Chapter 19: It's not easy to erase your blood.

April 30th, 2023, San Luis Obispo, California - Earth

It was the first time an employee ever invited Oliver to visit her at her home. He was not sure that was a thing that people still did. Oliver had grown up on a diet of Nick at Nite, enough to know that people used to do this. An unforgettable luncheon. He just hoped it was not coq au vin or steamed hams. He had been running a bit late for this, and was still dressed in his business attire, white shirt, and blue suit jacket. A bit overdressed for a casual affair.

His trip to the other dimension today had been enough to pick up more of the hypertension medicine Grace liked. The tweener cashier spent the whole time suppressing a giggle when he went to check out. He could not wait for Grace to get back and do these trips for him. It was not that it was scary, he just did not like walking that much through a supermarket.

Why their dimension had not yet invented self-checkout did not make sense to him. Didn’t they have robots? It would be easy to set up holographic cameras and have the whole process be automated, like an Amazon store. The A-to-Z store, not the ten-foot-tall people kind.

He pushed the doorbell and waited, occasionally looking inside the window. He could see a woman approach and look at him out the window, and then run off. She could have opened the door, let him in, but she did not. He waited for thirty seconds, about to push the doorbell again, when Grace finally opened it, little Thomas in her arms.

“Come in!” Grace seemed considerably older since Oliver had seen her last. He had seen women with chests this large, oblong, and heavy, but not in America and not in person. It triggered a memory of something tribal, like in a documentary out of Africa. Oliver stepped up into the house and noticed it immediately.

He and Grace were now the same height. Had he lost a couple inches traveling back from the other dimension? That was possible, but that was why they added a tenth variable to the travel coordinates, to account for plank length differences between dimensions. He tried to smile and handed her the tube awkwardly.

“This is Thomas. Say hello!” He stared directly into the boy's green eyes, that smiling cooing face, and he felt it. Those piercing eyes digging deep into his own.

He was back in the hospital, almost fifteen years ago. The first time was just to teach him their language. They moved the blocks in his head, rearranged things, put the lessons directly into his brain. Every day was pain, and slowly they also taught him how to block the attacks. Twelve months of radiation treatment and surgery for his body and something else for his mind. Thomas had tried the same attack vector, and Oliver had slapped it back like a child going for a hot stove or pulling on hair.

The tiny one dug deeper into his mom's chest, as if scared or hurt. Oliver tried to just wave, but the experience was unnerving.

“He's still shy around new people, and about to go down again while we eat. Come in, Howard has a roast he's putting on the table.” She turned down the hall and raised her voice, “Everyone! Time for dinner!” Everyone meant Charles. Charles would gather the other two and bring them to the dining room table.

Howard had gone all out, both in planning the seating of the children, and in setting the table. The nice dishes and silverware had been placed out, though just for the three with an adult mind. Booster chairs had been brought out for Mira and Edward, and brightly covered plastic trays for the three who were still young at heart. The childish colors of lime, teal, and orange matched well with the spring themed table covers and serving trays. Oliver was aware Howard was going to cook, but the precision and attention to detail here had been achieved by an analytical mind devoted solely to the management of the household. Oliver spent his days lost in spreadsheets and lookup tables, and for Howard his mind was on which tablecloth would best emphasize the mood and feel of the late spring dish.

Howard had prepared a feast, the center of which was a beef roast, but also baked Brussels sprouts in a butter sauce, asparagus, and finger potatoes. The meal began with a salad of grapes, feta, and strawberries, with only the adults getting the cheese and lettuce. A covered dessert was even hinted at, a mixture of marshmallows combined with apples, pineapple, and peanuts. Despite bringing out three wine glasses, there was no alcohol. Oliver had only a small bit of water in the wine glass, and a large tumbler filled with milk.

Like a Rockwell painting there were three generations of 'Finnigans' sitting at a large spread, an idealistic piece of Americana. Except, Oliver kept glancing at the oldest couple at the table. Mira, Charles, and Edward had been dressed up for the dinner, with buttoned shirts and blouses, shorts for the boys, combed hair, and shaved face for Charles. However, adult their outward appearance, the three ate with plastic neon silverware gripped tightly in the palms of their hands and drank from sippy cups.

