Hitherby Dragons

JANE
1. See Jane! Jane is an ending.
2. Stars are falling in her ending eyes.
3. Smile, Jane, smile!
4. See Jane smile.
5. All things end in blood.

While waiting for dinner, Jane and Bob made a world out of firewood. It was five hundred miles wide and ten miles deep. It had lots of firewood animals and firewood cities and firewood people.

“Jane! Bob!” said their mother. “Look what you’ve done! How are we going to burn our firewood now?”

“But Mom!” said Jane. “We were bored!”

“You are very bad little children,” said their Mom, and sent them to bed without supper.

Jane and Bob were very angry. So they snuck out to the world they had made and became monsters. Each had seven hundred teeth and five hundred claws! They also had LAW rockets.

That’s why firewood is so afraid of people. It’s not because you might burn it. It’s because you might turn out to be Jane or Bob!

Silly firewood. Jane and Bob aren’t real! They’re just a story somebody made up.

“Surprise!” says Jane’s mother. “We got you an early Christmas present.”

“Ooh!” says Jane, and tears off the wrapping. “It’s a burning bush action figure, with real prophetic action! And it sings!”

“That’s right!” announces Jane’s mother. “I knew you’d like it. I couldn’t wait for Christmas!”

“That’s very bad, mother,” lectures Jane. “Presents should wait until Christmas Day!”

“I’m sorry,” admits Jane’s mother, and hangs her head. “Here, you should light it on fire and see what action figure God says!”

“Okay!” says Jane, who can’t stay angry at her Mom long. Fwoosh! The bush catches on fire.

“I AM THAT I AM(TM),” the bush announces. “I’m a burning bush with real prophetic action!”

“Wow!” says Jane. “It’s even better than I imagined.”

“You must be Jane,” says the voice of the plastic Yahweh action figure. “That’s good! I need you to save the world.”

“I’ll do it!” Jane exclaims. “But I have to be in bed by 8.”

“You must push every software CEO in town,” explains the burning bush action figure. “PUSH! Otherwise I’ll have to blow everything up, and that’s bad.”

“That’s very bad, plastic God,” lectures Jane. “Pushing people is impolite! A good girl never pushes. Not even people with MBAs.”

“Very well,” concedes the burning bush. “You may give them a bouillon cube instead, if they do not want to be pushed.”

“Yay!” shouts Jane. “I’m going to save the world.”

“Be careful!” cries the burning bush. “You will have many enemies!”

It’s no good, burning bush action figure! Jane’s already dropped you and bolted out the door. She’s a hasty heroine!

Jane visits three CEOs. She gives two of them a bouillon cube. The third, she looks over. He doesn’t understand the importance of Ops. So she says, “Excuse me, sir, but can I push you?”

“Only if it’s necessary to save the world,” says the CEO. He laughs to himself. He’s so clever! She’ll never push him now!

PUSH! Jane runs away. You always have to get permission before pushing someone, but if it’s to save the world, they just might give it to you. That’s the lesson!

Jane’s at the mansion of a software CEO. You can pick which one! It’s guarded by fierce attack dogs. They snarl and slaver at Jane. She makes faces at them. They can’t cross the invisible fence! But Jane can’t cross it either — they’d snap her up! She pokes her finger over the fence. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! go the dogs.

Jane falls over backwards. She’s got all her fingers, but that was close!

“Oh, Heaven,” she says, looking upwards. “I have to give this CEO a bouillon cube. Or maybe push him! But I can’t — his dogs are too fierce!”

Heaven is silent. Jane gets up. She pokes a finger past the invisible fence again. The dogs look shifty. Their eyes shift back and forth! They’re discussing a suspicious plan in dog language. Jane can’t speak dog language, so she doesn’t know. All she knows is, they’re not biting her.

Slowly, she steps forward, past the invisible fence. The dogs don’t move. They just wag their ears and tails. Dogs speak in semaphore! That’s their secret.

Jane steps forward again. Suddenly, the dogs lunge! LUNGE! LUNGE! LUNGE! They look like they’re made of teeth and claws! Their eyes burn like fire and blood! Jane screams and falls down. Bouillon spills from her bouillon pocket and scatters across the ground. Oh no! She can’t give the CEO a dirty bouillon cube, can she? Plus, the dogs want to bite her in half. Jane closes her eyes.

The teeth don’t bite.

“You can chomp all you want, but you can’t bite me!” That’s a mysterious voice shouting. “No one can bite me! I’m Evasive Angel!”

Jane opens her eyes. She’s surrounded by four angels. One’s standing in front of the dogs, but every time they try to bite Evasive Angel, they miss.

