Two

Title: Mind the Gap (Two)
Author: Mhalachai
Email: mhlalchai at gmail.com

*^*

Dawn dragged herself out of bed early the following morning, so early the sun had not even peeked over the horizon. Her plan was to go into work early that morning, take a look at some of the old zombie files, and see if she could do something about the chaos into which the paperwork had descended since Mary left.

However, for mice and for men, plans often go astray.

It was blissfully quiet through her shower and as she got dressed. She slipped into her other office outfit, wondering if she could accessorize to mask the duplication of her clothing. Funny how proper office worker attire had never really been an issue in her demonology classes. "If it can catch on fire or get stained, I don't want to see it," Professor Merek had said on the first day of field school. She had lived by those words for three years.

Now, she was desperate for an easy-to-clean pants suit. Sad. Very sad.

All ready for the day, Dawn tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. The light was already on, which warned her that her cousin Barry was awake and about.

"Morning," Dawn said, heading for the fridge.

"Hey," Barry replied from the depths of a cereal bowl. "Why are you up so early?"

"Work. Are you going to physio?" Dawn asked as she pulled a container of leftover pizza from the fridge.

"Yup." Barry put his spoon down and folded over a piece of one of the morning newspapers. "Your new job's at Animators Inc., right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You haven't heard about the little incident, have you?" Barry made quote marks in the air around the word 'incident'.

Dawn put the slice of cold pizza in her hand back in the container. "What incident?"

In response, Barry turned the paper around so it faced Dawn. She crossed the kitchen to the table. There, in large words on the front page, was the headline, "Zombie Runs Amok".

So much for a quiet morning.

*^*

When Dawn walked into the office, a harassed-looking young man behind the desk looked up, phone in hand.

"Just hold on," he told the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm sorry, but Animators Inc. isn't give any interviews at this time," he told Dawn.

"Huh?" Dawn shut the door behind her. "No, I'm Dawn, I'm the temp while Mary's out of town."

"Oh, thank God," the young man said, casting his eyes skyward. "Can I take a message for Mr. Vaughn?" he said into the phone.

Dawn busied herself with removing her jacket while the young man ended the call.

"I'm Craig, the night secretary," he said, coming around the edge of the desk.

Dawn shook his hand. It was a nice handshake. "How crazy has it been?"

Craig pushed his hair back from his face. "The phone has been ringing off the hook since two in the morning. I can't believe that idiot Jamieson let a zombie loose into a crowd, let alone a crowd that was being recorded by the media."

"The radio mentioned something about the zombie, but no details," Dawn said. "Why was there a television camera?"

"One of the guys who was there is on one of those reality shows where they follow you around everywhere for a few months. The tape was on the news within an hour."

The phone started ringing. Both Dawn and Craig looked at it, then each other. "Do you want me to get it?" Dawn asked.

"Please, I need to get out of here," Craig said. "Bert called a few minutes ago. He'll be here in a bit. Just take messages, don't transfer any calls to any of the animators, and don't answer any questions."

"Are those the orders from the top?" Dawn's hand was already on the phone.

"No, those are the orders from Bert," Craig shot back. Then he tried to smile. "Sorry, it's been a long night. It was nice to meet you."

"You too," said Dawn as she picked up the phone. She barely registered Craig's hurried "good luck" as she said, "Animators Inc., how may I help you?"

*~*

Half an hour later, Bert stormed into the office, faintly reminiscent of Anita's entry the previous day, Dawn thought. She had been on the phone straight and she was getting a bit squirrelly.

"Messages?" Bert demanded. Dawn handed him the thick stack of pink note sheets. He cursed as he flipped through them. "How many cancelled appointments?" he asked.

"Just the one," Dawn said, trying to sound ... something. Maybe empathetic for his lost profits.

"Just one." Bert loosened his tie. "It's not even eight o'clock yet and we already have a cancelled appointment. When Jamieson gets here, you send him to my office right away." With that, Bert stomped off down the hall.

Dawn let out the breath she had been holding. So far that morning, most of the phone calls had been from reporters. She wasn't looking forward to the calls from clients she knew were coming. The one man who called in had sounded so apologetic that he was canceling.

The sound of the door to the hallway opening quietly interrupted Dawn's thoughts, and Dawn steeled herself.

