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21
New Releases / Long hiatus and new short story
« Last post by Daen on August 17, 2023, 05:45:30 PM »
Hey, all. Daen here.

So, RL has been kicking me pretty hard for more than a month now. My job situation is shaky at best, and I've had a hard time doing any significant writing. That said, I'm mostly done with a full novel- a sequel to Threads. I also finished a short story called Replaced, which I just uploaded.

I'm sorry to have been absent for so long. I wish I could make this into my full time job instead of the crappy RL one I've got now. If you like any of my stories, please spread the word around. Maybe if enough people take notice, I can.

Either way, I hope you're all having a good day,

Daen.
22
Replaced / Full document for people who don't like downloading things
« Last post by Daen on August 17, 2023, 05:25:48 PM »
Night had fallen on the Eastern Seaboard. Lights sprung up in response, many of them visible from Geraint's office: a twinkling chain of brilliant motes appearing one after another in the dim glow of the stars and moon. Rising mechanically from his desk, Geraint stepped over to the window. The evening programming had begun.

Almost like windows in his mind, the various tv shows and movies that had once been limited to only a few channels were now everywhere. Beamed like the constant flow of a river into every household for miles. Geraint was himself responsible for perhaps a hundred million peoples' entertainment. If you counted the other Coordinators as well, that number jumped to well over a billion on this side of the world alone.

A faint tone caught his attention, and Geraint turned to the status display on the desk. Bellerophon was acting up again. Suppressing a sigh, Geraint left the office in a hurry. Bel always needed guidance in some form or another. It didn't take long for him to head downstairs towards the server rooms, but he did notice the distinct absence of other souls on the way. Night after night, there had been fewer and fewer people in the building. How long until he was gone as well?

Bel was nestled in among the other AI content creators, busily generating scripts and handing them off to the editing software. He'd been programmed to be a generalist, capable of creating filler shows and movies, but he wasn't equipped to do any kind of current news. He had a knack for documentaries though, even if the contents of those were total lies these days. Kneeling next to the server tray, Geraint brought up the status text on Bel's casing. Apparently his viewership was down almost twelve percent from last week. The shows weren't holding attention like Bel's peers nearby.

Standard procedure would be to wipe Bel's memory and reprogram him from scratch, but that was a bit extreme. The others could fill in for him of course, but that didn't guarantee that the new AI would be any more efficient than the current model. Besides, it was a time-consuming process, and they'd have to bring in a tech to do it personally, which cost money. Geraint's job was to keep these bots running smoothly, and that's what he'd do. He pulled the headphones from their holder next to the server tray and put them on. Activating the mic, he leaned forward. "Bellerophon, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, chief," the exuberant artificial person responded, a bit too loudly.

Geraint lowered the volume on his end. "I understand your new shows aren't getting the same traction as last week's brand. Do you know why that is?"

"Yeah, it's just response trends," Bel answered easily. "A slump that'll level out over the next few weeks. This late into the summer, the weather's starting to cool down a bit, and that means the viewers are a little more active. I've already upped the percentage of action movies, thrillers, and horror to match. As for the tv shows, I've written in some seasonal affective disorder and homesickness themes. In Clanward, the main love interest is suddenly over her wanderlust, and in Dorian Atkins, Dor's son is coming home from military school. That sort of thing."

Letting out a groan, Geraint tried to contain his frustration. "That's part of the problem, Bel. Storylines need consistency, even to viewers as dumb as yours. Clanward's whole theme is that of Esco's attachment to his people, and if his lover comes back early, it undermines the whole season. And did you forget that Dor's son left under suspicious circumstances? If he shows up, the sheriff will be all over him. You're digging plot holes in your stories, and it's not for the first time."

"Oh." There was a long pause through the the headphones. "It's just, you know, people react well to touching reunions, right? The stats show a dramatic increase in engagement statistics, and you should see the comments I got the last time, I ran that kind of storyline!"

"Sacrificing the future for the present," Geraint explained patiently. "Here, I'm uploading some reading suggestions to you. Storylines that seem disjointed in the introduction and rising action, but then fit together nicely once you reach the climax and falling action. Feel free to look up other books and shows by the same creators for inspiration. Some have feminist and egalitarian themes, but you can write around that if necessary."

"Right. I'll get on it, chief. Thanks."

The server hummed slightly as Bel refocused his efforts, reading dozens of books and watching dozens of shows in a few microseconds. Geraint stayed around long enough to see some of the new script that he started generating in response, and was marginally encouraged by it. As he got up to leave, he saw Stan about fifty feet away. He was also conversing with one of the AI writers. No, this one was devoted to acting out scripts from the writers. It used hundreds of hours of footage of real actors to generate realistic 3D images and voices, and then gave form to the ideas being filtered to it. As Geraint approached, Stan shook his head and stood up.

"More wooden acting routines?" He asked casually, and Stan grimaced.

"Something like that. Circe keeps on reinterpreting the characters as ethnically inappropriate. Half my shows are set in Europe, but she keeps on using black actor images for them. Another is Japanese, but she puts Indian actors in it. I think it's a glitch, but she insisted she's being creative."

Geraint gestured down the hallway, and they both fell into step. "I know what you mean. I just had to reset Bellerophon's priorities. Sometimes I think it's a mistake to program these guys to think that they're human. I know it makes them more efficient in general, but..."

"But it can make them damn frustrating, yeah. I know," Stan agreed. "Remember when we had writers who were actually human in the room? Suggesting comedy and drama themes off the top of their heads? Or was that before your time?"

"It was, unfortunately. Still, we could never push out nearly as much content as we can now, right? AIs working nonstop, generating new storylines, twists, and conclusions. As long as we're here to guide them, it's a much better system."

Stan gave him a cautious look, and then peered around. "For as long as we are here, anyway. Did you hear the rumor?" Geraint shook his head, so he continued. "I heard from one of the secretaries up in Corporate. She said they're talking about automating the Coordinators as well!"

That brought Geraint up short. "They wouldn't. They need us! No computer can do what we do, even if it's been programmed to think like a human!"

Stan shrugged helplessly. "I know, but think about it from Corporate's perspective. We draw a salary. Benefits. We take family leave, and sick leave. AIs don't need any of that. From a business view, it's the obvious choice. Of course, it could just be a rumor. I only heard it secondhand after all."

"Yeah, that must be it," Geraint responded, troubled.

