Azure Watester FederationBoard

The fisherman’s long, muddied, black rubber boots trudged through the ankle-deep water as he surveyed his vessel, scrutinizing its plastic hull for cracks or holes.

“¡Oy, Gregorio! ¡El hombre está aquí!” Came a gruff alert from above, several meters out into the weedy earth.
“¿Señor Llanos? Estoy con el gobierno.” Asked a comparatively squeaky voice.

Two figures appeared at the edge of the fishing dock, overlooking the fisherman and his work. The owner of the squeaky voice was a suited and clean-shaven man, with a dainty figure and pale and uncalloused skin. His companion was the opposite, being a sunburned and rough figure covered in tattoos and tan lines. Another difference was that of armament; the burnt one had his hand resting naturally on his holster.

“Oy, muchacho, here’s a federal to see you.” The gunman said, bringing his voice down. The fisherman stopped his inspection of the vessel and looked up at his visitors.

“Señor Llanos, I come on behalf of the Ministry of War to make a final offer for your ship. I hope--” The official said, before being cut off by the fisherman.

“Are you paying the ten million?” Llanos said.

“Well, señor, I should inform you that my government did not feel obliged to pay so much for so little. De hecho--” The official started in a flustered tone, before being cut off by Llanos yet again.

“Just tell me, chico, do I get the ten million?” Llanos asked, shifting his stance in the water impatiently.

“My government does not feel comfortable doling so much of their funds on so little a vessel. Nor do they feel that you really deserve immunity for charging anything higher than four million.”

Llanos chuckled in a sardonic way before nodding towards the gangly official’s wide-set companion. The holster came undone in an inconspicuous, almost natural way-- like stretching, but nevertheless it was obvious enough for the pale man to notice and understand the implication.

“Ustedes federales-- listen, we’re both caballeros here, but I need some grease to run this place, you know? When I heard you needed my assets, I suddenly needed to get rid of a full order of materials and let down customers across the waves. Who was going to pay the bills for us if we didn’t get that shipment in? You also needed me to make modifications, which cost a pretty penny as well. Dios mío-- I reckon all that work must have at least earned us some respect and our well-deserved compensation of 10 million dolares. Don’t you think?”

“I’m not to be pushed around like that. Ten million is far--” The official said. The hammer of a pistol was pulled back, releasing an audible click.

The official clenched their fists and seemed to retreat behind their eyes as they worked out what to say. Eventually, they worked their way to respond as the pistol was slowly withdrawn from the holster.

“Ten million will await you at the agreed-upon time and place, señor.”

A smile worked its way onto Llanos’ face. “Well, ¡qué un ganga! I’ll be sure to collect the payment.”

The official’s companion grinned too and quickly holstered his weapon.

“Well, if you’d like to examine the product, the water’s fine.”

However, in just the peripheral of these wide dockyards lay auxiliary piers for smaller craft. Here, the SS La Barata and the SS Therasia idled their diesel engines, spewing a stream of barely discernable smoke from their engine compartment. The fishing vessels, both licensed and visibly used many times before, were now the property of Arb 38 Ltd., a little-known company that had emerged in the previous hours, then went on to purchase a considerable fleet of fishing vessels.

“Aweigh anchor!” Called the captain of the Barata out to the sailor on the bow. The captain then took one last look across the bay before retreating belowdecks. There, in a swaying, dimly-lit compartment, stood a table bolted to the floor with a wide, crinkled map that had markings for deployment, up and up and up almost all the way to--

Miami. They were to head to Miami to pick up paupers for their economy class transport to Almadaria while fishing in waters outside the waters of neighboring nations. Of course, they also had licenses to transport people. There was no reason to suspect them whatsoever. No burnt map to tip their hand, nor legal loose end in their record.

“¿Qué es todo esto?” Asked a nearby citizen of Kynor, sitting peacefully on a nearby bench. The shouter, who had been swept by the crowd to the front, responded sheepishly,
“Grupo de la iglesia.”

“¡Oye! ¡Oye! Grupo uno, ir de compras; grupo dos, a las playas; grupo tres, conmigo a la caminata por la naturaleza. Meet back at the hotel at 9:00 pm minimum.” Came another shout, hidden deep in the group.

