As he watched Serena complete her admirable duties, Iblis observed her in wonderment. The Priestess of the Jihad would have made a much more suitable partner for his ambitions. It seemed a shame to waste such power.
Now, a suitably submissive-looking Keats and the other new volunteers waited to accompany the Ivory Tower Cogitors to their glacier- encrusted planetoid. They stood, looking appropriately brave and contrite and Iblis smiled at each one, nodding subtly when the new recruits flashed devoted glances at him.
Serena had the grace of a madonna as she touched each man on the shoulder. "I thank you for your sacrifices, gentlemen, for your willingness to isolate yourself for years. You will suffer many lonely hours on cold Hessra, perfect times for discussions and debates. And for the good of our Jihad, you must make the Ivory Tower Cogitors see that neutrality is not the sole option."
Keats smiled and stepped away from Serena's benediction as she moved to the next man. They would be gone for years or decade 3, perhaps for the rest of their lives… but in that time, they might be able to bring these other Cogitors over to the righteous cause of mankind.
In a low tone, Iblis spoke to Serena. "Priestess, they may appear placid on the outside, but these volunteers are experts in the art of conversation and debate." She nodded.
Iblis knew that the Cogitors were brilliant philosophers, but naive. Though he gave Serena an appropriately sanitized explanation of his scheme, her bright lavender eyes showed that she understood…
Individually and collectively, humans are driven by sexual energy. Curiously, they construct great edifices around their actions in an attempt to conceal this.
—Erasmus, Reflections on Sentient Biologicals
As tall as the buildings of Zimia, the titanic cymek walker looked like a prehistoric arachnid constructed of steel and alloys. With its combat arms raised in the air, it exposed threatening weapons turrets and cannon limbs.
The gladiator body showed signs of rust and corrosion from nearly three decades of exposure to open air. When guided by a disembodied human brain, this cymek warrior had caused much destruction during Agamemnon's deadly raid to bring down the planet's shield transmitters. But under the guidance of Xavier Harkonnen, the Salusan Militia had successfully driven back the attack. Several neo-cymeks had been obliterated in the battle, and others had jettisoned their preservation canisters for retrieval by the frustrated robot fleet, leaving the gigantic mechanical bodies behind.
This combat walker had remained here since the thwarted machine attack, surrounded by what had once been ruined governmental buildings. Now the hulk stood as a memorial to the thousands of victims of the first Battle of Zimia. The frozen machine body was both the trophy of a defeated enemy and a reminder that more thinking machines could attack again at any moment…
After a year fighting for the Jihad — first at Ix and then in two other major skirmishes against robot warships — Jool Noret had finally come to Salusa Secundus. Peering through narrowed eyes, he stood in the landscaped plaza staring up at the ominous cymek walker. The mechanical body was more than ten times his own height. With his analytical mindset: and the training received from Chirox, Noret scrutinized the warrior-form's systems, mentally devising ways to destroy such an adversary. If necessary he would have faced such a giant machine alone. His jade-eyed gaze roved over the armored legs, the implanted projectile launchers, and the head turret from which the traitorous brain guided its attacks. Searching for weaknesses.
Noret knew from the sensei mek that cymek bodies took many forms that were adapted for a variety of harsh situations. While this permitted some freedom of arrangement, the primary systems accessing the thoughtrodes needed to be basically the same. If Noret could discover how to cripple and subdue machines like this, he would be an even more formidable mercenary. And he would cause even more destruction.
Looking at the fearsome contraption, he recalled the combat exercises he had watched his father perform, and felt the warrior spirit of Jav Barri flowing through him. "You don't frighten me," Noret said quietly to the huge machine. "You are just another enemy, like all the others."
A tall woman with pale hair, icy eyes, and milky-white skin came to stand beside him, making hardly a sound. "Foolish bravado leads to failure more often than to victory."
Noret had heard her approach, but there were many visitors and supplicants in this memorial square, all staring at the cymek hulk as if it were a defeated demon. "There is a difference between bravado and confident determination." He glanced up at the huge cymek again, then back to the woman. "You are a Sorceress of Rossak."
