Thavet Atlas: Author: Thavet Atlas (Esper Thompson) From the collection "The Echo Chamber of Horrors on Tartu Town Hall Roof" (2014) The Domino(d) Effect (Translation: DeepSeek)

Author: Thavet Atlas (Esper Thompson)
From the collection "The Echo Chamber of Horrors on Tartu Town Hall Roof" (2014)

The Domino(d) Effect

"Mo, I have a gift for you!" Wang called out, weaving between neon-colored, rapidly flickering pillars of light. "Where are you hiding, dear child?"
"What is it? Show me, show me!" the young girl, barely a million years old today, rushed toward the gift-bringer in the throne room’s floor-to-ceiling expanse, breathless with excitement. Behind her, tethered by a thread of light, fluttered Joopo, a tiny pig-like creature who flapped his ears like wings, stubbornly bumping into Mo with mischievous defiance. Luckily for the girl, a glowing path unfurled before her, obediently following her every twist and turn—though today would be the last time. From this moment on, she was finally big enough to fly on her own. Just before Wang’s presence withdrew, the radiant carpet hissed back like a tongue now rendered mute, forbidden to speak.

Only two colossal arches floated in this dimensionless conditional space, rough and indifferent. Approaching them, let alone touching them, had always been strictly forbidden to the girl.
"Those are the gates of opposites," Wang had once warned. "Those who cannot answer the questions posed by these summoned gates will be destroyed—swallowed whole."
"Where to?" the daughter had dared to ask.
"Straight into the belly of the great whale," Wang had replied.

"Look," the father opened a box in which several spheres of varying sizes rested, systematically entangled, frozen in suspension. Alert. Like soldiers—though Mo did not yet know the meaning of the word soldier, she sensed it instinctively. And now, something within them stretched toward her like a sentinel’s plea.
"Choose me!" they whispered. Each one longed for life and motion... Yet, strangely, no one but the girl herself seemed to hear these pleas...
"They’re so in the dark," Mo fretted. "Are they even alive?" Her eye, which only reacted in moments of extreme agitation, curved in concern.
"Which one do you like? Choose!" Wang blew on the spheres, and they ignited like embers.
Only for a moment. A fleeting temptation. A parade for the unboxing of the gift. They shimmered in shifting hues, colors melting and swirling fluidly.
"They're so beautiful!" the girl gasped. "Especially the green one. Blue-green!" She lifted the sphere from the box. It rose as if magnetized, hovering just above her open palm, slowly rotating.
"Careful, gently," Wang admonished—softly, just as softly.
"But can I do anything with it? Or is it just another fragile toy?"
"Of course," Wang smiled—he loved his daughter.
"Not at all, you must now teach the sphere and learn from it by observation," interjected Mole, the teacher Fung, who had not been far from the two of them—only five star-spaces away.
"Why? How?" Mo didn’t quite understand.
"It will change."
"Change? Why?"
"Because you alter the initial state, but only at first. Later, it will live its own life." Fung circled above their heads, having hurried over.
"And then I can’t interfere anymore? Just watch?" The girl pouted—another toy, like Joopo, whom she could never predict, always mischievously disobedient, causing nothing but chaos.
She wanted to be in control. Fully. For the first time, the decider. The master and experimenter.
"You can, but those would already be measures. Irreversible, irrevocable," came the voice of a third party. Fung was already quite close to them. Only two light-years still separated him from Mo and Wang.
"Please don’t ruin the moment," Wang grumbled. "Don’t steal the joy of discovery from the child on her special day."
"She’s so tiny," Mo worried. "Couldn’t she get hurt? Besides, I can’t see clearly what’s happening with her. Shouldn’t we raise her first? Is that possible?"
"Better yet, enlarge her?" Wang mused. "A bit later, wait a moment." The father moved toward the eagerly gesturing Fung.

