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Ride of the Deathmonkey
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and it goes like this:
quote:
Ceresport, Ceres that was, the largest city in the solar system. Probably the largest city in the galaxy. A mostly stony asteroid originally 975km at the widest point, it became a mass of tunnels and surface construction more than 1400 kilometers across. She was home to the headquarters of the Solar Transit Authority, seven of the ten largest shipyards anywhere, and more than 24 billion souls. Almost 2 billion more people called her home for reasons of vessel registration and taxes. In short, the last 720 orbits had been very kind to her founding fathers.
She glittered and winked in the darkness, utterly without regard for energy budget. The searchlights that stabbed out into the dark to draw attention to their accompanying billboards were augmented by the flash and snap of arc welders in the yards, and message lasers of all sizes and wavelengths. On approach, her control zone extended across a spherical region of space three hundred thousand klicks in radius, and her defensive net was at least as wide. Nothing reached her skin without close examination, yet she transshipped millions of tons of cargo every day. The crowning glory of a civilization numbering in the trillions, spread across every body of rock and metal in three star systems. And so very, very fragile.
When the rock came in from Epsilon Eridani, the STA spotted it outside the orbit of Eris, and flashed the message inward, but light is too slow. This rock was coming at just under 99% of c, and the message reached Ceresport just 93 minutes ahead of the monstrous projectile. All the message lasers, the energy and kinetic weapons, even one foolish/brave ramming attack, did nothing but change the million-plus tons of stone from a solid projectile to one made of superheated gases.
It slammed into the city squarely on top of the Hansey Sisters Vessel Fabrication Yards, which simply ceased to be in a moment of unimaginable fury. Passing through the space once occupied by the second-largest shipyard ever built by man, the mass of vaporized stone punched 500km deep into the most densely populated piece of rock there was. The shock waves raced throughout the structure, collapsing some spaces, opening others to vacuum. Pipes and tunnels burst open, mixing disparate atmospheres never meant to meet with an ocean's worth of water and sewage. She hemorrhaged air and all that lives in air to the outer darkness like a dying beast.
When the final counts were in, over ten billion corpses and parts of corpses were recovered, and some seven billion souls were confirmed to have survived. The rest were just...gone. With a transient population numbered in the millions, the true count of the dead will never be known, but it is certainly greater than eighteen billions. Thus started the First Interstellar War.
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Sometimes in this life, you will run across a reference to "the halcyon days of ******." Summer and youth are often used interchangeably in such quotes. Anyway, context tells you they mean "the good old days," one way or another. But that doesn't necessarily let you know what halcyon means. The dictionary is not a whole hell of a lot of help, either. So I guess it falls to me to define it.
Remember those days when you were a kid, when everything was so vibrant, so much more alive? Those summer days when everything was washed with gold, like liquid lightspeed honey pouring through the universe? You know what I mean. The times when everything you saw had an aura, all the grass and trees greener, the sky and clouds bluer, even the pavement, so much more there than usual. Those days are just made for the open road; ninety miles an hour, and a beach at the end. The beach may be where you're going, but we all know you're in it for the ride on a day like that. Pedal right down on the floorboards, windows wide open, no radio playing. Just the wind and the singing of the tires. Yeah.
There it is. That's what halcyon means.
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i see those things best not seen
i hear those things best not heard
i feel those things best not touched
i notice those thing things best not spotted
they walk
on two legs
or on four
some are small
some are large
some seem harmless
some look dangerous
all are black
they do not reflect
mere silhouettes
in the night
they run from light
they hunt by pairs
they hide in the attic
they crouch under the porch
they are the reason 10,000 children disappear
every year
in the u.s. alone
carnivorous
omnivorous
they kill
they eat
have you ever had a pet disappear
without a trace?
did it happen after dark?
does it happen often in your neighborhood?
ever catch something
out of the corner of your eye
and it disappears when you turn your head?
do you see these things in the light?
ever find bones
that don't match any animal you've ever heard of?
were they there when you went back for a better look?
or were they gone,
with no trace?
ever see tracks
that are like nothing
you've ever seen?
ever been attacked
by an animal you never saw?
ever woke up surrounded
knowing you're surrounded
but able to see nothing
when you shine a flashlight
into the woods?
ever found hiking gear abandoned?
did it look like it had been there for a long time
untouched?
