ChapterHouse: Dune dc-6

by Frank Herbert

  A great sigh shook the woman's shoulders but she held herself in that oddly submissive position when she responded: "Rabbi, I hear and obey. Still, I must honor this knowledge that has been thrust upon me because it contains the very admonition you have just voiced."

  The Rabbi placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then convey it to those who want it and may no evil enter where you go."

  Silence told Teg the argument had ended. He urged Streggi forward. Before she could move, Murbella strode past and nodded to the Rabbi while keeping her gaze on the woman.

  "In the name of the Bene Gesserit and our debt to you, I welcome you and give you sanctuary," Murbella said.

  The brown-robed woman lowered her hand and Teg saw contact lenses glittering in the palm. She lifted her head then and there were gasps all around. The woman's eyes were the total blue of spice addiction but they also held that inner force marking one who had survived the Agony.

  Murbella made instant identification. A wild Reverend Mother! Not since Dune's Fremen days had one of these been known.

  The woman curtsied to Murbella. "I am called Rebecca. And I am filled with joy to be with you. The Rabbi thinks I am a silly goose but I have a golden egg for I carry Lampadas: seven million six hundred twenty-two thousand and fourteen Reverend Mothers and they are rightfully yours."

  ***

  Answers are a perilous grip on the universe. They can appear sensible yet explain nothing.

  - The Zensunni Whip

  As the wait for their promised escort lengthened, Odrade became first angry and then amused. Finally, she began following lobby robos, interfering with their movements. Most were small and none appeared humanoid.

  Functional. Hallmark of Ixian servos. Busy, busy, busy little accompaniments to a sojourn at Junction or its equivalent anywhere.

  They were so commonplace that few people noticed them. Since they were not capable of dealing with deliberate interference, they subsided into motionless humming.

  "Honored Matres have little or no sense of humor." I know, Murbella. I know. But do they get my message?

  Dortujla obviously did. She came out of her funk and watched these antics with a wide grin. Tam looked disapproving but tolerant. Suipol was delighted. Odrade had to restrain her from helping to immobilize the devices.

  Let me do the antagonizing, child. I know what is in store for me.

  When she was sure she had made her point, Odrade took a position under one of the chandeliers.

  "Attend me, Tam," she said.

  Tamalane obediently placed herself in front of Odrade with an attentive expression.

  "Have you noticed, Tam, that modern lobbies tend to be quite small?"

  Tamalane spared a glance for her surroundings.

  "Lobbies once were large," Odrade said. "To provide a prestigious feeling of space for the powerful, and impressing others with your importance, of course."

  Tamalane caught the spirit of Odrade's playlet and said: "These days you're important if you travel at all."

  Odrade looked at the immobilized robos scattered across the lobby floor. Some hummed and jittered. Others waited quietly for someone or some thing to restore order.

  The autoreceptionist, a phallic tube of black plaz with a single glittering comeye, came out from behind its cage and picked its way through the stalled robos to confront Odrade.

  "Much too humid today." It had a soupy feminine voice. "Don't know what Weather is thinking of."

  Odrade spoke past it to Tamalane. "Why do they have to program these mechanicals to simulate friendly humans?"

  "It's obscene," Tamalane agreed. She forcibly shouldered the autoreceptionist aside and it swiveled to study the source of this intrusion but made no other move.

  Odrade was suddenly aware she had touched on the force that had powered the Butlerian Jihad - mob motivation.

  My own prejudice!

  She studied the mechanical confronting them. Was it waiting for instructions or must she address the thing directly?

  Four more robos entered the lobby and Odrade recognized her party's luggage piled on them.

  All of our things carefully inspected, I'm sure. Search where you will. We carry no hint of our legions.

  The four scurried along the edge of the room and found their passage blocked by the ones rendered motionless. The luggage robos stopped and waited for this unique state of affairs to be sorted out. Odrade smiled at them. "There go the signs of the transient concealing our secret selves."

  Concealing and secret.

  Words to annoy the watchers.

  Come on, Tam! You know the ploy. Confuse that enormous content of unconsciousness, arouse feelings of guilt they will be incapable of recognizing. Give them the jitters the way I did with the robos. Make them wary. What are the real powers of these Bene Gesserit witches?

  Tamalane took her cue. Transients and secret selves. She explained for the comeyes in tones one used with children. "What do you carry when you leave your nest? Are you one who tries to pack it all? Or do you prune to necessities?"

  What would the watchers classify as necessities? Tools of hygiene and washable or replaceable clothing? Weapons? They sought those in our luggage. But Reverend Mothers tend not to carry visible weapons.

  "What an ugly place this is," Dortujla said, joining Tamalane in front of Odrade and picking up on the drama. "You would almost think it deliberate."

  Ahhh, you nasty watchers. Observe Dortujla. Remember her? Why has she returned when she must know what you might do to her? Food for Futars? See how little that concerns her?

  "A transition point, Dortujla," Odrade said. "Most people would never want this as their destination. An inconvenience, and the small discomforts serve only to remind you of that."

  "A wayside stop, and it will never be much more unless they completely rebuild," Dortujla said.

  Would they hear? Odrade aimed a look of utter composure at the selected comeye.

  This is ugliness that betrays intent. It says to us: "We will provide something for the stomach, a bed, a place to evacuate bladder and bowels, a place to conduct the little maintenance rituals flesh requires, but you will be gone quickly because all we really want is the energy you leave behind."

  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 fu
rnishings 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 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 probable 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 t
aken 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 sac."

  "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."