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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL
Mal and Zoe take in a museum exhibit and meet the curator. Johnny and Jayne have a heart to heart about their future.
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 4763 RATING: 10 SERIES: FIREFLY
The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu
Chapter Seventeen
Lt. Hua looked out at the vast expanse of steppes, then towards the mountain range ahead of them, with an expression of unabashed eagerness on his face. Lo just shook his head, knowing how foolish it was to anticipate what was going to be, honestly, a deadly take-no-prisoners firefight – but also knowing that trying to dampen his subordinate’s enthusiasm with the benefit of his experience would be pointless and impossible. He wasn’t looking forward to this – he hadn’t been in a real firefight since the War – but he felt confident that his men could handle whatever hired gunmen the suspect may have acquired. The airbase had been accommodating, and provided two armored personnel vehicles and three light tactical assault vehicles. They used them infrequently as part of their perimeter security, which honestly hadn’t been activated to that level since that Minister had visited three years ago. But they had been very curious as to why he had needed such heavy firepower to apprehend a single suspect. Lo was taking no chances. That’s what made him a good commander. He always tried to go into a fight with three times more resources than his opponent could possibly have. Overwhelming force was his favorite tactical doctrine. He was just glad the man had chosen a spot outside of a densely populated urban area to skulk around. He didn’t relish the idea of having a firefight in a crowded street. Out in the middle of nowhere was perfect. It had the added advantage of leaving very little room for the suspect and his people to get away. You could see a fly on a yak’s ass out here from the air. “Captain,” the driver of the car called. He was another local boy, a Manchu by the look of him. “Convoy just radioed and said they’ve reached the first waypoint.” Lo nodded. “Good. Tell them to change heading and go to the second waypoint. There they should split off and prepare to approach from two directions.” The Manchu boy nodded. The plan was simple. The old palace was stuck on the southern tier of the mountains, overlooking the plains. Group A would approach from the southeast, Group B from the southwest, and his flyer with a four-man tactical squad – plus the invincible Lt. Hua – would ride along the north ridge of the mountain looking for anyone who tried to come out of a back door. The whole thing should be over in half an hour, or so. Maybe less, if the man laid down arms quickly. Lo remembered his file, and knew that wouldn’t happen. “Captain?” Hua asked. “Why would he go there, of all places?” It was a reasonable question (that, in itself, surprised him), and one he had been pondering since the news came in. “Back during the War it was an Imperial command center. Old Emperor Lei had some relatives who were monks there, and the Imperials were able to use it as a remote command-and-control center. But Alliance forces thoroughly swept it after the war. They didn’t leave behind anything that wasn’t of historic value. So I’m guessing he picked it because it was remote – and isolated – and a good spot to meet his contact.” “What contact?” Hua asked, confused. “That’s what we’re going to discover,” Lo assured. “He’s a petty criminal, now, not a soldier. So I’m going to assume that this is just a business deal, and not a politically motivated action.” “Sir? Are you sure? Did you read his file?” “Yes, Lieutenant, I did. Hopeless battles, brilliant tactics, superb improvisation, and fanatical belief in his cause. But the war is over, and he lost. He’s just trying to make a living – a dishonest and illegal living, but a living. If he came here, it was to meet someone out of our view, not to loot the place.” “What is in there? Jewels? Artwork?” “You’ve never been here? You grew up here!” Hua shrugged. “Who goes to the local museum anywhere, sir?” Lo considered. He had been raised on Xiao, where there were hundreds of museums. He had visited maybe five since he left school. But he had been to this one, when he first transferred here. He had brought a girlfriend up here for the same reason the Imperials had liked it: obscure, remote, isolated environment. Of course, back then they didn’t have those little bungalows in the rear for quiet little rendezvous with one’s mistresses. “A bunch of shoddy old furniture. Some nice scrollwork, from when this was a monastery. A couple of big art pieces, and some reproductions. Some knick knacks from the Emperor’s private collection. But that’s about it.” “And our tax money pays for that?” Hua asked, incredulously. Lo shrugged. “There were a half-dozen old monks left there. And it makes a good place for school field trips. And it has . . . other uses.” “Waste of coin,” Hua murmured. Lo just shook his head. Someday the boy would learn. The world is not an ideal place. As one grew in wisdom and experience, one learned that there were subtleties to how it worked that were not always obvious. One didn’t destroy a magnificent old temple because it wasn’t useful – one always had mistresses. Conversely, one didn’t eagerly anticipate a firefight with a desperate outlaw, either. Not if one wanted to grow old enough to marry, have children, gain rank . . . and acquire mistresses.
