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| - Ajaur gazed down at the smoking corpse lying on the ground by his feet in disgust, and then deactivated his lightsaber. The whelp, while possessing marginal skill, deserved to join the other bodies strewn around the small compound in which Ajaur now stood. All of them, regardless of sex or species, had one thing in common- the lightsaber marks burned through them by the Inquisitor. Some of them couldn’t have been more than ten standard years of age, but Ajaur didn’t care. They were traitors to the Empire and had thus invoked the death penalty. When it came to carrying out his orders, the Inquisitor was utterly merciless and remorseless. The dark side filled his nostrils with its invigorating power, fueled by the slaughter around him. Grinning evilly, he continued forward as a quartet of V-19s screamed through the scattered clouds overhead. The smell of smoke was in the air, and a tall plume of smoke could be seen rising in the distance, probably from the capital city of Yumfla. This moon, Susefvi, was largely temperate and covered with grasslands, with settlements scattered across the surface. There had been no resistance to the arrival of the Corrupter. Captain Nebulax had deployed his troops in a direct assault on the capital to overwhelm any central defense force before they even had a chance to respond, and Ajaur figured they had been successful. Though he would never achieve true power without mastery of the Force, he admitted that Nebulax was a cunning officer in his own right, if obstinate and surly. Upon landing, he had come here alone. The Force had told him the location of this refuge and he had brought the Empire’s judgment. Several of the inhabitants had tried to plead with him for clemency, but Ajaur had had none. By the time a few of them produced lightsabers of varying hues with which to battle him, he had already cleaved through half of them. The few that were left had fallen quickly, demoralized by the sight of their dead comrades and possessing little skill to match against Ajaur’s blade. A pity, really. The man he had just slain had only lasted as long as he had out of luck, not because of any particular skill. As a reward, he had been able to witness the death of his friends. How delicious, thought Ajaur. His mind, surging from the adrenaline rush of battle, was full of malice, his will seeking out any further victims to satiate his thirst for vengeance. With each kill, he envisioned the death of Vader as he lopped off limbs or opened gaping wounds, his red blade thrusting and slashing at will. Ajaur looked around the compound one more time, extending his perceptions to see if any more of these people remained. They were apparently called Jensaarai, but the lightsabers in their hands and the pitiful Force powers that they wielded were enough to condemn them as enemies of the Empire and thus worthy of death. There had been a surprising number of them, and their unusual armor had marked them as clearly not of Jedi origins, though. Perhaps he would make note of that in his report to Lord Vader. Suddenly, Ajaur stopped. His senses had detected one person left, their signature through the Force faint, but distinctly individual. His lightsaber immediately found his hand. He turned in the direction of the remaining life form towards a darkened doorway. A hand and arm could be seen lying on the floor, protruding from the body of a woman inside. She had been unarmed, easily slain, Ajaur recalled. Strange, he had not detected anyone else in the small duracrete building at the time, and the reminder of the limitations of his power stung. Then, he saw the focus of his senses. Out from the doorway walked a young human girl, perhaps twelve standard years ago. She was dirty, her stringy blond hair ragged and unkempt and her face unwashed. She was only wearing a homespun shift loosely tied around the waist with a belt, its tattered edges not even reaching her knees, and lacking the most basic of footwear. She was completely unarmed, with not even a rock to throw at him. Her expression was strangely curious, confused. “Why? Why have you come to do this?” she asked, her voice plaintive. “Because you were all traitors,” sneered Ajaur down at her, one part of him unsure why he even bothered to speak to this little spawn. “You all deserve to die.” The girl’s gray eyes turned from Ajaur’s face to focus on something else, as if looking past his shoulder. “You will die soon also,” she said, her voice no longer pleading, but curiously steady and certain. “And you will pass into unending torment for your crimes.” She turned back to regard him with a level gaze. “I don’t think so,” said Ajaur. “You don’t stand a chance.” “Neither do you. Your time has come,” she said. With an angry roar, Ajaur leapt forward and cut her down, his crimson lightsaber opening a gash from throat to abdomen in the girl’s torso, the massive wound instantly cauterized by the searing blade. She fell wordlessly to crumple in a heap and died, her mouth