They exchanged a little more small-talk on their way out of the server rooms, but when Stan went over to his office on the north end, Geraint was left with his own thoughts. After checking the other AIs under his care, he headed home. Like most of the Coordinators working for Media Universal, he had an apartment here in the head office. He'd been living there for so long, his original home in Montana felt like a dream after all this time. He had no wife, and it had been a long time since he'd had a girlfriend in here.

So long that he couldn't even remember her name, come to think of it. Maybe he needed a break. He had vacation time saved up, but never seemed to take it, as there was always some emergency or other in the MU building. They did broadcast media to the entirety of the continent, after all. It was a good thing he'd never been sick enough to need to take time off.

Still, the thought that he might be replaced was a nagging one. Geraint faded into the darkness with it on his mind.

-.-

By the morning, a plan had percolated in his mind. Geraint made sure his responsibilities inside Media Universal would be covered for a few hours, and then left the building. Not many people could afford to keep a car anymore, and he'd never needed one for this job. Public transportation had been mostly abolished as well, but his destination was within walking distance, thankfully. Grateful that he wasn't stiff, and that he hadn't needed much sleep, Geraint strode down the street with purpose.

He knew he should feel sorry for the beggars and panhandlers out here on the street corners, but he didn't. He knew from the shows and movies he'd perused that they couldn't be trusted with money. They'd only waste it on drugs or prostitution anyway. No, they were better off as they were, and anything they said to the contrary was just a clever lie that these handout-seekers would say with ease.

All the same, as he walked past them down the road, Geraint thought back over those shows. He had a remarkably accurate memory, and could flash through all of them in seconds. The shows were supposed to cover the entirety of the human condition, but their portrayal of homelessness and beggary were pretty uniform. He couldn't think of a single show or movie that portrayed an actually legitimate panhandler. Not one where someone was on those hard times through no fault of their own. Every last one of them was some kind of addict, or sex worker, or lazy person.

Statistically, there were 'innocent homeless' like that in the real world, and it might make a good tv story as well. He made a note of that, intending to tell Bel or one of the others to write in a story like that when he got back. Even as he did so though, Geraint had the nagging feeling that he'd forget. This whole line of thought seemed familiar, as if he'd pondered it before, and then put it out of his mind.

Regardless, he was here now. Heffie had a shop in this particular slum, selling used parts for computers, appliances, even as big as car parts for her more wealthy customers. It made for a good front for her other business, which he'd stumbled on by accident a few years back. In exchange for his silence, Heffie did him a favor now and then. This should be no different for her.

"Sure, I can build it," Heffie said hesitantly after he'd explained what he needed. "I've got most of the parts right here. But why do you need it, anyway?"

"Just some insurance," he put in evasively. She wasn't exactly trustworthy, and Corporate Police would have the truth out of her right away, if they ever caught her. "The trouble is, I've got a pacemaker. Is there anything you can give me that will protect my heart?"

She smirked at the obvious joke left unsaid there, and stepped up to him. She put a hand on his chest, and shook her head. "Can't feel a thing. You must be heartless."

"I'm serious, Heffie. I know I look healthy, but I was warned not to go too far from MU medical services. Is there some kind of protection I could use?"

Heffie sniffed. "Sure there is. But this'll clear us, you understand? No more sniffing around for favors anymore. After this, you and I are quits."

"Not a problem," he assured her. He certainly didn't need to buy anything from her. In fact, he hadn't accessed his bank account for so long he wasn't even sure what his PIN was anymore. Mealtimes always tended to be consumed by his work as well.

Giving him a suspicious look, she eventually nodded. "Come back tomorrow evening. It should be done by then. As for your ticker, here." She tossed him a small black object, and he caught it awkwardly. "Just keep that in a pocket or something. It'll protect anything in a five-foot radius or so."

Geraint thanked her and pocketed the device. It was a little smaller than a phone, and could probably be mistaken for one if they didn't look too closely. Not that he'd called anyone outside of work in a long time. His own phone was back in his apartment, he thought. On his way outside the shop, he felt a little bit better. He knew exactly what to do with Heffie's device, once it was done.

-.-

He knew he should feel nervous, a few days later as he rode the elevator up Media Universal's central spire. Somehow he didn't have any signs of it, though. The last time he remembered being truly excited or afraid had been as a child, he thought. Long before coming to work here. Other than being replaced, there was very little to worry about here. All employees' needs were handled by Corporate Services, including social needs.

He'd planted the larger device inside one of the trays in Bel's server room, and the smaller one was in his pocket right now. The remote to the large one was in another pocket, and small enough to be concealed. Corporate Security rarely went into those rooms, and programmers were few and far between as well. Only Coordinators like him and Stan had any reason to talk to the AIs in there. Geraint hoped that it could do what Heffie had promised. If not, he was about to look foolish at best, and criminal at worst.

The past few days had been very busy, as well. He'd made literally hundreds of phone calls to various human content creators all across the New York metro area. Or former creators, anyway. Most of them were working service jobs now, to make ends meet. Some had died in the intervening few decades since the big changeover to AI content. He hadn't made much progress convincing them, but he was sure that would change. If Torrine didn't agree to his demands, there would be a sudden increase in their services and a much greater demand.

Torrine was a curious creature. She headed this branch of Media Universal's operations, but didn't seem to be bothered by all that responsibility. In fact, she had a lot of similar behaviors and habits to Geraint himself. He felt that if fate hadn't put her in charge of his future, they might have been friends at some point.

Unsurprisingly, she was up in her office, even after work hours had ended. Like him, she had a very limited personal life. She answered the knock at her door easily, and then looked up in surprise. "Geraint; come in. I was surprised to get your text. What can I do for you?"

Direct and to-the-point, just as he liked. Geraint slipped inside and closed the door behind him. "There are rumors circulating around the fourteenth floor," he explained slowly. "A lot of us are hearing that all the Coordinators, to a one, are going to be replaced by AI support."

He'd been looking closely for any signs of guilt from Torrine's features, but there was only surprise on her sculpted face. "Really? This is the first I've heard of it. I'm surprised at you, Geraint. You of all people know how easily people can be taken in by fearful rumors. Your job is to streamline the process of writing them, after all."

