LMS VII: we who knew the sun

Bishop, before
The day began like any other.
Bishop’s alarm went off. They groaned and rolled over in their bunk, stretching out an arm to silence it. They’d never been a morning person. Taking this job hadn’t changed that, even years later. But they knew it was important to stick to a schedule – if not to keep up the illusion of a circadian rhythm, then to avoid pissing off Adelaide more than they usually did.
Bishop didn’t know how the woman could function so early in the day. It wasn’t like they had coffee here. Or anything else with caffeine, for that matter.
Christ, Bishop missed coffee.
They swung their legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the ladder, haphazardly making the bed before making their way down. After that they made their way to the kitchen. Checking the food storage, they had enough rice left over to make a porridge. Bishop grabbed the container and started to prepare it. They could hear Adelaide in the other room, doing whatever she needed to prepare for the day. If they’d been planet-side the sun wouldn’t have been up. If, if, if.
It couldn’t be helped.
The porridge was plain but filling. Bishop portioned it out as Adelaide and then Evangeline rolled in, the latter still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“G’morning,” they said, not quite awake yet themselves.
“Morning,” Adelaide said.
Evangeline grumbled and took a bite of her breakfast. “Thanks for the food.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Bishop gathered the dishes, scraped off what little organic scraps remained into the compost collection, and popped the plates into the sanitizer.
The ship had moved, then. Not quite a sudden motion, though not a constant one either. Like a dog rolling onto over to expose its belly.
This happened sometimes. It was why most of the ship was bolted down. For now, it was minimal. The dishes rattled in the sanitizer. The chairs creaked on their tracks. This was the extent of things. Bishop grabbed onto the nearest hand-hold and moved to the next room.
“Adelaide,” they called out. “Evie. You two good?”
If there’d been a response, Bishop couldn’t remember it. The room had shifted -- the gravity lurching somewhere their feet just couldn’t find.
There’d been a blur of something, some object, as it flew in an arch around the corner. Heavy and dull, it had crashed into them. Bishop didn’t have time to react. There was a wet, crunching sound. The world went black around them and that was that.

Bishop, interlude
Looking back, Adelaide had told them that there had been signs. It was the temperature, she’d said. It was the way the water recycler had hummed, like an insect flying around someone’s ear, rather than a purr.
None of this was completely unusual. A nuisance, sure. But it was an old ship. Nuisance was the name of the game, especially once Evangeline was added to the mess. (As much as Bishop loved her, the kid was a logistical, resource-straining nightmare.)
A part of Bishop wished they could remember it.
Mostly, they were just glad that they didn’t. They had read the incident reports. They’d seen the footage of the crash and of the escape pod touching down. It’d been a complete and total shit show by anyone’s account – least of all their own.
Bishop was lucky to live through it. They all were. How Evie and Adelaide had managed to spirit them away into the escape pod was beyond them.
(They hadn’t even known that the escape pod was an option – none of them had - the thing was supposed to be inoperable. The realization stung. It’d taken Adelaide a long time to tell them. Bishop couldn’t blame her for that, but even still. They all could have left years ago.)
An alarm went off. It was on the other end of the room. Bishop ignored it and got to their feet. Their quarters here were pretty bare bones. They weren’t surprised. It was a miracle that they’d been given anything at all, given that they were (technically) legally declared dead.
Luckily, Bishop had friends in high places. More importantly, so did their partners. Though they had all tried to keep one another at arm’s length distance, word travelled quickly on the ship. Bishop knew Adelaide had to have pulled some strings for them. They wouldn’t have been surprised if Riley had too.
(Not if the rumors of them being seen together had any truth to them.)
(Which, ouch. Bishop wished they could be there with them too.)
They crossed the room in a few short strides and shut off the alarm. Sighing, Bishop sat down in the chair beside their desk. It wasn’t particularly comfortable. Bishop had never thought they’d miss gravity being optional, but now? The sloped backs of the chair’s legs made it impossible to lean back in comfortably.
It was a constant balancing act. Being in a perpetual free-fall sounded far more appealing. At least then they wouldn’t have had to worry about sitting wrong and cracking their skull open (again).
Nonetheless, Bishop leaned back in the chair. It gave them a good view of the ceiling. The pale, popcorn-looking paneling was reminiscent of what one might find in a classroom. It didn’t do much in the way of insulation. The room was often cold, and Bishop never had a problem eavesdropping on their neighbors. (Who were, by all accounts, nice people.)
They’d accumulated a number of blankets. Most of them were hand knit by one or the other members of the crew, who sold them in what could have passed as a black market — had the higher-ups cared enough to pay attention to it.
Their favorite was the green one. It was warm and soft and it reminded them of the quilt they’d had back home. Today, Bishop wrapped themselves up in it. If they closed their eyes and concentrated they could hear the hum of the ship. It almost sounded like home.

