There was no reaction to this ringing challenge; that alone was sure indication that Gelbart's dominance pattern was all but established. As if by command, the cowardly wretches held back and waited for the Dom itself to reply.
"All this talk of genetic purity is long out of date, Jaggar," Gelbart said with a cruel little smile. "Already many of the people are demanding that great masses of mutants be imported to perform the distasteful labor necessary to maintain a high civilization. Soon Heldon will realize that much the best course is to breed mindless creatures, protoplasmic robots, if you will, in the manner 121
of Zind. You are shouting in a whirlwind. The natural sloth of human beings is your implacable foe."
Feric ignored Gelbart entirely; there was no point in reasoning with a Dom, and even less in trying to persuade his craven victims to do their racial duty. The only thing that would set to right the pestilence that ate at the heart of Heldon was the ruthless application of force.
Feric sheathed the Steel Commander, but remained standing, and raked each member of the Council in turn with his steely gaze. All save Gelbart—who of course was beyond such human reaction—withered in turn under the psychic onslaught.
"I have done my duty as a true human and given you fair warning and an opportunity to lend yourself without coercion to the expression of the racial will," Feric said evenly. "Unless you immediately vote to accept the Party program forthwith, you are openly declaring the moral bankruptcy of the government of the High Republic. You call down the consequences on your own heads."
Only Gelbart had the impudency to reply to this solemn warning. "Do you dare to threaten the Council of State of the High Republic, Jaggar? Even a Councillor may be arrested for treason."
The grotesque humor of this puling Dom actually accusing a true human of treason to Heldon was almost enough to make Feric burst out laughing despite the righteous fury aroused in his heart by this ultimate perfidy.
"I'd like to see this collection of old dung try to arrest the Knights of the Swastika and the SS for treason!" Feric roared. "We'd soon see who would be hanging from traitors' gibbets!"
With this rejoinder, Feric turned on his heels and stalked out of the Council chamber.
Upon his election to the Council of State, Feric had moved the Party's national headquarters to a spacious compound near the center of Heldhime, roughly equidis-tant from the Palace of State and Star Keep, headquarters of the Army Star Command, and bivouac for the city garrison. The new headquarters had been the palatial residence of an industrialist who had been persuaded to lease it to the Sons of the Swastika for a nominal sum.
The mansion itself fiad been divided up into apartments for Feric, Bogel, Waning, Render and Best, dormitories 122
for lesser Party functionaries, meeting rooms and offices, while two thousand SS were housed in tents pitched on the broad expanse of lawn within the high stone wall of the compound. Motorcycles and cars were kept in various outbuildings and sheds; machine-gun positions had been emplaced every fifty yards along the walkway atop the wall. In addition, five howitzers, heavily camouflaged, were secreted within the compound. All in all, the Party headquarters was a fortress sufficient to stand off the city garrison for some time without reinforcements.
Nevertheless, such reinforcements were readily at hand, for five thousand Knights of the Swastika under the direct command of Stag Stopa were barracked on the outskirts of Heldhime, not fifteen minutes by motorcycle from Party headquarters. One word from Feric, and these storm troops would roar into the city and crush any besiegers of the headquarters' compound from behind.
Three weeks after the election, Feric called a meeting in his private sitting room to firm up final plans for dealing with the Dominator-controlled Council. This was a somewhat grandiose chamber, all blue paint, rich tapestries, and ornate giltwork, which Feric favored solely for the large balcony from which the night view of Heldhime was a carpet of the light resplendent under the dark grandeur of the heavens. Feric, Bogel, Waffing, and Best sat in plush chairs around a round rosewood table over tankards of ale, awaiting the uncharacteristically tardy Remler.
"As I see it," Bogel said, "our problem is to seize power behind a facade of legalism so that there will be no question of whose orders the army will carry out. Would not the Star Command instantly accept Feric as absolute ruler of Heldon if there were sufficient legal pretext?"
This had been addressed to Lar Waffing, who took a long drink of ale while pondering his response. Laying his wooden tankard down on the table and refilling it from the small keg thereon, he delivered his considered opinion.