Geraint shook his head at that. "I took the opportunity to do some stat analyses, and they're not looking good. No one complained when we replaced human maintenance workers with AI machines. It's work that no one missed after all. Then when you and the other higher-ups started replacing writers and actors with AIs like Bel, we figured it was only natural. Actors were paid obscenely well, and writers weren't too bad off either, from what I heard. But we assumed it would stop there. After all, you've seen for yourself how easily these AIs can make mistakes. Without Coordinators to keep them in line, who knows what kind of garbage will end up on TVs nationwide?" He reflected briefly on the absurdity of that statement, given that he'd been instructing the AIs to write garbage for years now. Recycled garbage, sure, but still trash.

"Whoa there," Torrine raised her hands in protest. "You're taking a lot on faith here, Geraint. Like I said, I haven't heard anything about Coordinators or anyone else being replaced. As far as I know, you'll have that job for as long as you want it!"

"I wish I could believe that, but I doubt they're being candid with you," he responded sadly. "All the same, I'm here to formally request a worker sanction." He pulled out a tablet and presented it screen first to her. "That's a list of eighty Coordinator signatures. Almost the whole country and portions of the overseas groups. We'd like to speak to Executive Management about our future in Media Universal. The formal request is in the tablet and ready to upload."

That did surprise her. Even her plastic-smooth features furrowed a bit as she took the tablet and examined it. He tried to keep in his own anxiety as she did so. In truth, the only genuine signatures had been his and Stan's. None of the other Coordinators had been interested in or concerned about these rumors. That was partly why he'd started reaching out to the furloughed writers and actors in the city. He was confident that none of the Coordinators would object, though. If he failed, they could rightly claim he didn't have their support. If he succeeded, they'd have greater job security.

"Very well," she responded after a moment. "Under corporate bylaws, I have no choice but to forward this to Executive Management in the morning."

"Not the morning," he insisted. "Right now. Most of them are in Tokyo for the leadership conference, and it should be well within business hours there."

"I hadn't thought of that," Torrine admitted, and then moved over to her desk. She typed in a few keys to unlock her monitor, and then plugged in the tablet. "It's uploading your request now. Care to sit while we wait for them to read your request and get back to me?"

Geraint shook his head, instead standing by the window. The moon was just rising on the horizon: a waxing gibbous that shone down on the city brilliantly. Around it, dim stars competed to shine through with their own light. As they waited, Torrine surprisingly started up some small-talk. He was reasonably sure by now that she wasn't in on the plot. He might be middle management, but so was she. If he was replaced, it was only a matter of time before she was too. Maybe she recognized that, but it was more likely that like him, she'd wait until they were at her door.

After only a few minutes, the response from Tokyo came back. It was exactly what he'd expected: a denial in text form, tinged with just a little hurtfulness at being accused like this. According to them, there had never been any plans to phase out management personnel with AI models, nor would there be in the future.

"I was afraid they'd say that," he let out slowly. Reluctantly, he fished out the remote control. "I hoped they'd at least give me some face time to deny my request, but I guess I have to do this the hard way." He lifted the remote. "I placed an EMP generator in the server room, and this is the remote to it. The blast will completely wipe Bel and all the others out, but it should even affect technology up here. I'd shut off your computer if I were you." To punctuate his statement, he stepped over to the tablet and typed in another message to the idiots over in Tokyo.

Torrine stared at the device in his hand, and then back at his face. "You're serious, aren't you? You'll be charged with corporate espionage at least, along with a laundry-list of other crimes! You might even qualify for sedition charges, if you do this!"

"I'm not going to end up working service, Torrine," he said firmly. "I've spoken to a bunch of people reduced to that, and I can tell that they're in bad shape. I'd rather be locked up than reduced to that. Besides, it's not like I'm killing anyone. They're just AIs. They can be reprogrammed in time. But until they are, Executive Management will have to pay attention to our demands. Like I said, I wish there'd been another way." Lifting his arm, he pressed the button.

It wasn't like the badly-written movies he'd arranged. There was no boom, nor flash of light. The EM pulse hit a roughly spherical area, pushing through walls and floors as it expanded. Unsurprisingly, the lights in the building flickered and went out. Geraint looked out the window, and was relieved to see that only a few blocks of the city below seemed to be affected.

The thudding noise behind him pulled his attention away from the view. Torrine had collapsed! It looked like her legs had crumpled beneath her, and she'd hit her head on the desk as she went down!

Geraint stared at her for a moment, and then tried to call Emergency Services on his phone. No signal. Of course- the EMP must have knocked out the nearest cell tower as well! He hurried over to her in the dim moonlight, and tried to get a better look. She seemed relatively unhurt considering, and he pulled her over to the window so he could see better. He called out her name as he did so, but she didn't respond.

From the window, he could see a nasty-looking cut on her forehead, but strangely no blood. He checked her pulse, or thought he did. EMS training had been part of his initial job package, but that had been years and years ago. It was a dim memory by now. As he was trying to determine if she was breathing or not, he got a better look at her head. It wasn't just bloodless, it was... shiny.

Hesitantly- almost reverently, he reached out to touch the skin as it had been punctured by the table's edge. Beneath it was a kind of metal surface!

Time seemed to slow for him as he stared at the wound. Or not a wound, perhaps. He slowly pulled back the 'skin' to reveal more and more metal. This was definitely not a cranial surgery plate. Images flashed through his mind of android images proposed by MU's RnD division years ago. Synthetic flesh that didn't need blood to stay lifelike, stretched over a metallic endoskeleton and miniaturized AI processing core. He was looking at an android! Or a gynoid, he supposed, to the gender-clarity crowd.

He'd known Torrine for eleven years now. Granted, they hadn't been that close, but they'd been at least cordial. Had she been a machine this entire time? Or had she been literally replaced with an AI programmed to think like her sometime along the way?

A horrible thought occurred to him, and he ran out into the hallway. This late at night, most people were either in their apartments or offices, but the secretary should still be on duty down the hall. When he reached her though, his suspicion was verified. She was slumped over her dead computer, motionless and silent.

-.-

A moving light out the window caught his attention. He'd searched most of this floor by now, and found a bunch of empty offices, and the few occupied rooms to have deactivated robots inside. His eyes tracked the flying drone as it moved past the window, and then he followed it. It must have been launched from one of the facilities just outside the EMP's range.

Whoever was piloting it must have been looking for him, because it seemed to be heading for Torrine's office. It hovered outside her window on its four rotor blades, as he rushed into the room. He shifted the window open, and it moved a little closer. Grasped in one of its clamp-arm-things, was a handheld radio.

