Fear that man

crashing to the floor in a cloud of broken glass.
        Gnossos stepped up to take a swing at the maddened Buronto, but he was a Natural. It was impossible for him to strike out at a fellow man, no matter how deserving of punishment that fellow man might be. Had Buronto been an animal, the case would have been simpler. But he was not. And a thousand years of sanity made Gnossos check his blow even before he started it. And Buronto delivered a punch that set the poet down hard. As Gnossos and Hurkos struggled to gain their feet, Black Jack heaved a table out of the way and came for Sam.
        Patrons were moving out of the doors, hiding behind stable objects, not anxious to get involved but not about to lose out on a good show like this. They waved bottles, hooted, howled, and cheered for Buronto.
        And at that moment, the second hypnotic order came to Sam…
        A chaos of noise obliterated the lesser noise in the bar. Sam’s eyes glossed. He wobbled for a moment as neither he nor the mysterious hypnotic master was fully in control of his temporal self. Then, determinedly, he set out for the door. Buronto, seeing the move and misjudging it for retreat, snarled and leaped over the fallen furniture, reaching the door first. “Not yet. I hurt you first!”
        He reached with great, corded hands for Sam…
        And suddenly doubled up as Sam struck him a blow in the stomach that would have crumbled a wall-because a wall would not have given as Buronto’s stomach did. And Buronto’s stomach certainly gave-gave up to Sam’s wrist. Whoever was controlling Sam’s body did not seem to have anything against violence. The giant offed, stumbled, but still managed to clutch Sam’s shoulder. Sam brought a foot up, twisted away, and slammed the foot into Buronto’s gut, sent him to his knees. Then he was past the Unnatural and through the door.
        “After him!” Gnossos shouted. “He’s gotten another order!” The two of them ran past the gasping Buronto and outside. But in the dimness of the night, the streets were empty. Sam was a long time gone.

----

    IX
        
        The water, chemicals, and lubricants flowed about him in invisible pipes. No, not invisible. Materially nonexistent. There were tubes of force that clothed the liquids. No cumbersome, unreliable, destructible metal fixtures, only pure, raw force adapted to do a better job. Gurgling, the fluids flowed from one part of the giant mechanism to another, covering the block-by-a-block machine quickly and efficiently. This was the machine that kept the Shield up, however, and he was frightened because it all seemed so flimsy. He knew that forces, bent and shaped, were better than actual material parts that could wear out or fail from structural flaws. Still, all those liquids flowing through nothingness, and all of them vital to the maintenence of the Shield…
         Click!
        Breadloaf whirled around-
         Click!
        And around again!
         Clicker-click-tick, hmmmmmmm.
        The noises bothered him; he interpreted every sound as the beginning of the breakdown. Okay, he had seen it. Now he could leave. He walked to the door, hesitated and looked around. There were other clicks and a muffled clank. He would go insane just listening to it operate, he told himself. Before the horror of a possible breakdown could flood his mind with sewage of ridiculous fears, he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind. Grudgingly, and yet with a profound sense of relief, he went back to his office.
        
        The orders were coming to Sam in a swift series now. Between the accomplishment of one thing and the next order, there were only seconds in which he had control of himself and knew precisely who he was. He could never remember what it was he had done on the last order, and was engulfed by the next before he really had a chance to investigate his surroundings.
        Now he was standing in a great chamber full of machines. That made him-or rather his hypnotic master through him-feel uneasy. Machines, machines, machines. Humming, gurgling, sputtering. He had broken in. The street door had not been locked, for hardly anyone locked anything these days. No need to, without crimes being committed. But this floor had been sealed. His last order had been to break in here where things flowed through pipes he could not see and machinery throbbed with an overwhelming purpose. But what had he done before that? And