Halo 04: Encounter

"All right, gentlemen." Dilandau continued pacing in front of the assembled melefs on foot, speaking into a small intercom and knowing fully well where they were even though they were invisible. He could feel the dense heat from their engines. They created an invisible, warm windbreak.

"You are aware of the situation. I have gone over this several times. Get the White Dragon, torch the place, leave no witnesses, and get out. Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Chesta and Dalet are in charge. They take orders directly from me. Obey them as you would me."

"Yes, sir."

"Chesta and Dalet…"

"H-hai…" said Chesta.

"Un…" said Dalet.

"You will take my every order as if it were your life's dependence. Do not think that this new position has made you any more important than you once were. You're still Dragonslayers under my command. I will not tolerate any deviation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Un."

Dilandau stopped pacing and glared sideways at his intercom. "Dalet, is there a problem?"

"…no, Dilandau-sama."

"…good." Dilandau resumed pacing. "Keep your intercoms on at all times. If you receive any orders from the Vione that do not come from me directly, you will check with me before making any sort of moves. My orders override all others. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Um… Dilandau-sama…"

"What, Dalet?"

"What if we get contradictory orders from Folken-sama?"

Dilandau stopped and clenched the intercom so tightly that it creaked along its seams. "WHAT DID I SAY, DALET?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dilandau faced the patch of heated, industrial air that was the melefs. "No mistakes. This is a quick in-and-out mission involving some backwater hicks with rusted melefs that still run on the same technology that they had generations ago. And remember that we just got the melefs repainted. Don't scratch them. Any dirt that gets on them you will rub off with your own toothbrush. And yes, I know it's impossible to keep them perfectly clean. It's an incentive to keep them as clean as possible."

There was a silence. "…yes, sir."

"Good. Make me proud, my Dragonslayers. Remember that you are the elite of the Zaibach army. Do not fail me."

Dilandau clicked off the intercom and walked back to his own Alseides, hidden in a thicket, stealth mantle activated. A murder of crows flew toward it, sensed the heat and density of an object with senses that most humans neglect to use, and avoided it neatly.

"Fucking not able to go on a fucking torch mission… fuck this… shove a sword up his ass…"

-----------------

Zongi watched the distant town from atop the currently invisible Vione. It was able to withstand the searing heat from the vertical turbine / boiler complexes and the resulting high-humidity pocket for short periods of time, though sweat was already dripping from its temples. The breeze had stopped because the ship was currently stationary. The discomfort was well worth it to get outside for a little while.

A cloud of dust arose from the city as the gates were torn off. The wood flew several yards back into the woods.

It's starting.

------------

…at least I think this current run of rather pointless adolescent depression is over for the time being. I will always be prone to relapses, but at least I can fight it off. No matter what happens, I think I'll be all right. I'm going to be king someday soon, and I will hate it, but at least I will have the opportunity to change some things. There are many laws I am going to abolish.

I am also going to abolish the monarchy and establish a representative government. I've read enough about empires on the Mystic Moon to know how to avoid a tragic downfall resulting from such.

Hm… oh, yes, today we had potatoes for breakfast again and Van launched his spoon—

------------

The room shook.

Johnny looked up from his reading and stared at the ceiling. Dust was showering down from the wooden boards.

The room shook again. Hard.

"What the fuck?"

Johnny snapped the book shut, stood from his cross-legged position, and looked out the window.

A huge, bulbous appendage swiveled out of midair and shot a metal claw into the window.

"SHIT!"

Johnny threw himself to the ground and covered his head with the diary as the crima claw crashed through the window, shattering glass across the floor and Johnny himself, and wound and corkscrewed through the door. The door exploded spectacularly. The claw twisted around in the hallway as if looking for survivors, then snap-contracted back into the appendage.

Johnny remained on the floor for a while.

"…what the HELL?"

He sat up and brushed the broken glass off of his back and hair, keeping below the windowsill. His hands and the nape of his neck were bleeding.

Shit. What the shit? What the hell…

Johnny shook the loose glass out of the back of his shirt and cautiously peeked over the windowsill.

The city was being ransacked.

Johnny blinked. The bulbous arms, emerging out of what almost seemed to be rippling cloaks of air, were intermittently torching buildings or stabbing opposing mecha with the claws. Many buildings were already building and collapsing. The ground was littered with fallen melefs.

