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Rebels Can't Go Home - Chapter 59

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Tek’s first impulse was denial. This entity that made Seeker look like an infant couldn’t be real. His second impulse was rage. He’d overpowered Seeker, hadn’t he? Found a way to outmaneuver her at every turn, compensating for the fact she had started out being able to think faster than him, move faster, have a huge fleet, and more. Tek had broken Seeker, systematically and completely, and ended his fight just the way he wanted. Hand to claw, relaxing, proving she was just something to be hunted, after all. The stars were another jungle. Null zones were pit traps. Preparation, knowing your enemy, turning their habits into downfalls--all that was exactly the same.
“Stars?” asked the Progenitor. “You think you are among the stars?”
Tek couldn’t fight this. All his planning, and it was reduced to nothing the moment a zookeeper arrived.
“I want to leave this system,” he said, simply, honestly, as the Progenitor dilated time around them, stretching words to the length of heartbeats. “I want to see the universe. Exit the garden you made for me. Teach me. Tell me why that is wrong.”
“The universe wasn’t for you,” said the Progenitor.
There was a twist, and Tek’s consciousness flew out of the Liberty’s Call bridge.
Passed a hall where Jane Lee and Nith were fighting Morok, surrounded by fallen armored and furred bodies. Morok reared at Jane Lee, whose invisibility was stuttering, and would have torn her apart with his fangs, if not for the fact Nith, wearing marine armor, helmet setting just turned transparent enough for Tek to see her face, interposed.
Morok took what he could get. Ripped out Nith’s arm, along with too much internal viscera.
Tek heard the words in Nith’s mind, as the Progenitor showed him, all in the fragmented moments before Tek’s consciousness zoomed further away.
Protect… First Hunter’s… Wife… Our future…
Tek could feel Nith’s heartbeat slow, feel her dying, and then someone in the passageway threw a grenade.
Morok batted it away before it exploded.
Tek could feel Morok’s disgust about how Tek had used Morok’s training in the bowels of Liberty’s Call as a tool to infiltrate deep the super Titan, bringing Vendion closer to Seeker. Morok considered this a betrayal of his and Tek’s agreement. Morok thought that he had been the one to hew closer to the terms.
Jane Lee took the moment to attack Morok again.
Tek could hear her mind, too.
I can’t let him down. I can’t let him down. These were almost the only cogent thoughts in Jane Lee’s mind, on repeat, and echo, as she used her jet to bounce off the wall, a sort of environmental move Tek might have done, and came around to the intersection between Morok’s abdomen and cephalothorax. The combination of jungle strategy and specops technique had slipped past Morok’s cor-vo-bitten leg, and his guard. From above, Jane Lee stabbed down with her microedge and rifle bayonet.
Morok purr-roared, Nith’s heart stopped beating, and someone threw another grenade, or maybe a microcharge.
The passageway went white. Tek’s disembodied mind continued to flee, and expand, until he found himself outside the Liberty’s Call, looking at the ship that had bitten it.
Looking at the gargantuan, kilometers-long cor-vo that swam in space by the Titan’s side, needing no air, more true and beautiful than the battleships designed for void that hung like decorations around it.
Your vessel, Tek thought to the Progenitor. You need a ship? I like the aspect you chose as its form.
The Progenitor laughed, and it seemed nearby Titans themselves rattled in mirth. That’s just another part of me, Little One.
Tek found himself staring into the false cor-vo’s beak, as it flickered into a lion, a dragon, and then a hundred other shapes from distant planets or philosophy that Tek had never learned. His consciousness, buoyed by the Progenitor, continued to expand, or maybe be merged with the Progenitor’s own, until Tek’s vision was filled with what seemed like a holographic view of the entire battlefield, almost exactly what he remembered from the display Seeker had put on to try to flatter him, spanning well beyond both ends of the null maze.
The true scope of the cor-vo was apparent here. It was size of a planet. It was still just an avatar. Its gravitational pull affected none of the ships or stellar environment that swirled around, because the Progenitor had neatly diverted that effect to trouble a different dimension. A span astronomical units in all directions rippled, and the battle Tek had worked so hard to set to his favor stressed up and down, like the Home Fleet was conformed to the surface of a vicious ocean current, stretched almost unrecognizable, and yet unharmed, because this was exactly the way the true universe always was, and humans were just too blind to see.