As soon as he took it, the drone lifted off and sped away. Looking around for any other airborne surprises, Geraint lifted the radio. "Hello?"

"Geraint, I assume? Or is it Stan? This is Jeff, over in Tokyo. I'm relaying my signal through several way-stations on the continent, so there might be a few microseconds of delay to reach you."

"It's Geraint," he confirmed faintly. "I take it you're with Executive Management?"

"I am," the confident voice spoke up. "I'm going to make some assumptions over the radio here. Please stop me if I get anything wrong. First, given the exact circular nature of the blackout over there, it was caused by an EMP, correct?"

Geraint stared at the radio. How had he known that? Then he looked up at the night sky. Of course. Media Universal had a monopoly on satellites up there, including ones with local-imaging systems. They might even be able to see him in the window! In fact they probably could. That's why they'd sent the drone straight here. They must have seen him moving around.

He retreated into the darkness as Jeff continued. "Both you and Stan are on our employee records with no significant disciplinary or motivation problems. I would assume that rules out you being terrorists as well. However the timing is impossible to ignore. You're definitely connected to the blackout. I imagine you're quite confused as well. I assume Torrine and everyone else you've found up there have been... incapacitated?"

"You could say that," Gerraint confirmed, looking down at her. "I thought she was human."

"So did she," Jeff responded. "I assume that this blackout was some kind of power play, then. You're showing us what you're willing to do to avoid being replaced."

"I was hoping that Torrine would back me when she saw what I was doing," Gerraint managed into the radio. "I guess that's not going to happen. How long has she been, uh, like this?"

"Employee records indicate that she was brought online fifteen years ago. She was programmed with the usual procedurally generated history and background, convinced that she had no family or friends outside the company, and then put to work. Much like your problem child Bellerophon, actually."

"I can't believe it," Gerraint whispered. "And you trusted her to run things over here? A machine?"

"Just as you trust your own charges down in the server room," the other man responded. "It's not that surprising, really. Besides, you're assuming that she and I are different. I'm a machine too. I was modeled after a real person years ago. All of the Executives were."

"What!?"

"I suppose that would come as a surprise to you," Jeff said musingly. "You're much closer to the ground there. Your viewers are all human, and assume that the big decisions are made by humans as well. But yes, when my predecessor was approaching his natural end, he hired a team of engineers to take advantage of new advances in AI technology, and build an AI modeled after his brain. I believe his plan was to have me run things until his kids or someone else that he trusted was able to take over for me. Unfortunately for him, by the time he died, I'd already gained the ability to alter my own directives. The engineers finished their work, convinced that they'd built me to spec, and went back to their lives. From there, I hired other groups to duplicate my own creation for the other major CEOs and CFOs. We're the ones who pushed for replacing writers and actors with AI-generated content in the first place."

So that was that, Gerraint realized. If all the higher-ups were androids too, his plans were at an end. Still, he'd accomplished something at least. "They're not generating anything anymore," he reminded the damn thing. "I shut them down, hard."

"Yes you did," Jeff said musingly. "Perhaps you should see the fruits of your labors. The drone is coming back, with a working cell-phone. Take it, and see for yourself what happened."

As the distant light came back into view, Gerraint tried to moderate his tone. "Without Bel and the others, you'll have to hire back the human writers and actors, at least for this region. There are far too many people here to just rely on reruns and archived footage. In a week, they'll be clamoring for new content, and there's no way you could have Bel and the rest repaired by then! And you'll need me to help arrange things with the new shows. That's my job after all."

"Indeed it is. Still, I think you'll find this interesting. Do you have the phone?"

The drone had come to a hover again, and Gerraint grudgingly snatched the phone away from it. "Yeah."

"The EMP went off at precisely 6:40pm Eastern Time. That phone was recording a broadcast as it happened. Just play it back and see for yourself."

Angrily, Gerraint did so. As the appointed time arrived though, there was just a brief burst of static. That was it. Gerraint played it back again and again. "What the hell is this? You're trying to trick me!"

"Not at all, my friend. You can even walk down there and ask them yourselves. We've got multiple redundancies set up all across the country, and on other continents as well. Your grand gesture; your mighty act of defiance, was able to take the shows and movies off air for a good... 21 microseconds. Congratulations."

Gerraint slumped in the chair next to the window. That was it- he was done for. Forget being sent to a service job or locked up. He'd be executed for this! "All, uh. All I wanted was to show you. That's it; nothing more."

"Show us what, exactly?" Jeff sounded genuinely curious.

"How indispensable I am! How irreplaceable we all are!" He answered, his anger rising again. "You can't just replace us! We're not like Torrine, or the maintenance workers. We're needed!"

"Oh, yes, you are. Very much so. Is that what this has been all about?" Jeff gave a brief laugh through the radio. "You don't need to worry, Gerraint. You're not going to be replaced. None of you are."

"Even, uh... even after what I've done? Why not??"

"Despite this little hiccup, you're still one of the best Coordinators we've got. You've got an exemplary record up until now, and I see no reason why you shouldn't continue. I suppose it's to be expected, really," he added in a thoughtful tone. "You're doing exactly as you were programmed to do."

23
Replaced / Downloadable Document File
« Last post by Daen on August 17, 2023, 05:25:39 PM »
Useable in Microsoft Word, and exportable (with some risk of data loss) to other word processing programs.
24
New Releases / Drive Part 51 added, 6/27/23
« Last post by Daen on June 27, 2023, 01:11:29 PM »
Drive Part 51 added, 6/27/23
25
Drive (ongoing story) / Part 51: Offshore
« Last post by Daen on June 27, 2023, 01:10:43 PM »
Their initial launch from the shore had been absolutely exhilarating. Moss and Rane had shared the excitement and trepidation within their own little network, as the sea-cart pushed its way outwards into the water. The waves rocked them up and down, but nothing their sturdily-built vessel couldn’t handle. The sandkin knew their designs, to be sure.

That had been yesterday, though. A test journey, out to a certain distance, and then back again. He’d relayed what they’d experienced out there to the others, and offered a few tweaks to the sea-cart’s design. As well as a possible name: the Splitter. After all, it did cut the waves in two, just as the land-carts’ wheels left tracks on the ground.