The sky was orange and black.

"IT'S A GUNDAM! Wait… no…" Johnny thought for a moment. "…shit."

Johnny scrambled across the floor, blindly snatched a few books out of the recess in the floor, and scrambled across the splinters and wooden spars of what was once a door into the hallway.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

-------------

Chesta spun around and speared the last samurai guymelef in the area, faintly hearing the cry from its occupant. The melef went limp with the claw still inside. It took several attempts to yank the claw free of the mess.

He controlled the backlash from the claw's release and switched the intercom to talk mode. "Dalet, this is Chesta. The last resistance forces in the southeast sector have been eradicated."

The intercom crackled as soon as Chesta released the button. The signals were getting bad.

"I found the shrine. Calling for backup—"

"Chesta, Dalet, come in," said Dilandau.

Chesta hurriedly pressed the response button. "This is Chesta. What are your orders, Dilandau-sama?"

"There is another target you must capture. Search for a civilian wearing odd clothes. One who looks out-of-place."

"…sir?"

"The tracks from that odd contraption we found out in the fields lead toward the road. The person is probably in Fanelia. If you've already offed him, bring the corpse."

"…yes, sir."

The Vione-frequency static cracked off. Chesta sighed and looked around. There was no life for blocks. All of the civilians had already fled to the mountains, and all of the fighting men were dead or dying.

I do not want to go searching through rubble for a corpse. Damn it…

Chesta sighed and maneuvered his guymelef over to the wreckage of a small house. Whoever had said that a soldier's life was entirely glory and battle was obviously a moron—

Somebody dressed in dark clothes sprinted across the open square.

Chesta blinked and turned around in his seat, squinting through the slats in the grille. The figure was indeed dressed oddly and laden down with a heavy backpack.

Chesta blinked. What the hell is he doing? He's running around in broad daylight across a battlefield, and he's only armed with two machetes! He's going to get killed! Is he CRAZY?

Chesta pressed the intercom button.

"Secondary target spotted. Proceeding to capture."

-----------------

Johnny stopped in an alley behind the rubble of a house, leaning against a half-demolished wall and holding his machetes in either hand. He had stopped in his room on the way out of the main palace to collect his backpack. Against his better judgment he had searched for his weapons and had found them in what appeared to be somebody's office, luckily in the same hallway of his own room.

He had barely made it out of the building. Less than a minute later, his wing of the complex had been completely trashed.

"…shiiit…"

Johnny readjusted the weight of his backpack and shoved his machetes in a cross through the back of his belt. It was time to get the hell out of here.

Something industrial switched gears behind him. It hissed.

Johnny ducked.

Another crima claw, this time softer and more flexible, stopped in a half-curled loop where his torso had once been. It seemed to be forced into curling by being pushed against an invisible wall.

"…AAAAH!"

Johnny scrambled under the claw, straightened, and bolted.

The weight of the backpack was becoming jarring. He slowed momentarily to cast it off when the metal shot out once again and painfully molded itself around his torso. The metal was searing hot and already tightening painfully.

"AAAAAH!!"

The backpack was smashed into his back; the machetes, in turn, pressed painfully into the small of his back and sliced him through the skin that was being pressed over the blades. His ribs creaked.

"OWWW! SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! STOP IT, YOU FUCK!"

The claw lifted him into the air, still running fruitlessly and struggling. It brought itself to an invisible face.

Johnny blinked and stopped running, though he was still subconsciously trying to jerk his arms free. He felt definite heat radiating from something just a meter from himself. He looked down. The appendage from which the claw had issued was pushing aside what appeared to be a mantle of air, revealing a small sliver of blue metal, rivets and gears, in the formation of what he was sure was a proverbial torso and a leg.

One thing was for sure. This was not a Gundam.

"HEY! FUCKER!" Johnny started his struggles afresh. "PUT ME DOWN OR I SWEAR THAT I WILL SLASH YOUR GUT OPEN AND SEAR YOUR FACE OFF WITH YOUR OWN STOMACH ACID! YEAH! YOU THINK I CAN'T DO IT? I AM INVINCIBLE! I CANNOT DIE! NO MATTER WHAT I DO, I ALWAYS WIN! YOU CAN'T WIN AGAINST ME! THE COPS CAN'T TOUCH ME! NEVER BEEN CAUGHT! HEY! LISTEN TO ME, YOU MUTE FUCK!"