gaping in an unvoiced scream. “Some seer you turned out to be,” Ajaur addressed her corpse. Yet, even as he walked away to where his speeder bike was waiting, Ajaur could not completely dispel the chill that had run down his spine at the girl’s words, so confident even in the face of her death. What if she had foreseen his imminent death through the Force? Ajaur tried to put the thought out of his mind as he climbed aboard his speeder bike and sped back to the capital. Yumfla Lieutenant Ait Convarion stood amid the ruins of some recently demolished piece of statuary near the main entrance of a Susefvi government building. The capital city—if Yumfla could indeed be called a city—had fallen easily. Captain Nebulax had deployed twelve hundred Imperial Army soldiers and stormtroopers in an astonishingly effective surprise attack that had quickly overwhelmed the few meager stands that some foolhardy locals had chosen to make. Supported by overwhelming air, walker, and ground vehicle support, the Imperials had little chance of being repulsed by Yumfla’s militia, much of which had fled after the initial volley of blaster rifle fire. A brief skirmish had occurred around the government complex, but the stormtrooper commander had called in airstrikes and armor support that had quickly sapped the will and numbers of the resistance, in addition to causing significant damage to the structures. With the center of government taken, the rest of the city had quickly been surrendered by some minor official. Yumfla had fallen in under three hours. By now, the troopers had taken up defensive positions around the complex in preparation for the rapidly approaching nightfall while other detachments went out to take the surrounding settlements. Convarion heard the distant crackle of blaster fire, but it quickly died out. No doubt some local had decided to push an argument with the Imperial troops and had paid for his foolishness with his life, yet another example of the stupidity of contending with the Empire. Convarion felt no particular sympathy for these people, despite having been born and raised on an Outer Rim world not too unlike Susefvi himself. The fact that they hadn’t immediately surrendered to the Empire had marked them as too stupid to survive its arrival. As he paced around the complex, half-heartedly observing the efforts of the army troops, Convarion felt nothing but disgust for people who couldn’t appreciate what was happening to them. Imperial rule would do them good. As impressed as he was with the efficiency in which the town had been taken, Convarion resented being sent down here to supervise the occupation as much as the army troopers around here resented his presence. He was out of his element here, and he expected that was precisely why he had been ordered to supervise the occupation. As his comlink chirped, Convarion pulled it out of his belt, fully expecting it to be Nebulax, safe and comfortable aboard Corrupter. As he activated the device, he was not disappointed. “What is the situation down there, Lieutenant?” asked Nebulax. “The town of Yumfla has fallen, Captain. The locals barely put up a fight. I’m standing in what was their center of resistance right now, sir.” “Casualties?” “I don’t know, sir,” said Convarion, irked at Nebulax’s question. “Probably light.” If the captain had really wanted to know about the casualties, he would have contacted the army commander. Instead, by showing him up in front of the army troopers composing his honor guard, Nebulax was only seeking to bait and discredit him. “Then I suggest you find out,” said Nebulax smoothly. “A good commander looks after his troops.” “Yes, sir. If you were down here personally, I have no doubt that you would have the entire situation firmly under your control.” Convarion smiled at the brief pause in Nebulax’s litany of questions. No doubt the captain was trying to determine if Convarion’s carefully worded and spoken statement was an insult over his refusal to inspect Yumfla himself, or a compliment on his tactical abilities. It had been worded specifically for the purpose of ambiguity. However, Convarion had to admit that it didn’t take Nebulax long to recover, and the senior officer largely ignored the hidden jibe. “Consider it a part of your training, Lieutenant. Where is the Inquisitor?” “I’m not sure, sir,” said Convarion. “Do you care to explain that, Lieutentant?” Nebulax asked. This time Convarion was ready. As soon as he had touched down on this miserable excuse of a moon, he had made sure to ask the ground troop commander about the whereabouts of Ajaur for his own personal benefit. “Inquisitor Ajaur appropriated a speeder bike and set off by himself shortly after landing on the planet, sir,” Convarion advised. “I see,” Nebulax said. “I wonder how his mission went.” It was a silent opportunity for Convarion to offer to inquire, but he let it pass. