“Hey, you, girl in my bed,” Matt says.
My eyes open as I roll onto my back and stare straight into his eyes.
His lips move. “We have to…”
Kiss?
I definitely said that out loud.
“Jess…” I’m confused by the undertone of regret, which I forget about as he lowers his lips to mine. I wrap my arms around him to pull him closer, but he resists and pulls away.
Matt closes his eyes and sighs. “I can't believe I'm going to tell you to get out of my bed.”
I can't believe it either. When he stands up, I register his wet hair and fresh clothes.
“You've been up.” Obvious, but I say it anyway.
“You need to be, too,” he says. “While I find it surprisingly attractive, you're a bit of a mess, and we've got somewhere to go.”
His face becomes serious.
“This is a huge decision, going over the border, going out there,” he says.
“I know that, and I still want to go,” I reply as I stand up and reach for my boots.
“I liked finding you in my bed when I woke up. A lot. But I don't want you to assume that—”
I cut him off. I don't want to hear the rest of it.
“Matt, it's okay,” I keep my voice neutral. “I have my own reasons for wanting to go. You won't be stuck with me once we're there.”
I turn to leave. I want to get away. Of course he doesn’t want to get stuck with someone like me. I'm an idiot.
I'm startled when he plants his hands firmly on my hips and turns me to face him.
“You interrupted me. I was trying to tell you that you wouldn't be stuck with me, unless you wanted to be. And I wouldn't mind getting stuck with you at all”—he pauses to tug me in tighter—“if you could work on this interrupting personality problem.”
“Really? You want to stick together?” I ask, a little amazed by the idea.
“Really,” he says with a short laugh.
He kisses me hard and pushes me out the door.
—
I'm showered and changed, and I have everything I'm taking with me in a pack, which I drop at the transports before heading over for chow. I'm not sure if I can eat, but I guess I should try.
I sit beside Matt and he gives my knee a squeeze. Despite my fear, I feel pretty good. I look around, and everyone else looks upbeat too. Jay looks a bit apprehensive, but that might be because Sheree is beside him, methodically taking down and reassembling her nine mil pistol, over and over.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sheree asks Jay.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. Other than the insane compulsion I have to strangle you,” he responds.
“So, no issues we need to deal with?” Sheree asks sweetly.
“None whatsoever.”
Charlie looks especially happy; she almost smiles. Matt is calm, which is reassuring.
He tells us that the colonel is not happy about Galton coming here tomorrow. He's put the base on alert for attacks from over the border, which works in our favor. They'll be looking for people coming, not going. But Matt and Charlie suspect there's something more that's pissing off the colonel. It seems Galton suddenly put a hold on plans to launch an all-out campaign against the Red Hand. Something has distracted her and prompted tomorrow's unscheduled visit. I need to make myself scarce today.
Matt sighs heavily as he gets up. “I need to go see Drew.”
He sounds so sad. Was it like that for him? People came to say good-bye and then he never saw them again?
—
I walk over to the psych building in regular fatigues, with my cap pulled down low. Very Black Ops. Ha. The late afternoon sun beats down; it's still around ninety degrees. The only sim-seat we can access, the one that can handle what I need it to do, is the one I used to qualify. I didn't want to go in until all the regular training and testing was over for the day. I've been working on this plan and how to get access since that last meeting with Pete. I've checked and double-checked, and this should work. I trip as I spot Luke talking to one of the training sergeants. I want to run, to get inside before he sees me. I duck my head even more and walk as fast as I can, but I don't think he looks my way at all.
Ramón lifted an access code with a high clearance level. We hope security is so busy with tomorrow's visit from Galton that they won't notice anything. Matt is already here in the office where I first met Boyd, but I don't acknowledge him.
I tell the clerk that I'm scheduled for Number Three and can find my own way back.
“Oh, wait,” she says. “There's been a schedule change, it's occupied right now. You can use the one in Number Two if you like.”
“Sorry?” I say, confused. There were no changes to the schedule, I just checked. And I can't use the other sim-seat, it doesn't have the same access, it's got to be the one in Number Three. Does someone know what I'm doing here?
“It was last-minute,” she explains. “They've got another half hour allotted, if you want to come back.”
I don't know what to do. I can't go ask Matt and I don't want to leave the building; I’d feel too exposed with Luke out there.
