The Instant of Now

by Irving E. Cox

Except for thesing-song ringing in his head he might have been able to think clearlyenough to evaluate his own position.

  But that could be done later. He was overcome by an immensedrowsiness. He relaxed and slept.

  VI

  A shrill scream woke him with a start of horror. His captors had takenhim from his saddle and propped him against a mound of rocks, alongwith the other prisoners. His muscles were numb and dead, so limp itwas almost impossible for him to turn his head. Faintly the whirringterror whispered in his mind.

  Dirrul's eyes focused slowly on the clearing. One of the prisoners hadbeen carried there, close to the fire. It was Glenna. Two of hercaptors held her while the third bent over her head, probing her earwith a sharp instrument. His arm moved. Glenna screamed and fainted.For a moment Dirrul saw the side of her face smeared with a spreadingstain of blood. Then nausea swept over him. When he opened his eyesagain the three men were working over another prisoner at the fire.

  Vaguely Dirrul knew he had to escape. He forgot the Movement--hethought of nothing any loftier than his own personal survival. Theidea was elemental, built upon the simplest sort of observation andhypothesis.

  Yet it came slowly and painfully, as if he had just tried tounderstand after one reading the Cranmor-Frasher Theory of DiminishingCorelatives. As he verbalized the conclusion two things happened--thedrug-like languor in his muscles began to disperse and the shrillingnote of terror burst up loud in his mind once more.

  Two of the men brought their last victim back from the fire and laidhis body on the stones close to Dirrul. Dirrul feigned sleep when theystood over him. One of them prodded him with the tip of a dustyboot--then they both laughed.

  They went back to the fire and talked soundlessly to their companions,holding up the identification disk which had been ripped from Dirrul'sneck hours before. That amused them briefly, until one of the threesnatched the disk and hurled it toward the mouth of the ravine inviolent anger.

  The three men pulled thick white skins together near the fire andcrept into them. Dirrul waited until he was sure they slept. It wasthe only chance he would have to escape, but when he tried to creepaway his hands collapsed from sheer terror. The crying fear in hismind was so loud his head seemed to vibrate physically with thesound.

  Thought was impossible. Judgment and decision were impossible. If hetried to consider even a problem as simple as the safest means ofpassing the dying fire--reason failed him. He could weigh nothingcritically--he could not consider probable courses of rational action.

  Nonetheless he inched forward. It took all the courage and stamina hepossessed. Gradually a strange and foggy understanding formed in hisbrain. The terror seemed to die if he planned nothing, merelyresponding without thought to the instinctive urge to escape. Letinstinct do the trick then.

  Detached from the control panel of his cerebral cortex his bodymechanism functioned perfectly. It was like a space-ship smoothlypiloted by its automatic navigators. Dirrul gave himself over to hisown built-in stimulus-response relays and the screeching fearshriveled and died.

  Calm and unhurried he walked past the fire and the sleeping men. Ascalmly he searched the mouth of the ravine for Sorgel's disk. When hefound it he stuffed it into the pocket of his tunic and strodeconfidently along the trail that led down from the hills.

  It was dawn. In the pink morning light he could see the Vininese cityat his feet, neat, clean, well-blocked streets and towering buildingsof black stone. On the outskirts were the circular space-fields andthe long low flat-roofed interplanetary freight depots. Farther away,dotting the countryside at regular intervals, were curiousblock-shaped windowless structures surrounded by double walls.

  Dirrul had never seen anything like them before but, through a processof judicial elimination, he decided they must be the Vininese BeamTransmitters. The defense of Vinin was remarkably thorough, farsurpassing anything of a similar nature on Agron.

  It came to him with something of a shock that he was thinkingrationally once more. His mind was completely clear. He felt ashamedof the foolish, groundless terror that had unnerved him in the ravine.He tried to understand what had happened to him but it was beyondanalysis. In retrospect he realized that the danger had been less thanwhat he faced on any normal day in the Air-Command emergencymaintenance service.

