Текст книги "The Clan"

Автор книги: D. Rus

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Chapter Nine

S trictly confidential

Foreign Intelligence Service to the President of the Russian Federation .

 

Memorandum (excerpt):

Alternate checks have supported the information received from independent sources about China's latest short-term development trends regarding the recent perma mode effect.

1. Their building of an underground perma mode facility is nearing completion. Intended to hold 200,000 FIVR capsules, this class-A sensitive installation is protected by an efficient anti-aircraft canopy and is capable of withstanding a strike from a 10 kiloton tactical warhead.

2. The production of unlicensed cloned versions of iVirt4 capsules has been launched at a classified assembly line aiming to produce 4,000 capsules every 24 hours.

3. A strictly classified Expansion program aims to establish China's domination and control of the more promising virtual worlds. In the light of the latest confirmed independence trends, we deem it vital to develop a similar program of our own.

4. Their new confidential software, Insanity aims to spread terror in the worlds chosen for research or immigration purposes. Over 150,000 mentally ill patients from all over China have been handpicked and are ready to be dropped into the aforementioned worlds. Several hacker groups will be waiting on standby, ready to take over the worlds' l ogin servers within a few hours if required.

5. They have created a seven-level secret program entitled The Great Cleansing aiming to conduct the step-by-step digitalization of the following population segments: criminal elements, political unreliables, long term convicts, the terminally ill, the handicapped and, finally, all sections of the population unfit to work. The final figure of the individuals chosen for the program exceeds 80 million.

All of the above is the subject of deep concern. The success of the aforementioned programs would enable China to dominate not only the virtual worlds (if we can still call them so) but also the world as we know it.

* * *

The teleport made our ears pop as it ejected our A-team under the Frontier's striking sun. Fortunately, the teleport point was up the hill where the breeze fanned us against the heat and the visibility allowed us to survey the area before hitting the road.

"WTF?" I heard Bomba's voice full of indignation. We swung round, staring at an old road skirting the hill several hundred feet away from us. A column of prisoners dusty beyond all recognition dragged their feet toward the depths of the Frontier.

Behind me I heard the sounds of a spell being cast: Eagle Vision x10, immediately allowing the group to zoom in on the approaching procession.

"Gnolls," Zena concluded.

"Yeah," added Whizz. "Tiny. Not one over level 30."

I peered at the crowd loaded with their meager possessions: messenger gnolls, overseers, warriors, shamans... It reminded me of some WW2 footage: the hot summer of 1941, fugitives fleeing their homes, trying to shake off the creeping front line. Warily I looked up, searching the clear sky for any cross-decorated wings eclipsing the sun, descending deathlike onto the helpless stream of refugees.

"Fancy a bit of genocide?" the Troll patted her club with a shovel-shaped hand.

I startled at the scary accuracy of her suggestion. "No, don't. Let them go. Don't know what kind of exodus that is. Could be some community event. In any case, they're not an army. They're refugees. We're not animal enough to assault them."

Bomba's face blackened. I thought at first she was furious, ready to squash her employer like a bug. But the next moment she slung her club over her back and even wiped her hands on her thick leather pants for some reason. Only then I understood it was the troll's black blood flushing her face. The girl had blushed.

The gnolls noticed us. The column stirred, falling into formation. The more battle-worthy gnolls were lining up, shielding casters, gatherers, messengers and other more rare gnoll specimens with their bodies.

"How naïve can they be," Freckles dropped sarcastically.

A gnoll officer emerged from the crowd, waving a shred of something white in one hand and clutching a handful of arrows in the other. Stooping, he ran uphill toward us. Surprisingly, he was well suited for running uphill, dropping on all fours and leaping, pushing with his front legs. I shuddered. Almost like a werewolf.

Soon he stood before us, panting, his tongue hanging out. Waving his white rag, he barked something, then dropped it at our feet. Demonstratively he broke the arrows on his knee, then threw them to the ground in the same way.

Zena turned to look at me. "Need an interpreter, boss?"

I shook my head. "Not really. Everything's quite clear. They're asking us for peace. They don't want to fight."

As if understanding my words, the gnoll glared at me, barking a long sentence that ended in whimpering followed by a threatening growl.

