Chapter 6
Heero glared at the message glowing before him, highlighting his face in the early darkness.
'Another solo mission. Damn, just what I need right now.'
Wing ZERO's pilot received two types of transmissions from the scientists. The first was the usual order from Dr. J, containing the name and location of his target, minimal necessary information, and the time frame in which the mission was to be carried out. The other variety was so different Heero felt sure they came from a different author. He'd traced both sources when he'd received the first of the new type of transmissions--an ability he guessed few on Earth or the colonies possessed--but both came to his computer from the same orbiting satellite, which was supposedly secure. He had no grounds for argument, which suited him fine since he preferred this new strategist to Dr. J.
The real transmissions--as Duo had gratefully dubbed them--were usually ten to twenty times as long as the others. Instead of brief instructions which left planning and strategy up to him, these contained a full battle plan, complete with alternate procedures and escape routs should things go wrong, all designed specifically for Wing ZERO's unique capabilities.
Unlike Dr. J's usual orders, these transmissions seemed to place the value of the pilot above that of his machine and, even more surprising, above the immediate success of his mission. This was something Heero had never encountered in his training, and at first was loathe to trust, but after following the suggested strategies he could no longer doubt their efficiency. Whomever was creating these strategies was a genius who knew his machine better than he did, and Heero was grateful. Since the Christmas battle Oz and the White Fang had gotten wiser in their dealings with the Gundams. They were no longer underestimated. Surprise and superior skills were now the only advantages left to them. They needed all the help they could get.
With a growl Heero accepted the mission. Recently more and more of the real transmissions were outlining missions in pairs or trios, a method which made sense for many reasons. With more than one pilots fighting simultaneously there was a greater chance of success, they could handle more opposition, they could complete their mission faster and more thoroughly, and if someone was hurt they wouldn't be captured, their partner could help them. Unfortunately, Dr. J's orders were either solo or of such a suicidal nature that they required all five pilots.
They had received nothing but these minimalist orders for well over a week, now.
'Well, there's nothing I can do. I leave in an hour.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Quatre frowned, staring out of his window at the lightening sky. 'Always the early riser, I guess I'm just made that way.' The resulting scowl tugged at the dark bruises climbing across his cheek and forehead, making him wince and turn from the dawn. Trowa was sleeping peacefully on the bed against the far wall and Quatre could just make out his serene features in the half-light.
'Well, if I'm going to be awake I might as well use my time constructively, but I can't really do much until I know what's going on. I wonder when they're going to give my laptop back.'
Several problems prevented the Arab from getting the valuable computer for himself. Firstly, he knew he would wake Trowa. Aside from politics and their current titles as both rebels and freedom fighters, all of the Gundam pilots had been trained as terrorists; there was no way he could sneak out of the room unnoticed. Then came the simple fact that he had no clue where his tiny computer was at the moment. It had been sitting innocently on his desk across the room, but after his first miserably unsuccessful attempt to claim it Wufei had taken it elsewhere. He guessed it wasn't far, but his third reason for remaining without it effectively prevented any form of search. As loathe as he was to admit it, Quatre was still completely bedridden. He could hardly move without coughing, and despite his lover's gentle caresses and reassurances, those spells were painful enough to keep him completely out of commission.
Every time he felt his chest begin to tighten he would simply squeeze his eyes shut and pray for it to end as quickly as possible. Once he began coughing it took an excruciatingly long time to stop himself, and the resulting spasms sent pain shooting through his entire body. His broken ribs grated against each other with every gasping breath, simply slowing their mending process further, and every bruised muscle would lock into a stinging knot. By the time the fit was over his entire body was aching, and it didn't take much to bring these hellish episodes on.
Somehow during the battle he'd managed to break one of his ribs badly enough for it to splinter and scrape the outer lining of his left lung. He could feel it like a paper-cut every time he took a breath, but knew he'd been extremely lucky. Had the jagged bone gone just a few centimeter's further, his lung would have been punctured and he would have spent these past days in the hospital rather than in the relative comfort of his own home. Duo and Wufei had wanted to take him anyway, but Trowa had argued against it and Heero's agreement sealed the decision. Trowa knew how his partner felt about hospitals, and knew what remaining there as long as the doctors would insist would have done to the blonde.