Tek had the distinct sense he was being offered just a fraction of what the Progenitor perceived.
Do they see you? asked Tek, referring to the monolithic avatar. Did the fighting stop?
They perceive, said the Progenitor. Not exactly as you do--their instruments warp and stutter, as if I am a singularity, or a sun--but they, and the hybrids on the bridge, did perceive a fraction of what I allow you to witness in more complete glory. Few flatlings--even not Seeker, who you terrified so--get to perceive a Progenitor so clearly. Most do not know us when we interact. You are lucky, perhaps, to see such a great percentage of the truth. Closer and you would be ripped apart. You can touch the totality of what I am no more than an organism trapped on a scientist’s slide can rear to the height of its tester.
Is that what you are? asked Tek, as the binary stars themselves kaleidoscoped and spun, as Tek’s consciousness was pulled by the Progenitor even further outwards. All was nothing, and the light and dark was the same, and Tek was torn into pieces and everywhere at once. If he had to use a metaphor, it was as if the Progenitor had pulled Tek into a womb.
Enough, agreed the Progenitor. My brethren do many things more interesting than observing the human stain upon its slice of the universe, but someone has to make sure the bugs don’t crawl in the house.
Tek saw a fragment image that reminded him of Crystal Sector.
All those colonists? he wondered. They were on someone’s lawn?
The swirling lights that threatened to overwhelm Tek belched further accord. You are a quick one, said the Progenitor. The Icarus metaphor you thought, on Liberty’s Call*. An instructor in the Academy vids only gave that Earth mythological reference once, and you noticed the relevance immediately. You are amusing. Someone more sentimental than me might even call you a delight.*
“Now,” said the Progenitor, abrupting sitting in a high-backed blue chair, behind a desk, surrounded by a gray void. It appeared in the shape of Weri, Tek’s mother. Not how she’d been, but how he remembered her, too beautiful to be real, smile larger the sun, formed warped, as if seen through a bubble, because Tek’s memories were old and faded. “We have business. The bugs, as you might say, are threatening again to get in the house. As part of the protocol, the tradition, I am supposed to examine one, and he who climbed to the top of the anthill seemed like the right choice. Seeker was fumigation chemical. The next fumigation chemical we make must be better.”
Tek knew he had to keep the Progenitor talking. He knew the Progenitor was peering into his mind far more thoroughly than a neural link ever could, knew that his new stratagem had been dissected and understood the moment he’d thought it up. Tek could only hope the stratagem was the sort that worked even if the instructions were clearly broadcast from the label.
“Fermi paradox,” he said. “That’s what you are. The answer to the riddle.”
Tek was seated in front of the Progenitor, in an ancient leather chair. The Progenitor leaned forwards. “Explain.”
“In the xenoanthropology lecture I listened to,” said Tek. “Professor Dewan was talking about the SETI project, and how for so many years, humans in the old days couldn’t find signs of sentient life around distant stars, even though they tried so hard to hear. The classic explanation, the pessimistic interpretation of the Drake equation, was that the chances of sentient life were so tiny that humans were alone in the universe. A quirk of fractional chances of star and planet formation rates, habitable zone location chances, abiogenesis, the nature of civilizational formation, and the nature of signal emission. No one had good numbers to put in the Drake equation, but much speculation centered around the idea that it was hard to create life from nothing. The pre-civilization odds, if you will. I think this is true, but I also think your species is ancient, and became lords of the stars far before Apollo went to the Moon. Why didn’t my ancestors detect you? Because the way you communicate naturally was far beyond the ability of the SETI electromagnetic receivers to notice. We were never alone, not for one day of our history, but we were unable to perceive.”
“You’re not saying the part you think will annoy me,” said the Progenitor.
“If you came first,” said Tek. “Because someone had to, you squashed all the others. Because they were bugs to you. Maybe your species was born extradimensional, and maybe the other species were likewise different from humans in ways mind-boggling to comprehend, but they were out there, just as you were out there, and you killed them. Maybe not intentionally. The sixth extinction of Earth, which occured around the time humanity developed space travel, involved, relevantly, the deaths of hundreds of animal species, with a special focus on animals that disturbed human hegemony on Earth. So many species, like the sort of tiger Larcery may have been made in the image of, survived only with human intervention. Or in zoos.”
