“Kongrosian is a major artist,” Stark nodded. “I can appreciate your concern. And in these chaotic times, with such elements as the Sons of Job parading in the streets, and all the vulgarity and mediocrity which seems ready to rise up and reassert itself—” “Those creatures,” Nicole said quietly, “will not last long. So worry about something else.” “You believe you understand the situation, then. And have it firmly under control.” Stark permitted himself a brief, cold grimace. “Bertold Goltz is as Be as it’s possible to be. Out, un and Be; he’s all three. He’s a joke. A clown.” “Like Goering,
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