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Ajaur. Suddenly, the roar of a speeder bike engine grinding to a stop informed him that the subject of their conversation had arrived. “Tell the captain that I have been successful thus far,” said Ajaur, dismounting from the vehicle and walking towards Convarion. “Captain Nebulax, Inquisitor Ajaur has just arrived and he reports that-“ “Yes, yes, I heard him myself, Lieutenant,” broke in Nebulax’s voice. “Inquisitor Ajaur, will you require a shuttle back to the Corrupter? I have one on standby if you need it.” “No,” said Ajaur dismissively. “I will remain here until my work is finished. Lieutenant, how long did the troop commander say until this world is fully occupied?” “Not more than a week,” said Convarion, somehow managing to get the words out. “However, we may need to stay here as an occupation force for several more months until a garrison force can arrive.” “I see,” said Ajaur. “Captain Nebulax, immediately inform the nearest sector base that we require a garrison force for this world. While my master may have other missions for me, this moon must not be left unguarded.” “As you wish, Inquisitor,” said Nebulax, who then deactivated the comlink transmission. As Ajaur moved off to attend to some unknown business of his own, Convarion was left to do little but stand around. While he was grateful for an opportunity to be rid of the fearsome Ajaur, babysitting a bunch of army troops and bullying locals was not what he had in mind. He longed to be back in space, engaging the real enemies of the Empire in this sector, the smugglers and pirates who defied the New Order’s control of space. For now, all he could do was wait for Nebulax to get bored with his little lesson and call him back up to Corrupter. Unfortunately, it appeared they would be in this miserable system for quite some time on pacification and occupation duty. What had started as a promising tour to clean out the sector of space scum had turned into an obnoxiously easy takeover of a backwards world that likely no one would ever care about. Convarion wondered what Ajaur had seen was so important that they had needed to urgently come here, but Nebulax assured him that the orders were important. Better not to know, he supposed. The only way to find out the reason would likely be talking directly to Ajaur, and Convarion relished the idea of that about as much as he did shooting himself in the foot. Though judging by the look on Ajaur’s face, such an incident would likely be less deadly than incurring the Inquisitor’s wrath. Convarion had never seen him so grimly pleased—no doubt the man had been relishing the destruction he had wrought. As night fell on Susefvi, so did the moon’s freedom. Powerless to resist the troops and Imperial might deployed to its surface by Nebulax and its Jensaarai defenders slain or scattered by dread of the Inquisitor stalking them, Susefvi’s inhabitants slowly submitted to Imperial rule. They had no choice. Anyone who resisted was summarily executed. Whole villages, nestled away in remote river valleys or lying as a speck amidst the vast grasslands were punished with utter destruction by the slightest hint of organized resistance to the Imperial takeover. Convarion was left with the thankless duty of supervising. However, from the Imperial standpoint, all was progressing as it should. The populace had been taken by surprise and any resistance met with overwhelming force. Order was being enforced in the cities and the outlying settlements were being pacified. Acceptance of Imperial rule was widespread, and fewer than a dozen casualties had been sustained thanks to the complete air and ground supremacy enjoyed by the Imperials. The few pathetic attempts at defense had been piecemeal and uncoordinated, the defenders ill-trained and equipped to contend with well-trained and equipped soldiers. After the devastation wrought on the government complex, the backbone of the meager militia had been broken, and most of the moon was now under Imperial control, or would be soon. Victory was guaranteed and that, combined with not having any further contact with Ajaur, allowed Convarion to spend far less miserable of a time on the surface than he had anticipated. Deep space Cassi groaned softly as she made her way out of the training arena and across the courtyard of ruined statues. Selu had been dutifully rigorous in his lightsaber lessons and Cassi wasn’t sure she could ever master the weapon, much less if she even wanted to. Her clothes were still damp with sweat and her arms ached from trying to control the unfamiliar weapon. Selu hadn’t even allowed her to use a real lightsaber yet, training her with a long metal pole instead and swinging it around for hours was exhausting. She shivered at the thought of actually wielding the Jedi weapon. She had never actually seen Selu use it, but she’d seen the holos of Jedi in the Clone Wars as a teenager. Cassi had no desire to possess such destructive power. In fact, over the past three weeks, ever since the run-in with the Imperial warship, she had been hiding something deep within her—guilt. Every night, she dreamed of the Imperial crewmembers that had died when she