“Any farther out and we’d be camping in the slums,” Luyseyal had said.

Next they had been denied communications facilities. All of the screens remained blank no matter how many switches were toggled and palm-dials turned.

Anteac had addressed herself sharply to the heavyset officer commanding the Fish Speaker escort, a glowering woman with low brows and the muscles of a manual labourer.

“I wish to complain to your commander!”

“No complaints allowed at Festival Time,” the amazon had rasped.

Anteac had glared at the officer, a look which in Anteac’s old and seamed face had been known to make even her fellow Reverend Mothers hesitate.

The amazon had merely smiled and said: “I have a message. I am to tell you that your audience with the God Emperor has been moved to the last position.”

Most of the Bene Gesserit party had heard this and even the lowliest attendant-postulate had recognized the significance. All of the spice allotments would be fixed or (The Gods protect us!) even gone by that time.

“We were to have been third,” Anteac had said, her voice remarkably mild in the circumstances.

“It is the God Emperor’s command!”

Anteac knew that tone in a Fish Speaker. To defy it risked violence.

A morning of disasters and now this!

Anteac occupied a low stool against one wall of a tiny, almost empty room near the centre of their inadequate quarters. Beside her there was a low pallet, no more than you would assign to an acolyte! The walls were a pale, scabrous green and there was but one aging glowglobe so defective it could not be tuned out of the yellow. The room gave signs of having been a storage chamber. It smelled musty. Dents and scratches marred the black plastic of the floor.

Smoothing her black aba robe across her knees, Anteac leaned close to the postulant messenger who knelt, head bowed, directly in front of the Reverend Mother. The messenger was a doe-eyed blonde creature with the perspiration of fear and excitement on her face and neck. She wore a dusty tan robe with the dirt of the streets along its hem.

“You are certain, absolutely certain?” Anteac spoke softly to soothe the poor girl, who still trembled with the gravity of her message.

“Yes, Reverend Mother.” She kept her gaze lowered.

“Go through it once more,” Anteac said, and she thought: I’m sparring for time. I heard her correctly.

The messenger lifted her gaze to Anteac and looked directly into the totally blue eyes as all the postulants and acolytes were taught to do.

“As I was commanded, I made contact with the Ixians at their Embassy and presented your greetings. I then inquired if they had any messages for me to bring back.”

“Yes, yes, girl! I know. Get to the heart of it.”

The messenger gulped. “The spokesman identified himself as Othwi Yake, temporary superior in the Embassy and assistant to the former Ambassador.”

“You’re sure he was not a Face Dancer substitute?”