Tek couldn’t help but smile. “The garden worlds. You think you’re showing a kindness, don’t you? Sweep humanity out of the way, set up preserves, because otherwise, the industrialists among you, the poachers, the ones who want to kill for amusement, or merely because they want to build your equivalent of a highway, will wipe us out merely by going through the natural action of what it means to be a citizen or company in a civilization as fantastically advanced as yours.”
“You are much less than a tiger to us,” said the Progenitor. It didn’t sound like a criticism. Not really. Just a statement of fact.
“Are you sorry?” asked Tek. “You, who arrived to your sentience and power first? You who might have been us, had our times been swapped, had we come into our own billions of years ago, like your kind?”
“We do not count time as you do,” said the Progenitor. “We count universes. I need to undo you now. Remove the chief pest, and set K-3423 back, mostly, to the way it was. You are amusing, just like your grandfather--” Tek saw a flash of this Progenitor hiding behind Uk’s eyes, terrifying Aratan into vowing to spend his life guarding the escape pod “--but you were not the first, and will not be the last. I have an itinerary. I ripped everything from your mind the moment we met, your permutations, possibilities, but while it is not a waste of time to watch a dog perform a trick you know it knows, I have a job to do. People to see. I am not alone in the universe, even if I will never recognize humanity as an equal. You were right about Progenitors having a civilization.”
“Wait,” said Tek.
“The anthropic principle. Your kind will eventually be beaten. Even if by entropy. As you said, there will be many bugs after me. There is a value in keeping something like me. Giving me a larger preserve than just the planet. Scientific or leisurewise.”
“Entropy?” the Progenitor asked.
“A constant,” said Tek. “Just as the people of the Union flatter themselves to wear ornate clothing, which always thins, we are all worn by the universe itself.”
“I know what entropy is, Little One. Let me show you.”
The room was gone. Tek’s body was gone. There was nothing. Then an explosion. Quarks making atoms making galactic density variations making suns, which erupted into heavier atoms and built new suns and worlds. Tek imagined the elegance was better than what had existed in the universe containing K-3423-H1, and Earth. The creation of a new universe, as an art piece. Was it real?
Tek found himself zooming towards a sun, feeling all the intensity of its heat, somehow without any pain. As a tickle. Perception. Pleasure.
Flying through the corona of one of these yellow factories is like a bath, isn’t it? asked the Progenitor. It’s so much colder when you get to the chromosphere, only a few thousand Kelvin, but if you want the real hot tub, you just need to move through to the center. Fifteen million Kelvin. There’s a galactic collision in your universe I could show you that gets into the hundreds of millions, surprisingly accessible via tachyon currents, but if I brought you there, some of my kind would ask me why I wasn’t working. I hope the house I built is proof sufficient to show that my kind tamed entropy the way your kind tamed fire.
The ‘house’ the Progenitor made wasn’t the sun. It was the entire little universe the Progenitor had created for Tek, just to prove a point. Tek felt it. This universe was real. Tek was standing on the closest the sun had to a surface, the dense plasma at its core, and, thanks to the way the Progenitor sheltered him, he could feel a facsimile of what the Progenitor was enjoying.
The right metaphor was akin to washing one’s hands.
To something on the scale of a Progenitor, a star was an appliance.
They popped back to the room with the desk. “Don’t drop your matches,” said the Progenitor. “Every one of our children knows how to prevent the heat death of a universe. You have no idea what to even threaten me with. This is the end. You knew your mother as Weri. Aratan used a pet name for her, Nila. You never knew a fact so close to you. What other infinities are beyond your reach?”
“Track-jeeps,” said Tek. “Tread-jeeps. Synonyms. Superficial. What words intend matter. Was I an idiot because I started off with an accent the people of the Union could barely understand? Entropy was a metaphor too, at least the way I meant it. Your kind has a relationship with the universes you swim through and build. If this is a formality, and I could never be of use to you kept alive, why have you spent so long talking with me?”
