Chapter Six
Preposterous


In the sediment flats north of Craig Grayfield’s jagged home, far from the river or any source of moisture, there was little to be found for anyone not in a geological trade.  Craig knew the flats only vaguely even though they were quite near his home, for his business never took him there.  The only thing that ever brought him there was the ennui that is always prone to occasionally striking someone who lives alone and has little contact with society.  Craig had wandered through that barren place in his darkest hours and also his dreamiest.  His major decisions, such as the decision to give up the search for love for a while, and to take up astronomy, were made on lonely sojourns through those flats.  They meant contemplation to him, and more fundamentally, they meant great change.  They had always been the quiet buffer between all the phases of his life—and they were about to be such again.

Craig felt a heavy presence descending near him.  It was flatter than the flats and smooth like metal.  He told himself to be calm and found it frighteningly easy, because this felt like death.  It felt like a phalanx of angels was coming for him in silent formation, here in this joining place for his life.  He stood at attention and awaited what would come with dignity.

The cube did not land as he had expected it to, however.  It came to a resting position in the air, a distance above the gravelly ground equal to its formidible height.  Craig advanced his legs and lowered his torso.  He found himself wondering what he was supposed to do.  Then he remembered the radio.

Craig opened the machine’s case, oriented it correctly, switched it on with a pinch of his tail, and turned it to the appropriate frequency.  Immediately it began to receive messages.  Craig lay on the receptor pad and felt once again that bizarrely intelligible but distorted message:

“—onto the ship.  You are going to have to wear it once it is ready.  Why do you weigh so many units of Weight, sillyhead?  You are no good at climbing to look at you.  Prywroth does Say that his crew did have to Land to pick up your delegation on the Other side of your Planet.  I do Hope that is not Necessary because we do not have very much Upper Lift fuel left and I do not Know what we will Do if we do have to Land.  All right, Balallip and Derrapp’n have almost finished with the Harness.  When we Drop it please put it On you.”

Craig stood up and faced the cube, mystified.  He could detect nothing but the fact that it was still there, blocking the wind.  He knew, though, that his job was to wait patiently, so he did.  What he was waiting for was less obvious.  He had his plan: he would assume it was a noble purpose and act accordingly.  With the wonder of the Creation Pageant still in his system, Craig was more than willing to face this momentous event that his humble foray into astronomy had brought about.

The air scattered.  Something was hanging from the bottom of the ship, something dangly and swaying.  Unafraid but a bit confused, Craig made his way over.  He lifted his tail to touch the material.  It was rope.  He tugged gently at the rope in a few places to gather its shape, for it was much more than a single rope.  Hoping that he had understood his directions correctly, Craig lifted his legs one at a time and slipped them into two of the loops.  He lifted his tail off the ground, something he had more trouble doing than he had in his youth, but was still able to manage handily, and threaded it through a third loop.  He then lay himself down on the bed of ropes before him and knew that he had done it correctly.  If this was his first test, he had passed it.

Craig Grayfield was drawn up into the cubical vessel above him.  He recorded carefully the feeling of breeze on his skin as it passed him, knowing that he might not feel it again for quite some time.

Then the breeze was gone.  All was still.  The air was filled with a strange scent.  There were no longer the sounds of the open flats, but there were a new set of sounds that he had no familiarity with.  Some were raps on a surface, like a quick animal running by.  Others were simply alien.

He started moving laterally over a smooth surface.  Feeling that he had reached solid ground or something like it, Craig unhooked himself from his harness.  Relieved of his weight, he felt the structure go limp.  The door closed behind him and the last trace of breeze was gone.

“Where am I?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.  He didn’t get one right away.  There were a few moments wherein the noises intensified in a particular direction.  All of a sudden, someone—or something—entered the room.  It was shaped bizarrely and gave off nothing—no smell, no humidity, and nearly no heat.  It was as if a shield were protecting it from the outside world.  It also seemed to be carrying something large, heavy, and rectangular.

Craig was terrified.  While he hadn’t really, genuinely expected angels, this was worlds removed from the bliss that receiving the message had brought him.  He felt his heart working hard within him.  His emotions raced and fell over one another.  He squatted and contracted his body defensively.  He was without recourse as simply as that.