The party, having passed customs, were now free to roam the island.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Similar occurrences, although not all as uniform in appearance, arrived at locations all over the Caribbean. These tourists were likely a result of the undesirable circumstances in Almadaria, forcing civilians to enjoy their time elsewhere in the climate. They streamed in over the course of hours, and, apart from the largest group that arrived in Nassau, were a nearly imperceptible increase in tourism.

“Fine.” A long pause. “How far do we have to go?”

“We go this route for a few days. Then we deliver packages.”

“That’s boring.”

“Well, it beats screwing with a country thrice our size in close quarters on the ground.”

“I hear they’re actually going shopping.”

“I hear that too. But we’re not landing there to find out.”

The cruiser rocked side to side in the evening light. They had moved over from the Sanguis, making the planned voyage upriver easier. The rest of the fleet would join soon enough, as would additional support. Enforcing this treaty would be a strange affair, and a dangerous one.

Michael stood at the bow, gazing south. The metal providing no sturdy ground beneath his feet. It didn’t matter. Being on the water he felt most at home.

“Sir, we’ve sighted the Canicas. We should be in the Vatican before the next dawn. I’d recommend coming belowdeck soon though, the seas will only grow rougher and colder.”

Michael turned to see the Captain. The man standing in front of him was formidable, but not unyielding. He could see it in the Captain’s eyes. These waters intimidated this foreigner. Not surprising given the majority of the man’s lengthy naval service had been in the relative shelter of the Mediterranean. But for Michael, the air was inviting.

Michael looked back south. The rocky outline of shore sat veiled in fog. A familiar sight, but unlike each time before, it wasn’t inviting. His hand fell to his scabbard, then paused.

“Captain, inform the Knights we’re approaching.”

“Of course, your Grace. Sail to the Vatican as planned, yes?”

“Yes, Captain. I want to avoid having the Knights out whenever possible. Their armor will attract attention.”

“Unfortunately so, but you know the rules of this affair. You have your copies of the treaty?”

Michael looked at the leather canister in his cloak, his mind racing just at the thought of that map. It wasn’t his fault; he’d had no say.

“Yes I do, Captain.”

“Excellent.”

The Captain walked away. Michael stayed. He could feel the salt in the air fade. Not lost. Diluted by the changing winds.

The Vatican, on the River Risade

A priest in red robes stood on the stone. An initial look of invitation soon turned to confusion, then fear. The white, avian-like armor was unusual for most, but a little understandable as Michael was part Kyavani. But his presence wasn’t understandable.

“Michael, you’re supposed to be in Colombia. What brought you here, and what are you wearing?”

“I’m sorry, Father Cassius, but I must meet with the Conclave at once.”

“They are in the middle of a very important-“

“I don’t care. The urgency concerns both the Grandmaster and Alexios, and matters of the war.”

The priest’s face went pale. “Right this way.”

As they walked, the priest couldn’t help but notice the white-painted metal clad figures following Michael.

In the Heart of the Red Cathedral

“Bishop Joshua, you cannot possibly be serious. There has never been a wo-“ The doors flew open. In strode Michael, moving right to the center of the room. The Knights followed, forming a circle around the figures in meeting. The old bishop who had been interrupted turned to face the boy.

“Michael, how dare you. The Conclave is in session, have you not seen the black smoke?”

“I have, but I have news from the fronts.”

“And this couldn’t be delivered to us some other way because?”

“Because the world has found peace.” Michael pulled the canister from his robe, unfurling its contents. Two pages of demands, accompanied by three maps.

“Victory I hope, young Michael?”

“You could say that. I believe we should-“

The old bishop saw the second map. Austoream, the Order, with lines drawn across it. Kynor. Core Pillar. Michael IV. His eyes widened. He leapt to a fighting stance, an arc of fire flying from his hand.

The Knights surged forwards, the flames doing little to slow their blades. One by one, the bishops in the room fell. Soon, only Michael and they stood there, amongst the dead and the charred and the pools of blood.

“Secure the Cathedral at once. I want religious and government documents locked down, artifacts catalogued, and knowledgable craftsmen rounded up. Send for the clergymen back on the ship. We have a number of Bishops to appoint, and after that we have treaty terms to enforce.”

