DURING THE TENSE reception, the Wallach Sisters treated Dorotea and her companions as if they were made of cold glass.
The Mother Superior seated herself at the head of a long dining table and instructed Valya to sit on her right, Dorotea on her left. The two younger women kept themselves in separate pools of moody reticence, speaking only when spoken to, constantly on the alert for their rival’s every move, gesture, and word.
Through a high window in the hall, Raquella could see the fading outlines of nearby hills as darkness set in. She turned to Valya and Dorotea. “Back on Rossak, you two were comrades and learned from each other. You both endured the Agony, though you took separate paths to pass through to the other side.”
The two younger women seemed ready to interject, but Raquella held up a hand to silence them. “I know your disagreements, I know your beliefs — but I hope that both of you will understand that the Sisterhood is more important. The things we have in common are more fundamental than our differences. We know from history — written in documents and told to us by our ancestors within — that since the beginning of civilization countless societies have warred over nuances, while forgetting the commonality of their basic beliefs. We must not let that happen to ourselves.”
“Others have tried and failed,” Valya said sourly. “The Commission of Ecumenical Translators sought to find common ground among feuding religions and produced the Orange Catholic Bible. That didn’t turn out well at all.”
Dorotea snorted, agreeing with Valya. “We could ask the members of the CET, but most of them were murdered. The only ones left are in deep exile.”
Mother Superior Raquella gave them each a stern glance. “The final success or failure of the Orange Catholic Bible remains to be seen. In the Sisterhood, we must take the long view — thousands of years, hundreds and hundreds of generations, not just a few decades.”
She paused for breath. “I am ancient and should have died long ago. Now I must anticipate what will happen to the Sisterhood when I am gone—my legacy.” She nodded toward Fielle. “Our Sister Mentats have run extensive projections, and I know what must be done.… I also know the dire consequences if I fail. When I die, it is up to you, and to all of my Sisters.”
“We can never forget that Dorotea betrayed us,” Valya said.
“I was not the betrayer. Your use of computers was a betrayal of the Imperium, and of humanity itself!”
“An unproven charge,” Valya said, “which you made with no thought of the consequences. Because of you—”
Raquella cut them off. “Enough!” It seemed hopeless, but she had to proceed with her plan. She had to force a rapprochement, and her final alternative would require her remaining energy. If she failed, she would be dead. “I grow weary of this. I grow weary of life.”
With all the dignity and energy she could muster, she strode out of the hall.
RAQUELLA WAS ON the edge of despair about the crumbling future, and every one of the Sisters needed to understand why she felt that way. The Sisterhood no longer matched her vision; perhaps it was appropriate for it to end with her, if the factions could not work together.
Bitterly, she wrote several identical farewell notes with subtle yet clear nudges and a deep sadness. Raquella explained in the letters that she had decided not to appoint a successor, that she had surrendered to the inevitable crumbling of her work. She said there was no sense in lingering longer. She made certain that the messages were delivered simultaneously to Valya, Dorotea, and several other close Sisters.
In any case, the die was cast.
Then the old woman left the school buildings and walked off by herself, wearing only a thin robe in the chill night. She carried a small handlight as she toiled along the familiar trail up the slope of Laojin Cliff. She made her way up to the crest of the promontory, where she would await the sunrise. The wind was cold, but she didn’t think much about it as she stood on the edge.
When day broke in a few hours, she would see bright sunlight spilling over the school buildings, and she would see the sheer cliff edge … just before she flew off it. Raquella had enough control over her body that she could simply shut down her organs and die quietly in bed, but that would not provide the drama she required. Fielle had been right about that when they had formed the plan, Raquella’s last chance.…
She hoped that the shock would be enough to force Valya and Dorotea together, and that the two quarreling women cared enough about her to set their differences aside. If not, the Sisterhood was already too broken anyway and would degenerate into a civil war. She would not allow that.
Her body seemed to be strung together with spiderwebs, ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. Yet when Raquella finally stood on the very edge of the cliff, looking into the abyss of deep shadows, she maintained her balance despite the strong gusts and updrafts.
Other Memory gave her an infinite encyclopedia of experiences from human history, but her own long life provided enough memories to surround her: her younger years working with Dr. Mohandas Suk on Parmentier, before they were forced to flee riots when machine plagues raged across that world; her years on Rossak, helping the Sorceresses in their fight against thinking machines; Ticia Cenva’s efforts to catalog the bloodlines of humanity, even as the machines did their best to make humanity extinct.
With the night making her numb, Raquella’s eyes fluttered closed. The past was all around her, and she swayed on the edge of the cliff, but did not fear the plunge. She and Death were old companions, who had dueled several times before — with Raquella winning each of those matches.
But this time it would be different. Her female ancestors in Other Memory were ready to welcome her.
Long ago, while tending to the plague-struck people on Rossak, Raquella had caught the dread disease. She would have died, if not for the healing properties of the cenote waters. She had defeated Death then, and again shortly afterward when Ticia Cenva poisoned her. In the process of surviving, Raquella had altered the poison, changing herself to become the first Reverend Mother.
For eight decades she had tried to teach others what she had learned, to build something lasting — an order of powerful, enlightened women who would guide the destiny of the human race. Now she knew it had been a false hope if the Sisterhood could not last even one generation. The squabbling proved that her Sisters were no better, and no more visionary, than other people.
Daylight leaked over the horizon, rising like rays of hope. Raquella opened her eyes and saw the huddled rooftops of the school buildings below. She heard voices, shouts — and saw the shadowy shapes of women rushing up the trail to the top of Laojin Cliff.
Good, they had received her message.
She heard Dorotea’s pleading voice, which brought comfort as well as urgency. “Mother Superior! Please come back.”
With a warm surge of relief, she also heard Valya calling out. “Dorotea and I will find a way to work together. The Sisterhood can’t stay broken.”
As the daylight brightened, she saw Dorotea and Valya leading a group of Sisters toward her. Raquella did not move from her position, but remained standing on the edge of the cliff.
At the top, Valya pushed her way forward. “We read your message, and it brought us to our senses. Dorotea and I have come here together — and we promise to do whatever is necessary to heal the wounds.” Then Valya’s voice shifted, and she said in a throaty, emphatic tone, “You will not jump, Mother Superior. Step back from the edge, now.”