Norman Spinrad

These fellows resembled the first in general style: they were all great hearty lads with wild hair and florid beards or mustaches somewhat in need of trimming, dressed extravagantly in loose-fitting leathers adorned with all manner of bright metalwork, emblems, pendants and medallions. They brandished pistols, truncheons, daggers, or various combinations of weapons, according to personal taste. Many of them were tattooed, and earrings of gold, silver, chrome, or stainless steel were common. They were all in serious need of a bath, being liberally coated with the sweat and dust of the road.

When he had finished greeting the hostess in his barbaric fashion, the huge Avenger turned a sour expression upon the passengers cowering in the rear of the steamer.

"A slimy gang of underwear cleaners and manure merchants, eh Stopa?" observed a clean-shaven Avenger with 55

long, somewhat brownish hair, and a silver ring in his right ear. "Look like candidates for a mutant squash to me."

"We'll see about that, Karm," the huge fellow said.

"Just remember who's the commander here. When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." Karm glowered silently while the others laughed. Clearly this Stopa had the correct instincts of a leader of men, albeit roughhewn.

"All right you bugs," Stopa said, addressing himself to the passengers, "in case you haven't been out from under your rocks lately, I'm Stag Stopa, and we're the Black Avengers, and if you don't know what that means, you're about to find out. We like riding our bikes and getting drunk and wenching and a good fight and stomping mutants and big mouths and not much else. We don't like back talk, mutants, police, or Doms. If we don't like someone, we pound him into the ground; our life is as simple and honest as that."

Stopa's speech was as pleasing to Feric as might have been that of a small boy who lacked nothing but a stern and wiser father to channel his healthy animal instincts in the proper direction. What a splendid figure these Avengers cut beside the townfolk huddled in the rear of the cabin!

"What I want you bugs to understand," Stopa continued, "is that in our own way, we're idealists and patriots.

When we think some slug is a stinking mutant, we kill him on the spot. We clear the woods of a lot of genetic garbage that way. We're doing everyone a favor. And since we're doing everyone a favor, we figure we got a right to ask a few favors back. So to begin with, all of you empty your pockets and band over your wallets and pouches."

A great moan of dismay and anger issued forth from the passengers, but when Stopa and some of his men took a few steps toward them, a vertible shower of pouches, wallets, and valuables hit the floor of the cabin. Even Bogel reached for his pouch and wallet and would no doubt have handed them over had not Feric, with a touch of his hand and a steely look, restrained him. A fine lot of true men these cowards and poltroons were! Racially, one of these rude barbarians was worth ten of their ilkl As his men began scooping up the booty, Stopa stalked up to the seats where Feric and Bogel sat conspicuously isolated and immobile. He glared at Bogel, brandished his 56

truncheon meaningfully, and snarled: "Where are your valuables,' you 'little worm? You look like you could be a mutant to me, maybe even a Dom. We tear Dom's arms and legs off before we roast them alive."

Bogel went white as a sheet and froze, but Feric spoke up loudly and boldly: "This man is under my protection.

Moreover, you have my word of honor that his pedigree is spotless."

"Who do you think you are?" Stopa bellowed, leaning his great torso over Bogel so as to fix Feric with a fierce stare. "You open your mouth again and you'll find my truncheon in it."

Slowly and deliberately, not averting his own unflinching gaze from Stopa's eyes for an instant, Feric rose to his full height so that the two huge men were both standing erect, their eyes locked in a contest of will above the still-seated Bogel. For a long moment, Stopa's blue eyes stared levelly into Feric's while Feric channeled every ounce of his formidable will into his iron-hard and absolutely resolute gaze. Then Stopa's will broke, and he felt constrained to look elsewhere for respite from this irresistible psychic onslaught.

In this moment, Feric said simply: "I am Feric Jaggar."

Recovering somewhat, Stopa demanded: "Where are your valuables, Trueman Jaggar?" But the final shade of iron conviction was now lacking in his voice.

"Both my wallet and my pouch are secured to my belt as you can see," Feric said evenly. "There they will remain."

"I told you we're doing everyone a favor," Stopa said, raising his truncheon once more. "If you won't contribute to the cause, you must be some kind of mutant or mongrel, and that kind we kill. So you better prove your purity by handing your things over, or we're going to have ourselves a mutant squash."