The chamber was a small rotunda in the center of which was a large round table of gleaming black wood inlaid with white-and-red tile. Nine chairs of a matching style were spaced evenly around the circumference of the table; all save one of them occupied by truely unsavory specimens. These creatures acted like bugs suddenly exposed to the light as Feric and his troops strode into the room, scuttling uneasily in their seats, and openly displaying unmanly consternation. Surrounded by his honor guard, Feric marched to the empty chair and seated himself as the four SS men came to rigid attention behind his seat, clicked their heels, saluted, and roared "Hail Jaggar!"
"Remove your ruffians from the Council chamber at once," wheezed a rheumy old creature whom Feric recognized as Larus Krull, the senile Libertarian leader. •
"On the contrary," Feric rejoined, "the SS elite will 119
eject your useless carcasses from this establishment in due course."
"There is no precedent for private guards in this chamber, Trueman Jaggar," whined a foppish individual in florid blue and gold. This was Rossback, one of the three Traditionalists, an utter cretin.
"I have now remedied that lack," Feric replied dryly.
"I demand that you remove your men at once!" insisted Guilder, a notorious toady of Krull's.
"We must vote on the question," said the Universalist, Lorst Gelbart. This was a truly repellent mound of protoplasm, but when the pustulant creature opened its mouth to break wind, the other wretches displayed a strange deference, instantly falling silent and paying rapt attention to Gelbart's words. And no wonder, for it only took one quick glance from Feric's trained eye to discern that this Gelbart, with his greasy black hair, crude blue tunic, and beady, rodentlike eyes, was actually a Dominator! The odor of Dom was fairly exuded by his coarse and unwashed skin. If the foul creature had not yet totally enmeshed the Council in a dominance pattern, it was clearly only a matter of time, and not much of that by the look of things!
Therefore, there was no point in wasting time with foppish niceties. "I did not come to this meeting to exchange banter or haggle over points of protocol, much as such pastimes may be to the liking of specimens such as yourselves," Feric said, turning a disdainful gaze on each of the human Councillors in turn, so that there would be no doubt of the contempt in which he held them. When his eyes met Gelbart's, there seemed to be a strange moment of mutual recognition of the facts of the matter, though the stinking Dom prudently made no attempt to draw Feric into his psychic web.
"I am here to present the basic program of the Sons of the Swastika and to demand its total and immediate im-plementation," Feric continued. "The racial will demands nothing less."
Of course, the jaws of these old windbags fell open at the sound of such a forthright statement, and the pack of them gulped and gasped like beached fish. Gelbart, for his part, maintained his inhumanly cold expression throughout.
Ignoring the impotent silent protests, Feric ticked off the basic Party demands. "Firstly, the Treaty of Karmak 120
must be renounced and all mongrels and mutants forever barred from every inch of Helder soil. Secondly, the racial purity laws must be enforced with renewed rigor, and because of the laxness of late which has allowed all sorts of contaminants to infiltrate the Helder gene pool. Classification Camps must be established throughout the nation where all Helder whose genetic purity can at all be called into question will be held until their pedigrees and genetic patterns are thoroughly reexamined. Those found to be genetically contaminated will be given the choice of exile or sterilization."
Feric stared at Gelbart evenly, without betraying emotion; he sensed, however, that the Dom knew full well that Feric had smelled him out. "Any Dominators that are discovered," Feric said, "will of course be slain. Thirdly, the size of the army must be speedily tripled so that we may deal properly with the mutant hordes that surround us. Finally, in order that this new national policy be carried out with the utmost vigor and force, this Council must vote to suspend the constitution and grant me emergency powers to rule by decree."
"The man is mad!" shrilled old Pillbarm, the dean of the Traditionalists, a dried-up old prune who had not yet displayed the capacity for human speech.
Instantly, Feric was on his feet, the Great Truncheon of Held in his hand, a towering figure of righteous wrath.
"Do any of you dare defend the contamination of the gene pool by mutants and mongrels? Will you defend the lives of Dominator filth with your own? Will you stand before the Helder people and declare that a position of weakness is preferable to a policy of utter force and iron resolve?"