Zena shook her head. "For a fugitive he's a bit too forward, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "Who can understand their logic? He could be trying to assure us that fighting the weak is not kosher. Then once they level up a bit, we might be looking at a good scrap."

"Oh really?" she raised her eyebrows. "You think that's supposed to make us feel better?"

"Oh well, this is pure conjecture. Right, sheath your weapons, show him your empty hands, then turn your backs on him. It's not exactly our direction, anyway."

We nodded to the watchful gnoll and performed the requested motions. Then we summoned our mounts and trotted down the slope. Just another two hours, and I'd finally see those mystical Dead Lands.

Yeah, right. Dream on.

The first half-hour went rather quietly. Small game scattered in front of us, trying either to flee, bury itself in the sand or otherwise pretend it had never been there. The bigger non-aggressive ones followed us with their puppy eyes while the real predators huddled up between rocks, swallowing their hungry drool—we were way out of their league. As their levels grew with every mile, soon it became our turn to give a wide berth to a pack of coyotes, squeezing our way between a pride of lions and an inviting but birdless oasis circled by giant level-100 vultures perched in nearby trees. As I eyed the welcoming shadow, Zena shook her head. With her experience she knew better, of course.

Soon we made our first unscheduled stop by the iridescent mouth of a cave that glowed in a rocky outcrop. A pop-up kindly informed us we had just discovered a one-off dungeon: A Mature Manticore's Lair. The word mature meant that the dungeon hadn't been discovered for over a month allowing its mobs to gain in power and treasures. The girls grew restless, casting those buttery pleading glances at me. So much for your feminism, sweethearts. The moment you need to manipulate your man, you use your eye artillery with the best of them.

"Sorry, ladies, we've got work to do. Just bookmark the place or let's wait a few minutes until Freckles sets up a beacon. Once we're finished, you can come back here and pull their tails off all you want. I'm not going to lay claim to that."

Zena was the first to come to. "Now! Stop huddling together like a bunch of greenhorns! We don't need no compact group targets! Whizz, I thought you were our point? Off you go and circle round the group, then! Freckles, set up the beacon, then join Bomba at point."

She turned to me, faking some semblance of regret on her sly goblin face. "Sorry, dude. Greed got the better of us. Mature one-off dungeons are a rare find. Usually they get mindlessly purged already a few hours after their discovery. When a strong guild manages to lay their hands on one, they would sometimes let it mature for a couple of weeks to allow the mobs to fatten up, giving time for XP and loot bonuses to grow. It's non-linear growth, mind you. Those rangers who were lucky enough to discover it and keep it under wraps often hire mercs to help them purge it. And between mercs, we have the habit of sharing our war stories—and discussing our clients' loot. I tell you, cleaners later have to mop up the drool by the bucket."

Oh, well. Looks like I'd have to do the same for my inner greedy pig who was already foaming at the mouth. Well, that made two of us. Still, he'd have to grin and bear it—I'd given my word I wouldn't lay claim to any loot. Wouldn't be very nice to change my mind to sponge off the girls.

All the time Zena had been closely watching my face. Now she smiled, nodding to her own thoughts. I just hoped that the conversion rate of missed dosh to virtual authority was high enough that day.

After another half-hour of traveling higgledy-piggledy all over the map, my inner greedy pig got a tasty appetizer as a vast prairie opened up to our right. Although no different from any other stretch of virtual grassland, it was overgrown not with feather grass or whatever, but by billions of Gigantic Fly-Traps, no lass, swaying their sticky flagellae in the breeze. I nearly hiccupped when I made a quick estimation of the unclaimed gold just growing there while the greedy pig was already busy driving his virtual harvester, collecting ton upon ton of the precious tobacco ingredient from the boundless fields. Talk about the Admins' playing along with the tobacco business.

Having said that, harvesting the field was still a job and a half considering it was teeming with all sorts of aggressive wildlife. But in a way, it meant protection from the thousands of low-level amateur boy scouts who would have descended on the field for a quick farm had it been located in a safer zone. Then again, how sure was I that I needed it here, fifteen miles from the Dead Lands and the emerging First Temple? And what was I supposed to do with all this treasure: should I delegate it to the Alliance or the Vets, or, alternatively, put on my farmer hat and harvest it all myself?