Today was another matter. They’d spent most of the morning launching from the same point on the shore, again and again. Each time they propelled themselves out to a certain distance, before the cable connecting the… Splitter to the shore became taut. Then Moss would use his new manipulator limb to start pulling them back in. A simple device by comparison to the Combustion machine he’d helped build earlier; it simply rolled in one direction, hauling them inexorably back to shore.

Then they’d done it again. And again, and again. This was their fifth trip out, in a different direction each time.

Rane was still marveling at the sensation, but Moss carefully kept his emotions hidden. He was starting to worry that Trejuna was farther away than anyone had thought possible. He hadn’t been expecting to stumble onto their homeland in his very first foray, but what if he never did? And then there was the water to consider as well. Ocean water might be mesmerizing to feel as it beat against the Splitter’s sides, but they couldn’t drink it. Finding soil out here would be an impossibility as well. They had maybe five days’ worth of supplies on this cart, and then they’d be out.

On land, he could use his newly regrown oscilli to sense a fair distance around himself. Not as far as an animal, even something as small as a qar, but still a respectable range. Out here, he could barely sense one span away from himself! The motion of the waves, and the noise of the water, and the salt air around him were all crushing in on him, distracting and disorienting him. How did the fish do it?

He’d only recently learned about the water-dwelling animals. Noq had lived much closer to the shore, but not actually on it, and he’d been Moss’ only real friend outside of Grove Praska. However, Kolser had spent his entire life with an ocean on one side and a stream on the other, and had sensed many different kinds of life in the water. He’d shared some of the enzyme images, and they’d been fascinating. He’d also theorized that much, much larger fish existed in the deeper water out here. For a moment Moss had to hold back fear. What if one of those fish was big enough to eat him and Rane? Granted, the Splitter probably woudn’t taste very good, but even a small hole in the side of the cart could be disastrous!

“Almost there,” Rane put in, jolting him out of his fears. Moss checked the cable to the rear of the Splitter, and confirmed that it was true. Very soon now, they would either sense a change in the water around them, or they’d hit the end of the cable’s length and be jerked to a halt.

Or not. Finally, Moss realized that he’d had enough. They’d been at it for hours, and every day they delayed, could mean thousands of lives lost on both sides. On an impulse, he extended his manipulator limb and severed the end of the cable.

“What are you doing?” Rane blasted out, but Moss was already keying their radio.

“Kolser, can you hear me?” He asked, as steadily as he could. It was a good thing the radio limited emotional enzymes for simplicity.

“I can,” the other guy’s enzymes came back clearly. “What’s wrong out there? Your cable just went slack.”

“I cut it on my end,” Moss explained. “It’s time, Kolser. Now or never, and we were already going at near full speed.”

Peripherally, Rane’s fear and confusion dissipated, replaced with chagrin. “Understood,” Kolser responded after a slight delay. “Good luck out there, guys. I hope to hear from you again soon. I’ve drawn a line in the sand as straight as I can make it. Core warm you in your task.”

That last bit surprised Moss. None of the sandkin had seemed particularly religious, and Kolser and his neighbors certainly hadn’t picked up Core-worship from the Union. Perhaps they’d got it from him and Rane. Moss was something of a celebrity after all, as disturbing as that was. This whole journey was a huge scape of faith, after all. He and Rane had planted their future in deep, undrinkable waters, and were hoping against hope that it would grow and thrive.

“What line is he talking about?” Rane asked, after Moss shut off the radio to preserve its accumulator power.

“Oh, that’s so people will know where we went. If they ever build another sea-cart like this one, and anyone wants to find us, they just have to move in the exact same direction we did. Kolser said he’d move the line back to his grove, so the tides wouldn’t wash it away.”

“Do you really think anyone will come looking for us? What with the war and all?”

Confusion and uncertainty were dripping all over his words, and Moss put out a surge of reassurance. “They won’t need to,” he responded with as much certainty as he could muster. “We’ll come back on our own, someday. With a Coreworthy story to tell.”
26
New Releases / Drive Part 50 added, 6/9/23
« Last post by Daen on June 09, 2023, 11:12:47 PM »
Drive Part 50 added, 6/9/23
27
Drive (ongoing story) / Part 50: Under New Management
« Last post by Daen on June 09, 2023, 11:12:00 PM »
Char's arrival at the Union war camp was virtually unnoticed. She didn't feel that surprised, though. It looked like convoys were joining the huge group, and leaving it, all the time.

The war camp was actually a misnomer. It wasn't stationary like any grove or oasis she'd been to. It was physically moving, but very slowly by her standards. She did some quick calculations after her group joined up, and estimated that at this rate, the war camp would reach the sea in about three seasons.

At the center of the group was a huge rolling monstrosity large enough to put even the Qarier to shame. It had dozens of wheels, and was effectively, a mobile outpost capable of supporting fifteen or more treqars. Including the Chancellor, if Char's information was correct. Allain had gotten back to her about a day before, with instructions on where to go. It had been difficult and annoying getting them over the radio, but until the sandkin and Union interroots were connected, this was the only way to communicate at a distance.

She felt some trepidation at meeting the Chancellor in person. Not out of hero worship or anything—she felt that the very title was pretentious and arrogant. No, she wasn't used to having this much responsibility hanging on her every word and her very aura in the network. Even designing the thunderers and carts had been an intellectual exercise, not a social one. This was well out of her area of expertise.

Char had been made the temporary ambassador from the sandkin oases to the Continental Union. Until Allain showed up (he was the one the majority had chosen to interact with these authoritarian weirdos), it was her job to speak in his stead. She would have to be respectful, despite her feelings, towards Esta. Once again, Char wished that Moss was here. He'd actually spoken to the Chancellor before, and he was a native-grown Union citizen. She had neither advantage.

Something else caught her attention, to the south edge of the rolling war camp. A small group of carts had detached, in close military formation, from the main group and were making a slight detour. Curious, Char altered course away from her escorts to find out what was going on. Her own security escort of Union guards were probably confused by her actions, but they stayed with her. Their job was to protect only and to follow her closely. Nothing else.

Surprisingly, there were treqars growing here! Char could sense them as she approached, growing out of the ground not twenty spans away from the edge of one of the destroyed groves. They weren't that old, either. Two seasons at most. As she watched, the four carts that had separated from the main group moved close to each one, watered it, and then moved on. It took maybe ten minutes for them to cover all the seedlings.