Fung whispered: "And yet you entrusted it to her, the girl."
"Yes, it’s necessary. She now has developmental work to do," Wang glanced past Fung.
"But why? To raise an heir to the throne? Or a martyr? Just be careful you don’t regret it. We ourselves..."
"What are you two conspiring about?" Mo suddenly fluttered between them.
Fung trembled, barely hiding his inner denial: "Nothing, you can play with it now, change the gift’s size, send it into orbit. But first, you must create time for it. Its own time," Fung stressed. "And definitely light."
"Right away!" the girl promised. "Where do I get the energy for that? And the carrier?"
"Nothing simpler, draw energy from the universe—it’s infinite in its boundlessness. Just create the transmitter." Wang paused. Had he taught too much?
"I’ll give it a name," Mo declared.
"Fine by me, but I must now go check on my domains. The teacher will stay with you for now."
Fung nodded solemnly.
Mo hovered beside her father, seeing him off on his long journey.
"Well, I hope when I return, you’ll have much to show me," Wang said, his gaze tenderly caressing Mo.
"I’ll try, I really like your gift," Mo promised.

"Must create time?" Fung examined the sphere more closely. He noted with astonishment: "Strange, it seems the sphere has already created it for itself. Independently."
"Truly exceptional," he murmured as he left. "For the first time... astounding..." Then the words faded.

Mo stared at the gates. Why had she never been allowed to approach them? Always strictly forbidden. Now, when she needed help choosing between opposites.
Mo slept right beside the sphere, longing to stroke it but sensing she might shatter the fragile being.
The gates remained closed. And she had no link to them. She had tried to seek truths from them, only to be met with silence. It was still too early... Mo had much more erring to do...

Joopo floated high above the throne room, right beneath the ceiling. The thread of light around his neck hung empty, swinging like a pendulum without the girl’s guiding hand. The loyal play-creature had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from longing. His mistress was so absorbed in the world she had created, forgetting herself in it, dismissing Joopo as useless.
"Go away, I already feel bad enough!" she had sleepily pushed away his nuzzling. The creature licked Mo’s cheek, tasting something foreign, new. The taste of sorrow.

"Come look! Hurry!" Mo screamed upon waking, still half-asleep, just as Wang returned from his journey.
"You weren’t in your resting cocoon? How many years have you been here without pause?" Wang snapped—though slightly theatrically.
"And you, Fung?! You were supposed to guide Mo!"
"I believe the best method is so-called free hands, creatively free. Natural flow, you understand, right? Because excessive guidance stifles individual thought."
"A very cunning and evasive answer. You’ve been busy with your own affairs, haven’t you? Show me what happened," Wang finally relented in his daughter’s favor.
"Plants, plants, you’ve created so many of them. Beautiful, very nice," Wang remarked, staring pointedly into Fung’s eyes, who quickly nodded in agreement.
Yet the plants lacked equality—their mutual struggle choked the weaker ones.
"It’s already selecting," Fung whispered—the sphere expressed preferences through climate.
"Yes, natural selection is indeed at work," Wang noted. "But here, the creator’s hand is invisible... Only self-willed chaos remains."
But the men did not blame the girl—did they even have the right? A creator’s mistake is like teetering on the edge of error, the eternal companion of makers. Only the ineptly frozen dare to claim the right to critique.
Wang and Fung seemed to know this formula very well...

"Mo, what—or whom—do you plan to create next?"
"I don’t know," Mo’s voice rasped, weary with disappointment. "Only within the sphere itself is there true motion. Rotating, swirling around created light."
"You’re observing from too far away," Fung argued. "But we can magnify the image, even transfer it here. Then we’ll be inside the sphere’s events. Present in every point of its movement, down to the last grain of sand falling."
"But the sphere and its inhabitants—do they see us?" Mo hesitated.
"They don’t know. And it’s better that way, believe me!" Fung and Wang insisted.
"Shall I create something? A surprise? Something here, something new! Want to?" Wang smiled, offering his daughter what seemed like a consolation prize.
Mo landed in resigned agreement. Wang summoned magnification with a wave of his hand, bringing everything happening within the sphere directly into the throne room.
"But the plants don’t communicate," the girl lamented after studying them longer.
"You don’t know how to read their patterns," Wang chided.
"How boring! Ugh!" Mo scoffed.
"Want me to animate something else for you?" Wang studied his daughter, snapping his fingers.
"Butterflies—are those really butterflies?" Mo exclaimed.
"You gave these to me?" She looked straight into Wang’s heart, which glowed bright red.
A swarm of winged creatures filled their surroundings, wrapping everything in a fragile dance. "Butterflies indeed," Fung muttered, "but mayflies."
Neither Wang nor the girl heard him. Or chose not to. They rose into the air, swirling with the butterflies. Some brushed the girl’s cheeks, staining them with wing-dust as a final touch.
Even Wang’s nose became patterned—he laughed uproariously.
Only Fung shooed the butterflies away—unnecessary. Who needed them? Certainly not him! Bats would’ve been better!