Evangeline
The agents led her towards a set of doors where Bishop and her mother were standing. Evangeline couldn’t believe her eyes. They were here? She hadn’t even known that they were alive!

Evangeline hesitated to go to them. The agents were still here. They had stopped a few meters away, as had Evangeline herself. Everything was still within sight of the helipad.

Neither her mother nor Bishop looked afraid, but there was something strange in the way they were holding themselves. Though she was smiling, Evangeline’s mother had her fists clenched at her sides. Bishop, meanwhile, stood balanced on the balls of their feet, knuckles white where they gripped their crutches. It looked as if they were anticipating a fight.

Evangeline glanced nervously back at the agents before she could think the better of it. Each of them was looking towards her mother.

Yikes...

“Thank you,” her mother said, after an excruciating stretch of silence. “I expect to see you all for our briefing tomorrow at TIMEHERE hours.” She paused. “If you’d be so kind as to give us some space.”

The agents didn’t need to be asked twice. They withdrew from around Evangeline, each of them slipping off in approximately the same direction. Evangeline watched them leave. None of them spoke as they went, though Eyebrow-Piercing gave a small, sympathetic looking smile.

What the actual f-

“It’s alright, Evangeline.”

Evangeline lifted her head. It felt like it had been years since she had heard her mother’s voice. Her eyes stung. The thought of moving didn’t even register in her mind until she was halfway to her.

“You were dead,” she cried, wrapping her arms around her mother as tightly as she could. “You were both dead!”

“Oh, Evie.” Bishop took a step forward to meet them. “I’m so sorry we scared you like that.”

Evangeline shook her head, her own face still buried in her mother’s sweater. She felt one set of arms wrap around her, then another.

“We’re both just glad that you’re alright,” came her mother’s voice, as Bishop made a quiet noise of agreement. “I promise that it’s safe here. But let’s get ourselves somewhere quiet, hm?”

Evangeline sniffled, too overwhelmed to even reply. She made no effort to move. This quickly became apparent. Evangeline felt her mother turn to look at Bishop, who took a half-step back. A moment later and Evangeline’s mother was scooping her up and carrying her

Normally, Evangeline might have protested. Both of them would have. She was getting far too big for this. But for now Evangeline ignored that. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and clung tight, letting her guide them both somewhere quiet and safe.

They walked through the doors and into the ship itself.

It was loud on the DECKNAME.
It was far too much.

Everything grew muffled as they entered the ship, only for the quiet space to be filled with the bustling noise of its operations. Evangeline could hear and feel the rumble of something not unlike her home ship’s engine and air filtration system. It was comforting, in a way. She leaned into the feeling and let out a small sigh.

There were conversations too. They died abruptly whenever Evangeline’s family grew near enough, and the silence settled around them all like a heavy blanket. Evangeline couldn’t dredge up the energy to care. These people were strangers to her. She certainly didn’t recognize any of their voices.

They stopped walking after a while. Evangeline heard a door being unlocked –with a beep from a key-card, though that probably didn’t matter much- and she lifted her head a bit to see where they were going.

Another room. This one was around the same size of their living/sleeping quarters back home, though it was much less cramped. Evangeline could see a small seating area and kitchenette, along with a doorway to another room.

“Here we are,” her mother said, as if this were normal. “Couch or chair?”

The first one sounded much more comfortable. Evangeline tapped her mother’s shoulder once to let her know and lowered her head back down again.

“Couch it is, then. Bishop?”

“I’ll be there in a second,” came Bishop’s response. They walked towards the kitchenette, which was separated from the seating area by a partial sort of wall. “Grabbing us all some water.”

