* * * * *
As I lifted the mike, the auto started slowing down, and I thought for a
moment it wasn't electronically controlled after all. That was a
horrible moment, and I clutched at the wheel instinctively, but the car
still did not swerve.
So I quit worrying about that and dialed the number.
The conversation, once I had the call through, took quite a little
while. I had to convince the man that I was serious. While I was
talking, arguing frantically, the auto was slowing almost to a stop,
maneuvering over to the turning lane on the right, making the turn and
following a narrow road that crossed under the highway.
The urgency of my voice must have been pretty convincing, because the
voice on the other end finally said, "Well, I'll do what I can, Mr.
Langston, but it'll take time. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. And so help
me, if this is a joke--"
"It's no joke," I pleaded. "Believe me, it isn't. Please make it as fast
as you can. Civilization may be at stake." On that deliberately ominous
note, I hung up.
Immediately I began thinking of the things I should have done, the
machinery I should have set in motion instead of the one thing I had
done. By all means, I ought to have notified the police directly. My
notion that telenosis influenced all the police desk sergeants in town
was hysterical, baseless. Well, I could call back, even now--
But I couldn't.
The car was moving at a relatively slow speed--but still over fifty
miles an hour, on a narrow unpaved, downgrade road. Through the side
window I saw dark trees and shadowy brush gliding by.
And then through the window I saw lighted storefronts, mail boxes, a few
vague pedestrians on smooth sidewalks, and two dogs running tirelessly
beside the car, barking as they ran....
Repeated pounding on the heavy black box did not restore reality.
Now I did not dare use the phone again or even think about it. I was
sitting beside the driver, and the driver was sitting erect at the
wheel.
On a sudden, stupid impulse, I struck at the driver's head, and my hand
went through it without touching anything. I groped with my hand until I
felt the man's limp head where my eyes said his shoulder was.
With a suppressed shudder, I drew my hand away and sat back in the seat
to wait. It couldn't be long now.
The car turned a corner and continued at a much slower pace. It went
perhaps a hundred yards before it pulled to the curb and stopped. Across
the street I saw the police station. The entrance looked like any other
store or business entrance, but a marquee-sign above the entrance read:
"Section 4 Police Station."
The driver sat motionless behind the wheel. He would not move, I knew,
until....