'They smell so fake, like me, and I won't have doctors wasting their time, skills, and resources that should be put to use helping people more deserving.'
Quatre shuddered at the thought, then immediately froze, trying to avoid another coughing spell. Breathing slowly and evenly for a few moments he was able to avert the pain, and eventually relaxed back into the pillows he was propped against.
He'd lain unconscious in this bed for three days before so much as batting an eye, and it had been five since he'd first woken. 'It's been over a week since the battle and I still can't get out of bed. I can't believe I was foolish enough to do this. Trowa, Heero, Duo, Wufei, forgive me. I'm an idiot. How can I help you if I'm stuck here?
'I can't plan anything until I know Oz's next moves, and I can't find anything out without my laptop.'
With another sigh his eyelids fluttered closed.
'Maybe I can get back to sleep. At least that's doing some good. The sooner this body heals the sooner I can return to protect you all.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two hours after accepting the mission found Heero and Wing ZERO chest deep in mobile suits.
The objective was simple, wipe out one of the last remaining mobile suit factories on the continent. Of course others were constantly being built, but it took much more time to create than to destroy, and for once--in this one small way--the Gundams had the advantage.
Unfortunately, Heero was not in a position to appreciate that advantage at the moment. He'd made an error, a grievous one, and was paying for it as he and Wing ZERO were tossed about a large shuttle runway. He'd known the recent batch of aries suits had been completed. What he hadn't been aware of was the large number of well-trained soldiers that had arrived two days before to pilot them. He'd been expecting to attack a few guards and ended up fighting an entire regiment. Things were not looking up. He was bruised and bleeding from being slammed around the cockpit and Wing ZERO wasn't in much better shape. These pilots were new, but they knew their suits and their objective. This would not be an easy battle.
'Damn J. I should have known about this. My false expectations endangered the mission.
'. . . and if it had been someone else?'
Wing brought his beam saber down viciously into an aries suit.
'Those scientists are lucky I don't know where they're hiding.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Quatre moaned, tossing and turning as much as his bound torso and wrist would allow. Sweat covered his skin and soaked wispy bangs, making them cling to his forehead and eyes. His head twisted from side to side as he made small whimpering noises, aggravating his wounds, but not conscious enough to care.
Slowly a gentle pressure restrained his weak movements and the sticky bangs were lifted from his eyes. The pained whimpers quieted, and finally, after long moments of carefully measured breathing, blue eyes fluttered open.
"Trowa?"
"Of course." The tall boy above him smiled, but as the expression of discomfort didn't leave his own ashen face he could see the concern in his lover's begin to grow. "What's wrong, little one? Are you in pain?"
Quatre forced a quick smile, thinking back over his dreams and feeling the ache of his heart. It radiated out through the rest of him, a dull throbbing like he'd been beaten, only not so badly. He hardly felt it beneath the fresh pain of his own injuries, but it was there, familiar pain that was not his own. Heero was hurt. "A little. I think I was dreaming."
Trowa nodded, his eyes never leaving Quatre's face.
"I must have moved around too much, but I think I'm fine now." He smiled again, playing up the innocent eyes and faking a yawn.
Trowa gave another nod, but didn't return the expression, moving back to his chair at the bedside to gaze at his lover.
"So," Quatre started, snuggling carefully down into his cushions, "where's Heero?"
"On a mission."
"When should he be back?"
"By tonight."
The smile finally reached his eyes as he sighed a bit. 'At least that means he's not too far away, and I don't think he's hurt badly enough to need help completing his mission.'
He cast a glance back at Trowa, who was still watching him.
'I can find out how he's doing tonight, and maybe they'll bring my laptop back.'
'Still, I shouldn't have let this happen.' He'd completely forgotten about Trowa's eyes as his expression darkened, lacking his usual strength to mask it unconsciously. 'I have to keep it from happening again. I don't care what they say, I have to know what's going on so no one else gets hurt.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Heero cried out as he was blindsided by one of the last remaining aries suits. It careened into him at full speed, knocking them both off to the left before crashing unceremoniously into the once smooth surface of the air-strip. Cement crumbled beneath them as they rolled, and by the time the Japanese pilot could regain his bearings he'd realized something was wrong. Sharp stinging pain was shooting up his left leg, flaring at the slightest movement. He quickly decapitated the other suit, but when he rose the change in position forced him to dig sharp teeth into his lower lip to keep from screaming.
