red with black scales. Curving fangs
protruded from its upper jaw. Its hand-like forepaws ended in hooked
claws, to grasp and tear its prey. It was larger, stronger, faster
than the hunter. The thin Martian air carried weirdly high-pitched
cries which proclaimed its craving to sink its fangs into the hunter's
body. The drock's huge hind legs coiled back on their triple joints,
and it sprang.

The hunter thrust the gleaming knife out before him, so that the dark
body would land on its gleaming blade. The drock twisted in mid-air
and landed to one side of the hunter.

Now, before it could gather itself for another spring, there was time
for one cast of the blade. It had to be done at once. It had to be
perfect. If it failed, the knife would be lost and the drock would
have its kill. The hunter grasped the weapon by the blade, drew his
arm back, and snapped it forward.

The blade struck deep into the throat of the drock.

The drock screamed eerily and jumped clumsily. The hunter threw
himself at the great, dark body and retrieved the knife. He struck
with it again and again into the gray twitching belly. Colorless blood
ran out over the hard, tightly-stretched skin.

The drock fell, gave a last convulsion, and lay still. The hunter
plunged the blade into the red sand to clean it. He threw back his
head and bellowed his hunting cry. There was great glory in killing
the drock, for it showed that the Desert Man and not the drock, was
lord of the red waste....

* * * * *

Gavir sat down on the divan, exhausted, his song finished. He didn't
hear the moderator winding up the dreamcast. Then the producer of the
program was upon him.

He began shouting even before Gavir removed his headset. "What kind
of a fool are you? Before you started that song, you dreamed things
about the Martian Development Corporation that were libelous! I got
the whole thing--the Barrier, the guards, the labor pools and mines,
the father crucified. It was awful! MDC is one of our biggest
sponsors."

Malcomb said, "You can't expect an untrained young Martian to control
his very thoughts. And may I point out that your tone is hostile?"

At this a sudden change came over the producer. The standard Earth
expression--invincible benignity--took control of his face. "I
apologize for having spoken sharply, but dreamcasting is a
nerve-wracking business. If it weren't for Ethical Conditioning, I
don't know how I'd contro