Mo buzzed excitedly, murmuring something, often tossing raw material away only to summon it back later...

"You’re here again!"
"I’m playing."
"Playing? You should be learning more. Soon they’ll grow over your head like weeds!"
"Weeds? The sphere is a weed?"
"You’ve dragged the entire sphere-reflection here," Wang grumbled.
The throne room already mirrored an incomprehensible struggle between life and death.
"Then I can see inside them," the girl smiled slyly. "Much better! I understand! Struggle develops them!"
"For now," Fung muttered. "At this stage. Later..." He flicked his sleeve in disdain.

"And who are these now?" Wang asked sternly, eyeing the pitiful-looking figures upon his return.
"Inhabitants," Mo murmured.
"Why are they of different sexes?" Fung grumbled in agreement.
Mo blushed: "I tried to be careful, but..."
"But?" the men asked in unison, already anticipating the girl’s answer.
"It split in half."
"Who?" Wang and Fung feigned surprise.
"The new inhabitant," the girl whispered. "Strangest of all, it seemed to want it itself..."
"To seek unity throughout life..." Fung picked at the words.
"Yes?" The bell of irony chimed in Wang’s question. "Didn’t the same happen with your animals?"
"Yes, Father. I just wanted them to be like us."
"Only Wang may create in his own image," Fung snorted furiously.
"But who are we, really?"
"And their purpose? What awaits them?" Wang brushed off his daughter’s question.
"Development?" the girl ventured after brief thought.
"Correct answer," Father Wang agreed.
"But did you set them limits?"
"Was I supposed to?" Mo was startled.
"Yes, because they killed the first among them. Just now."
"This is the beginning, let time pass, then you’ll see," Fung opined.
"Only wars, conflicts," the girl noted.
"But they’re getting better at it. Besides, it’s just biomass, don’t fret," Fung consoled.
"But thinking," Mo sulked.
"Of what, mainly?" Fung grated critically.

And the girl sent forth her first emissary.
Secretly crafted and gifted with life. "Go," she whispered, "bring them peace!" In secret. Or so she thought.

Fung set the first monolith in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into two single-dotted halves. It began to glow dull green. Wang watched his actions gloomily, helpless to intervene.

"Quick, come see—they’re already building cities!" the girl poured out her discovery.
"But they have no faith, only customs," Fung grumbled. "Though otherwise, I quite like them. Especially their sacrificial rites."
"Not yet, there are many they worship," Wang glared at the teacher.
"Naturally," Fung sneered, "submissiveness before the higher creator."
"Or perhaps fear," Mo considered.
"They forget their self-made gods, trying to step into their place. At least attempting to, for you left them with such a drive. Excessively so. It may destroy them," Fung was grave.
"Why, how?" Mo didn’t understand.
"Because their satisfaction is fleeting," Fung cut in.
"Look!" he urged Mo. Before them unfolded a terrible battle, the sphere’s time accelerating, killing, murdering.
"See, the first slave," Fung showed Mo how a noose was placed around one’s neck. "And billions more will follow."
"How do you know?" Mo bristled.
She saw only Fung’s retreating back as an answer.
"They must’ve killed the emissary!" Mo despaired inwardly.
"Soon they’ll kill in his name," Fung prophesied swiftly but silently, not uttering a word to Wang about Mo’s actions... He grieved enough as it was...

