“It is, Sister—forgive me for asking—”

But it was too late, for Sister Teasel’s agitation spread through the whole ward. The babies grew fractious, distracted nurses looked up from their feeding, and Flow splashed against the cribs.

Sister Teasel waved her arms at them. “Focus!” She turned back to Flora. “Now you listen to me. We deliver one outcome here: identical care for identical brood. There is no improvising, no requesting a transfer, and, until you were forced upon us, no exception to the immaculate kin of our nurses.”

“I know, Sister, I’m very grateful, it’s just that so many nurses have changed—”

“What business is that of yours? Have you been trying to count?” Sister Teasel came very close to her. “Have you been studying the rotas, 717? Confess at once if you have, for it is a matter of hive security—what do you know about them?” Her scent became fragmented with anxiety, and the babies began crying again.

“Nothing, Sister! I just wanted to ask—”

“There, that is the very seed of it: you wanted!” Sister Teasel groomed her antennae back from their trembling state, then glared at Flora again. “Desire is sin, Vanity is sin—it is all very well praying and splaying, 717, and don’t think I haven’t seen you practicing your ridiculous curtsy—”

“Idleness is sin.” Humiliated at her exposure, Flora continued the Catechism. “Discord is sin, Greed is sin—”

“And as for your appetite—as bad as a drone’s. No matter what the sainted Sage may think”—and here Sister Teasel threw a quick glance around the ward—“you are typical of your kin. Greedy, ugly, obstinate things. Girls, what is our first commandment?”

“Accept, Obey, and Serve,” chanted the eavesdropping nurses, staring at Flora.

“Accept, Obey, and Serve.” Flora knelt before Sister Teasel. “A flora may not make wax, for she is unclean; nor propolis, for she is clumsy; nor ever may she forage, for she has no taste; but only may she serve her hive by cleaning, and all may command her labors.”

“Exactly.” Sister Teasel’s antennae twitched. “Yet here you are, feeding the Queen’s newborns. Summer is cold; floras speak—the world is upside down! Just be grateful for the honor, for it will soon be over. But I wish I knew when, for I have never seen the like of your Flow.”

“What does it mean, for my knowledge to be wiped?”

Sister Teasel’s expression softened. She sighed.

“You will find out soon enough. Now spare us both—ask no more questions.”

FLORA RETURNED TO THE MAIN FLOOR, her hope replaced by dread. She joined a group of nurses who stood waiting to hear which section next needed Flow, their mouths already brimming with the bright liquid. The chime sounded, and ahead of them a dark little sanitation worker ran to get out of their way. Walking at the back of the group Flora saw her clearly, cowering with her pan and brush, holding her wings back so that she would not touch a higher kin by accident. Their eyes met for a moment. The little worker grimaced in a smile. Flora looked away and hurried on.

The next baby was big and hungry. She looked down at its open mouth, always the trigger for the pulses in her cheeks to begin the feeding trance. Nothing came. The twisted, friendly grimace of the sanitation worker stuck in her mind and Flora shook herself. She adjusted her position and concentrated.

The baby yearned up toward her, openmouthed. The pulses in her cheeks flickered, and a few drops of Flow seeped out. Flora shook her head so they fell onto the baby, and it lapped them hungrily. It looked up and opened its mouth for more. She concentrated until the sides of her mouth were throbbing with the strain, but nothing came. The baby began to cry.

A new nurse appeared at Flora’s side, her mouth and face glowing with fresh Flow. She was very young and deep in the feeding trance. She stood by Flora’s side and leaned over. Immediately, the luminous stream began to fall and the baby quieted as it fed. Confused, Flora stepped back.

“The miracle,” said a kind, familiar voice, “was that you could feed at all.”

Sister Sage stood by her, beautiful and frightening. She smiled.

“If your job bores you, 717, I will give you something more exciting to do. Consider it another test.”

Five

AT THE SIGHT OF SISTER SAGE, ALL THE CATEGORY Two nurses and nannies curtsied, though they looked warily at Flora walking with her. The priestess was not angry that her Flow had stopped, and seemed only to want to talk.

“I would have said the experiment was a success,” she said to Flora. “And I am sure Sister Teasel impressed on you the privilege of such sacred service.”

“Yes, Sister. I am very grateful.”

“But you are very curious about Category Two—a rather prosaic place, to my mind. Why is that?”

The more she breathed of Sister Sage’s strong scent, the more Flora grew calm, and felt an overpowering desire to tell the truth.

“In Category One everything is always the same.”

Sister Sage laughed. “The very point of Identical Care. Yet it bored you.”

“Yes, Sister. Forgive me.” Flora lowered her head, but Sister Sage raised it and held her long antennae over Flora’s.

“We will forget the folly of the curtsies and your boldness in hoping to see Holy Mother, for I hear you are also very devout and hardworking.”

“I hope so, Sister.”

“And you love the Queen?”

“With my body and my soul.” Flora’s antennae trembled as she felt Sister Sage reaching deep into her mind.

Would you serve her any way you can?

“With my whole life.”

“Good.” Sister Sage walked on. “In this time of scarce forage, you have been surprisingly useful in the Nursery. Sometimes it is good to spare the deviants, and experiment a little.” She smiled. “Is this place as you imagined?”

“Better, Sister! It is so lively, so full of wonderful things—”

“Then look your fill. I wish you to know it.”

FLORA COULD NOT TAKE in Category Two all at once, with its cheerful decorations and beautifully tiled play areas. Pretty nurses and nannies sat with their vigorous little charges, singing and playing games or feeding them from shining platters. Healthy, beautiful child-grubs were everywhere, their cheerful snubby little faces speckled with golden pollen dust. Gone were the heavy scent of Flow and the mumble of prayer, and in their place the bright aroma of fresh bread and the sounds of nursery rhymes and laughter.

Sister Sage watched her. “What do you know of feeding patterns?”

“Nothing, Sister.” Flora admired two fat child-grubs who chuckled as their nurses tickled them. “Sister Teasel asked me that. All I know is that timing is very important, and there are a lot of bells.” Her own arms tingled to hold a baby, and she turned away lest the sin of Desire take hold. “And we must always stop at the right moment and never give a drop more.”

“Because . . . ?”

“I’m not sure, Sister.”

Sister Sage touched one of Flora’s antennae with her own, and Flora felt a piercing resonance in her mind. The sensation grew almost unbearable, then abruptly stopped as Sister Sage released her.

“Good. You are truthful.” Her long antennae flexed. “Tell me, though, about my sisters Teasel: do they hold any meetings or gatherings in the Nursery?”

“I don’t think so.” Flora felt a strong urge to please the priestess with the right answer. “But I know only the one, my supervising sister.”

“Ah yes. To you they are all the same. And so they very nearly are, though they must still use speech to know each other’s thoughts. It is most quaint. But you will tell me if they hold private meetings, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister.”

They had come to the end of the Category Two ward, where large carved panels marked another set of doors. Flora could not decipher the markings but knew instinctively not to touch them. Sister Sage answered her unspoken question.