The Iron Dream (5 page)

This seemed to mollify the crowd somewhat, at least to the point where Bogel was allowed to continue.

"This bickering among us is an object lesson in the depths to which Heldon has sunk under the present limp-wristed regime," he pointed out. "I'd stake my life on the fact that there isn't a true man here who wouldn't reach out to wring a Dom's neck if such a creature were to make itself apparent. Yet you shrink at supporting a party dedicated to ruthlessly rooting these vermin out. There isn't a true man here who would not slay his own offspring should that child betray the human race by mating with a mutant or a hybrid. Yet, tempted by sloth, you go along when the Council, under Universalist pressure, relaxes the genetic purity laws in order to allow foreign mutants to enter Heldon to do work that the lackeys of the Doms

.have convinced you is beneath your station. Surely in a town such as Ulmgam, in such close proximity to the Borgravian pestilence, good Helder such as yourselves 36

would be up in arms and ready to flock to the standard of the Human Renaissance Party in droves, once I proclaimed our dedication to the preservation of the racial purity of Heldon and the ouster of the fools on the Council who to curry favor with slackers and rabble would betray the iron rigor of our genetic purity laws!"

"Well spoken!" Peric felt constrained to utter aloud. His voice, however, was lost in the general cheering, for suddenly Bogel had touched his audience in their simple yet noble sense of racial pride. Others in the tavern now gave over their private conversation and turned their attention to the slim, dark-haired speaker.

"Or so I in my naive musings imagined when I decided to journey from Walder to these border regions in search of support for our cause," Bogel continued after the ovation had subsided. "But instead of a righteously enraged citizenry, what did I find? Slothful slaggards too bemused by the prospect of having lesser beings take their tasks upon themselves to protest this outrage! Naive bumpkins who believe that all Doms have been driven out of Heldon because a government of fools and racial eunuchs tells them so!"

It was too much for Feric to bear. This Bogel obviously spoke out as a true patriot. His speech had cogency, his cause was just and more than worthy of support, he had momentarily captured the hearts of his audience, and yet now he had thrown away his moment by indulging in tortured self-pity instead of building to a roaring demand for concrete and ruthless action. Instead of cheers, he was drawing renewed hostility. The man was a good speaker as such, but a clear failure as a political agitator. Perhaps, though, the situation could be saved. ...

Feric leaped to his feet and shouted in a bold, clear voice:

"There are those of us here who are neither slaggards nor naive bumpkins!" This voicing of the crowd's own hostility insantly drew all attention to him; Bogel himself did not attempt to interfere, since Feric's words had revealed to his sharp mind the foul situation he had put himself in. All waited anxiously to hear Feric's next words—would he attack the speaker or speak in his defense?

"There are those of us here to whom your words are a ringing challenge!" Feric continued, noting that Bogel's eyes had brightened, his thin lips creased in a smile.

"There are those of us here who will not tolerate the impudence of mutants or the contamination of human soil 37

by one instant of their unclean presence. There are those of us here who are ready to rip Doms apart with our bare hands when we see them. True men! Pure men! Men fanatically dedicated not merely to the preservation of the racial purity of the present High Republic of Heldon but to the extension of the absolute rule of true men to every humanly habitable spot on the surface of this sorry earth!

In the heart of even the most slothful slaggard lives this hero willing to take up arms to preserve the pure human genotype! Our very genes cry out——exclude the mutant!

Drive him before you! Slay the Dom wherever you find him!"

The audience broke into hearty prolonged cheers. As the cheering went on, Feric observed that every pair of eyes in the tavern was upon him; lines of psychic energy seemed to connect the center of his being with the heart of every man in the room. It was as if the wills of the audience fed their full power into his own will, which in turn returned their fervor to them magnified tenfold, in an ever-building spiral of psychic power that flooded and enlarged his being, a massive racial force that was his to direct where he willed. A sudden inspiration struck him: he would give this energy a concrete outlet, a target.

"And a Dom may be found not far from this very place," Feric continued when the cheering had lapsed.

"Yes, there is a Dominator in your midst, and in the most monstrous place conceivable! This creature is within the reach of your fists at this very moment!"