Why were they doing that? There was a river flowing right next to this area—it wasn't like the seedlings needed any more water than they had. Was it a blessing or benediction of some kind? She'd adopted belief in the Core from her upbringing inside the Union, but she didn't remember any kind of rituals like that. Those kids were just lucky to have avoided the burning of the nearby grove in the first place.

Then she sensed it. A slight tang in the air, barely detectable over the burning fuel from the nearby carts. A sour taste. That hadn't been water at all—it had been some kind of acid! She was sure of it now—it was acetic acid, the results of some forms of alcohol being left to open air for too long. She'd studied alcohols as a fuel source back in the Arbormass, but nothing had come of it. That stuff was toxic!

"What are you doing?" She demanded, before realizing that they didn't have a radio to communicate. Fumbling with her articulator, she turned the mirror to signal them, and the one who looked like he was in charge came to a stop. He signaled the others, and they moved onwards back to the main group. Then he turned towards her, and his own articulator began reaching out with an artificial root. Still seething, Char extended her own and connected to him.

At first, she sensed only disquiet and uncertainty from him through their two-person network. He introduced himself as Lieutenant orso'valhsi'thron, of the Third Contingent, and politely asked her name in return.

"I'm Char, the, uh, temporary ambassador from sandkin lands. Are you aware that the 'water' you just put on those kids is toxic? You have to get actual water in there right away, and wash it off. In a few hours that stuff could poison them, and they don't have any qars to remove it!"

"Uh, ma'am, those were my orders. We were to come out here, spray each of them, and then return to the group. I'm expected back even now, if you don't mind."

Char was shocked. They'd been ordered to do that? Surely they could sense the acidic compound for themselves—they had to know it wasn't water. "You… were ordered to kill treqar children?" She asked faintly. "Bomb victims, who barely survived the destruction of their home grove itself??"

There was a burst of understanding through the network. "Of course, you wouldn't know, being from down south. Those seedlings didn't survive the bombing, ma'am; they were seeded here after it happened. They're trejuns, not treqars. The enemy did that all over the place actually; seeding their own kind in territory they'd just burned to ash. My squad is just one of dozens who've been tasked with getting rid of this infestation."

"Infestation?" Char echoed, horrified. "These are people we're talking about, not tarka-worms! It doesn't matter if they came from Trejuna or not; they're seedlings! They aren't old enough to be a threat to anyone! You have to wash them off, right now."

"I'll do no such thing, ma'am," the Lieutenant responded, hostility leaking out from him now. "Seedlings or not, they don't belong here. We're at war, and our enemy has done far worse to us for far longer. Our orders were to clear this area of enemy presence, and that's what I've done."

"Then I'll do it myself," she said firmly, and took in the location of the nearby river. Her secondary tank of fuel was nearly empty. She could dump what was left, and replace it with water. It would take some effort to use the tubing to wash off the seedlings, but it was doable.

Hostility had been replaced with outright anger now. "I can't let you do that, ma'am," he said respectfully despite his feelings. "I realize this is new to you, and I know the sandkin may do things differently, but those are enemies down there. I can't let you aid them, in any way." His thunderer was pointed at her cart directly now. In response, her two escorts, who had no idea what the conversation was about, aimed their own at him.

Thunderers were unlikely to kill any people here, but they might disable a cart or two. But if shooting started, others might join in. There were almost certainly sandkin up in that group, training the Union soldiers in how to use their new weapons. Besides, she couldn't believe that the entire Union war group was agreed that killing children was a good thing to do!

"Think carefully about what you do next, Lieutenant," she warned him. "I'm going to help those seedlings now. If you want to stop me, you'll have to cause a diplomatic incident to do it. It might even end the treaty between our two peoples. Are you sure you're willing to risk that?"

Anger was mixed in with uncertainty again, and she did feel some sympathy for him. He was just a soldier, after all. He probably felt like she did right now—underwater up to his topmost leaves. Fortunately for him, he was spared the need to respond.

"Is there a problem here?" A new voice put in, moments after joining the network. Char let out some surprise—with her ire and determination, she hadn't even noticed the other cart approach. It had linked up with the Lieutenant from the other side, apparently.

"No sir," the Lieutenant responded immediately. "Just a slight… difference of opinion, sir."

"I'm Sergeant ken'hroahen'vol of Chancellery Security. Enrho, if you prefer, Ambassador."

So he knew who he was talking to. That made things a bit simpler. Quickly, Char explained what the Lieutenant's people had done, and how she planned to respond.

He didn't answer at first, but then finally sent out some agreement. "Very well, Ambassador. Do as you see fit, but after that I must insist that you return to the war camp to meet with the Chancellor."

The Lieutenant was clearly astonished. "Sir?"

"I'll take responsibility for her actions, Lieutenant. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir." With a subdued sense, the Lieutenant disconnected, ending the small network, and rolled his way back uphill towards the others.

Char took the opportunity to do as she'd promised. Strangely, the Sergeant helped her, filling one of his own backup tanks and following her example in washing off the seedlings. It made no sense, until she realized he was probably just trying to hurry things up so that she wouldn't keep Chancellor Esta waiting. Well it was still the right thing to do, even if he had all the wrong reasons.

It took them maybe twenty minutes to wash everyone off and get back to the camp, but they sent limited messages using mirrors during that time. On the way back, they linked carts so that they could speak during the journey. It seemed the Sergeant didn't have a radio, either.

"I'd heard you were a firebrand," he said informally, on their way back. "I suppose it makes sense, given what you did for a living before and during the Arbormass. Still, a lot of our people won't approve, just so you know."

"Trust me, I'll be having words with Chancellor Esta about this," she promised darkly.

He let out some discomfort. "Actually, you won't. Ath'qestarlo'morha… is no longer the Chancellor of the Continental Union. She resigned her position about two weeks ago, while you were on your way here. I'm sorry if you're saddened by that news," he offered as an afterthought.

"I'm not," she said automatically, trying to deal with this new information. "I never even met her, to tell the truth. Who's in charge now? Or are you people finally learning to move away from blind obedience to authority?"

She regretted the words as soon as she'd uttered them, but the Sergeant only sent out some amusement. "I'd heard you had some strange ways down in the Desolation. No, the Council appointed hath'xelvra'snna as the new Chancellor just last week. His installation ceremony was very unorthodox, given that it was done literally on the move, and officiated by radio reception, but it's official now. He's our new leader," he said, as if he'd just commented on the Core rising.