The creature halted only feet from him.  To his astonishment, it spoke to him.  The words were delivered in a very strange voice, probably though artificial means, and he had to stand back to catch the unusual angle of the wordstream.  But the words made sense: “HelLo there, Creature!  I am Jemmiut.  How do you DO?”

Craig hesitated to get his bearing.  One unexpected turn was following another too quickly for him to keep up.  Uncertainly, he bowed slightly and responded.  “I am scared.  Please tell me who you are.”

“I did just TELL you who am I, SILLY!  My name is Jemmiut!  I am a Pommit!!  I supPose maybe you did mean who am I in reLation to You.  Well that is more comPlex.  I am one of a Team of pommits who have come to Meet you.  We do Want to be your Friends!!  You are now Riding on the Friendship.  Welcome to it.”

Craig folded over backwards.  He backstepped two steps and halted jerkily.  “I think this is a mistake.  Let me go!”

The voice was eerily without emotion.  “Are you Sure you do wish to go??  Because we really Do want only to Meet you and underStand you.  If we have made you aFraid then we are Sorry.”

“You have.  I’m sorry myself, but you have.  I didn’t expect all this, all these walls, whatever you are.  I can’t handle it.  I’m a simple soul.”

“You are two hundred ninety-three.  You are of the Age of Wisdom.”

“What?  Why is that the Age of Wisdom?  I’ve never heard such a thing.  And how do you know my age?  Even I’ve lost track after all these years.”

“Well, do you Really think you could Still be Wise after turning two hundred ninety-four?  As for how did we Know, we simply did check your Record at the Stellar Tower.  They do Broadcast it to other Towers, you know, and we simply did listen in.”

“Please.  What are you?  What does ‘pommit’ mean?  Why have you come for me?”

“To Answer your Three Questions,” said Jemmiut a little superciliously, “I am a communiCations specialist, a Pommit is a beautiful creature such as Me, and we have Come for You in Particular because you were living aLone and had a radio to Talk to you through, and of course you were at the Age of Wisdom. You are our First try, Craig from Grayfield.  I hope you do not refuse and leave us because that may mean it will take a Dozen Tries to find someone willing to Talk to us from your planet, just like it Did with Planet Earth of Humankind.  But because we cannot talk to you in Person but only leave Messages, it will take far too Long.  I think we will all get Bored.”

“I...I’d hate for that to happen.”  The word for boredom was nearly the same as the word for angst.

“Well Good then.  Then I hope you will Stay on our Ship and be our Guest.   As for why we have come for you your species in General it is because you seem nice and Civilized enough from what we can see and Also because you seem Funny-looking to us and we do Like that.  Why are you so Funny-Looking?”

“I assure you I have no idea,” answered Craig.  He was feeling just a little more at ease because of the creature’s own admissions of weakness...but not much.  “Will you let me go if I wish to?” he asked faintly.

“Yes, of course we will Do that,” sighed Jemmiut.  “That will mean more Trouble for Me but yes we will let you go.  Do you want to Go alReady?”

Craig straightened himself and stilled his quivering sorza.  “I will answer your questions if you will answer mine.”

The shape jerked up slightly and came down again.  “Good!  That is Quite fair I think.  Would you like to come in further to our Ship?”

Craig hesitated.  “May I stay here for now?”  He turned around to get a feel for the room, which seemed to be rectangular and filled with an assortment of unidentifiable things.  This was as good as anything likely to be found aboard an alien craft, he figured.

“You may stay here if it does Please you,” said Jemmiut.  “The rest of the ship has got a different kind of Air in it Anyway.  You would have to wear a Suit.”

“ A suit?  What for?”

Jemmiut was turning away.  “To protect you against the thinner Air, silly.”

Craig was once again slipping into confusion.  “Wh...why?  What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, a little chilled.

The speaker’s voice grew in incredulity.  “Sillyhead do you not Breathe Air??”

The word for “breathe” was used a little out of place, leaving Craig in doubt as to whether he understood.  “Well...yes, of course.  The air nourishes me and builds up sorza in my body.  I certainly can do without it for a while.”

Jemmiut sounded confused when he spoke, and Craig was relieved to hear the emotion, whatever its nature.  “Well it does not matter,” he said.  “You are staying here for now.  I shall now go and rePort that you are safe to Balallip and Derrapp’n, who are holding the Harness just past the Door.  Then when we have talked for awhile we will decide whether or not you do Need to wear a Suit, and then we will escort you downramp to where you will meet our Other guest.”

