Nayla nurtured grudging admiration for Siona, but Topri, there was a man worthy of nothing except active dislike. He was a nervous fat man with bulging green eyes, a pug nose and thin lips above a dimpled chin. Topri squeaked when he spoke.
"Look here, Nayla! Look what Siona has found pressed between the pages of these two books."
Nayla closed and locked the room's single door.
"You talk too much, Topri," Nayla said. "You're a blurter. How could you know if I was alone in the passage?"
Topri paled. An angry scowl settled onto his face.
"I'm afraid she's right," Siona said. "What made you think I wanted Nayla to know about my discovery?"
"You trust her with everything!"
Siona turned her attention to Nayla. "Do you know why I trust you, Nayla?" The question was asked in a flat, unemotional voice.
Nayla put down a sudden surge of fear. Had Siona discovered her secret?
Have I failed my Lord?
"Have you no response to my question?" Siona asked.
"Have I ever given you cause to do otherwise?" Nayla asked.
"That's not a sufficient cause for trust," Siona said. "There's no such thing as perfection-not in human or machine."
"Then why do you trust me?"
"Your words and your actions always agree. It's a marvelous quality. For instance, you don't like Topri and you never try to conceal your dislike."
Nayla glanced at Topri, who cleared his throat.
"I don't trust him," Nayla said.
The words popped into her mind and out of her mouth without reflection. Only after she had spoken did Nayla realize the true core of her dislike: Topri would betray anyone for personal gain.
Has he found me out?
Still scowling, Topri said, "I am not going to stand here and accept your abuse." He started to leave but Siona held up a restraining hand. Topri hesitated.
"Although we speak the old Fremen words and swear our loyalty to each other, that is not what holds us together," Siona said. "Everything is based on performance. That is all I measure. Do you understand, both of you?"
Topri nodded automatically, but Nayla shook her head from side to side.
Siona smiled up at her. "You don't always agree with my decisions, do you, Nayla?"
"No." The word was forced from her.
"And you have never tried to conceal your disagreement, yet you always obey me. Why?"
"That is what I have sworn to do."
"But I have said this is not enough."
Nayla knew she was perspiring, knew this was revealing, but she could not move. What am Ito do? I swore to God that I would obey Siona but I cannot tell her this.
"You must answer my question." Siona said. "I command it."
Nayla caught her breath. This was the dilemma she had most feared. There was no way out. She said a silent prayer and spoke in a low voice.
"I have sworn to God that I will obey you."
Siona clapped her hands in glee and laughed.
"I knew it!"
Topri chuckled.
"Shut up, Topri," Siona said. "I am trying to teach you a lesson. You don't believe in anything, not even in yourself."
"But I...
"Be still, I say! Nayla believes. I believe. This is what holds us together. Belief."
Topri was astonished. "Belief? You believe in..."
"Not in the God Emperor, you fool! We believe that a higher power will settle with the tyrant worm. We are that higher power. "
Nayla took a trembling breath.
"It's all right, Nayla," Siona said. "I don't care where you draw your strength, just as long as you believe."
Nayla managed a smile, then grinned. She had never been more profoundly stirred by the wisdom of her Lord. I may speak the truth and it works only for my God!
"Let me show you what I've found in these books," Siona said. She gestured at some sheets of ordinary paper on the table. "Pressed between the pages."
Nayla stepped around the table and looked down at it.
"First, there's this." Siona held up an object which Nayla had not noticed. It was a thin strand of something... and what appeared to be a...
"A flower?" Nayla asked.
"This was between two pages of paper. On the paper was written this."
Siona leaned over the table and read: "A strand of Ghanima's hair with a starflower blossom which she once brought me."
Looking up at Nayla, Siona said: "Our God Emperor is revealed as a sentimentalist. That is a weakness I had not expected."
"Ghanima?" Nayla asked.
"His sister! Remember your Oral History."
"Oh... oh, yes. The Prayer to Ghanima."
"Now, listen to this." Siona took up another sheet of paper and read from it.
"The sand beach as gray as a dead cheek, A green tideflow reflects cloud ripples; II stand on the dark wet edge. Cold foam cleanses my toes. I smell driftwood smoke. "
Again, Siona looked up at Nayla. "This is identified as `Words I wrote when told of Ghani's death.' What do you think of that?"
"He... he loved his sister."
"Yes! He is capable of love. Oh, yes! We have him now." -= Sometimes I indulge myself in safaris which no other being may take. I strike inward along the axis of my memories. Like a schoolchild reporting on a vacation trip, I take up my subject. Let it be... female intellectuals! I course backward into the ocean which is my ancestors. I am a great winged fish in the depths. The mouth of my awareness opens and I scoop them up! Sometimes... sometimes I hunt out specific persons recorded in our histories. What a private joy to relive the life of such a one while I mock the academic pretentions which supposedly formed a biography.