“Zigfried Torgus thought as you did,” said the Progenitor. “He was memorable. He grew up on one of the planets pruned early from the edges of what the Union called the Prime Colonies. He launched a rebellion. Seized the world’s environmental controls and defeated two who were like Seeker, if at more of a remove than you did. He understood us as well as any human could. Thought he would escape our notice. Thought we would think he was amusing. Even began to commit the sort of brutalities our greater servants seem to enjoy, because he thought he could humor us through his revolution’s self-imposed restrictions. Several of his memory-clones are screaming in boxes, somewhere. We do not take kindly to those who think they know what we want.”
“I have no interest in proceeding further while guessing at your desires,” said Tek. “I merely wish to point out that there is a use you can set me to, you, who find so many things beneath your notice, who has no interest in using the full might of the Progenitors to burn a house down looking for ants. I will not pledge to keep my rebellion within constraints, if you let me free. Laws of war such as were established in Hague or Geneva are not appropriate to the relationship between humans and Progenitors. As we are, we can never be equals. Nor will I pledge to be your mindless tool. You do not want that. You do not need that. What I believe you want are people like Seeker. I defeated her. You clapped. Consider that my audition.”
“You fought so hard to tear us down,” said the Progenitor. “Why are you willing to give up? Go corporate? Be the opposite?”
“Because I see you,” said Tek. “I look up at the totality of what you are, in half-wonder, half-confusion, just as I did when I first saw the Gyrfalcon in the sky. The Not-Bird. And, with time to think and reflect, I can change my approach. I came to the conclusion that I craved going the sky after feeling the loss of the outsiders disappear. Just as now, I come to the conclusion that the only salvage I can manage here is to offer the services of everything I have and may build. You know this is no lie. That, while I will always strive for the benefit of those who have vested any trust in me, that count includes you. Will be overwhelmed by you. And you do not need any trust, not really. Because even now, you are dissecting my mind, and see that I have made an iron vow that any permutation of my future will be for your benefit.”
Strengths to weaknesses, thought Tek. One becomes the other. One as powerful as Seeker would never dare trust him. But for a Progenior, who had very little at stake, and could verify…
“You will have other objectives too,” said the Progenitor.
Tek inclined his head. “Of course. Just as Seeker did. But, as I was better than her, I think I can satisfy your desires more.”
“You know I am an exterminator,” said the Progenitor. “The things I will ask of you will be both horrific and nearly impossible, because I would only want to get maximum use out of my tools. No point in sparing the brush.”
“I will find a way to satisfy my morality and your will,” said Tek. “You know this. You predicted every word of this conversation. I thank you for humoring me, and not disappearing after the first moment, leaving me to wonder if our communication was real.”
“I was not always unkind,” said the Prognitor, morphing to the visage of Brian Alves. “I have a family, you know. In my discretion as an exterminator in this sector of space, I dub you my hand. Pending the outcome of three trials. The first is simple, and I know you will pass, but you must hear it.”
“You, who have fought for humanity, are not human. Tell me what you think of that, Tek of Zhadir’.”
“Tell me what you mean,” asked Tek, gripping the armrests of the leather chair that was probably three thousands other things besides.
“Did you ever notice that you and Aratan were a bit above mere mortals? That the only human who could keep up with you was a juiced MMA champion, and that, barely? Did you notice that she beat you in part because you allowed it? Did you notice that you absorbed more knowledge in the short weeks you spent knowing about the stars than most Academy graduates dream of? Did you notice that you matched wits with a part-machine that was supposed to be able to think faster than you, and with the bare advantage that Seeker didn’t know you were coming, kept it that way, and have already made one part in ten of her fleet your own? Does that sound human, Tek of Zhadir’?”
“You will not take my accomplishments away from me merely by pointing out they happened,” said Tek. “I imagine I was lucky as well as skilled. The anthropic principle would suggest that there are any number of people who could have been me, who were so good at organizing that their forces raged on without them, but who were taken out before they reached full prime. If you wish to flatter me, and say I was destined, Elder Progenitor, I will happily give more commentary if you tell me why.”
“Your lineage traces to certain eugenics programs from the early days of human spaceflight,” said the Progenitor. “Your ancestors who knew Earth were bred like cattle. One tech-head told to marry another. Olympic athletes too. Until the seed was so great that it persisted in the body of a passenger on the Procession of Paradise even after the program was shut down. Aratan’s grandmother, did not, after her mind was wiped, bear many children, and not all of those in the line of decent possessed the traits that human scientists worked so hard to build. Some did, in various degrees and expressions. Aratan. Sten. You.”
