Naturally Fate meddled in. He was ready far that. He had arranged irresistible situations that caused all three Aspects to retire at almost the same time, so that Fate was a complete novice at the moment. By the time the new officeholders became experienced and canny, he would have won a major coup. He still hoped to gain a sufficient advantage of the inattentive God before the skein Niobe had started ran its full course; then that skein would become irrelevant.
Then, at last, he would be able to take control, and commence a more efficient and gentle program for defining the universe. The need was becoming more pressing, for in these centuries of God's dereliction mankind was getting rapidly into more trouble. Population was exploding, and the world was getting polluted, and the threat of a holocaustic war was increasing. Someone had to act to abate the situation before everything accomplished in thousands of years was destroyed.
Just to be sure that Fate did not muddle through to a victory, he arranged to have false data inserted in the Purgatory computer. The computer was a modernistic science device that now kept track of the numbers and identities of souls being processed. If the new Fate queried it, she would be sent on a spurious chase. The old Fate would never have been fooled, but the new one should be vulnerable.
All followed through as planned. He could not resist taunting Fate as the denouement of this ploy approached. She had just ventured, in the form of Lachesis, the middle-aged Aspect, into the sample Hell he had instituted on earth as part of his advertising campaign. She had with Gaea's assistance disabused one of the employees there, which annoyed him. So he broached her personally, assuming the standard Satan form, which was one of the regular alternates he used when on official business.
"So now you have nullified the last of the four threads, you meddling frump," he said nastily. "You think you have won."
"Evil is never truly defeated," Lachesis said grimly.
Not if I have My way, he thought. The irony was that though he wore the name of Evil, he was trying to do what was right; it was that God these others served who was negligent. But of course none of them would believe that. Then he told her about the manner in which he had interfered with the Purgatory Computer, causing it to seem to list only selected threads.
"The penalty of being a novice," she muttered ruefully. "I feel very stupid."
"Merely inexperienced," he told her. There was an odd familiarity about her, but probably that was because he had dealt with so many mortals, and so many Incarnations, too; at some time in the past six centuries he had probably encountered someone like her. Then he realized that he might be able to gain an even greater advantage from this, playing further on her inexperience. "I can offer you a better deal."
"You're not to be trusted!"
"Don't depend on trust; depend on common sense. Sometimes what seems good turns out evil in the long run, like the Inquisition." Indeed, he had helped start that, working for God, and then as Satan had succeeded in perverting it to a potent instrument for evil, especially in Spain. "Sometimes what seems evil turns out good, like the Black Plague." That had been his pride, but he discovered too late that the decimation of the labor force which it had accomplished led to a premium on serfs and paved the way for the end of the repressive feudal system. Thus he had accomplished little if any lasting evil, in the sense that he gained no greater proportion of souls for Hell than he might have had he never made the effort. That had taught him caution. Thus he had no abiding commitment to this United Nations mischief; it was mainly a challenge, to discommode Fate.
"What's your pitch, Satan?" she asked with more alertness than he liked.
"I will cancel the psychic stink in exchange for a simple shift in employment for one person. No harm done to her, no evil on her soul, just an inconsequential change." Would she fall for it? No reason why she shouldn't, yet his fortune in this particular matter had been so bad that he hardly trusted it now.
"Who is this person?"
She was nibbling! "A young woman, hardly more than a girl, of no consequence, really."
"So you say. Name the woman."
Here was the tricky part. He knew exactly whom he meant, but could not afford to make it seem important. There were two girls who looked like twins but were actually a generation apart. One was Orb Kaftan, Niobe's daughter, with buckwheat-honey hair, who might marry Evil. Of course that qualification destroyed the validity of the prophecy; anything might happen! The other was Luna Kaftan, Niobe's granddaughter, with the chestnut-brown hair. She was the dangerous one. But she was now protected by Thanatos, who was evidently smitten by her sex appeal; Parry could not touch her directly.
"Oh, she's named Moon, or some such," he said carelessly. "It hardly matters." And what a lie that was! If he could nullify Luna, he could defuse the final aspect of Gabriel's ploy. "She's actually descended from a former Incarnation. Name's—let me see—Kaftan. There are actually two girls, but I want the one with the darker hair."
She was silent, considering this. If she caught on, the ploy was finished—but why should she? She could hardly know the daughters of a former Incarnation, so early in her own career in the office.
"You're up to something," she said at last.
She was biting! "My dear associate, there is no call to trust Me! You can handle it yourself! Simply give me your word that if no bomb goes off at the UN, you will modify the girl's thread to shunt her away from politics."
"No harm will come to the girl?"
"I promise never to harm the girl whose thread you change."
"But your promise is worthless!"
"My word is sacred when properly given." Indeed, though he was the Father of Lies, he had never broken his given word. The same could hardly be said of the mortals who had accepted his gifts in exchange for their souls; they had used any cheap device to weasel out, after using up the gifts.