"And you are a mercenary of Ginaz," she said. "I am Zufa Cenva. My women have fought and destroyed cymeks. It is our burden and our skill to become the bane of all machines with human minds."
Noret gave her a cold smile. "I wish to become the bine of all machines — regardless of their type."
She considered him skeptically, as if trying to interpret the dangerous calmness surrounding this mercenary. "I see that you mean what you say, Jool Noret."
He nodded, not asking how she knew his name.
"My Sorceresses can eliminate cymeks," Zufa reiterated. "Each of my women can annihilate ten smaller neo-cymeks, sizzling their treacherous brains."
Noret continued to inspect the huge cymek walker. "Whenever one of your Sorceresses unleashes her mental weapon, she must die. Each strike is a suicide mission."
Zufa bridled. "Since when is a Ginaz mercenary unwilling to sacrifice himself for the Jihad? Are you a coward who fights only when it is safe?"
Though she was an intimidating woman, Noret did not flinch. Instead, he looked at her with vacant, shadowed eyes. "I am always willing to sacrifice myself, but so far I have not seen a worthy opportunity. In each battle I have survived in order to keep destroying my enemy year after year. If I am dead, I can no longer continue the fight."
Grudgingly, Zufa conceded the point. She nodded to the surprisingly grim and distant mercenary. "If only there were more like the two of us, the machines would have no choice but to turn and flee for their very… existence."
Plans and possibilities filled the Grand Patriarch's mind during every waking hour, wheels within wheels, schemes to benefit the human race. And himself, of course. Everything he did had countless ramifications. There were linkages to every decision.
Iblis Ginjo had much to conceal and much to balance. At present only Yorek Thurr and himself knew about their amazing new ally, Hecate. And the Jipol commandant had always been frighteningly capable of keeping secrets.
Through the quiet machinations of the Jihad police, Iblis had seized a growing number of protest leaders who naively wanted to put a stop to the constant warfare. He had also put political enemies to death if they interfered with his grand plans for the Jihad. Like Munoza Chen. It was all a matter of necessity, not something he particularly enjoyed. To safeguard himself, the Grand Patriarch had people watching people watching people, though Yorek Thurr always managed to elude the closest scrutiny.
Iblis considered it his sacred duty to make certain harsh, difficult decisions that others would not understand. Some things needed to be done secretly in order to annihilate the thinking machines. The Grand Patriarch's honorable motivations were clear in his own mind, but he knew he could never share them with anyone, especially not with his carefully groomed Priestess of the Jihad. Her saintly innocence was not feigned.
Unfortunately, Serena's newfound independence had thrown many intricate plans into turmoil. Too much was at stake, and Iblis couldn't allow her to continue along this uncomfortable path. He had to find some way to bring her back into line. The answer had seemed so obvious, and he hoped she would see the advantages, too. He knew her heart was a block of ice when it came to personal matters, though she still insisted on charitable actions for jihadis and refugees. She could be reached, but he had to be careful how he did it, to make her see the logical reasons for the perfect alliance he wanted.
She was due to arrive in his
private chambers soon, and Iblis intended to use every skill he possessed to convince her to accept his proposal.
Through a window of his Zimia penthouse, he looked out at the imposing government buildings fronting the immense central square where thousands of people gathered for the weekly Jihad rallies. He envisioned even larger crowds in the future, spilling across metropolitan centers on all League Worlds. If properly fed, the holy struggle would continue to grow and grow.
First, though, certain things needed to happen. His wife Camie wouldn't like it, and matters might get ugly with their three children, but he had married the woman only because her supposed political clout had boosted his own power. Later he learned, to his dismay, that she was in reality a person of insignificant influence. Now, as a turnabout, Camie loved being married to the Grand Patriarch's title, not to him. And if she caused too much trouble… well, he supposed Thurr could take care of that as well. All for the good of the Jihad.