  The only logical explanation was the food they had given him. It musthave been heavily drugged with a new poison known to the Vininese.Dirrul was tempted to go back and rescue Glenna, if she were stillalive after the torture to which she had been subjected. But he knewit was more important for him to contact Vininese Headquarters first.He had a message to deliver. Glenna herself would have wanted that.

  In two hours Dirrul was on the plain again. All the suffering of thepast few hours was gone. The plentiful purple grass had quenched histhirst and surprisingly eased his hunger as well. He felt keenly alertand alive. The sun was warm, the air was balmy. He was on Vinin.

  Spiritually he had come home, to the thing he believed in. Not manymen had such opportunity to realize their dreams of perfection. To capthe triumph Dirrul knew it might still be possible to make his reportand save the Movement on Agron.

  From the top of a purple-swathed knoll he looked down across atwisting red stream toward the suburbs of the city. Magnificentblack-stone villas, surrounded by stylized gardens, were on both sidesof the green highway.

  Further on, close to the city, were the crowded workers' quarters,behind them, hidden in a faint mist, the rectangular masses of publicbuildings reaching up toward the stars. This was as Paul Sorgel had sooften described it. Such grandeur could only belong to the capitalcity of the Vininese Confederacy.

  Under the brow of the knoll Dirrul saw one of the stone blockbuildings within its protective double walls. A huge trumpet-liketransmitter was exposed at the top of the structure. In some ways itresembled the Beam Transmitters on Agron but the differences were sostriking Dirrul knew it was a totally new device--possibly a moreefficient variation invented by the Vininese. The faint hum ofmachinery and the regular movement of the sending tube indicated thatthe machine was running--but for what purpose Dirrul could only guess.

  The yard between the two walls was patrolled by a smartly disciplinedscore of Vininese. Dirrul considered going to them to ask fortransportation to the city but changed his mind. It was very possiblethat the installation was secret. The guards might have hadinstructions to dispose immediately of any intruder. On the whole itseemed wiser to go a little farther to one of the walled villas.

  Dirrul walked half a thousand feet along the green highway and turnedup the drive leading toward one of the sprawling mansions. As hepassed the portals of the open gate an alarm bell clanged--secondslater five Vininese infantry surrounded him, prodding him into thehouse with their gleaming weapons. In precise Vininese, carefullyenunciated, Dirrul tried to explain what he wanted--but the guardsmade no reply, merely staring at him with cold glazed eyes,comprehending nothing.

  They threw him roughly into a dark room, where a slim Vininese waitedin a lounge chair. As Dirrul's eyes grew accustomed to the faint lighthe saw that the Vininese held a snub-nosed rocket-pistol.

  "Your permit?" the Vininese asked languidly.

  "Yesterday I came here from--"

  "Then you have no permit. I must shoot you, of course."

  "Sir, I have a message from Agron! You must take me to Headquarters!"

  "Oh, you're a tourist. But this is a prohibited area. From the duston your tunic, I take it you have done a great deal of walking. Apity, my friend--naturally you've seen the transmitters."

  "We have them on Agron but it is of no importance."

  The Vininese threw back his head and laughed, "Oh, no--of noimportance--you have seen nothing!"

  "I do not understand you," Dirrul said desperately. "My Vininese isvery poor. But you must help me. I bring news of the Movement on Agronand time is short." Anxiously Dirrul plunged into his story, trippingrepeatedly over the involved syntax of Vinin to his host's obviousam
usement.

  Eventually, however, he made his point, for the tall Vininese said,"Then you must be the agent who sent the teleray report. We've beenlooking for you, sir. We feared, after you crashed, that you mighthave been taken by the vagabonds." Still holding Dirrul centered inthe gunsight the Vininese picked up a portable teleray and asked forHeadquarters.

  While he waited he added, "You must forgive this reception, my friendfrom Agron. We have been having so much trouble with the vagabondslately we must all go armed. Here in the transmission area we must beparticularly alert."

  His tone was warm but the gun never wavered. When he made hisconnection he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece, too rapidly forDirrul to work out an accurate translation. It seemed, however, thatthe conversation was centered around the transmitters rather than thereport Dirrul had to make. The Vininese finished the dialogue andsmiled engagingly at Dirrul.

  "I am to take you to the capital, my