“Thank you,” Evangeline’s mother said, as she sat her daughter down on the couch.

Evangeline didn’t look up but she could feel the cushions shift as her mother sat down next to her.

Evangeline sniffled. No, she thought. She wasn’t going to cry. She was too tired for it. She let out a heavy sigh and turned towards her mother, relaxing a bit as the woman ran a hand over her hair, tugging gently at the strands (and avoiding the knots that had accumulated throughout the day).

Bishop let out a not-so-quiet string of swears in the kitchenette.

Huh. That wasn’t a word Evangeline had heard before. How funny. She still couldn’t so much as muster a smile. “Is Bishop alright?”

Her mother chose her words carefully. “Bishop was injured when we landed,” she said. “It was bad, and they’re managing, but it still causes them pain.”

Evangeline didn’t like the sound of that, even if her mother was probably trying to sugar coat it. She took a deep breath in and let it out. Evangeline hadn’t even known that Bishop was alive. She was glad that they were, but it still sucked that they were hurting.

“We can talk more about it later,” her mother continued. “But it’d be best if you speak to Bishop themselves. They’ve already informed me that they’d be willing to answer some questions when feel ready.”

Willing to, Evangeline noted. That’s what her mother had said. Not happy to. It was probably just how she had decided to phrase things, but it still left a sour taste in Evangeline’s mouth.

“But they’re not going to die?”

“No, NicknameButItsNotEvie,” her mother’s voice was soft. She tucked a strand of Evangeline’s hair behind her ear. “Bishop is not going to die. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Okay,” Evangeline said, sniffling once again. She lifted her head and sat up, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Her eyes were starting to burn. This time, Evangeline let herself cry.

I use the word 'crutches' to refer to the mobility aids Bishop uses. More specifically they are forearm crutches, but Evangeline doesn't know how the difference between them and other types of aids (like axillary/underarm crutches), hence the current phrasing. Bishop might also switch between forearm crutches and a cane at some point, depending on the situation/environment they are in. This doesn't mean they've switched between one or the other permanently. Disability can be dynamic, and the mobility aids people use often reflect that.
I'm basing the descriptions relating to Bishop's mobility aids off of a combination of research and my own experiences. If anyone has feedback regarding the way i write it, please don't hesitate to reach out! That being said, this story is not gonna end with Bishop being able-bodied. I'm just not interested in that.

Evangeline
It had been a long, exhausting day, and Evangeline hadn’t realized how much it had affected her. She cried for a long time. Face half-buried in her mother’s shoulder, it was easier to let it all go.

Bishop soon came to join them. They settled on the couch next to Evangeline and placed a hand on her back, rubbing small, soothing circles just like when they’d done when she was little. It helped. Evangeline’s sobs started to quiet, and soon she was falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Bishop
Bishop watched silently as Evangeline sobbed. Adelaide sat on the other side of the couch holding her as she cried, her own eyes red and rimmed with tears. She murmured soft reassurances to Evangeline until she finally fell asleep.

After that? Adelaide didn’t speak much. She was quieter than usual. Sadder, too. But Bishop couldn’t blame her for any of that. Not now that Evangeline was there, sleeping safe and sound between the two of them.

They would need to speak about it eventually. But for now? Bishop’s nerves were frayed. They were both exhausted. It just wasn’t the time. Neither of them spoke.

A little while later (once Evangeline’s snores had evened out) Bishop reached across and passed their partner a mug of tea. It was a relaxing blend. Chamomile tea with a little bit of lavender. At least according to the box it had come in. It was one of their few remaining actual tea bags (as opposed to, say, the loose-leaf) but it wasn’t like that was a problem.

They all had the habit of liking their tea over steeped. Remnants, Bishop supposed, of half a life spent tied to a largely home-grown diet.

Nothing back home could go to waste. Anything that could be reused had to be, tea included. It was a similar story here. In that regard they didn’t stand out.

Small mercies, Bishop thought bitterly. It had been hard enough to come back here. Even if they disregarded the sheer violence and pain of their crash landing, the actual stranding itself had been catastrophic.

But Bishop also knew that to those they had left back on Earth, it had been incredibly short-lived. Their family had grieved and buried an empty casket, but they had ultimately moved on.

