On the soft expanse of a carefully manicured moss garden under a mist of nutrient-rich fountains, Mother Superior Harishka performed her daily exercises, engrossed in the tiniest workings of her aged body. She wore a black leotard, while ten Acolytes in white garments did their own calisthenics nearby. They watched the sinewy old woman in silence, striving to be half as limber.

Closing her almond eyes, the Mother Superior focused her energies inward, calling upon her deepest mental resources. As a Breeding Mistress in her younger years, she had given birth to more than thirty children, each one containing the bloodline of a leading Landsraad family.

All part of her unquestioning service to the Sisterhood.

Wallach IX’s morning air was cool with a slight breeze; distant hills still bore the patchwork cloak of melting snow. The small blue-white sun, the weak heart of the solar system, tried unsuccessfully to shoulder its way through a gray cloud cover.

Behind her, a Reverend Mother approached from the whitewashed buildings of the Mother School complex. Carrying a small, jeweled box, Gaius Helen Mohiam walked softly on the chessboard of dark and light green moss, barely leaving footprints. She paused a few meters away, waiting while Harishka continued her exercise routine.

With her eyes still closed, Harishka whirled and performed a jeté in Mohiam’s direction, then feinted to the right. The Mother Superior’s left foot shot out in a toe-pointing kick that stopped a fraction of a centimeter from the Truthsayer’s face.

“You are sharper than ever, Mother Superior,” Mohiam said, unruffled.

“Do not patronize an old woman.” Harishka’s dark eyes opened, and focused on the box in Mohiam’s hand. “What have you brought for me?”

The Reverend Mother lifted the lid and withdrew a pale blue soostone ring. She slipped it onto one of Harishka’s wrinkled fingers. Touching a pressure pad on the side of the ring, Mohiam summoned a virtual book in the air. “The journal of the Kwisatz Mother, discovered in her royal apartment after her death.”

“And the text?”

“I saw only the first page, Mother Superior, in order to identify the work. I did not consider it proper to read further.” She bowed her head.

Harishka worked the pressure pad on the side of the ring, slowly flipping the virtual pages in front of her eyes. As she did so, she spoke to Mohiam in a conversational tone. “Some people say it is cold here. Do you agree?”

“A person is only as cold as her mind tells her she is.”

“Give me more than the textbook answer.”

Mohiam raised her eyes. “To me, it is cold here.”

“And to me, it is quite pleasant. Mohiam, do you think you could teach me anything?”

“I have never thought about it, Mother Superior.”

“Think about it, then.” The old woman continued to glance through the writings Anirul had poured into her journal.

Watching and trying to comprehend, Mohiam knew that Harishka could never stop being an instructor, regardless of her lofty position in the Sisterhood. “We teach those who need teaching,” she said, finally.

“Another textbook answer.”

Mohiam sighed. “Yes, I suppose I could teach you something. Each of us knows things the other does not. The birth of a boy-child proves that none of us always knows what to expect.”

“That is correct.” Harishka nodded, but made an expression of distaste. “The words I speak at this very moment and the thoughts I have are not quite the same as any others I have experienced in the past, or which I will ever create again. Each moment is a jewel unto itself, like this soostone ring, unique in the entire universe. So it is with each human life, which is unlike any other. We learn from one another and teach one another. That is what life is all about, for as we learn we advance as a species.”

Mohiam nodded. “We learn until we die.”

Alone in her workroom that afternoon, the Mother Superior sat at her highly polished desk and reopened the sensory-conceptual journal. On her right, an incense chalice burned, scenting the air with a faint aroma of mint.

She read Anirul’s day-by-day account of her life as Kwisatz Mother, of the entirely different role she fulfilled for the Corrino family, and of her hopes for her daughter Irulan. Harishka reread one section, which she found chillingly prophetic:

“I am not alone. Other Memory is my constant companion, in all places and all times. With such a repository of collective wisdom, some Reverend Mothers feel it is unnecessary to maintain a journal. We assume that our thoughts will be passed on to a Sister at death. But what if I die alone, where no other Reverend Mother can access my ebbing memories and preserve them?”

Harishka hung her head, unable to suppress the sadness she felt. Because Anirul had been killed before Mohiam could reach her, everything the woman had known or experienced had vanished. Except for fragments, such as this one.

She continued reading: “I do not maintain these pages for personal reasons. As the Kwisatz Mother responsible for the culmination of our work, I keep this detailed chronicle to enlighten those who follow me. In the terrible eventuality— I pray it does not occur!— that the Kwisatz Haderach breeding program falters, my journal could be an invaluable resource for future leaders. Sometimes the tiniest, seemingly insignificant event can mean a great deal. Every Sister knows this.”

Harishka looked away. She and Anirul Sadow-Tonkin Corrino had been close at one time.

Struggling to compose herself, the old woman read on. Unfortunately, the bulk of the writings degenerated into irrational, fragmented words and sentences, as if too many voices had fought for control of the virtual pen. Much of the information was troubling. Even Medical Sister Yohsa had not suspected the extent of Anirul’s mental disintegration.

Turning the virtual pages, Harishka read faster and faster. The journal described Anirul’s nightmares and suspicions, including an entire page on which she wrote out the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, over and over.

To the Mother Superior, many of the entries looked like madness, incomprehensible scratchings. She cursed softly. Puzzle pieces, and now Jessica has given birth to a boy instead of a girl!

Anirul could not be blamed for that.

Harishka decided to show the virtual volume to Sister Thora, who had designed some of the most complex crypto-codes the order had ever used. Perhaps she could decipher the syllables and sentence fragments.

Jessica’s son was perhaps the biggest mystery of all. Harishka wondered why Anirul had sacrificed her own life for him. Had she considered this… genetic error… significant, or had it been something else? A foolish display of human weakness?

Uttering a prayer that their millennium-spanning breeding program had not been lost forever, she closed the sensory-conceptual journal. It became a gray mist, and disappeared into the soostone ring.

But the words remained in her mind.