Howard had taken the time to cut each of the younger ones' food while Oliver and Grace ate their salad, and the meal dragged on. Oliver ran out of water early. He was not opposed to drinking the white substance, it was more that it was presented without comment or request. This household drinks milk and as a guest he would be expected too as well. Oliver brought the tumbler up to his mouth, it smelled different. Not neutral, but not bad. Out of a desire for comity and politeness, he took a sip.

It had a thinness compared to previous milk but carried a creamy texture like melted ice cream. The sweetness was like a fruit, not sharp, but like a melon or the bottom of a cereal bowl. His brain formed a disconnect, it looked like milk, and it tasted almost like milk. He had had this taste before but could not place it. His mind strained to remember, but at the same time he felt calm. Not tired or sleepy, but like he had drunk whatever the opposite of a Red Bull was. Less alert, and less in the moment, or perhaps more open, even worldly, or cosmically attuned. Oliver did not watch his manners, and quickly emptied the tumbler, with a large gulp, attracting the eyes of the table.

“Is this raw milk? Howard, you really went all out. This is incredible.”

Howard chuckled, “Yeah, it's unpasteurized. Straight from the source. 'Moo'.”

“And you just work from home now? Are you still with, um...” Oliver's mind was jumping a bit, they had done extensive backgrounds on Grace when she was hired, but the details were a bit fuzzy. He regretted not reviewing this before coming here, and promised himself the next time an employee invited him over he would be ready.

“No, no I'm a full-time dad. I do some consulting on the side. Just something fun, helping people quit smoking and a few other things.”

Oliver nodded, “Oh, right, yeah, there's that new nicotine craze with the zoomers. Grace you're not on anything weird, are you?” Nearly everyone under thirty in a high-performance job was dosing. He had even caught an intern vomiting the other day, which led to an awkward conversation with HR on employee substance abuse. The entire anti-drug apparatus was not designed to fight an abuse problem like this, and he ordered them to redesign essential training materials and screening.

The young adults of this generation had grown up on performance enhancing drugs, often given to them by parents and teachers as children, and they did not know how to sit still or focus for eight or ten hours without medicating. The young ones probably did not know what normal thinking felt like, or its benefits.

Grace hesitated before answering, “I'm not on nicotine.” She quickly took up another bite to her mouth to avoid continuing the conversation.

Oliver was getting looser, he aimed his fork at Edward “Listen to your parents, don't take up smoking.” He turned back to Howard, “just a touchy subject for me, sorry. You're doing good work, both here and with getting people to quit.”

Howard's thoughts turned to his old employer; Adderall had been the drug of choice for many programmers when he was there. If the next generation was now going to nicotine, well that is a much more addictive drug, with harsh side effects, and as they grow older, they might try to get the substance in other forms than pills. He wondered how many of them had regrets, and what they might be willing to do to stop using it. His old colleagues did not need a drug to be brilliant. They just needed space to clear their minds, always give themselves a sound night's sleep, and maybe focus their anxiety and worries on some other fixation.

That would be the nice way to solve it. Maybe he had to go the other way. If they were looking for any edge at all, imagine how much more time to stay focused they would have if they stopped needing to get up for routine breaks. He would send out some e-mails tomorrow.

“Is there more milk?” Oliver asked sheepishly, trying not to burp the question. “I'm fine with water if not.” Howard left and returned with a full glass. Grace grew a wicked look to Oliver then went back to the table. Oliver kept turning his head at her confused, as she started rubbing her fingers in anticipation. Howard returned, and with more speed than the first drink, Oliver downed the second. He did not hide the fact he was gulping it. The drink was refreshing despite its sweet creaminess. It was like the first sip of ice-cold water from a cooler after a couple of hours of intense outdoor activity. Oliver stared at his fingers for a second as they moved in and out of focus. The lights danced a bit.

Grace knew he was ready, but she still needed to test him. “Oliver, Howard here is a big history buff for the Terran War. Was there ever anything more, maybe not shared with the documentary or the historians? Just a private secret you only share among friends.”

His mind's zipper should have been stuck closed. It was personal. It was hidden. It was embarrassing, in a way that he did not want his friends to be thought of. Grace bringing up his old friends did not make him feel better, they were coming up on the fifteenth anniversary.