*
“So . . . tell me again why we ain’t getting’ to business ‘till close to the crack of noon?” Zoe asked as she pulled on her boots. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Mal explained, pulling on his coat. He had eschewed his browncoat for a lighter, less noticeable jacket. “We’re supposed to be humpin’ the bed through the floor, remember?” He took the 9mm off the nightstand, checked the magazine, then tucked it behind his back into his waistband. “I’ll try to look sated,” Zoe agreed. “It’ll be a stretch, but . . .” “Easy, now,” Mal said. “We can’t act all lovey if I’m pissed off at you all day.” “Huh!” Zoe gunted. “Can tell you ain’t never been wed.” She took her own .38 automatic, checked the load, and put it in her long jacket. “Ready to go get educated between bouts of sweaty, toe-curlin’ monkey-love?” “Let’s do it.” “Try to walk a little funny.” “Shut the hell up, dear.” The museum was uncrowded – indeed, there were only two other patrons that Zoe could see. The lovely Mongol girl at the reception area welcomed them warmly to the museum and offered a choice of tours: guided by a member of the staff, for a reasonable fee which included lunch, or with a talking guidebook, which was considerably cheaper. Mal appeared to waver back and forth between the two, until he pulled Zoe roughly to him and chose the guidebook, winking at the girl and making innuendo that he might want to cavort with her without witnesses. They followed the sign to the first chamber, which showed the construction of the site as the summer palace of the original Regent of Wuhan, brother of the Emperor of Yuan, soon after terraforming was complete. The show had a definite Alliance-slant, talking about how expensive it had been to construct at the whim of a despotic regime. While holos of the construction, including an interview with the architect and the builder, were playing on display, Mal whispered to her. “What do you got, so far?” “They got squat for security. No guards. One camera in the lobby. No bars on the windows. A token mechanical lock on the door. No floor pressure plates that I can tell, and if there’s a laser detection system here it’s invisible.” “What about an ambient heat detection system?” he muttered back, putting a hand on her back. She shook her head slightly and smiled. “Not unless it’s built into the displays. Considering the expense they obviously spared on them, I can’t say it’s likely.” “So far, so good.” The next room chronicled the early days of the palace, though it, too, focused on the Imperial Family’s excesses. There was a display of a highly ostentatious formal silk robe, heavily embroidered in the crossed-tusk emblem of the Wuhan Regency; an example of the Imperial Guard uniform (complete with ceremonial halberd, elaborately decorated armor and ornate, gold-filigreed assault rifle); and a number of impressively gaudy examples of palace leisure activities – badminton, polo, groundcar racing, ballooning – with a cost-in-tax-money breakdown, to inform the museum-goer just how morally outraged he should be. While the guidebook chattered on enthusiastically about wasted revenues, Zoe was looking at the displays with interest. “Nothing better here. Simple lock on the costume cases. I think the one with the robe in it’s broken.” “Cheap ass Alliance,” Mal gloated. “I think that window is broken, too. Make a good entry point.” “Don’t see no alarm,” Mal admitted. “Probably don’t have many neighborhood prowlers that ain’t mastodons.” “Mastodon’d never fit through there.” “You read my mind, si—dear.” The next room was the main hall, and it chronicled the Reign of the Tyrant. During those years, apparently, the Tyrant’s secret police had used this palace as a place to entertain important dignitaries – ply them with drink and drugs, and then capture their images as they engaged in their favorite vices. There were also alleged torture cells, somewhere, where they broke political dissidents. Zoe didn’t remember too much about Shang Yu, but she knew of his reputation with torture. She shuddered a little at the thought of the cabin she slept in last night being used for such an evil purpose. Of course, she had slept in worse places. The far end of the hall was dedicated to the Lei Dynasty, and