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The autoreceptionist backed around Tamalane and Dortujla, once more trying to
make contact with Odrade.
"You will send us to our quarters immediately!" Odrade said, glaring into the
cyclopean eye.
"Dear me! We've been inconsiderate."
Where had they found that syrupy voice? Repulsive. But Odrade was on her way
out of the lobby in less than a minute, luggage on its robos ahead of them,
Suipol close behind, Tamalane and Dortujla following.
There was an air of neglect to one wing clearly visible as they passed it. Did
that mean Junction's traffic had declined? Interesting. Shutters had been
sealed along an entire corridor. Hiding something? In the resulting gloom she
detected dust on floor and ledges with only a few tracks of maintenance mechs.
Concealment of what lay outside those windows? Unlikely. This had been closed
off for some time.
She detected a pattern in what was being maintained. Very little traffic.
Honored Matre effect. Who dared move around much when it felt safer to dig in
and pray you would not be noticed by dangerous prowlers? Access lanes to elite
private quarters were being kept up. Only the best was being maintained at its
best.
When Gammu's refugees arrive, there will be room.
In the lobby, a robo had handed Suipol a guide pulser. "To find your way
later." Round blue ball with a yellow arrow floating in it to point your chosen
way. "Rings a tiny bell when you arrive."
The pulser's tiny bell rang.
And where have we arrived?
Another place where their hosts had provided "every luxury" while keeping it
repellent. Rooms with soft yellow floors, pale mauve walls, white ceilings. No
chairdogs. Be thankful for that even though the absence spoke of economics
rather than care for a guest's preferences. Chairdogs required sustenance and
expensive staff. She saw furnishings with permaflox fabrics. And behind the
fabrics she felt plastic resilience. Everything done in the other colors of the
rooms.
The bed was a small shock. Someone had taken the request for a hard mat too
literally. Flat surface of black plaz without cushion. No bedding.
Suipol, seeing this, started to object but Odrade silenced her. Despite Bene
Gesserit resources, comfort sometimes fell by the wayside. Get the job done!
That was their first order. If Mother Superior had to sleep occasionally on a
hard surface without covers, this could be passed off in the name of duty.
Besides, the Bene Gesserit had ways of adjusting to such inconsequentials.
Odrade steeled herself to discomfort, aware that if she objected she might find
another deliberate insult.
Let them add this to all of that unconscious content and worry about it.
Her summons came while she was inspecting the rest of their quarters, displaying
minimal concern and open amusement. A voice piped through ceiling vents
intruded as Odrade and her companions emerged into the common sitting room:
"Return to the lobby where you will meet your escort to Great Honored Matre."
"I will go alone," Odrade said, silencing objections.
A green-robed Honored Matre waited on a fragile chair where the corridor entered
the lobby. She had a face built up like a castle wall -- stone laid on stone.
Mouth a watergate through which she inhaled some liquid via a transparent straw.
Flow of purple up the straw. Sugar odor in the liquid. The eyes were weapons
peeking over ramparts. Nose: a slope down which eyes dispatched their hatred.
Chin: weak. Not necessary, that chin. An afterthought. Something left over
from earlier construction. You could see the infant in it. And hair:
artificially darkened to muddy brown. Unimportant. Eyes, nose, and mouth,
those were important.
The woman stood slowly, insolently, emphasizing what a favor she did merely by
noticing Odrade.
"Great Honored Matre agrees to see you."
Heavy, almost masculine voice. Pride walled up so high she exposed it whatever
she did. Packed solid with immovable prejudice. She knew so many things she
was a walking display of ignorance and fears. Odrade saw her as a perfect
demonstration of Honored Matre vulnerability.
At the end of many turnings and corridors, all of them bright and clean, they
came to a long room -- sun pouring in a line of windows, sophisticated military
console at one end; space maps and terrain maps projected there. Center of
Spider Queen's web? Odrade entertained doubts. Console too obvious. Something
of different design from the Scattering but no mistaking its purpose. Fields
that humans could manipulate had physical limits, and a hood for mental
interface could be nothing else even though it was a towering oval shape and a
peculiar dirty yellow.
She swept her gaze over the room. Sparsely furnished. A few slingchairs and
small tables, a large open area where (presumably) people could await orders.
No clutter. This was supposed to be an action center.
Impress that upon the witch!
Windows on one long wall revealed flagstones and gardens beyond. This whole
thing was a set piece!
Where is Spider Queen? Where does she sleep? What is the appearance of her
lair?
Two women came in through an arched doorway from the flagstones. Both wore red
robes with glittering arabesques and dragon shapes on them. Soostones shattered
for decorations.
Odrade held her silence, exercising caution until after introductions by the
escort, who uttered as few words as possible and left hurriedly.
Without Murbella's hints, the tall one standing beside Spider Queen was the one
Odrade would have taken for commander. But it was the smaller one.
Fascinating.
This one did not just climb to power. She sneaked between the cracks. One day,
her Sisters awoke to accomplished fact. There she was, firmly seated at the
center. And who could object? Ten minutes after leaving her you would have
difficulty remembering the target of your objections.
The two women examined Odrade with equal intensity.
Well and good. That is needed at this moment.
Spider Queen's appearance was more than a surprise. Until this moment, no
physical description of her had been achieved by the Bene Gesserit. Only
temporary projections, imaginative constructs based on scattered bits of
evidence. Here she was, finally. A small woman. Expected stringy muscles
visible under red leotards beneath her robe. Face a forgettable oval with bland
brown eyes, orange flecks dancing in them.
Fearful and angered by it but cannot place the precise reasons for her fear.
All she has is a target -- me. What does she think to gain from me?
The aide was something else: in appearance, far more dangerous. Golden hair so
carefully coiffed, slight hook to the nose, thin lips, skin stretched tightly
over high cheekbones. And that venomous glare.
Odrade passed her gaze once more over Spider Queen's features: a nose that some
would have trouble describing a minute after leaving her.
Straight? Well, somewhat.
Eyebrows a match to straw-colored hair. The mouth opened to become pinkly
visible and almost vanished when closed. It was a face in which you had
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