“Wait.”

“What for am I Waiting, Silly?”

“I’ll come with you.  Now.  Let’s get this out of the way, whatever it is.”

“But you will not be Safe, Critter!”

“I’ll be fine.  Lead the way.”

The creature paused in its tracks, mulling it over, before saying, “All Right then.  We will allow a test for you.  If you are Not doing well then please PLEASE pull on the rope from the Harness here.  Is that all Fine and Good?”

Craig blew an assertive puff at the pommit, who went over to the hatch and closed it, and then to the door.  Craig heard sounds coming from its direction.  He had no idea whether the pommit or some machine of its was making them and what they were for.  Moments later the pommit no longer had a presence there.  There was a dispersing gust of air in the direction of the door.  Craig knew that the air he knew had flowed out the door when it was open, occupying a less dense space.  Despite his assurance of safety, he had to wonder.

He remained perfectly still while the door was closed again and a vent was opened over to his left and high on the wall.  It was odorless and made a loud hiss that reminded Craig of the sound of a helium balloon being filled—or emptied.  His instincts told him to retreat to a corner, but this would be pointless, he knew.  If this experiment was the fail, better it would fail while there was still some planetary air in the hold.

After thinking about it for a minute while he waited, Craig realized that what the alien might not understand was that he could do perfectly well without any air at all.  As long as he didn’t go without for years at a time, as some ancients had done to their dishonor, he would be fine.  To his mind the only question was whether this alien air might cripple him somehow.  If it acted in the reverse fashion of normal air and ate away at his sorza, or worse, damaged his signae in some way, he could well live to regret this decision deeply.  He still did not know what his purpose was aboard this alien ship; he was still reeling from the knowledge that they existed at all.  Yet his life had held nothing of consequence for far too long.  Whatever the consequences of this bizarre occurrence, he would not blame himself for allowing it to occur.  Craig knew that right then, his place was there, in that hold, getting a whiff of thin alien air.

In truth, it didn’t feel half bad.  It was a dry feeling, but smooth.  It made his body tingle under the surface, just a little.  While it certainly wasn’t going to do anything for his sorza, Craig wasn’t afraid of this gaseous elixir from another world.  He stood erect and exulted in its pervasion of the hold.

Before he would have expected it, the alien Jemmiut was back.  The door closed with a clanking sound.  Craig turned and laid himself down facing Jemmiut, giving the alien a full measure of relaxed attention.

“You are all Healthy?” asked the skeptical creature.

“I am,” said Craig.

“But are you SURE?”

“I am as sure as I need to be,” said Craig.

“Well, that is good enough for Gomeo.  And what is good for Gomeo is most probably good enough for Me.  You may follow.”

Craig did so unquestioningly.  He felt the last of the familiar, overbearing air slip away and it felt to him almost as if he were flying.  The difference was palpable—not just to his signae, but to his whole body.  He moved more easily through the alien spacecraft than he could remember ever moving through anything.  The presences were harder to detect, but they were there: more odd creatures, with four legs instead of two, and wings like the fluid creatures of the swamps that lived on tiny flying beasts.  They made sounds all the time and had a constant, unnerving smell.  The rooms went on; empty of air texture, and dry.  It was as if Craig were moving through a ghost ship.  He wondered whether ghosts did exist despite all his beliefs, and if they did, whether they were at all likely to conquer space.

He went down a ramp that seemed vaguely rubbery.  The room was filled with large objects on the floor that deflected air without blocking it, but Craig could not be certain as to their shape.  There was a new smell there, equally indescribable to that of the pommits.  He heard noises being exchanged above the level at which they had been thus far; they most definitely were coming from his hosts, which he was on the verge of conceiving as his captors.

He was not being addressed.  Since he felt like waiting passively would never provide him with the answers he needed, he followed the unique scent.  There was a large lump in the center of the room and it had to be circumvented, but he did this without resistance.  The scent evidently belonged to a creature, because it moved away from him.  He faced it and spoke: “Do not be afraid of me.”  But he received no acknowledgement.