was there blood?
ever seen a skull on the bottom of a river
out in the current
where you couldn't get to it?
did it look like it had teeth marks on it?
ever left a piece of steak outside overnight
where only the cats can reach it?
was it still there in the morning?
did it have the marks of teeth?
were the bites nothing that ever belonged to a cat's jaw?
ever tried to shoot one?
hit it?
found no corpse when you reached the place it fell?
was there blood?
was it red?
or a sickly blackish fluid
that burned when you touched it?
ever seen fur,
torn out on a tree branch
that was so dark that you saw
where it was, but not it?
ever touched a piece of skin,
dark and brittle
like leather
but not cured?
did it feel almost like scales?
have you ever had the feeling of being watched
when you know you're alone with the night?
when you know the nearest person is miles away?
when there is only you
and the black things?
if you answered yes
to more than three of these
you've noticed
the nocturnal creatures
that science does not acknowledge
the ones never catalouged
because they are so elusive
do they frighten you?
do you realize how easily they could have you?
if they wanted
if they see that you have noticed them
if they're especially hungry
if you merely catch their fancy
they hunt as much for fun
as for food
and what is fun without danger?
humans are the most dangerous of prey
and so they come for us sometimes
they taste of your flesh
they eat of your body
and sometimes, sometimes
they let you live
let you know you've been caught
have you seen them?
i can answer yes to all these questions
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hopping, yeah.
that's what i've been doing. i'd dearly love to stop, but at the same time i find myself enjoying the unique perspective it gives me. this world, what we call reality, is not the be-all and end-all of existence. each and every time you make a decision, every tiniest thing you do, splits off a new universe. sometimes the differences are unnoticeable, maybe most times. but other times that old saw about the butterfly in tokyo/rain in new york comes into effect. you do something tiny, maybe you turn up the radio a little more than you really needed to, and it alters someone's train of thought, and god alone knows where that can go.....
anyway, this hopping isn't so much visiting these seperate universes as looking over the shoulder of the version of myself that exists there. most times, i merely am seeing through their eyes, hearing through their ears. other times, it's full sensory immersion. i can feel everything they feel, hear and see it all, even smell what they're smelling. the strength of the interaction seems to be governed by the strength of the emotions involved. these episodes seem always to be triggered by moments of high stress, be it emotional, physical, or some combination thereof. and i don't mean mine, but rather that of my alter. as a result, i have experienced things i'd much rather not have, but i have also been lucky enough to lose my virginity at least 8 times.
i have visited a world where almost no one ever sees the sky. where the united states and the greater german reich fought an all-out, no holds barred, nuclear engagement in 1983, just 6 months after i was born. in that world i am, as of today, a graduate student at the university of billings, living fully 1200 feet beneath the ground. my bachelor's degree is in excavation technology, with a strong emphasis on electronic subsystems of tunneling machinery. i am an orphan.
i have been to a world that i believe to have split off from that same one around 1961, when the reich successfully invaded and conquered the united states. i am a lieutenant of the waffen-ss amerika korps, a political soldier with an elite infantry unit. stationed not far from the current location of fort lewis in washington state, i recently fought a small unit action against guerrillas in the rogue river valley. the wehrmacht-provided helicopter gunships showed up late, and the first medevac chopper to come in got swatted out of the sky by a japanese-built rocket-propelled grenade. i lost 11 men, and 1 will never walk again. i was uninjured, and my platoon's action is considered a success at high levels. the knight's cross is not a decoration i would willingly carry for that sort of clusterfuck, but there it is.
a few months back, the powers that be in the pax americensis deployed me to haifa with only a spotter for backup. from the top of a minaret, i took the top off the prime minister of israel's head at 1200 meters. i was spotted by muzzle flash, and barely made it to the stairs before the first rpg struck the tower. when i reached the ground, i dove out the door, only to see a truck-mounted multi-launch rocket system turning my way. i blew the operator's teeth out the back of his skull. my spotter managed to pick me up in a land rover he'd stolen from somewhere, and took me to a prearranged extraction point. we had to climb a rope ladder into a blackhawk helicopter hovering at 25 feet, and barely made it out of the city. 15 miles offshore in the med, i was debriefed in the bowels of an aircraft carrier by a dude with an eagle for insignia. he happened to be my father, but with all his limbs intact. for that one, i was not just along for the ride, but i was even privy to my alter's thoughts. "merry motherfucking christmas" whilst gifting a man with a single bullet seems remarkably like something i might well mutter myself. some things don't change.