while it downplayed the positive contributions the Imperial Family had made, it did acknowledge them as being less despotic than the Tyrant. Lei Fong Wu was even called a hero for the way he made peace with Xiao, though his descendents were castigated for their decadence. It was in this section that they found it. The Lei Dynasty section was replete with artifacts, documents, and displays of wealth and artistry. Exhibits with a hundred objects were scattered about, none of them particularly valuable, but all of them impressive. They found the box in one dedicated to the brothers of the Second Lei Emperor, labeled as a “puzzle box”. It was a cubical wooden affair, heavily inlaid with ivory. But it was the brother of the one Johnny had shown them. It wasn’t even within a display case, but placed on a felt-covered stand among a dozen such ornate trinkets. And it didn’t seem to have any additional security devices trained specifically on it. No cameras, no sensors, not even a gorram chain to hold it in place. Beautiful. They went to work. Zoe started casually looking around, pretending she was examining other exhibits, while Mal did the same, stopping at every exhibit and moving his lips while he read the card, just the way a bored husband on his honeymoon would have. She noted two security pick-ups covering the doorways – not unexpected – and she saw that this room did, indeed, have a floor-mounted laser detection system about shin-high. And that thing up there was most likely a motion detector. What she found interesting was that the way it was mounted, it left a margin of over seven feet between the area of detection and the ceiling. She could drive a mule through a space that big. If she came in through the window in the other room, scaling the wall up to that level would be no difficult feat. Run a line across the ceiling, scoot along it like a spider until she was just hanging over it, then lower a rope with some sort of claw or sticky on the end to capture the box. Then sloooowly hoist it up, never moving it fast enough to trigger the sensor. Then back out the way she came. It was a good plan. But Zoe was a perfectionist about this sort of thing, and she spent a good ten minutes planning the mission in her mind, looking for details that might trip her up. She looked at the ceiling at various angles, looked at the way the doors lined up with each other, looked at where the emergency lighting was. What routes any armed guards would take, where they’d stop, She’d have Mal ready with a surprise distraction, if things got hairy. He was good at that sort of thing. Blow something up, start a fight, wander naked out into the frigid Wuhan night and start howling at the planet overhead, the stink of plum wine so thick on him that the management couldn’t help but lead him quietly back to his room – while she scampered back with the box. And even if security, by some miserable chance, happened upon her, she could probably eliminate them quietly enough not to arouse an alarm. Satisfied that she had a workable plan she started mentally assembling a list of supplies she would need for the job. Some strong line, a silent powered grapple, dark clothing, particulate spray to determine the actual position of the laser system, some retrieval line, a grappling claw or adhesive of some sort, a bag for the loot, climbing boots, a motion detector of her own to place to detect wandering guards . . . most of it she had brought in those two heavy bags she had made Mal carry up the mountain. Just as she was ready to go back to the cabin, eat some lunch, and work through the details with Mal, he appeared at her elbow, nuzzled her neck, and made the suggestion that they head back to the cabin. She smiled demurely and agreed. In truth, she was feeling pretty good about this job. The security wasn’t great, the take was (ultimately, she hoped) worth it, and the job was just challenging enough to her to make it fun. All she needed now was a scowling Alliance officer to thwart while she did it. That would be icing. “You figger it out?” Mal asked out of the side of his mouth as he led her out. “Got it,” she nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I seen better security in a junkyard.” “Yeah,” Mal admitted with a