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 venemous 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 difficulty finding a central focus and thus the entire thing became blurred.
"So you lead the Bene Gesserit."
Voice equally low-key. Oddly inflected Galach and no jargon, yet you sensed it just behind her tongue. Linguistic tricks were there. Murbella's knowledge emphasized that.
"They have something close to Voice. Not the equal of what you gave me but there are other things they do, word tricks of a sort."
Word tricks.
"How should I address you?" Odrade asked.
"I hear you call me the Spider Queen." Orange flecks dancing viciously in her eyes.
"Here at the center of your web and considering your vast powers, I'm afraid I must confess to it."
"So that is what you notice--my powers." Vain!
The first thing Odrade actually had marked was the woman's smell. She was bathed in some outrageous perfume.
Covering up pheromones?
Warned about Bene Gesserit ability to judge on the basis of minuscule sense data? Perhaps. Just as probably she preferred this perfume. The odious concoction had about it an underlying hint of exotic flowers. Something from her homeland?
The Spider Queen put a hand to her forgettable chin. "You may call me Dama."
The companion objected. "This is the last enemy in the Million Planets!"
So that's how they think of the Old Empire.
Dama held up a hand for silence. How casual and how revealing. Odrade saw a luster reminiscent of Bellonda in the aide's eyes. Viciousness watchful in there and looking for places to attack.
"Most are required to address me as Great Honored Matre," Dama said. "I have conferred an honor upon you." She gestured toward the arched doorway behind her. "We will walk outside, just the two of us, while we talk."
No invitation; it was a command.
Odrade paused beside the door to look at a map displayed there. Black on white, little lines of paths and irregular outlines with labels in Galach. It was the gardens beyond the flagstones, identification of plantings. Odrade bent close to study it while Dama waited with amused tolerance. Yes, esoteric trees and bushes, very few bearing edible fruits. Pride of possession and this map was here to emphasize it.
On the patio, Odrade said: "I noticed your perfume."
Dama was thrown back into memories and her voice carried subtle undertones when she responded.
Floral identity marker for her own flamebush. Imagine that! But she is both sad and angry when she thinks of this. And she wonders why I bring it to attention.
"Otherwise, the bush would not have accepted me," Dama said.
Interesting choice of verb tense.
The accented Galach was not hard to understand. She obviously adjusted unconsciously for the listener.
Good ear. Spends a few seconds, watching, listening and adjusts to make herself understood. Very old art form that most humans adopt quickly.
Odrade saw the origins as protective coloration.
Don't want to be taken for an alien.
An adjustable characteristic built into the genes. Honored Matres had not lost it but this was a vulnerability. Unconscious tonalities were not completely covered and they revealed much.
Despite her blatant vanity, Dama was intelligent and self-disciplined. It was a pleasure to come to that opinion. Certain circumlocutions were not necessary.
Odrade stopped where Dama stopped at the edge of the patio. They stood almost shoulder to shoulder and Odrade, gazing outward at the garden, was struck by the almost Bene Gesserit appearance.
"Speak your piece," Dama said.
"What value do I have as a hostage?" Odrade asked.
Orange glare!
"You've obviously asked the question," Odrade said.
"Do continue." Orange subsiding.
"The Sisterhood has three replacements for me." Odrade produced her most penetrating stare. "It is possible for us to weaken each other in ways that would destroy us both."
"We could crush you as we would swat an insect!"
Beware the orange!
Odrade was not deflected by warnings from within. "But the hand that swatted us would fester, and eventually, sickness would consume you."
It could not be stated plainer without specific details.
"Impossible!" An orange glare.
"Do you think us unaware of how you were driven back here by your enemies?"
My most dangerous gambit.
Odrade watched it take effect. A dark scowl was not Dama's only visible response. Orange vanished, leaving her eyes an oddly bland discrepancy on the glowering face.
Odrade nodded as though Dama had answered. "We could leave you vulnerable to those who assail you, those who drove you into this cul de s
ac."
"You think we..."
"We know."
At least, now I know.
The knowledge produced both elation and fear.
What is out there to subdue these women?
"We merely gather our forces before--"
"Before returning to an arena where you are sure to be crushed ... where you cannot count on overwhelming numbers."
Dama's voice relapsed into soft Galach that Odrade had difficulty understanding. "So they have been to you ... and made their offer. What fools you are to trust the..."
"I have not said we trust."
"If Logno back there..." Nod of head indicating the aide in the room "... heard you talking to me this way you would be dead in less time than I take to warn you of it."
"I am fortunate there are only the two of us."
"Don't count on that to carry you much farther."
Odrade glanced over her shoulder at the building. Alterations in Guild design were visible: a long facade of windows, much exotic wood and jeweled stones.
Wealth.
She was dealing with wealth in an extreme it would be hard for some to imagine. Nothing Dama wanted, nothing that could be provided by the society subservient to her, would be denied. Nothing except freedom to go back into the Scattering.
How firmly did Dama cling to the fantasy that her exile might end? And what was the force that had driven such power back to the Old Empire? Why here? Odrade dared not ask.
"We will continue this in my quarters," Dama said.
Into the Spider Queen's lair at last!
Dama's quarters were a bit of a puzzle. Richly carpeted floors. She kicked off sandals and went barefoot on entering. Odrade followed this lead.
Look at the callused flesh along the outsides of her feet! Dangerous weapons kept well-conditioned.
Not the soft floor but the room itself puzzled Odrade. One small window looking over the carefully manicured botanical garden. No hangings or pictures on the walls. No decorations. An air vent grill drew shadowy stripes above the door they had entered. One other door on the right. Another air vent. Two soft gray couches. Two small side tables in glistening black. Another larger table in tones of gold with a green shimmer above it to indicate a control field. Odrade identified the fine rectangular outline of a projector inset into the golden table.