“People who are similar sometimes have children,” said Tek. “Arranged marriages existed among clanfolk and among cityfolk, back on a certain world that I mourn. To be the product of ancestors who had their own adventures, or were bent to the whims of others, is to be human.”
“You do not understand,” said the Progenitor. “There were gene therapies too. And the stock that made you had notable traits. A fairly large portion of your DNA is Homo neanderthalensis.”
“A sentient species that grew up beside Homo sapiens humans on Earth,” said Tek, straining to remember. “Overrun, but not so different to prevent some from interbreeding with their conquerors. I am proud to continue their legacy. To merge the lines. I am still human. And so were they, in every way that matters.”
“Gene therapies,” said the Progenitor. “That part can by no stretch be considered natural. You are no role model for children to follow. You were blessed beyond their ken. That which you have worked for, mildly, is beyond the abilities of many who would devote their lives.”
“What is a identity?” asked Tek. “When a company drops popultants in the water and the next generation of fish are mutant fish, do those fish not deserve the title? When a person has an accident, loses a limb, and gets a prosthetic, stronger, does that person stop being human? When a person merges their decision making much with a link, does that make the person inhuman? I do not think in the worlds we live in, you can draw so bright a line. In this day and age, with the right backing, choices, or luck, it would not be impossible for any human alive to become at least a fraction of Seeker. Your kind doesn’t make it that easy to become a hybrid, but as far as I can tell, being a hybrid--stronger than me at baseline, mind you--is more a matter of choice for those living on Progenitor Administration worlds than you would care for me to remember. And I was told--Jane Lee told” (the Progenitor forced Tek to say the name) “that there are certain experimental Union military programs that do some fraction of the same. You try to make the science that made me sound unique, but the legacy continues, even if the specific program was canceled. And there were others who strove towards similar goals as me. You said it yourself. There are things I have been given that others do not have--the worlds are unfair--but they are unfair at all levels. A thousand barriers separating classes of those you would trivially consider human. Ten thousand different skillsets, and more, each with different cheats. Everyone has a unique combination of traits, everyone can improve from their various starting gates, and everyone is best at something.”
“Tell that to a cripple,” said the Progenitor.
“Cripple in what?” asked Tek. “Mind or body? Besides, compared to you, I fit the word without qualifiers. It’s almost as if I’m human.”
One advantage of the Progenitor knowing Tek’s soul was that Tek figured the jab, once thought, was as good as said.
“I said you would pass,” said the Progenitor. “I accept your delusion. The next trial is a sacrifice. Everyone who joins us must offer something. Initiation rituals are important, even for someone of your will. You must know how much you have given up to be my hand. You will be nowhere near as effective, otherwise.”
“Make me a hybrid,” said Tek. “Make me like Morok, so I can mourn that I was not able to be a better friend. Take my body, do whatever you want to it, take it from me entirely, put me in a computer, split my soul in two-- I will suffer anything, and gladly. You know this.”
“I will keep you just as you are, Tek of Zhadir’,” said the Progenitor. “I think I will go after your brother.”
Tek stayed externally composed, but he imagined that for something like the Progenitor, he might as well have not bothered. The Progenitor, returning to looking like a dream version of his mother, nodded along.
“I will offer a choice,” said the Progenitor. “To make your decision as painful as possible. It is not, ‘give me Sten, or die.’ It will be, ‘give me Sten, or go back to the way things were.’ In the option where you back out, I will restore K-3423-H1. Put the re’eef back, and all the other animals, plants, fungi, etcetera. Resurrect facsimiles of all the dead. Many of these facsimiles may be the real thing, by your estimation. Just as there are competing human standards of death--easier with the heart than the brain--the standards by which my kind judges end are pushed to the limit further still. You can have all this, be restored to the jungle, with Sten. I will even throw in a boon and make it so he will not die of illness. I will force you alone to keep your memories, of course, so you will always know. I will take the pod and the Paradise, and I will close a dome around the world, that pretends to be the sky, so nothing will enter or leave until long after you are dust. But you will be as happy as you could possibly be on that planet. You will probably get to retake Ba’am.”