It wasn't a reporter. Manny, one of the animators she had met the previous day, walked in. With him was a young man, maybe a year or two older than Dawn, even shorter than Manny.

"Good morning, Ms. Summers," Manny said formally. His expression was grave.

"Good morning, Mr. Rodriguez," Dawn replied in kind. She could tell by the expression on his face that he had heard about the rampaging zombie.

"Hey, how's it going?" the young man asked. "I'm Larry Kirkland." He held out his hand to Dawn.

Ah, the one animator she had not met the day before. "Hi. Dawn Summers." Dawn shook his hand. "I'm temping for Mary."

"I wish we could have met under better circumstances," Larry continued. Manny made a sound in his throat and headed toward the coffee maker. "Has it been bad?"

Assuming he meant the phones, Dawn said, "Lots of reporter calls. One cancelled appointment. Bert ... I mean, Mr. Vaughn, is in his office already."

Larry was nodding slowly. "Is Anita in yet?"

"No, I haven't seen her."

"If there is one person I can avoid seeing today, it is Anita," Manny muttered as he returned.

Larry frowned. "Why?"

"Because she is going to be very angry," Manny said, "And she scares me to death when she is angry."

"Of course she's going to be angry," Larry retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Jamison screwed up."

"You do not know that."

"Actually, I do. I talked to Tammy an hour ago." Larry caught Dawn's confused expression. "My wife, Tammy Reynolds, she's a detective on the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team," he explained. "She's not on the case, but she talked to the cops who are, and called me at home." He turned back to Manny. "She said Jamison was pretty wrung out when he showed up at the grave sight. It was his third of the night, and he let it get away from him."

Manny closed his eyes and muttered under his breath in Spanish, then took a swig of coffee. "At least your wife has not taken this opportunity to demand you retire," he said. Dawn sensed she had been forgotten.

"Rosita said that?" Larry seemed surprised.

Manny nodded. "She does not like what I do, says I am getting too old." He smiled, almost to himself. "Maybe she is right."

"No way, man, you're still in the game on this one," Larry protested. "You're the second best animator around here."

"Fourth, but thank you for the sentiment," Manny drained his coffee cup. "No, I am right on this," he said when Larry opened his mouth. "After Anita, John and you, then there I am, but not more. This is a young man's game."

Larry was shaking his head. "I hate sounding like a broken record, but no way. My powers have been getting more powerful as I get older, are you any different?" He didn't wait for Manny's response. "You're too smart to let something happen like did last night to Jamison."

"That is true," Manny said. He was about to say something else, when the front door opened and Jamison crept in.

He looks like crap, Dawn thought. His clothes were covered in dirt stains and what looked like blood along his left arm. The television station said that he had jumped on the zombie when it attacked, helped contain it while the exterminators had been called in to burn the thing down. Points for him.

"Where have you been?" Manny demanded, cold anger in his voice. Jamison rubbed his eyes.

"At the police station. Is there any coffee?"

"What happened?" Larry interjected. Dawn was about to slip out from behind her desk and get Jamison his morning pick-me-up, when the office door opened again. All three men tensed.

It was a harmless-looking man in a shirt and tie, a light jacket over his arm. His round glasses reflected the overhead lights and highlighted a natural tonsure of curly hair.

"Mr. Clarke, I'm Irving Griswald, with the Post-Dispatch, I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time?" he asked smoothly.

Jamison opened his mouth, then closed it without answering.

Dawn stood up, not sure if she was supposed to deal with the situation or let the three zombie-makers in front of her do something. Larry shook his head, and Dawn realized that he and Manny were going to let Jamieson deal with his own mess.

"I don't ... I don't have any comment at this time," Jamison stammered.

"Then maybe you'll just clarify a couple of things?" The reporter stepped forward. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder and turned him around to face Anita.

"Hi, Irving," she said with false cheerfulness.

Was it Dawn's imagination, or did the reporter actually pale? "Good morning, Ms. Blake, I was just--"

"Leaving, I know. Sad, isn't it, when we so seldom see each other," Anita continued glibly as she pulled the reporter toward the front door. "We won't keep you, don't want to be late for work, do we?"