“Oh, it's okay,” I tell her, “I'll just wait.” As if it's no big deal.
Thirty minutes drag by. I keep looking at the hallway leading back to the sim-seats, waiting for someone to emerge. It's been forty minutes. I stand to go talk to the clerk again, but I can hear someone coming down the hall.
It's Pete! I realize I haven't seen him lately, and I feel bad that I didn't even notice. He looks at me, seems shocked, then looks away and mumbles that he's in a hurry and scurries out the door.
I guess I've hurt his feelings and he's been avoiding me. Well, can't do anything about that now.
The clerk tells me that Number Three is all mine. I nervously enter the code and hold my breath, but it works, and I pull the helmet down.
The data cascades over me until I'm immersed in the gigantic military data stream. It's the first time I've slipped around inside something this immense. It's dizzying. I could get lost, but I force myself to focus and concentrate. A thread leads to a cluster of pulsing impressions. Hendrick's markers begin to appear, and I know I'm close. I circle around, not wanting to draw attention. I can feel it, there, beside me. I jump in.
It's gibberish. I need to observe it long enough to see the pattern, to find the key. I can't think about it; I need to watch, absorb it all. It's taking too long—maybe it's not pseudo-random encryption?
I see it! The pattern emerges all at once. It's complicated, which makes it tedious. I need to pull back to widen my grasp, but sharpen my focus at the same time as I decrypt the data and stream it to the DSU. I don't know how long this is taking me, but I try to rush.
Wait! What's that? I slow it down, almost as if I'm backpedaling. A dense cluster comes at me, an anomaly. It is a tightly compressed packet of data secreted among the rest.
Careful!
Steganography has been used to hide a covert message within a fragment of the information. I extract it, but I don't have time to fully decrypt it. I secret my little bundle into a new hiding place, to be explored later.
I shove the helmet off and grab the DSU. Matt, also in regular fatigues, waits for me at the door and I hand him the DSU. I tingle with nervous excitement. I did it! I almost kiss him, but stop myself in time.
It took me longer than I'd planned. We need to get to the transport now. Charlie has it all prepped to take us to the border. I forgot my cap, and I don't want to delay us by going back, but I feel exposed.
There's no sign of Luke, and we make it across the open area, move in among the training barracks. Matt is ahead of me.
A hand savagely grips my arm and the cold barrel of a pistol presses against the base of my skull. A sour smell hangs in the air.
Pete?
I don't understand. “Pete…?”
“Hi, Matt,” Pete says in a sneering tone as Matt turns toward us. “We're going this way.”
Pete forces me to move off to the right, between buildings. Matt keeps pace. My brain feels numb.
“What are you doing, Pete?” asks Matt in a calm voice, which helps me focus on my immediate situation.
“Secretary Galton would like a word with Jess,” he answers, with a mean little laugh at the end.
What?
“And you'll come along nicely, too,” Pete continues, “or it's bye-bye, Jess.”
“Pete, why are—”
“Shut up!” he snarls in my ear and gives me a sharp shove with the pistol.
“You were always too good for me Matt, weren't you?” Pete sneers as he pushes me along. “Mr. Perfect, with the best scores and the promotions. I tried to be part of your squad, but you ignored me, all because you say I made one mistake on intel. You don't allow mistakes, do you? I should have been promoted by now. I should have been long gone from here. You weren't having any of that, were you?” Pete spits out the words with angry resentment.
“Always had to be better than me,” he says, but he's looking at me, as if I chose Matt over him. “But things are about to change, thanks to pretty little Jess here.” He gives me a nice shove. “Jess, and whatever is on that DSU I saw you drop in your pocket.”
Pete brushes his hair out of his eyes and holds his hand out. Matt reaches into his pocket and silently gives Pete the DSU. Pete motions for us to keep moving. Matt doesn't say anything, just glances at the pistol Pete still holds to my head and keeps pace.
I think it through, and it all falls into place. Pete knew about my cryptography skills and could get to my files. Pete could access the same sim-seat I just used; that's how he was able to communicate with the Devotees and cover his tracks. And, he's jealous of Matt, so of course he's been watching us.
I know that Matt could take him down, but he's not doing anything yet. We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves and be forced to explain what we're doing here. And if he's taking me to Galton, we have time to deal with this before she comes tomorrow.
