Parables and Pedigrees
That night Yakob ordered his family to take their cart and cross the ford of the Zarqa. But they did not have the strength, so they remained on the shore and camped for the night. Everyone fell asleep, and a man appeared in Yakob's tent and wrestled with him till daybreak. The man was strong but could not overpower Yakob, and said: "Let me go." Yakob replied, "No. You will pull my cart to the other side of the river, so that I can take my family to safety." The nameless man did so, and Yakob set him free. "I have seen the face of doubt," he said to his children, "and doubt carried us forth."
- THE ORANGE CATHOLIC BIBLE
"You have been hovering out there for a while, Teg," said Hilom, turning off his screen and placing down the nameplate he had been fidgeting with, the letters "Security Commissioner of the Golden Planetary Entente of Delphyne" engraved on the alloy. On other planets, we would just say governor, he thought to himself.
As the door slid open, the ghola entered the room and stopped three feet from Hilom's desk, chin high and eyes alert.
"If you please..." Hilom invited him with a gesture.
"I prefer to stand, Sir."
The Commissioner looked away from the boy's face and glanced at the holo-painting placed at the far side of his simple gray and black office hidden in the middle of the Tower of Lat.
"Do you appreciate art, Miles Teg?" It was harder to read a nod of approval showing on such a small face. "That painting would not fetch much at a public auction, mind you," he continued while joining palms together on the shiny black desk.
"A man holding the other man in a bind by the river," Teg commented while stepping sideways so that the 3D scene would set into motion.
"A night setting, the caravan and family beyond the ford waiting for the man to cross; his sculpture-like body is twitching in the fight with a stranger. The stranger, an unnatural white shape holding the man in a bind. Note the interplay of dark and light skin tones. The artist explained to me how every hue is created directly by beams of primary colors. Painstaking work," then turning to face Teg, "rings a bell?"
"No. I find it strangely disconcerting. It seems to me it is communicating with me on a deeper level than the conscious one, Commissioner."
"As all art does," said Hilom shaking his head, "I should not forget we don't share the same background. This is an episode from our Books. Jakoov wrestles with the angel before crossing the Zarqa river. He is conflicted and sends family and servants across the river. He fights a man for the entire night, then at dawn the man asks to be freed. Jakoov asks him for his blessing in return."
"I recognize the reference, now; the O.C. Bible mentions a Yakob and a river named Zarqa."
"The man is an angel, or possibly the Lord himself, and the fight takes place inside the conscience of Jakoov. Once he crosses the river, he will set forth a chain of significant events."
"You must like this work very much."
"Not at all. It is great craftsmanship, but the style is dated, the perspective is grotesque, the colors are clashing. Yet it speaks to me, like you said, at a deeper level." Hilom stood up and with a simple gesture turned a black wall into the live view of the city of Lat in the late afternoon, buildings slender like pinnacles and wide, welcoming streets hosting crowds of people on foot, and security armored vehicles patrolling at safe distance.
"Fifty years ago I took over from my predecessor. Do you know my title?"
"You are this planet's ruler, elected by the Council," answered the boy, who was still standing; whether he was bored or annoyed, it was not transpiring.
"We say Security Commissioner here," he replied.
"A humble title for a post with a broader and more significant mandate, I understand."
"Indeed. And under my stewardship, Israel has been in control of the whole planet, which we governed directly to keep a low profile and a safe living. Yet at the time it felt like I was sending all wagons, family and servants beyond reach as I devoted myself to keeping the peace on behalf of all people of Delphyne - regardless of origin and faith."
"And who was the angel?"
"I would not presume to be Jakoov." Hilom smiled at the cityscape in front of him; despite the lack of sound, he could imagine the voices in the streets. Was he flattering himself? He must have been. "Yet as always, the Bashar has a sense for the underlying truth. I admit that at the time I saw myself as a shepherd of people. A Jakoov in my own way. No angel ever came here to bless me. Problems and preoccupations brought their own blessing instead. And with that, painful lessons. All I have done, mind you, is in the name of our safety."
