Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!
"Under Attack" written by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus. Recorded by ABBA on their The Singles: The First Ten Years album (Polar, Atlantic, 1982).
Don't know how to take it, don't know where to go
My resistance running low
And every day the hold is getting tighter and it troubles me so
—Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvaeus, "Under Attack"
Chapter 35—Tight Holds and Trouble
Combat had been Cassandra's first language, movement her alphabet, opponents her books. When she had first run from Cain and her wanderings led her to a city, the silent cacophony of passersby going about their daily business had nearly driven her to distraction. So many people. So many movements, stances, postures and poses. When she had found out that Cain meant her to be a killer, she had been so overwhelmed by horror that she had thought she might go mad. Her first time in a crowded shopping mall had very nearly finished the job.
She had learned. She had always known how to tell when someone meant to attack her and how they planned to move. Now she learned other movements and gestures. She could tell when a hungry street rat was about to seize an opportunity—and a piece of fruit from a passing handcart. She could tell when the owner of the handcart was truly oblivious to the theft, resigned to it, secretly happy, or furious and about to give chase. She could tell when she was being watched...
...And someone was watching her now. To confirm that her instinct was right, instead of going immediately to the bus stop, she walked along the strip mall, stopping here to look in a window, there to purchase an energy bar or smile at the antics of a cockatiel in a pet shop window. She tried on two shirts and a pair of jeans, before she settled on a lavender pullover sweater that she hadn't meant to buy, but thought might look good if Doug did want to take her out again. Barbara said that pinks and purples were 'her' colors. Cass didn't know that people could own them. She did know that the lavender looked good on her in a way that make-up of the same tint did not and she had no idea why.
Just as she had no idea why the woman in the hooded spring coat was still tailing her. Cass frowned. The woman had the loose stride and easy alertness of a seasoned fighter, she noted with an inner groan. Had she come, as Lady Shiva once had, to take Cass's measure and see who was the better warrior? Cass hoped not. Those exercises were pointless in her estimation. She'd never seen much virtue in rankings. She had no interest in being better than anyone else. She simply wanted to be better today than she had been yesterday, regardless of her... her... overall standing! She finished her thought triumphantly.( Doug had given her that turn of phrase when he'd tried to explain to her about the prospects of the Gotham Knights for the upcoming season. She'd listened politely, despite her lack of interest in baseball.)
On reflection, though, Cass didn't think this was the case. She wasn't dressed as Batgirl. She might not be able to control the fact that she moved like a warrior, but she doubted that anyone would guess at her skill level unless they saw her in action, or in costume. On the other hand, she considered, there had been that night that Barbara had sent her to Wayne Manor. The night that Vesper Fairchild had been murdered, she had watched the feed from the manor security cameras and seen Bruce Wayne led away in handcuffs. Nobody had seen her. Barbara had never told her to whom the house belonged. But when she'd seen Bruce on the screen, she'd known that he was Batman. Perhaps there were others like her, who could recognize a person's walk, in or out of costume.
Or, she realized, perhaps there was someone keeping an eye on the comings and goings at Wayne Manor. Jim had caught a member of the cleaning staff going through Selina's room. Dick had been tailed last night. And she'd seen that woman walking past the manor on her way to pick up the bag from Bruce. True she'd been dressed differently, but her walk and her mannerisms were the same. Cass considered. A confrontation would be pointless. The woman was committing no crime by following her; she was breaking no law. If Cass confronted the woman today, she would simply try again tomorrow and be more discreet about it. Evasion would only let her know that she had been spotted—which would lead to the same outcome. But, Cass thought with a small smile, she wasn't going to be the one bringing the items to Selina. Barbara was handling that. And if the woman followed her when she went to Barbara's...
Cass's smile grew wider. This could be fun!
"You're early," Barbara greeted her at the front door of her apartment.
Cass nodded. "Followed." As she stepped inside, an alarm sounded.
WARNING! UNAUTHORIZED ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE! WARNING UNAUTHORIZED ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE!
"Oh, for...!" Barbara bit back a curse and uttered the proper cancel code. "Yeah, you were followed. Turn around." She flicked a small device off of the bottom of Cass's jacket. "It's a tracer, all right," she confirmed. "Unlike the one I found on Dick the other day, this just emits a homing signal. It doesn't let the party on the other end listen in. And the baffles I've rigged up since the last time someone tripped that particular alarm have just neutralized it."