They made an oath in blood, and it was done. Victory! He had nullified Luna, for it was in politics she had been destined to thwart his last design. He had been unable to fight the devious threads of Fate before, but this change was to be made by Fate herself; this one would be secure. Lachesis agreed to divert the thread of the darker-haired descendent of Niobe Kaftan.
When it was done, he told her how his side of the deal was academic anyway, because Chronos had acted to notify the UN security force about the bomb.
"You know that?" she cried, outraged. "You cheated!"
"Hardly. I agreed to spare the UN, and Niobe's nonpolitical offspring. They will be spared." Then he remembered something: Lachesis had been the first to name Niobe—when he had not. He had been very careful about that, referring only to "a former Incarnation."
Then he made the connection. That seeming familiarity. This was Niobe! Older, no longer as attractive physically, but definitely her. No longer Clotho, but Lachesis!
"I will see that my mortal daughter, Orb, never enters politics," she said sweetly. "An oath is an oath."
"Orb? I meant Luna!"
"Luna was born with clover-honey hair, the lighter of the two. Were you not aware of that, Satan?"
He had not been. He had never examined the girls personally before Luna came to America, but had depended on reports. Luna's hair, evidently, had been dyed. He had fallen for the reversal.
"You came back—to deceive Me!" She only smiled.
He had been suckered after all! He had admire the cleverness of the counter-trap. Niobe was really paying him back for the death of her husband! All he could do now was bow out with grace. "I congratulate you, Niobe, on an excellent counter-ploy."
"That is a compliment indeed, coming from you."
"But now I know you, and I shall not be deceived again. There are other ways." He conjured himself away.
There were indeed other ways. He discovered Niobe's son, the magician, had managed to distort the readout on the balance of good and evil on his soul, so that he was in Purgatory. He belonged in Hell. Parry claimed him now, quite legitimately, and put him in the fires. Then, by some int
ricate maneuvering, he destroyed the message the magician had left for his daughter: how to enable Fate to prevail against Satan in future encounters. Had she learned that, Parry would have been powerless against Fate; as it was, he could continue trying to confound her, and perhaps would yet succeed in nullifying Luna.
Then Niobe came to him again, and made another deal: she put her own soul on the line in exchange for the chance to locate her son in Hell and get the information from him. This he could not decline. To have a chance to obtain Niobe's soul in Hell, subject to his will—that was the absolute stuff of dreams! He would require her to assume the form of her youth. He would not mistreat her, he would love her, and perhaps in time she would come to return the favor.
Mars supervised the encounter so that it was fair—and once again Niobe won through and got what she had come for. She had defeated him yet another time.
Yet, somehow, Parry didn't mind. He still held the image of Niobe in his mind, as she had been in her luscious youth. Had he won her soul, he could have ravished her hourly. But he knew that would have been a poor substitute for her independent love. He was satisfied to have her escape. The feeling he had for her had never really died.
Chapter 14 - MARS
The business with Niobe overlapped a more serious matter, which was one reason why he misplayed Fate. Perhaps that, too, had been planned by Gabriel: all the most difficult matters coming together.
This other business involved the Incarnation of War, Mars. The current officeholder had made himself expert in every form of battlecraft, and was truly competent in fomenting hostilities. He sided with God, but actually did Satan about as much good, because of the inevitable stress and suffering engendered by warfare. Refugees from a bombing, deprived of their homes, livelihoods and families, were often thrown into bare survival situations where ethics and decency were unrealistic. Evil nourished there, and souls were quickly tarnished to their maximum potential. Mars liked to believe that he was serving God by overthrowing tyrannies, but his methods fashioned gardens in which new tyrannies sprouted avidly. He, like God, had lost sight of the true nature of the doctrine of ends and means.
So it was in this particular sequence. A major war in Europe expanded to include nations in other continents, and its aftermath left such desolation that the people were ready to grasp at anything that promised improvement. There were revolutions that sprang theoretically from the roots of the common folk, but that succeeded only in installing yet more repressive regimes. One such occurred in the Russian states, and great was the carnage thereof; another occurred in the remnant of the Holy Roman Empire, now called Germany.
At first Parry encouraged the new order in Germany, for it brought some truly ugly characters to the fore, excellent in evoking what evil lurked in the populace. But then this took a turn he should have anticipated: persecution of minorities. Parry had never had much sympathy for that, since the Albigensian crusade in France that cost him his wife. He withdrew his support.
It was too late. Mortals could be tenacious once embarked on folly. The persecution of Jews and Gypsies intensified. When the next big war erupted, these minorities were herded into camps, their properties confiscated, their bodies given over to forced labor. It was like the Inquisition, only more systematic.
Then the killing began.
JHVH appeared in Hell. Parry welcomed him in a private interview. The Diety of the Hebrews seemed emaciated; he had not been doing well. It hurt Parry to see this, for JHVH had been his closest approach to a friend, apart from Chronos in the old days.
"I simply lack the power to protect My people from Yours," JHVH said. "I ask whether You will consider making a change. I must confess that I went first to God, but he would not see Me."
"He will not see anyone," Parry said. "He is rapt in the contemplation of His own image, while His people go wrong. Were it not for some expert management by his lieutenant, the Angel Gabriel, I would have had the advantage of him by now."