"I heard your Rabbi Olza is quite taken with her life aboard the ship," said Teg, proposing a change of subject. "It seems the crew invited her to go on a spacewalk."
That got a little laugh out of him. "A spacewalk? For our planet-bound Rabbi? Can a fish breathe out of a fish tank? But the wind of change is upon us," he answered, accepting the diversion. "And I heard your Rebecca will come down with her at the next exchange of hostages. Rabbi Olza has provided us with thought-provoking updates about our past."
"The more we spend time together, Commissioner, the more we will have the chance to understand each other. But I take that the painting, and your Rabbi, is not why you have called me in here." The boy stood quietly, patiently, in his place, biding his time.
The Commissioner waved away the view of the sun-bathed city of Lat, and the room went back to yellow lights and bleak, black walls. "Wrestling with God? No, surely not. Security and safety are paramount here, Miles Teg."
"I concur, Commissioner."
"Then, why did you overrule me today at my security meeting?"
"I did not, Sir. I recommended that we invest time to understand how the Cordians have built such a vast network of allies on the pla..."
"You overruled my decision!" Hilom's voice boomed.
Teg froze for a moment, closed his eyes like following an internal replay. "Did I? Your staff advocated for my recommendation."
"And sold me on it so aggressively I was forced to agree," complained the Commissioner while letting himself fall heavily back in his chair.
"Do you disagree with the course of action, based on the intel your people gathered?"
"The outcome is of no concern to me; the way the outcome was achieved is. I have intel too, Teg. I learned more about Mentats." About time he dusted off some of the old holo-books the priests kept in their libraries.
"Then you must know how useful I can be. Though you will admit that you have been giving me a dearth of data."
"I don't need data to know that you think you could be the head of planetary security here."
"Have I not proved my worth, Sir?"
"Such pride! You are still a foreigner, you and your rag-tag band from space," ventured Hilom, then paused. "No, that is not fair," he continued, raising a finger. "But let me warn you, while we are not people trained at exclusive academies and bred with elite pedigrees, we earned our survival for centuries by fighting teeth and nails. I am not going to have my role threatened by a splinter cell of refugees from the Imperium. We have plans in action here." He stood up again while waving away Teg's attempt to reply. "Israel has nurtured and cared for this place for three hundred years. I know every corner of this planet; I speak over thirty of its dialects. We have interests in a thousand businesses over multiple generations, and our network of affiliates spans a hundred parsecs into space. If your plans were to ever subvert us, instead of being our ally as declared, you would find the game to be hard to play. We are completely committed to this planet." While you and your non-ship can dissolve into the ether any day you wake up not liking the smell of our air. "So let us discuss how your support, while significant and appreciated, needs to stay subordinated to my command."
It was Teg's turn to speak: "With due respect, Sir, I could serve you as your head of security. I reorganized your corps in Lat, quelled the riots without casualties, uncovered a vast spying network by the Cordians with concrete proof they are fabricating incidents to justify a large-scale intervention on the planet."
"The Cordians is where your mandate stops, Mentat! You are not to deal with interplanetary politics."
"There were three bombing attacks last week alone, one targeting the Cordian embassy itself," rattled out the deceptively young boy. "You showed me the view of the city. Did you see the armored cars patrolling the streets? We are keeping the peace by enforcing martial law, during a hajj which is welcoming the largest influx of pilgrims since ten years ago. This is an explosive mix our enemies would be remiss not to exploit ..."
"We have been preparing for this before your time, Teg. So, head of security under me? But there is only one Security, capital letters, and it is not a subordinate function. And don't deny you would rather sit here in my place, as the ruler, then take orders from me."
The boy who was not a boy raised his chin, relaxed, and finally came to sit down on a suspender chair. Face to face, though not at the same eye-level, they stared at each other for a moment, but if there was animosity in their gaze, it did not show. Teg leaned forward. "Commissioner... Hilom. At the age of twenty-five I commanded an army of a million operatives and took three planets away from a rebel force, almost without spilling lives. I served the Bene Gesserit in over ten military campaigns, the least successful one winning the Sisterhood influence over an entire province with less than a one percent loss."
