be running for president then and I'll need your votes. It's a
cinch that falling apart in the middle of two-hundred-mile an hour
traffic is no way to treat future voters.

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

Clay stood talking with the wrecker crewmen. Ben nodded to him and
mounted into the patrol car. The young Canadian crushed out his
cigarette and swung up behind the sergeant. Clay went to the control
seat when he saw Martin pause in the door to the galley.

"I'm going to get a cup of coffee," the older officer said, "and then
take the first shift. You keep Beulah 'til I get back."

Clay nodded and pushed the throttles forward. Car 56 rolled back into
the police lane