had launched the explosive-rigged escape pods. She would see their faces coalesce into her vision, only to be blown into a thousand bloody pieces. Cassi had never before taken a life and now she had killed possibly dozens of people. She had fired at Mistryl that had attempted to kidnap Sarth and kill Selu and had seen combat on Emberlene, but she’d never been directly responsible for the death of another. She knew that Sarth probably hadn’t had to kill anyone either, but he’d seen more combat than she had. Maybe he was okay with the concept of killing people, but even though she occasionally carried a blaster, the thought of using it lethally was something she had always shied away from. Making her way through the sculpture garden, Cassi saw Milya sitting quietly, legs crossed underneath her, eyes closed in what appeared to be a meditation position. She looked glacially calm and peaceful. On an impulse, Cassi altered her direction and headed over to Milya, trying to sense the other woman in the Force. Nothing at first. Cassi closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind—difficult with the lingering images of the explosion still in her head. However, remembering what Selu had taught them about a calming technique, she was finally able to silence all the voices, images, and thoughts buzzing in her mind. To her delight, she was able to sense Milya. From what little her mind could tell, Milya was projecting serenity on top of a very tightly-controlled emotional barrier. Just as Milya herself was often hard to read in terms of expression or body language, Cassi got the sense that her shipmate was equally enigmatic emotionally. Still, she was at least satisfied that she had been able to access the Force and sense another person without prompting from Selu or one of the apparitions. She opened her eyes to find that Milya was now looking at her. “Something on your mind?” Milya asked Cassi pointedly. Cassi started in surprise. “What? I mean, how did you know?” “Not hard to read,” Milya told her. “It doesn’t take Selu to sense that something’s bothering you.” “I guess,” Cassi said. “Or maybe there’s something to this seer business.” Milya’s eyebrows arched upward. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said with a wry smile. “You reached out with the Force; I was able to sense your thoughts when you did.” “Oh,” Cassi replied a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t realize I was so . . . easy to read.” Then she frowned. “But you’re not, or else I’m a lot worse at this sensing thing.” “Part of that is control,” Milya answered. “Part of it is choice. You can have both, if you want.” Cassi suddenly wondered if Milya would have a good answer for how it felt to take another’s life. She knew that the other woman had had a rough life—and had certainly seen her share of combat and had slain others before. Selu had demons of his own to excise on that front, and she hadn’t wanted to bring it up with him, while Spectre had been literally born to fight and kill; he wouldn’t understand her dilemma, and Sarth probably wouldn’t understand either. She wavered, unsure of how to react. She and Milya had never really had deep conversations—they lived and worked together, but it wasn’t like they were best friends. Their disparate backgrounds and Milya’s tendency to isolate herself emotionally had precluded that. Despite knowing Milya for over a year, Cassi still knew relatively little about the other woman’s past. “You’re still in turmoil,” Milya remarked. “Do you want to talk about it?” Cassi sighed. Maybe it would be good to obtain her perspective. “I keep feeling like I’m holding myself back in my training,” Cassi told her. “Intentionally. I’m not sure I want to do this.” If Milya was surprised by the admission, she betrayed no evidence of it. “Why not?” “I’ve never really seen Selu use the Force or a lightsaber, but I’ve seen the holos. I’ve heard the stories,” Cassi replied. “I don’t think I want that kind of power.” “But you accept the prophecy.” “That’s to help people,” Cassi explained. “And even this whole healing thing—I like that idea. What I don’t like—,” She faltered momentarily, collecting her words and thoughts, mentally reassuring herself that this was something she could share with Milya. “I don’t like the idea of training to kill people,” she confessed bluntly. Milya silently nodded for her to continue, and the words poured out of Cassi as if released from behind a pent-up dam. “I’ve been in dangerous situations before, even fired a weapon in self-defense, but I never had to kill anyone—at least, not until that Imperial warship. I launched two bombs at dozens of people I’d never met and watched them die in explosions I caused. Now I can’t stop seeing their faces—at night, when I sleep, or even when I close my eyes. I see them staring silently at me, judging me, blaming me for their deaths, and I don’t know how to react. They had probably had families, people who cared for them—and now they’re dead. Because of me.” Cassi looked bleakly at Milya. “That’s