Title: The Morning City
Author: Sara Goose (saragoose@livejournal.com)
Author's Notes are at the end.

***
Early, before the chickens get going, while the chattering laundry women are still sleeping, Ainth steps over the creaky parts on the floor as she makes her way to the back door. Mornings are quiet here, but only until the sun rises. She can see its reflection starting to appear, poking between clustered houses on the edge of town. The sun rises quickly once it gets started and Ainth knows she doesn't have long.

Soon children, who aren't really her siblings, will be running around. Soon she'll be hearing the ladies washing the clothes, gossiping about "that weird girl next door, who thinks she's going somewhere because she's got a job." Soon, she'll have obligations but for now the stoop is hers and she can allow herself to imagine somewhere different.

She imagines she's travelling to a far off land, where they speak languages she has never heard, not even from the tourists at the teashop. She never thinks about how she got off the island. Sometimes, though, she's driving a car across a barren land that stretches farther than an island girl should be able to imagine. She's always going somewhere, on a journey as though the destination didn't matter.

Today, she knows her time is short by the way the greyness of the sky is beginning to fade away, only to be replaced by the dullness of the colours around her. She closes her eyes and sees the world stretched out in front of her, all around her. She feels as though she could do anything, take on anyone. Handle everything that might come her way. She feels strong.

She walks down a quiet and organized street, perfectly aware that she has nothing to fear. People with unfamiliar faces wearing strange clothes walk past, smiling and Ainth smiles back without ducking her head or looking away. She walks without worrying about sore feet or what might happen to her without someone by her side. The cars in her imagined world don't honk so loud and they stop to let her cross the street. Even the sun isn't so oppressive here, and a cool breeze blows by, smelling of flowers and fresh soap.

A rooster crows and Ainth knows it's time to leave the city. She pretends she can wave at all the friendly faces, but always knows that they'll be waiting for her tomorrow morning. She opens her eyes, and the fear and the ubiquitous sense of unimportance come rushing back. She's a little girl in a world that isn't made for her. She goes back into the house, lights the stove and goes to wake her father's family.

As the day begins, Ainth knows she will always live for her mornings and the person she becomes.

*

She's idly brushing feathery hairs out of the baby's face when she hears the girls call for her.

"Ainth! If you don't stop your daydreaming, we'll be late."

They taunt her, in fun mostly, but Ainth cannot afford to lose them. If she didn't have such a group to walk to the city with, she'd have to leave with her father hours earlier. Or not go at all. She kisses the baby goodbye and he grabs for her hair. She knows her love for him will be temporary, once he learns to be superior and demanding like his brothers.

As they walk between the houses, single file in the most cramped areas, packed in a tight group in the most dangerous, Ainth is always at the back. She rarely talks to the other girls about anything other than work. Even then, it's only the three others who work in the same teashop.

They walk past the dock, where the tourists get off the boat from the airport. Well, at least the tourists who think they're in the know, trying to act like locals. Except Ainth can see their pasty skin burning in front of her eyes and if the locals had any choice, they'd be on one of the idyllic atolls rather than the crowded mess of Malé.

Just past the dock, they turn away from the water, towards the busy area of the city, where people walk around looking important and cars honk their horns far more often than necessary. Ainth tries to pretend she's in a morning city where people smile at her and she doesn't have to pretend to be interested in the incessant chatter of the girls. It's too busy, just before lunch, and after being poked at for dawdling, Ainth sets her head and focuses on only what's right in front of her feet. She refuses to complain with all the others, though, about everything ranging from the smells to the rude tourists who look down on the lot of them. If she ignores it all, then it's not really happening.

Maldivian women bustle around the outskirts of the city, but it's mostly teashop girls in the centre with the men and the travellers. The closer to the city, the quieter the others get, and the closer together they walk. Ainth isn't scared, though; the city fascinates her even though it completely overwhelms her senses. It smells of too many different kinds of cooking and it sounds like there are too many people all around.

Everyone makes extra noise to drown out the person beside him, not to scare the little teashop girls who come in from the slums. Everyone's so busy going about their business, they don't even have time to think about poor little girls. Unless their tea's too hot or too cold or too slow, the girls are ignored. Ainth basks in her anonymity, knowing that she's safe if they don't see the real her.

The group arrives at the teahouse and the rivalries begin. If someone works in a different shop, you don't talk to her. Even if they're your neighbour or your cousin or you just spent the last hour becoming the best of friends. In the city, they're a rival and of course not as good at their job, not as attractive to customers, too modest, not modest enough. You only talk to the girls from your teashop now, even if you've spent the last hour ignoring them.