Just a blip on the news cycle. A tragedy remembered once a year not out of remembrance but as an occasional, mandated obligation.

Logically, they didn’t blame any of them for that. It was, after all, exactly the thing that Bishop would’ve done. Why should their family suffer for their absence? It should have been comforting. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The thought sat heavy in the back of Bishop’s mind. Time had kept on ticking. For them, for their people back at home. They could never forget that. The Earth had changed a great deal since they’d all been gone, and the bulk of it hadn’t been for the better.

Bishop knew that they were struggling to keep up with it all. They couldn’t even imagine how Evangeline was coping. Everything here was so very different from how it was back on their ship, and that was all she had ever known…

It must have been a strange few weeks for her.

They would have to catch up later. Bishop didn’t know what Evangeline had been up to while she’d been stuck with her aunt, but they doubted it had gone very well.

Riley never spoke much about his family, and for good reason. Bishop hadn’t even known he had a sister -- at least not a living one. They had spoken about Saoirse before, but…

Bishop sighed. It didn’t matter. Not right now at least. Evangeline would talk to them about it when she was ready, and Bishop could always ask Riley some questions about things later.

For now? They picked up their own mug and took a sip. The tea was strong, herbal, and slightly sweet. Right, Bishop remembered now. They’d added honey to it too.

Bishop settled further on the couch, trying to get their legs in a position that were more uncomfortable and less painful. It was a lost cause.

Still, they were careful not to jostle Evangeline too much. The girl could sleep through just anything, but now wasn’t the time to test that theory. The past few weeks had been an ordeal. The girl was clearly exhausted.

So was Bishop. So was Adelaide. Riley probably was in a similar boat, but Bishop hadn’t thought to ask. It was strange seeing him after so many years. He had missed out on a lot.

In their defense, they’d thought he was dead. In his defense, he’d thought they were too. How un-fucking-fortunate that they’d all been wrong. How bittersweet.

Bishop took another sip of their tea and turned to look at Adelaide. “You alright?” they asked, voice barely a whisper.

Adelaide gave a bitter smile. She didn’t look up from her daughter. “We’re all safe,” she said. It sounded like she was still trying to convince herself. Adelaide took a drink from her mug. “I’ll be alright. I think we’re all just a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” Bishop said. “You’re probably right.”

Adelaide’s smile had a bit more mirth to it now. “I usually am,” she said, teasing. “Can’t forget that.”

“Nope!” Bishop played along. “Not for a second.”

“I do think my back will regret this tomorrow.”

Bishop bit back a laugh, still mindful of Evangeline’s sleep. “Funny,” they said.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you need to get up.”

Bishop knew that. Their legs were hurting something fierce, and they were seriously considering it. “In a bit, maybe,” they looked down at Evangeline. “Once she wakes up. I don’t want her to think I’ve left.”

Adelaide looked at Bishop for a moment, her gaze steady. “Alright,” she said. “Once she’s awake, then.” She looked back down at her daughter and said nothing further, and for that Bishop was grateful.

Bishop

Bishop got up sometime later, after Evangeline had woken enough for Adelaide to carry her off to a proper bed. They watched them trudge into the bedroom and let out a quiet, relieved sigh once Adelaide shut the door.

Bishop sunk back into the couch and let themselves feel it all -- the pain and fear and the desperation to make things whole-- for a scarce few seconds. They took a deep breath. They let it out, slowly. No more wallowing allowed. Bishop scrubbed the tears from their eyes and, using the couch as leverage, sat themselves down on the floor.

There was no carpet. Not anymore, at least. Adelaide had moved or re-gifted it somewhere after the first time she’d seen Bishop trip over it. They’d appreciated that. Nobody liked eating shit because of a rug, and it’s removal had made the adjustment just a bit easier to deal with.

Bishop grabbed a couch pillow to lean against and took the time to do some minor stretching. Nothing particularly difficult, just the same few exercises they’d been stuck on post-crash. It hurt as much as anything did but did nothing to quell their growing anxiety.

After that they paced. Back and forth the length of the room -- just as they’d done back on their ship. They had too much energy left, too much anxiety. Annoying as it was, Bishop knew that the best thing they could do was just tire themselves out.