'This is definitely not good.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Trowa jumped as Quatre jerked upright, one hand clutching at his chest as the other went to his left leg. He only managed one shuddering breath before the coughing overtook him and racked his small frame. Trowa quickly dropped the book he'd been reading and slid behind his blond lover on the bed, supporting the shaking body with his own. His hands moved in soothing circles, attempting to calm and comfort.
After what seemed an eternity the spasms finally subsided, and Quatre was left limp and trembling in his arms. Trowa hated to see his koi in so much pain. It drove him wild knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do besides sit there and hold him. He felt utterly helpless and furious at the world in general.
'Why did this happen, and why don't we know? I can feel that he's hiding something, but even like this he still won't open up. What could be so terrible that he can't even tell me? Doesn't he trust me?'
After several long minutes during which Trowa's mind continued down this murky path, Quatre lifted his pale, damp face to that of the taller boy who held him. As green eyes caught shady blue his worries didn't vanish, but were firmly pushed aside for the moment. He could always dwell on such things when he wasn't needed.
"Trowa, can you do me a favor?" Quatre spoke evenly, every breath measured so as not to irritate his wounds.
"Of course." He lifted pale, sweat-soaked bangs from the equally pallid forehead, pleasure warring with concern as Quatre leaned into his touch. "What?"
Eyes fluttering back open, Quatre seemed to hesitate. "Could you . . . check Heero's status?" Trowa lifted an eyebrow in silent question and Quatre gave a poor semblance of a carefree shrug. "I'm just worried, and I know I'll be able to sleep better once I know he's all right."
Trowa paused, gazing intently into his little lover's pleading eyes, and Quatre was the first to look away. Trowa nodded, accepting what he knew now to be a half-truth, and slowly disentangled himself from the blonde.
"You could use my laptop." Quatre piped up helpfully, but the green-eyed boy knew his friend far too well to miss the ulterior motive behind that offer.
'Ah well, we've got to give it back eventually, and I know he'll hurt himself trying to go after it again if he doesn't get it soon.'
With a conceding nod Trowa left the room, coming back a few seconds later with the little gray box. Quatre's eyes gleamed strangely and he almost regretted his decision. It had only been across the wall in Wufei's room, but that little distance had been enough to keep Quatre from it. Maybe he should have waited until the blonde was capable of reaching it himself before giving in.
'Too late to second guess now.'
With a sigh he climbed back into the large bed, gently lifting Quatre to settle in his lap as he rested the laptop before them both. Quatre's fingers flew over the keys, and in a matter of seconds the status reports from Heero's battle were pouring down the screen. Trowa could hardly catch the figures as they flew by, bluish-green on black, and was amazed that Quatre not only seemed to be able to read this fast, but actually assimilate all the information he was receiving.
As his eyes wandered in awe from the screen to his lover, Trowa noticed that one of Quatre's hands kept straying to his chest to rub absently at the cloth above his heart before returning to some task at the keyboard.
'Is he in pain?' He remained silent, however, as the numbers continued to speed down the screen in a blur and quick blue eyes took it all in. Finally, with a carefully relaxed sigh, Quatre slumped against his chest and allowed a small smile to soften his features.
"He's okay," he reported, since Trowa obviously hadn't followed the incoming data. "Injured, but okay." His hand rose to his chest again, and this time Trowa gently took it into one of his, caressing the smooth flesh through his light pajama top. Quatre titled his head back and looked up with curious eyes, but there was a wariness behind them, an almost-fear that tugged at Trowa's own heart while betraying nothing in his features.
"Are you hurting?" he asked softly, his warm breath puffing across Quatre's upturned cheeks.
Quatre smiled, the almost-fear receding at the simple concern in the other's voice. "A little, but it's not bad. May I . . ." His eyes shifted away again as he gnawed at his lower lip. "May I keep this for now . . . please?"
Trowa nodded minutely. "But we reserve the right to take it back again if we deem it necessary." This time Quatre nodded, and Trowa could feel the wiry body relax even more against his own.
"Thank you. I love you, Trowa."
"I love you, too, little one."