The Knights dashed from the chamber. As they ran, Michael began to sift through the administrative documents. As annoying as the old farts that had run this place were, they were excellent record keepers. His hand drifted over the many mapscreens and digital ledgers. By the time the sun had risen, some Knights had returned. A simple nod from the Captain made everything clear.

“Excellent work. And the texts?”

The Knight dropped the body of a scholar at his foot, bloodied scrolls still in hand.

In one of the libraries, foreign clergymen begin pulling documents from shelves. Onto blank sheets of paper they rewrite, not perfectly intact, before tossing originals onto the pyre. Over the Cathedral, a plume of white smoke found itself plucked up by the breeze.

Droiden Approaches Development of FTL Travel

Yes, You heard correctly. While our brave men in the Talunforsa and Aierforsa have been heroically defending the Realm, the Spaisforsa has recently gained many eyes from the public. Just three hours ago, Mads Tharnsson, the Chief Director of DASECC (Droidenian Administration of Space Exploration, Colonization, and Combat) announced that Droiden's research into space travel has paid off finally. "Since the 1970s, we have been doing our best to research everything about the universe we can reasonably research. Now, on my seventh anniversary of becoming the Chief Director of DASECC, I am very proud and honored to make it known to the people of Droiden and beyond that our efforts have not been in vain." The Director stated in a conference earlier today that Droidenian Research into Exosuits, Spacecraft, and methods of protection from whatever elements may await us have been '99% perfected' and that we may see the surface of planets, both inside and outside of our Solar System, within the next five years. "I stand here to represent the years of work and research we have put in regarding space travel. All of the work, and the people involved, and the data... it couldn't fit within this auditorium." The Realm of Droiden is open to collaboration with foreign entities regarding research, and is open to negotiate loans of equipment and spacecraft.

Dan sits in the dining hall surrounded by his son, Brand, and his grandsons, Thorbjorn and Edgar. How long had it been since that day? 57... no, 58 years, it had been, since he had met the love of his life. The men he called his kinsmen were because of her. By the Saints, why was it so soon? Dan knew she had but weeks when the diagnosis came. While she lay on her deathbed, the one which they had shared for the past six decades, he sat by her, feeding her, emptying chamber pot, and keeping her company. Dan trusted Brand with the realm, and Brand knew this well by now. Dan's favourite son, Brand was. Dan looked at his grandsons, neither man older than twenty-five, and felt great joy in knowing the his life would not be in vain. The Pagans were no doubt heretics, but they were wise men. Dan held great respect for them. He knew what had gone on the day before. The terms of peace had been negotiated between the Phalangite League and the Watester Concordat. This would be the final evening he would spend as Emperor of Droiden, for at 13:00, he would take the title of the Golden Throne's Northern Pillar, and become the Warden of said pillar. Funny Kyavani, he thought. But, as silly as the wine-drinking, sabre-wielding, chaotic Kyavani were, they were as much family as Brand and his sons. Brand's daughter, Alyssa, had married Marcus III, the brother of Emperor Alexander. It was even rumoured that she was pregnant with triplets. Dan then thought of the Eastern Pillar, once called Kafair. The Droidenians and the Kafarians were quite different in many ways; the Kafairians lived in the heat of the sandy desert, whereas the Droidenians dwelled in the snowy reaches of Scandinavia and Northern Europe. The Kafairians worshipped the God of the Sun, Helion, if memory served correctly. Dan would hold his tongue on his opinions of that. Then, Dan remembered the Alpeans. From the South-Western Lands, an entity known as Alpes a septentrionali imperium sat within Gaul, as Dan called it. They were a good people, god-fearing ones at that, but they were catholic. Dan did his best to not hurl at the thought of becoming all buddy-buddy with Papal Slaves. But, Dan found solace in both Christ and the Gods of Old. From Christ, he called upon Matthew, who reminded him to not judge, lest he be judged. From the Gods of Old, Dan remembered a portion of the Havamal: The kind-hearted are the most successful. Dan took a sip from his chalice, the one he forged while Athanasia sang one of her lovely songs many years ago, and remembered the day. The crisp autumn air, the wind lightly caressing Dan's forge. It was the perfect day. Dan worked to the sunset, forging two golden chalices. One, with rubies and sapphires, in honor of his love. This would go to her. Another, with emeralds and amethyst, in honor of his kinsmen. This would be passed from son to son, daughter to daughter, heir to heir. A day so perfect, ended with a film-esque finale. The winds died down slightly, as Athanasia finished singing for the evening. Dan, finished with his chalices, sang along with her. Of course, the brawny, savage norseman lacked in the elegance his wife had been blessed with, but there was no worry with it. The pair found an old radio, and danced as the sun sat. Dan remembered this day fondly, until he felt an itch in his throat. The Emperor coughed into a handkerchief, not uncommon, and he quickly folded it back up.