"So... safe?" Cass asked.
"That depends on how good the technology is," Barbara admitted. "If it was just telling whoever slapped this on you that they were getting closer, then the trail fizzled out on 'em and that's that. But if it's a bit more sophisticated, it could work more like a GPS, giving exact co-ordinates. STAR Labs has one model that can not only provide an address within seconds, but even pinpoint your altitude and precise position in the room. I don't know how good this one is—I'd have to disassemble it to tell—but let's not take chances." She wheeled over to her console and opened an application.
"I'm feeding a false positive into the smoke detection system," she explained. "That'll get the other residents out of the building. I'm also," she added as an alarm began to sound, "deactivating the programming that triggers an automatic call to the fire department. No point diverting emergency response teams from real emergencies. Plus," she gave Cass a broad smile, "the elevators won't work while the alarm is sounding. This means that your tail is either going to have to scale the outside wall with the crowd watching, or take the stairs to the twenty-fifth floor."
The room went dark. Only the monitors continued to glow. Oracle shook her head. "Okay, whoever they are, they're not stupid. They just cut power to the building. Luckily," she keyed a few instructions into her computer and the lights returned, "I've got back-up generators." She shook her head ruefully. "You had to bring her here, right?"
Cass shrugged. "Here or Selina. She saw me. At Bruce's. Been following since."
Barbara sucked in her breath. Then she smiled. "You made the right choice. Get ready. This is going to be... interesting."
In his darkened den, Lester Paxton took a sip of cold tea and tried to figure out when he had irrevocably lost control. Two months ago, he had been virtually untouchable. Two months ago, had anyone told him that Chester would betray him, he would have shrugged his shoulders, found an appropriate spin, and had the board on his side before another sun rose. Of course, he thought bitterly, 'spin' was more Chester's area of expertise, but it wasn't as though the man held the monopoly.
Although the shades were drawn, the morning sun persisted in forcing its way in, gleaming at the edges of the windows. Paxton sighed. It seemed like just a moment ago that he'd sunk into his desk chair and watched as the flames in the fireplace slowly consumed the logs that he had placed inside. They were embers now.
Vivi hadn't come home last night. Oh, she'd called to say that the planning for the charity ball had gone long and she didn't feel comfortable driving in the freezing rain, so she was going to spend the night with a girlfriend. He had his suspicions, but with everything else going wrong in his life, he preferred to take his wife at her word unless forced to do otherwise.
The phone rang, breaking the silence. Paxton closed his eyes. For a moment, he considered not answering. He checked the caller ID. "Private Number" could mean anyone, including his lawyer. Hoping against hope, he picked up. "Lester Paxton."
He flinched when he heard the all-too-familiar laugh. "Lester! You old dog! How are you this fine afternoon?"
He clenched his teeth. "What do you want?"
"Oh, just some help with my attorney's fees. For now."
"How much?"
False Face named a figure. Paxton managed not to gasp. "It'll take me a couple of days to get that much capital together. I don't have that much in my accounts." He'd had it two months ago, but this wasn't the first time that False Face had demanded money from him.
"I'm feeling magnanimous. Take three," False Face replied. "And while I've got you on the phone, I was wondering about your dear friend Brucie."
Paxton tensed. "What about him?"
"Oh, just hoping that you can recall some of the little things about him? Favorite restaurants, preferred wines, taste in clubs... music... that kind of thing."
"Please," Paxton laughed bitterly. "It's not as though I ever saw him socially. Our interactions were either in the office or at various charity functions, and he usually ducked out of those. Can't help you."
There was a pause. Then, "Of course, Les. But if anything should spring to mind, you'll be sure and let me know, won't you? Holding out on me might be... costly." The menace in the voice sent a chill through Lester Paxton. When it spoke again though, it was back to its formerly jovial tones. "I'll contact you in 72 hours with instructions on where to leave the money. It should be cash and—while I detest the cliché, I can't fault the reasoning, so let's not break with cinema script traditions—small, unmarked bills. Have yourself a wonderful morning, Lester. I know mine has been exquisite thus far."
The line went dead.