“I didn't tell the documentary people this, but Collins wasn't fit to fly. Some genetic condition that manifested in early adulthood, never found out what. Ben and I ran some shenanigans during his final physical, and Doctor Blake did his examination instead of the normal physician. You see, Blake was like a hundred years old, and if you told me he served in the First World War, I'd believe it. Collins explained away the shakes as some pre-combat jitters, and Blake signed off him flying. I think he gave him a Vicodin, and probably would have given him codeine if he asked for it.”

Oliver grew afraid of his own mouth; he was not supposed to ever tell anyone that. Something was wrong. At least he did not say what the shenanigans were.

Howard's eyes traveled from Oliver and back to his wife, his arms locked for a second. The table was silent. Grace broke the peace, “Hmm, perfect. One more, who do you like better, me or Naomi?”

“Naomi.” Oh wait! Salvage this, Oliver. “Naomi has a decade more experience and knows how I like to do things. Plus, she doesn't disappear for two months of the year to...” Oliver tried biting his tongue. He was super not supposed to say that to an employee.

He shifted topics, “I gave you full marks on your performance review.” There, something nice. Wait, he was not supposed to say he finished her review before the actual review.

Oliver tried again, “Look, you're still young, and when Naomi decides to start her own family someday, you'll have a leg up on her and everyone else. When your peers are changing diapers, Thomas might be in college, and you can put all your energy into your job. That's like a superpower! Speaking of babies, how many more are you planning to have?” He also was not supposed to ask that question. His palm went up to his forehead and he smacked it hard, scrunching his face in embarrassment.

Grace gently reached out with her hand and touched Oliver's shoulder, “It's fine, I suspected it might also be a truth serum after a fashion. It seems to at least to have loosened your tongue.” She turned slightly, “Howard go get Charlie's picture I want to show Oliver something.”

Oliver could handle Grace regressing her parents, it was her parents’ decision to turn themselves into babies, and they seemed happier now. Even the Woody Allen thing she had going with her former dad, he had been to dozen different Earths, this was not the weirdest thing he had seen.

But poisoning your boss? Was she trying to get fired? This was not how you did science. If she wanted to test a new truth serum, there were lab conditions they could have used instead.

“Grace, this is unprofessional, and I may have to take back some of the positive things I planned for the review.” There, he was now the boss again and in control. “What was in that milk?”

“It's breast milk.”

Oliver wanted to vomit, but instead he licked a bit more of the delicious ambrosia that remained around his lips. He shook his head again in confusion. Howard brought the picture and held it up for the table to see. Oliver had no idea what he was looking at. The picture with its absence of clear-cut dimensions or perspective was not helping his stomach.

Grace started her prepared presentation, “So, here's the thing. There are ten thousand genes in the human body that affect intelligence. Each one only affects a small amount and most of those are for brain development in the womb. Not much work has gone into this, for obvious reasons, but if you could find a way to turn those genes on in normal humans, you could take barely functioning individuals and turn them into geniuses capable of any cognitive task.”

Oliver was immediately bored and highly intolerant, “Genetic engineering is banned on the council worlds, but that sounds right.” - Get to the part for why you poisoned me with breast milk Grace.

“OK, let me try again. This picture was painted by my dad this week. Here is what he drew three years ago after his maturosis manifested.” Grace fiddled with her phone a bit.

Oliver had heard that term, it was all over the magazines in the diaper dimension. Had Grace picked up some disease and brought it across the barriers? That should be impossible, and she should have informed I.E.D.R if there was a contamination breech.

She showed the phone of her grandfather drawing simple stick people. He looked old, gray hair, barely any control over the markers he was using, and some color had even gotten on himself. The picture looked barely better than some of Edward's pictures. Howard took this as an opportunity to get Mira and Charles out of their seats and help them bring their dishes to the kitchen. Oliver was still unconvinced of some miracle discovery.

“I think I need to give better context here. Edward, come over here.” Edward struggled a bit to push out his chair, but got far enough out, hopped to the floor, and walked over to his mother. She picked him up and brought him onto her knee between herself and the table. She then grabbed a napkin and found a loose pen on her person and started to draw.

She made a simple box. She marked one vertical side twenty-nine and along the horizontal another twenty-nine. She ended her picture with a small right-angle symbol in the inner corner.

“Edward, what shape is this?”

“SQUARE!” Not quadrilateral, rhombus, rectangle, nor parallelogram. He knew his shapes. Edward was smart for a two-year-old.

