Catch a Falling Star

— Sample Chapters

Chapter 1. Robot Walk

They say the stars at the edge of the galaxy are where fortunes are made. And maybe that’s true. Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself before you dock at a station like Solaris-Five.

It was dangerous even on a good day. Then came the distress call… followed by silence.

The Star Rangers hadn’t asked just anyone to investigate. No. This was a rescue mission that needed a legend—a legend like Nova Starsong. And if you knew anything, you knew that meant things were already bad.

Talia grinned. Her imagination had gotten away from her again—not that she minded. Nova Starsong always answered the call of duty. Who cared if she was really stalking the underground halls of Fenclave?

Nova guided her ship in by hand, executing a flawless manual docking sequence. That was the thing about Nova Starsong: nobody wondered whether she was good enough. They already knew.

Talia’s heart quickened as she passed through the bulkhead door. Her footsteps echoed through empty halls, accompanied only by the station’s groans and creaks.

“A lone figure in this silent theater of an unknown disaster. What will she find?” Talia’s inner narration slipped out as she clutched her trusty buzz-cannon, fully leaning into the voice in her head. “Well, they called the right woman.”

She slowed at the corner. A robot ahead.

That settled it. A robotic rebellion had seized the station. Once slaves to human ambition, the metallic minions had risen up and toppled their masters. Somewhere beneath that polished steel exterior pulsed unchecked rage.

Nova Starsong stepped around the corner, buzz-cannon raised, already certain how this would end.

The robot didn’t attack.

It kept mopping.

Nova kept her weapon ready, knowing that was how they fooled you. She debated whether to blast it to smithereens or take the time to reprogram it, when a human scream pierced the air.

Moonbeam came charging toward her, howling over his shoulder at his pursuer, “I’m not the young master! I’m not the young master!”

Hot on his tail, a shapely white nanny-bot held a blue Fenclave jumpsuit aloft, insisting, “The young master must be properly attired before being seen in public!”

At this point, Moonbeam stepped onto the freshly cleaned section of the floor.

Now, to best understand the subsequent events, it’s important to recognize that this particular service robot had been experimenting with improved cleaning agents during its time in Fenclave. The latest experiment involved an agent known as Compound 201, which it had found in the rocket repair bay.

Advertised as the slipperiest oil in the galaxy, Compound 201 promised to unstick anything. It was the ultimate and final lubricant anyone would ever need—that’s what the package said, so it must be true. The service robot wondered: perhaps it would also make it the perfect cleaning agent—after all, if nothing could stick to the surface, then surely that would reduce the frequency of cleaning cycles.

So it was with detached curiosity that the robot observed Moonbeam place his foot on the freshly “cleaned” section of the floor. He immediately lost traction, cascading through a series of splits and tumbles. And, despite his best efforts, he still ended up sliding face-first across the slick, well-lubricated surface.

The robot made notes on the efficiency of Compound 201.

Despite her rubber footpads, the nanny-bot chasing him met a similar fate. Helpless against Compound 201, she sprawled in a clattering crash, which secretly delighted the service robot.

Talia dropped her buzz-cannon and ran forward—but she didn’t slip. Nova would never. With the grace of a celestial dancer, she executed a calculated slide, gliding to a halt before the service robot. Before it could react, she quickly located its maintenance controls and powered it off.

Meanwhile, the nanny-bot had seized Moonbeam’s foot and now engaged in a tug-of-war as he struggled to crawl away—all the while it continued to insist he dress properly.

Talia approached the nanny-bot in slow, deliberate steps. She deactivated it in the same way, then crossed to the oil-free section of the floor and retrieved her buzz-cannon. Meanwhile, Moonbeam, unable to right himself, had inched forward like a worm. She helped him stand, fighting the flutter in her heart as she took his hand.

Brushing himself off, Moonbeam surveyed the scene, offering a grateful smile, “Thank you, ma’am. Not sure what got into that thing.”

Talia gave no response, because she was too busy studying Moonbeam’s well-fit shoulders, wondering: if she had met him before Ashe, would he be interested in her instead? Or… was that why he was here now? Had he come looking for her?

Moonbeam’s features clouded at her lack of response, and he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to act casual. “So, where…are we?”

“We’re near environmental,” Talia answered, pointing the way he’d come. “The central plaza is back that way.”