not too long ago, i drove my '99 volkswagen jetta from oregon state university to berkeley, california to see my girlfriend. didn't quite make it though. someone blew a bridge on interstate 5. my first aid training was not much use for the poor bastard who rode a semi down into the bottom of the gorge.
apparently, growing up in iceland has had a salutory effect on one of me, as he seems to be doing quite well with his young wife and infant daughter. at least he was, until a car accident killed them both. accidents can happen to pricks who drive drunk, too. at least, i don't think i really meant to smash an occupied car with that 40-ton beam the crane i used to operate at the reykjavik shipyard was carrying.
a while back, i walked through a swamp, wearing camoflage and carrying a rifle. there are several other people with me, spread out in a skirmish line, about 6 meters seperation. i spotted a bottle, some kind of soft drink (dunno what sort, the label was unfamiliar and the bottle was oddly shaped), bobbing in a patch of weeds. i kinda stared at it for a second before realizing that it was bobbing out of synch with the water it was in. i guess the guy underneath it decided i must've spotted him, because he stood up, holding what looked like a FAL, and told me "you on the wrooong sahd of the mississippi, muthafukka."
leastwise, he tried to. about the middle of the word 'fukka' i pulled the trigger and knocked him over backwards with one hell of an exit wound in the back of his head. apparently, i was not the only one similarly accosted at this point, because lots of firing started up off to my right. i dropped to one knee and swiveled that way, popping off a few rounds at a some people wearing the wrong uniform. no idea what happened next, on account of i was back to being boring old me.
an infantry sargeant is me. united states army, stationed in tikrit until about a year ago. got out of town with my platoon on the last starlifter to get off the ground, 13 minutes ahead of 20 megatons of plutonium-powered iranian boom. barely got off the ground, too. waaaay over gross, lots of refugees and other people on board. al-jazeera, msnbc, and cnn had crews in the city right up until the flash, going out live to the whole fucking planet. a man-on-the-street-style interview with an american soldier in baghdad (one of the tikrit survivors) about an hour after the blast yielded this soundbite: "fuck that. i ain't going home until i've pissed on the ashes of tehran."
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breathing
in
out
in again
it doesn't seem to help
i breath
go through the motions
no effect
my lungs are starting to burn
and my eyes are bleeding
what the hell?
my ears hurt
a soundless cough
phlegm mixed with blood
circulatory fluid
issues from my nose
where is the air?
the lights are diimming
flickering out one by one
i can hear something now
a roaring
it's in my head
can't see
my eyes
have dried out
it's so cold
the blood has stopped
i can feel ice growing in my lungs
so cold
my hands
i can't feel them
it's warm now
so warm
i want to sleep
i move
but i don't
my body won't answer
it gives me a busy signal
busy dying, i think
it's so cold....
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initially written in 2002.
What were your ancestors doing one thousand years ago? Don’t know, do you?
Unless you belong to one of the very few families who have kept close track, you don’t even know exactly what your ancestors were doing 500 years ago. I can make a few guesses about my ancestors, though. A thousand years ago, some of my ancestors were peacefully farming, while some other set of my ancestors made a habit of raiding their farms. Undoubtedly, this is not the whole picture, but it’s enough for me.
The point is this: do you want to be remembered, and if so, as part of which group: the peaceful ones, or the attackers?
If you want to be remembered tomorrow, be yourself. Most of the people you talk to today will remember you, even if it’s not till someone asks them.
If you want to be remembered next week, make someone happy. Make them laugh, and they will remember you. Alternately, you could cut them off in traffic, slow them down on the freeway, and ruin their commute. They’ll remember your license number in case they run into you again.
If you want to be remembered next month, help someone out when they have a flat and refuse to let them pay you. If that’s not what you have in mind, then make a point of keying someone’s car while they’re in a store.
If you want to be remembered next year, a few kind words at the right moment may just do the job. If that ain’t what you’re after, mug somebody right after they get paid.
If you want to be remembered a decade from now, be a good friend. A decade from now, people will remember you if you were famous, even if you aren’t then. A decade from now, people will remember you if you kill one of their family members.