The melef turned and strode toward the gate.

"HEY! YEAH, YOU! I KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME BECAUSE OF THE BABEL FISH CHIPS!  I SPEAK-A YOUR LANGUAGE! SEE, I SPEAK GIBBERSISH! PUT ME DOWN, YOU SON OF A BITCH! SPINNELESS RECTAL TICK! WHAT'S WRONG? IS THINKING WITH YOUR BRAIN INSTEAD OF YOUR DICK TOO HARD FOR ONCE?"

The claw gently contracted and drew Johnny within the folds of the stealth mantle. The appendage dropped limply to the melef's side. The metal, still warm, molded itself so that Johnny hung vertically in a small cocoon.

Johnny blinked. Within the mantle, he could still see everything clearly, though the air appeared to be oily.

"…HEY!"

-------------------

"I'LL HAVE YOUR GUTS AS SINIEW AND MAKE SLINGSHOTS TO FIRE TABLE DARTS UP YOUR ASS! SHOVE YOUR OWN GEARS DOWN YOUR THROAT! Hey… is there a pilot in this thing?"

Chesta winced and continued taking long, measured strides toward the remnants of the city gates. This prisoner definitely had full usage of spicy language, nothing that he not heard before, but not in such very creative ways. This one was going to be a handful.

I hope Dilandau-sama can handle this one. If the prisoner knows what is good for him, he'll keep his mouth shut. All talk and no action. What a crude, ineffective man. Sure sign of cowardice.

The intercom crackled.

"Chess?" asked Dalet.

Chesta pressed the 'talk' button. "I'm here. I have apprehended the prisoner. Proceeding back to the Vione immediately. How are things on your side of the town?"

"We've cornered the activated Dragon and the prince in the shrine. Proceeding to capture."

"Oh. Good luck."

"Thanks. See you back at base."

Dalet clicked off. Chesta sighed and stepped outside the city gates. He dropped the stealth mantle.

"I see you've gone quiet down there."

He knew that the prisoner could not hear him. The subtle vibrations through the crima claw resulting from struggling had tapered off. He looked down at the prisoner through the grille slats and half expected to see him hanging limply, unconscious.

The prisoner was staring straight back at him. He did not look amused.

"…hi."

The prisoner's expression did not change. If anything, it was growing steadily angrier. It had moved past the stage of uncouth rage into the silent, stewing anger.

It was so like the stage transition he had seen in Dilandau-sama that it scared him.

The prisoner's mouth twitched.

Chesta gave the prisoner a wan look. He was in a guymelef, controlling the claw, behind several inches of sheet metal. No matter how much the prisoner tried, he could not move until Chesta released him. The machetes looked as if they would snap against his armor, anyway.

"Just calm down, down there." Chesta had raised his voice so that he could be heard. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The prisoner stared silently.
"…lost your voice or something?"

"……"

"…fine."

Chesta lifted off of the ground and switched into flight mode.

"……AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Shhhh," he said absentmindedly.

The struggles and string of curses resumed with the intensity of second wind and sheer terror. Chesta sighed heavily.

"I'll have you on the ground in a few moments, you know. I'm not going to drop you."

"I'M GOING TO DIE! NO, I CAN'T DIE! I CAN'T DIE! IF YOU DROP ME, I'LL REMAIN ALIVE WITH FULL AWARENESS OF MY BATTERED, INTERNALLY PUNCTURED BODY!"

"Loony… freaking bats. Completely insane."

"NAILBUNNY! WAKE ME UP! MR. EFF! PSYCHODOUGHBOY! SOMEBODY! NAILBUNNY! NAILBUNNY!"

-----------------------

The hydraulic pistons controlling the hangar gate hissed loudly.

Dilandau watched the hangar open from the suspended walkway, loosely grasping the railing. The gate rose at an angle, curling along grooves and slats and flattening itself back out at a parallel with the ceiling. A glairing sliver of orange sunset expanded across the floor.