Then suddenly there was a cold feeling on his forward signae, a nearly flat, oddly shaped surface against his own that did not make any effort toward communication.  He stilled himself.  Not rejecting the touch or moving into it, Craig knew that this was an alien body.  He could vaguely discern its shape, more narrow and upright than the others. He stood while the touch abruptly backed away from his body, but remained there only inches away.  Even in the thin air he could easily detect the shape and distance of the part that had touched him.  It had prongs on it and one of these bent forth and extended toward him again.  It gave him a rounded touch somewhat lower than before.  Impulsively, he gave the spot at which it touched a constant, steady warmth.  The rounded implement drew away.

A voice suddenly hit him from behind.  He had been preoccupied enough with the creature before him that he had not even noticed the approach from behind of two of the horizontal aliens.  “You have met Eva Durrant,” said the voice.  “Please come and rest on one of the eating mounds.”  They signaled a desire that he follow and faded away behind him.

Craig went to one of the mounds.  He gathered that he was expected to lie against it much as they seemed to be doing at their own mounds, but of course he refused.  He would not block off sensation from one side of his body with that smooth, dead, metallic coolness, especially not with his senses already registering so faintly.  The creatures did not seem to mind unduly.  With the hubbub he was finding typical of them, they arranged themselves around the room at various and grew still.

One, a large specimen, remained by the central unit which was the focal point of the room.  Craig was able to detect some of its motion.  It seemed to him that the creature, which was tailless, was instead using its front pair of legs to open a compartment in the great mound and extract something.  Indeed, it extracted a great many things.  Craig felt a burst of cold air when the compartment was opened, and a dulling of that feeling when it was closed again.

It had become more or less silent.  He waited without comment or motion while the alien being walked around to all its fellows, a big basket of these objects around its shoulders, and transferred one or two things to each of them.  When it came to the unusual one, there was a pause.  Some sounds transpired.  Craig was beginning to formulate a hypothesis about these sounds—that they were being used somehow for communication.  He didn’t have the luxury of contemplating it in any depth, however, with so much to hold his attention.

The pommit which spoke to him was back.  “Craig from Grayfield, we are asSembled here to Speak to you.  However we cannot understand the way that you do Speak.”

Craig answered back impatiently.  “You understand me well enough.”

“That is because I have Studied your language for Quite some Time.  But even So, I cannot underStand you when you do Blow on me through your silly Blowhole except when I have got on my Carapacian reCeptor Panel.  I have got on a pair of Earphones now that are conNected to it, but I shall now REconnect it to a Speaker machine.  It will then speak to All of us.”

“What—what is your language?  I mean, why is mine silly?  Are you—speaking through sounds?”  A bit flustered, Craig had been put in an extremely awkward spot.

“Yes of Course we are speaking through Sounds, Silly,” said the pommit.  “I am switching on the machine Now.”  From behind him, the pommit set down the heavy rectangular shape it was carrying.  “Please speak toward the Panel,” it explained.

Craig turned and did so, tentatively.  “I am speaking,” he said.  His words gave immediate rise to a cowing release of noise from the center of the large mound.  This was echoed chillingly by babbling responses from the creatures encircling the large mound at their own individual stations.  Craig sank low.  He was frightened and didn’t hide it.

“There, That is Better!” exclaimed the pommit, Jemmiut.  “Now we All can understand you.”

Craig didn’t know how that could be a good thing.

“I beg you,” he said.  “Why did you call to me?  What is the purpose of bringing me to this council?  When may I go home?”

“You did Choose to join us,” said Jemmiut.  “You did not Have to come.”

Craig answered with a placating radiation.  “I came because you are ambassadors!  I had heard the tale of six people being whisked away into the sky in Heskatat, but I reasoned it was just a local hoax.  Everyone did.  They’ll say anything to get attention there, and it’s the other side of the world!  Stories get corrupted over that distance.”  He paused, sheepish.  “I came...I came to where you told me.  How could I not?  What kind of a coward could get a message from the sky, a message in the form of light!—and not respond?  I have answered, strangers.  I am here.  What do you want from me?”

The odd creature out stood up.  Craig was surpirsed; he’d thought it was standing already.  It said something, and Jemmiut passed along the message.

“Eva Durrant says that she is relieved to know her reaction was not out of Place in the Universe.”

Craig smelled it—her—again.  That was one smell he would not be soon forgetting.  Was this a member of ruling race, the vertical commander of the horizontal peons?  “Who—who is she?”

