For the little ant who had been batted about by a cat, then swallowed by a bird, and then regurgitated, to fall a hundred feet to the ground, it had been a bizarre and difficult day. Seed-getter, as she was known to her peers, had the good fortune to land in soft grass without injury. But now she found herself in territory where nothing smelled familiar, and night was coming fast. Her only thought was to get home.

"Gotta gotta gotta," she repeated to herself.

The words kept her legs straining against the cold and crumbly soil. She resisted the urge to shelter under a stone and wait for daylight. It was too strange here, too far from home. Yet if her tiny mind could grasp the long odds of getting through this alive, she would have given up. No one knows determination like an ant.

The moonlight filtering down through the forest of towering grasses was some consolation. It was not as bright or warm as the sun, but it gave her some home. She clicked her mandibles in a song about the sun. The young ants used to sing this to learn about the diurnal cycle and how long it was safe to stay outside. Now, the song gave her some comfort in an alien place.

Her antennae kept reaching through the air, seeking the scent of home. It was a few hours into the journey that she caught the signal. In her sleepy march, she almost missed it. It was very faint, but definitely the smell of the hive. Like fingers caressing her memories, it roused her from her sleepy march and gave her hope. She awakened at once and followed the trail with vigor.

To get a bearing, she wandered first in one direction, then another. Slowly growing in intensity, the scent became easier to follow. She reached one of the foraging trails and knew she would be home soon. By the time she reached the hive, she was exhausted and nearly out of energy.

When she reached a litter mate guarding the entrance, the welcoming ceremony was sweet: tapping and tapping of antennae, sweeping up the old warm smells, exuding pheremones of joy. If she could have cried, she would have done so.

The guard patted her around the abdomen, noting its puckered shape which told her of deep thirst and ill health. She regurgitated a drop of refreshing sweetwater for the far-traveller. It refreshed and energized the little ant.

Curious sisters stopped their labor and came forward to tap her. Where had she been, to be so flush with unknown smells as to be almost a stranger? The first reaction was anger, to reject her, for she was tainted with the strangeness of faraway. But gradually, they overcame this and welcomed her home.

Still, the Mother must be told. She had to be informed of every irregularity. The ants ushered her forward, toward the deep chambers, where it was warmest and activity was greatest.

"Attendants, disperse" said the Mother in a squirt of authoritative pheremone.

The scores of helper ants cleared out of the room, taking lovely squirming pupae with them. It was strange to see the Mother alone, without hourdes of servants cleaning, feeding, and caring for her. She seemed even more dignified, and the little seeker ant felt unworthy to be here in the high chambers.

"Child, come to me and let me feel you."

Seed-getter could not have resisted if she wanted. Her Mother's antennae tapped and prodded gently. It was a soft, loving caress, full of maturity and concern, not like the harsh inquiries of guards or the sloppy curious tasting of younger ants.

"You have been outside a long time, little one. Almost [6 x 6] light-darks. Your carapace is rough and worn. Such a long time has it been since I have seen the light from above. I envy you. But my servants tell me you have seen something of concern. Show me the vision you carry."

Her antennae brushed against the little one's, triggering a rapid and complex transfer of electrochemical data. The Mother's abdomen jittered with concern.

"This vision stored in your mind is beyond my purview. It is a matter for the All-Mother, to whom all ants attend. You must carry the message to her. The distance is great and the route very dangerous, but I will provide you with a travelling entourage of ants numbering [6 x 6 x 6 x 6]. They will ensure that you reach the Grand Hive intact, to the risk of their very lives."

The little ant shuddered at the thought of more travel. She wanted only to live out her few remaining days in the soft, warm darkness of a hive.

"I know," said the ant mother with a caring caress of her antenna. "You must serve just a little bit longer. Your sisters will carry you like a pupa, lavishing care and attention on you as they cross the great distance. When your mission is over, our debt to you will be recorded in the history strand of every hive."

The little ant clicked her mandibles in deference and went away, walking as low as her body could carry her. As she emerged from the queen quarters, her sisters patted her with congratulations and curiosity at the scent of the Mother on her. She fairly shivered with apprehension at this great task, though she did not fully understand what she was to do.

Strong and young sisters were selected, smeared with encouraging scents, and force-fed many droplets of sugary fluid until their abdomens were about to burst. They emerged from the safe darkness in a great mass beneath the sun, and waited as their precious cargo came out to join them. Swaddled in a silk cocoon with only her head and ragged antennae exposed, she was carried high like a youngling. Placed in the center of a roving configuration, surrounded on all sides by a score of ants, she was quite warm and comfortable.

Seed-getter had never in her life dreamed she would receive this much attention. She did not feel worthy, but she understood that the thing she had seen was vital to whole Formicidan race. It was an honor she appreciated to the depth of her carapace. As the entourage started their journey, striding over hot earth in the beginning of an unimaginably long journey, she focused all her attention to not dying. "Gotta gotta gotta," she chanted quietly. The other ants repeated her words, a reverent chorus that drove them onward through the harsh world under the sky.

Riding in the center of the mass along with Seed-getter was an almost-mother, to provide guidance and control with pheremones. Like others in the maternal caste, she was gifted with the ability to contact the Pan-Mind. All ants in the world contribute a portion of their minds and spirits to this collective unconscious entity. It harbored a vast amount of wisdom both ancient and recent. It also provided a sense of direction for the formican race, choosing how best to allocate their vast resources.

"It amuses me that we are of the same age," said Almost-mother to Seed-getter. "We are of equivalent rank, so we share leadership."

Strictly speaking, this was not true. Seed-getter was in a lower caste and could never match the importance of a guard, much less an ant mother. Still, Seed-getter sensed that circumstances had elevated her, and her companion Almost-mother was gracious enough to accept that and dispense with formality.

"Soon die/stop," observed Seed-getter from her protective wrapping.

"Yes. I have been commanded to take this mission with the understanding that I will never have a hive of my own. My eggs are unfertilized and I will never have pupae to grow and attend to me, but I serve the Pan-Mind in another way, just as important."

"Attend," said Seed-getter in an agreeing cadence.

The group, nearly 1300 strong, was a micro-hive on the move, with carriers, guards, scouts, getters. All it lacked were pupae, the precious young needed to keep a population alive; this roving hive was not expected to live beyond the mission.