king--the same two dogs that
I had shooed before I closed the door.

I formed my thoughts: _I know who you are. It's no secret any more. But
why? What are you trying to do?_

There was no reply.

It could mean one of two things. Either he simply didn't want to answer,
or else he wasn't on the machine in person but was playing an
impression-tape on my wave-band. I tried again.

_You're licked, you know. Already you're licked. Even if my call to
Newell was nothing but a telenosis dream--even if no one knows anything
about this but me, you're still licked--_

* * * * *

No reply. None of any kind. I'd expected at least to get a sinister
chuckle, or a flood of horrors. But there was nothing more nor less than
what there had been--the policeman driving through quiet city streets,
and the dogs barking.

Then it was just a recording, prepared in advance. My mind was not being
followed in person. Not right now.

But that was no help and no assurance. I still didn't dare get out of
the car. Or knock the driver over the head and take over the car myself.
At ninety miles an hour, and with a visual impression of moving slowly
along city streets, that would be a sure form of suicide.

Or would it?

Apparently I had no choice but to wait until we arrived at our
destination and then do what I could--which might not be much.

Lord, if I could make another vp call before we got there!

Careful, though. Even with no operator at the telenizer, I had to watch
out for thought leakage. My thoughts were surely being recorded, and
certain kinds of thoughts might trigger automatic precautionary
measures.

I gave the defense mech a hard bang with my hand. It clicked twice. I
got a brief glimpse of the highway flashing past and the lights of other
vehicles.

Then the clicking stopped, and we were back in town, crawling along. I
hit the defense mech again, a series of lighter blows, and it obediently
clicked and this time continued clicking; and we were on the highway
again.

Making an effort to control my breathing and to muffle the sound of my
rapidly pounding heart, I leaned forward and examined the controls of
the auto intently.

There was a phone. Not a visiphone, of course, but a phone nonetheless.
A means of communication. There was also a luminous radar dial that
might or might not mean automatic controls.

Which might or might not be in operation.

I concentrated on the hands and fee