As though in a daze, Paxton held the phone and stared at it for a solid five minutes before he shakily returned it to its cradle.
Barbara's office was dark. She'd turned off her monitors, lowered the black-out curtains, and extinguished the lights. The generator hummed softly, as it supplied power to other systems, but Cass found that she couldn't see her hand when she held it before her face.
"Let your eyes get used to it," Barbara said, her soft voice sounding impossibly loud in the darkness. "They will in a moment. Don't activate your night-vision lenses, whatever you do."
Cass nodded. "Won't. Barbara?" She hesitated. "Why... have? If so easy to... to... neutralize?"
"They're only easy to neutralize under certain conditions and if the person doing the neutralizing is sneaky," Barbara replied. "I'm very sneaky. Remember to shield your eyes when I give the command. You'll still need a little time to adjust, but you'll be prepared, so it shouldn't take you that long."
There was a bone-grating sound of metal on concrete, followed by a very human grunt. Barbara took a breath. "Climbing equipment. Whoever it is, they're scaling the building. Get into position." Cass nodded automatically, forgetting that Barbara couldn't see and moved carefully to the wall. She was glad she'd mentally mapped her route before the lights had gone out.
A moment later, Barbara heard another noise to set her teeth on edge. She knew this one, too. Years earlier, she had backed up Batman on a stake-out of the Gotham Museum of Ancient History. Catwoman had broken in, lured by an Egyptian exhibit of cat sculptures. She'd used a diamond to cut through the display case glass. Barbara frowned in annoyance. Whoever was outside was doing the same thing to her window right now.
A moment later, she heard someone fumbling with the latch. The window opened, ushering in a small breeze. The blackout curtain twitched, and a bit of daylight entered as well. It wasn't nearly enough, not with all other light sources blocked up or switched off. The curtain moved and Barbara could just make out a stocky shape, small-breasted, but definitely female. The intruder pulled something out of her belt. A bright light emanated from the device—evidently, it was a flashlight. Barbara looked down swiftly as pain stabbed her eyes. So. She wasn't using night vision lenses after all. Barbara squeezed her eyes shut. Then, in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, she said, "Nutton, Gehrig, Fruit."
Light globes descended instantly from ceiling panels and blinked on and off in a pulsating strobe. At the same time, select floor tiles rose several fractions of an inch, while others lowered. The intruder cried out, covered her eyes, and took an involuntary step. Her foot caught on the edge of one of the upraised tiles and she pitched forward.
Although she kept her eyes closed against the strobe lights, Barbara still recognized the slap-clack and sudden intake of breath, as the intruder hit the floor with the open palm of one hand and the closed fist and flashlight edge of the other. Then, from the corner, came the 'clatch' and 'thwip' of a grappling line firing from its launcher. The intruder cursed and Barbara could hear the sounds of a struggle. A scuff on the floor, and a slight form sprang from the shadows as Cass moved in to subdue her quarry. Then there were more gasps, grunts, and stifled cries as the two rolled over and over, each fighting for the upper hand. Finally, there was the 'thunk' of a skull banging into the floor tiles and Cass's voice snarled "Over!"
"Casaubon, Koufax, cherry," Barbara uttered the code-phrase with relief. The strobe lights switched off. The faint hum of a motor told her that the floor tiles were returning to normal, too. A moment later, the regular lighting returned—not all at once, but gradually, as though via dimmer switch.
Cass was straddling the intruder, who lay on her stomach, her wrists secured by plastic cuffs, her ankles by Cass's grappling line. As she looked about her, blinking, her lips curled into a snarl. "You," she seethed, as she fought against her restraints, "are not Catwoman."
Behind her glasses, Barbara's eyes widened for the barest instant as she recognized the captive. Then they returned to normal. "Red Claw," she said flatly. "I hadn't realized that you were back in town."
Helena wasn't eating. It was all Selina could do to coax a few spoonfuls of broth into her. At first, she thought that it was the salt content—powdered soup mixes were notorious for that—but diluting it with water made almost no difference.
She went online and reassured herself that Helena's symptoms fell well within the range of common childhood complaints—unpleasant, but hardly cause for alarm. She wasn't alarmed, but she was definitely upset to see her daughter suffering. And to think that yesterday, she'd been wishing that Helena would be less rambunctious! Now, what she wouldn't give to be chasing her daughter away from Bruce's equipment, while she fled, laughing on chubby legs.