why I don’t think I can do this.” Milya waited until she was sure that Cassi was done speaking. “I was seventeen when I made my first kill. I had trained in the Echani martial arts as a girl and was a capable fighter, but I had never had to kill someone.” “What happened?” Cassi asked. Milya took a deep breath as she prepared to revisit some of her most painful memories. “My foster parents were killed in a duel and I was sold as a result. The slavers chained me up on their ship and were going to sell me to the highest bidder.” Cassi shuddered. On her homeworld of Bakura and even on Coruscant where she had studied, slavery was considered a barbaric practice. Apparently Milya had grown up on a world where such things were openly tolerated, a horrifying thought. “I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Milya continued. “I broke free and killed all of the slavers. Then I took their ship and used it to avenge my parents. Then I struck out on my own. I’ve put down a few others since then—mostly people who tried to attack me, and then some Imperials and Mistryl after I linked up with the Hawk-bat.” “How do you handle that?” Cassi asked. “How does it come so easily to you?” Milya regarded her evenly. For her own part, she had been raised in a militaristic culture, trained in the martial arts with an expectation that she would have to use them. She had been a fighter all her life, and she knew that Cassi came from a far more sheltered background. Still, there was an innocence and a haunted look in her eyes that Milya sympathized with. She had been distracted by worrying about Selu and hadn’t recognized the trauma in Cassi’s psyche from her desperate action on the Star Destroyer—something Milya wouldn’t have thought twice about doing. “It’s not easy at all,” Milya replied softly. “I still think about the people I killed, too. I don’t think it ever leaves you.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put it that way,” Cassi amended. “It just seems like you don’t let it bother you. How?” “You think about why you took those lives and never take one if it can be helped,” Milya said. “And you never, ever let yourself enjoy it—take it from someone who’s been there.” “The people who killed your parents?” Cassi asked quietly. “Yes,” Milya said tersely. “And the slavers. I enjoyed every vengeful moment—and I’ve regretted it ever since. Not killing them—they deserved that—but the ugliness it spawned inside me; that, that I regret.” “I don’t think I could live with something like that hanging over me,” Cassi said. “Maybe this Jedi thing isn’t for me.” “You can,” Milya told her. “Because you have to. Because you were killing people that deserved it.” “They were just doing their jobs,” Cassi pointed out. “Cassi, that’s what the people in the Kanz Disorders said,” Milya replied. “That’s not an excuse. Those Imperials you killed were going to torture and execute all of us. If they weren’t, they were at least complicit in that they weren’t doing anything to stop that from happening.” “I suppose,” Cassi said hesitantly. “You didn’t see him,” Milya added, thinking back to the dark-robed Imperial man who had beaten Selu. “You didn’t see the pure evil in his eyes. We were all dead from the moment he appeared. I just hope he died in the blast.” Milya shook her head to clear her mind of the foul memory. “I can’t promise you any resolution,” she told Cassi. “You may carry those faces and names with you for the rest of your life. But I can give you this—every time you see those faces, think about the lives you saved. You and Sarth wouldn’t be engaged right now if you hadn’t acted. You’d both have died a very painful death on that Star Destroyer. He’s alive because you intervened.” “And does that make it worth it?” Cassi asked softly. “It does,” Milya answered. “Eventually, the memory will fade some. It’s sharper now because it’s fresh, but when it comes back, just remind yourself of why you did it, and who was saved as a result.” “It’s a harsh thing, knowing that you decided who lived and who died,” Cassi reflected. “The galaxy is a harsh place,” Milya said. “Don’t regret having to kill someone to defend yourself or another person. If that happens, it means they were probably going to kill you first.” “I can’t just accept that,” Cassi replied. “I can’t just be fine with killing another person. That’s not who I am.” “That’s your choice,” Milya answered. “But I don’t think that would stop you from doing the training, as long as can defend someone when you have to.” “I . . . I’m not sure,” Cassi answered hesitantly. “Cassi, you were strong enough to save us on the Star Destroyer. You were strong enough to help fight against the Mistryl. You can do this,” Milya told her firmly. “You’ve already done it. You don’t have to like it, you just have to be ready when someday my life or Sarth’s life or your own life depends on you taking action, even if that means killing someone. Can you do that?” Cassi considered the statement, then nodded slowly. “I can do that,” she said. “I don’t see