Evasive Angel’s a girl. She’s wearing a jacket. It’s got holes for the wings. It’s got a big logo on the back that says “Evasive A.” She’s got a halo. The dogs can’t get a hold on her. It’s not that they’re bad at biting. It’s not that they don’t want to bite her. It’s just a part of who Evasive A is.

Jane looks at all the angels’ jackets. “You must be Realistic Angel, Forbidden Angel, and Magic Angel!”

“Probably not,” says Realistic A.

“Ignore her,” says Magic A. “We’re the Angel Four, and we’re here to make sure you can push this naughty CEO!”

“That’s very bad, Magic Angel,” says Jane. “You can’t push people just because Heaven wants you to.”

“Actually,” says Forbidden A, “that’s kind of a knotty theological question.”

“Can you even apply standards like that in the modern world?” wonders Realistic A.

“No one can defy me! I’m Evasive Angel!”

Jane looks confused. “How does that work?” she asks.

Evasive A takes a moment to think about it, then snaps her fingers. She doesn’t have to answer that question. She’s Evasive Angel. “That’s not important,” she declares. “What’s important is, we have a CEO to trouble!”

“Then let’s go!”

“I’ll stay here and distract the dogs,” says Evasive A. She’s scared of what awaits Jane inside. She’d rather distract the dogs. She likes dogs, and they can’t bite Evasive Angel!

Jane and the angels rush up to the mansion.

“Be careful,” says Forbidden A. “There are lasers strafing the entry hall.”

“Lasers?” asks Jane.

“Worse!” says Forbidden A. “Heat-seeking lasers! And exploding robot butlers on the other side.”

“That’s bad,” concedes Jane. “Do any of you have any special powers?”

“I can provide a pragmatic evaluation of any situation,” says Realistic A.

“I can do anything, but only sometimes,” answers Magic A.

“You aren’t supposed to think about me,” says Forbidden A. “Although people do anyway.”

“Her special power sucks,” notes Realistic A.

“Realistic Angel, how can I get past the heat-seeking lasers?”

“I’d recommend distracting them with something hot, like the sun.”

Jane searches her pockets. “I don’t have it on me!” she wails.

“Or a burning bush?”

“That either!” Jane sits down. Her lip trembles. She might have to cry. The angels are no help at all! But then she has an insight. “I know! The burning bush has an omnipresence mode. When you activate it, the burning bush is everywhere — just like in the Bible!”

“Go Jane!” says Forbidden A. Forbidden A is pretty cool, but remember that you’re not supposed to think about her!

Jane reaches out and activates the omnipresence mode. Soon, her burning bush action figure is everywhere. She turns it on. It lights on fire. “I AM THAT I AM(TM),” says the bush.

“Action figure!” commands Jane. “Distract the heat-seeking lasers.”

BURN! The burning bush action figure flares up. It’s omnipresent, so it’s in the hall too. The heat-seeking lasers all fire. Silly lasers! You’re just helping action figure God burn!

Jane and the angels dash through.

“Oh no!” cries Jane. “Exploding robot butlers!”

“That’s right,” says the chief robot butler, twirling his steel moustache. “I’m going to serve you tea, and then explode, showering you with thermonuclear radiation! No one will be able to live near you for generations!”

“But I have to push the CEO!”

“I won’t let you!” The chief robot butler laughs manically, boiling water for tea with hideous mechanical efficiency. Jane watches the pot, but how long can that save her?

Forbidden A steps forward. “Hey! Robots!”

The robots all look at her.

“Oh no!” says the chief exploding robot butler. “I’m thinking about you, but I’m not supposed to! This is an error in my programming!”

“Oh no!” say all the other robot butlers. “Us too! We’re just as bad as our boss!”

“01010101001110100101,” exclaim the robot butlers, and deactivate. Thank Heaven for Forbidden A! And then stop thinking about her!

“Let’s go!” cries Jane, and rushes onwards. But then she comes to a giant pit. It’s all that’s between her and the CEO — he’s standing on the other side. He looks lonely. No one’s come and pushed him or given him bouillon since he bought the heat-seeking lasers. He wanted to be safe, but now he doesn’t have any friends!

“I can’t jump that giant pit,” says Jane. “Can you fly me to the other side?”

“Hardly,” says Realistic A. “My wings are far too delicate.”

“I oughtn’t,” admits Forbidden A.

“Of course,” says Magic A. “But only if it works.”

“All right,” says Jane. “Then I’ll have to trust you!” She leaps into Magic A’s arms. It’s a leap of faith! Magic A backs up, then runs for the pit. She jumps!