If you want to be remembered a century from now, be a parent, be a grandparent. If you do both well, your family will remember you with love. Of course, if you want lots of people to remember you, the best route is politics. That or serial murder. Everyone remembers Jack the Ripper.
If you want to be remembered a thousand years from now, you have some very limited options. You can:
A. Be the first man(or woman) to set foot on a different planet. (Armstrong)
B. Become a physicist and come up with a ‘Theory of Everything’ that actually holds water. (Einstein)
C. Scrawl your name across the ages in letters so large they can never be forgotten or erased. Let fire be your pen, and blood be your ink. (Hitler, Stalin)
If you want to be remembered a million years from now, I suggest going for a walk on Pluto and opening your helmet, as that’s the only way your body or your memory might be intact a million years from now.
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wrote this in january of 2004. some of it is true.
you are invited to guess which parts.
---An old man climbs the stairs into an attic, followed by a young boy. The old man sits down at an old, old desk and switches on an ancient-looking computer.---
*starts Winamp and keys up a song by 3 Doors Down, Kryptonite*
"Oh, yeah. That's the one. That song was everywhere in the summer of 2000. Some days it seemed like it was every other song on the radio. That summer was a major turning point in my life. Hell, everybody's lives. I wish i could say I saw it coming, but no one ever does, really. The lucky ones don't see it till it's right on top of them. Most of us only realize what could have been too late, after opportunity has knocked and passed on. But that song, and the endless topics of conversation that summer. Ooh, boy did we ever talk. About all sorts of things that seemed huge and consequential, and about things small and pointless. Of course, which were which is blurred now, the things that seemed so big being all but meaningless in life's rear-view mirror.
"We talked about Napster, and how Lars from Metallica was being such an asshole for no good reason. About the huge uproar over the Y2K bug, even though it never got around to causing any real trouble. About school shootings and "How could this happen?" Some of us discussed how we would have done such a better job in the place of the shooters on that one.
"There was talk about finally legalizing marijuana, and other talk about banning the sale of tobacco products. I was only just beginning to realize that the marijuana was not something I needed in my life, and that tobacco had become a very real addiction. I've kicked the one, but not the other. I was seriously considering joining the United States Army, but not to be a hero. I wanted to be a satellite radio technician. i just wanted the Gov to pay for my college, and give me job experience at the same time. It seemed like such a sweet deal, too.
"But back to that song. It was everywhere. I mean truly everywhere. You'd hear it as you drove down the freeway with your windows open, thumping out of the car next to you. It was what was coming out of the radio when I consummated my relationship with a young woman from the town I lived in at the time. For a while there, it was 'our song.' Then she turned into a jealous, possesive bitch and started campaigning for a ring I wasn't ready to give. She got dropped like a used Taco Bell cup. Oh, yes. Just like the trash she was.
"Or maybe she wasn't really trash. Perceptions are always skewed when you're in a relationship, maybe skewed the most toward the end of one. I wonder what's happened to her, sometimes. I don't dwell on it though. She was really just my 'back into the dating pool' chick. Y'know, the one that's supposed to be just a one night stand at the end of an important relationship, but always turns out to be this thing that lasts for months. Probably you have no idea what I'm talking about though. You're only twelve, right?"
*pulls out a pack of Luckies and lights one*
"Oh, calm down kid. I know they cause cancer. I'm 83 fucking years old, and they haven't killed me yet. I don't intend to start worrying about it now. Anyway, back to that summer. It was the year I turned 18, and I was working in a gas station. Eh? What? You don't know what a gas station is? It's a place for fueling vehicles that run on petroleum-derived fluids. And yes, it did smell as strong as you'd think it would. No, no. It didn't smell bad, just strong. There's actually a pleasant tang to the scent of gasoline. That's actually where I met your grandmother for the first time. I hardly even noticed her, truth be told. She had to remind me that we'd met before when we got together a few years later. But... Ah, hell. I'm rambling.
"Yeah, that was the summer I bought my first car. It was a 25-year-old busted-ass Mopar, but I liked it. Damn, did I like that car. I drove it everywhere. To the beach, to Seattle, up into the mountains more than once. It was the car that took me to and from work, and to and from the local community college. And every other damned place in creation. well, I was sitting in that car when they showed up. Yeah. Them. Come to think of it, that song happened to be on the radio when the first spacecraft passed overhead and commenced bombing Portland.