“And how big is this square?” Grace asked her son, as though the question was as easy as two plus two. Edward leaned forward and put his thumb on the square and then held it up for everyone to see, “This big!”

Oliver shook his head, this was fun, but he could not see where this was going.

“Honey, each side of this square is twenty-nine feet. The size of a square is the sides multiplied by each other. So, twenty-nine times twenty-nine.”

“Oh, that's why it's called squares. 'Cause it's a square of that size.”

That was cute. Wasn't there a thing to turbocharge education in toddlers these days? Like Anki? Flashcards? At some point Grace or Howard must have had him memorize the first few squares just for fun. Three times three (three plus three plus three). Four times Four (four plus four plus four plus four). Still, connecting the abstract of a memorization game to what it represented in geometry was an enormous leap.

Grace was still disappointed, and she chastised her son.

“Stop stalling honey, I know you can do it.” Edward looked up at his mother. He looked at his returning father whose face had turned white. Howard had stopped himself mid return to dinner, with his hand gripping the back of his chair. He was unsure how Grace had discovered the secret. He nodded toward Edward to give permission, and the boy went to work, fingers in the air as he spoke aloud.

“'Twenty-Nine times Twenty Nines' is 'Thirty Minus One' times 'Thirty Minus one'. Which is thirty times thirty, or nine hundred. Minus thirty times one times two, which is sixty, plus one times one which is one.” He had the back three fingers of his hand up, marking each one with his other hand. “Nine hundred” on his pinkie. Then pointing to the ring finger, “minus sixty.” Finally, the middle finger, “plus one.”

“Eight - Four - Ones. Hundreds. Foots. Feets.” The baby genius forgot to say feet square.

Oliver blinked, mouth dropped, but unable to comment. The two-year-old didn't just multiply the two numbers together, he changed it to polynomial so he could calculate the answer faster with less memorization. Oliver finally found his voice, and addressed the boy, “That was incredible, did your mom and dad teach you that?”

“Nope! Grandpa Charlie. He's a great teacher.” Grace shook her hand palm flat to the ground, just above and behind her son so only Oliver could see her response. Her face scrunched a bit to that answer, like it had tasted rancid. Just do not ask Grandpa to talk about Chernobyl, he would get distracted and go on an hour lecture.

Howard found his composure, “Grace, I was going to tell you, but I thought you wanted to raise them a bit free form. How long have you known?”

“Howard, I wouldn't be much of a mother if I didn't notice my son could do the morning sudoku. Though finding out it was dad and not your doing is a disappointment. I assumed you were.” she pointed to her throat and jiggled a finger.

“No, never” he turned his head aside, but that was a lie. Time for honesty, “Just the important stuff, but not algebra. I just assumed he picked it up from Mickey's Clubhouse.” The point of the TV was so daddy could go do other things, and his son would be distracted, not for daddy to engage with the content. He had no idea what happened in his son's favorite shows. There was a magic question mark, maybe?

She left her response to just a 'Hmm', and a glare. There was not a correct answer there, but there were plenty of wrong ones. Grace had picked up some habits from her mom. Howard would need to explain himself later.

Oliver reached behind his chair and grabbed into his suit jacket's inner pocket. He pulled out something that looked like a ruler attached to another ruler, he shook it at the table.

“You ever see one of these, Edward?”

It was a sacred relic, and it drew Howard's eyes as Oliver put it in his son's hands like a knight with a sword.

“No,” Edward moved it slowly in his hands, confused. It had small moving parts. He was not supposed to play with toys like this yet. The toddler wondered what it would feel like in his mouth, but the wisdom of his father kept him from exploring that impulse. Toys were not for eating.

“Well, you can have this one. It's what I used on Terra because the computers didn't work. Had to do all the math by hand. Why don't you go ask your grandpa and grandma to show you how it works, and mom and dad and I can have a grown-up talk.” Edward took the ruler greedily against his chest and bounced away from the dining room.

Howard had to know, he carefully found his way back into the seat and asked Oliver, “Was that actually the one you used?” He did not want his son breaking something important.

“Oh no, the real one is in the Smithsonian” After a pause, “On Terra. I was with State for a few years after the war, and it was always a great trick to ingratiate yourself with a parent. It has historicity, it's educational, and the child feels like they got a toy.”