"Why are they so different? Did I do something wrong?" Mo asked helplessly.
"Not so much. Inwardly, they differ many times more, though they contain two opposites," Wang’s answer rumbled from his gut.
"Why? Only two, are you sure? And what would those be?"
"Fear and desire."
"At first, certainly. The most powerfully effective. Otherwise, there’d be no driving force. One that propels forward," Wang smirked.
"Or destroys," Fung slipped in a fine thread of words.
"They don’t know how to handle creation properly. They don’t grasp the danger."
"What don’t they grasp?" Wang probed sharply.
"Responsibility. Before their shared mother," Mo was sorrowful.
"Mother?" Wang recoiled. Fung merely bared his teeth.
"The sphere is their mother. A living mother," Mo stood by her thesis.
"Why do you even think this organism is female?"
"It births everything they need, constantly."
"But through whom does distribution occur?" Fung grinned.
"Creativity and labor are the father. Could either be entirely independent? Easy accessibility soon breeds overconsumption folly!"
Fung snorted: "Plus the thirst for attention? Hmph, of all needs, perhaps the most potent for them. But only once basic needs are met. Hence—the search for substitute activities. So unnecessary."
"For whom?" Mo asked.
"For those who wish to rise from the mass, to distinguish themselves. Whose numbers keep growing. But perhaps you wish to subjugate them to order? There’s still time. Later may be too late."
Wang allowed himself a snort: "That would destroy creation, the entire system."
Mo flew away, confused. Suddenly, she wanted to be a little girl again, searching for Joopo. But Joopo was dead. Of longing.

And Mo sent forth a second emissary. Secretly crafted and gifted with life. "Go," she whispered, "bring them peace!" In secret. Or so she thought.

Fung set the second monolith in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into two double-dotted halves. The stone began to glow dull green.

"We’re so much like them," the girl mused.
"Foolishness!" Wang huffed. "We are far more powerful, wiser."
"But they’re evolving!" Mo seemed proud. "Very quickly!"
"All the more reason to perhaps restrain them, to think of protecting ourselves."
"From whom, then?" Mo was baffled.
"From those you’ve created."
Wang lifted his daughter’s face to his gaze.
But the girl’s eyes didn’t flee beneath her lashes. Instead, they flashed with anger—foreign and fierce.

"They’re dying of diseases!" Mo crawled through the throne room’s conditional space, searching for an answer-key. "Right now!"
"One would think plague is merely a biological weapon. And not the last. They don’t realize the sphere is a living organism that feels pain and gives. Can they give back?" Fung twisted his neck in torment.
Mo stomped her feet. For some reason, both old men found this so amusing they could barely contain their laughter. Mo felt a strange liquid in her eyes. Foreign. Salty.
The men exchanged glances. Their daughter and pupil had been strangely infected with a human affliction—compassion.

Mo sent forth a third emissary, secretly crafted and gifted with life. "Go," she whispered, "bring them peace!" In secret. Or so she thought.

And Fung set the third stone in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into three-dotted halves. The stone began to glow dull green like a beacon.

"Why do they believe lies!" Mo’s disappointment in the project grew ever stronger. "And produce more of it themselves!"
"Truth? We could send it to them, of course. As cosmic dust reflections. Holograms forming images of world events. Would you like to give them yesterday’s truth?" Wang asked coldly. "They themselves would scarcely want it. A few exceptions, perhaps. Their leaders—never!"

"Why do they need wars?" Mo watched the reflections in the throne room with a grimace.
"It develops them, isn’t that strange?" Wang prodded her thoughts. "You cheered so yourself!"
"That was only supposed to be at the beginning, Fung said so too—that the necessity of survival or killing develops."
"A very odd driving force."
"But how skillfully they hide it."
"Behind what?"
"Behind victory parades. Behind veils for their own thinking."
"Then let’s petrify their truths!"
"How?"
"Let truth be a circle. Or a labyrinth, so it can be rolled. To new places. Truth moves in time, shifts positions. The moment they discover something, a branching web of questions arises. And so, endlessly." Fung smirked.
"Besides, predation is coded into them. Culture and morality are thin as a serpent’s shed skin, though they’d never dare admit it."
"Why?"
"They’d grow afraid."
"Of whom?" Mo was perplexed.
"Themselves, naturally," Wang coughed.

"What am I even doing, they’re truly killing each other," Mo fretted, frayed at the edges.
"You could destroy them, these parasites. Like with the dinosaurs."
"I won’t hear of it!"
"Then use a black hole, lose them in it—what else did we even create them for? Let them think they’ve discovered laws. We engineered anomalies."
"So we’re playing with them?" Mo asked irritably. "That wouldn’t be fair!"
"Fair!? Joke. Listen instead. How they study phenomena, be it Titicaca or pyramids, yet still don’t understand."
Both old men studied each other, finally breaking into grins.
Fung sobered: "We played a little trick, arranged some exhibitions."
"A few props were left behind, unfortunately," Wang shrugged.
"A few dear, small figurines that could only be made with modern technology. Their technology," Fung emphasized finally.