A silence descended upon the room into which Bogel spoke: "It's men like you that the Party needs, Trueman!

Tell us, where is this hidden Dominator? I warrant there isn't a man here now not ready to rip him to pieces!"

Feric was quite pleased that Bogel had caught the spirit of the moment. His cause had merit, it was the cause of true humanity; his efforts deserved reward.

"Incredibly enough, a Dominator has secreted himself in the heart of the customs fortress on the Ulm bridge entrusted with protecting your genetic purity," Feric said.

"He holds the entire garrison in a dominance pattern!"

A horrified gasp issued from the men in the tavern.

Instantly, Feric went on. "Think of the horror of it! This stinking monstrosity has secured certification and serves as a scribe to the genetic analyst empowered to grant certification to prospective citizens. From this citadel, he saps the will of the garrison and the analyst so that a veritable 38

river of contaminated genes may gush into this area like the contents of a sewer to poison the posterity of your sons and daughters! Further, there is no one in the garrison not enmeshed in this pattern, no one able to dislodge the foul beast or smash his net!"

A din of angry muttering filled the tavern now. They were clearly ready to carry out the racial will as he directed. Their deepest instinct had been fully aroused—the iron determination to protect the human species. A fire had been ignited which could only be quenched in Dominator blood.

"What are we waiting for?" Feric bellowed. "We have our hands, and some of us are armed with truncheons! Let us march to the bridge and free our racial comrades! Death to the Dominator!"

So saying, Feric made his way quickly to Bogel's side and fairly dragged the smaller man to his feet. Feric threw his great arm around Bogel's shoulders and cried:

"Death to the Dominator—on to the bridge!"

The crowd answered with a feral roar of approval, and Feric, with Bogel at his heels, marched resolutely out of the tavern without looking back, confident that the aroused mob was more than willing to follow where he led.

Down Bridge Way the mob swept like avenging angels, thirty or forty outraged Helder, with Feric and Bogel at their bead. Every citizen on the street stopped in his tracks with amazement at the stirring sight; a few of the bolder souls fell into line.

Soon they had reached the bridge; Feric led the mob out upon it, walking straight down the center of the roadbed so that the entire width of the bridge was blocked by sturdy men, marching shoulder to shoulder in righteous wrath. "You're an amazing orator, whoever you are,"

Bogel told Feric, huffing and blowing in his efforts to keep up with Feric's heroic strides. "The Human Renaissance Party has need of a man like you. I myself am, alas, no rabble-rouser."

"You must tell me about your party when this is over,"

Feric replied tersely.

"With pleasure. But how do you mean this business to end? Your goal seems beyond my comprehension."

"My goal is simple enough," Feric told him. "The death of the Dominator in the fortress. If you seek to gain men's 39

fanatical devotion you must allow them a baptism in blood."

Across the bridge the mob marched resolutely, ten across, five ranks deep, a motly group of tavern loungers converted into a temporary storm troop of warriors by one man's will. It was a deeply satisfying feeling for Feric to march at the head of the column of men; it was everything he had imagined when he entertained the notion of a military career, and more. He could feel the power of the massed formation of men at his command course through his being, filling him with a sense of absolute faith in his own destiny. He was a leader. When he spoke, men would listen; when he commanded, they would follow. This without any formal training or official authority; his superiority in these matters was a quality other men could not help sense as intrinsic, no doubt graven in his genes themselves.

Just as a herd of wild horses recognizes the supremacy of the lead stallion or as a wolf pack acknowledges the strongest animal as the natural leader, so these men whom he had never before seen were carried along in his van by the authority inherent in his voice and person alone.

It was an awesome and terrible power that must be used only for patriotic and idealistic ends. Indeed the very strength of his will was no doubt partly the result of his complete dedication to the cause of genetic purity and the final triumph of true men everywhere. Only the ideal marriage of idealism and ruthless fanaticism could gener-

ate such an overpowering will.

Soon the mob had reached the customs fortress. The soldier guarding the entrance portal drew his truncheon as Feric and his followers approached and brandished the weapon aloft, but there was fear in his eyes and a quaver in his voice as he challenged the troop of aroused men:

"Halt! What is this?"

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!"