"So I come to You, Satan, knowing that though You represent Evil, You are no supporter of pointless suffering. My people are not Yours; their corruption by circumstance does not aggrandize You, it only diminishes Me."
"I know that," Parry said. "I have no onus against Your people, and I do remember Your kindness to me in the past. I have already withdrawn my support for that regime, but have been unable to turn it aside."
"I thought perhaps You could prevail on Your associates, the other Incarnations of Your framework, one of whom is War."
Parry sighed. "I have never gotten along well with Mars. But I will try. I will do what I can to help Your people."
"I thank you, Satan." JHVH departed.
Parry went to the Castle of War in Purgatory. Mars was not there; he was evidently supervising combat somewhere in the mortal realm.
He went again, a few days later. And again. Mars was never there. Finally he located Mars in the field and went there.
It was not actually a battle, but a battle line. It was called the Maginot Line, constructed by France to fend off Germany. But Germany was in the process of going around it. "Nevertheless," Mars said with an expansive gesture, "this line is penetrable. A fortification is only as good as the personnel who man it and the officers who direct it. The Great Wall of China never stopped a serious invasion; the steppe warriors simply bribed the gatekeepers to let them through and proceeded without hindrance. This line was built to the specifications of the last war, and is relatively ineffective against the mechanization of this one. That is the chronic folly of mortal generals."
"I come about a different matter," Parry said cautiously.
Mars glanced at him. "Why should I care what you came about, Satan? I have no use for you."
Still the same old arrogance! "The proprietors of Germany are maltreating certain minorities. I would prefer to spare those minorities. If you would—"
Mars laughed. "Do you think I'm fool enough to listen to you, Father of Lies? If you say you want someone spared, sure as Hell it's to corrupt three others! Get thee away from me, old Scrotch!"
Parry realized it was hopeless. Mars would not listen, and if he did, he was apt to do the opposite of what Parry asked. He was arrogant in his power, and careless of the proprieties.
But if Mars would not listen to reason, perhaps he would accede to self-interest. "Suppose I make you a deal?"
Mars suggested that he do something impolite to himself.
"Lilah," Parry said.
Instantly the demoness was there, stunningly attired.
"This is one of My creatures," Parry said. "She does My bidding, always. I will assign her to you for the duration, if you will grant the favor I ask."
Mars looked at Lilah. He was a lusty man, and she was the precise figure that evoked the maximum response in such a man. She smiled at him just as if she cared.
"I'll make no deals with you," Mars muttered. But his gaze remained on Lilah.
"I will leave her with you for a time," Parry said. "When you wish, ask her the nature of the favor I want, and she will tell you."
"A man doesn't need to talk to a creature like that," Mars said. "You're wasting your time, Scrotch." Still his eyes were locked on the target.
Parry left, hoping that the man's curiosity would surface after he had sated his lusts. Lilah was very good at her business; if she could persuade him to divert the hostilities, or reshape them in such a way that the minorities would suffer less...
Time passed, and the carnage only got worse. Now they were burning Jews and Gypsies in great ovens, and systematically eradicating them from the continent.
Parry visited the Castle of War again. Mars was out, as usual, but Lilah was there. "He never asked," she said. "How much longer must I tolerate this lout? He has appetites that would make a mortal girl nauseous."
Never even asked? Parry realized that his ploy had been wasted. Mars simply didn't care. He would accept the gifts of Hell, but give nothing in return. Parry had merely lost time, and done his friend
JHVH no favor.
"Tell him anyway, next time," he said.
He departed, broodingly angry. If he ever found a way to get Mars retired, he would gladly do so. But the Incarnation of War retired only when there was complete peace on Earth, and that was seldom. Certainly it was impossible at the moment.
More time passed. The war progressed, and the Axis forces were losing. But the slaughter of minorities only intensified.
Parry went again to the Castle of War. "He wouldn't listen," Lilah said. "He told me I was here for only one reason, and words were no part of it."
Parry had enough. "You are relieved of this duty. Return to Hell."
She was gone so fast there was a pop in the air where she had been. Certainly she had not liked this tour!
What was he to do now? The ploy had failed, and most of the Jews and Gypsies were dead. Though the war was drawing to a close, there was no sign of abatement of the peripheral conflicts. It might be decades before this Mars was retired.
Parry realized that at this stage he had only one alternative. He would have to go to Chronos.
The officeholders of Time had changed frequently, because each was limited by the duration of his mortal life prior to his ascension to the office. But all now were hostile to him, and this one especially so. Parry could not think what had set the man off; something must have happened in the future to enrage him with the Incarnation of Evil. This made dealing difficult. But most had the same problem Mars had, only worse: no suitable women.
He couldn't assign Lilah again, for Chronos lived backward, and he would have had to assign her years ago. The only way she could be with Chronos at this point was if she remained continuously in his mansion, living backward with him. How would that affect her stay with Mars? Parry feared that some kind of paradox would be evoked. Anyway, she deserved a rest; she had done as well as she could in a difficult situation.