And Mo sent forth a fourth emissary, secretly crafted and gifted with life. "Go," she whispered, "bring them peace!" In secret. Or so she thought.

Fung simultaneously set the fourth monolith in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into four-dotted halves. The stone began to glow dull green like a beacon.

"Better yet, attack the money they’ve created—they don’t care about living losses anyway," Wang cursed. "All virtual values can be nullified. Or rather, they already are null. Conventional."
"They become slaves to their own creations, worse, they enslave others for it. Ridiculous! Yes, why aren’t I laughing! Tell me!" Mo screamed at Fung.
"Ugh, threaten real money, not the apparent, the virtually crafted by them," Fung amended. "Always what contains their sweat and blood."
"Not all are guilty. They’d suffer. Most," Mo argued.
"Looking past the problem is worse—drive them into crisis, if only for variety," Wang winked.
"They’ve nothing left to discover, they’ve outgrown their world," Mo noted.

Then they attacked. Unexpectedly. With missiles. Wounding Mo, killing the little girl within her.
An irritated Wang fluttered around the cocoon where Mo lay.
"Before, they at least feared."
"Whom?"
"Nature, the sphere."
"They must be punished for this," Wang boiled with rage.
"Punishment?" Mo voiced the meaning fearfully.
"Yes, send them hurricanes, storms. Floods. Everything! Or let the sphere itself bring them to ruin. Or them upon the sphere..."
"But they’ve already learned to use them," Mo reported, "so others among them can’t be blamed—so you’d understand the current situation."

Wang: "So they’ve grown so clever they wield these as weapons against each other—to avoid blame for the attack?"
"Evolving only in one direction," Wang noted grimly.
"Which direction?" Mo trembled, though she knew the answer. Not daring to say it aloud, only perhaps to think it.
"Why all this constant warfare?" Mo couldn’t find peace.
"Simple—control of arms development. Control of virility. Control of troop readiness. Control of money. Control of power. For this, wars are summoned and enemy images crafted. When none exist. Mostly, of course, they do," the old men burst into laughter.
"They now have a New Order. Such order-creations have been seen before," Fung sneered.
"When, where?" Mo asked.
Fung didn’t answer.
"Send someone like them. In appearance, in essence—an example, a lasting element uniting all," Wang suggested finally.
"I’ll do that," Mo promised, somewhat evasively.

And Mo sent forth a fifth emissary, secretly crafted and gifted with life. "Go," she whispered, "bring them peace!" In secret. Or so she thought.

Fung set the fifth stone in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into five-dotted halves. The stone began to glow dull green.

"But if we show them our power, explain everything," Mo tried once more to stand up for her creation.
With a sigh, Wang took the box: "Fine, this is the last time!"
"Yes, absolutely, they’ll learn anew," Mo practically knelt in her words.
The men shook their heads with hope—only upon awakening from childhood would the girl understand that to alter the code, one must first break it. Always.
"But then they’d fear, they wouldn’t evolve, they wouldn’t think themselves unique. Thus fading from inferiority," Mo broke the men, who stood silent as mown grass.

And Mo sent forth a sixth emissary. But this time, no longer in absolute secrecy...
Fung set the sixth stone in place in response—with his seemingly eccentric placements, he had already reached the throne room’s center. The placed slab resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into six-dotted halves. The stone began to glow dull green.

The girl raged. "She’s entirely infected, completely," Fung asserted with conviction. "What to do, Wang?"
"Nothing. She acts. And she must feel as those she cares for do."
"But she’s diverged from the experiment," Fung argued passionately.
"Yes, but that was the experiment’s purpose. Perhaps even its primary one," Wang explained hastily to his companion.

"They’re sucking all the energy for themselves! Ruining the balance!" Mo screamed. "They’ve sent out probe-pumps everywhere. Preparing for transfer. Leaving others deprived! Even us!"
The throne room was indeed half-dark.
"And among them are mystics who believe making everything uniform will erase problems!"
"Not make uniform, but observe," Fung corrected swiftly.
"The project must end, critical mass is already exceeding...," Mo heard Fung persuading Wang in the distance.