"Don't ever let anyone tell you that evil sons of bitches from another planet don't have a sense of humor. Those fighters that flew over me had external speakers, and they were blasting out Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" at full power. I'm pretty sure they'd been watching a bit too much of our TV and movies already by that point. I was already in the car, so i started 'er up and headed for my Grampa's place at full throttle. He was the sort of person who kept lots and lots of weapons around, just in case. Look around, but don't touch anything. I've sort of taken a page out of his book on that count. I just knew something was fishy about aircraft that large flying that low at such high speeds, and so... well, I went for the nearest place where i could feel safe and be well armed and fed.
"I don't think those damned aliens really knew what they were letting themselves in for when they attacked humanity, because they came loaded for bear. When they should have been loaded for tyrannosaur. They landed in the bombed out ruins of cities all across the world, and tried their damndest to set themselves up as our eternal lords and masters. You know how it really went, but I don't think those history books you have to read in school really communicate how near a thing it was there for a while, or the sense of urgency that so many of us lived with for 8 years.
"Well, when i got to my grandparents' house, they had the shortwave out and were picking up scattered reports from Radio Free America and the BBC. It was already clear that aliens had landed, and they weren't all that fucking friendly. My grandfather was passing out the assault rifles he'd had hidden all over his outbuildings for just such an eventuality to all of his kin. I showed up just barely in time to make sure i got the AR-15 with the scope mounts that had my name engraved into the stock. Then it was work. Lots of hard work, gathering in the vegetables from the garden, even though most weren't ready to be picked yet. We couldn't be sure we'd have a chance later, y'see.
"Gathering in easily 1200 pounds of vegetables is not the work of only one day, not with hand labor and switching guard posts every half hour to make sure that everyone shared equally in the work. After we brought 'em in, we had to preserve them, and that meant canning. We couldn't use the air conditioning unit in the house, because that would have raised the load on the generator, and we weren't at all sure when we'd be able to get more diesel for it. So we canned in the heat of August with the windows and doors wide open and a fan placed at one door that was powered by an old exercise bike. I spent most of that time up in the fir tree that towered 120 feet up from the middle of the front yard, wearing camo and greasepaint, watching the roads and skies for possible invaders.
"About 4 days after the first landings, i spotted a pair of tanks coming up over the hill, and shouted for everyone's attention. Everything that made any sort of loud noise was turned off, including the generator. It got awfully tense there for a few minutes, watching a pair of armored killing machines sit hull down over the low rise between the house and the end of the road. We all had assault rifles and hunting weapons trained on them, but we knew that would only draw their attention if we had to start shooting. The machine gun nest concealed behind a pile of scrap metal, and my oldest uncle lying belly-down on the roof of the shop with one of our precious RPG's were our best bets. Even with snipers up trees, we couldn't be sure of taking out so much as one tank commander, much less the fighting crews of two battle-ready tanks.
"To our intense relief, when they started forward we saw that they were Abrams tanks. Ours, thank the gods. As I was the highest up, and therefore had the best view, I was able to let everyone know before someone got itchy fingers and did something stupid. Well, my grandfather walked out into the middle of the road with his rifle in hand, and waved the tanks down. He told the commanders that they'd be dead instantly if they did anything stupid, but they were welcome to stay and get fed and sheltered if they happened to be cut off from their respective commands. They stayed.
"We hid both tanks in the main shop building, even though it was a tight fit, and convinced the crews that we were in charge. Let me tell you, that took some doing. They didn't agree to work for their keep until we demonstrated that we were far better at killing things whilst outside an armored fighting vehicle. One of my cousins ended up married to the loader off the second tank, a guy named Lorenzo. Her father hated the idea of her marrying a hispanic guy, but my aunt convinced him that it was OK on the grounds that 'at least he's a nice Catholic boy.'
"After the tankers joined us, the neighborhood had a serious militia-esque quality to it, not least because my grandparents were far from the only people on that section of road to have family end up there, and everyone was armed. I mean damned near everyone, of course. No one under 14 got a rifle. Also like a militia, we were a bit skewed on the male to female ratio. There were 23 unmarried guys over 16 for a grand total of 15 unmarried gals in the same age group. I am not proud to say that we remedied the situation through raiding neighboring areas.