Serena was more important, with much more interesting possibilities.
Iblis sat back in a deep suspensor chair, felt it conform to his stocky body. Given the stresses of his position, the Grand Patriarch had not paid much attention to his diet or physical condition. Over the past ten years, ever since the formation of the Jihad Council, he had gained a considerable amount of weight, and Camie hadn't bothered to sleep with him in months. Although he had been discreet out of political necessity with his charisma and important position, Iblis could have any woman he wanted.
Except for Serena Butler. Ever since her capture by the thinking machines long ago on Giedi Prime, she had avoided all opportunities for romance. Such steely resolve and dedication gave her a certain air of noble sacrifice, but it took a toll on her, detracting from her humanity. The most fanatical of her followers saw her as an Earth Mother, a Madonna, and a Virgin.
But love was more than just an esoteric concept. To be truly effective, the Priestess had to demonstrate her capacity for love. A compassionate Mary instead of a steely Joan of Arc. Iblis meant to do something about that today.
From the drawer of a side table he removed a phial of subtle pheromones and dusted them on his neck and on the backs of his hands. The smell was faintly sour and not particularly pleasant, but it should work unobtrusively on the female instincts. Iblis rarely needed such a crutch, but wanted to leave nothing to chance.
He knew full well that conventional romance and methods of seduction would never succeed with Serena. He had to rely on other forms of persuasion, prove to her the benefits to the Jihad, if only she would agree…
A discreet signal sounded at the door, and one of his Jipol corporals escorted Serena Butler into his chamber. "Sir, the Priestess of the Jihad." Iblis quickly hid the pheromone phial.
"Grand Patriarch," she said, with a stiff nod. "I trust this is important? My duties have increased dramatically of late."
It is your own fault. Revealing none of his annoyance, Iblis smiled warmly and stepped forward to take her hand. "You look especially radiant today." She wore a black suit-dress with a white collar and sleeves. He gestured to a leather suspensor sofa over the deep-pile imported carpet.
"I have been out in the sun," she said with a curt smile. "I spoke for hours at the large rally yesterday."
"I know. I saw the recordings." Iblis took a seat beside her on the slick sofa. It bobbed a little. "A very effective job, as usual." Even if she had written it herself, ignoring all of his suggestions…
A mustachioed manservant appeared with a tray of steaming drinks, which he placed on a table in front of them. "Sweet green tea from the finest importers," Iblis announced, trying to impress her. "Special blend from Rossak."
She accepted a cup, but held it in her palms without taking a sip. "What do we need to discuss, Grand Patriarch?" She seemed so distant. "We must make the most of our time."
Since her change of heart and insistence on running the Jihad Council, Iblis saw clearly that she had been redefining the power structure on her own terms, placing him in a subordinate position. Perhaps, though, he could still find ways to guide and direct her, just differently from before.
"I have an idea that may surprise you, Serena, but when you think about it I am convinced you will see the wisdom, and how it will make the Jihad much stronger. It is time we had this talk."
She waited without answering. Her expression hadn't softened, but he could see that he had her complete attention.
Entirely relaxed, he said nothing to her of the melange capsules he had consumed less than an hour ago. Serena had always made it clear that she did not approve of any drug, considering it a sign of weakness, so he had been certain to take spice with odor masking additives.
Iblis; laid out his case. "For many years we have worked together, but not closely enough. We have always been partners in the Jihad, you and I — the Grand Patriarch and the Priestess. Our goals are identical, and our passions. The closer our alliance, the more we can accomplish."
He used a practiced, seductive voice as he studied Serena's profile. Though she was in her mid-forties he still found her strikingly beautiful, with soft features, golden hair and those extraordinary eyes.
"I agree." Her smile was brief, as if unconvinced.
He leaned closer to her. "I have considered this at length, Serena, and I do not make the offer lightly. I believe the next step to strengthen our Jihad would be… for us to become true partners, for all of free humanity to see. Are there any two people better suited for each other? We could have a grand wedding, cement our influence, and push the Jihad to the goal we know we must achieve."