sigh, “that’s what I thought, too. Everything is set up to keep it secure at night. At least two security guards. Might not even be armed.” “Exactly,” she nodded. “It shouldn’t take more than two hours, from start to finish, as long as we can plan a decent distraction if needed.” “Yeah, I thought about that,” Mal said, tiredly. “All that sneakin’ around, bein’ all stealthy and crafty. Slippin’ in undetected, bypassin’ security, it’d take about two hours, I think.” “Maybe less.” “Maybe more,” Mal pointed out. “And then I thought ‘hey, I’m on my fictitious honeymoon – do I really want to do all that skulkin’ about when I could be back in the cozy cabin with my bride astride my loins, beggin’ me to never stop what I’m doin’?” “Dear,” she said warningly, thinking a much less polite term of endearment. “Now, hear me out,” he insisted. “I like a good sneak as much as – well, okay, sneakin’ is not really my style. Granted, that.” “Do you not think I can do this?” she demanded, softly. “No! No, no, honeycakes! I know my wittle wifey can do anything she sets her pretty li’l mind to – I fictitiously married a smart one!” “What, then,” she murmured, “is your gorram problem?” “Well, I thought about it, like I said,” he continued. “Then I decided, what the hell. Why not just go ahead and take the initiative and save all that time?” he asked, rhetorically, as they passed into the next chamber. He stopped to pull her close to him in a warm – well, overly sexual, to be truthful – embrace. She just barely resisted. And then she felt it. A lump – and in her expert opinion as both an attractive woman and a happily married wife, it weren’t where a lump ought to be. “You . . .” “Yes, sweetness?” he asked, innocently. “Mal . . . you didn’t!” “I surely did,” he admitted. “You . . .” “I achieved our objective by seizing the initiative.” “You lifted the gorram thing!” “Well, to be technical . . . yeah, I guess I did. Right here under my coat. Safe as a babe. Probably be a year afore it’s missed.” “You idiot!” she whispered harshly. “What?” he asked, innocently. “What’s wrong with a man getting his fictitious bride a beautiful wedding gift? A one-of-a-kind curio, the like of which can only be seen in the finest junk shops of distinction in only the very best of slums?” “I can’t believe—” she started, incredulously. “Oh, you gonna be fictitiously married to me, you gotta come to expect a certain amount o’ surprises and feats o’ daring. Keeps the relationship fresh,” he insisted. “Gonna keep your backside fresh in prison,” she muttered. “Now, honeybutt,” he said, condescendingly, “you know I like to watch you work – I surely do! But this was just too good a chance not to take! I gotta keep the fictitious romance alive!” “And if we get caught?” “Relax! I can be as drunk as I need to be to convince anyone I’m just a lust-happy groom who lifted it for a lark.” “I’m kinda hopin’ they at least give you a cavity search. Might suggest it myself, it comes to that.” “Now, baby, is that any way to talk to your sweetums?” “This fictitious marriage is sure off to a rocky start,” she said, frowning. “Relax! Trust me! A good, solid fictitious marriage is always built on trust!” “Really,” she said, dryly. “An’ you been married how many times?” “Just this once,” he admitted, “but you gotta confess it’s goin’ pretty gorram well so far!” “Mal . . .” she said, shaking her head. “Relax, I said! What could possibly happen?” “You’re psychotic. You really are.” “Honey! That’s harsh! But you can make it up to me by callin’ Jayne and getting’ us picked up.” She snorted. “You call him! You got the radio!” For the first time in five minutes he wasn’t smug. “No, I don’t.” “You’d better. This ain’t a funny, Mal.” “I don’t, I swear! Last time I saw it, you had it when . . .” “When I handed it to you on the mastodon when I picked up that little girl.” “Yeah,” he admitted. “I was just about to say that.” “And then where did it go?” “I . . . I put it on the back of the seat.” “You . . . why?” “So I wouldn’t forget it,” he admitted, sheepishly. “Good plan,” Zoe said, giving him That Look. “We got the loot and are ready to rocket outa here, and you left our one secure means of communication on the elephant.” “Mastodon.” She just looked at him. “I stand corrected.”