A girl grabs Ainth by the hand and smiles a fake, customer smile at her. "Miriam, so good to see you," Ainth says, sincerely. Miriam's one of the older girls; she lives in a small apartment with two other girls from the teashop. One day, Ainth dreams of having her own apartment in the morning city.

"Ainth, setting tables, please," Mr. Fareed says as she walks through the door. Ainth shoves her small bag under the counter and gets a tray started with the teaspoons, saucers, and napkins. Miriam starts wiping the tables and Ainth follows behind her. The teashop looks like every restaurant Ainth's ever seen on old television shows, except that no one ever sits on the tables here and the customers are never so friendly. Saucer, napkin, spoon, teacup, plus a plastic flower in a cheap vase in the centre. The repetition of her chore is tiring but Ainth knows better than to dawdle.

Besides, the harder she works, the sooner the day will be over.

Mr. Fareed flips the sign over and the girls either quicken their pace or straighten their shawls in preparation for the customers. Ainth slips the empty trays and dish racks around the corner, out of sight and plasters on her generic, serene smile.

She's learned over the past year at the teashop to do all she can to go unnoticed. She works hard so that Mr. Fareed doesn't notice her, but not so hard that the other girls would think anything of it. And she keeps her smile steady and not too friendly so that she'll blend into the background for the customers.

As a few of the regulars begin to trickle in, Ainth gets her teapots and begins to pour. They have a carefully structured little hierarchy at the teashop, and Ainth's job is to pour the tea. Someone who's been there for only a short time brews the tea and refills her pots. The older girls, who've been around for a few years, take orders and deliver the food. But Ainth enjoys her position. After a few months, she's built up the muscles in her arms from carrying and carefully pouring the tea. Besides, she doesn't really have to talk to the customers besides a friendly nod or a questioning look.

The day passes in a blur of unfamiliar languages and comments not quite rude enough for Ainth to do anything about. Those who speak Dhivehi compliment her pouring skills, the deliciousness of the tea. "Your tea is the best, my dear," they say as Ainth passes, ignoring the way they look at her.

Other customers, the tourists, speak English and other languages that Ainth doesn't recognize. She imagines they're from far away places where they speak magical languages like Latin and Greek and Zulu. She recognizes the English, though, and knows when they are speaking to her like a servant, condescending and ignorant.

She'd rather hear the veiled compliments from the locals than the poor attempts at understanding their culture from the foreigners.

By the afternoon, when the tourists are in full-force and the businessmen take afternoon tea, all the voices blur together. Even the dirty comments from the occasional customer fade away for Ainth. The familiar and welcome ache of her arms is the only way Ainth has to tell the time. She's trained her muscles to be able to last just barely an entire shift. By evening they'll be weary and by nine o'clock they'll be barely functioning.

For now, though, Ainth knows that it's almost time for her lunch break. She checks on all her customers one last time, smiling as though she actually cares whether or not they would like more tea.

*

Mr. Fareed usually drives them all home on his bus, even the girls from other teashops. But his wife is ill, having troubles with her pregnancy, so after much debate and discussion in the kitchen, the young owner of the teashop next door is going to drive them all. He's from one of the outer atolls but Ainth doesn't know his name. He talks slower and doesn't use as many foreign words as young city men do. He tries to be a businessman, wears a suit and combs his hair like an American, but the accent gives him away, even to Ainth who is supposed to ignore such things.

By the time they leave the shop it's nearly eleven o'clock. Her father will not be impressed, but hopefully will take his displeasure out on Mr. Fareed the next time he's in the city. Ainth's father's house is one of the farthest away, at least by roads. If Mr. Fareed were driving, he'd simply park the bus and walk the last few around, but the young man doesn't know how the tangle of roads and pathways works, so he just keeps driving until someone tells him to stop.

As each girl gets out, he smiles at her. If she works at his shop, he says goodbye by name. Some of them he even stares at as they leave. His familiarity with the girls shocks Ainth; Mr. Fareed at least doesn't stare at them all.

Some of the girls from Mr. Fareed's shop whisper amongst themselves. Ainth knows they're talking about the young man. Apparently he's quite handsome but horribly rude and too forward with the girls.

"Look at him, flirting with her. She's to be married next month, you know."

"But he's so handsome, and his accent is so charming. I'm sure it's entirely accidental."

