For eight nerve-wracking months, Iblis Ginjo had operated on his own, making decisions and letting his imagination judge the extent of unrest among the slaves. As a trustee, he received certain privileges, but he had never truly seen how awful their lives were, foolishly thinking that his minimal rewards and praise made their days tolerable. How had they endured for so many centuries?

Iblis was convinced there must be other secret ringleaders and resistance fighters. Cogitor Eklo and his secondary Aquim had promised to help, and he could only guess at what resources or means they might have. However, apart from Ajax’s constant suspicions and the execution of Ohan Freer, the thinking machines seemed to have no inkling of the incredible uprising they were about to face.

Soon that would change.

For weeks Iblis had exerted himself quietly but intently, whispering to his faithful workers, smoothly recruiting them into his circle of dissent. He had prepared them for the possibility of a revolt, and in spite of the danger, they had excitedly passed the message among themselves. Iblis swore that this uprising would not become another lost cause like the first Hrethgir Rebellions.

In the past two months, a determined Iblis had nearly doubled the ranks of his secret organization, with many more people attempting to join. He could feel the wave building. To become part of the spreading resistance, each convert had to pass through a series of blind names and defensive layers recommended by the monk Aquim.

The hundreds in his organization were divided into small cells of no more than ten, so that each member knew the identities of only a few others. All the while, they continued to spread the word, the goal, the excitement, and caution. It was as if they had been waiting a thousand years for this.

Cogitor Eklo had given a somewhat esoteric explanation of how the movement could achieve an exponential growth rate by following a basic model of biology, cells multiplying through mitosis. Members of each rebel cell would grow, break loose, and form new ones, which would continue in the same fashion. Sooner or later, they would encounter other groups and merge, drawing strength from each other. Ultimately the dissenters would reach critical mass, and there would be a flash of energy, like an electrochemical charge. . . .

Nothing is impossible.

Iblis had received additional secret communications at unpredictable times. The mysterious notes were maddeningly general, providing no specifics of other rebel cells, or what he was expected to accomplish. When it occurred, the revolt would be large but alarmingly uncoordinated, and Iblis feared that disorganization in the face of highly structured thinking machines would doom the movement to failure. On the other hand, the very unpredictability of human beings might be their greatest advantage.

Now, when Iblis returned home after three days of nonstop work on the Victory of the Titans frieze, he saw an old slave slipping out of his bungalow. Hurrying inside, Iblis discovered another message on top of his bedding. He rushed out to confront the old man in the yard. “Stop! I want to talk to you.”

The old slave froze, like a rabbit about to bolt, trained never to resist the commands of a crew boss. Iblis ran to him, perspiring in the lingering heat of the day. “Who sent you? Tell me!”

The slave shook his wrinkled head. A peculiar, glazed expression crossed his face. He opened his mouth and pointed at it. The tongue had been removed.

Undeterred, Iblis thrust an electronic notepad at him, after clearing the screen with which he kept track of the crew’s activities. The man shrugged, as if to indicate his inability to read or write. With a scowl, Iblis saw this as an effective means of preventing discovery and cross-contamination among the rebel cells. Disappointed, he let the slave go, whispering, “Keep up the resistance. Nothing is impossible.” The old slave didn’t seem to understand, and hurried off.

Iblis returned to his bungalow and read the brief message: “Soon we will be united. Nothing will stop us. You have made great progress, but you must continue for now without our help.” Already, the lettering on the thin metal sheet had begun to corrode and vanish. “Advance your plans, and watch for a sign.”

In the distance, beyond the megalithic cymek monuments, the yellow sun was dropping below the western horizon. Watch for a sign.

Iblis narrowed his eyes. If Omnius or one of the Titans discovered the plot too early, the revolt might fail. The crew boss had never considered himself a hero. He was working to free humans, but knew that a part of him also wanted to succeed for the benefit of his own ego. He must take advantage of his ability to sway opinions and inspire action among the slaves.

Slaves were easily encouraged to dream of freedom, but when second thoughts set in they feared reprisals from the thinking machines. During such moments of doubt, Iblis could gaze at his followers and speak hushed words with a deep intensity, convincing them of the unstoppable success of their movement. He had them under his complete physical and psychological control. His leadership skills had never failed him, and recently he had discovered new, hypnotic aspects of his personality. . . .

Iblis’s teams maintained the oppressive work schedule on the Victory of the Titans frieze. His handpicked people labored at the exhibit with only a few robot guards and a neo-cymek in view, which had allowed them to surreptitiously incorporate the deadly components suggested by Cogitor Eklo. Similarly, Iblis had installed concealed weaponry at four other work sites around the capital city grid. Even the robot Erasmus had requested skilled laborers for modifications to his villa . . . and Iblis saw potential advantages there.

Inside his dim bungalow, Iblis held the metal message sheet, now entirely blank. He discarded it into a scrap pile that would be delivered to a recycler. The machines were very efficient at utilizing materials and minimizing industrial energy expenditures.

Even with only snippets of information, Iblis vowed to make all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. His core of dissatisfied workers was ready to rise up and smash thinking machines; the need to vent their anger built with each day.

Iblis could not wait forever. At some point, he might have to strike out on his own. He hoped the promised sign would come soon.