She placed a cool hand on Helena's forehead and sighed. The fever was back up again. It had seemed lower a few hours ago. She kissed the little girl's forehead and would have withdrawn, but a small voice stayed her.
"Mama? Mama, stay."
She smiled. "Of course, Mama will stay, Helena," she said tenderly, taking a seat next to the cot and running a gentle hand through the dark curls, so much like her own. Still smiling, she began to sing one of Helena's favorite songs—a song that, only yesterday, she had replayed so many times that she had been ready to scream, except that had she balked, it would have set her daughter to screaming instead.
The wheels on the bus go round and round,
Round and round,
Round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round...
It was hard to believe that two weeks had passed so quickly, but Monday afternoon found Bruce reporting to the parade grounds with the rest of his class instead the stables. He'd be going back later; Brenner still wasn't as comfortable in the saddle as he should be and he'd asked Bruce for extra coaching. Tired as Bruce was, he found it hard to deny someone genuinely committed to improvement. He told himself that was the only reason. Brenner's willingness to stand by him when so many others did not had absolutely no bearing on his decision. He wasn't helping Brenner out of gratitude or a sense of indebtedness. It was simply the right thing to do.
"Let's go, Wayne! You don't have a horse to do your running for you now! Pick up the pace!" Craigie roared.
And Bruce gave a mental sigh and focused on the course ahead in time to register Laramie moving to block his advance and compensate.
"Cadet Laramie! If you got time for fancy moves, you can work another lap in! Keep going! In fact... all of you can add an extra lap, thanks to your wiseass classmate. Move! And if you've got breath to groan, you're not moving fast enough!"
There were no groans, but Bruce couldn't help but spot a few dark looks from those of his classmates rounding the curve of the track ahead. They were not aimed at him. His lips twitched. Craigie might be a slave-driver, but he was also a fair man. Bruce appreciated that.
He increased his speed slightly and ran on.
He'd gotten too used to getting his best work done underground. His mind was clearer, his wits sharper, and concentration greater in the cave than in the office (he imagined there was some place set aside for the President Emeritus at PMWE, even if he hadn't bothered to confirm its existence), the study, or the library. So, with a test in warrant procedures the next day, it was only natural for Bruce to head downstairs after supper, textbooks and notes in hand.
A tone sounded from one of his consoles and he frowned. He knew the location, but... With a sigh, he accepted the call. "This is too risky," he said sharply as Selina's face appeared on the vid-screen. I'm sure Barbara told you that my systems may have been compromised. We're still trying to figure out how much our intruder discovered, but if someone is listening in on this channel..." He broke off as he registered the fear in Selina's eyes. "What's wrong?"
Selina bit her lip. "Helena's fever is up again," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I keep telling myself that it's nothing. Children get fevers all the time and they can spike and usually, there's nothing to worry about..."
Bruce closed his eyes. "...but you think there is," he finished.
"I don't know if there is!" she exclaimed. "I've been looking online and going back and forth between thinking it's nothing and thinking it's serious. You've got some old medical textbooks in the sickbay area, too, and they aren't much better. I..."
"I know," Bruce said heavily. "It... it sounds trite, but don't panic." His mind drifted back a few short months to when he and Dick had both panicked, convinced that Dick had contracted smallpox in a bioweapons lab. It had turned out to be a case of flu, combined with an allergic reaction that had caused him to break out in hives.
"I'm trying not to," Selina said, attempting a smile. On the vid-screen, Bruce could see that her fingers were laced tightly together. "Toddlers do get sick and high fevers can be scary, but they're often not that serious. But..."
Bruce drew in his breath. "But you're worried that it might be."
"Yes."
He nodded soberly. "All right. Barbara had a situation earlier. Cass was followed when she left the manor. When she realized it, she led her shadow directly to Barbara." His lips twitched. "More precisely, she led her shadow directly to Barbara's security systems."
Despite her worry, Selina replied with a throaty chuckle. "I could almost feel sorry for the guy."
"Woman," Bruce corrected. "Red Claw."
The sound that escaped from Selina's lips this time sounded remarkably like a hiss. "You're not serious."