“Hey,” says the omnipresent burning bush. “Don’t you four have tickets to a show?”

“Eep!” says Evasive A. “No one can make me late — I’m Evasive Angel!” Evasive A vanishes. Realistic A vanishes. Forbidden A vanishes.

Magic A soars with Jane across the pit, but in midair, she looks at Jane. Her face is very apologetic. “It won’t work this time,” she says. Her wings give out. She falls. Jane falls. They’re going to hit the far wall. It could break their heads! But Magic A shoves Jane back towards the center of the pit and vanishes.

Jane’s still falling. She’s thinking this: “I just wanted to give bouillon to every software CEO in town, or push them. Now I never will. I guess my burning bush action figure will have to blow up the world tomorrow.”

No, Jane! It’s not that way. The bottom of the pit is covered in stock certificates. The CEO has so many, he has to use them to pad his pit — otherwise, he’d be covered in them from head to toe! Sploosh! Jane splashes into the stock.

“Hey,” she cries up. The CEO comes curiously to the edge of the pit and looks down. “Would you like some bouillon?” she shouts.

“No, little girl,” says the CEO. “I’m too important for your dirty old bouillon. Also, please stop swimming in my stock.”

“If I can’t give you bouillon, can I at least push you?”

“I don’t see as how you have any alternative,” says the CEO, who is a realistic man.

Suddenly, Jane rises from the pit. She’s standing on the head of a colossal stock squid! If you leave stock sitting around too long, you’re going to have colossal squids — that’s just how spontaneous generation works. The stock squid rockets skyward. Jane leaps down to stand in front of the CEO.

PUSH! Then Jane runs away. The angels left for a show, but she’s got bouillon and a squid — no one can stop Jane now!

“Modern morality is too confusing,” declare the Yama Kings. “Henceforth, we will dispose of souls based on the results of a universe-wide poll. It’s very simple. If you know someone who dies, vote! Tell us whether they deserve a blissful afterlife or ten generations of torments. Call 1-999-YAM-KING for more information.”

Jane’s listening to the radio. She hears the pronouncement of the Yama Kings. “It’s so wonderful,” she cries. “I know people will use their vote responsibly!”

“Jane,” sighs her brother Martin. “Why are you listening to the radio without your cynicism goggles?”

Jane blushes brightly. She forgot to put them on! That explains her unrealistically innocent attitude. She quickly slips them onto her face. “Oh, my,” she says. “Oh. That’s bad.”

Martin nods wearily. He never takes his goggles off. Not even for winking! He’s a dedicated cynic.

“We’ll have to go to all the people in the universe,” Jane decides, “and get them to agree always to vote for bliss. That’s the only righteous course!”

“I’ll get my thumbscrews!” says Martin.

Jane looks at him.

“What?”

Jane looks at him some more.

“Look,” says Martin. “You have your methods. I have mine.”

“Okay!” says Jane brightly. She can’t stay mad at Martin long. “But I get to try mine first.”

They race out of the house to visit everyone in the universe.

“Why should I vote everyone bliss?” asks Mrs. Chernov. “I’d rather use my vote to assign torments with discretion! I’ll be an elegant and respectable arbiter of human destiny—harsh, but judicious! That will earn my neighbors’ respect and discharge my sacred responsibility.”

Jane looks at her.

“What?”

Jane looks at her some more. Jane’s lower lip trembles. Her goggles mist with tears.

“Fine,” says Mrs. Chernov. “I’ll do it. But only to make you happy!”

Jane beams and runs off.

“Why should I vote everyone bliss?” says Amanda. “I hate Mr. Pib. When he dies, I’ll send him right to the Avici Hell!”

Jane frowns. Why is Amanda being so stubborn? Suddenly, she understands!

“Amanda,” sighs Jane. “Why are you deciding important moral matters without your cynicism goggles?”

Amanda is confused. “Cynicism goggles? What are those?”

Jane blinks. “I thought everyone knew about cynicism goggles! You make them from ordinary goggles, but you glue lots of little bits of green and brown construction paper to the lenses. Then you can see the world with cynicism!”

Amanda tries this. She sits down with Jane and makes a pair of cynicism goggles. Then she puts them on. “Geez,” she says. “Revenge really does just contribute to a pointless cycle of violence, doesn’t it?”

“It’s true,” Jane says, nodding.

Amanda lifts the goggles. “But it’d be so satisfying!”

She lowers them again. Cynical Amanda adds, “And ultimately pointless.”

Amanda lifts them again. “But that’s not true! Bad people deserve punishment!”