* * *
Heero glared at the message glowing before him, highlighting his face in the early darkness.
'Another solo mission. Damn, just what I need right now.'
Wing ZERO's pilot received two types of transmissions from the scientists. The first was the usual order from Dr. J, containing the name and location of his target, minimal necessary information, and the time frame in which the mission was to be carried out. The other variety was so different Heero felt sure they came from a different author. He'd traced both sources when he'd received the first of the new type of transmissions--an ability he guessed few on Earth or the colonies possessed--but both came to his computer from the same orbiting satellite, which was supposedly secure. He had no grounds for argument, which suited him fine since he preferred this new strategist to Dr. J.
The real transmissions--as Duo had gratefully dubbed them--were usually ten to twenty times as long as the others. Instead of brief instructions which left planning and strategy up to him, these contained a full battle plan, complete with alternate procedures and escape routs should things go wrong, all designed specifically for Wing ZERO's unique capabilities.
Unlike Dr. J's usual orders, these transmissions seemed to place the value of the pilot above that of his machine and, even more surprising, above the immediate success of his mission. This was something Heero had never encountered in his training, and at first was loathe to trust, but after following the suggested strategies he could no longer doubt their efficiency. Whomever was creating these strategies was a genius who knew his machine better than he did, and Heero was grateful. Since the Christmas battle Oz and the White Fang had gotten wiser in their dealings with the Gundams. They were no longer underestimated. Surprise and superior skills were now the only advantages left to them. They needed all the help they could get.
With a growl Heero accepted the mission. Recently more and more of the real transmissions were outlining missions in pairs or trios, a method which made sense for many reasons. With more than one pilots fighting simultaneously there was a greater chance of success, they could handle more opposition, they could complete their mission faster and more thoroughly, and if someone was hurt they wouldn't be captured, their partner could help them. Unfortunately, Dr. J's orders were either solo or of such a suicidal nature that they required all five pilots.
They had received nothing but these minimalist orders for well over a week, now.
'Well, there's nothing I can do. I leave in an hour.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Quatre frowned, staring out of his window at the lightening sky. 'Always the early riser, I guess I'm just made that way.' The resulting scowl tugged at the dark bruises climbing across his cheek and forehead, making him wince and turn from the dawn. Trowa was sleeping peacefully on the bed against the far wall and Quatre could just make out his serene features in the half-light.
'Well, if I'm going to be awake I might as well use my time constructively, but I can't really do much until I know what's going on. I wonder when they're going to give my laptop back.'
Several problems prevented the Arab from getting the valuable computer for himself. Firstly, he knew he would wake Trowa. Aside from politics and their current titles as both rebels and freedom fighters, all of the Gundam pilots had been trained as terrorists; there was no way he could sneak out of the room unnoticed. Then came the simple fact that he had no clue where his tiny computer was at the moment. It had been sitting innocently on his desk across the room, but after his first miserably unsuccessful attempt to claim it Wufei had taken it elsewhere. He guessed it wasn't far, but his third reason for remaining without it effectively prevented any form of search. As loathe as he was to admit it, Quatre was still completely bedridden. He could hardly move without coughing, and despite his lover's gentle caresses and reassurances, those spells were painful enough to keep him completely out of commission.
Every time he felt his chest begin to tighten he would simply squeeze his eyes shut and pray for it to end as quickly as possible. Once he began coughing it took an excruciatingly long time to stop himself, and the resulting spasms sent pain shooting through his entire body. His broken ribs grated against each other with every gasping breath, simply slowing their mending process further, and every bruised muscle would lock into a stinging knot. By the time the fit was over his entire body was aching, and it didn't take much to bring these hellish episodes on.
Somehow during the battle he'd managed to break one of his ribs badly enough for it to splinter and scrape the outer lining of his left lung. He could feel it like a paper-cut every time he took a breath, but knew he'd been extremely lucky. Had the jagged bone gone just a few centimeter's further, his lung would have been punctured and he would have spent these past days in the hospital rather than in the relative comfort of his own home. Duo and Wufei had wanted to take him anyway, but Trowa had argued against it and Heero's agreement sealed the decision. Trowa knew how his partner felt about hospitals, and knew what remaining there as long as the doctors would insist would have done to the blonde.