He returned to the presentation, “Grace, what are you getting at? You've genetically engineered your children into super babies, 'cause that's both super illegal and I don't know how you have the time to do that and your actual job.”

Grace returned to her presentation, “Oliver, I think we figured it out, and none of the other council worlds have this. This is why we travel, to find technology and research and bring it to Earth's benefit. How do Nitzkies turn themselves into super humans? We assumed they genetically engineered themselves in the womb, like with embryo screening, gene insertion, or even cloning. We mapped them onto typical sci-fi tropes, that they Gattaca'd into a new species, and hate us because we're the inferior race.”

Oliver did not like the direction of this but kept silent.

“What if they're just humans? Like us. That would make it easy to hide in the multiverse. It would explain why we never could find them with genetic screening or any other tech. Because they're just humans. It also means they can recruit from any population, merge with any people, take on any form or place, and when they're ready, turn themselves into mutants. What if the changes happen after they are born? They're not eugenicists or speciesist, because that's not who we are either.”

Oliver still did not get it. “What does this have to do with your dad? What's going on?”

“Oliver, my dad has been on breast milk for two years, same as Edward. My mom, who can barely speak five words, has not taken any. Just look at them physically, my dad looks better than he did when I met him, and my mom turned into a fat old woman. It's as pure a test as you can get, same environment, same inputs, one control, one variable. And sure, I wasn't expecting him to recover in this way, but look at this, this is incredible, with some training and direction he could be, I don't know.” She waved at the picture; she did not have the language to describe it other than it looked good.

“I still don't get it, put it together for me.” That was not true, Oliver could feel his mind racing, going through each possibility. He needed her to say it.

“You know how we have the project, with Commander Powell. Well, I took some initiative with a project of my own. It turns out the school we picked is kind of decently tiered for physiology and cognitive science. I reached out to a some of researchers there, and we got to talking.”

“You were supposed to be gathering price data, not talking with the locals. It's dangerous, you could have been taken,” Oliver was legitimately concerned.

“Well, I wanted to see where they were at on a few things. We've been wanting to know what was up with the mommies for a while, so I decided to ask. It turns out the milk has some really fun properties. It is excellent for the Amazon's own children and helps with brain development and growth.” Grace had a joyous indifference to Oliver's condemnation.

“What did you give them?” Oliver cut through the bullshit. He needed to know the cost of this deal with the devil.

“Crispr. I told them we needed to augment our genes with some of theirs to help save our planet, and they were excited by the possibilities, and in exchange they,” she hefted her breasts slightly, “gave me some augmentation.”

The council had nearly sanctioned Earth over Crispr. Earth had to explain up and down it was just for vaccine development and cures for genetic deficiencies. Now the meal made sense, when she went back to work, people would see how she had changed, and Oliver would need to run interference. The second child had triggered some biological response that sent her milk production into overdrive.

“Grace, you crispered your boobs? You have no idea what that would do! It could have hurt your children. You could have hurt yourself.”

“Oliver, pay attention, the Nitzkies. They change themselves after they're born, breast milk is a lipid that can carry the instructions. It can pass through the blood brain barrier and get directly into the hippocampus and other major structures. It works because breast milk is already designed to fuel the brain with synaptic growth. The Nitzkies just turned the dial on the process up to eleven.” Grace would often make cultural references to late twentieth century entertainment when she wanted his affirmation, she had never actually seen that movie.

The Amazons. Could the littles have bioengineered them for this? A single Amazon could be a mid-wife for ten children. Oliver stared hard at the painting, or perhaps even a couple of adults.

As repulsive as eugenics was to Oliver, he had no qualms about letting people make such modifications to themselves. Which left one question, what the hell had happened on Amazonia? Why was everyone a baby? The planet should be lousy with Einsteins, not babies listening to Baby Einstein.

The reasons the Nitzkie's project had failed ultimately did not matter. They had left their greatest secret out in the open and Earth had found it first. Grace had done it, and there was no reason to believe it could not be replicated across the planet. What was the council going to condemn Earth with? Giving their children breast milk?

She had found the Grail. Not something useless like a math proof, but actual technology that would change the world for the better, and push Earth above the rest of the multiverse. He had visited enough of the council worlds; he knew for a fact they did not have this. Some were smarter, sure, Earth's education and child development were backwards compared to some of the other worlds, but they were still dumb humans like Earth. You could drop a Dath-Ilani baby in an Earth orphanage, and he would grow up as shallow, irrational, and error prone as any other Earthling.

