"For workers and road builders, dam builders. They're hurting for materials from the cities, chemicals mostly, I think. They're making more clones of the babies too, we hear. They'll have an army to send out to build their roads and keep the rivers open."

"How do you know so much about what's going on? We always thought you were kept more isolated than that."

"No secrets in this whole valley," Sondra said complacently. "Some of the girls work in the nursery, some in the kitchens, and they hear things."

"And what about Mark? Do you ever hear anything about him?"

Sondra shrugged. "I don't know anything about him," she said. "He's a boy, like the other boys, I guess. Only he doesn't have any brothers. They say he wanders off alone a lot."

She would watch for him, she thought. Sooner or later she would see him over the rose hedge. Before that time arrived, she was summoned to the Doctor's office.

She followed the Nurse docilely and entered the office. The Doctor was behind his desk.

"Good afternoon, Molly."

"Good afternoon, Doctor," she said, and wondered, was he Barry, or Bruce, or Bob…?

"Are the other women treating you all right?"

"Yes, Doctor."

A series of such questions, followed by Yes, Doctor, or No, Doctor. Where was it supposed to go, she wondered, and became more wary.

"Is there anything you want or need?"

"May I have a sketch pad?"

Something changed, and she knew this was the reason for her visit. She had made a mistake; perhaps they had conditioned her not to think of sketching again, never to think again of painting… she tried to remember what they had said to her, had done to her. Nothing came. She should not have asked for it, she thought again. A mistake.

The Doctor opened his desk drawer and took out her sketch pad and charcoal pencil. He pushed them across the desk toward her.

Desperately Molly tried to remember. What was he watching for? What was she supposed to do? Slowly she reached for the pad and pencil, and for a moment she felt a tremor in her hand and her stomach churned as a wave of nausea rose. The sensations passed, but she had stopped the forward movement of her hand, and she stared at it. Now she knew. She moistened her lips and started to move her hand again. The sensations returned for a scant moment, long enough to register, then they faded away. She didn't look up at the Doctor, who was watching her closely. Again she moistened her lips. She was almost touching the pad now. Abruptly she jerked her hand back and jumped up from her chair and looked wildly about the room, one hand clutching her stomach, the other pressed against her mouth.

She started to run to the door, but his voice held her. "Come, sit down, Molly. You'll be all right now."