I glanced at the girls who were apparently clueless about the contents of my sensational but still unavailable product. In actual fact, hardly twenty or thirty people knew the recipe yet: the guild leaders, their security people and inspectors, that had to be it. In any case, I had to give it a good think when I had the time.

Suddenly, Whizz—until then busy turning circles around us—shrank and bolted toward us, squeezing the alarm button which automatically sent the target's status to the group chat.

Warning! Code Red! Target detected: Junior Vampire, level 123.

The girls perked up and serried their ranks, turning into a cube bristling with steel and magic. The tousled rogue ran up and joined them.

"Report!" Zena croaked, squeezing her shield and her mace.

"Vampires! Three of them tried to intercept me when that cliff shielded me from your view. I detected their shadows just as they went for me. I was lucky I was all maxed out, stealth and all. I managed to select one as target and slammed the alarm before rejoining you."

"Not good. If we've trespassed on a vampires' nest, they'll hunt us down. The bloodsuckers receive a substantial experience both for players killed and for each day survived. Their chief motivation is to kill and to keep on living without dying as they progress in their Nest's hierarchy. As NPCs go, they're pretty weird."

"Vampires? Aren't they supposed to sleep in the daytime?" I showed off my erudition.

"Supposed to, yeah," Zena agreed. "Only they're the wrong sort of bats, and they're about to bite us real hard."

She turned around, poking my shoulder with her tiny fist, her enormous mount tall enough for her to reach me without any problem. "I wonder if you'd have such a thing as a gun about you? I could use it, for sure. Anyway! 'Nuff clowning around. It's all just nerves with me. AlterWorld's vampires have no weak spots. At daytime, they're strong. At nighttime, they're freakin' powerful. All depends how old the nest is we've disturbed, and how many Elders and Higher Vampires it has. Their Prince himself might pay us a visit, you never know. Actually, judging by Manticore's Lair it's been laying idle for quite a while."

"So what do we do, then?"

Zena sniffed, then slapped her helmet down to her eyebrows. "We fight our way through. At worst, we'll die, but when did it stop immortals? At best, we'll smoke the bastards or even find their nest. The loot here is just as good even though we'll need a raid to do it."

So off we went. Our speed, meager as it was already, dropped to a snail's pace. Those who couldn't cast spells when mounted had to walk. I was followed by my personal reinforcement group represented by Hummungus and a level 78 gator I'd raised. We didn't go too far, though. They attacked us by the book, ambushing us at a particular section of the road which was far too troublesome to avoid. A couple dozen vague shadows came at us from every direction. Even a branch of prickly acacia over Bomba's head sported a tooth-baring monster. Two powerful figures appeared on top of a cliff about a hundred feet away from the road: the Patriarch and the Elder Vampire. In less than a heartbeat, the unstealthed shadows were all over our meager force.

"Control them! Back off, gradually!" Zena commanded.

Casters had about ten seconds while passive shields absorbed damage, allowing us to root and paralyze almost half of the attackers. We backed up, leaving in our wake a thin thread of vampires raging in impotent fury. Actually, we did give them the company of two motionless bodies: one smashed by the Troll's unwieldy club, the other perforated by Whizz's swords until it resembled my Mom's colander. Both Hummungus and the gator had turned into two swirling, growling and howling balls of flesh losing stats at a threatening pace as neither of them was up to their quarry. Having said that, they still did what they were supposed to do, drawing a certain amount of paws and claws to themselves. I was anxiously watching Teddy's stats as I alternated between casting Deadman's Hand and the Aura of Fear. The mobs kept resisting! The young vampire was all of fifty levels above me which made him virtually impregnable. And he was dangerous, too, very rogue-like with his two scythes and lightning combos, occasionally interspersed with his attempts to lunge forward at me and sink his fangs into my vulnerable flesh. The constant pressure from some auras they were using weighed my arms down, affecting my speed and attack strength; my miserable agility bonuses blinked red and expired. Even though the shields still held, my mana and hits kept dwindling—and as I looked at my opponent's scowl, I had a pretty good idea of where my stocks were disappearing to.

I kept glancing at Hummungus' life bar and hit the unsummon button just in time. He folded into his artifact and was now regenerating at triple speed. Very soon I'd be able to summon him again—no buffs this time and maybe for the better as there may be no one left to cast them for him.