"Anita, please," Irving pleaded, his whole demeanor changing. Dawn looked closer. He had dipped his chin and rolled his eyes up to see Anita. That was a strange mannerism.

Anita, too, had changed mannerisms. She stood a fraction taller, more aloof. "No, Irving." Her voice had lost the fake bubbliness and was low and cold.

Irving turned and left, figurative tail between his legs. Anita shut the door after him and turned the deadbolt in the lock. Only then did she turn around to face Jamison.

"How are you feeling, Jamison?" Her voice was the same low threat as it had been a moment before.

He quailed for a second, then glared right back at her. "A little wiped out. Yourself?"

Anita pushed herself off the door and sauntered toward Jamison. Manny and Larry had inched to the edges of the room, leaving Jamison all by himself.

"Not doing too good, you know," Anita said conversationally. "There I was, at home in my bed, all done raising the dead for the night, when I got a phone call saying that there was a loose zombie in town and did I know anything about that?" Anita put her hand over her heart the picture of innocence. "I, of course, said no. Since you and I work at the same place, the nice police officers decided I didn't need to get involved in the case, especially since the zombie was all roasted. But it does leave a few unanswered questions."

"Are you sure about that?" Jamison asked, and there was something ugly in his face.

Anita frowned. "Yes, I'm sure there are unanswered questions."

"No, about being done raising the dead for the night." The innuendo was thick in the air. Whatever was going on gave Dawn uncomfortable squiggles in her stomach.

The astonishment on Anita's face faded, to the blankest expression Dawn had ever seen. "If you're insinuating I was with Jean-Claude, I wasn't," she said.

"So, what, instead of playing coffin bait, you were off with one of your animals?" There was a look of utter contempt on Jamison's face. "Have they drafted up a schedule, or do they just pass you around?"

Anita stepped back as if she had been slapped. Dawn certainly felt as if she had been punched in the gut.

Larry rounded on Jamison, furious. "Shut up, Jamison!" he exclaimed.

That ugly look on Jamison's face focused on Larry. "Oh, I see," he said, the tone of his voice loaded with something.

Larry's fist connected with the side of Jamison's jaw, and the other man stumbled against Dawn's desk and fell to the floor.

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of Dawn's phone ringing. No one moved for a moment, then Dawn skirted around the prone Jamison to get to her desk. "Animators Inc., how may I help you?"

Manny gave Dawn an incredulous look. She ignored him. "Yes, we do take appointments this early. I can schedule an appointment with you for tomorrow afternoon at three with our office manager. No, that is standard procedure, I assure you."

As Dawn spoke, Jamison picked himself up, using the desk as leverage.

"And your name? I'll tell Mr. Vaughn to expect you tomorrow. Thank you for calling Animators Inc." Dawn hung the phone up and straightened the appointment book.

"Don't ever talk to Anita that way again," Larry said, bringing Dawn back to the previous conflict.

"Who the hell do you think you are, to talk to me like that?" Jamison demanded, wiping blood off the corner of his mouth where Larry had hit him.

"Enough!" Anita shouted. She walked around Larry and stood, alone, in the center of the room. "Trying to distract us with comments about who I'm sleeping with isn't going to work, Jamison. You know why? Because this is not about me!" Her dark eyes were flashing with anger. "This is about a zombie that got away, which should not have happened! Do you have any idea what the fall-out of this will be? We're going to have the police trailing through here for days, making sure we're not some fly-by-night organization. Clients are going to start dropping like flies. And you ... you."

Anita stopped to take a breath, and Dawn was perversely glad that Jamison was looking a little green. All of her earlier sympathy for the man had evaporated.

"You are damned lucky that no one died. In case you have forgotten, letting a zombie kill someone can mean a death sentence." Anita's voice dropped to a quiet, dreamy quality. "If you get the wrong D.A. and a bad defence lawyer, a case like this one will get you twenty years for magical-malfeasance-based assault. And it would be really too bad to see you in jail over something as stupid as this."

Anita brushed past Jamison to walk down the hall to her office. Her door shut pointedly.

"That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen you do," Manny said quietly.

Jamison whirled unsteadily on him. "What do you mean?"

"Magical malfeasance cases are federal, you idiot," Manny said. It wasn't as apparent as Larry's rage, but Manny was also furious at Jamison, Dawn realized. "Who do you think they will call in if they need a federal marshal?"

