Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

He could feel the uncanny silence in the air over the great throng as a physical force; thousands of people standing shoulder to shoulder as far as his eyes could see, every fiber of each soul focused on his being and his being alone, waiting for him to speak. He felt the irresistible power of destiny flow through his body, merging seamlessly with the energy of his own mighty will. He was the fleshly incarnation of the race’s greatest cause, the embodiment of the racial will, and he sensed that the multitude before him knew it. He was the will of Heldon; he could not and would not fail.

Spontaneously, the words sprang to his lips. “It has been more than a thousand years since the Time of Fire and still mutants prowl the earth contaminating true humanity with their foul and twisted genes. Who can deny that Heldon is a bastion of racial purity in a worldwide sea of pestilence? To the south is Borgravia, a state rich in genetic potential and therefore a rightful part of the Helder domain, but ruled at present by vile mutants and mongrels who seek by racial mingling to eradicate all traces of the pure human genotype from their territory.

To the west are Vetonia and Husak, dunghills of genetic filth not one whit less foul, where the true human genotype is persecuted and reviled. Beyond these political obscenities are the genetic cesspits of Cressia, Arbona, Karmath and their ilk, where the gene pools are fit only for total extermination, and beyond that, naught but radioactive wastelands. All of these mutants and mongrels are our implacable racial foes—and that is not the worst of it!”

Feric paused for dramatic effect, and in that moment was nearly overwhelmed by the great wave of psychic power and rapt approval that washed over him from the ten thousand pairs of eyes that blazed up at him like gleaming coals in the darkness. He could all but taste their bottomless hunger for more of the same: the Helder people had a racial longing for the plain unvarnished truth which had been too long unappeased. They were totally with him.

“No, that is not nearly the worst of it!” Feric roared.

“For to the east, lurking behind political jokes like Wolack and Malax, is the unimaginable vastness and unparalleled putrescence of the slave pits of Zind! Half the mutant population of the world under the control of a handful of Dominators! Vast resources and a gigantic population at the command of foul Doms whose grandest desire is to exterminate the last vestiges of true humanity from the face of the earth and rule a worldwide soulless slave rabble for all time! And that is not the worst of it!”

Once again Feric paused, and, as he did, the intake of breath among the multitude before him was actually audible. He was awakening their dormant instincts of racial will and righteous indignation. He was setting their spirits aflame by daring to utter the simple truth. He was forming a juggernaut of racial power.

“The worst of it is right here in Heldon!” he continued.

“Here we have a government of cowards and weaklings who lick the boots of the feckless rabble by hinting at the breeding of brainless slaveys and relaxing the rigor of the genetic purity laws. Thus do they hope to preserve their own worthless hides against the day of reckoning that must surely come. In Heldon, the last hope of the true human genotype, we have a government of imbeciles who flirt with the stinking Universalists while knowing full well that Universalism is the cynical •concoction of the Dominators of Zind. In Heldon, the fatherland of human purity, we are infested with an unknown number of secret Doms dedicated with inhuman fanaticism to our total destruction!”

This time when Feric paused there was not silence but rather a great commotion of angry voices. A forest of fists waved in the air, and there was great shouting of both indignation and approval. The deepest racial instincts of the crowd were now fully aroused from the lethargy into which they had been cozened. There was power in the air and a thirst for Dominator blood.

“What is needed now is a new fanatic determination to preserve the racial purity of Heldon! What is needed now is a government with the iron will to purge all Heldon of the last Dom and the last contaminated gene with steel and fire! What is needed now is an external policy ruthlessly dedicated to the total and final conquest of the last inch of habitable soil on the face of the earth by the forces of true humanity. What is needed now is a new party of heroic force and fanatic zeal to fling the present rabble from power and onto the dung heap of history!

What is needed now is leadership willing and able to lead the Helder people to crushing and final victory over all the Doms and mutants and mongrels who oppose us! What Heldon now needs is the utter fanatic support of all true men for the Sons of the Swastika!”

An overwhelming shout of approval went up from the crowd. Ten thousand and more arms shot up again and again in repeated spontaneous saluting. Feric let this hearty demonstration go on for quite some time while he stood gazing out over the wildly cheering multitude, a figure of utter resolution haloed in the fiery orange glow of the giant swastika which dominated the sky behind him.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he drew the Great Truncheon of Held, and held the lightning-etched silvery weapon before him in the Party salute. Murmurs and gasps went through the crowd as recognition of the legendary Steel Commander passed among them; in a minute or two, there was utter silence.

The gleaming headball of Feric’s shaft caught the glow of the firelight and blazed like a minature sun as he raised the weapon high over his head, straining his voice to the utmost as he addressed the people in a truly heroic voice.

“I hold in my hand the Great Truncheon of Held, and thus do I claim sole rightful rule of all Heldon and what lies beyond not merely for myself, but in the name of the Swastika! I dedicate myself, the Sons of the Swastika, and this sacred weapon to the repurification of all Heldon with blood and iron, and to-the extension of the dominion of true humanity over the face of the entire earth! Never will we rest until the last mutant gene is swept from the face of the planet!”

Miraculously, as with one great voice, and with uncanny precision, the huge throng shot every right arm into the air and chanted: “Hail Jaggarl Hail Jaggar! HAIL JAGGAR!” The sound seemed fit to split the heavens asunder and cow the very gods.

Beaming, Fefic sheathed the Great Truncheon, and returned the salute. Incredibly, the sound of chanting was redoubled in volume and fervor, and the saluting became a bone-snapping frenzy. The joy of the moment buoyed Feric’s soul to undreamed heights of racial glory. Ten thousand and more Helder had become fanatically loyal to the Party. As a torch had ignited the great swastika of wood that blazed behind him, so had his words and will ignited the swastika in the souls of these good Helder. As the swastika of flame lit up the night sky with tongues of orange fire, so would the swastika of the Helder soul light up the darkness of the spirit and emblazon the ensign of the New Age across the heavens.

The Sons of the Swastika occupied the fourth floor of a ten-story stone building, the rest of which was rented out to an assortment of tradesmen, small businesses, physicians, and the like. At Feric’s order, Haulman had selected a situation in which the Party was the landlord’s most important tenant; in fact he had gone Feric one better and rented the suite from a crony who was deep in his debt.

As a consequence, although the Party occupied only one floor of ten, Feric had been able to dictate a redecoration of the entire facade of the building.

The upper six stories of black stone had been painted red, and upon this enormous red field was emblazoned a black swastika in a white circle of suitable proportion, making the upper half of the building’s facade into a gigantic Party flag. Immediately below this was a large bronze plaque proudly proclaiming: “National Headquarters of the Sons of the Swastika.” Two large Party flags overhung the street. All in all, Feric had been able to make the facade of this ordinary building suit his style and purpose.