“You know how to fly?” Jayne asked curtly as Johnny took the copilot seat. “I love to fly,” Johnny said, strapping in. “Good. ‘Cause I can do it, but I ain’t the best. Have my druthers, someone else is responsible for keepin’ us up in the air.” “This shouldn’t be a problem, “ he said, studying the controls. “I flew a Mossberg Utility back home. A lot like this.” “You just keep us in the sky, boy,” Jayne said as he stowed what Johnny thought might be more weaponry than they would actually need. He had his own revolver in a shoulder holster and another gun in his waistband – the Blue Bomber was stowed, but accessible. But he felt underdressed compared to Jayne’s outfit. The man seemed to grow armaments everywhere – from a bandolier of grenades to at least four pistols that he could see, that big Bowie knife, another combat knife, a submachine gun and a Callahan auto-lock – that was a big damn gun. “You sure you got enough firepower?” “Ain’t been to the fight yet where I had too much,” the big mercenary said with a note of pride in his voice. “I like to be prepared for all circumstances.” “What, no missiles?” Johnny asked wryly. “I’m traveling light. Okay, I’m stowed – take her up.” Johnny fumbled a bit through pre-flight, but soon the whine of the turbines vibrated the entire cockpit, and with a slow pull of a lever the shuttle was airborne. In moments it was speeding west over the plains. Farmsteads and settlements got sparse quickly, he noted. Once he had a good course laid in he settled back and enjoyed the flight. He hadn’t been lying – he really did love to fly. Had his father not met an untimely end, he would have squandered his personal fortune on a flyer, himself. He noted that the controls seemed a little more sluggish than he was used to – probably a combination of this being a real orbital shuttle, as opposed to a lighter atmo flyer, and the thinner air than he was used to. Epitphany had a warm, thick, moist blanket of atmo. Wuhan was drier, colder, and at lower pressure – which made it harder to get altitude. “So, you ever head off a mechanized cavalry squadron before?” “My experience is more in the busting-heads end of the business.” “Man after my own heart. Love a good scrap. Keeps the blood up. ‘Course, I like blowin’ stuff up, too. Somethin’ powerful satisyin’ about that.” “I can imagine,” Johnny agreed. “So you really gonna lead us to some treasure?” “That’s my intention,” agreed Johnny. “We pull this third of the map, we’re more than half way there.” “I like treasure,” Jayne said, simply. “I never found a real one afore. Kinda stole one, once, but I had to give it away.” Johnny raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem to be the charitable type, you don’t mind me saying.” “I ain’t. I was feelin’ real gorram generous that day.” “Just to let you know,” Johnny said, conversationally, “if and when we do find my legacy, you try to cross me and I’ll slit your throat and leave you bleeding out your life’s essence while you reflect on the error of your ways.” Jayne looked surprised by such a vicious threat, delivered in such a calm manner, by such a young man. He didn’t scoff, though. Johnny had long ago learned how to deliver a threat so that it was believable. “You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me none,” Jayne said. “Long as I get my due, I ain’t greedy.” “And you’re a bad liar. I’ve seen how you act. I’m a pretty good judge of character – comes with my job as a crime boss. I can look how a man acts and learn quite a bit about him. So I mention the throat-slitting thing just to inform you that I am aware of your speculations about how to get away with more than your fair share, and how to do it with a whole skin. I’ve done it before. I don’t mind doing it, should the occasion call for it. I’m also letting you know what to expect if you dare betray me.” “I ain’t gonna betray you,” Jayne said, unconvincingly. “As long as Captain Reynolds is around, I expect that’s true. But I wanted to let you know where we stand, you and I. I don’t mind making you as rich as you deserve, but you try to take what’s mine, I’ll kill you dead.” “Fair enough,” Jayne said, after a pause. “By the same token, you cross me an’ mine, we’re gonna dance ‘till we discover just who’s gonna be savin’ who a spot in hell.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lei nodded. “I just want what’s mine. We got us an understanding?” “We surely do,” Jayne said. “Hey, what’re those? The convoy?” “I think . . . no, that is a herd of mammoths. See the herder in that hover?” “Big damn beasts, ain’t they?” “I’ve heard about them all my life. My father was born here. His uncle was Regent here. Got exiled as a child, when our dynasty fell to the republicans.” Jayne shook his head, chuckling. “Y’all got a dynasty. That’s rich.” “We were once,” Johnny admitted. “Maybe again, we find this treasure.” “You buy your damn throne, you want it that bad. Me, I just wanna be ass deep in pretty whores and choice booze ‘till I kick.” “Good to know you got your priorities straight. We got about ten minutes before we get to the museum. Used to be a family estate, actually.” “Family estate. Dynasty. Thrones. All I got is my guns, my bunk, and my winnin’ personality.” “I like the guns. Nice collection.” “They’re my ladies,” he said proudly. “I keep up nice, they don’t let me down when I need ‘em.” “I prefer a bat, myself, but I have a spot in my heart – hey, there they are!” Outside the viewport was a small convoy of Alliance-issue armored vehicles, tracking westward in a line and churning up dust. “Shall we buzz them?” Johnny asked, wickedly. “No, we gotta mission,” Jayne said after some deliberation. Clearly, he was tempted. “Don’t let ‘em know we’re here . . . yet.” *