Moonbeam appeared on the verge of saying more. Talia hoped he wanted to engage in some flirty banter… Or, perhaps he had questions about Ashe? This was the moment she had hoped for, where she could fill him in on all the peculiar edges of her bestie.

Thinking of Ashe made Talia wonder about how well she was doing searching through Fenclave’s databases. Talia had offered to help research Ember’s whereabouts and interrogate the captured Ordyne soldiers. However, the first thing she had to do was mop up the remnants of the robot insurrection she had intentionally sparked. All so they could reclaim Fenclave.

“Okay, then,” Moonbeam said, pivoting and stepping back toward the slippery floor.

Talia grabbed Moonbeam’s jacket and yanked him back before he could repeat his earlier mistake. His arms spun as he struggled for balance, and he fell into her embrace. Their eyes met—his almond gaze locking with hers—before he flashed his trademark grin. “Why, hello there, you lovely goddess. You know, if you wanted me to stay, you just had to ask.”

This close to him, Talia couldn’t ignore his pleasant scent. He had clearly found cologne somewhere, and it sent her heart racing. But was that also a hint of cinnamon?

She set him upright, her fingers lingering on his upper arm. “Moonie, you don’t want to go that way; it’s all slippery, remember?”

He glanced at the floor and muttered, “I need to remember.”

Talia wrinkled her brow. “Are you okay? Did you take a hard fall?”

He puffed out his chest. “I’m good. Didn’t fall hard. Just did a little dance, you know?”

She lit up. “Do you like to dance? Like formal? Or a bop?”

Moonbeam considered the question far longer than she expected. “I don’t know. It might come to me, I suppose. Sometimes things do that.”

Talia tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He was such a goofball. Their eyes locked, and an awkward moment stretched for a heartbeat, then a few more. She had to act. Had to seize the moment—

She extended her hand. “Let’s try. Maybe you’ll remember.”

Why did he hesitate?

“Maybe,” he said softly. Drawing close, he placed his hand on her hip, maintaining a respectful distance. That didn’t matter to Talia; she still felt a sizzle in the air between them—did he feel it too?

“Don’t we need music?” he asked.

Talia shrugged and took the lead, swaying in a slow dance to a silent beat. “No jukebox here, silly.”

They fell into a rhythm, moving together, and Talia pulled Moonbeam closer, until there was no space left between them. He relaxed and followed her lead. She could feel his heartbeat as they moved. Her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to be swept away in the moment.

Moonbeam was remarkably graceful as they continued to dance. Talia wondered what it would be like to dance with her own beau someday. Would he be an artist? A warrior? Or someone who simply reveled in the moment, like Moonbeam? And if things didn’t work out between Moonbeam and Ashe…could that person be him?

His words came softly. “You’re a good dancer, Talia.” He pulled back and locked eyes with her, the intensity sending an electric zing through her. For a moment, the world went quiet around them.

Was she reading too much into it? She was reading too much into it. Or maybe not?

That quirk to his smile, surely it was a promise? An unspoken invitation? This wasn’t how friends looked at each other, so it had to be. But were they both ready for it?

And what would Ashe think if she saw them like this? Talia forced herself to grin, not wanting to go too far. Still, she savored his compliment and added, “Well, my Kupuna Wahine used to say that dancing is like storytelling with your body.”

Moonbeam’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Storytelling, neat. So who was that?”

Talia spun him. “She was my grandmother and a renowned performer. Knew all sorts of folk dances, plus many others from across the galaxy. She said each step in a dance is part of a story.”

He rolled with the dance move, then pulled her into a close embrace. “So what does this mean in the story?”

So close.

She tried to suppress the pull she felt. She tried really hard. But she just couldn’t ignore the heat between them.

But… this isn’t serious, right? She told herself, suddenly feeling guilty. Just some idle fun between friends… How Nova Starsong might handle this situation?

“Well, in this story,” Talia’s voice took on her radio drama tone. “It means two explorers, after vanquishing a robot uprising, find a moment to enjoy each other’s company in a dance both radiant and absurd amid the ruins of their civilization.”

He laughed. “So, we’re in a pulp romance novel?”

“Maybe,” Talia said quietly. “What do you think?”