"And the most successful?" asked Hilom, unbelieving.
"From my perspective, those were the wars I avoided by finding alternatives to an armed conflict. As you look into my eyes, I remind you my child's flesh and voice are an illusion. Yes, I could govern this planet, and do so in my sleep, if the task was given to me. But, this is not my ask, nor my task, because this planet is not my work. It is yours and your people's."
"You learned about Mentats," the Bashar continued, lifting open palms up toward the ceiling, "so I will give you an example of a Prime Computation."
"You have fashioned Delphyne into a refugee camp. It is a scattered ensemble made of thousands of small rural villages and satellite towns. Immigrants arrive here and stay without papers nor controls. Every community is an ethnic cell, speaks its own dialect, and preserves their homeworld's traditions unchanged. Delphyne is a living museum. It allows your people, for example, to walk the streets of Lat without fear of speaking Hebrew. Hearing an unfamiliar language is commonplace here, and so is mingling in a crowd whose individuals sport clothing from a hundred different cultures."
Teg stood up and approached the black wall, invoking with a gesture invoked a holo screen that showed the starry sky above a provincial village. To make it brighter, he turned off the room lights. "Religious tolerance gives home to many faiths, Dur's and other pantheons, with several thousand temples just in the Holy city of Lat. Wealth-bringing pilgrims and religious syncretism give Secret Israel a plausible cover. In public you call your Lord with the name of Dur. Dur's high priest is your man. Here you don't even hide your Synagogues."
"The interpretation is subjective, but the facts are accurate," Hilom shrugged from the darkness.
"Yet the power on this planet is shifting. Unbeknownst to you, The rug is being swept under your feet. The recent riots point to pervasive unrest. It's underground. Melting pots like Lat are drivers of change. The cities crave to move forward, while the villages struggle under the yoke of antiquated serfdoms."
"The stars," said Hilom pointing to them, "you forget about the stars."
"I can't talk about the stars with the few drops of intel you gave me - remember, you don't yet give me access to the geopolitical data for this sector - but I can only attempt a gross estimate: the Cordians will establish a base here in the next 180 days, using the recent bombings as a justification, and all in the name of safety for their business interests. And that brutish empire, the Tailarons,"
"Brutish is a fitting summation."
"... will remind you of their most-favored nation status and demand the same. You risk the planet being split into two zones of influence. The neo-Ixians,..."
"You mean the Niners," Hilom corrected him.
"... or the Niners, as you call them, do not have a particular inclination to own a pilgrimage center, but now our spice gifts..."
"Your spice gifts!"
"... have awakened their interest."
"Tailarons and Niners together still can't compete with Cordian forces."
"Which does not explain, Hilom, why you are planning to give it all away."
"You dare!? Explain yourself!"
"I dare indeed. Or otherwise, you will care to explain why you don't want me to neutralize the Cordian threat which is the first tile in this long series of dominos."
"I don't want Cordian soldiers on my planet. And you are not free to make accusations as part of our contract."
"But see Hilom, ours is an alliance, not a contract; I am not a vendor, and have the duty to call my ally out. If you don't want Cordians on this planet, give me the reins of planetary security. Don't you see the capabilities I bring?"
"Talent, indeed, and ambition, and..."
"Do you dislike that your operatives call me a child prodigy?"
"An image you carefully cultivate! Have you heard the stories they relay about you in the Officers' wardroom? Tell me, did you single-handedly dismount the Cordian network south of the city?"
"True."
"I will not have my man fall for the myth of a child hundreds of years old."
"I see we started on the wrong foot. We are not enemies, and have little to gain by sidestepping you. Set your mind instead to what we could accomplish together if I were your right hand. While you govern this planet, Hilom. Free of outside interference."
"Here I see the same shameless arrogance of our Cordian friends."
