“Fifty-six men,” he whispered. “Hard men, men who are used to discipline and who know how to obey. The very best men I could find for my purpose, the cream of my loyal command men whom I must trust—or kill!” He ignored the stir of shocked surprise as his listeners shifted uncomfortably on their hard chairs.
“We have a planet here, arms equipment, our own spaceship and a free hand. We have men, killers, scum, the unwanted rabble of the nice clean Federation, and they ask us to turn filth into something to be proud of. Two hundred prisoners at the moment and more to come, many more, thousands more, a continual stream as the prisons are emptied and the cities swept and purified of their sulking murderers. Raw material to be shaped as we wish. Hard and ruthless men to be fashioned to fit the