"I saw my first alien invader late that winter, in January. It was an ugly little thing, all tentacles and teeth on first glance. It really was not a pretty sight, and even less so once i blew the center out of its torso. How was i supposed to know that a bullet that might or might not stop a man would rip one of the big bad monsters from outer space into bloody shreds? Luckily, this happened during one of our infrequent forays into the vicinity of Beavercreek, and so did not bring them down on our heads. That time.
"We were left pretty much to ourselves for almost 3 years after First Contact, and learned to get along well enough. We had to supplement our own farming by falling back on our Viking heritage from time to time, but even that became routine. I got engaged to a young woman from Colton, and she moved into the compound with the rest of us. Not long after, she came up pregnant. This was June of 2003.
"As I'm sure your teachers have told you, the second attack came on June 21st of that year, and it was not confined to the cities this time. The godsdamned Hii'irEffa, little bastards, sent major convoys down all the intersates and highways in the country, and there was an intersection of one state highway with another just a mile away from our compound. We couldn't let them that close to our home, so we coordinated with all the neighboring groups who were well armed and set up an ambush far enough away from all our homes that we felt it should be safe for the older women and young children who were staying hidden. All of the older women, some of the old men, all the small children....and anyone who was known to be pregnant. They all stayed home.
"Apparently, our ambush was an attempt repeated a thousand times over, all across the world on that day. The response to each and every one of them was a single bomb, on a randomly chosen area farm. We could not have known this at the time, but when the fighterbomber streaked overhead, I was sure it was headed for the school down the road. It was, after all, the most logical place for a large group to set up housekeeping, and had been appropriately semi-camouflaged, semi-decoyed to look as if it were being used in just that manner. Instead, it went three quarters of a mile farther down the road and dropped a weapon with a yield that has by all accounts been estimated at just over 50 tons of tnt. Right on the roof of my home.
"We never even found teeth to bury. My grandmother, all four of my aunts, 3 of my female cousins, all pregnant or recently delivered, one of my uncles who had a bad knee, several of the older men and women from the neighborhood, and 31 children, many of them relatives of mine, all vanished in a blast of fire and smoke.
"None of us knew what had happened, but we all fell back, and the aliens stopped their touring of the countryside for the rest of the year. When we returned to the compund late in the evening, and saw what had happened, we all went a bit nuts. All of our food stores, our ammunition, our familes were simply....gone. I didn't even think about it. I headed for Portland. My fiancee was dead, so many of my family and friends had gone with her, my only chance for a family and children of my own was gone. At least that was what I thought. I came back to myself just as I was about to step out onto I-205 just south of Gladstone. I'd walked more than 20 miles in a single night, all without even thinking about where i was putting my feet. I realized what i was doing in time to dive into a thicket of blackberries just as a car rolled past. 'A car,' I thought stupidly, before i realized that the only people who would have cars still operating after 3 years of hostile occupation would be collaboraters. They would surely have reported an armed man walking along the road.
"That was when I came up with my new plan. If there were people who could stand to work for and with such disgusting creatures, who could handle knowing that they were helping to destroy all chance for freedom their fellow humans had, well. They had to die, of course. All of them. I'm well aware that I was not the first to come to that conclusion, nor the last. I was not even among those who did it best. But I did do it thoroughly. Not only did I kill those who collaborated, I killed their familes, every single one that I could reach. After all, it was only right that they should have to suffer as I was.
"I kept it up as long as my ammunition held out, then I raided a compound not unlike the one my family had maintained before it was bombed, armed only with a knife, for more ammunition, and a rifle to utilize the different caliber I found. Instead, I met your grandmother. She raised the alarm, as well she should have. Somehow, I managed to convince them to not shoot me when they all woke up. When I told them my story, they offered to give me a good hunting rifle and 500 rounds for free, as well as some food and water, provided I go away and do my dirty work somewhere that would not draw unwelcome alien attention down on them.
"Instead, I stayed. I had had enough of killing. It was April of 2006 when I married your grandmother, and we were never apart for more than a few hours until she died five years before you were born. I haven't fired a weapon except in target practice since I met her, even though it was a full two and a half years from that day to the one when the aliens were finally driven off our world. I pray I never have to pick up a gun in anger ever again. And I pray you never have too either.
*shuts off the computer*
---old man and boy walk down the stairs again---
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