“Oh, she is just a Guest like yourself.  She will talk to you in fact.  I will give to her my talking machine and you can have a nice private talk later.  But for now we are having our Welcoming Lunch!”

Craig was a bit confused by this announcement.  Lunch?  That was a metaphorical translation of some sort.  He wasn’t expected to understand it, was he?  “What do you mean by ‘lunch?’”

“Oh that is when in the Middle of the Day you do...you do...”  Jemmiut startled Craig by giving a little leap, displacing a scattered plane of air.  “Oh, I did forget.  I am Sorry.  You do not Even Ever Eat, Do you?”

Craig answered numbly in the negative.  The word the pommit had used—“eat”—meant “subsume,” a term he was sure carried more weight than it seemed to.

“Well WE do!  And we do LOVE to eat!!”  Indeed, several of the pommits changed position over their packets.  Their localized scents grew slightly more urgent—Craig couldn’t begin to guess why.

“What—please, stop!  Tell me what you are talking about.  What is ‘eating’?”

Jemmiut assumed a calm posture as Craig rose to face him.  “It is when you do take Food into your own body,” he explained simply.

“Ah!  And what is food?”

This comment evoked a murmur.  Several of the pommits shifted their positions ominously.  Craig wondered if he was about to fail a crucial interstellar test.

“It is usually a Edible Item that you do place in your Mouth and Chew. You do then Swallow this chewed food and your Stomach does then break it Down into little comPonents that your body can Use.”

“That's downright bizarre.”

The pommit’s scent changed and it shifted its weight forward.  “Well exCUSE me!  I supPose then my entire Planet is bizarre then Too!”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean any offense by it.”  Craig trembled, curiosity and a sense of responsibility for learning about this alien concept welling up.  “Is it addictive?”

“Well not exActly, silly.  It is a requirement.”

“How... how often do you do this?”

“We do do it every day.”

“And...what happens if you don't?”

“If I Do not Eat at all ever, eVentually I will become very MalNourished.  I will not any longer produce the Energy that my body does need in order to Operate, and I will Wither and Die.”

Craig was stunned by what he was hearing.  “Say that again?”

In his slightly impatient way, Jemmiut repeated himself.  Craig could not contain his amazement.

“You...you mean to say your kind can die just by doing nothing??  All you have to do is sit back and—and not do this weird inbibing ritual?  And yet, you voluntarily "eat" things, and thus—keep your body from dying, every single day of your lives??”

Now it was silent.  “Yes of course we do,” said an amazed Jemmiut.

Craig’s sorza trembled throughout.  “But...that’s sick!!” he exclaimed.

The tall, frail creature made what could only be a statement—perhaps an order.  Craig found himself half hoping it was an order to toss him back to firm land.  He wondered how high the ship was by now, or if it had moved at all, and really he didn’t care.  He just wanted to be away from here, from this astonishingly topsy-turvy place where he could do no possible good.

It was half a minute before Jemmiut once again addressed him.

“Creature, do you then think that we Ought to die??”

Craig made it a policy from here on to answer honestly.  “Yes, of course, if you have the chance.”

“Why Is That, SILLY?”

“Be—because.”  Craig wished the alien would stop shouting at him, and didn’t know what else he could say.  “That’s what life is all about.  Working toward death.  They’re an inextricable pair of concepts!”

There were two others creeping toward him now.  Craig had to bolster his strength just to stay where he was and not bolt.  They were many times quicker than him in any case.

“You mean you do not Want to stay aLive??”

“You mean you do?”

“Course I do!  It is fun to be ALIVE!”

Craig’s signae bristled in apprehension.  “I’m sorry...I try to keep an open mind about other cultures, but this is just too much.”

Here the unique creature spoke.  For the first time Craig fully understood the sounds it made as speech.  Its words clearly commanded respect, for the room’s company fell silent and those pommits approaching sat still.  When the creature had finished, Jemmiut hesitantly translated through his machine.

“Eva Durrant says...‘It's perfectly all right.  I think you wanting to die is just as twisted.  ...Now can we dispense with the judgemental attitudes and begin the work of sorting this out?’”

Craig bowed his body.