'They smell so fake, like me, and I won't have doctors wasting their time, skills, and resources that should be put to use helping people more deserving.'
Quatre shuddered at the thought, then immediately froze, trying to avoid another coughing spell. Breathing slowly and evenly for a few moments he was able to avert the pain, and eventually relaxed back into the pillows he was propped against.
He'd lain unconscious in this bed for three days before so much as batting an eye, and it had been five since he'd first woken. 'It's been over a week since the battle and I still can't get out of bed. I can't believe I was foolish enough to do this. Trowa, Heero, Duo, Wufei, forgive me. I'm an idiot. How can I help you if I'm stuck here?
'I can't plan anything until I know Oz's next moves, and I can't find anything out without my laptop.'
With another sigh his eyelids fluttered closed.
'Maybe I can get back to sleep. At least that's doing some good. The sooner this body heals the sooner I can return to protect you all.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two hours after accepting the mission found Heero and Wing ZERO chest deep in mobile suits.
The objective was simple, wipe out one of the last remaining mobile suit factories on the continent. Of course others were constantly being built, but it took much more time to create than to destroy, and for once--in this one small way--the Gundams had the advantage.
Unfortunately, Heero was not in a position to appreciate that advantage at the moment. He'd made an error, a grievous one, and was paying for it as he and Wing ZERO were tossed about a large shuttle runway. He'd known the recent batch of aries suits had been completed. What he hadn't been aware of was the large number of well-trained soldiers that had arrived two days before to pilot them. He'd been expecting to attack a few guards and ended up fighting an entire regiment. Things were not looking up. He was bruised and bleeding from being slammed around the cockpit and Wing ZERO wasn't in much better shape. These pilots were new, but they knew their suits and their objective. This would not be an easy battle.
'Damn J. I should have known about this. My false expectations endangered the mission.
'. . . and if it had been someone else?'
Wing brought his beam saber down viciously into an aries suit.
'Those scientists are lucky I don't know where they're hiding.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Quatre moaned, tossing and turning as much as his bound torso and wrist would allow. Sweat covered his skin and soaked wispy bangs, making them cling to his forehead and eyes. His head twisted from side to side as he made small whimpering noises, aggravating his wounds, but not conscious enough to care.
Slowly a gentle pressure restrained his weak movements and the sticky bangs were lifted from his eyes. The pained whimpers quieted, and finally, after long moments of carefully measured breathing, blue eyes fluttered open.
"Trowa?"
"Of course." The tall boy above him smiled, but as the expression of discomfort didn't leave his own ashen face he could see the concern in his lover's begin to grow. "What's wrong, little one? Are you in pain?"
Quatre forced a quick smile, thinking back over his dreams and feeling the ache of his heart. It radiated out through the rest of him, a dull throbbing like he'd been beaten, only not so badly. He hardly felt it beneath the fresh pain of his own injuries, but it was there, familiar pain that was not his own. Heero was hurt. "A little. I think I was dreaming."
Trowa nodded, his eyes never leaving Quatre's face.
"I must have moved around too much, but I think I'm fine now." He smiled again, playing up the innocent eyes and faking a yawn.
Trowa gave another nod, but didn't return the expression, moving back to his chair at the bedside to gaze at his lover.
"So," Quatre started, snuggling carefully down into his cushions, "where's Heero?"
"On a mission."
"When should he be back?"
"By tonight."
The smile finally reached his eyes as he sighed a bit. 'At least that means he's not too far away, and I don't think he's hurt badly enough to need help completing his mission.'
He cast a glance back at Trowa, who was still watching him.
'I can find out how he's doing tonight, and maybe they'll bring my laptop back.'
'Still, I shouldn't have let this happen.' He'd completely forgotten about Trowa's eyes as his expression darkened, lacking his usual strength to mask it unconsciously. 'I have to keep it from happening again. I don't care what they say, I have to know what's going on so no one else gets hurt.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Heero cried out as he was blindsided by one of the last remaining aries suits. It careened into him at full speed, knocking them both off to the left before crashing unceremoniously into the once smooth surface of the air-strip. Cement crumbled beneath them as they rolled, and by the time the Japanese pilot could regain his bearings he'd realized something was wrong. Sharp stinging pain was shooting up his left leg, flaring at the slightest movement. He quickly decapitated the other suit, but when he rose the change in position forced him to dig sharp teeth into his lower lip to keep from screaming.