Jamison went even greener.

"And if not Anita, then it'll be me." Larry managed to look menacing, all five feet and three inches of him.

Footsteps came along the carpeted hallway. It was Bert, his pale grey eyes narrowed as he glared at Jamison. "Jamison, got a minute?"

Shoulders slumped, Jamison followed Bert down the hallway back to the manager's office. When the door shut, Larry breathed out in a long sigh.

"Damn him."

"I agree with you on that," Manny said. He turned to Dawn. "Ms. Summers, you must excuse us."

"No, it's okay," Dawn said. "It's been ... it's okay." She had been about to say that it had been a long morning, but it was hardly past eight.

Manny nodded at her, and swept down the hall. Larry gave Dawn a crooked smile, and trailed after Manny.

Dawn sank into her chair, alone at last. She had heard of interoffice bickering, but that was insane.

She sat, thinking morosely, until someone rattled the handle of the outside door. Oh right. Dawn hopped up to unbolt the door, and let the rest of the day happen. After the fight, a horde of reporters would seem like a piece of cake.

*^*

A few hours later, Dawn, knocked on the door of Anita's office. She heard a surly "Come in," and nudged the door open with her knee.

Anita's office was an explosion of paper. Files had been strewn across the floor; what looked like academic journals were piled on the desk, and the morning's newspapers reports on the zombie were taped up on the wall.

Anita herself was sitting cross-legged on the ground. "What?" she asked irritably.

Dawn held her laden hands out in front of her, as a sort of peace offering. "I just made a fresh pot of coffee, and thought you'd like some. Also, your afternoon client files."

"So not everyone's called to cancel?" Anita asked, lifting the papers off her lap and standing up.

"No, only four. Three were Jamison's clients, and one of Manny's. He's pretty bummed about it," Dawn said.

"They're stupid to cancel on Manny." Anita took the coffee mug from Dawn's hand. "He's the best there is."

"Larry said ... I mean, Mr. Kirkland said --"

"Call him Larry, please. I met Mr. Kirkland at Larry's wedding," Anita interrupted.

"Okay, Larry. He said that Manny was the second-best animator here at the company, but then Manny said no, he was fourth. Is he right?"

Anita pushed a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. "They're both sort of right. What Manny was talking about was power. He's the fourth most powerful animator here. Then Larry, then John Burke, then me."

She said it without any pride, just a fact. Dawn wondered how often people underestimated her because of her size.

"And the thing Larry was talking about?" Dawn prompted.

"Oh, that. I'm not sure if he meant it or not, but Manny's one of the best people we have here. I mean ethics, morals." A shadow passed through Anita's eyes. Then it was gone, and Dawn wondered if she was imagining things. "Like I said, one of best there is."

"Good to know," Dawn replied. Wanting to continue her conversation with Anita, but at an absolute loss for what to say, Dawn looked around the office. Her eyes stopped on a journal she recognized. "You have a subscription to Discussions in Demonology?"

"Yeah, a friend got it for me as a Christmas present last year," Anita said.

"Cool," Dawn turned the book-sized journal around to look at the cover. "Hey, I haven't read this one."

"Take it, have a read," Anita said, waving her hand at the book. "There's nothing in there I can use."

Dawn picked the journal up. She noticed it had been dog-eared, and, curious, she flipped it open to an article on demonic interference in the death process.

Suddenly, the mess of Anita's office made a bit more sense. She was looking for something to do with death. Something unusual. I wonder if she's looking for something to explain Jamison's rogue zombie? Dawn thought. After the little display in the lobby, Dawn would have thought that Anita would let Jamison clean up his own mess, like Manny and Larry seemed to be doing.

While Dawn pondered, Anita stepped around the papers on the floor and went to the large window. She sipped coffee as she stared out onto the sunny day.

"You probably don't want any more company right now," Dawn said. She didn't know if her suspicions were right, but either way, she felt like keeping them to herself.

"When do I ever?" Anita replied. The bitterness in her voice kept Dawn from leaving.

"About what Jamison said ... I mean, you should just ignore him. I've only been here for a day and even I can tell he's an idiot." Dawn felt her cheeks heating up as she spoke. How stupid can you be? she thought. Of course she knows to ignore Jamison.

