Dune: The Machine Crusade (48 page)

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.

“Most impressive,” she had gasped, pretending to be breathless from their physical passion. “But do we have to discuss the war
now
?”

“I’m always thinking about the Jihad,” he said. “I have to, because thinking machines never sleep.” Only a few minutes afterward, he drifted off.

Beside her, he snored lightly, with one burly arm draped over her shoulder. Gently, Zufa pulled away. Iblis had immediately recognized the advantages of a political alliance with her, adding the power and influence of the Rossak Sorceresses to his great cause. In exchange, she got what she needed from him, and she could always get more, if necessary. A quid pro quo. But she supposed this would be one of her final opportunities, biologically, to conceive. For future missions, she would probably have to send in a younger Sorceress.

But this daughter, she wanted for herself.

Zufa slipped out of bed and stood naked before a full-length mirror. Though she was mature and well beyond childbearing age for most women, her body remained in excellent condition. She had an almost perfect form, as if she had been sculpted by the hands of the gods. In the reflection she saw Iblis stir on the bed, without opening his eyes.

Is your genetic line superior, Iblis Ginjo?
She vowed to discover the answer for herself.

Human breeding was not an exact science, but the women of Rossak were convinced that powerful bloodlines could be identified, controlled, and harvested. She had tested her timing, hormones, and ovulation to be certain she was at peak fertility, and had no doubt that she would conceive a child. Through careful application of special Rossak drugs known only to Sorceresses, she had greatly increased her chances of selecting a daughter.

She had suffered terrible personal disappointments when she’d given birth to the stunted Norma, and when her carefully chosen mate Aurelius Venport had proved to be a dismal genetic failure, despite all prior indications to the contrary.

This time it will be different
. As she dressed quickly and slipped out of the Grand Patriarch’s quarters, she finally had hope. This one would be a perfect daughter. The one she had always wanted.

Females were so much more valuable than males.

A
t least the disaster happened behind closed laboratory doors. The reinforced walls contained the explosion, and no one was hurt, except for a few inconsequential slaves. Holtzman decided to make careful modifications to his records so that Lord Bludd would never know about it.

Years ago, thanks to Norma Cenva, the Savant had learned to be careful about showing off a new concept before it had been thoroughly proven. He wanted no further blots of embarrassment on his record.

Anxious to quell muttered jokes among the Poritrin nobles that the great inventor had run out of ideas, Holtzman had revamped old plans for his alloy-resonance generator— a device that had blown up an entire laboratory twenty-eight years ago, destroying a bridge and killing many slaves. It should have worked, should have been a powerful new weapon that acted directly on the metal bodies of the thinking machines. He’d been eager to show off the device to Lord Bludd without testing it first.

The ensuing catastrophic failure had been an embarrassment that took him years to get over.

Regardless of this, the Savant had always believed the concept had some merit. Recently he had given the old plans to his team of ambitious young assistants, and instructed them to
make it work
.

With bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and a pervasive smell of sour perspiration, the assistants had recalculated, redesigned, and rebuilt the demonstration assembly. He had pretended to go over their plans in great detail, but he took the apprentices at their word. Now, when the “improved” device failed just as explosively, he was despondent. Fortunately this time the Savant could keep it a secret, but that was only a small consolation.

All those years ago, Norma Cenva had warned him that the concept was hopelessly flawed, that it could never possibly work. She had always been so smug about such admonitions, but maybe she was right after all.
What is she doing now, anyway?
He had not seen her in a while.

Naturally, he assumed she had wasted more time and accomplished little. If she had made a great discovery, he would certainly have heard about it. Unless she was keeping a secret… as she had when handing over the glowglobe technology to VenKee Enterprises.

Leaving the assistants to clean up and hide the wreckage of the alloy-resonance generator, he gathered all their lab notebooks “for security reasons,” and later destroyed them. The famed inventor liked to think he was in control of his life.

That evening, before he had finished his first glass of tartly spiced Poritrin rum, Holtzman had decided to pay Norma a visit.

THOUGH SHE TRIED to keep a low profile, Norma could not really hide the existence of such a large operation. Tuk Keedair initiated tight security measures, but Lord Bludd still knew where the facility was, based upon the fact that VenKee Enterprises had purchased an old mining operation in a tributary river canyon.

Now Holtzman decided he would go there to see what she was doing, bringing with him only two assistants and a pair of Dragoon guards. If Norma caused trouble, he could always come back later— with force.

The white-robed inventor rode a powered shuttleboat upriver to the dry side canyon where he knew she was conducting mysterious experiments. He saw empty docks and cargo lifts running up the cliffside to the buildings and caves that formed her research facility.

“With such an ugly complex, it’s a good thing she’s hidden it so far out here,” his apprentice said.