After dutifully completing his public appearance on Poritrin, Iblis Ginjo was asked to consider going to Ix, where the fighting would be heaviest. Lord Bludd insisted that his presence would boost the morale of the jihadi soldiers who were sacrificing so much.

But Iblis dismissed the idea out of hand, without even raising the question with Yorek Thurr. Unstable conditions there were too dangerous for him. The human revolution on that Synchronized World, led by his own Jipol professional agitators, had been in full eruption long before the Jihad invasion fleet was due to arrive. Even if human forces won this offensive, tens of thousands would lie dead in the streets. And if Primero Harkonnen lost, the death toll would be even higher.

No, Iblis did not want to be there. It would be risking too much, both personally and politically.

Only after an Ixian victory was assured and the jihadis had cleaned up the remaining thinking machines would the Grand Patriarch make his triumphant arrival. At that time, he could saunter in and take most of the credit for victory. From then on, he could always use Ix as a rallying cry for even more major offensives, as he had done with Poritrin.

If Primero Harkonnen’s military operation was on schedule, he should arrive at Ix soon, though they had no means of instant communication at such distances. Within days the big battle should commence, though it would be some time before the Grand Patriarch learned the results….

Iblis remained on Poritrin for a month and arranged a series of private meetings with noblemen, some of whom had journeyed from Ecaz and other League Worlds for the belated festival. Despite the gravity of the machine threat, the patricians were in no mood to discuss serious matters. They wanted to savor their victory for a while, though it was only a small step toward the ultimate goal. Dealing with these fools, Iblis finally reached a peak of frustration, and announced that he would be leaving in order to oversee the important matters of the Jihad.

In a good-natured fashion, Lord Bludd had protested the Grand Patriarch’s early departure, but Iblis could see that he did not particularly care one way or another. So he left Poritrin accompanied by two Jipol officers, the grim and unshakeable Yorek Thurr and a young female sergeant newly recruited into Iblis’s private police force. While Thurr flew the ship competently, the new sergeant, Floriscia Xico, acted as copilot and attendant. Iblis retired to his own plush cabin to relax and plan during the long voyage.

In the luxurious chamber he sat on a deep-cushion chair, where he participated in a role-playing bioholo set on ancient Earth, ostensibly to learn about the founder of the original Islamic faith before the Second and Third Movements in the Old Empire. Iblis’s object was to learn about the first jihad, and to understand it completely.

Immersed in the bioholo, Iblis Ginjo saw himself as a fictional companion who walked alongside the great man, without ever actually speaking to him. The white-robed prophet stood on the crest of a dune, speaking to a throng of followers arrayed below him.

Abruptly the images around Iblis wavered, then flickered out of focus until the walls of his plush cabin stood out sharply around him again. Voices in the ancient reenactment clashed with real voices over the spaceship comsystem. Alarms sounded, and Iblis wrenched himself back to reality.

Someone was shaking him and shouting into his ear. He looked into the flushed face of curly-haired Floriscia Xico. “Grand Patriarch, you must come to the flight deck immediately!”

Struggling to reorient himself, he lurched after her. Through the front viewport, he saw an immense asteroid filling space, spinning wildly as it headed toward them.

“It’s not moving in a natural orbit, sir,” Thurr said, not taking his eyes from the controls or their trajectory map. “It keeps adjusting course whenever I take evasive action, and its acceleration is obviously artificial.”

Iblis calmed himself and stood tall, the commander that his Jipol expected to see. Both the swarthy little Thurr and the younger, less seasoned Xico seemed uncharacteristically uneasy. “Our craft has augmented engines,” Iblis said. “We can outrun any asteroid.”

“Theoretically,” Thurr said as he wrestled with the controls, “but it keeps accelerating, sir. Heading straight toward us.”

“Fifty seconds to collision,” Xico reported, from the copilot seat.

“That’s ridiculous. It’s just an asteroid—”

One of the big rock’s largest craters glowed, and the ship lurched, as if suddenly caught in a fisherman’s net. Lights dimmed, and the flight deck shuddered. Thurr said, “Tractor beam has us.”

A shower of sparks sprayed out of the control console like a Poritrin fireflower display. Iblis heard an explosion belowdecks, deep in the engine compartment. In front of Thurr and Xico, the control panels went dark.

The asteroid loomed closer and closer, moving under its own inexorable power. Xico slumped in her seat as if she had given up. In disgust, Thurr slapped the controls. “Our engines are disabled! We’re dead in space.” Sweat glistened on his bald head.

The asteroid drew them closer, pulling them into a yawning crater. The cosmic body was obviously a huge, disguised ship. But who did it belong to? Angry and fearful, Iblis swallowed hard.

Abruptly, all power went out, even the backup systems. A chill wind seemed to accompany the darkness that engulfed the ship as they were swallowed by the gigantic asteroid.