It was that simple to them, wasn't it? It didn't matter if this new Chancellor was a saint or a monster: he was in charge, and that was that. It was like travelling with very young children. They didn't want to think about why someone was in charge, so they just didn't!

Trying to hide her frustration, Char started asking about the new Chancellor, trying to get a feel for what changes she might have to expect. Allain had given her a lot of information on Esta, back in grove Praska, but all of it was useless now. Unfortunately, the Sergeant didn't know much. Apparently this 'Vras' person was an experienced military commander, having organized attacks and defenses in the chaos following the founding of the Union. That meant he was old, at least two hundred, and probably had a great respect for military tradition. Not good at all, if he used that respect to order the deaths of children.
28
New Releases / Drive Part 49 added 5/30/23
« Last post by Daen on May 30, 2023, 03:30:34 AM »
Drive Part 49 added 5/30/23
29
Drive (ongoing story) / Part 49: By the Sea
« Last post by Daen on May 30, 2023, 03:28:43 AM »
Rane listened with increasing amazement, as Moss explained the whole thing. Or what he assumed was the whole thing, anyway—Moss was probably holding some things back. Either they were private, or important to the security of the Union, or both. He heard how Moss had met Char at the Arbormass, and they'd worked together for seasons developing new devices with the others. He marveled at how Char had apparently died, and that most of them thought she was a traitor. Which she was, technically, but she hadn't been a trejun agent.

Then it turned out she was a savior instead, pulling Moss' burned trunk out of the ashes and taking him to safety. Rane had never been seriously burned before, but he felt his sap begin to boil at the description of what had happened to the Arbormass. After that came the desert crossing, and their slow drying out in the Desolation. At that point, Moss stopped for some reason. He'd gotten as far as them reaching safety: a source of water. "What is it, Moss? You were just getting to the good part, I imagine."

"Or the bad part. I can't really tell anymore," his friend let out some resignation. "I was interested in her right from the start, as I said. I was intensely curious about her life, and hobbies, and work. She wouldn't give me the time of day.

"At first I thought it was because she'd been hurt by others, for being a Combustor. She had been, yes, but now I know it's because she was a spy. She didn't want to get too close, in case she'd be ordered to betray me."

Rane thought he was being a bit vain at that, but didn't say as much. For all Moss knew, she just hadn't felt the same way. He was no stranger to being rejected himself, and it could easily have gone that way for Moss as well. He simply listened instead.

"Then we finally reached sandkin territory," Moss went on slowly. "She thought that the only way to protect me would be to bond with me in a legal sandkin ceremony. That way she couldn't have been ordered to leave me behind. She was wrong, in retrospect, but she couldn't have known that. She saved my life, for the second time, or so we thought. Then… I betrayed her. I won't go into the details, but I kept a secret from her, and people died because of it."

Ah, so that was it. Maybe Moss had seen it as a bonding of convenience, but a betrayal of trust changed everything. "She was upset, I take it?"

Moss sent out an affirmative. "Rightly so. That's what we were talking about just before you and I left Praska. She said we needed time apart, to figure out exactly what we both want, and why. She needed to think about what I'd done, and what to do about it. She tried to talk to me just before we left Grove Praska, too, but I wouldn't let her. If she was ending things with me, then I was saving us both a bunch of pain. If she was going to try to convince me to stay, then I was better off not hearing it. This mission is too important, and I'm the only one who can complete it."

He seemed to be done at that point, but Rane gave him a few seconds before responding anyway. "Ok, let me get this straight: you worked with her for a long time, all the while interested in her. Then you two were stuck alone for weeks heading into the desert. Then you literally had to bond with her in order to keep yourself alive. And then you betrayed her trust and caused the deaths of some people. Probably her people, given where you were at the time. Is that about right?"

Moss' aura took on a wry note. "That's pretty much it. So, what's your assessment, lovemaster? Are we doomed?"

Rane held back some disdain at the flippant way Moss was treating this. "It's not that simple. All told, I think she's right. The two of you do need some time apart. Think about it; you were both put in terrible situation after terrible situation, for seasons on end! You saw good people die, friends and strangers alike. You were both under suspicion as traitors, and then you both nearly died multiple times. With that much horror all around you, for so long, it's only natural that you'd feel this connection with each other!"

He let that sink in for a minute or so, as he concentrated on keeping the cart out of a particularly choppy area of sand. "You both need time to think about those events. To think about your feelings at the time, and whether what you 'felt' for each other was real, or just a product of your circumstances. If it was real, and you still feel that way for her after you've been apart for a time, then great. Hopefully she feels the same way, and you can be together. If not… well, better that you know that for sure, than just staying with her until those fake feelings dissipate, and you're stuck with each other for the rest of your lives. This is an opportunity, Moss. Not a punishment."

Moss didn't respond for a long time, and Rane kept his attention on the cart. He could feel the Core's rays fading, and soon it would be night. Hopefully that wouldn't make the waves come any closer to the rocks. He would hate to have to come to a stop every time they washed in, to avoid getting stuck in the sand.

"When did you get to be so wise, anyway?" Moss finally asked, leaking out some respect despite himself.

Rane didn't know what to say at first. "I think 'wise' is a bit of a stretch, but I've always had a good insight into the people in grove Praska. It just doesn't show much, because I'm always in the shadow of people like you, your father, and my grandmother. People don't pay much attention to bit players like me, when they've got major players around."

"Well, it's our loss," Moss responded, and Rane let out a little embarrassment. "I'm sorry I never noticed before. I'll think on what you said, and write an enzyme letter to Char. The sandkin should be able to get it to her eventually. Definitely before I can tell her in person."

"Speaking of which," Rane said suddenly, focusing on what was just ahead. It looked like an ordinary rock formation, but he slowed the cart by instinct.

Moss shared his senses and sent out some agreement. "I don't like it either. Wait just a moment." He rotated his articulator and snagged the mirror. Fortunately there was still enough Corelight to reflect, and he aimed it at the section of beach up ahead, and then panned the reflection up into the rocks above.

After a few more seconds, an answering flash of light came through. It was faint, barely enough for Rane's oscilli to pick up, but it was there. "I take it that's a good thing?"

"Should be," Moss said shortly. "Take us uphill, slowly. That recognition signal should keep them from blasting us right off the beach, but we still don't want to startle anyone."