She lowers them again. Cynical Amanda shrugs. “You can believe what you want.”

Amanda lifts the goggles again. “Wow! I love being able to toggle my cynicism on and off. But which worldview is right?”

“It’s petty and self-indulgent to imagine an absolute morality,” says Martin. “Of course, defaulting to kindness in that scenario is just Jane’s crazy idea—I’d rather torture the lot. That’s valid too!” He winks, but Amanda can’t see it. There’s too much construction paper in the way!

“I’ll do it,” Amanda decides. “Mr. Pib won’t like his bliss much, anyway, once he realizes I get it too.”

Martin smiles dreamily. He’s remembering Mr. Pib. That was a fun conversation for Martin. Jane’s methods didn’t work! Events took their course. Sometimes Martin’s inevitable. He thinks that’s a darn fine thing.

“We’re going to go visit the rest of the people in the universe now,” says Jane. “Try not to die before we’re done!”

“You could just hack the voting machines,” Amanda notes.

“Good little girls and boys don’t hack voting machines,” says Jane. “We use a cheery attitude and thumbscrews! It’s like two great tastes that taste great together!”

Amanda just nods. It’s hard to argue with logic like that.

¹ presupposes familiarity with Pokémon.

Gautama meditates in the tall grass.

Jane runs up.

Gautama smiles. “Jane,” he says, “I meditate in pursuit of enlightenment, so that I can free all sentient beings from desire and suffering.”

Jane thinks on Gautama’s words. “Cool!” She throws a red and white ball at him. It opens and sucks him in. The ball wiggles, then subsides. Success! Jane has captured Gautama.

Jane beams. “I knew I’d find a good use for my ENLIGHTENMENT BALL.”

Jane runs through the grass. She can see Martin up ahead. He’s blocking the only path past the bo tree.

Martin sees Jane. “!”

Martin runs up to Jane. “Let’s battle!”

“Gautama,” cries Jane. “I choose you!”

Martin thinks. “I’ll choose Mara!”

Martin throws his DESIRE BALL. It unleashes Mara, the demon of the illusions of material existence.

First round!

Gautama assumes LOTUS STANCE under the bo tree.
Mara uses his special VOLUPTUOUS WOMEN move.

“These women are very bountiful,” agrees Gautama. “But the pleasures of the flesh do not last. Succumbing to this temptation would bring me immediate happiness. Over the years, though, sickness, old age, and death would take their toll. I would come to regret my indulgence.”

Gautama takes ten points of damage. The women weren’t a temptation. They were an attack! Mara’s tricky that way.

Second round!

Gautama uses LOTUS STANCE.
Mara PAUSES.

Martin frowns at Jane. “You shouldn’t use the same move over and over!”

“It increases his defense against the torments of existence,” explains Jane. “That makes him a tragically powerful battler!”

“Oh,” said Martin, thinking. “That’s a good strategy, then. I’ll have to damage him fast!”

Mara uses his FLAMING ROCKS move.

A fiery torrent descends on Gautama!

“These rocks are very much on fire,” agrees Gautama. “But the pleasures of the flesh do not last. Succumbing to this temptation would bring me immediate happiness. Over the years, though, sickness, old age, and death would take their toll. I would come to regret my indulgence.”

“They’re FLAMING ROCKS,” says Mara blankly.

“Oh,” says Gautama. “They’re not a temptation?”

“A temptation to do what?”

“I’d collect them,” says Gautama, dreamily. “And dress them up in cute flame-retardant outfits. Then I’d sell them on eBay.” He shivers. Oh! Such sweet temptation. But the flaming rocks turn into blossom petals when they reach Gautama. That’s how powerful his dedication to help all people is!

Gautama takes five points of damage. Jane looks worried. He doesn’t have many left!

Third round!

Gautama uses LOTUS STANCE.
Mara uses MORAL CHALLENGE.

“You don’t have the right to seek enlightenment,” Mara cries. “You’re a washed-up bald monk who lives in a ball! Who are you to seek the freedom of all people from suffering and desire?”

Gautama touches the earth with one finger. The earth shouts, “He’s a washed-up bald monk who lives in an ENLIGHTENMENT BALL.”

Mara could not argue with that.

Fourth round!

Gautama uses ACHIEVE ENLIGHTENMENT.
The battle ends.

There’s no more Mara. There’s no more Gautama! There’s only Ninja Tathagata.

“I win!” cries Jane.

“Hey!” says Martin. “He didn’t survive enlightenment! He extinguished his ego and now he exists as a compassionate impulse in the void of nirvana! I think that should be a draw.”