“I think she is Right, you know.  I hope you are Willing to talk to us.”  A sharp cry from the narrowest of the pommits prompted Jemmiut to add quietly, “Teriyum has pointed out that this does exPlain why the group we did take aboard in Heskatat all did kill themselves.”

“I just don’t understand.  You work to sustain yourself through food...is there anything else you creatures do to stay alive?”

“Of course.  We do keep ourselves in good health through Chemicals and Exercise, and of course we must take Care when handling Heavy eQuipment in case we do Hurt ourselves.”

“Hurt yourselves?”

“Yes silly, not everyone does have skin as inCredibly tough as You.”  The creature’s foreleg moved and snapped at itself somehow, though Craig couldn’t perceive the purpose of the gesture, unless it was meant somehow to demonstrate...vulnerability.

“I’m afraid I just don’t understand...I don’t understand how creatures like you could possibly evolve!  I mean...shouldn’t have you died out long ago?”

Craig found the silence that resulted for a moment unnerving, another sign that he was beginning to understand the mindset of speech through sound.  At least not everything about these creatures was difficult to grasp.

What followed was a new kind of noise from the beasts; not the babbling that he had taken to characterize speech, but a high, vibrating hum.  They moved about.  Some flapped their wings.  Jemmiut explained it all: “That is most hiLarious.  You do think WE are unlikely to evolve.  You do not Think perhaps it is the other way aRouund??”

“What—no.  Look at the animals!  Do you have other species—on your home planet—that also act the way you do?”  The thought was almost laughable to Craig.  Intelligent beings were known for doing and believing the oddest of things, judging solely by the one species he knew—but mere animals would never be so crazy as to desire their own continued existence.

“Yes they most Definitely Doo,” sang Jemmiut.  “That is the Natural Way all over the Universe, most Silly Beast.  As far as we do Know anyhow.”

“How can that be?  It’s preposterous!”

“I think that You are prePosterous, sillyhead.”  Jemmiut now flapped his wings slightly, and Craig wondered if that was part of his speech as well.  “Why would you ever want to Die when there is so much that Life has to Offer You!  There is So many challenges and obstacles to enjoy and Overcome!  There is Interesting People to meet, and Goals to Achieve, and lots of Wonders and Beauty to see!  Why should you Possibly wish to Die?”

Craig was ever more humbled by the enormity of the line of questioning.  “If I don't die, what is the point of overcoming all those obstacles and meeting all those people and goals?  I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

“What do you Mean if you do not die?  Death is a solid unavoidable fact for life.  I have seen it happen Even to Your people on Your planet when they are old enough.  It will happen eVentually in ANY case!  Obviously, the point of all that would be to proLong your life so that you could feel you have acComplished something WorthWhile in living.”

“Of course I want to accomplish something!  But why prolong life and dilute the beauty of my accomplishments?”

“DILUTE?  That is a funny question.  But does not more Time give you more Chance to do what you Want in life?  How can you Ever say that you are Done living?  And that you want Nothing more to do with Anything?”

Was it really necessary for him to answer that?  “When I have found true love,” Craig whispered.  “Then I am done.”

Jemmiut paused and prepared to ask another question.  He was interrupted, however, and much to Craig’s relief, by another one of the pommits, who left his mound and communicated to Jemmiut and the others in grand gestures and sounds.  Craig huddled into himself.  He was now scared not only of the striking novelty of the experience, and not just of the unbelievable questions about the basic nature of life and death which had been put to him so bluntly, but also of the way in which he had answered those questions.  He had been forced, at cruel alien fingers, to come to terms with the fact that he, Craig, had all but given up on the primary and only way a person could justly hope to end his life.  Craig had cited “true love” without hesitation, although it had not been without pain.  If it was so obvious, even to him, that that was how life must end, how could he continue to live alone, simply waiting?  By spinning his wheels in the crags, was he forsaking wisdom that every schoolchild knew?

Craig was not asked any more questions.  He would not have answered them if he had been.  The pommit who had interrupted the proceedings led him back up the rubbery ramp and then another, and then into a room that was completely inert, devoid of sound, scent, or airflow.  Craig did not attend to his surroundings along the way.  Once there, he was touched on the brow in a manner he could only guess was meant to be empathetic, by three hard claws...and then he was left alone.  As the door closed behind him, leaving him in the empty room, he reflected that there was no place in the world at this moment he would rather be.

Chapter 7

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