As long as Pete doesn't shoot me in the head first.
I concentrate on walking in synch with him, no unnecessary stumbling or jostling. I calm my breathing; I need to keep Pete calm, too.
It wasn't Luke, it was Pete?
We reach a maintenance building and I'm stunned to see two armed Guardians at the door. Guardians are here already? I'm disoriented, nothing makes sense. Oh. They must have sent an advance team. One opens the door and Pete pushes me in, but keeps the pistol in place. Here is our opportunity. I glance at Matt, but he’s looking across the room.
I look over and my breath catches in my throat.
Galton. It's Secretary Galton. Here.
It’s as if I’ve had a heavy blow to my chest.
She's here? But how? Frozen in place, I stare. My thoughts are sluggish as I try to comprehend.
She looks radiant. Her lab coat is so crisp and white it appears to shine, as if it’s reflective. Her eyes glitter brightly as we’re forced forward, our footsteps echoing around the spare concrete room. She has a greedy look on her face as she takes me in.
I blink and trained reflexes take over. I automatically determine the location and firepower of everyone in the room. Pete, Galton, and two white-coated Devotees, who appear unarmed. Three Guardians. One behind us at the door we came through, two flanking Galton and pointing rifles at us. I check, neither has a full magazine of ammo. This routine calms me. I’m trained for this and I'm with Matt.
A stray memory hits me, something Charlie said. “Be polite, be professional, and always have a plan to kill everyone you meet.” General Mad Dog said it a long time ago, she told us.
So I’m confident that Matt has a plan.
I know we also need to be certain what we're facing. There are the two Guardians outside the door, but we don't know how many more are here, never mind the soldiers on the base. Plus, this is Secretary Galton. We don't want to make a mistake.
Wait. Why aren’t there any soldiers here? And why is Galton in this maintenance building?
“Is this it?” Galton asks gleefully. Brilliant-blue eyes look me over. I’m not a person to her. I am a thing. Perfect skin and a perfectly plumped mouth don’t look so perfect when they’re up close and personal like this. “So this is the little Deviant that got away?” She laughs and shakes her head at me as if I’m an amusingly naughty puppy. But I can feel her anxious anticipation. She is very tense. This is important to her, but she's trying not to show it.
“This is the one you've been looking for,” says Pete, and he presses the pistol against my head more firmly.
Galton steps closer for a better look and I can tell her eyes are an enhanced blue. Her pupils are dilated, and there is a slight tremor in her hand. She glances back at the two Devotees and speaks in an instructive voice, covering her emotions with practiced skill.
“Out there, over the border, there is degeneration, not evolution. They have been breeding uncontrollably and producing lesser offspring, life undeserving of life. We are the legitimate progeny of Homo sapiens, the new race of man. It is inherent in evolution that those inferior creatures are our enemies by their very existence. It is our natural birthright to send them into extinction.”
I think she’s had her vocal chords tightened. She doesn’t sound like someone who must be at least ninety years old, and she certainly doesn’t look it. But she’s never looked any different as far as I can remember, so I don’t really know how old she is.
She gestures at me.
“But here we have a true deviation because it comes from within. It has so much that is right, it is so close, but one mutation changes everything. It, like the degenerates outside, is a life undeserving of life, but it can still give us something. There hasn't been another one like this that has survived so long and become so ripe.”
What is she talking about?
The swift increase in my heart rate comes as the heat builds inside me. This time I know what will follow.
No!
I don't want to change, to lose control again, to prove that Galton is right about me. I’m frantic that Matt doesn't see me that way, see how ugly and inhuman I am in my rage. I try desperately to stay calm. We can find a way out of this. I need to wait for a signal from Matt.
Pete still has his pistol against my skull, but there's a tremor in his hand from gripping it so tightly. He has been lazy. He's not combat ready.
Galton looks me over thoroughly, her eyes widening. I watch her recognize that I am superior to her in every way. Younger, faster, stronger, smarter. She responds with lust, with greed. I can see it in her face. There is a kind of desperation in her. She needs what I have.
The heat inside me yearns to come out. I regulate my breath, but it becomes heavier, harder to control. We have to do something soon, now, before it's too late.
I meet Galton's eyes with defiance. My fear instantly disappears. My whole body reacts in opposition to her and I can't look away. This is a primitive response, like my rage, another thing beyond my control, but it makes me feel powerful.