“Oh, Martin!” laughs Jane. “You can’t blame a Buddha for achieving nonexistence! That’s like dumping glue on a log.”

¹ featuring a classic of Chinese poetry, the Book of Songs

Jane looks up. “Let’s avoid the use of exclamation points!”

Martin frowns.

“Oh,” Jane says. She blushes. “Of course. I mean, let’s avoid the use of exclamation points.”

“That’s better,” Martin agrees.

“The world is ending,” Jane intones. “Everyone’s dead. All civilization is in ruins. A giant three-headed firebreathing mutant ant is marching this way. Run. Run. Run. Martin, we must flee.”

“I’m panicking,” Martin answers. “I cannot possibly flee. I am too busy running around in circles.”

“Snap out of it, man.” Jane shakes Martin languidly. “You’ve got to focus.”

“Right,” Martin says. “The three-headed ant.” He looks up. He waves to the ant. The ant wiggles its mandibles at him. Martin frowns. “Jane, this giant three-headed mutant ant cannot possibly breathe fire. It’s made of flame-retardant foam. Have you been telling tall tales again?”

Jane looks down and scratches a toe through the dirt. “It is just a little fib. It’s still a deadly mutant monster.”

“Yeah, right,” says Martin, dismissively. “Real deadly.” He frowns. “No helping it now. Let’s do things that make the situation worse.”

“Okay,” Jane agrees. “I’ll make many beeping noises. That’s sure to rouse its ire.”

“I’ll feed it special ant-gro tablets,” Martin says.

Jane beeps repeatedly. This rouses the ant’s ire. Martin feeds the ant two special ant-gro tablets. One head swells up and becomes ultra-giant. Another, mega-giant. The third head dangles sadly. It wanted to be special, but now it’s the smallest giant ant head on the whole body. Its mandibles twitch, quoting the Book of Songs:

What crumb is not good?
Which insect is not sad?
Have pity on us giant three-headed ants
Treated as if we were not threats.

“I mock your pain,” says Jane. “You should take it out on myself and Martin.”

Martin attempts to light the ant on fire. He can’t. It’s made of flame-retardant ant foam.

The mega-giant ant head wiggles its mandibles:

Please, Martin,
Do not attempt to light me on fire,
Do not test the resistant properties of my flame-retardant body.
It’s not that I worry about your success,
But I fear Smokey the Bear.
You, I would devour,
But Smokey the Bear coming to defeat us both — that I dread.

“He has a point,” Jane said. “Only you can prevent forest fires. But by doing so, you invite a bear in a hat to devour us both.”

“Liar.” Martin sulks. “Smokey the Bear does not devour children. He is good and kind and gentle.”

“You should marry him,” Jane proposes.

Martin stomps his foot. “I don’t want to do unhelpful things any more!”

The giant ant looks shocked. Martin used an exclamation point. Its ultra-giant head whispers, softly:

O sun; O moon;
Which enlightens this lower world.
Here is the man
Who treats me not according to the ancient rule.

Jane walks past a bird. “Hi, bird!” she says.

Jane scans the bird. It has two wings. It is covered in feathers. It has two feet. It stands on its feet. It has a beak. It uses its beak for biting things. It can also sing.

“I’ve learned some important things about birds!” Jane says, and walks on.

Jane sees the sun. “Hi, sun!” she says.

Jane scans the sun. It’s very big, but also very far away. It’s made of fire. Four horses pull it around the sky. The horses are made of fire. They tried ice horses once, but they melted! It wasn’t the smartest idea. The horses wear sunglasses. That’s because of the glare. If you pulled the sun, you’d wear sunglasses too!

“I’ve learned some important things about the sun,” says Jane, “but that really seemed to be more about the horses. I find that disappointing and I will write a letter of complaint.”

Jane giggles. She’s not going to write a letter of complaint! She likes scanning things!

Jane walks by a siggort. “Hi, siggort!” she says.

Jane walks on. Then she blinks. “Wait!” she says. “I better scan the siggort!”

Jane scans the siggort. It has two wings. It is covered in feathers. Its stomach is roly-poly. It has two long legs. It has a wheel of knives. It’s innocently vivisecting passersby and leaving their corpses for investigators to discover. It has a long yellow beak. It uses its beak for smiling. It can also sing.

“I’ve learned some important things about siggorts!” Jane says. “I wonder if I should report it to Animal Control.”

Jane thinks hard. “No,” she decides. “It’s vivisecting people innocently. That must mean it’s okay. If it were a serious problem, then I would have scanned it as vivisecting people guiltily.”