Ouch! It felt as if I'd been lashed with a bunch of stinging nettles. A jetstream of prickles ran through my body as the vampire broke through the shields and tucked into my life bar.

I had plenty of hits, about four thousand, but even that would have lasted me a minute at the most—less, considering my breastplate's nature. I activated Jangur's Shield, allowing me an extra five seconds of uninterrupted casting time. Come on now, control him! Yess! The root spell had got him. The deadman's hands broke through the ground, clenching the vampire's feet. He jerked, hissing, his tiny scarlet eyes glaring at me. I ran a few paces back and cast Life Absorption, then began summoning my new pet: the zombie gator which reappeared almost simultaneously with Hummungus' comeback. Without interrupting the spell, I surveyed the battle field. Not good. I couldn't see Bomba at all under the five or six vampires that swarmed over her. Whizz was struggling to fight off two more, her health in the orange zone. Zena was gulping an elixir, ignoring another vampire's teeth which were already sinking into her as she hurriedly selected her team members as targets and sent them the precious few hits she had left—working against time, unable to heal everyone at once.

Two more enemies were hanging off our wizard and it looked as if she'd be the first one to croak. She looked as if she knew it, too. Scowling, she cast a quick spell, sending a wall of ice to swallow and freeze all enemies within a dozen paces. She shouted something long and unintelligible, causing a similar wall of fire to scorch everything around her. Immediately, my vampire's health dropped 25% and two more enemies fell from Whizz and Bomba. Before I knew it, she cast another wall of fire. I sighed with relief. Another couple of those would have solved the vampire problem. But apparently, murderous blanket attacks like those generated an indecent amount of aggro. The released vampires—including some of those that had clung to Bomba—all jumped onto Freckles burying her under a heap of their bodies. The group interface icon went gray, indicating we'd just lost one of our own. But it didn't help the enemy much. Freckles had already done her job. The remaining dozen were rather worse for wear, allowing Bomba's club to strike fear and desolation into the die-hard enemy.

A heart-wrenching howl came from atop the cliff where a couple of mobs stood frozen, forgotten in the heat of the battle. To the sounds of retreat, the remaining vampires scattered in all directions like roaches in a dark room when you turn the light on.

We stood there, panting and looking all around us, but there were no enemies left. Their lookouts had promptly stealthed so now nothing reminded of what had just happened there, apart from a good dozen bodies and our spent frames.

"Bandages, elixirs, buff foods! You'll have to heal yourselves for the moment, I'm all empty. I'll meditate and raise Freckles first, then I can heal and rebuff the rest of you. Laith, go check the bodies. Customers get all the loot."

Did she need to tell me? Every single one of the vampires made me a few gold richer. One of them dropped a small ruby—just some jewelry, no added stats. What did attract my attention, though, were three tiny vials dubbed as Vials of Blood and numbered as 91, 83 and 89. All the drop was automatically reported to the group chat.

Seeing the Vial messages, Zena perked up. "Blood, sweet blood! Let me check the charts. They could be rare numbers... No, no such luck. Twenty to thirty gold each."

"What's that, a lottery or something?" I asked.

"Don't you know? No, of course you don't. It's a top level game for the elite. Basically, sometimes vampires drop these vials, each with a different blood group. Should be a hundred in total, in theory. The smaller the number, the cooler its owner was."

"Why in theory?"

"Because no one has come across the first five numbers yet. Even when we farmed Nosferatu Castle—and we were a hundred-strong raid and by the way, that's where we got those two blades for our Whizz—the Lord himself only dropped number 7. That's the way the cookie crumbles."

That got me interested. I used to collect all that stamp-and-coin stuff myself when I was a kid. "So what's gonna happen when someone gets the whole hundred?"

Zena cracked up laughing. "No one knows, that's the whole thing! The fullest collection I know of contains ninety-one vials. The fucking thing is addictive—and it's hot at the moment, probably one out of three collects them. Here, I'll forward you the chart. You never know, you might need it."

My Inbox dinged. I opened the file. Wow. It wasn't just a price list, but a complete guidebook answering everything about what, where, how often and how much. Indeed, the first five numbers sported nothing but question marks. I liked it. I wouldn't mind collecting the full hundred myself. There could be a nice mega goodie at the end of it.

"So by themselves they're useless, aren't they?"

