t of the driver. Neither moved
perceptibly. The course of the vehicle was straight and constant,
though, so that didn't prove anything.

"Hey, where in hell is this police station?" I asked.

With a slight backward-turning motion of his head, the driver replied,
"Almost there. Just a few minutes now."

As his head moved, his hands moved the wheel a bare fraction. The auto
did not swerve.

I took a deep breath and hit the driver on the side of the head with my
doubled right fist as hard as I could. He slumped, and I hit him again.
His hands slid from the wheel ... and the car continued on its course.

I clambered into the front seat with the driver.

* * * * *

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....