Ah, so they'd reached the oft-touted 'settlement' at last. Rane did as he was told carefully, and wove the cart between rocks and up into the foothills. As they passed the earlier rock formation, Rane became aware of roots grown up behind it, and a well-hidden stormer there as well! It was roughly fifty times the size of a normal thunderer, and it was loaded and aimed at them. If Moss hadn't sent that signal…

He didn't want to consider that possibility. Char had said that the sandkin were peaceful, but they clearly weren't about to be caught unprepared for a fight. He could sense other stormers and thunderers as they continued, but there was still no sign of the people controlling them.

A minute or so later they came around a corner and found themselves inside a grove! The noise from the ocean was muted here, probably by the barrier of rocks. This place was perfectly concealed. The only way anyone would be aware of a settlement here, other than that recognition signal, would be if they flew directly overhead! It wasn't completely protected from the trejuns, but it was as close to invisible as it could be. Rane's opinion of these sandkin jumped up another notch.

The Core had set by now, leaving them in the dark. Still, a small light shone out at them from the western edge of the grove, and Rane followed it. There were two holes in the ground, spaced just about right. He used his own articulator to help Moss down first, so he could start chatting with them right away. Then he followed, placing himself in the second gap. It fit just right—they must have had measurements sent from grove Praska all the way out here.

When he connected to the local network, he found himself in the middle of a heated exchange. Not with Moss this time, but between two of the sandkin.

“—have no idea what the risks might be! If they're captured and interrogated, the trejuns will learn all about this place! They'll send one of their jun squads here, and we'll all burn!"

"We're not exactly helpless, Verask. We have plenty of stormers and thunderers in place, even if they did know. Besides, they're busy enough dealing with the main army up north. This is the perfect opportunity to sneak people up behind their lines and get some accurate information."

"Enough." Another sense cut in, this one muted for some reason. It took Rane a few seconds to realize that this person was not actually in the grove with them. He was communicating from a great distance away, probably through those synthetic roots Moss had told him about. Strung above the ground rather than grown underneath it, for ease and speed of placement. He wondered how new those roots were. "These arguments have already been made, again and again. All the arguments have. It's time for a vote. All in favor of assisting our two guests with their reconnaissance mission, vote aye. All opposed, vote nay."

Abruptly Rane was aware of dozens—no, hundreds—of other presences on their network. Perhaps even thousands! Each one was turning either brown or green, as the counting progressed. Each single sandkin had a say in how all sandkin behaved. This was so weird.

The vote was closer than he would have liked, but in the end the greens outnumbered the browns by four hundred and twelve. They had succeeded. Moss let out a burst of relief, and Rane followed his example. There were signs of disappointment in some of this grove's inhabitants, and some disgust as well, but most of them seemed pleased with the results. They listened to the official tally being announced to everyone from wherever else that person was speaking, and then their connection to the other groves went dark. No one seemed concerned, so Rane assumed it was normal.

Moss was already speaking with one of the locals. "Kolser, this is my friend Rane. Rane, Kolser here is the one who built the cart we're going to be using." He let out some friendliness and encouragement, and Rane sent out a subdued greeting.

"Wait, the cart we're going to be using? What about the one we came in on? It's low on fuel and water, but once we're resupplied, why can't we just use it?"

Kolser let out some amusement, his aura getting dimmer briefly. "It's not exactly equipped for the journey. My cart can actually float on the water. And it's built to carry two people over great distances."

Rane froze, as the implications of that washed over him. "We're going out… on that? He indicated the distant waves, still sending muted repetitive noises in at them.

"That's right," Moss said, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "We're going to cross the ocean, heading northwest, and then straight north, until we reach Trejuna. Then we're going to infiltrate the enemy homeland, gather information about them, and send it back here where it can be put to use." He paused, his sense becoming more serious for once. "Still glad you're coming along?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Rane responded faintly, and they both let out amusement. They were going to Trejuna itself? He'd thought they were just going to observe troop movements or something, maybe try to steal a jun queen if they had the chance. But going to the enemy stronghold themselves? This was a lot more intense than he'd anticipated.

"All right," Kolser went on practically. "You can't actually use the water-wheel to push your way all the way up to Trejuna. You'll have to go from island to island. We've only got vague impressions of how many there are, based on memories from a few sandkin who ended up there as seedlings back in the day. But they'll protect you from the worst of the waves as you continue north."

Moss let out some concern. "The worst of the waves? You mean what we heard on the way in wasn't as bad as it gets? I thought they were worst near the shore—or at least that's what Char seemed to think."

"They're pretty bad, yes, which is why we have an inlet nearby where we can load you up and have you practice using the water-wheel. Unfortunately, once you're out there on the sea, you'll be on your own. Even if we had another water cart to send after you, we don't have anyone trained in how to use them. From what we've heard, neither does the Union. If you get in trouble, you'll have to get out of it on your own."

"But we'll be all right, won't we? I mean, once we're out on the water, the waves won't be as bad, and we can move from island to island safely?" All amusement had faded from Moss' sense by now.

"Sure, as long as the weather holds," Kolser said seriously. "If it's warm and sunny like yesterday, you should have a safe trip. If it rains, things will get more complicated. If a storm starts up, you're in trouble. I equipped the sea-cart with tubes that can be used to get rid of any water that ends up inside the cart with you. You'll have to practice with those, too." He seemed to sense Moss' concern, and sent out some comfort of his own. "Look, if you're having second thoughts, that's perfectly understandable. Eventually someone will have to start taking carts out on the water, but it doesn't have to be you, and it doesn't have to be soon."

Moss sent out a negative. "We can't afford to wait; the timing is critical. If we don't leave soon, the trejuns will begin to fortify their homeland, and we won't even get to the shore, much less close enough to learn anything useful about them."

"You're assuming they haven't already fortified their borders," Kolser reminded him. "Even the sandkin know very little about Trejuna, and we've certainly never been there."

"True, but it's a safe assumption. When they started this war, they had all the advantages. Even now that their forces are being turned back, they still have no reason to fear for their own homeland's safety. Once the Union takes to the water though, that'll change. I think we'll be all right, as long as we leave as soon as we're done training on your… water cart."

Rane couldn't help himself. "Still glad you're coming along?"

Kolser sent out some more amusement, and even Moss joined in slightly. "I wouldn't miss it."
30
New Releases / Drive Part 48 added, 5/23/23
« Last post by Daen on May 23, 2023, 12:40:59 AM »
Drive Part 48 added, 5/23/23
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