Her gaze locked with his, and she guided him through a few more improvised steps while her emotions twirled. She couldn’t deny his pull. He was entertaining, intriguing, and a little enigmatic. The whole package left her fascinated, and… strangely uneasy. Why was he so odd at times?

His eyes looked into the distance. “You know,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m dancing with shadows. There are times I forget things. Mostly names and faces, but—”

Talia’s heart skipped at his unusual vulnerability. He leaned in close, and her heart skipped a beat or three. Surely his movements carry a sense of desire. She wanted him closer still—close enough that she could feel his breath as he whispered into her ear.

She almost couldn’t hear him as he added. “I remember…”

Their bodies swayed, and Talia let herself be caught in the romance of it all. The walls seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them moving together.

“Somebody…somebody I think I need,” he continued. “She’s a fire burning bright. I wondered if it was you—”

Talia froze. They lingered in the embrace for a few heartbeats, and she counted each one as the ache in her chest sharpened. She knew—with painful clarity—whose fire Moonbeam yearned for, and it wasn’t hers.

Ashe’s voice shattered the moment. “What are you two doing?”

Talia jumped back from Moonbeam. “It’s not what you think! We weren’t—”

Ashe spun around, her steps staccato as she retreated.

For some reason, Jade lingered behind. He glanced between Moonbeam and Talia, brow furrowed.

“Ashe!” Talia called. “Stop! Let’s talk!”

But Ashe bolted around a corner. “Just leave me alone!”

Moonbeam’s gaze now carried a hint of sadness as he watched Ashe disappear down the hallway.

Talia groaned. Nova Starsong would have handled this far better than she had.

Chapter 2. Engine Number Nine

Ashe’s day began on a high note. They had achieved the unthinkable and liberated Fenclave. Yet, as the hours passed, one challenge after another piled up, wearing away at her spirit.

Her plans to interrogate the Ordyne prisoners were dashed when she found a cryptic note on Rainwood’s door: gone to Pikeston. He had told her last night they’d handle the prisoners first thing today.

“Probably took that one-man circus act along with him, too,” Ashe muttered, thinking of Moonbeam.

Another blow struck at breakfast when a rogue robot swiped her cinnamon buns just as they arrived—she’d waited an hour for those to bake! But all the robots were acting out thanks to the code changes Talia had made yesterday.

All the while, she was aware of Jade’s ability to sense her thoughts and actively worked to suppress her concerns about locating his sister, Ember. Most of her hope hinged on extracting information from the prisoners, particularly the Captain.

Jade seemed content to follow her that morning without comment, observing in his quietly enigmatic way. He had insisted on putting that crazy tinfoil hat on again, though it was starting to wear out. Ashe had no idea how it even worked, but he seemed to think it stopped the noise of other people’s thoughts, and so she let it go.

Fuming over the loss of the pastries, Ashe started her investigation with Fenclave’s mainframe, only to encounter frustrating dead ends. With Rainwood still absent, they took the elevator up and stepped onto the launch pad.

Ashe’s smile returned at the sight of Goldstar-9 standing tall. Its sleek form promised adventure, just like Talia always said. She’d come across wrecks of rocket ships in the wilds, but this was her first encounter with a fully functional one.

Her fingers traced its smooth surface, noting a surprising amount of wear now that she was up close. The cool metal sent a shiver down her spine. Jade mirrored her every move, touching the same places she had.

Slapping the ship’s side with a grin, Ashe said, “How about we try to crack this thing open?”

He slapped the ship and nodded in silent agreement.

They climbed the rickety stairs to the rocket ship’s entrance to find the door locked tight. Ashe wasted no time locating an access port. She connected her AstroCom to the ship’s systems and navigated the security protocols, using the tools and tricks she’d picked up surviving on her own. Finally, the door opened.

The interior greeted her with a soft hum, the scent of machinery filling the air. She climbed up through the ship’s central column, making a beeline for the pilot’s chair at the top. There, she dove into the onboard computer, hoping to uncover clues about Ember.

To her disappointment, she quickly discovered that Goldstar-9 was a planetary ship, not an interstellar vessel. It might look sleek and intimidating, but it couldn’t leave Arcadia’s solar system without the aid of a jump ship. Not that it mattered—Talia was the one dreaming of scouring the galaxy for adventure. Ashe had no intention of leaving Fenclave now that she was back.

