Norman Spinrad

In reply, a bluff red-faced blond fellow stepped out of the press of men and slammed the unfortunate guard over the skull with a beer mug. The guard fell in a heap clutching his gashed head. Someone snatched his truncheon from him, and with a great roar, the vanguard of the mob stormed into the fortress, immediately followed by Feric, Bogel, and the rest of the impromptu shock troop.

The mob surged into the examination room, rudely

• pushing aside the prospective citizens queued up along the black stone counter,, confronting the four officials behind it with a solid phalanx of sturdy bodies and reddened 40

outraged faces. The three true men displayed as much astonishment as fear at this peculiar behavior; the loathsome Mork feigned stolidity, but Feric could sense him wildly and desperately attempting to throw his net of dominance over this new and clearly menacing press of Helder.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" the bearded old officer demanded. "Remove yourselves from this area at once!"

Feric sensed a sudden slackness in the fervor of the mob; Mork's psychic onslaught had been aided by the firmness of the gallant old warrior and the resolution of Feric's troop was shaken.

Feric pressed his way through the throng and reached the counter. Reaching across the black stone with his powerful right arm, he clasped the Dominator Mork about the neck, cutting off the creature's breath with the grip of his hand, and pulled the wretch half over the counter.

Mork's face purpled from lack of oxygen, and Feric could sense his psychic powers waning.

"This is the foul creature!" Feric shouted. "This monster is the Dom that holds this fortress in thrall!"

"... drown in your own bile, human filth!" Mork managed to gurgle at Feric, seeing that the game was up.

Feric tightened his grip and the babblings of the Dom became a hoarse choking sound. A great feral roar went up from the mob. Innumerable arms reached across the counter, clutching Mork by the shoulders, hair, and arms, and, with a communal effort, the men pulled the semi-conscious Dom off his feet, dragged him across the counter, and dashed him to the floor in their midst.

Mork was too weakened by lack of breath to attempt any serious defense; moreover no Dominator could hope to subdue the communal will of more than two-score Helder fully aware of his noxious identity and aroused to righteous wrath.

"One day you will all bow down to Zind and follow our command, worthless animals!" the Dom wheezed as he attempted feebly to struggle to his feet.

At once, half a dozen stoutly booted feet caught the miscreant in the rib cage, knocking the wind out of him, and more. Another kick, this one to the head, rendered the Dom unconscious. As he fell limply on his back, a great roar went up, and his body disappeared in a forest of feet and fists and impromptu clubs.

41

In a minute or two, Mork was naught but a bloody sack of crashed bones lying in a heap on the tiled floor of the customs fortress.

Feric turned his attention to the three Helder standing mutely behind the counter. Slowly their dazed expressions became masks «f horror.

The youngest officer was the first'to fully recover his wits. "I feel as if I have just emerged from a long horrible dream," he muttered. "I feel a man again. What happened?"

"A Dominator happened, Rupp!" the old soldier said.

He reached across the counter and seized Feric firmly by the shoulder. "You were right, Trueman Jaggar!" he exclaimed. "Now that the filthy vermin has been crushed and his dominance pattern broken, I realize that we have all been less than true men since Mork arrived here. We owe you our manhood!"

"You owe your manhood not to me, but to the sacred cause of genetic purity," Feric told him. He half-turned so as to face the troop of townsfolk. "Let this be a lesson to us all!" he declared. "See how easily even customs guards were ensnared in a dominance pattern. The Doms are everywhere and nowhere; you can rarely see or sense them, and you are powerless to extricate yourself if you fall into their web. But when you observe others acting as if they are trapped in the tentacles of a nominator's mind, you can free them as easily as you wring the neck of a scrawny chicken. We are all our racial brothers'

keeper! Let this small victory bum as a beacon in your hearts. Death to the Dominators! Long live Heldon! Let no true man rest until the last Dom is ground into the dust, the last habitable inch of soil on earth under the iron rule of true men! Drown all Dominators and mongrels in a sea of their own blood!"

A great cheer went up; customs troops and even prospective citizens joined the troop of townsfolk in fervent celebration. Feric felt strong hands on his body, and before he quite knew what was about, he was aloft on the shoulders of the cheering men. Still cheering and shouting, the good Helder bore him in triumph out of the customs fortress and onto the bridge.