I stand proudly. “I am Deviant, but I too have a birthright. Life entitled to life, life superior to yours.”
The heat is pulsing inside me, inflamed by my anger, but I restrain it. I almost feel rational. Almost.
“That you lust for me, need me even, shows that you are my inferior, and by your very nature, my sworn enemy.”
Her desire is momentarily replaced with fear. She doesn't know if she is predator or prey.
Good.
Matt turns to look at me, confused and amazed.
Galton gives a little laugh, tries to dismiss what I said. She motions with her hand and a medi-cart is pushed forward. Syringes are laid out with a few small, empty vials.
“I want a little taste of you”—her tongue snakes along her upper lip—“just to make sure.”
I shudder. One of the Devotees picks up a long ugly syringe and attaches a yellow-tinged vial. I swallow hard. Do they want to inject me with something? Matt better do something soon.
Galton comes close to me, looks in my eyes, and talks to me low enough that not even Pete can hear her.
“Are you afraid? Is your heart pounding?” Galton says, with a horrible smile, “That's good, because then your adrenaline will be delicious.”
My adrenaline?
She notices Matt.
“Dispose of him,” Galton says, and flicks her hand, ridding herself of a small nuisance.
A Guardian aims his rifle, and I see his finger tighten on the trigger.
No! Not Matt!
I release my anger and give up my shaky control with relief. I am free. The heat gushes out from my center, I'm glowing, and everything around me slows down.
I see the bullet slowly speed for Matt.
Matt was ready and responded to the movement of the Guardian, but I step over and move him out of the way. While my hands are on him he speeds up too, in time with me. I let go, he’s slow again. The bullet goes phfft as it passes by and slams into the wall behind us. Bits of concrete fly through the air. I take the one that pulled the trigger. My hands grip either side of his head. I twist sharply. The snap is louder than the sim girl, I think with satisfaction.
I've killed someone, but it is unreal, vague. I feel detached from it.
I grab his rifle as he falls. I aim at the other Guardian. I pull the trigger three times. Heart, heart, head. I grin. I finally have perfect aim. The man staggers and falls backward. Matt was right, I knew exactly what to do when the time came. I turn and take down the two Devotees who are moving toward me. Bright red erupts over their white jackets. I hold the rifle steady with both hands and aim at Galton as she scrambles backward in slow motion.
There is the whsst of a bullet flying by, very close to my head, and I falter, off balance. That was the other Guardian, behind me. My own shot was off and I’m out of ammo. Galton is alive and shrieking. Her elbow is shattered. It is a bloody mess of splintered bone and ruptured tendons.
In my periphery I see Matt react and leave the other Guardian for him. Even slow, his knife will be fast.
Pete stares at me, tries to understand what he’s seeing. I smile cheerfully and leap over to him. My lungs swell, my wrath is euphoric. I reclaim the DSU and drop it in my pocket. Suddenly, everything comes into sharp focus. His greasy hair, his unwashed smell, his stale breath. My senses feel enhanced, more acute. I grasp Pete's hand, the one that holds his pistol, and make sure a bullet is chambered. Holding his finger to the trigger, I carefully position the barrel of his weapon under his chin and press firmly to stop his trembling. Grimy fingernails are chewed down so far the nail beds are exposed. A whimper starts in his throat, his Adam's apple slowly bobs and his pupils dilate.
He held this pistol against my head a minute ago. He betrayed me. I revel in the smell of his fear.
I look into his frightened eyes and make him squeeze the trigger. His head collapses; it sort of slides apart as the bullet blows the top of his head off. I roar for joy and savor the warm spray of his blood on the side of my face. I am mighty and righteous.
I turn and wipe blood from my cheek. Galton is still shrieking and cradling her damaged arm. Blood runs down her pristine lab coat in long trails. I want to gouge out her cosmetically enhanced eyes with my fingers, rip at her tightened vocal chords. Matt's knife has taken down the last Guardian, but the others, outside the hangar, are finally reacting to the noise and will be coming in. Instinct propels me. I race over to lock the doors on the Guardians. I swipe at the dripping blood on my brow with my sleeve and take Matt's hand. I feel him accelerate as we sprint.
