Norman Spinrad

But Bogel suddenly became intensely earnest. "Consider the true situation. Today Heldon is in the hands of men to whom the Great War is a dim memory, who would sell out our genetic purity to appease the desires of the slothful lumpenproletariat for a life of indolent ease, to whom the borders of Heldon are lines on a political map, not the front trenches of a genetic holy war. Most of the populace slumbers under these misconceptions; the fanatic idealism that built our great citadel of genetic purity through centuries of iron determination and heroic struggle is fading into squalid individualism. Moreover, the so-called best elements of society are willfully blind to the danger.

Only a handful of men, many of them simple folk responding out of deepest racial instinct, see the situation for what it is. Does this not make your blood boil?"

Bogel's face gleamed with passion, and the synthetic torchlight on his features turned his visage into a mask of righteous anger that struck sparks in the core of Feric's soul.

"Indeed it does!" Feric exclaimed. "But what does that have to do with the fate of your little party?"

"Consider someone like myself," Bogel said with uncon-cealed bitterness, "who sees the deadly danger menacing Heldon, and who therefore determines to devote his life to carrying out his racial duty. And who can accomplish nothing more than the building of a tiny party with no more than three hundred members! Would that not make your blood boil?"

Feric was deeply moved; although he had judged Bogel's personal ambitions correctly, he had underestimated the strength of the man's idealism. Personal ambition and fanatic idealism were the mightiest of allies when yoked together in the service of a cause that was just. Bogel would be a magnificent servant indeed.

45

"I see your point," Feric said simply.

"Together we can mold the course of history!" Bogel exclaimed passionately. "We both understand the danger, we both argee that Heldon Jnust be ruled by men of iron conviction and utter ruthlessness who know what must he done to annihilate the Doms and subdue the quasi-men and who will not shrink from doing it. I have built the nucleous of a national organization, which I now lay at your feet. Will you accept? Will you lead Heldon to final victory, Feric Jaggar?"

Feric could not help but smile a bit at Bogel's grandiosity. The man spoke as if he were offering the Imperial Sceptre, the long-lost Great Truncheon of Held, rather than the leadership of a squalid little party. Moreover, he could not help feeling that Bogel was putting it on a bit for his benefit. Still, on the highest level, Bogel was perfectly sincere, and his call was one that no true man could refuse. Besides, out of small beginnings, great things could flow. He had entered Heldon alone and friendless; he would arrive in Walder as the leader of a small group of followers. Surely destiny had placed this opportunity in his path as an indication of his mission; just as surely, it behooved him to accept fate's challenge.

"Very well," he replied. "I accept. We will take the roadsteamer to Walder together in the morning."

Bogel beamed; he seemed as buoyant as a small child with a new toy. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I'll radiotype party headquarters before we retire to prepare for your arrival. This is the beginning of a new age for Heldon and the world. I feel it in my soul."

It was a wonderful crisp blue morning in Ulmgam as Feric and Bogel boarded the roadsteamer to Walder; Feric felt refreshed and filled with vigor. Moreover, in contrast to the shorter ride from Gormond to Pormi, the two-day steam to Walder promised to be a most pleasurable experience. The Borgravian roadstreamer had been a dingy old danker which gave the impression inside of an instrument of torture as it jounced along the barely extant roads on wheels that scarcely seemed round. He had been shoehomed into this unsavory conveyance with a veritable barnyard of the rankest mutants and hybrids and, moreover, the whole stank like an open sewer. The Emerald Zephyr, on the other hand, was a gleaming new machine 46

with the latest in pneumatic tires made practical by the legendary perfection of Helder roadways.

The outside of the cabin was a flawless emerald green set off with modest brown striping, and the iron of the boiler and control cab was gleaming and totally free of rust. Inside, the cabin was done up in pine planking, the window glass was spotless, the fifty seats were upholstered in plush red velvet and filled with soft down, and only half of them were occupied, these moreover by fine-looking specimens for the most part. This magnificent roadsteamer was a stirring tribute to Helder craftsmanship and technology. Further, much of the road to Walder lay in the winding dells and forest groves of the Emerald Wood, a country famous for scenic beauty. Finally, he would be traveling not alone in a gaggle of mongrels, but with his newfound protege Seph Bogel, in the company of Helder.