The gate! From the two, she had to choose the right one. No easy task—both were equally indifferent.
Hands emerged from the gate’s surface. More lower ones, smaller.
In the center were lips, which suddenly and without warning parted.
"What did you ask?" they inquired. And Mo answered.
"Then greet us," the gate said. "One by one, please."
The uppermost held the largest palm... Mo hesitantly greeted the hands, finally squeezing the last, which refused to let go. Mo’s hand began to glow. It hurt, but she endured. Then the hand released her—Mo’s hand had become a key.
The gate opened.
The wooden mouth cried: "Farewell! But don’t return once finished."
"From where?" Mo asked.
The gate laughed: "They call it life themselves, though it’s hell."

Fung set the final stone in place with a rumble. It resembled a domino stone, split along a fracture line into blank halves. Mo had sent forth her emissary. No longer in secret at all, for she had sent the irreplaceable, taking something from herself and leaving behind space for possibility.

"She’s escaped," Wang stormed into the throne room. "She found the words for the lock!"
Fung lay on his side, lifting his head like from a pillow. Wang was momentarily stunned by the teacher’s calm.
"It was meant to go this way," Fung said, rising.
"Why?" Wang flailed aimlessly. "Again?"
In response, Fung pushed the first monolith. It began replicating, forming a clattering chain toward the next stone, spawning smaller clattering rivulets. Finally, a massive ring formed, at its center a glowing red eye—the sphere Fung had snatched from Mo.
"The domino effect. Or defect, we don’t yet know, but we’ll soon see," Fung revealed, his optimism waning from irony.
"You’ve shattered striving perfection," Wang was disconsolate.
Fung replied with utter sincerity and surprise: "How can one shatter chaos’s perfection?"
"But if you’d pushed from the other side?" Wang doubted visibly.
Fung laughed: "Ruler, they’d have fallen all the same, in the same final direction."
"I don’t believe it," Wang said, eyeing the stones. "Don’t you think Mo has rebuilt this?"
"Knowledge awakens doubt," Fung looked at Wang accusingly.
"Those are just words of wisdom, without deeds...," Wang watched the clattering path of stones strangely.
"And why did you divert her emissaries onto your path, always?" Wang seethed.
"No, I always gave them a choice first," Fung argued heatedly.
"What choice, another vile temptation?" Wang asked sarcastically.
"Trial and error is older than any community," Fung reminded.
Suddenly, a crackling sound came from the melodic hum. A foreign noise, uncharacteristic of the domino effect. It resonated here, in the throne room, for the first time.
Both turned their heads in surprise.
"How?" Fung barked at the previously clinking cascade. "Yes, the core is different. Come, look!"
"Core?" Wang was startled.
"Look already!"
At the halted core sat a building—the town hall. Like a grain of sand. They saw Mo and her companions.
"The brake is on with this!" Wang noted.
The tiny grain-town hall had altered one stone’s path, halting the falling cascade. There was no end. Not yet.
"Coincidence," Fung tried to sound dismissive.
"No!" Wang suddenly laughed. "It’s Mo! Her doing! There’s still hope! Let’s watch!"

They watched Mo descend. The girl stepped onto the cobblestone square framed by centuries-old buildings. In the distance, at the square’s end, a house shone like a watchful eye in the firelight.
"This was a mockery of me?" Wang fumed.
"Now that she must manage on her own. But the teacher stays with you for now." Fung nodded solemnly.
Mo hovered beside her father, seeing him off on his long path.
"Well, I hope when I return, you’ll have much to show me," Wang said, his gaze tenderly caressing Mo.
"I’ll try, I really like your gift," Mo promised.

Mo stood on the street. Before her gleamed a house, the empty square’s cobblestones bending bare soles curiously like noses. Then a voice called her. A very familiar voice. The girl looked up. There, several figures waved at her. The gloom sketched behind their backs a full moon from the ruling darkness.
She was claimed. The town hall watched her thoughtfully, offering a ladder for support. The rest, she had to manage alone. Alone. Until her tale. So she hoped.
The town hall clock began to chime slowly, melodiously. It rang: "The fairest town in Estonia is Tartu."