Zoe and Mal walked out into the lobby arm and arm, looking as close to newlyweds as they could. They had nearly reached the door when an old, balding Sinic man in a formal blue silk robe approached them, a twisted staff of wood in his hand. Mal groaned inwardly, but still kept the smile on his face as the man addressed them. “Ni how, my friends. I hope you enjoyed our little museum today.” Zoe took the lead, as he expected. “It was really lovely! So full of fine things from your past. Such . . . a historical place.” “Indeed,” the man said, a small enigmatic smile on his face. “I am Chiang Ling. I was once the abbot here. Now I am one of the curators.” “You’re a monk?” Zoe asked, surprised. “My official title is ‘Heavenly Master’, but I rarely use it,” he said amusedly, with just a trace of grumpiness. “I like to meet the patrons whenever I can, get feedback, see what I can do to make their experience more enjoyable.” “We’re having a wonderful time,” Mal said, with just a hint too much enthusiasm. “Great location. We’re on our honeymoon, see, and we wanted someplace remote and scenic. She’s a screamer,” he explained, nodding towards Zoe, a knowing leer on his face. Chiang Ling elected not to notice the dig. “I am honored that you have chosen our humble getaway to begin your life together. May you be blessed with many children and a long and prosperous life.” “Thank you, Master,” Zoe said calmly and graciously. “I was impressed to see such complete facilities this far into the wild.” “We are not so remote as one might think by looking at a map,” the monk said, shaking his bald head. “You would be surprised how many visitors we get. And from all over the ‘verse. All types of people.” “Really,” Mal said. “They must come for the food. I liked the Mongolian Mastodon last night, really first rate.” “Excellent! Brother Po is the chef. Many of my order remained here after the war, and took jobs with the State. We largely do the same as we did in the past – meditation, devotion, prayer. We simply have more visitors and less space than we used to. Of course, I remember the days when this was the Imperial Palace. Things were more . . . refined then.” “You must have been here a long time,” nodded Zoe. “Indeed. I was born here.” “On Wuhan?” “In this palace. Abbey. Museum. Whatever.” “Really?” Zoe asked, genuinely interested. “You must have seen a lot since then. Were you the son of one of the servants?” “My goodness, no,” the man said, eyes sparkling as he chuckled. “No, my family name is Lei. My grandfather was Emperor of Yuan, protector of T’ien and Wuhan.” “You’re—” “A member of the Imperial Family? Once, perhaps. There is no Empire, now. No Imperial Family. There is just Alliance, and there is family.” “Ain’t that the truth?” Mal said, gently. “How come they let you linger here while everyone else got shipped off into th’Black?” “Me? I am only a harmless old monk. I did not take up arms for the Imperial cause during the War. I merely ran a hospital here. I have no aspirations of Empire. I merely desire to study the Eternal Tao and live out the rest of my days here,” he said, sadly. “I am now considered part of the ‘living history’ of this place. I do not desire to overthrow anything but my own ignorance, nor conquer anything but my own attachment. No, I am not a man of violence,” he said, leaning on his staff. Mal stiffened as he suddenly felt a familiar and entirely unwelcome feeling: the notion that someone you can’t see has trained a weapon on you with intent to do you harm. In moments his feeling was borne out as at least a dozen men in civilian clothes took positions around the lobby, military carbines in their hands. “I am not a man of violence,” Master Lei repeated calmly, if intently. “These men, however, certainly are, and will fire upon command if you do not surrender the box you have upon your person,” he finished. “You’re a monk!” Zoe exclaimed. “I thought y’all weren’t supposed to shoot people? Or order others to shoot people? Whatever?” “Quite right, my dear, I’m not. It would be a violation of my commitment to the Tao. I would never do such a thing. But I didn't say they would fire on my command. My nephew, however,” he said, as a large, bearded man half his age strode into the room, a large and ornate revolver held casually but confidently in his hand, “he suffers under no such limitation. Allow me to introduce General Lei, former Supreme Head of State Security for the Society for the Restoration of the Amber Throne, otherwise known as the Imperial Faction. Now, if you would do us all a kindness and raise your hands away from your weapons – yes, I know about them as well – we can avoid any unpleasantness.” “Mal,” said Zoe as she raised her hands. “Yeah?” “I want a divorce.”
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