Finding themselves in a great rumbling chamber full of food-smells and scents of the giants the two little ants were humbled and not a little trepidated.

"Giants' hive," said dirt-pusher, backing against the wall. "Not want be here."

"Gotta," replied seed-getter. "Gotta, gotta."

She had been inside the giants' hives before. It had not occurred to her before that this was bad. She had not planned to stay, only to get food and return quickly. But now she felt a strange sort of deferential guilt, the way she felt about entering mother's chambers without invitation.

Even more than guilt, she felt danger. Though she could not see them, she knew from her connection to the Pan-mind that all around were the feet of giants. Their italian loafers and high-heel pumps would maker her and her companion flatter than a sand grain.

They had many hours to ride. How would they keep from being discovered or inadvertantly killed?

She scanned the room with her extra sensory perception. All places were equally dangerous it seemed. She decided to go with her instincts instead. There were two directions to go: toward the front of the train, or toward the back. She detected something yummy in the back, so chose that direction.

Along the skirt of the floor, dirt-pusher ran as fast as her leg-joints would allow. This was not quite fast enough for seed-getter's comfort. Several times the darkness followed by quaking made them pause to take cover, though there was no where safe to go. But to their good fortune, giants were paying more attention to things far above than at their level.

The hardest part was going between train cars. It was loudest and the floor was very slippery. Their carapaces ached to move through this area. And they had to wait for the doors to open which required sophisticated timing. At a door, seed-getter would consult the oracular Pan-mind and determine what it was (a moving wall). It would tell her to wait, wait, wait... until open and then RUN.

In this way, they made a long journey to the club car. Dirt-pusher had to make a difficult climb up a smooth wall corner with seed-getter in her mouth. Then past an overhang and onto a countertop and finally into a box.

The box was wonderfully dark and warm. and best of all, it was saturated with good food smells. They had wandered into a box full of donuts.

"SUGAR!" said dirt-pusher excitedly. "SUGAR SUGAR SUGAR SUGAR SUGAR!"

Seed-getter cautiously waved her antennae and forelegs about. This was the most wonderful place she had ever been inside. A chamber of the most delectible food ever found in one place by an ant. She had heard stories from sisters who had visited giants' hives to discover the yummy contents of their pantries, but never thought it would happen to her.

Both the ants were ravenous. Their crops and guts had been empty for days, and they had been on the verge of collapsing. All this intoxicating sweet stuff around them would restore the energy they needed.

"Eat!" commanded Seed-getter.

They gorged themselves on the powdered sugar of a jelly donut, then followed a fruity scent to the opening of the jelly filling and packed some of that into their bellies. Finally, they dug into the warm, wet, sticky glazing of a victorian soft cruller. There, nestled inside the deep, helical furroughs of the cruller, they fell asleep. Seed-getter's last thought before napping was that this was the perfect place to spend the rest of the day.

The ants were jarred awake by vibrations and intrusive light. Air currents told Seed-getter they were moving. Dirt-pusher hunkered down, struggling against the forces that threatened to peel them off. Someone had purchased the cruller and was taking it back to his seat, along with a steaming hot cup of coffee.

Their transport-pastry slammed onto a hard surface.

"Danger?" asked Dirt-Pusher.

"Agreement," replied Seed-getter. "Danger. Not-move."

It had been a difficult past few days in Portugal for the German businessman. The orders he returned with for cappuccino machines was impressive, but hard-won. Not to mention he was up too late the past night flirting at the bar with the waitress. He needed a carbohydrate boost. He should have been watching his calories, but sitting there on the counter the cruller was just too good to resist. He wrapped a napkin around one side, hiding the ants from his view, and dunked it into this coffee.

He closed his eyes to enjoy the syruppy-cakey flavor. He did not see the ants run onto his finger, past his solitaire ring, and into the cuff of his jacket. In the sweaty tweed environment of the man's armpit, Dirt-pusher and Seed-getter spent the rest of the trip as their giant host snored off his sugar crash. The sugar that had nourished them now protected them.