This had better be good. The rectangle of sunlight moved up Dilandau's body. His armor and golden-clasped leather glared back. Only decent light in this fucking place. All of this doom and gloom gets boring. Chesta had better have something decent with him. I'm in no mood to mess with petty civilians.

Dilandau hoped that the prisoner would be feisty. He had been ordered long ago never to harm any prisoner unless in self-defense. Folken had added 'not even as a preemptive measure' just as Dilandau had been getting his hopes up about using that very loophole. Pacifist fuck.

Chesta's Alseides closed in on the hangar bay as a black figure against the glare, light refracting painfully off of its edges. It was holding something in its claw.

The thing was struggling and cursing.

Dilandau smiled slowly. Excellent… good work, Chesta.

---------------------

"I do not know why you insist upon hiding everything from us, Folken. We are your former mindmates. Though you have quit our organization, we would like to remain comrades in our pursuit for knowledge. A beautiful mind such as your own should not work on its own. It needs the clarity of experience and worldliness to edit its raw majesty."

"Hm." Folken smiled to himself. He was walking down the hall followed by the four Sorcerers, the latter of whom had decided to make a surprise visit to collect all of his evidence and information from the past night. They were refusing to leave him alone.

"Did you write that speech yourself?"

"Don't be cocky." Foruma barely narrowed his eyes at the taller man's back. "You forget your place, child."

"I am no longer a child."

"You will always be a child to me. A silly, idealistic adolescent child. Everything that you know you have learned from us. You owe everything to us. Don't forget what you once were."

"Do you really think so?"

"Don't think that just because you're Emperor Dornkirk's new favorite little data dog that you hold any sort of an edge over the rest of this organization." Kuaru released breath through his nose angrily. "We always have been and always will be your superiors. You are the apprentice."

"And it would be fitting," said Foruma, "for you to show your gratitude by surrendering the samples that you attained without our approval."

"Hm."

"Folken, don't make this any harder than it already is. Don't be difficult. Don't treat us the same way you do when we merely request that you take medication."

The last speaker was Garufo. Folken stopped.

The Sorcerers waited patiently. Kuaru looked positively smug.

"…"

Folken glanced over his shoulder at such an angle that the collar of his cloak shielded the lower half of his face. "…it has already been consumed."

"Oh, you don't say." Foruma stared back. "By what, pray tell? The plumbing system? The boilers? A beaker of sulfuric acid?"

Folken stared and tried to think of some sort of witty yet enigmatic reply.

"Or was it nitric acid?" asked Kuaru.

"I thought the resulting compound would make an ideal alternative fuel."

A tremor ran through the walls, shaking the blue-flame lamps in their wall sconces. The scientists looked up.

"It sounds as though somebody is arriving in the hangar," said Foruma.

"Hm." Folken turned on his heel and continued walking. The Sorcerers continued following.

"Don't you have some sort of business to which to attend, gentlemen?"

"Our business is with you. And we will refuse to leave until all physical evidence and data are surrendered to us."

"Hm."

Damn it, why can't the bastards just leave? I do not want them breathing down my neck for the next few weeks! Damn it… damn it…I'll have to find some way to counter this…

"I am sure that if you gentlemen visit the inner offices you will be assigned quarters to your liking."

"We thank you for your hospitality. We need to stretch our legs, you see. Following you around is like having our own tour of the most inner happenings of this ship."

And you can burn in hell, you bastard.

Folken furrowed his eyebrows slightly. The melef in the hangar was the return party from Fanelia, either bringing Van and the Escaflowne or the suspect visitor from the Mystic Moon. At this moment, he would half-rather see only the Dragonslayers returning empty-handed. At least that way the Sorcerers would not collect any of the evidence that he needed. It would be easier to attain running about in the woods than through acres of red tape in the capitol.

"And might we ask…" said Paruchi, "just why you are not personally overseeing operations on the forward deck? This is part of your job description, Strategos. If this mission fails, you will be the one to blame in the capitol."

Because I can't stand to watch units I command burn down my home country, let alone the country I abandoned. I can order them about, but I can't watch the consequences of my actions. I'm a bloody coward. Leave me alone.

"I trust the command to Dilandau Albatou."

"Not a wise decision on your part, Strategos Folken."