"I am," Bruce replied. "Red Claw. And before this, it was Intergang. We don't know who my intruder was working for. And meanwhile..." His jaw set. "All right. I'm getting the two of you out of Gotham." Selina opened her mouth to speak, but Bruce held up a warning hand. "Please. Hear me out. Dick believes he was shadowed the other night. Cass knows she was today. When I passed a warning to Tim, he mentioned that someone might have been watching the Titans several nights ago. This isn't going to stop. Sooner or later, one of us is going to slip up. And with Helena ill..." Bruce sighed. "She should see a doctor. If it turns out to be nothing, at least we'll know and we can relax. And if there's a prescription that she can take to recover more quickly, I'm not about to play games with her health."
Selina nodded. Neither of them needed to mention the possibility that Helena's condition could be more serious. "How are we going to leave?" she asked. "And where should we go?"
For the first time since he'd answered the vid-call, Bruce smiled. "I'll make the arrangements, but in reverse order, the answers to your questions are: Central City... or possibly Keystone... and very quickly."
Bruce sank back against his cushioned swivel chair and felt a degree of relaxation he hadn't felt since he'd learned of Helena's illness. "Thank you, Barry," he said. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."
"Actually," Barry said, "I think I do. Admitting gratitude has never been something that comes easy for you." He must have realized how he made it sound, because he quickly added, "Not that you don't show it in other ways, I mean."
Bruce shook his head. "You don't have to back-pedal, Allen. It's something I've been working on." He reached over to the small table where a carafe of coffee sat on a burner. He poured himself a cup and tried not to make a face at the sour taste. It scalded his tongue on the way down, too. Barry laughed.
"You should try a thermos," he advised. "Or... I've seen someone at the station use these stainless steel coffee beans—"
"I'm familiar with them," Bruce said tersely. "One day, when I have the time. When should I advise Selina to expect you?" He braced himself and took another sip. It went down a bit better, this time—no doubt in part because he couldn't get the full effect of the flavor with a burned tongue.
Barry considered. "Well, Wally is getting the spare bedroom ready. Well. He doesn't have a spare bedroom, but I'm sure that either Jai or Iris will be happy to give up their room and sleep on the fold-out couch. Eventually." He smiled. "Meanwhile, Linda's calling the kids' pediatrician to set up an appointment for Helena. I figure... two, maybe three hours, just so that everything will be prepared for them when I drop them off on Wally's doorstep."
Bruce smiled. "I'll let Selina know." He frowned then. Alfred would have known the perfect gesture of appreciation. He would also have sent it with a thoughtful note that required nothing more than Bruce's signature to be dispatched on its way. For the first time, Bruce wondered whether it might have been better if Alfred hadn't concealed his shortcomings quite so effectively on that front.
"Bruce? Is something wrong?"
Bruce jerked out of his reverie. "No. Thanks again, Barry. I'll be in touch."
Maybe Dick would have some insights about an appropriate gift for the Wests...
Wally was playing Go Fish with the twins in the kitchen when he heard the key in the front door. "...Really can't thank you enough," Selina was saying. "I just feel so—"
Linda cut her off with a laugh. "Please. I would have been worried, too, in your place. At least now you know it's not serious."
The two women came into the kitchen. Selina was holding an awake, but clearly groggy, Helena. Wally smiled. "Everything's okay?"
Selina nodded. "Doc says it's an RSV infection. Not usually serious in and of itself, though it can sometimes lead to worse things. I've got a prescription for something that's supposed to help with that, and she should be back to her sweet self," she kissed Helena's forehead, "in about a week, week and a half, maximum."
Jai looked up from the game. "What's an RSV infection?"
"Something a lot of kids get before the age of two," Selina smiled. "It's not fun and it is contagious, mind you, but in most people, it's pretty much like getting a really bad cold."
Linda grinned. "So no hugging and kissing Helena in a shameless ploy to miss a few days of school, because it's not going to work."
Jai made a face. "Darn!"
Selina shook her head. "Sorry, Jai. It just seems like a lousy way to pay you back for giving up your room to us. Thanks for that."
"Aw, it's okay," Jai said, looking back down at his cards. "I get to sleep in the TV room, so I..." he caught his father's eye and rethought what he'd been about to say. "So I probably get to stay up late, because I won't get to sleep until everyone's done watching for the night."
