The bees stilled their bodies as if in death, and the faint molecules of the Queen’s Love still rising from the heart of the Cluster joined them together as one being. Freed from their bodies, each bee felt herself traveling the hive, exploring its vastness and its details both ancient and new, so that she loved its every cell and understood its whole construction, from the landing board to the Treasury walls they clung to.

The Hive Mind traveled back to the entrancement of Holy Time, when every sister floated in knowledge and bliss, slowly accreting wisdom in the cells of her transforming body until it surged with the power of incarnation and she woke within her emergence chamber. Each bee dreamed herself in the Chapel of Wax, her hands stroking up soft, translucent discs from her abdomen, standing alongside sisters from the Time before Time, molding the very fabric of their home together.

They dreamed their way through the bright physical delight of Construction, and each intricate, exquisite coded tile was a triumph of all they knew and loved, laid down in the lobby floors for all to share. The blissful aromas of Pollen and Patisserie drifted through their shared dream, and the whole Cluster murmured in delight as they saw the plenty on the tables. The touch of cold wings around them became the warm gossip of standing together molding sweets for the Queen and bread for the sisters, and when the foragers’ trance grew vivid, the whole Cluster sighed in its sleep at the wonder of their knowledge.

The Hive Mind lifted their dream up into the blue and blazing summer air, where the foragers swooped in daring and elegant flight. It took the bees down to the flowers in a kaleidoscope of beauty and wonder as if the foragers shared their skills, dreaming how to pack a pannier with rapid economy, how to tickle a flower to yield the sweetest nectar, and how to watch where the hoverflies gathered to tell that air was safe from the Myriad.

The Thistle guards’ dreams unraveled the complex etiquette of the landing board and the minutiae of its many signals, and then, in the powerful anonymity of the Hive Mind, the bees all shared their fear and loyalty to the Holy Law. The long-repressed terror of the Visitation, and the warning smell of the smoke that preceded it, and their terror of the bright and sudden sky. The Cluster buzzed as it released its anxiety, and then every kin relaxed their minds and their knowledge poured out with joyful abandon, sharing detail after detail of their beloved communal life.

The Hive Mind absorbed it all, and enlarged.

FAR DOWN BELOW the Queen and the Sage, Flora dreamed as well—she could not help herself. She dreamed she cradled a warm golden egg in her arms, translucent and beautiful as a drop of honey. From its heart shimmered a tiny golden bee, flying closer and closer to her mind’s eye. The Holy Chord resonated from its fragrant body, and its tiny face came into focus, beautiful and fierce. Harder and harder it beat its wings, until the hum became a harsh scratching sound.

All at once Flora was awake. The scratching was real and it came through the wood of the hive with a heavy alien vibration. Her cold limbs cramped in agony as she pulled herself free of Sir Linden.

“Sisters, wake up!” She ran across the backs of the sleeping sisters, stamping out her alarm and firing her war glands to wake the whole Cluster.

“Intruder! Intruder in the hive!”

Thirty-Three

THE COMB JUDDERED WITH THE PREDATOR’S POWERFUL bites. It was somewhere below them on the middle floor, near the Nursery. The sisters paused, counting the pattern of its feet—not eight, so not a spider; not six, so not an insect—four! A quadruped, with warm blood and dirty fur. Quick and silent, the party of Thistle guards and the strongest sisters from every kin moved toward the vibrations.

The gnawing stopped, as if the creature also took stock of the bees’ advance. Then the smell of its urine rolled down the corridor toward them and they heard the cracking of wax as it resumed its attack on their precious walls. As the sisters crept forward their venom sacs filled and their daggers slid ready.

In the lobby by the Drones’ Arrival Hall the intruder reared up before them. Its long gray head towered over them and its red eyes stared blindly into the darkness. Hundreds of thick trembling whiskers drew in scent and its hairless clawed feet gouged marks in the floor mosaic as it moved. The air was musty from its fur, and when it opened its mouth and panted, the bees saw the long yellow incisors and smelled its rank breath.

The mouse paused, confused. Its long, scaly tail twitched, spreading traces of its urine across the floor tiles.

One of the Thistle guards at the front buzzed angrily and fired her war glands, and every sister did the same.

Protect the Queen!

The mouse scrabbled around to face their sound, and the bees stepped forward slowly, buzzing low and staccato to drive it out. The mouse backed away and the sisters pressed forward, increasing the warning note in their buzz. With a sharp exclamation of revulsion, the first Thistle guard stepped into the trail of its urine. The mouse screeched too, twisting in panic. Its lashing tail knocked some bees off their feet and the others rushed forward, buzzing in rage and nipping at its flank.

It screeched again and turned to run, crashing down the main staircase to the bottom story and stopping only when it knocked its head on the propolis-carved doorway of the Drones’ Hall. Squealing in pain, it bared its long yellow teeth, so close the bees smelled the wood lice on its breath. It turned and ran for the landing board, but the collision had stunned it and it missed the corridor to the free air. As it changed direction and ran toward the back of the hive, Flora felt a draft of air—it must have gnawed a hole in the wood somewhere else.

As one, the sisters knew they must drive it out. They buzzed and pressed forward in angry feints, but the mouse could not run any longer. It fell on its side and lay staring at them, its breath coming fast and shallow. They bit at it and flashed their daggers, but it was old and weak, and its eyes stopped moving.

HUNDREDS OF SISTERS were mobilized to bring propolis from other parts of the hive. For hours the bees chewed and carried, chewed and carried until their long-unused jaws throbbed in pain, but finally the ice-hard propolis grew soft enough to mold. Little by little under the direction of the Sage, the bees embalmed the dead intruder until not a hair nor whisker could be seen or smelled.

Most of the bees were sent back to the Cluster, but Flora stayed in the last work detail, making sure that not the smallest airspace remained between the mouse and the floor. The pungent smell of propolis masked the approach of a priestess, and Flora jumped when she saw one. The identicality of the Sage unnerved her more than anything, and she feared every one of them. She tried to close her antennae—but could not feel them.

“So diligent in all things, Flora 717.” By her rich voice, it was Sister Sage from the Nursery. She stood near Flora but checked the seal of another bee’s work. “And still so strong and young.”

“I am honored at your notice, Sister.” Flora tried again to close her antennae, but the smell of the propolis slowed her reflexes. The priestess was faster, using her own chemical signal as a lever to pry them open.

“Do not shield your thoughts.” Sister Sage probed more deeply into Flora’s mind. Touching on the memory of the black Minerva spider, she shuddered in horror but pressed her awareness harder into Flora’s consciousness. “We must know, 717, what troubles you. We know you have a secret.”

Flora’s abdomen twisted, and for a second, the image of her egg shone in her mind. In desperation, she thought of the Queen clutching her arm, long ago in her boudoir. She remembered the flicker of pain on Holy Mother’s face.