"My father, you sound as if the devil himself has entered your lungs!" Brand said, half jokingly.

"Aye, that I might. Most likely from traveling, my son. Nothing to worry about."

"Last time you said that, grandfather, you'd broken your arm in seven places!" Thorbjorn wittily added to the joking

"In my defense, I was showing off for your grandmother."

The men all laughed, sipping their mead.

"It would seem that the end of the war has come early. I was hoping to lead a charge into Russian lands. Maybe check in on how Nat is with her wife." Brand swirled his mead in his silver chalice

"As... invigorating as that would be, my son, this would be bad. The Russians and the Droidenians are still on somewhat good terms. Remember the pact?" Dan spoke cooly, almost as if he was happy to be done with war.

"This is true, father. And, I do believe we have much to discuss regarding marriage." Brand gestured to his sons.

"Oh? Edgar, how do things go?"

"Well, grandfather... I want... to marry a... uhm... a commoner.."

"Ah, my grandson. You would marry for love, rather than glory? Surely you would rather fall in love with a noblewoman. Secure some titles in Anglia, or perhaps in Saxony or even Lombardy?" Dan kept a level tone as he spoke, though it was clear that he was slighted by this proposition

"Well... grandfather, you must understand... I have been smitten with this woman for many months. I know what I will lose, both for myself and for my house... but grandfather, I truly love her."

Dan sighed, sipping his mead, which soured in his mouth. Dani probably left it uncorked, the rat bastard, Dan thought.

"You are willing to lose your rightful position as King of Norway, and eventual Warden of the Northern Pillar?"

"I am."

"You are a bold man, Edgar. How soon may myself and her meet?"

"I can arrange it for when you return from your trip to New Imperial Britannia"

"That would be good. You have my blessing, under the pretense that I am able to meet her."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

"Aye. Now, Thorbjorn, don't tell me you're also asking to marry a common-woman. God forbid the throne go to Alyssa."

"No no, nothing like that... I.. I don't think I'm ready at the moment, to discuss it..."

"Oh, well, alright."

The clock chimed. It was nearly 23:00

"It would be a good time for me to retire. As I age, I get weaker." Dan spoke to his sons.

"Good night, father. God bless you."

"God bless."

Dan stood and excused himself from the table, making sure to sneakily grab a lighter from one of the candles in the foyer. He retreated to his chambers, where he removed the handkerchief from his pocket. It was worse than he originally thought. The blood soaked nearly soaked the piece of fabric. Only Christ may know if his son or grandsons would have seen it. Dan set the kerchief alight, and said a prayer to God...

He knew he would sing with Athanasia in heaven soon.

The candlelight wavered on the nonexistent breeze. Isaac sat in the small library chamber, staring at the scroll before him. The paper curled in his troubled grasp. It was one of only a handful of its type, documents written by the Grandmaster, Flavius. Since that myth of a man was off campaigning, it was just Isaac trying to learn from them. But learning from them wasn’t easy.

Two parts: The theology, and the technique. The motions, the forms, the concepts came easy to Isaac. But the source of those gifts didn’t. Isaac remembered what he had learned of God. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. This God was not the one he was reading about. Not quite, at least.

Through my studies, I have grown to realize the true mystery. Never have the Father, Son, nor Holy Spirit held equal standing. For many a century it was the Father at the apex. I know better now.

He dropped the scroll to the table. Concerning. Very concerning. Some would call it heresy. Scratch that, most would. Isaac’s eyes turned to the leather bag on the table, filled with over a dozen other writings, all from Flavius, all tucked away in the most reclusive settings. Perhaps the Grandmaster had gone crazy. But if so, then where did his power come from? It didn’t make sense.

Uncle, please share with me the truth, so I may someday join you once more.

