“I beg you,” came Lily 500’s agonized voice again, “at least kill me before you throw me to the Myriad—oh my sisters have forsaken me! Where are they?”

Flora left her sisters going into the morgue and ran to find Lily.

THE OLD FORAGER’S LEGS dragged on the wax tiles behind her and her wings were broken at both latches. Carrying her by the thorax, one on each side, the police turned down the approach to the landing board. Even outside in the bright air their powerful scent hurt Flora’s antennae as she ran toward them.

“Please,” she said, “may I attend my sister?”

“Lily 500 is sentenced to death. Do you seek to share her end?”

“No, Officer, only to pray with her. I heard her call.”

Flora dropped to her knees. The officers’ feet had huge black hooks and smelled of different kin, hideously mixed.

“The forager is unclean.”

“Yes, Officer, but I carry every kind of waste and do not fear disease. Accept, Obey, and Serve.”

The police were silent, though their antennae radiated together. They stood back.

“Quickly,” said one. “She is sentenced to die in exile.”

Flora went to Lily’s side. Every joint of the old forager’s body was broken.

“To stop me returning,” whispered Lily. “As if I wished to live, after my mistake.” She gazed at her. “I know you . . .”

“I saw you dance. You were so strong and beautiful and I wanted to follow, but . . .” Flora could not finish. Twelve black hooked feet walked closer.

“Please, officers, we must pray—” Lily 500 pressed her antennae tight against Flora’s. “Open!” she whispered. “Do not waste it—”

A huge rushing sensation poured down Flora’s antennae and a torrent of sound and scent and image filled her brain. She did not feel the kicks that separated them.

When Flora could see again, Lily was gone and only one police bee stood on the board with her, looking up into the blinding blue. High beyond the orchard, a tiny black speck separated into two. One fell toward the earth, and the other turned and headed back to the hive.

Flora got to her feet, flashes of flowers and petals and fragrance filling her senses. The sky was wide open. But before she could unlatch her wings, the second police bee had landed beside her.

“Number and kin.” Her voice was ugly and abrasive and Flora could see Lily’s blood still wet on her jaws. If she flew now they would knock her out of the air. She bowed her antennae subserviently.

“Flora 717. Sanitation.”

“Then get there.”

Flora ran back into the hive, Lily’s voice and chemical memories still flashing in her mind long after she had rejoined her kin.

Fourteen

FLORA JOINED THE FIRST SANITATION DETAIL SHE found—scrubbing out the Dance Hall. They worked in somber silence, for nowhere in the hive was the comb more sensitive to the chemical signals of the colony, and it transmitted flashes of fear and pain as the health inspection continued in the hive. Outside in the lobby more floras carried newly dead bodies of ailing house bees to the morgue, all with the sickly smell of tainted pollen on their mouths and their heads hanging limp after the Kindness.

Flora turned away and focused on minute particles of dust trodden into the worn wax tiles where the foragers danced. She hoped Lily 500 had died in the air, not fallen into the grass still conscious, helplessly waiting for the Myriad. The bell rang for shift change and she went up with the other floras to the midlevel canteen—but for once the smell of food did not move her. All she wanted was dark seclusion.

In a workers’ dormitory she found the segregated kin area and threw herself down in a corner bunk. Her soul hurt from the violent loss of so many sisters.

From Death comes Life Eternal, she repeated in her mind, but the words gave no comfort. She curled her body tight in grief—and felt the pressure in her belly push back, stronger. As Flora shifted to ease the sensation, a wave of energy rolled through her.

The image of a purple foxglove shone in her mind, its ultraviolet runway glowing in welcome. She felt the cool, soft press of its petal tunnel, then a shiver of delight as its pollen brushed against her fur. A bead of nectar pulsed sweetness, and she stretched out her tongue—

Flora jolted awake. It was completely dark, the air had cooled, and every berth held a sleeping sister. She breathed in their heat-exhausted bodies and their kin-scents—many floras around her—and then the Dandelions, the Bindweeds, the Plantains nearer the front and the better ventilation. From the stale pollen on their breath she guessed that the latest fresh loads had been destroyed in case of contamination, along with the brave sisters who had brought them.

The pressure in her belly was worse, and the more Flora tried to settle herself, the more insistent it became, until she was forced to get up. Swaying her abdomen relieved the painful pressure—but also made her scent rise more strongly, disturbing her sleeping neighbors. Flora could not help but think of Lily 500’s error in the field, and how closely they had touched. Perhaps she had caught something—perhaps she was at this moment transmitting it to every sister around her.

As she tiptoed out of the dormitory her belly pulsed as if forcing her forward, and the pain eased a little. Walking in the dark corridors of the hive, without the day’s tumult of scent and sound, she smelled its sweet bouquet rising through the comb on all sides so that every sister’s kin-scent blended in its beauty. For the first time, Flora smelled its separate elements. The essence of a million flowers combined with the purity of the new wax cribs, the rich aroma of pollen wrapped around a piquant note of propolis, and beneath it all, the hive’s deep gold core of honey.

A spasm of pain went through her and Flora dropped to her knees. Her belly was her only consciousness, pushing tauter and harder so that every nerve blazed in agony—and she felt she must burst and die.

The terrible sensation faded. Flora lay in shock as the ripples passed through her body. She was still alive, her face pressed to the comb floor of a corridor on the midlevel. It was still night, and it was quiet and dark. She felt the tip of her abdomen throbbing and something warm pressing against it.

A single pulse came through the comb under her body, and its fine, thin energy was new to her. It grew stronger as she felt it, running through her body until her mind connected to it, and she knew it joined her to whatever pressed against her body. A beautiful fragrance came from it.

Flora pulled herself around and gasped in shock. The thing that touched her was small, warm, and glowing. It was slightly pointed at one end, and as she stared its fragrance rose more strongly, activated by her attention. Flora looked up and down the empty corridor, then back at the egg.

Her egg.

“No.” Flora did not know if she spoke aloud or not. It was impossible: Only the Queen may breed. That was the first law of life, so holy it needed no place in prayer for it was a rule literally incarnate in every sister’s body.

Flora raised her antennae, searching for the fertility police. They were all-powerful; they would know and be here any moment, and when they came she would not ask for mercy for her unspeakable act. It did not matter that she had not meant it, that the egg had come without warning. She stared at it.

The egg was glowing brighter and its fragrance was the sweetest thing she had ever smelled, sweeter even than Devotion. But that very thought was evil.

Flora looked around, waiting for deliverance. They must come, and if they did not she must call them. Only the Queen may breed. Only the Queen—

Repeating the words, Flora lay down and curled herself around her egg. Its fragrance filled her senses like her first Devotion, and she looked in desperation for anyone to come and save her from her crime, but the hive slept on. Then a thought occurred to her. The Nursery was close by, and Sister Teasel would know what to do. Very gently, Flora picked up her egg.