"No, they're not," Zena protested. "If you drink them, they'll give you a temporary Vampirism ability and part of the dealt damage will come back to you as hits. The number defines its strength and duration. No need to cringe. It tastes of grenadine juice—no innocent babies were harmed in its making."

"I see. So what now? Are we all clear?"

Zena made a face. "I wouldn't be so sure. In case you didn't notice, these were the youngsters, not a single Elder in sight. It could be they're leveling their young in which case they're off to lick their wounds. Alternatively, these were only skirmishers before letting out the big guns, the Nest masters. In which case we're toast."

"So what did they try to achieve? We've chopped up a nice pile of vampires. Now you'll resuscitate Freckles, then we'll be ready for round two. They should have attacked us all at once."

"Not really. Freckles will have a debuff now. They've burned out our long-term abilities and sussed out our potential and tactics. The Elders won't risk their necks, they get their XP anyway getting stronger every day, growing a new level every week. And the youngsters will respawn in twenty-four hours. They don't have much to lose and they won't drop below level 100. So it's fifty-fifty, really: either they're going to attack us now, all of them, or they'll let us go. Preferably, the latter. That's it, my mana's at fifty, I'll be resuscitating Freckles before she screws my PM up completely."

We spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning ourselves up, buffing and restoring mana. Finally Zena shrugged, "It looks like they won't be coming."

The next moment the bloodsuckers attacked us again. Talk about speaking too soon. Next time I should duct-tape her evil mouth shut!

The Junior vampires unstealthed first. There weren't many of them left, seven at the most. We accepted the fight, distributed the targets and began casting. Then about a dozen Elders appeared on the scene, followed by the Patriarch on top of the already-familiar cliff with his entourage of three high-level warriors.

Zena glanced at them and swore through her teeth, shaking her head. "Kill whoever we can and retreat. We can't fight through them. Team up and try to kill at least a few, we have thirty secs at most!"

I chose an Elder busy fighting with Whizz. The rogue chick was desperately spending all of her abilities and combos trying to destroy an opponent of equal strength. I set both my pets on him and began siphoning off his life hoping that the spell lived up to its promise of ignoring all types of magic resists.

"We're leaving! Freckles, pull us out!" I barely recognized Zena's voice. Targeted by three ancient vampires, she was busy fighting them, sending sparks, blood and f-words flying as the four were swirling around.

My target wasn't going to last long: the others had already forced the vampire's hits into the orange zone. Gritting my teeth with disappointment, I activated Destructive Touch. Bang! The Elder lost six-something hundred hits and collapsed onto the rocks. The evacuator popped open. Freckles pulled us out a few hundred feet away from the scene. Trust my luck to land in a crevice in the cliff twenty feet deep, losing half the hits in the process.

I heard her cast a portal spell—a classic group one this time. With a pop, we found ourselves about three miles from the battlefield, just next to the Manticore's Lair. Good job we'd noted its location—well done, Freckles. Saved us the trouble of retracing all the way back. The girls hissed and cussed under their breath and still some sounds were missing. Too quiet. Almost knowing what I was about to see, I checked the group's status. Minus Zena and Charmsy. Oh.

I checked the group chat. Zena was there spitting orders as she changed into a spare kit meting out instructions to the rest of us. I got my share, too:

Relax, dude, this is business as usual. Charmsy and I have respawned at the Guild's, I just need five sec to discuss something with someone, then Freckles will bring us back. Just wait up a bit.

The five seconds lasted a good quarter of an hour. Add to it the teleports followed by buffs and meditation time—the clock kept ticking. I had barely two hours of paid time left and we had covered barely five miles.

Zena came over and crouched next to me. "Keeping an eye on the time, eh?"

I nodded.

"You understand, don't you, that we're not going to make it?"

I nodded again.

"Actually, time isn't the only problem. We won't be able to make it past the vampires. We've got to either hire more people, at least the same again, or take another road past the nearest city, but that's 150 miles with no guarantee of success."

I shook my head, "Two teams for another twenty-four hours, that's fifteen grand. Too much. I'm not some oligarch picking dosh from money trees."

Zena lay her minute green hand on my chainmail gauntlet. "I understand. We've been getting the measure of you. You're all right. You're not bossing anyone around. You're not tight with money. And you're not an idiot. Summing it all up, we've got a counter proposal for you."