Wally grinned. "Nice try, sport, but we'll be switching off the set at nine so you can get to bed on time."
Iris stuck out her tongue at Jai. Jai sighed. "Great."
"How's that current events project coming, Iris?" Linda asked. "Did you find what you needed?"
Iris nodded.
"Did you find it somewhere other than Wonkipedia?"
"Um..."
Linda put her hands on her hips. "Iris!"
"It's not like the teacher's going to check!" Iris snapped. "Or care," she muttered.
Linda bristled. "I care." She shook her head. "Let's go over it together." She looked at Selina.
Selina grinned. "I think we're just going to settle in. Don't worry about us."
Wally rose from the table and picked up the two small suitcases that Linda had brought in the front door. "Let me take these up for you. You've got your hands full."
Selina lowered her eyes demurely. "Why, thank you, kind sir," she said, affecting a sultry southern accent. She glanced at Linda. "I'd hang on to this one, if I were you."
Linda chuckled. "That's sort of my plan."
Bruce had stopped off at a Sundollars on the way home. Too many early mornings, extended afternoons, and long evenings studying were taking their toll and he felt more confident about the drive back to the manor with 20 ounces of freshly-brewed Arabica coffee in the cup-holder next to him. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper for much of the way home, giving him ample time to indulge. Even so, he was only about three-quarters finished by the time he drove into the manor's garage.
Despite the chemical assistance, Bruce doubted he'd have much difficulty sleeping tonight. He just hoped he'd be able to review his notes properly before he turned in.
Jim was waiting for him on the sofa in the front hallway. "I keep telling you," he said, gesturing toward the cup Bruce held, containing the last of the now-tepid coffee, "if you're looking for a buzz—and I know that's the only reason you'd buy a cup for the road, not to mention that it's a time-honored practice among commuting GCPA cadets—the supermarket stuff is stronger and cheaper."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Has Dick mentioned some change in my finances to you that he's been keeping from me?" he asked. "Because one, I didn't care to brew my own inside campus, and two, I think my budget can handle the occasional Sundollars."
"It's the principle," Jim groused. "Why splurge when you don't have to?" He motioned to the sofa. "Have a seat."
Bruce complied, his shoulders tensing almost automatically. "What's wrong?"
Jim pressed his lips together thinly and pushed them in and out. "My contact at Fourteenth Precinct called. This is off the record, you understand. The media doesn't know yet. They won't know unless a suspect is arrested and charged; maybe not even then, though it'll likely come out at trial."
"Jim." Bruce frowned. "You're babbling." He rested one hand on the ebony wood of the sofa arm.
"I am, aren't I?" Jim admitted with a sigh. "Fine. I guess there's no point in telling you not to get upset." He took a deep breath. "They're done analyzing the remains of the car Selina was driving. The bomb that destroyed it is of a variety favored by Intergang." He stole a sidelong glance at Bruce. Bruce said nothing, but a muscle twitched furiously in his jaw and his grip on the sofa arm tightened.
"Is there more?"
Jim nodded. "Those gunmen your boys apprehended in the subway? The ones you told me were right on Selina's doorstep before Barbara found her a new spot? Well, that happened in Fifth Precinct. I have a friend there, too. When they made their phone calls, they were to various numbers associated with the firm of Dale, McFarlane, and Wong."
Bruce's frown deepened. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Not necessarily," Jim admitted. "It didn't to me until my contact spelled it out. However, I think you should probably give your friend, Clark, a call. He should be able to confirm what I was told. Specifically, when Intergang members are arrested, in many instances, the cases don't make it to court. On the rare occasions when they do, Dale, McFarlane, and Wong is almost invariably tasked with handling the defense. You might want to confirm it with Clark, but my contact believes that the firm handles precious little business that isn't in some way connected to that particular organization."
The sofa arm creaked.
"Bruce?"
Bruce's knuckles whitened on the wood. "I ran Intergang out of Gotham years ago," he gritted through clenched teeth. "If your source is correct, if they think that Gotham is now ripe for a takeover," his voice rose and his words tumbled out faster and gained in intensity, "if they think that they can warn me away by making an attempt on those who are close to me... they will live to learn otherwise."