Anita didn't even turn around. "It's okay. I know exactly how much attention to pay to Jamison." When Dawn didn't move, she added, "Thanks for the coffee."

Finally getting the hint, Dawn left, closing the door behind her as she went.

*^*

Dawn had been very happy to see Craig when he showed up early for work. She dumped the paperwork from all of the cancelled and new appointments into his waiting hands, and let herself out of the building into the soft night air.

She left the car windows down once she got onto the freeway, driving toward her temporary home. The day had been so hectic, she hadn't had a chance to think much. Adding to that her latest self-imposed project, and she had barely had time to breathe.

She begged off dinner when she got home, promising to tell everyone about the rampaging zombie the next day at breakfast. She instead headed straight up to her room and closed the door. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the carpet and pulled a pile of paper out of her shoulder bag.

At work that afternoon, Dawn had taken the liberty of accessing her university's restricted Internet files on preternatural activity. Professor Merek had set up a specialized search engine that trolled the Internet for strange reports on news sites. Dawn had printed off a pile of documentation on recent odd zombie activity worldwide, leaving a quick note to the professor on the department bulletin board. She wondered how he would react to her current job.

Now, she had to call an expert of the matters of the strange and unexplained.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Giles, it's Dawn."

"Dawn, how nice to hear from you." Dawn could hear the smile in his voice. "How are your relatives treating you?"

"Great, considering that I basically fell from the sky on them." Dawn transferred the phone to her right hand and rotated her left wrist. "How's life with you guys?"

"As can be expected. Willow's still recovering from the severe drain on her magic after the last attempted apocalypse, but she's up and about," Giles said. "I'm having some progress on getting the council assets unfrozen. I should have news by early next week."

"Cool," Dawn replied. "How's Buffy?"

"Oh, she's just fine. She got a chance to practice her 'Apocalypse for Dummies' speech, as she called it. The new Slayers found it quite fascinating."

"Giles, it's been a few years. You can stop calling them the new Slayers now," Dawn teased.

"Yes, I know, it's just that ... I hate to sound as if I am complaining, but I don't remember Buffy ever being this..."

"Juvenile?"

Giles made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort. "No, Buffy had her share of immaturity, as did you all. The new Slayers seem rather uncertain."

She couldn't argue with his interpretation of the Slayers. "Hey, I sprang fully formed from a monk's spell at fourteen. I was never immature."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Would you like me to respond or should I just pretend you never said that?"

"You and your denial," Dawn said, laughing.

"Indeed." Giles cleared his throat. "Would you like me to go and get Buffy?"

"Actually, no. I called to talk to you."

"You did?" Giles sounded pleased, and it made Dawn miss her sister's Watcher and accidental father figure a bit more. "What about?"

"I need your help with something."

"Ah, the other shoe."

"Stop it," Dawn ordered. "Have you seen anything in the news about a rampaging zombie in St. Louis, last night?"

"Yes, it made the evening news," Giles replied. "Why are you asking about it?"

Dawn took in a breath. "I'm sort of working at Animators Inc. here in town as a secretary."

There was another long pause. "I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not," Giles finally said. "You girls seem to find yourselves in the strangest situations."

"Don't leave out Xander. Hyena boy? Crazy Indian spirits? Vengeance demon fiancé? Do I need to go on?"

"No. I resigned myself to this long ago. All right, Dawn, what do you want?"

"I need you to listen to what I've got, so far. Something isn't right about this, and I'm not sure if I'm imagining it."

"Go ahead," Giles said, and listened while Dawn described exactly what she had discovered that afternoon.

*^*

Long after she hung up the phone, Dawn was still frowning. The complaint from her stomach reminded her that she hadn't had eaten any supper, and she trailed downstairs to see about that cold pizza from the morning.

Even though it was late, everyone in the house was still up. Dawn passed Alice and Barry doing homework in front of the TV. In the kitchen, Aunt Karen was paying bills at the kitchen table. Her husband, Dawn's Uncle Eddie, was poking at the toaster with a screwdriver.

"How's the battle against the Man?" Dawn asked, taking the orange juice out of the fridge.