'This is definitely not good.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Trowa jumped as Quatre jerked upright, one hand clutching at his chest as the other went to his left leg. He only managed one shuddering breath before the coughing overtook him and racked his small frame. Trowa quickly dropped the book he'd been reading and slid behind his blond lover on the bed, supporting the shaking body with his own. His hands moved in soothing circles, attempting to calm and comfort.
After what seemed an eternity the spasms finally subsided, and Quatre was left limp and trembling in his arms. Trowa hated to see his koi in so much pain. It drove him wild knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do besides sit there and hold him. He felt utterly helpless and furious at the world in general.
'Why did this happen, and why don't we know? I can feel that he's hiding something, but even like this he still won't open up. What could be so terrible that he can't even tell me? Doesn't he trust me?'
After several long minutes during which Trowa's mind continued down this murky path, Quatre lifted his pale, damp face to that of the taller boy who held him. As green eyes caught shady blue his worries didn't vanish, but were firmly pushed aside for the moment. He could always dwell on such things when he wasn't needed.
"Trowa, can you do me a favor?" Quatre spoke evenly, every breath measured so as not to irritate his wounds.
"Of course." He lifted pale, sweat-soaked bangs from the equally pallid forehead, pleasure warring with concern as Quatre leaned into his touch. "What?"
Eyes fluttering back open, Quatre seemed to hesitate. "Could you . . . check Heero's status?" Trowa lifted an eyebrow in silent question and Quatre gave a poor semblance of a carefree shrug. "I'm just worried, and I know I'll be able to sleep better once I know he's all right."
Trowa paused, gazing intently into his little lover's pleading eyes, and Quatre was the first to look away. Trowa nodded, accepting what he knew now to be a half-truth, and slowly disentangled himself from the blonde.
"You could use my laptop." Quatre piped up helpfully, but the green-eyed boy knew his friend far too well to miss the ulterior motive behind that offer.
'Ah well, we've got to give it back eventually, and I know he'll hurt himself trying to go after it again if he doesn't get it soon.'
With a conceding nod Trowa left the room, coming back a few seconds later with the little gray box. Quatre's eyes gleamed strangely and he almost regretted his decision. It had only been across the wall in Wufei's room, but that little distance had been enough to keep Quatre from it. Maybe he should have waited until the blonde was capable of reaching it himself before giving in.
'Too late to second guess now.'
With a sigh he climbed back into the large bed, gently lifting Quatre to settle in his lap as he rested the laptop before them both. Quatre's fingers flew over the keys, and in a matter of seconds the status reports from Heero's battle were pouring down the screen. Trowa could hardly catch the figures as they flew by, bluish-green on black, and was amazed that Quatre not only seemed to be able to read this fast, but actually assimilate all the information he was receiving.
As his eyes wandered in awe from the screen to his lover, Trowa noticed that one of Quatre's hands kept straying to his chest to rub absently at the cloth above his heart before returning to some task at the keyboard.
'Is he in pain?' He remained silent, however, as the numbers continued to speed down the screen in a blur and quick blue eyes took it all in. Finally, with a carefully relaxed sigh, Quatre slumped against his chest and allowed a small smile to soften his features.
"He's okay," he reported, since Trowa obviously hadn't followed the incoming data. "Injured, but okay." His hand rose to his chest again, and this time Trowa gently took it into one of his, caressing the smooth flesh through his light pajama top. Quatre titled his head back and looked up with curious eyes, but there was a wariness behind them, an almost-fear that tugged at Trowa's own heart while betraying nothing in his features.
"Are you hurting?" he asked softly, his warm breath puffing across Quatre's upturned cheeks.
Quatre smiled, the almost-fear receding at the simple concern in the other's voice. "A little, but it's not bad. May I . . ." His eyes shifted away again as he gnawed at his lower lip. "May I keep this for now . . . please?"
Trowa nodded minutely. "But we reserve the right to take it back again if we deem it necessary." This time Quatre nodded, and Trowa could feel the wiry body relax even more against his own.
"Thank you. I love you, Trowa."
"I love you, too, little one."
* * *