It was proving to be a difficult task. Weary as their body might have been, their mind just wouldn’t stop spinning. They knew that there would be a debrief sometime soon. That Adelaide would have to leave, however briefly. Bishop knew they’d be staying with Evangeline for that – just as Adelaide had asked them to, before everything had settled into place. As if she’d needed to.

Bishop didn’t mind it. They never did, and it wasn’t like they’d be staying in Adelaide’s berth for good. The living quarters would be way too cramped, especially now with Evangeline added to the mix. And while they didn’t expect that this would be much of a problem – they’d spent the better part of Evangeline’s life in a living space functionally not much bigger than this -- Bishop didn’t envy Adelaide. They knew she had grown to appreciate having her own space again. They both had. Privacy was in short supply here. Everyone aboard was happy to hoard it where they could.

...Except Riley.

Bishop let out a quiet sigh. They liked Riley. Had loved him, once, after and before everything had gone to ship. But he was a persistent, stubborn man, and he had a habit of always poking his head into other people’s business. At one point Bishop had found it charming. They’d since fallen out of practice.

Bishop knew that it wasn’t malicious. Quite the opposite. (Usually.) Riley wore his heart on his sleeve. He cared deeply, he cared too much. Bishop tried not to blame him for it. They knew it couldn’t have been an easy few years for him – he’d lost his family too. But it was difficult not to feel some kind of resentment. Because he might’ve been stuck but he’d been stuck planet-side. He’d had enough to eat, and he certainly hadn’t had to scrape by on whatever flavorless protein amalgamation they could squeeze out of their lab.

Bishop stopped pacing and let out a breath. It was nice that Riley cared so much, but his timing was horrible.
For now, at least, he seemed aware of it. As much as he wanted to see Evangeline – and he clearly wanted to – he knew first-hand that coming back to Earth was an overwhelming experience, even if he had gone through it having lived there planet before. He was keeping a careful distance. Evangeline’s memories of him were hazy at best. None of them wanted to overwhelm her and muddle things any further.

It had to hurt. Bishop knew that. Riley loved and cared for his family deeply. They’d shared far too many drinks and far too many nights with the man to ever believe otherwise. It made him easier to love.

Bishop sighed and sunk back onto the couch. They were still wired -- this pacing was going nowhere. They dug their phone out from the depths of their pockets. They didn’t see any new messages beyond the station-wide pings, so they opened up their chat history with Riley and sent a quick message. This, at least, was a secure line. God only knew how long the pair of them had spent making sure it was properly encrypted…

Bishop: Hey.

A reply came back quickly.
No surprise there.

Riley: Hey yourself.
Riley: Everything okay?

Bishop: Everything’s okay. Lots of crying and hugging, but they’re both resting right now.
Bishop: I don’t have much info beyond that but I figured you’d want an update.
Riley: Thanks for letting me know. I’m just glad you’re all safe.
Bishop: Adelaide has to leave for a briefing in a little bit. It’s at BRIEFINGTIME. I don’t know if you’re invited, but please try and make sure she eats something.
Riley: I will.
Riley: What about you? I can drop something off if you need.
Riley: Caffeine doesn’t count.
Bishop: Hahaha.
Bishop: I’m alright. We have enough stuff on-hand that we should be good for now. And it’s probably best to hold off on ‘Earth’ food for a bit anyway, you know how the adjustment period is.
Riley: Yeah, that’s fair. Who knows what shit my sister’s been feeding her.
Riley: Still, just let me know if there’s anything you need me to grab.
Riley: Or if you need to talk.
Riley: I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I’m here. Always have been.
Bishop: You’re too good to me, Riley.
Riley: Someone has to be.
Riley: I’ve gotta go. The newbies are trying to vape inside again and the smoke alarm is NOT gonna be happy. Call or ping me if you need anything.
Bishop: I will.
Bishop: Don’t let them make us all evacuate.
Riley: I mean it, Bishop.
Bishop: I know.

Bishop
Bishop muted their phone and sat it down on the coffee table, then let their head fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh. It was strange having access to phones again. Having one of their own was even stranger -- not to mention a major pain in the ass. The technology had come a long way while Bishop and their crew were away, and as nice as it was to have access to the internet again, they were all still adjusting to it.