Ahhhh, this is her workroom. Are we here to work?
A refined concentration about this place. Care had been taken to eliminate distractions. What distractions would Dama accept?
Where are the decorated rooms? She has to live in particular ways with her surroundings. You cannot always be forming mental barriers to reject things around you that sit disagreeably in your psyche. If you want real comfort, your home cannot be set up in a way that attacks you, especially no attacks on the unconscious side. She is aware of unconscious vulnerabilities! This one is truly dangerous but she has the power to say "Yes."
It was an ancient Bene Gesserit insight. You looked for the ones who could say "Yes." Never bother with underlings who can only say "No." You sought the one who could make an agreement, sign a contract, pay off on a promise. Spider Queen did not often say "Yes" but she had that power and knew it.
I should have realized when she took me aside. She sent me the first signal when she permitted me to call her Dama. Have I been too precipitate, setting up Teg's attack in a way I cannot stop? Too late for second thoughts. I knew it when I unleashed him.
But what other forces may we attract?
Odrade had Dama's dominance pattern registered. Words and gestures were likely to make Spider Queen recoil, crouching back to intense awareness of her own heartbeats.
The drama must go forward.
Dama was doing something with her hands in the green field atop the golden table. She concentrated on it, ignoring Odrade in a way that was both insult and compliment.
You will not interfere, witch, because that is not in your best interest and you know it. Besides, you are not important enough to distract me.
Dama appeared agitated.
Has the attack on Gammu been successful? Are refugees beginning to arrive?
An orange glare focused on Odrade. "Your pilot has just destroyed himself and your ship rather than submit to our inspection. What did you bring?"
"Ourselves."
"There is a signal coming from you!"
"Telling my companions whether I am alive or dead. You already knew that. Some of our ancestors burned their ships before an attack. No retreat possible."
Odrade spoke with exquisite care, tone and timing adjusted to Dama's responses. "If I am successful, you will provide my transport. My pilot was a Cyborg and shere could not protect him from your probes. His orders were to kill himself rather than fall into your hands."
"Providing us with coordinates to your planet." The orange subsided from Dama's eyes, but she still was disturbed. "I did not think your people obeyed you to that extent."
How do you hold them without sexual bonding, witch? Is the answer not obvious? We have secret powers.
Careful now, Odrade cautioned herself. A methodical approach, alert for new demands. Let her think we choose one method of response and stick to it. How much does she know about us? She does not know that even Mother Superior may be only a morsel of bait, a lure to gain vital information. Does that make us superior? If so, can superior training surmount superior speed and numbers?
Odrade had no answer.
Dama seated herself behind the golden table, leaving Odrade standing. There was a nesting sense about the movement. She did not leave this place often. This was the true center of her web. All things she thought she needed were here. She had brought Odrade to this room because it was an inconvenience to be elsewhere. She was uncomfortable in other settings, perhaps even felt threatened. Dama did not court danger. She had done so once but that was long ago, shut off behind her somewhere. Now, she wanted only to sit here in a safe and well-organized cocoon where she could manipulate others.
Odrade found these observations a welcome affirmation of Bene Gesserit deductions. The Sisterhood knew how to exploit this leverage.
"Have you nothing more to say?" Dama asked.
Stall for time.
Odrade ventured a question. "I am extremely curious why you agreed to this meeting?"
"Why are you curious?"
"It seems so... so out of character for you."
"We determine what is in character for us!" Quite testy there.
"But what is it about us interests you?"
"You think we find you interesting?"
"Perhaps you even find us remarkable, because that is certainly how we look at you."
A pleased expression made its fleeting appearance on Dama's face. "I knew you would be fascinated by us."
"The exotic interests the exotic," Odrade said.
This brought a knowing smile to Dama's lips, the smile of someone whose pet has been clever. She stood and went to the one window. Summoning Odrade to her side, Dama gestured to a stand of trees beyond the first flowering bushes and spoke in that soft accent so difficult to follow.
Something ticked off an inner alarm. Odrade fell into simulflow, seeking the source. Something in the room or in Spider Queen? There was a lack of spontaneity about the setting matched by much that Dama did. So all of this was designed to create an effect. Carefully schemed.
Is this one really my Spider Queen? Or is there a more powerful one watching us?
Odrade explored this thought, sorting swiftly. It was a process that provided more questions than answers, a mental shorthand akin to that of Mentats. Sort for relevance and bring up the latent (but orderly) backgrounds. Order generally was a product of human activity. Chaos existed as raw material from which to create order. That was the Mentat approach, giving no unalterable truths but a remarkable lever for decision-making: orderly assemblage of data in a non-discrete system.
She arrived at a Projective.
They revel in chaos! Prefer it
! Adrenaline addicts!
So Dama was Dama, Great Honored Matre. Forever the patroness, forever the superior.
There is no greater one watching us. But Dama believes this is bargaining. One would think she had never done it before. Precisely!
Dama touched an unmarked place below the window and the wall folded back, revealing that the window was but an artful projection. The way was opened onto a high balcony paved with dark green tiles. It overlooked plantations much different from those in the window projection. Here was chaos preserved, wilderness left to its own devices and made more remarkable by ordered gardens in the distance. Brambles, fallen trees, thick bushes. And beyond: evenly spaced rows of what appeared to be vegetables with automated harvesters passing back and forth, leaving bare ground behind them.
Chapterhouse: Dune Page 45