“I cannot say if he will be your grandfather,” said the Progenitor. “My standards are different than yours. But he will certainly think he is Aratan. I will undo every bit of the suffering that came with the Gyrfalcon, and his death counts.”
“Or you give me Sten of your own free will,” said the Progenitor. “I will pluck him from the Restoration where he sits, and make him mine. And with that small change complete, I will return you to the moment of your triumph over Seeker. Not that it is so impressive. Seeker was barely a newborn. You will need to finish Seeker, clean up her fleet, and be ready for my instructions, when they arrive. I will offer no assistance with this. If Seeker manages to save self, or if you falter, you are no instrument that can help me. At the start, you will be trapped on Liberty’s Call, surrounded by hybrids, and your battleships, themselves nearly surrounded in the null maze, will be outnumbered nearly by a order of magnitude. Sten, whatever I will do to him--he may be the only member of the Alliance who lives. Ripping out the heart of the Home Fleet, Seeker, does not guarantee victory. There are many who are anxious to serve. Even if you win, your dead will stay dead. And the survivors will, through you, be enslaved to a being that cares not one iota whether they live or die, unless of course, you make a mistake and fly to contaminate the wrong part of the universe.”
“What is your name?” asked Tek. “I would like to know what to call the being to whom I swear allegiance.”
“No hesitation,” said the Progenitor. “I knew it was coming, but it is still a sight to see. Amuse me further. Tell the audience why you would sacrifice your brother.”
“It cannot be for nothing. Even if the result will be tainted from what first I wanted. The stars are worth fighting for. I will not falter now. I will break the Home Fleet.”
“Once, you said it was all for your brother. For his future.”
“Maybe that was a lie I told myself,” said Tek. “Or maybe it was always one of the reasons, because I am complex, like we all are. A reason you have forced me to drop because, as I am fallible, it is no longer the reason at the center. I notice you do not say what you will do with Sten. You do not say that you will kill him. I imagine you would not like the creature you made if you asked me to agree to that.”
“The atrocities you would commit in my name, and for your grief, would make Seeker’s pale,” the Progenitor said readily. “I already have such tools.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Mold him,” said the Progenitor. “He is a child, and so very unlike you. You think everyone contains a demon, and contains good. He thinks everyone contains good first, then the demon. I can work with that until he becomes unrecognizable.”
“Your name?”
“I am what you scream for in a parched desert,” said the Progenitor. “I am Water.”
Tek dropped out of the chair, onto his knees, as the seating and the table disappeared, and the gray void all around swirled like the gray goo it was perhaps always meant to ape. He pounded a fist to the floor, meaning every centimeter of his submission, because if he did not, it would all be for nothing, and he would not allow that. If being the slave of a Progenitor meant he would get to see the stars, see relics of the Union, and have a chance to learn all else that there was, as well as give the opportunity for millions of others from his planet to do the same…
“I give myself to you in my entirety,” said Tek, staring at the ground that was not ground, because it was squirming and wriggling with myriads different shapes, maybe the figures of those who had died in the gray goo, who he had condemned to stay buried. He felt himself spin and churn until he knew not what direction down was, or how much of his posture was a metaphor, or a mentalism, or real, but still he radiated servitude.
“I am the cup that brings your fraction to others’ lips,” said Tek. “I am the riverbed that lays down and allows your will to flow. I am the rainseeder that helps make a maelstrom, and, barring that, I am the elder with magic both false and strong, who hears your will and binds the masses to it. I ask no one to forgive me, least of all my brother, and not even the enemies I will tear down in my anxiousness to replace Seeker. I will use my position to make what good I can, ever hoping I make more than if I had chosen the opposite path, but I will be your hand knowing the decision is irrevocable. I will fight for your scraps as eagerly as I will fight to execute your whims, and you will discover you never had a better dog. Water. My sovereign. My unmatchable elder. My emperor.”
Go, said Water, and Tek felt himself being flung back to the bridge of Liberty’s Call. Third test. Fix me a palace.
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I also have a fantasy web serial called Dynasty's Ghost, where a sheltered princess and an arrogant swordsman must escape the unraveling of an empire. If you like very short microfiction, you can try my Twitter @ThisStoryNow.
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