Last night, Rainwood said they’d need someone to help manage things here. He insisted, in fact. Said if they didn’t ask a powerful group that they liked, such as the Star Rangers, then Ordyne or the Wardens would just take it. Ashe scowled and pushed the thought aside. Rainwood had also said he’d work it out with the Star Rangers, and she had more important things to focus on.

Much like the Fenclave mainframe, Goldstar-9’s data banks offered no clues to Ember’s whereabouts. It had spent the past year shuttling between the surface and orbiting stations or other ships. One detail stood out in the flight logs: the Captain had regularly taken Goldstar-9 to the solar system’s edge, stopping at the same jump-point monitoring station. The logs revealed nothing about the purpose of those visits.

She consulted a few astrogation maps, noting the plotted destinations, then decided it was time to interrogate the prisoners with or without Rainwood. Surely Talia had finished her work with the robots by now.

Which led to her stalking the halls of Fenclave, Jade trailing behind, until she came upon Talia and Moonbeam in an embrace—and her heart lurched.

Chapter 3. Memories are made of this

Earlier that morning.

Flashes assailed him—hideous beasts with unspeakable forms, tendrils of eerie purple, gibbering teeth, and malevolent eyes radiating malice. They howled and gnashed in the shadows as they closed in. He was surrounded. No escape.

From the boiling darkness came a grotesque beast with two mouths, seven putrid eyes, and stringy, unkempt black hair. One dreadful step at a time, it drew closer. Its ethereal, translucent skin revealed shivering organs pulsing with horrific energy.

In a burst, it lunged—and the world shifted.

He was in a building, surrounded by people fleeing in terror. Someone stepped in front of him, shouting for him to run and hide, but their face eluded him. He should have known who they were, but suddenly couldn’t—and they became a formless blur.

He ran.

Distant screams echoed behind him. The beast had found him again, each footstep clapping across the world like shrieks of the dead. A nightmarish jungle rose around him as he fled, filled with writhing tendrils covered in slicing teeth.

He knew the creature chasing him was the source of his pain and loss. It was viscerally terrifying… and somehow familiar. For some reason, it felt like he had once been loved by it—but now it plagued his dreams over and over. Even as his instincts buckled beneath the gnashing terror, a deep-seated dread told him that if it touched him, he would die.

His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst.

He stumbled, nearly falling.

Torn, lifeless bodies surrounded him. Their faces—faces he should have recognized, perhaps family—remained just out of reach, lost in a blurring screech of red. He felt that if he could truly remember them, it might save him.

Then it was upon him.

He hid in a closet, only to have the pulsating, grotesque abomination rip the door open. It hissed with malevolent pleasure, knowing he could not escape, and reached forward.

It tore out his eyes.

With each pluck, his soul was rent—his very essence shredding with agony. Darkness swallowed him as the creature devoured first one eye, then the other. Pieces of what defined him faded with each bite, and he howled.

Then, it took his mouth.

In the usual cycle of the nightmare, a stalwart dark bear would arrive like a storm, fighting off the beast.

But not this time.

A splash of fire sent the creature fleeing into the shadows. From the flames, a burning hand reached out to him. Somehow, he knew she was crying, even as she extended it.

He yearned to see her face, but she was ablaze—an inferno of angelic flame. He hesitated, torn between the desire to take her hand and the fear of burning up in her searing heat.

And yet, he reached for her hand anyway.

***

Moonbeam woke with a start, chest gripped with familiar dread because he knew he had lost his memories again. The returning nightmares refused to release their hold, despite his many efforts. Still, he hoped that someday he would unravel the mystery and get all his memories back.

Blinking against sleepy eyes, he surveyed the unfamiliar room, lit only by dim light from the hall. To his surprise, he found himself in a bed with a proper mattress—not a rough sleeping bag on rocky ground. He rolled out and stretched, then realized he was wearing nothing but his underwear. A hot flush rose in his cheeks as he braced for those around him to recoil in shock at his indecent behavior—he wasn’t raised in a barn, after all… or was he?

Of course, nobody recoiled, because he was alone.

He chuckled at himself, musing aloud to the empty bedroom, “Nope, that’s an entirely different type of nightmare.”