He saw her surprised reaction, but before Serena could begin to argue, he pressed on. "The two of us could be so much more effective if we were to work together. The people would see us as an even stronger entity, an invincible duo. Even Omnius would tremble before the idea of a unified Priestess and Patriarch."
Though he felt intimidated and defensive, Iblis revealed none of his emotions. He felt like a man who had taken two steps backward and might never recover his previous position. But he would never reveal to her the extensive scope of his security, surveillance, and mercenary operations, or the fact that he had committed serious crimes in the name of the Jihad.
She sat stiffly on the sofa, frowning, seeming to ignore his proximity. "An obvious impossibility. You already have a wife. And three children."
"A simple enough problem to solve. I do not love her. I am willing to make the sacrifice for the good of the Jihad. Camie will understand." She could be bought off. He reached out to touch Serena's arm and continued in a rush, as his rehearsed words tumbled forth. "Think of it — together, we can become the guiding force the Jihad requires. You and I can take our Holy War to the next level — and ultimate victory."
He feigned emotion — ostensibly for the sake of the Jihad, not for himself personally. He had already known that he would never get through to Serena Butler with clumsy efforts at seduction. Iblis wanted her very badly, even more so because she was as unreachable as a goddess. But he restrained himself and shifted his approach. The only way he could ever have this woman — as his wife, as his mate, and under his control again — would be to convince her on her own terms. A business proposition.
She nudged him away. "I have no interest in love, Iblis. Or marriage. Not with you or any man. You don't need me."
Iblis frowned, fighting back his frustration. This would be difficult. "I do not speak of humdrum love, but of something far greater than either of us, something far more important. We are destined to be partners in our great mission, Serena." He withdrew his hand but smiled at her, concentrating on his ability, hoping to snare her with his hypnotic gaze. He had to solve the puzzle of this woman. "Only you and I have the necessary resolve to win this war."
Iblis had never sounded so desperate, and he was angry at what she had done to him. If he could conquer her, it would be a huge victory for his own political aspirations. With Serena Butler under his control, nothing could ever stand in
his way.
But her expression remained cold, disinterested. She stood up from the sofa, ready to leave. "Our Jihad requires your full attention. And mine. Use your charms to rally the people, Iblis. That would be a better application of your skills. We must both get back to work, Grand Patriarch, and not fritter away time on this nonsense."
Iblis showed her every courtesy as he motioned for a Jipol aide to escort her away from his suite, but he raged inside and felt like smashing something.
He had never expected the beautiful, utterly confident Sorceress of Rossak to seek him out. As if sensing that he had been rebuffed by another woman, Zufa Cenva strode boldly to the Grand Patriarch's quarters that evening and demanded to see him for a "personal and private audience."
He quickly forgot about Serena Butler.
Zufa cared nothing of Iblis's other women or his political wife. Sorceresses dedicated themselves to tracking bloodlines and manipulating breeding patterns in an attempt to pinpoint the specific genetics conducive to achieving high mental powers in some of the female offspring on Rossak. She had taken the fertility drugs — ironically the ones developed and marketed by Aurelius Venport, who had himself failed her so many times — and knew her body was perfectly receptive.
Given Iblis's libidinous inclination, she supposed the man would be receptive to her as well.
A male telepath was extremely rare, considered nearly impossible. But Zufa had seen the signs in this man, and she needed to bring his valuable bloodline back to her world. Given her own abilities and the Grand Patriarch's history, she did not believe it would be difficult.
And it was not…
As Zufa and Iblis lay on his suspensor bed, having enjoyed each other to the fullest, she thought of what a fascinating man he was. Even without fully understanding the origin of his innate abilities and without training, he had managed to secure a powerful position for himself. While they were making love a short while ago, he had proclaimed her the "Supreme Sorceress of the Jihad." He promised to make a formal announcement of her new official title through the Jihad Council.
The Machine Crusade Page 36