Of course, there was that other thing.

“Fuck! We gave them Crispr.” Oliver was not even sure what that would mean for Amazonia. Nukes would have been bad. The secret project in engineering, yes, that was going to turn their planet upside down, but it was not a technology the Amazons could use directly. The ability to change genes?

The Amazons were great at iterating, even if their imagination was a bit lacking. They could have moved the tech forward decades in the two years Grace had done this project. There was no telling where they would go with this. He assumed it would be bad.

“They could give that maturosis disease to everyone.” It was genetic right? That was what the magazines said. He honestly had no idea how the disease worked.

“Or cure it” Grace said softly. She had been there enough to know that was unlikely, and she herself had felt the pleasure of turning an adult into a baby. “They're not all bad Oliver.”

“Well. if they're Nitzkies they're born bad...” Oliver wasn't even sure anymore. “We need proof. Something in the historical record showing where the Nitzkies or Amazons came from, then we need Earth to lock up this world for ourselves and keep out of the hands of the rest of the council.” He could see all the balls moving in the air, as a different kind of clarity of thought, even if nothing was in focus. The opposite of Red Bull, but just as strong in moving the mind.

“We need to grab another one of them. I don't know, maybe one from the history department. Just have him stop in for a few days, we'll ask him questions and maybe he can explain what happened along the way. When will you be good to travel? We'll need the full team for this operation.”

“Tomorrow. Oliver, Mr. Swift, do you think, maybe, this put me up over Naomi?” Her childish competition to always be the best. Oliver paused and actually thought of the question.

If we do not go to jail for this, if it actually worked, if they could find the proof this was a Nitzkie world and this was Nitzkie tech. Oliver was regaining control of his tongue and did not say what he was thinking. “Well, you see Naomi did one thing I'm still very impressed by.”

“What's that?”

“She hired you.”

* * *

Howard, Thomas, and Grace had retired to the master bedroom. They went through all their expectations for each other moving forward, and each apologized for lying to the other. Thomas helped mediate their rising tensions. He may have been only two months old, but he did not like the tone his parents were using, and his presence soothed their thoughts and pushed them to a desire to understand and work with each other. The two found themselves even laughing at how silly they had been, delighted at how so many things had gone right when there were many opportunities for things to have gone off the rails.

Howard turned off the lights for the night, and as he turned to go to sleep, Grace asked him one final question.

“Are we still set on Edward going to daycare when he's three?” She had been against it, felt school might even be beneath her son, and now Howard understood why she had been reluctant to expose him to the world.

“No, he doesn't have to go, I don't mind home schooling him, I just thought it'd be nice for Thomas and Mira to have some more attention, and he needs to learn socialization with others outside the house, even if his peers aren't yet up to his level.” Plus, he would have more time for his next daughter. He kept that secret future dream baby to himself.

“Well, I didn't tell Oliver this, but I also started a project in the physics department. Apparently, the Amazons accidentally found a way to safely adjust the mass of objects using something they learned with their dimensional travel tech,” Grace started.

“What like capsule corp? Oh, sorry, that's from Dragon Ball. You could shrink a vehicle into the size of a capsule and carry it in your pocket.” To Howard this sounded like a billion-dollar idea if they could make it work.

“Not like that. More like, maybe after my brother comes, we could ask Charlie if he wants to go back to school, he could keep a watch on Edward for us, make sure he gets along with the other kids. I think I can get him down to three and a half feet, maybe four.” Grace knew Charlie felt a strong push to go back, to be in school again, he would probably enjoy it.

They could get rid of the swing-set. Get something more appropriate for all the children to use. The boys could share clothes, maybe even get a bunk bed. Charles was such a great helper though, and he was helping pay for the house with his social security checks. The idea still intrigued Howard as his open eyes stared at the ceiling, shapes and shadows moving across his vision. Dark plans and dark worlds.

He could finally pick up Mira and carry her around, take her shopping, get her a tea set.

“Charlie is doing well in retirement. I think he could even open his own art gallery if he keeps it up. Kind of hard to do that from kindergarten. Let's start with your mom first, and if we're happy with the result we can ask Charles if he wants to do another trip back around the long way again.”