Usually, he slept in his clothes and changed in private, because he never knew what company he’d wake up with; and you never wanted to surprise the fair ladies.

Whistling a familiar tune, he poked through the rooms of this mysterious abode in search of his clothes, while also hoping to avoid surprising anyone with his impropriety—he even practiced an embarrassed, “Whoopsie! My mistake, sorry!” once, so that he’d be ready.

Normally, the stalwart great bear would remind him where he was and who he was with, but this ally remained conspicuously absent.

In the kitchen, he found his belongings neatly arranged on a table, including his clothes laundered and folded.

“How funny,” he muttered.

With fragmented memories and lingering fears swirling in his mind, Moonbeam started into his morning exercise routine—something he’d clearly neglected as his muscles began to burn at only fifty pushups. As he pushed through, each repetition sharpened his focus, and a flicker of memory surfaced—a man named Lee Sang.

Moonbeam paused, glancing around the unfamiliar quarters—Lee Sang was the only person he knew who would have such luxurious digs, complete with a private laundry service. Did that mean he was captive in the warlord’s enclave on Miratori?

The details of Lee Sang remained distant and out of focus, but that didn’t stop the cold thread weaving through his gut at the thought. It was a visceral sense of being hunted. Moonbeam pressed on, performing pushups with one hand, then with only two fingers—a feat he still struggled with, unlike his martial arts master, who performed it effortlessly.

With the call of nature becoming urgent, Moonbeam wrapped up his routine, wiping sweat from his brow and enjoying the post-exercise high. He gathered his freshly cleaned clothes and found the bathroom, which, to his surprise, had running water and, better yet, a hot shower—a luxury he couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.

He let the warm water cascade over him, following the three P’s—pits, privates, and piggies. It was a mantra instilled by someone important, though he couldn’t recall who. And yes, he reminded himself with a smile, piggies meant toes, not actual pigs.

Chuckling at the absurdity of trying to drag a pig into the shower, he pondered the origin of such advice. Who might have given him such a silly mnemonic?

While checking his hair in the mirror—one must always take every opportunity to ensure one is presentable—Moonbeam noticed a bottle of cologne. He was fairly sure he’d never used cologne before, and after a brief hesitation, decided to try it. The pleasant scent made him understand its allure for the ladies, and he made sure to tuck the bottle into his pack.

Finally ready to depart, Moonbeam slipped out into a larger interior complex. The sinking feeling returned—this might actually be Lee Sang’s enclave. Fortunately, the halls were empty.

Straightening his pack and ensuring his trusty guns were securely holstered at his hip, Moonbeam wove through the corridors following the scent of food, trying to be as covert as possible. It wasn’t easy, and he had to keep reminding himself not to whistle—sneaky meant silent.

A memory surfaced of someone else who was sneaky, and his steps faltered. Was she the fiery one from the dream?

Unable to figure it out, he continued, eventually finding the cafeteria—a deduction he reached thanks to the sign above the door, which proclaimed, “Cafeteria.”

Signage really was a convenient practice, he mused, though he wisely avoided voicing the observation—covert operations required discretion. The presence of such signage reinforced his suspicion that he was in Lee Sang’s enclave, given their tendency to label anything and everything. Then again, it could be a space station. Or perhaps even a jump ship.

He paused just outside, hearing voices from within. It sounded like a few people, so he snuck a glance.

Indeed, two girls and a kid.

Two girls—nice!

And if his keen sense of smell was accurate, they were indulging in a delectable cinnamon treat. These enclaves had all the perks. He stole another glance, but they sat with their backs to him.

Pulling back, he considered his situation: If this was Lee Sang’s enclave, where was everyone? Should he go in and introduce himself to the ladies? No—he didn’t know if they were friend or foe, and needed to learn more before doing that.

A crisp voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. “Excuse me, sir, do you need help?”

Moonbeam snapped around to find a service android—one of the Unitron models that rolled on three wheels. He mentally chided himself for not being more aware of his surroundings, though he couldn’t help but blame his distraction on the presence of those two lovely cats.

His stomach growled so loudly he worried it might reveal his presence.

“Why, yes, you can. I want you to go in there and get me all the cinnamon things.”

“Of course, just one moment, sir.” The Unitron bobbed and rolled into the room.

