Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

Notification of the capture of the Palace was given by electrophone to Party headquarters, and reinforcements were immediately dispatched. Within fifteen minutes, the Palace of State had been garrisoned by three hundred elite SS troops, and the perimeter of the fence was guarded at twenty-yard intervals by heavy machine-gun emplacements. In addition, the howitzers in the headquarters compound had been zeroed in on Star Keep. If the army made any attempt to march on the Palace, it would pay dearly. Lar Waffing was even now informing the Star Command of certain selected details of the situation.

Within half an hour of the seizure of the Palace by SS shock troops, unmarked cars began arriving at short intervals with their assigned prisoners. Only when word of the completion of this phase of the operation reached Party headquarters, did Feric, escorted by a score of motorcycle SS, leave for the Palace.

Never had the Council chamber presented to Feric an aspect this pleasing. All eight Councilors were trussed to their chairs like so many chickens in a market, and over each of them hovered two tall blond SS men with steely blue eyes, fanatic resolve, and cocked submachine guns.

Twenty more SS men in black leather encircled the rotunda; in the hall outside, Feric could hear the reassuring clatter of steel-shod SS boots on tile. There could be no mistaking who ruled here now.

Behind Feric as he confronted the prisoners were Best, Bogel, and Remler, crooking submachine guns in their arms. A Party flag had been erected by the Council table and the double red lightning bolts of the SS were displayed on a smaller black banner beside it.

Only Krull, out of his senile whining arrogance, presumed to address Feric under these circumstances. “What is this filthy outrage, Jaggar?” he wheezed. “How dare you—”

Before the old degenerate could further pollute the atmosphere, the nearest SS guard ended the outburst with a smart backhanded blow across the mouth that left the old pirate drooling blood.

Feric favored this fine young fanatic with a modest nod of approval before deigning to address the collection of cooked political gooses; the fellow deserved to know that his Commander had noticed his dash and speed.

“I will now inform you of the reason for your arrest,” Feric said.

“Arrest!” Guilder cried. “You mean kidnapping!”

A gun butt to the back of the head ended this unseemly outburst, and Feric continued. “You are all charged with treason. There is a Dominator among you and you have fallen into his net. Such laxity in will in Helder of your high position is tantamount to displaying cowardice in the face of the enemy, a treasonable offense, punishable by death.”

The faces of the prisoners fell. Gradually their eyes came to focus on Gelbart—a Universalist after all, and therefore the most likely of their number to be a Dom.

For his part, Gelbart stared impassively into space; Feric could sense him exerting the full force of his will on the wretched creatures. Their resolve slowly stiifened, and all at once, they gained the courage to speak.

“What nonsense!”

“Where is your proof?”

“A Dom on the Council? Utter rubbish!”

Feric had held up his hand at the first sound of this outburst, restraining the SS guard from maintaining silence by force. Now he had the unconscious Guilder shaken awake so that all of the Councillors would fully understand their situation.

“Very well,” Feric said, “I’ll give you the chance to prove that you’re free from Dominator control, I order you to vote me emergency power to rule Heldon by decree, to adjourn this Council indefinitely, and then to resign your seats. If these orders are obeyed, my first act upon assuming the tide of Supreme Commander of the Domain of Heldon will be to commute your death sentences to permanent exile. You have sixty seconds to decide.”

The whining that arose from the degenerate wretches was all too predictable. “An outrage!” “There has been no trial!” “You have no authority!” Clearly such craven creatures would not have the will to cavil in this manner in the face of death without the psychic underpinning supplied by the Dom, Gelbart.

This repellent creature now glared at Feric with unconcealed hatred, his black rodent’s eyes filled with cold fire.

“This will get you nowhere, Jaggar,” the Dominator hissed. “When the army leams of this, you will be annihilated.”

At this, the Councillors seemed to take heart, emboldened by Gelbart’s words as well as by his psychic emanations.

“I see that it is time to clear the air once and for all,” Feric observed, unsheathing the Steel Commander and raising the gleaming shaft high above his head. He stepped forward a few steps, and with one irresistible stroke brought the headball of the Great Truncheon down on the top of Gelbart’s skuH and dashed the Dom’s head to pieces.

With the Dominator who had controlled them lying inert in his chair with his putrid brains spattered all over the Council table, the seven remaining Councillors had no further illusions as to the gravity of their situation. The stench of fear rose over them like the vapors of some malodorous swamp.

“I vote in favor of Councillor Jaggar’s motion,” Ross back stammered.

“And I,” said KruU.

With that, the others fell over each other in their haste to make the motion unanimous.

“The papers. Best,” Feric ordered. “Untie the hands of the prisoners.” As Best extracted a sheaf of documents from his tunic pocket, the SS guards freed the prisoners, who heaved a collective sigh of relief. Feric passed around a copy of the resolution for signature. When all had signed, he signed the document himself for the sake of unanimity, then returned it to Best for safekeeping. “The letters of resignation,” Feric said. Best handed these documents around to the seven Councillors. When several of the swine began reading the papers, Feric roared “Sign them at once!” The prisoners instantly complied.

When Best had collected all the documents, Feric turned to Bogel. “The new Council of State now consists of the present members of the Swastika Circle. I will rule by emergency decree until a new constitution can be written which permanently abolishes republican forms. Prepare the proclamation for broadcast at noon tomorrow.”

Bogel grinned, saluted, shouted “Hail Jagger!” and went off about his business.

Feric returned his attention to the cowardly wretches seated around the Council table. They had signed the resolution as well as the confessions to high treason. There was no further need for these vermin, and the moment had come none too soon. The very sight of these puling traitors soured his stomach. The world would certainly be better off without seven such swine as these!

“Remler, take these reeking bags of garbage out of here and have them shot!” he commanded. No order he had been able to issue thus far had given him such patriotic satisfaction.

Feric awaited Field Marshall Heermark Forman in a small, plain office on the top floor of the Palace of State, so that, by the time the representative of the Star Command arrived, he would have already have seen the thoroughness with which the building had been garrisoned, and would have been made to climb several flights of stairs.

The man Waffing ushered into the room was an imposing old fellow in his late sixties; an excellent example of how a genetically pure human could retain his vigor and force long after his physical prime. Although older than Waning, he was a good forty pounds lighter, and in his field-gray uniform festooned with medals and trimmed with rich brasswork, he held his own as far as dash went, even though Waffing’s black leather uniform was of clearly superior design. His gray mustache and steely eyes added dignity and force to his appearance; here was a man well used to both discipline and command. Forman was breathing heavily as he seated himself on one of the plain wooden chairs that were the sole furnishings of the little aerie. As for the state of Waffing’s respiration after the climb, the less said the better.