"Never ending," Karen said as she frowned down at her calculator. "Want to distract me with tales of rampaging zombies?"

"There's not really much to tell," Dawn said. "From what I heard, the animator was on his third zombie of the night, not usual for him, but he's done it before. When the zombie rose, it replied to his questions at first, then charged into the crowd."

"Dear me," Karen said. "Did it go for anyone in particular?"

Dawn shook her head. "No, it started flinging people about. Jamison got a couple of the audience to hack off the zombie's legs, then they kind of held it off until the exterminators got there to burn the thing. He couldn't control it."

"Did he lose control in the middle, or did the zombie come out of the grave blood-thirsty?" Barry asked from the door. He wheeled himself into the room as he spoke.

"Don't you have homework?" his mother asked. He gave her a look with the annoyance only a teenager could muster.

"Mother, zombies are so much cooler than math."

"I think he lost control in the middle," Dawn said softly. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place in her mind, but the picture was far from complete. "Anyway, Barry, if you want to see the thing, I'm sure the video's been on the news all day."

"Yeah, I already saw it," Barry said.

"Barry, stop pestering your cousin," Uncle Eddie said as he screwed the side panel of the toaster back together.

"Fine," Barry said and turned his wheelchair around.

"Hey, if anything comes up, I'll let you know tomorrow," Dawn offered. Barry waved a hand at her as he disappeared around a corner.

"That boy worries me," Karen grumbled.

"I wouldn't worry," Eddie said. "When I was his age, some friends and I were set and determined to watch a voodoo ceremony."

"And did you?" Dawn had to ask.

"No. Irritating the voodoo priestess in town seemed like a very bad idea, upon sober second thought." Eddie smiled and put down his screwdriver. "The toaster should work now."

"Dawn, you've got that look in your eye," Karen said, eyeing her niece. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I missed something," Dawn muttered. "I gotta go." She remembered to grab some leftovers before she headed back upstairs, though. Research on an empty stomach only ever lead to headaches.

*^*

"What do we know?" Dawn asked herself when she was back up in her room. She looked down at her notes.

She knew that Jamison had done three zombies in a night before, several times. She knew that he had seemed to have control of the zombie at first. "Unless it was only the illusion of control," Dawn muttered.

She knew the zombie hadn't attacked anyone in particular. That probably crossed off the zombie being a murder victim. They usually went for their murderer alone, not bothering with anyone else.

That meant that what went wrong was either Jamison himself, something about the zombie, or outside interference. There was really no way she could check if it was Jamison. The zombie ... the police would probably go down that road, but Dawn pulled out the photocopy of the file anyway, to give it another review.

The zombie had been an elderly man named Thomas Abraham. He had been a professor at the university in St. Louis back in the late forties, in the romance languages department. The group who paid to raise the zombie were trying to figure out something about one of his translations of eighteenth century Spanish poetry. Dawn considered that someone sabotaged the raising to prevent the man from speaking, but she couldn't see how that might be plausible. Possible, sure. To a girl who had seen her hometown swallowed by the Hellmouth, anything was possible, but it wasn't very likely.

She made a note of that in her notebook, however.

That left the possibility that something external had interfered. She didn't know much about the politics of those who could raise the dead in St. Louis, outside of the debacle she had seen that morning at the office.

So did someone from Animators Inc. interfere with the zombie?

Was there anyway she could check that without getting fired? Probably not. She could see it now. "Hey, Anita, did you make Jamison's zombie go crazy the other night at the graveyard?" Not likely.

So ... other sorts of external influences. There was always the possibility of demon activity. Some sort of demon who interfered with the dead? There was that Nigerian demon Ovamobani, that Buffy killed in her last year in high school. Maybe something like that?

Dawn let her head fall back. It was late, and she was tired, and she hadn't even had a chance to read through the news stories she printed off. She also wanted to talk to one of Professor Merek's students, who was almost done his master's degree. He also had a strange affinity with the dead, not quite an animator, but a company on the West Coast had been trying to recruit him for months. He might have some ideas.

But this wasn't her fight, Dawn reminded herself. She didn't have to help save the world on this one. Yawning again, she put the papers in a pile to take with her to work tomorrow. Maybe it was time to let someone else save the world, for once. Why should she hog all the fun?