I push open the rear exit and race alongside the row of barracks, toward the transport I hope still waits for us. It is deserted back here. I can feel Matt's breath, fast from shock and exertion. It's as if we're in a vortex; the air swirls around us as we run. Charlie charges toward us, but slowly, as if she's wading through waist-high water. We are almost at the transport.
The fire inside me is sputtering out. I let go of Matt and stumble, my palm shredding as I hit the hot pavement, and I’m back in slow time again. I hear urgent shouts, my name is called, hands grab me. Jay is swearing at me, asking why I have blood all over me.
Oh. He's yelling at Matt, not me. Matt is gasping for breath, his shoulders heaving, but he looks okay.
My body trembles violently, my heart beats thunderously in my ears. Through hazy eyes I watch Jay step up to Matt and slug him, hard, on the jaw.
I am extinguished.
Spiders are all over me, touching me, pulling at me, speaking my name. Now there are hands on me, and someone who sounds like me screams. I twist and jerk and buck, trying to get away from the hands. I get on my knees to crawl away, but the hands grab at me, pull me back, hold me down. The screams become sobs. I shriek No! and scratch at the fingers as they tighten their grip on me. I kick out, trying to hit something, but my leg jerks awkwardly, out of my control. I’m caught, pinned, they have me now. I can't get away. Despair overcomes me. I sob and wail. Why are they doing this?
What do the hands want fro—
—
The sway of forward motion, loud voices. I open my eyes.
“We're almost there. You have to pull it together, Jess,” Charlie shouts in my ear, to be heard above the din.
“Where are we?” I say, blinking, disoriented. I'm being jostled about and have to fight to stay on the bench as the vehicle speeds over bumpy ground. I'm in the transport.
“We will be at the border station in a few minutes; you've got to be able to walk through it. Come on, sit up, drink.” Charlie hauls me up to sitting, pushes a canteen to my mouth and pours liquid in.
I sputter, but do as she says. I raise a shaky hand to the canteen, tip more cool water down my throat. My hand is throbbing and bandaged. What happened?
“Slap her helmet on,” Sheree's anxious voice yells. “It will cover the blood.”
Blood? Images crash through my memory, but I slam it shut tight. I cannot allow myself to remember anything right now.
Sheree is suddenly in front of me; she wipes my face and does up buttons. The regular fatigues I had on were changed for my black ones. My hand gropes and I sag with relief to find my body shirt still on, still hiding my shame.
“Matt? The DSU?” I manage to whisper. Something’s not right about the DSU but I can’t capture it in my addled brain.
“He's okay and he has it, we found it in your pocket,” Sheree replies, and she jams a helmet on my head. I see raw scratches on her arms. She follows my glance, smiles, says, “You didn't make it easy.”
We reach the Flagstaff Border Station and I'm whisked off the transport. They weigh me down with my vest, ammo, rifle, holster, and more. I attempt to walk in a straight line, but my legs are rubbery, my muscles spent. Boyd walks close behind me. He has some nice fresh scratches on his arms too, now hidden under the sleeves of his fatigues. He has a grip on the waist of my pants, to help keep me upright. His breath is measured; he’s controlling his fear as he hustles me along. We need to get out of here quick.
We enter a long, narrow, brightly lit concrete room. Boyd stops me at a counter where a hawk-faced border officer loads a shiny metallic instrument. Matt and Charlie are already through. They have arranged everything. Matt briefly meets my eyes, but he immediately looks away. The officer does not look up at me. I hold out my wrist for the implant, keeping my arm tight to my body to hold it steady. Everyone is watching. I can tell some are holding their breath, hoping I don't screw this up. It is too quiet, too tense.
“It's a bit quiet in here, don't you think?” Sheree says conversationally and slaps Ramón on the arm. “Should we talk about me?”
There is some laughter and coughing, shuffling of feet. The others begin adjusting their equipment. The officer ignores us. He meticulously loads his instrument. He rechecks it. I suspect he doesn't see a lot of action, likes to savor it.
I sway a bit and Sheree immediately seizes my elbow. “She doesn't like to watch,” she explains with a shrug, and pushes my arm forward, gripping me tightly in warning. My other hand still throbs under the bandages, from my fall before I passed out.
There is a sharp stab, and a small tracker is implanted in my arm. It tells Command where I am, and if I’m still alive. I don't want it, but I can't refuse. I shouldn't talk yet; if I slip up, we are all dead.