Very good, Jane! It’s important to apply logic to the situations in our lives.

Jane passes a wogly. “Hi, wogly!”

The siggort incident wised Jane up! She doesn’t dilly-dally—she scans the wogly! Who knows what it’s up to now?

The wogly has pale blue skin and two winky eyes. It’s shaped like a torus. Woglies say “hiss!” Inside the wogly it’s empty. Integrity leaks out of the universe into the wogly. It’s not eating moral integrity—it’s eating the integrity things have that make them the way they are. It’s a serious problem, but someone else will deal with it.

“Wow!” Jane says. “I think that’s the first time I’ve learned about woglies!” She takes a piece of paper out of her pocket and writes WOGLY on it. It’s important to keep track of the events in our lives! Then she folds the paper up and puts it away again.

“The wogly is scary,” she says, “but someone else will deal with it.” She walks on.

Jane passes Martin. “Hi, Martin!”

Jane walks on. Then she blinks. “Wait!” she says. “I better scan Martin!”

Martin has two legs and two arms. He also has a face. He is not Bob. He’s slouching against the wall. Jane should give him her My Little Tao doll.

“Hey!” says Jane. “You’re messing with my scanner!”

“It’s still a source of absolute universal truth, even if I can change what it says,” Martin points out.

Jane frowns. She can’t argue with that! “It’s rude to push people,” Jane says, “but you’re a special case.”

He is, you know. PUSH!

“Raar!”

Jane stomps on mini-Tokyo. Buildings topple. People scream. Mini-tanks tumble vigorously down a hill.

Jane has a Barbie doll. It sticks its head out of her purse. Japanese advanced armor mini-samurai fire laser pulse rifles at the Barbie. The Barbie ducks back down and chirps, frazzledly, “Destroying Tokyo is hard!” Its hair smokes.

“Shh,” Jane says, urgently. “You’ll embarrass me in front of the city!”

“Oh,” says the Barbie. Then it pokes its head out again. “Raar! Raar! RAAR!”

People scream. “Oh no! They’re so terrifying!” This mollifies Jane.

Two mini-scientists run around. They’re working on equipment. The equipment will stop Jane, if she doesn’t stop them first!

Jane stomps on the scientists. Their spines snap. Their heads loll to one side. Their eyes stare horribly. Their legs kick once, twice. Then they die.

Jane stops. “Oh,” she says. Jane leans down. She picks up the mini-scientists. She looks at them as their bodies grow cold and they turn into mini-corpses. Jane’s eyes are very wide.

“Martin!” she yells. She runs.

Martin looks up. He’s building a cerycur. It’s a machine that makes people uncertain. Jane holds out her hands to him.

“Ew,” he says. “Mini-scientists stink when they’re dead.”

Jane pulls her hands back and looks at them. Then she holds out her hands again, more firmly.

“Ah,” Martin says. Then he shakes his head. “They’re just mini-people, Jane. They don’t have souls. You can’t bring them back to life.”

Jane frowns. “But I feel guilty. And all the people in mini-Tokyo looked at me like I was some kind of monster.”

Martin smiles a little. “You’re forgetting your atomic revisionist history breath.”

Jane pauses. Jane thinks. Then Jane beams. “Thank you!”

Jane kisses Martin’s cheek. Martin makes a horrible face. Jane runs back to mini-Tokyo. Buildings tumble as she charges.

People point at Jane. “Oh no!” they shout. “It’s Jane!”

Jane breathes. Atomic fire plays across the people.

People point at Jane. “Oh no!” they shout. “It’s Jane, our beloved leader! She’s destroying mini-Tokyo!”

Jane breathes. Atomic fire plays across Mini-Tokyo.

“It’s our beloved leader Jane! She’s destroying Mini-Tokyo(tm) Brand Toothpaste!”

Everybody links hands and sings, “Mini-Tokyo(tm) Brand Toothpaste gets your teeth whiter than white!”

They declare, “It’s fun to die in the fiery inferno of Mini-Tokyo(tm) Brand Toothpaste! It’s recommended by four out of five giant monsters!”

The mini-scientists’ boss stares on in disbelief. “You can’t just sing about the destruction of our fine toothpaste!” he chides everyone. “Remember the martyrs! Mini-Tokyo might just be a kind of toothpaste, but the people who’re dying—they’re real!”

Jane breathes. Atomic fire plays across the dead people. She remembers to breathe into her hands.

“Real CAVITIES, that is!”

Everyone in Mini-Tokyo laughs. It’s okay when people die, as long as they’re just rotten holes created when bacterial acids eat away at teeth!

