Dune

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?