Folken stepped out onto the gangplank across the guymelef docking bay. Dilandau was already standing on the hangar floor, where a single Alseides had recently landed and was releasing steam to cool the levistones. The steam curled across the floor as a thick, curling lake of milky fog that poured out the closing door and into the sunset as a proverbial waterfall.

The Alseides had a person curled in one of its crima claws. Dilandau was interviewing him.

"Is this the one from the Mystic Moon or your younger brother?" Foruma hissed into Folken's ear.

Folken mentally brushed him off and walked toward the stairs at the far end of the gangplank.

---------------

Dilandau cut a path through the dense steam that closed itself after his passage, leaving a dark gash in the milk that was already beginning to dissipate. The prisoner continued to struggle and twist his shoulders frantically, though he had gone silent.

"You, prisoner." Dilandau stopped and placed his hands on his hips, drawing himself up to his full height. "You are now the prisoner of the Zaibach Army. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. I am Dilandau Albatou, the commander of your apprehender. Henceforth, I am your master. I decide whether or not you live."

Johnny glared at Dilandau and stopped struggling. Dilandau narrowed one eye. What an odd-looking, ratty catch.

"Do you have a name?"

"Johnny." Johnny thought for a moment. "Johnny C. You may not call me 'Nny'."

"Johnny C? Do you have a full surname?"

"It's all I care to give to you, fucker. Um… can you get me down from here, Commander Dildo?"

"…Dildo?"

"Yeah, or whatever you said your name was. Very painful."

The cockpit hatch opened with a hiss of clean steam. Chesta unhooked himself from the guymelef's restraints, stood on the edge of the hatch, and saluted.

"The respected suspect was apprehended, sir."

"No kidding. Thank you, Chesta."

"Excuse me…" said Johnny.

"I said that you will speak only when spoken to."

"Only 'to when you are spoken', you illiterate goat-fuck. Get me down."

Dilandau's lip curled. "…all right," he said quietly.

"Lord Folken is here, sir," said Chesta.

"I don't care. Chesta, release him."

"…sir?"

"I said…" Dilandau rolled his eyes to Chesta dangerously slowly. "…release him."

"…h-hai…"

Chesta lowered his gaze and stooped back into the melef. He released a lever; the crima claw responded by loosening enough to drop Johnny face-down onto the stone floor, the backpack making his fall more forceful.

Johnny coughed and pushed himself up onto his arms.

Dilandau smiled slowly and kicked Johnny in the face.

"Dilandau!" yelled Folken.

Johnny collapsed onto his arms and, after a moment, spat blood out of his mouth. Dilandau watched the boy struggle to regain support with his arms. He lifted Johnny's chin with his toe.

"What was that you were saying about a dildo, hm? Illiterate goat-fuck, was that it?"

Johnny observed his tormentor for a moment, and then smiled with the air of one who sees the same humor in a situation as watching a car hit a cat.

"Yeah. I see that we're already moving into the insecure asshole stage of psychological development. This development being within this past few minutes, or within the whole span of your life, whichever you choose."

"WHAT?"

"It means that you're an insecure little prick with nothing but animalistic violence and a beautiful face to cover up your sub-primordial IQ, your violent tendencies and self-serving—"

Dilandau removed his toe from Johnny's chin for a split second, allowing the head to drop a fraction of a centimeter before kicking him under the head hard enough to knock him onto his back.

"YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND ME, BITCH?"

Johnny wormed out of his backpack, still turtle-back on the ground, and barely avoided Dilandau's heel, which was aimed at his nose. He rolled across the floor and stood, drawing his machetes in the same movement.

"I think I see nothing different or special about you. Yes, a beautiful soldier's body capable of great cruelty like a marching little mindless puppet of violence and war. A mysterious persona, an eccentric or 'different' appearance of fashionable insanity, but there really is nothing of substance TO—"

Dilandau charged and sliced his sword down toward Johnny's head; Johnny caught the sword at the apex of crossed blades. Dilandau untangled himself and slashed at Johnny's exposed stomach.

Johnny neatly dodged.

What the HELL? Dilandau circled around Johnny and charged once again, aiming for the collarbone. His opponent danced backwards lightly and charged his own stomach, forcing Dilandau to jump back.

His style is entirely amateurish, and he's still dodging me—

"DILANDAU, STOP."