"My actions are a testament to what I can deliver. If I am not useful, tell me how you want me to be your ally. If I am not serving this planet well, demote me."
Teg turned off the night screen and raised the lights. "The way I interpret your painting, Jacob's scene," he continued, "is that you have seized the power but have not found the courage to truly use it, Hilom. You have not bested the angel of your doubts; never crossed the river. To have power is to be damned to use it, lest others without moral principles acquire it in your place. Such is the threat of the Cordians and all the others. You speak of committed, yet your people never secured the support of the population, nor of the merchants and landowners who control the trade. Your technology comes from abroad, your religious tolerance is designed to obey the needs of commerce. You were promoted to power, but your sources of power have long ago turned to foreign help. Your options are narrow: you concede to foreign interests and lose independence, or take what slipped from you with force. Both options lead to certain defeat."
"Or?"
"Or, you may lean on a rag-tag band of refugees and the gift of spice to shape up a new course of action. The prosperity and freedom of Secret Israel on this planet will depend on it."
He was standing right in front of the Commissioner, now. "What will be your decision, Hilom?" he concluded, "The Cordians are coming".
More so than you expect, Bashar. Hilom paused for effect. "This was a great performance, ghola. I must commend you for the theatricals, the dimmed lights, the pauses, the stars. Well played. I still trust you and our partnership. But... So you want more? You think you can save Secret Israel from losing the grip on our sanctuary planet?" He stretched, kicked back on his suspender chair, and placed his shoes on the desk. He rummaged with a hand until he activated the projector. Out of nowhere, images of dancers populated the three walls around them, in the full light of Delphyne's noon, so bright they had to cover their eyes for a moment.
"Head of planetary security, is that so? Teg, would you explain to me how this riot started?" and he played the recording. The footage played, the surveillance camera tracking a small group of black robed women starting a dance. At triple the normal speed, the dance expanded in concentric circles till it covered the main plaza like a tidal wave taking everything in its wake. "There: I bookmarked this moment." The camera froze on a single dancer, her eyes closed. The Commissioner could not tell whether Teg had recognized the face. "That's how it started. Get me that woman. That's the root cause of our riot. Then I will allow more conversations about security."
"Hilom..."
"It's Commissioner Hilom."
"How do the Cordians..."
"Enough with the Cordians. Your partnership is coming up short. Besides little gifts for diplomats, I have not seen spice in the quantity you have promised us. A hundred litrejons in the next delivery. Then we will be in the position to save this planet."
Teg hesitated, swallowed. "We will deliver on our part of the agreement."
"Indeed. And thanks to your efforts, we now know that time is running out. The Cordians are indeed coming. Follow me."
"Where to?"
"To the path of your own prediction. The Cordian ambassador is here with Lady Eilanna. May he rot in hell." The Commissioner made it toward the exit, hesitated while blocking the entryway. "Teg?"
"Yes, Commissioner Hilom."
"I would know what the Orange Catholic Bible has to say about Jakoov's story."
"It is featured twice in the book. Different endings."
"Endings, plural?"
Teg nodded from behind him. "Yakob overpowers the man, puts a yoke on him, like an ox, and orders him to carry his cart and family to the other side of the river before letting him go. The anecdote is about overcoming fear and doubt, I think."
"And the other?"
"There is an early version which is not included in modern reprints. The two men struggle until sunrise, when Reakel, Yakob's wife, discovers them while bringing breakfast into the tent. She sees the two men locked together, and slashes at the stranger's calves with a kitchen knife. In the confusion that ensues she also hurts Yakob at the hip. The stranger collapses on the ground. Reakel slits his throat, and while standing triumphantly over the dead man's body, blood dripping to the ground, declares to her husband: This hand, this knife are the messengers of the Lord. Kneel Yakob, and by this hand, knife and blood be blessed."
Hilom opened his eyes wide. "His wife blessed him?"
Teg nodded.
"And then, they crossed the river?"
"They threw the knife into the river, and as the water retreated in fear, they crossed over."