Jun's thumb slid beneath the fold of her kerchief then down as she masked herself and entered the quiet nursery. Swaddled babies, smelling faintly of urine and soap, lay by twos in wheeled cribs. They neither kicked nor cried.

Jun signed in, pushing the clip-board steady against the wall with her forearm. The nail from which it hung wriggled in its flaking hole. The wall was painted with sunflowers. Neither primer nor sealant had been used. The sun-bright petals bubbled in some spots. In wheeled carts, soiled diapers soaked in buckets of green-gold slime; awaiting their turn in the laundry.

Jun turned towards the nearest crib. The baby to the right had no eyebrows, just the suggestion of thicker down above yellow-tinged eyes. Jun pulled down her mask, settling it around her neck. She undid some swaddling, and rubbed her fingers over the infant's soft breast. "Hello, babies. Did you know how important you are?" She took him from the crib, cradling him to her chest. Then she reached for the other. When they were both in hand she said, "Urine makes gunpowder the old-fashioned way."

She took them around the room and told them other things too.