Bishop especially. They’d been fairly active online before everything went to shit. It was fun, and it was a great way for them to keep up with their friends and family. They hadn’t been chronically online, per say, but they might have known some things that required a decent amount of screen time.

Now, though? It was like everything had been completely re-written. The slang was different. Their favorite sites were gone, and whatever ad-blockers and VPNs that they’d relied on were useless at best. Everything felt like a fucking minefield. They couldn’t even play Candy Crush without accidentally auto-downloading some stupid virus. (Even if that was admittedly probably for the best. That game was stupid addicting.)

The screen flickered to life again. Another notification. Probably Riley. Bishop ignored it. They liked Riley and they had missed him deeply. So why was it so hard to talk to him? Their eyes burned. They grabbed a decorative throw pillow and put it over their own face, letting out a muffled cry into the soft, embroidered fabric.

Adelaide and Evangeline were in the other room. The last thing Bishop wanted to do was bother them. Evangeline was deceptively perceptive and her mother was the same way. Adelaide wouldn’t have even needed to ask what was wrong. She’d just know.

Ugh. Bishop could already imagine the look she would give them. Not disappointed, not pitying. Just sad, kind, and understanding. They just couldn’t handle that right now. Even the thought of it made them want to cry.

They smushed their face harder against the pillow and let themselves cry. Bishop did their best to be quiet about it, but that was exhausting and it only dragged them down deeper, so much so that their shoulders shook from the force of it.

Afterwards, they sat on the couch and stared out the window on the opposite wall. The window was tiny, but no less a luxury here. Bishop watched the ocean through the thick glass, the waves lapping soundlessly below. It would have been loud if they weren’t so high up. Though the distance was probably for the best.

Once their eyes had dried a bit, Bishop stood up and started to pace once again. They used their crutches this time. There wasn’t any need to push themselves that far, not now, no matter how tempting that the thought might have been.

Bishop said nothing as they paced. The only sounds were their breathing, footsteps, and the occasional (and annoyed) hiss of pain. Why would they speak? Who would they even talk to? Adelaide and Evangeline were in the other room, and Riley was in some lab on the other end of the ship, still keeping his distance. Texting was so new (again) to Bishop that the thought didn’t even occur to them.

Tired out, Bishop stopped pacing and sat back down on the couch. They leaned their forearm crutches within reach, just under the coffee table. (Was it a tripping hazard? Sure, but it’d been long enough that Adelaide knew to keep an eye out for them.) Especially if Bishop was sitting down.

They carefully brought their legs up onto the couch, stretching them out a moment before curling into a pose that wasn’t quite the fetal position. There was enough room for Adelaide to stretch out if she wanted, but Bishop was taller. They also preferred to rest like this. Not to sleep – not with Evangeline finally here. Not when Bishop was the only thing between her, Adelaide, and the door.

And anyways. It was probably too early to go to bed. A quick glance towards the window told Bishop everything they needed to know. The sun was out. They didn’t know what time it was and they refused to turn on their phone just to check. Bishop didn’t need to do that because the sun was still out.

It was nice to be able to try and tell time that way once again. Their ship hadn’t had a circadian module, and it would have been impossible to use the sunrise or sunset as any kind of measure. No, it was just a series of timers and clocks that kept their sleep cycle on the right track. Not to mention an insufferable amount of self control.

They still sometimes found themselves checking, not always absentmindedly, for an alarm that wasn’t ever going to sound. Apparently, some habits were harder to break. At least according to the calendar and maxed out alarm apps on all of Bishop’s new devices.

It felt like a luxury not to need that anymore. Bishop found themselves staring out windows far more often than they would care to admit. Even if it was overcast and cold and objectively depressing to look out at.

None of their exclusively Earth bound colleagues understood it, but some of them had clearly taken notice. One of Riley’s lab assistants had asked Bishop if they were looking for something. They hadn’t responded. The answer hadn’t been as simple as any of them were expecting. It would’ve just made them stick out even further.

They couldn’t help it – though Bishop could admit it would’ve been nice to see something other than the endless stretch of waves and sky. They would have killed to see an iceberg. The ship was certainly remote enough to see one. Unfortunately, the planet had warmed quite a bit, leaving the icebergs to melt and the oceans to rise and swallow up the lower lying coasts and islands of the world.