Isaac reached for another scroll. Then, a faint rumble. A louder rumble. Gunshots. The door exploding inward. The Knight standing in the doorway held his sword up high, until a scholar shoved his way into the room, scribbling furious notes of the texts on the shelves before throwing them into a fabric sack.

Isaac had vanished before the splinters of wood had settled, the leather bag with Flavius’ texts gone too.

He fumbled through the dark pathway. The cobwebs caught his face, these tunnels had gone unused for who knows how long. A small flame cast long shadows as he ran, quivering and pulsing sharply with his shallow panting.

Where was it, where was it, wait was that, there-

Isaac slammed into a portion of the tunnel wall, and the stones almost seemed to melt away. The door closed behind him, and he found himself standing on a small ledge on the north side of the Cathedral, arms locked around the leather sack.

Where to go, where to go, where to-

Eden.

She’d know.

Standing atop the stone Cathedral, Michael looked out at the crowd below. He had heard what the atmosphere of these ceremonies was usually like. Today was abnormal. The excitement was there, but muted by the concern and confusion. It was the Knights, no doubt. The Order had no tradition of ceremonial armor. That was the stuff of wealthy men with hubris unlimited. That or the traditions of his father’s home. Either way, they’d suffice for now.

And now, we present to you, your new Cardinal of the Order, Michael.

The crowds cheered as he stood, looking down upon them all. The red robes he stood in bore no friendly gazes from the Knights, or those Kyavani allies of his, but then again little did. After the brief appearance, Michael found himself whisked away to handle matters of state. Better. Crowds weren’t his favorite. He found a phone thrust into his hand. The tone and demands could only be from one man.

“You understand this proposition is madness, right?”

“I don’t care, Michael. The armed forces pose a threat to your governance. They need to be disarmed, and their assets need to be transferred to the Occupied Zone under my jurisdiction.”

“But, Emperor, you do know most of these ships are not compliant with -“

Michael felt the figure behind him. His heart sank, and he turned slowly to see the glistening white armor staring back at him. “Yes, Emperor Marcus. I will instruct them to disband at once.”

“Good, Cardinal. Very good.”

The call went dead. Michael stood in silence. Then, he went to dial the number. Which number? He couldn’t remember. It’d be in this ledger here, no wait, that one. Yes, here it is.

Having found the number, he dialed. The man on the other end sounded old, seasoned.

“Has the Conclave updated plans for our operations in war?”

Michael paused, then spoke. “This is Cardinal Michael the Fourth. The war has concluded. The armies and navies are to return home. We have been ordered to begin the disbanding of our formal military ranks. I want naval and land assets transferred to storage in Iegado and Litorum. There will be armed men there to aid in the storage process.”

A moment of silence, then- “I’ll relay the message at once.”

Samuel stood on the deck of his main cruiser, the Polaris, watching the French coastline recede in the distance.

“Elmirán Samuel, we’ve received orders. It appears we’ve been ordered to return to Iegado and disband the fleet. Do you think this is a mistake or a joke?”

“Perhaps. Who sent the order?”

“The Chiefs of Staff, on behalf of the new Cardinal, Michael the Fourth.”

“Michael the Fourth? The Grandmaster’s Grandkid?”

“Yes, is that a surprise?”

“A massive one. Why on earth would the Conclave choose him? I swore they had their eyes on Alexios.”

“I don’t know sir, but the order has been confirmed. Shall we sail south?”

“Begin sailing, but slowly. I want to stop for fuel before we get too far. I need to call Isaac, I don’t feel confident in this.”

The Admiral paced the dock. The orders had been confusing, but the Cardinal was the Cardinal, and so he had commanded the Home Fleet to meet him. Unease had been all he could feel the past half hour. He should have seen the Western Patrol by now, though the storm clouds had made it difficult. Wait, there. Ships, just to the north. The north. Strange. The patrol generally came up from the southwest. A Knight approached him. The bleached white metal was offsetting. So too was the lack of a visible face. Why the Cardinal had enlisted their help was anyone’s guess. Perhaps just a sense of his other home. Looking at images of the approaching fleet, something caught his eye. The flagpoles were flying blue. Not red, but blue.

The Admiral wheeled around, a pulse of flame surging into the armor of the Knight. The flesh cooked for only a second, as the Admiral felt a blunt pain on the back of his head, then watched everything go dark.