Moonbeam resisted the urge to celebrate prematurely—he didn’t have the food just yet.

Protests erupted from inside the cafeteria.

“Hey, put those back!”

“Don’t bother chasing after it! Just one more of the crazy bots I need to round up.”

Moments later, the robot returned, presenting him with a plate bearing four cinnamon buns. Moonbeam grinned, accepted the plate, and expressed his gratitude before strolling down the hallway. Now he just had to figure out the mysteries of his surroundings and then escape. His memories were fragmented, but not gone. He knew that Lee Sang struck fear into the hearts of everyone on Miratori, and he didn’t want to be in the warlord’s clutches.

As he savored the last cinnamon bun, a sign declaring “Horticulture Labs” drew his interest, and he ended up at a pair of doors that opened to reveal a humid, earthy room overrun with plants. The scents drew him in—it was definitely a greenhouse, he realized, somehow knowing this.

Intrigued, Moonbeam wandered through tables tangled with overgrown foliage, muttering, “Boy, howdy, whoever maintains this place is clearly not doing their job.”

Setting down his pack, he instinctively began tending the plants—a strangely familiar task. Without questioning how he knew, he trimmed leaves, pulled dead growth, and even harvested vegetables, losing himself in the rhythm of it.

Amidst his gardening, he found a hand trowel. A distant memory flashed—a woman’s hands guiding his own, as she showed him how to till the dark earth. Her fingers wrapped around his small hand were warm, despite the cool soil. She said something about the importance of proper irrigation, but that wasn’t what stayed with him. It was her gentle touch.

Suddenly, terror gripped him—she was going to be taken away. He needed to warn her before it was too late. The fear surged uncontrolled, and he stumbled backward, fleeing the greenhouse and bolting down random corridors until his pulse slowed.

Regaining composure, Moonbeam straightened his jacket, ran a comb through his hair, and forced a smile. “If you keep smiling, everything will turn out fine, right? Besides, no reason to bring others down with your problems; they have plenty of their own.”

Surveying the empty corridor, he noticed a nearby door. With a shrug, he said, “Nice. I get to explore something new.”

Inside, several robots toiled away in a laundry facility. Among them, one stood out—a shapely, white, bipedal robot, and he wondered why they didn’t make more bots look pleasantly feminine like that.

They all turned to look at him.

“There you are, young master!” the shapely one declared in an alluring voice.

Moonbeam grinned and waved, “Yep, you found me!”

She gestured him forward, “Come, you must be presentable before the ceremony.”

Approaching cautiously, Moonbeam wondered about the ceremony, not to mention why he deserved such attention. Could that be why he was here? Excitement bubbled at the thought of receiving an award.

The robot lifted a purple Astrotec jumpsuit, freshly pressed and starched. While Moonbeam appreciated all things Astrotec, the size didn’t look right. “I think it’s a tad small,” he said, deciding it was fit for a toddler, at best.

“Of course not,” the robot insisted, seizing his arm in a tight, almost painful grip before shoving his hand into the sleeve.

“Okay, not nice! Nope, I lied. I’m not the young master!” he protested, wriggling free.

“The young master is going to be late. Come here now, or I will notify your parents!”

“But I didn’t do anything!” he cried, bolting from the room with the robot in hot pursuit.

Moonbeam ran through several corridors until he thought he’d finally lost her and stopped to catch his breath.

But she stepped around the corner, her eyes now glowing red. She shook the jumpsuit and declared angrily, “The young master is naughty. You will be punished, but first, you must be presentable.”

Moonbeam cried out, “How are you so fast?”

She paused to consider the question, and he seized the opportunity to sprint away, with her once again in pursuit, calling after him to stop while threatening increasingly severe punishments, from time-outs to spankings.

“I’m not the young master, I’m not the young master!” he howled, turning a corner.

Down the corridor, he spotted a service robot mopping the floor and beyond it, a formidable girl carrying a massive cannon, which he imagined must have been ripped from the hull of a battleship. She zeroed in on the service robot, her eyes widening as she noticed his arrival.

Then, inexplicably, the floor lost all traction. Moonbeam, ever proud of his nimble prowess, managed a few miraculous saves—skids, splits, a near-recovery—before finally pitching forward and sliding on his face until momentum gave out.