Dilandau faintly noticed Folken running down the stairs, subtly holding up the skirts of his robe, and then smirked as the he tripped on the stairs, fell onto his back, and cascaded shoulders-first to the hangar floor, cracking his head. His attention was not sufficiently taken from the battle at hand so as to provide an opening; the movements of countering and attacking came so naturally that he didn't even need to think anymore. All he needed was an awareness of the moment.

"Think it's funny, do you? Pain of others? You sick fuck!"

Johnny slashed at Dilandau's abdomen. Dilandau snarled, hair already dashing sweat into his face, and crouched for a moment, sizing up his opponent. Johnny was his height, but he must have weighed half as much, obviously in no fighting shape; there would be no way that he could outlast Dilandau…

But why the FUCK can't I hit him?

Dilandau numbly noticed that by this point Folken had long since recovered—though the fair, drawn-back hair by his left ear was matted with blood—and was now hanging around the fringes of the battle, reaching out of his cloak with his claw and concentrating on Johnny as if he were about to grab him at the slightest chance. Dilandau snorted; whatever natural reflexes Folken had were doubled with his fake arm, but Folken would treat this ingrate favorably. He needed to learn—a—

"AAAAH!"

Johnny whirled both machetes down in a butterfly-arc toward Dilandau's head. He only saw the brief, fluid flash of metal wings, momentarily hypnotized, then jumped backwards and felt the sting of a blade barely slicing his collarbone through leather. Johnny snapped the blades down and scissor-slashed what would have been Dilandau's abdomen had not the latter the reflexes to jump back.

Fancy, but amateurish. Chesta could gut him in seconds. Dilandau's eyes widened. Why—WHY—WHY? Why can't I kill the bastard?

Johnny backed up momentarily, heaving, crouching and glaring at Dilandau. His black eyeliner was running down his cheeks with sweat.

Dilandau stared back at Johnny and cautiously and began to circle, stepping ankle over ankle. Prey that thinks too much, such as this one, should be such an easy catch—so EASY—then WHY—why…

Folken seized Johnny by the neck and dug his foreclaw into the boy's neck. Johnny's pupils severely dilated before he collapsed at all of his joints. Folken neatly swept him under the knees with one arm while supporting his back with the other and gathered him into his arms.

"Dilandau, I will discuss this with you later."

Folken was obviously not amused on their usual levels of mutual hate and insubordination. Dilandau watched him irately—prey stolen and given sanctuary, goddamn fucking bastard—then jerked his head toward a far door.

"Fine, get out with your precious lab rat, Folken. I have no interest in him anyway."

"I think that you have something to discuss with us right now," said Foruma.

The Sorcerers were standing on the hangar floor and watching with passive amusement. Folken turned a half-step to face them, coolly stared Foruma down, and walked the opposite direction. A dark patch of blood had already spread across the back of his head.

A side door hissed closed after him.

"…hm."

"Stubborn bastard. Think we should cut his antibiotics supply until he complies with us?"

"His infection's cleared up already, Kuaru."

"Damn it. Well, unless he gets another one for ending belly-up on the floor. Bloody bastard."

"Literally."

"Kuaru, Paruchi, that will do."

Foruma watched the door for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked back up the gangplank, the other three Sorcerers falling in step behind him.

---------------

Chesta sighed audibly and leapt down from his Alseides. Dilandau was staring at the door through which the Sorcerers had left atop the gangplank.

He was shaking.

"My lord? Sir?"

Dilandau did not respond. Chesta sighed and walked around to face Dilandau.

Dilandau was clenching his fists and his teeth neurotically. His entire body was wracking. Sweat uncaused by the battle was beginning to form at his temples, running the small hairs by his ears to stick to the sides of his face.

"…Dilandau-sama? Are you all right?"

Dilandau released his teeth with what could only be called a bark, spun on his heel, and, still shaking and clenching his fists until his leather gauntlets creaked, marched to a manually operated side door—chosen probably on the premise alone that he could slam it, which he did.

Loudly.

Chesta watched the door as if expecting Dilandau to return long enough to smack him or give him some random blame for the situation. After moments of silence so potent that it reverberated in the acoustics of the hangar, he sighed and climbed back into his Alseides to dock it properly.