The Knights stood in line on the pier. The ships arrived. Three massive carriers, with a wide array of escorts. The soldiers began unloading. From the Western Pillar, from the Vlamms Statt, they spread across the dockyards, securing and searching the various storage hangars.

The message began to spread across the city. This Zone is now under Occupation by the Golden Throne by decree of the Peace of Dubrovnik.

“Orders to demobilize and move equipment to storage in Iegado? That’s strange.”

“Indeed it is, General. But, they’ve been verified by the new Cardinal.”

“He has yet to really prove himself in any capacity, does he not?”

“True. It’s quite odd they chose a candidate so green, if you ask me.”

“Indeed. But at the very least, there will still be over a million men mobilized returning home. I think it’d be appropriate if we were to begin our demobilization. Get things started, Commander.”

“Yes sir.”

The General watched his men begin to load the arms. Large, small, all sorts of equipment, into the containers. The first train was almost ready to leave, when the emergency channel went live.

“RED ALERT, RED ALERT, FOREIGN FLEETS LANDING TROOPS IN IEGADO, AIDED BY THE KNIGHTS IN PALE ARMOR, I REPEAT, FOREI-”

A single gunshot cut through the audio. The channel went silent. The General’s hand was on the PA mic before he even realized it.

“Cease the offloading. Prepare to move to Iegado. Expect enemy contact.”

Michael stood looking at the map. His bowl of shrimp sat untouched, as enticing as the mustard sauce smelled. He had barely just arrived home and things had already begun to fall apart. His advisors had planted themselves across from him. The mix of colors gave him a headache, the Austor reds surrounded by a host of colors from the Pillars of the Throne.

“Cardinal, the seizure of fleet assets has begun well. We estimate to have captured 275 ships either in port or off the coast of Austoream. We’ve tracked the nearest coastal patrols, each has followed orders to return to Iegado.”

“And of the fleets on deepwater patrols and returning from war.”

“The Task Force was sighted heading south near Iberia, and intends to stop for fuel on the way. As for the Eastern and Western Patrols, we’ve had no contact.”

The rage boiled in Michael, the lights in the room brightening with it. “That’s at least 68 warships unaccounted for, perhaps more. This is a serious problem.”

“It’s worse than that, Cardinal. Around 100 of the most seaworthy ships we have transferred to the Throne Occupied Zone can’t legally be used by the Throne navies due to the treaty regulations. We’ll be largely without oceangoing capacity.”

Great, just what they needed. Over a hundred ships missing, and no way to stop them anytime soon.

“Further, Cardinal, we have confirmed your soldiers returning from Kynor and the Western Pillar have, in large part, made it home and disarmed properly. However, we do believe a distress signal made it out, and the equipment shipments that were supposed to leave Semnubae today never arrived, according to the Thronist forces in Iegado. I believe it may be worth investigating.”
===
Isaac wandered through street alleys in the Vatican, winding around the figures in white metal that had only just arrived, until he found himself at the Cysaren Family Estate.

“Eden, Eden, Eden, where are you?” Isaac dashed from room to room, freaking out internally, and a little externally. He smashed through the bedroom door to find himself face to face with his sister. Her expression was one of unease, repulsion, so out of character for the calm, collected, spiritual individual she always was.

“Oh thank God, you’re alive Isaac.” Isaac wasn’t usually fond of hugs, but this time he didn’t care. Eden began to ramble, “I knew you said you were going to study at the Cathedral and I know I let you go but I had a bad feeling and I should’ve known sooner and I’m not sure what happened but things are wrong, and-”

“I know, sis, I know. Just try and calm down. I’m safe. I’m not sure what they wanted, but I didn’t wait to find out.”

“What’s that?” She reached for the leather sack. Isaac recoiled.

“Sorry, force of habit. I’ve been clutching it all morning. They were a gift from the Grandmaster. I was reading them, but some of the things he talked about were just. . . odd.”

“Nothing I can’t figure out, dork. But, in the meantime, I haven’t heard any word from our family in the Cathedral, and the friends I’ve sent to enter have been turned back. It’s not right.”

They stood in silence. This was highly abnormal. If only their Uncle were still here, he could sort things out. Then, the ring of the phone cut through the air.

“Isaac, are you there?”

“Yeah, Sam, I’m here, and so is Eden.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah, we’re alone. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.”