“I’ve got cavities on my hands,” Jane says, giggling. “I’d better go brush!”

“Dental hygiene is important,” agrees the chief scientist. Jane steps on him. His spine snaps. His kidneys explode. His mouth trickles mini-blood onto the pavement in Jane’s wake. He’s not dead yet, though. He’s got breath for two more sentences.

“At last,” he whispers. “I’m an important moral lesson about tooth decay.”

One left!

“Ow.”

People die. People die in droves. There’s horror and cruelty and hunger and disease. Little children laying in piles with hands twitching. Dogs locked up in basements until they starve. Stuff like that.

“Let’s visit everyone in the universe and fix their lives!” Jane says.

“I’m busy,” Martin says.

In a specialty program for difficult teens, the staff force a recalcitrant boy to lay still, face down, for six months, save for meals, sleep, and ten minutes of stretching an hour. In Nebraska, Brandon Teena is violated and murdered for the audacity of claiming a male identity.

“Come on.”

“I’m busy,” Martin explains.

Statues of the Buddha crumble. Soldiers torture prisoners of war. An angry and desperate crowd razes a museum.

“Now?” Jane asks.

“No.”

Jane sits down and sulks. “Sometimes I don’t think you want to fix everyone’s lives.”

“I don’t,” Martin says. “I want to make their lives hard. I want to push people until they break. It’s cool. Sometimes it makes them better.”

“But what about the dead?”

Jane’s in a bar. She’s sitting on a barstool. Her feet are dangling far above the floor. She sips on a Shirley Temple. She uses a crazy straw. Nobody troubles her. Not even when they’re drunk. Not even when they fight. She’s Jane. She’s untouchable. She’s a half ton of trouble in a fifty-pound glass.

“Psst,” says the guy. Oscar’s his name. He whispers to Jane like he’s got a watch to sell. “Psst. Jane. There’s an awa in town. You’ve got to find it. You must check it out.”

“An awa?” Jane asks. Her right ear feels funny. It can’t twitch. It can’t swivel. But it wants to right now. It wants to twitch. It wants to turn towards him. It wants to hear what Oscar might say.

“An ‘ant without antennae’.” Oscar grins. It’s a gritty sort of grin. “Haven’t you heard the word?”

“Never,” Jane says. She hops down from the stool. She looks bold. She looks stern. She thrusts out an arm. “It’s a mystery — but it won’t elude me! Tell me, Oscar, what an awa might be.”

“I don’t know much,” Oscar says, muttering. “It’s an ant. That’s the truth. It’s got no antennae. It’s an ant and it’s got no antennae at all. It’s in town. No one knows what grim business’s its mission. It’s an ant. It’s determined. But no one knows why. There’s a veil of mystery over the awa. It’s not a thing that we humans can know. But it walks with a smirk and there’s trouble at its heels. That ant can’t be good.”

Jane is a girl with a practical expression. “If it has no antennae,” Jane says, and she’s frowning, “the awa in question can’t communicate at all. If it’s mute, and it’s solemn, then it can’t share its mission — just trudge along waiting until someone’s foot falls.”

Oscar lowers his voice. It’s touched by his wonder. It’s like magic from a drink is clogging his tongue. “It doesn’t need headgear,” he murmurs. “It talks using words like you and I might.”

“I’m trouble,” Jane says. She thinks, deep and solemn. “Logically, I should be at this ant’s heels.”

“I cannot dispute that,” Oscar says smugly. He snickers with evil. He smiles with glee. He wants her to find it. He wants her to find the ant. He plans to follow and do evil things then.

Jane heads into the city. It’s dark and it’s sparkly. It’s a dark sparkly city and it’s full of things. She picks one thing at random. It’s a cabbie, it happens. “Take me to the awa.” Then she gets in the cab. The cab’s engine rumbles. It screeches off down the street. Water splashes on Oscar. He calls a cab of his own.

Jane pulls up by the sidewalk. By the sidewalk, she sees an ant. The ant has no antennae. It trudges along.

“A marvel,” Jane breathes. In her pockets she fumbles. She passes the cabbie a few random things. She’s got bird’s nest and mirrors, earwax and string, a shiny bead, silver, and a three-sided ring.

“I would prefer money,” the cabbie informs her.

“Wouldn’t we all!” Jane’s a cynic tonight.

Jane tips the cabbie. She gives him a random thing. It’s not what he wants, but it’s pretty enough. Then she gets out. She stands right behind the ant. A few minutes pass. Then the ant turns its head.

“Pardon,” the ant says. Its voice is crisp and clear. “I cannot help noticing there’s a girl at my heels.”

