6
Damn your analyses and your infernal projections! Damn your legal arguments, your manipulations, your subtle and not'SO' subtle pressures. Talk, talk, talk! It all comes down to the same thing: When a difficult decision must be reached, the real choice is obvious.
In the bright chamber that served the Jews as their temple, in a ceremony as traditional as the no-ship's stores could provide, the old Rabbi led the Seder. Rebecca watched with her new understanding of the root meanings behind the ancient ritual. She had lived it herself in her memories, ages ago. Though he would never admit it, even the Rabbi did not grasp some of the nuances, despite a lifetime of study. Rebecca would not correct him, however. Not in front of the others, not even in private. He was not a man who wished for a refinement of his understanding, not as a Suk doctor, nor as a Rabbi.
Here, isolated from many of the strict requirements of the ancient Passover service, the Rabbi followed the rule of the Seder as best he could. His people acknowledged the difficulties, accepted the truth in their hearts, and convinced themselves that everything was correct and proper, lacking in no detail.
'God will understand, so long as we do not forget,' the Rabbi said in a low voice, as if uttering a secret. 'We have had to make do before.'
For the private observance in the Rabbi's extended quarters, which also served as their temple, they had matzahs, maror—or bitter herbs—and something resembling the right kind of wine… but no lamb. A processed meat substitute from the ship's stores was the closest he could come. His followers did not complain.
Rebecca had celebrated the Passover all her life, participating without questioning. Now, however, thanks to those millions from Lampadas in her head, she could delve through countless paths of memory across a wide web of generations. Buried within her were recollections of the first true Passover, lives as slaves in an incredibly ancient civilization called Egypt. She knew the truth, understood which parts were the strictest historical fact and which had slowly strayed into ritual and myth, despite the best efforts of rabbis to keep faith with previous generations.
'Perhaps we should smear blood over the lintel on our quarters,' she said quietly. 'The angel of death is different from before, but it is death nevertheless. We are still being pursued.'
'If we can believe what Duncan Idaho says.' The Rabbi did not know how to respond to her often- provocative comments. He protected himself by retreating into the formal order of the Seder. Jacob and Levi helped him with the blessing on wine, the washing of hands. They all prayed again and read from the Haggadah.
These days the Rabbi frequently grew angry with Rebecca, snapping at her, challenging her every statement because he saw the work of evil within it. If he had been a different sort of man, Rebecca could have talked with him for hours, describing her memories of Egypt and Pharaoh, the awful plague, the epochal flight into the desert. She could have recounted real conversations to him in the original tongue, shared her impressions of the living man Moses.
One of her myriad ancestors had actually heard the great man speak.
If only the Rabbi were a different sort of person… His flock was small; not many of them had gotten away from the Honored Mattes on Gammu. For millennia upon millennia, their people had been persecuted, driven from one hiding place to another. Now, as they let themselves be swept up in the festive Passover ritual, their voices were few, though strong. The Rabbi would not allow himself to admit defeat. He doggedly did what he believed he must do, and he saw Rebecca as a foil against whom to test his mettle.
She did not ask for his censure or suggest a debate. With all the memories and lives within her, Rebecca could easily counter any erroneous statement he might make, but she had no wish to make him look like a fool, did not want him to grow even more resentful and defensive.
Rebecca had not yet told him of her recent decision to take on a greater responsibility, an even greater pain. The Bene Gesserits had called, and she had responded. She already knew what the Rabbi would say about it, but she had no intention of changing her mind. She could be as stubborn as the Rabbi, if she so chose. The horizon of her thoughts extended to the edge of history, while his thoughts were bounded by his own life.
By the time grace was spoken after their meals, then the happy Hallel and the songs, she discovered that her cheeks were wet with tears. Jacob saw this with a hushed awe. The service was moving, and with her perspective it seemed more meaningful than ever. Her weeping, though, came from the knowledge that she would not see another Seder…
Much later, after the benediction and the last reading, when the small party had finished eating and departed, Rebecca remained behind in the Rabbi's quarters. She helped the old man put away the paraphernalia of the service; the awkward distance between them told her that he knew something was troubling her. The Rabbi held his silence, and Rebecca didn't offer to speak.
She could sense him looking at her with his flashing eyes.
'Another Passover service aboard this no-ship. Four so far!' he finally said, falsely conversational. 'Is this any better than being hidden like rodents under the ground while Honored Matre searchers try to uncover us?' When the old man was uncomfortable, Rebecca knew he resorted to complaints.
'How quickly you have forgotten our months of terror cramped in that hidden chamber with our air systems failing, the waste-recycling tanks overfull, the food supplies dwindling,' she reminded him. 'Jacob couldn't fix it. We would all have died soon, or been forced to slip away.'
'Maybe we could have eluded the terrible women.' His words were automatic, and Rebecca could tell he didn't believe them himself.
'I think not. Overhead in the ash pit, the Honored Matre hunters were using their scanning devices, probing the soil, digging for us. They were close.
They suspected. You know it was only a matter of time before they discovered our hiding place. Our enemies always find our hiding places.'
'Not all of them.'
'We were lucky the Bene Gesserit chose to attack Gammu when they did. It was our chance, and we took it.'
'The Bene Gesserit! Daughter, you always defend them.'
'They saved us.'
'Because they were obligated to. And that obligation has now made us lose you.
You are forever tainted, girl. All those memories you took within your mind corrupted you. If only you could forget them.' He hung his head in a melodramatic gesture of misery, rubbing his temples. 'I shall forever feel guilt because of what I made you do.'
'I did it willingly, Rabbi. Do not go looking for guilt that you did not earn.
Yes, all those memories wrought great changes in me. Even I did not guess the magnitude of that weight from the past.'
'They rescued us, but now we are lost again, wandering and wandering on this ship. What is to become of us? We have begun to have children, but what good does it do? Two babies so far. When will we find a new home?'
'This is like our people's sojourn in the desert, Rabbi.' Rebecca actually remembered parts of it. 'Perhaps God will lead us to the land of milk and honey.'
'And perhaps we will vanish forever.'
Rebecca had little patience for his constant moaning, his wringing of hands.
It had been easier to tolerate the old man before, to give him the benefit of the doubt and let her faith counsel her. She had respected the Rabbi, believed everything he said, never thought to question. She longed for that innocence and confidence again, but it was gone. The Lampadas Horde had made sure of that. Rebecca's thoughts were now clearer, her decision irrevocable.
'My Sisters have asked for volunteers. They have… a need.'
'A need?' The Rabbi raised his bushy eyebrows, pushed his spectacles back up.
'The volunteers will submit to a certain process. They will become axlotl tanks, receptacles to bear the children they have determined are necessary for our survival.'