anything wrong with defending yourself or another person from attack. It’s living with the consequences that I’m not sure about.” Milya rose and placed an arm on Cassi’s shoulder. “You remind yourself of the people who are alive because you acted, the people who are counting on you,” Milya told her encouragingly. “Then you keep moving forward day by day with those people, happy to have another day to spend with them.” “If you say so,” Cassi answered doubtfully. “Look, I never said it was easy,” Milya said. “You may feel guilt about those lives you took—and any that you take in the future—for the rest of your life. But when you see those accusing faces, just remember the other ones.” “What other ones?” Cassi asked, puzzled. “The ones who are thankful that you saved them,” Milya answered earnestly. “Thank you, Cassi. You saved all of us on that ship.” Cassi hugged Milya, surprising the other woman, who still wasn’t used to spontaneous displays of affection. A single tear slid down Cassi’s face as she realized the sincerity and gratitude in Milya’s voice in recognition of what Cassi had done on their behalf. “Thank you,” Cassi told her as they separated. “I needed you to say that.” Milya nodded. “Any time,” she said. “And if you ever need to talk about this again, you know where to find me.” “I appreciate that,” Cassi said. Wiping the tear away, she shook her head. “Well, I should probably go,” she said. “Need to get cleaned up before dinner. But Milya?” “Yes?” “Thanks again.” Zeru Neimodia Agent Taskien was waiting at the landing pad as the sextet of gunships emerged from the overcast skies, swooping down like hunting avians returning to roost. Two of them were trailing wisps of dark smoke and all of them looked like they had had chunks gouged out of them. Black blaster scorches belied that all six ships had seen heavy combat recently. As their repulsorlifts whined down to a halt, the doors slid open, allowing dozens of white-armored troopers to exit. Commander CC-3433 was among them—she picked him out by the built-in binoculars and communications gear that his helmet included. He walked stiffly out across the landing pad as medics rushed over and began ferrying casualties out of the gunships. Maintenance crews also joined the swarm, bringing tools and equipment to begin repairs on the stricken vehicles. “Agent Taskien,” Trip greeted her. “Haven’t heard much from you this past month.” It was true. She had been off with a small team of analysts over in some of the abandoned Neimodian mansions, collecting whatever intelligence she could on the former occupants, the people who were now leading and fighting in the intransigent resistance. “I’ve been busy,” she replied. “Good hunting?” “We got some of them,” he said. “They got some of us. No real progress.” “Casualties?” she asked. Trip wasn’t obligated to answer that and he could have claimed that it was an unimportant operational detail. Over the past month, he’d rather enjoyed having the agent out of his hair, allowing him to lead hunting parties and patrol sweeps without having the agent standing behind him making requests or coming up with convoluted plans. However, she had shown genuine concern when his troops had sustained losses, so he decided to oblige her curiosity. “Fifteen killed, twenty-six wounded,” he said. “We estimate slightly less for them, but we did recover six bodies.” “I’d like to have my team examine them,” she replied. He nodded, having anticipated the not-quite order. “They’re offloading them now,” he said, gesturing to where a group of troopers were unloading bodies on a stretcher. Agent Taskien glanced over and noted with surprise that one of the corpses was a human woman, who appeared to have died from a knife wound to the torso. There hadn’t been many human females in the records—perhaps she would be able to match the woman to some of the personnel files she had recovered from a mostly-destroyed mainframe. “Any further leads on the main rebel base?” she asked him. She could almost see him frown inside his helmet. “No,” he answered curtly. “Weren’t you working on that?” Taskien didn’t allow the reply to ruffle her. “We’re all working on that, Commander,” she said. Trip abruptly changed the subject. “I’ll take another party out in the next week or so, once I can round up the men.” Something in the tone of his voice told the agent that he wasn’t operating with the strength he needed for this kind of operation. “Imperial Center denied your request for reinforcements,” she surmised aloud. “They expect me to carry out my mission with greater efficiency,” Trip groused. “And so it will be done.” Taskien glanced back at the bodies that were now loaded onto repulsorcarts and being ferried to her laboratory, thinking about how she might dig up some useful information from the corpses. Then, suddenly, an idea struck her, a wild, dangerous idea that was somewhere between reckless and insane. And then she knew how she was going to break the resistance on Zeru Neimodia.
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