Once he's done, the guard says in clipped tones, “You are about to leave America. Good luck, soldier.”
He begins the arduous task of reloading for Boyd; he barely looked at me at all.
There is impatient shuffling as everyone gets their implants. We move on. I want to run forward, I think we all do, but we take measured paces. Our boots echo and sound like a hundred pairs marching rather than six. I concentrate on walking. Boyd is still propping me up and Matt is still ahead of me, but that's all I know. I’m extremely jittery. I expect an alarm to go off, an announcement of my name, an order to seize me. They will call me Deviant and take me back to Galton. My heartbeat competes for loudness against the stomp of our boots. It takes about five surreal minutes to walk the quarter mile and reach the exit officer waiting at the other end of the otherwise empty building.
There is a blue line we must step over, one by one, to approach her. Boyd steadies me but I am on my own. I cross the line and shove my arm out so she can scan me. It is an effort to hold it up. My teeth are clenched as I study her face. She’s not alarmed by our departure. Maybe we were fast enough.
She says, “You have now left America. Good luck, soldier.” She shakes my hand.
Everyone goes through the process. Past the officer is an open hanger-like area. The border wall is immense. Built into it are stations like this, with doors that open up to the outside. Charlie helps me into one of the jeeps that were prepped for our mission and climbs in after me. Ramón and Boyd rapidly transfer our packs. Sheree slides into the driver's seat and we wait impatiently for the hangar doors to open, hoping we've been quick enough to get out before the alarm is sounded. The pounding of my heart in my chest grows louder with each second as the doors painfully screech open.
I hear the faint beeping of an alarm, but I'm not sure if it's real. I watch the gateway to escape continue to grind open, inch by slow inch, until the passage is wide enough to accommodate a jeep. I lurch backward as we accelerate and fly through the doors, into the empty desert.
We are out.
The sound of explosions suddenly fills the air, and Ramón whoops triumphantly from the other jeep as we all crane our necks to look back at the border. Ramón had an empty barracks rigged to blow; he must have just detonated it. The goal was distraction, but also to force the base into lockdown so no one could immediately follow us.
“Where's Jay?” I scream, as I realize I haven't seen him. No one answers.
—
We pass through the desert quickly. Boyd is in the lead in the other jeep, with Ramón and Matt. We maneuver through some bumpy terrain and then travel on an old highway, cracked and buckling, past signs pointing to Flagstaff. We race on. The plan had not included dead Devotees and a confrontation with Galton to draw attention to our departure.
Charlie explains what she thinks happened to my body.
“That was an extreme overload of stress hormones and adrenaline, which activates your fight-or-flight response. It can give you strength and speed, and incredible focus. It can make a person feel invincible. But the overload blocks your higher thought processes, and leaves you reacting with a more primitive part of your brain,” she explains. “The overdose causes delirium and tremors, and your decision-making ability is pretty much gone.”
“Like the juice junkies?” I whisper.
“Something like that.”
I remember the spiders. Charlie tells me that I was delusional and extremely strong. It took both Sheree and Boyd to wrestle me into submission and change my uniform. My body shirt still hugs me, hiding the stain. Nobody saw it.
I don't tell Charlie about the wild heat that ran through me, and she doesn't ask.
“What did you give me?” I ask flatly.
“A sedative, to suppress the hormone release, and an inhibitor to block your cortisol receptors. The drink will help rebalance your electrolytes, and correct your glycogen depletion.”
She makes me drink some more.
“You can learn to control the stress, and the reaction,” she informs me.
My eyelids flutter. I’m very tired, but Charlie won't let me sleep. Not yet.
There are buildings up ahead. The road is littered with debris, gaping sinkholes, and the collapsed sides of buildings, and we have to take some wild turns. I’m dizzy and a little nauseated. I push it away.
“How's Matt?” I slur sleepily.
“Mostly recovered. He's also suffering from glycogen depletion and dehydration. He'll be sore for a day or two, but he'll be fine,” Charlie answers.
We don't discuss how he got that way. I suspect Charlie knows a lot more than she's letting on.
“Where's Jay?”
“He's coming,” she answers, and pricks my thumb to check me one more time. She announces that I can have a fifteen- or twenty-minute nap before we reach our destination.
I close my eyes.