“That’s ’cause I’m trouble,” Jane quickly explains.

The ant looks at her blankly. It has no expression. Ants use antennae for that kind of thing.

“Also, I’m curious.”

“Ah,” says the ant. “You want to hear my story.”

“Yes,” Jane summarizes.

The ant turns and trudges on. In a while, Jane takes a step. The ant trudges on. Jane takes another step. This process continues until the ant speaks.

“I lost my antennae a long time ago. It happens sometimes, if you’re an ant. It’s hard for an ant, to have no antennae. It’s really hard. It’s not a thing I could bear.”

“Ah,” Jane breathes. “I understand.”

“For three months,” the ant says, “I lay under a leaf. I hoped that I’d find myself wasting away. But I always found water in the dew of the morning. My friends regurgitated food into my mouth. The leaf gave me shelter. The wind sang me poetry. With one thing and another, I survived those three months.”

“I can sing poetry,” Jane boldly declares. She skips forward, hopscotch, ten great long strides. “One! Two! Three! Four! God don’t love you any more! Five, six, seven, eight! Now that love has turned to hate! Seven, eight, nine, ten! Hate comes round to love again!”

Jane looks embarrassed. She’s skipped far past the ant. The ant is trudging nine full steps back. Jane hurries around and stands behind it again.

“Anyway,” the ant says, “so the first month, I thought that if I ever got up again, I should kill everything in the world, as the price of my misery. And in the second month, I thought that maybe I should cut off everyone’s antennae, and just leave them alive, to suffer like me. But in the third month, I thought, if I ever get up again, I should try bringing happiness to everyone in the world. And then I got up; so I set to my task.”

“I tried bringing happiness to everyone in the world once,” Jane says. “It didn’t really work out very well.”

“Why not?” asks the ant. Its voice is rich bittersweet. It sounds conflicted. It still trudges on.

“People are weird,” Jane summarizes.

“Ah,” the ant says. In a while, Jane takes a step. “So,” says the ant, “I started to travel. I’d travel the world, I promised myself. I’d cross every inch of the land and the seas; and the sky, when I could; and the stars, when they’d have me. Each step I take, I carve out my trail. I make things better. I make them cleaner. I make them purer. I make them brighter. I make them more. That’s my mission. It’s what I’m for. I will carve truth from this cold grey world of ours. And that’s what I’ve done for the past seven years.”

“Wow,” Jane says, thoughtful. “How far have you traveled?”

“A few cities,” the ant says. “Back and forth. Back and forth. Leaving a little trail behind me.”

Jane examines the ant’s trail. It’s shiny. It’s a little sweet. It’s making things better. It’s making them clean.

“Just a few cities?” she asks, disappointed.

“It’s not very easy, you know, for an ant.”

“Ah,” Jane says, wisely. “I suppose that that’s true.”

Jane crouches low. She eyes the trail more carefully. It’s a strange little marker on the cold city ground. It’s got an ant’s trail. That’s not a great thing. But it’s got beauty too. She can see it right there. It’s tainting the street, under the trail. The street is itself again, where the ant’s passed. It’s true and it’s real. It’s pretty. It’s neat. It’s grimy and sticky. It knows it’s a street.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Jane says.

“I’m an awa,” the ant says. “It’s what I do.”

Jane spins in a circle, three times left, three times right. “There’s a guy. He’s named Oscar. He’ll follow me here.”

“He’s a squisher, then,” the ant says. It shrugs at her quietly. “He wants to squish me and end my long trail.”

“Why?” Jane asks.

The ant shrugs again. “You said ‘People are weird.’”

“So what are you going to do?”

“He’ll step on me,” the ant says. “And make his shoe clean and bright; and I’ll be alive; and I’ll heal in good time. And then I’ll come back and take up the road again.” The ant trudges on for a minute and change. “Ants keep their deaths in our antennae, you know. An ant without antennae can’t really die.”

Jane’s eyes grow wide. “Really? You’ll never die? There must be a lot of you awas in the world.”

“A few dozen,” the ant says.

“All working for happiness?”

“No,” the ant says. “Though I wish that were true. Some work for joy and some strive for sorrow; some seek out love, and some commit horrors. We change the world slowly. We’re awas. It’s what we do. We change the world very, very, very slowly.”

Jane skips off. She’s done with the awa. She finds a pedestrian. She colors his shadow in.

Oscar’s cab pulls up on the street beside the ant. Oscar gets out. He gives the awa a grin. The ant smiles back, as much as an awa can. The two take their places, and things happen then.