down the big power plants and turned off the air
exchangers and already the heat from the massive engines made the
compartment uncomfortably warm.

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

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

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

Clay tapped on the door and went through. Medical-Surgical Officer
Kelly Lightfoot was sitting on the deck, stowing sterile bandage packs
into a lower locker. She looked up at Clay and smiled. "Well, well,
you DID manage to tear yourself away from your adoring bevies," she
said. She flicked back a wisp of golden-red hair from her forehead and
stood up. The patrol-blue uniform coverall with its belted waist
didn't do much to hide a lovely, properly curved figure. She walked
over to the tall Canadian trooper and reached up and grabbed his ear.
She pulled his head down, examined one side critically and then
quickly snatched at his other ear and repeated the scrutiny. She let
go of his ear and stepped back. "Damned if you didn't get all the
lipstick marks off, too."

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

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

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

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

Kelly turned and slowly scanned the confines of the dispensary. With
the exception of t