I looked up at her with interest. All sarcasm was gone from her intelligent eyes.

"We'll switch to an hourly rate. Strictly as a private offer: the guild doesn't list this kind of service. This way, you're happy and we can skip the 20% guild tax. Just do keep your mouth shut about it, okay? I've already had my first warning. Four hundred an hour, will that be okay with you?"

That was a good offer. In fact, it was perfect. My freshly-gained authority was starting to bring in its first dividends. I needed to tell my inner greedy pig to take a leaf out of my book. Not everything is measured in money. Good contacts and healthy relationships can often do more than any amount of gold.

"Agreed," I said. "But that's not all. You've just said we can't get through."

"I did. But I haven't finished talking yet. Now, I have a friend. She collects those numbered vials. She has seventy-one of them already. Whenever she hears about a new vampire spot—especially a fresh nest like this where they may drop rare numbers—you can't stop her. I've had a word with her. She can bring her team to join us if they get the loot and you don't claim the nest and promise to keep the information under wraps for a week. What do you say to that?"

"I say, awesome! Thanks, Zena! You're the best!" unexpectedly for myself, I leaned over and pecked her snub little nose. Then I drew back blushing as I realized what I'd just done.

Zena burst out laughing. The girls' faces blossomed with unsure smiles. It wasn't often their leader laughed so wholeheartedly, especially without a good reason. On the contrary, this was some serious brow-wrinkling time.

Zena looked up at me, her eyes moist with cheerful tears. "I bet you thought I'd drop my frog skin and turn into a princess?"

Taking in my embarrassed face, she laughed some more, a happy laughter as she blotted the corners of her eyes with a promptly-materialized hanky.

We spent another hour waiting for the other team. I relaxed, trying to enjoy the fact that my money was flowing away, direction unknown. I had a funny feeling everything was going right. Everything was as it had to be. So I dozed off on the grass under the gentle sun.

I awoke as Zena gently shook my shoulder. "Get up, commander. The reinforcements are here. Time to clip the vampires' fangs."

Astra's team was a cut above my own. Although her ladies belonged to the same Sullen squad, all of them were a good thirty or forty levels above Zena's team. Plus vampire-tailored gear. Much to their disappointment (and to my quiet joy) we crossed the vampires' territory without a glitch. The bloodsuckers just didn't dare attack a group twice as big. Astra kept looking this way and that, indignant, as her two rogues branched out a few hundred feet, trying to encourage the cautious vampires, but they'd apparently thought better of it. The tough chick pursed her thin lips, promising to sieve the area and dig it all up as long as she found the wretched nest. At least she stuck to her part of the deal, taking our team all the way to the Bone Fortress. There, she shook our hands reminding us about her exclusive rights to the farm. Impatience glinted in her eyes as she shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to bolt off and add to her vial collection. True collectors are all like that. I remember reading about some rare stamp or other leaving a bloodied trail of collectors' bodies, too weak to fight their obsession.

The fortress protected the narrow—and, more importantly, the only—passage leading to the boulder-locked Valley of Fear. Its startling architecture had a bad effect on my head. The unknown builders had used giant dragon bones as building material. Twenty-foot high vertebrae formed a massive wall from one end of the passage to the other—the wall highly resistant to both steel and magic. The towers were put together from ribs, the enormous skull serving as the gate tower, about fifty feet high, its fangs as tall as myself. No idea if it delivered on its promise, but the visual effect definitely did.

We were already about five hundred feet away from it when a heavy steel spear sank into the ground not far from us. We got the message and stopped watching the fortress defenders appear on the walls: a good couple hundred skeleton archers and warriors carrying shields and short broadswords. Among them we glimpsed the stooping silhouettes of Liches wrapped in their gray cloaks. Considering that every skeleton was way over a 100-plus, trying to storm the fortress without a small army for backup was madness to say the least.

Zena stared at me with interest. "Here we are. The contract's closed. You owe us eight hundred for the two extra hours. But honestly, I wouldn't mind spending it on a few front-row tickets to see you charge it."

I was riding a wave of reckless courage as sensing the end of my long-winded journey gave me added strength and nerve. I readjusted the Crown of the Overlord on my head. "Agreed," I gave her a wink. "Choose your seat and go get some popcorn. And don't you tell anyone you haven't seen anything."