This sends them all into a fit of giggles, and Ainth sits on the sidelines, not at all charmed by his behaviour, or his accent.

By the time the bus reaches Ainth's neighbourhood, there are only a couple other girls left. One of them, who works at the young man's shop, sits at the back, practically shaking in her seat. She's young, probably thirteen or so, but definitely younger than Ainth. They see each other every day, but Ainth's never seen her look so scared. Perhaps she's terrified of getting home so late, but Ainth remembers that her father died last month and she has only her mother and baby brother at home right now. It was a great scandal at the time because her mother had no uncle or father to live with. Besides, she'd been left their home, not the son, but the mother.

Ainth watches her carefully, but knows better than to ask what's wrong. A couple more stops later and it's just Ainth, the driver and the scared young girl. The driver keeps looking at the two of them. He's probably just anxious to finish the route, but there's something that just doesn't sit right with Ainth.

Suddenly, something changes in Ainth's approach to the situation. She knows, without a doubt, that if she had to, she could do something about it. She could rescue the girl, put the driver in his place. Anything she had to do to stop the poor girl from shaking in her seat. It's all so clear, and Ainth wonders why it didn't occur to her before.

"Sir, it's my stop just at the next corner." It's a bit early, but Ainth knows she won't be going home anyways.

She picks up her bag, stands up and walks towards the front of the bus. As she passes the girl, she whispers as quietly as she can, "It's going to be alright."

The girl looks uncertain, but nods carefully anyways.

As Ainth goes past the driver, she turns on her ankle and falls towards him. He puts his hands out to catch her, but Ainth's already regained her balance. She grabs his arm and twists it just place the place it would naturally stop. He yelps in pain and she says, "This girl. You were planning on hurting her, weren't you?"

"I-- "

She doesn't give him time to answer. " She won't be coming back to work for you. You'll pretend you've never seen her before if you happen to pass on the street." It was the most Ainth had ever said to a stranger, and her stomach was turning to jelly from the effort to maintain her confident exterior.

"And I'll find out about it if you do." She twists his arm just a little further, so he'd know she meant it.

He struggles back but Ainth simply puts her other hand on his shoulder and presses down. He soon stops struggling.

"You, get out of the bus. I'll walk you home."

The girl stands up, still shaking, but with a triumphant smile on her face. As she approaches the driver, Ainth very deliberately moves between them and squeezes just a little harder on the driver's shoulder. The girl steps on to the street, standing tall and almost jeering at him.

"Now, you're going to drive back to the city. No one really needs to know about this, do they?"

He starts to speak but Ainth twists his arm just a little further. He closes his mouth and shakes his head. She carefully releases him and slowly backs away, out of the bus. She grabs the girl's hand and smiles as the girl whispers, "Thank you."

They are about to walk away when Ainth suddenly drops the girl's hand and spins around with a punch. Her hand connects neatly with the driver's face and he flies back a metre or so, landing on his back. He is still conscious, so Ainth says, "I really have no problem with doing that again, harder, if you come after us. Just pretend this never happened. Unless, of course, I find out you treat all your girls this way."

The girls walk away. Ainth says, "What's your name?"

"Su...Sumaytah," she replies. "How did you do that?"

"I'm not really sure. I just knew I could, so I did." In her own thoughts, Ainth is already running through the consequences. Her father is not going to be pleased. And Mr. Fareed will never want her to work for him again. "Something changed in me and I just knew."

"He's been threatening to get me alone for months, since I started working for him. No father, no brother, he thinks he can just do what he wants with me," Sumaytah says as she begins to cry. "Thank you."

"Hey, don't cry. Everything's going to be fine now. I'll drop you back home so you can get a good night's sleep."

"But what am I going to do? We can't afford to run our house if I'm not working. My brother, he's sick and the doctor's so expensive."

"Tomorrow you'll go to Mr. Fareed's shop. Tell him I won't be returning. Ask him if he'll give you a job. You'll have to start from the bottom again, but he's a fair man. And the girls are nice, for the most part."

"But what about you? Your job?"

"I can't return there. Rumours will spread, and that's fine. But I plan on leaving. Something's different now, and I have to figure it out."

Sumaytah leads Ainth up a small alleyway. "My house is just at the end. The one with the black curtains."

When they reach the doorway, Ainth quickly says goodbye and walks away.

Before the door closes, though, she says to Sumaytah, "Don't tell them, about what I can do. Just say I've decided not to work anymore."

Sumaytah nods then shuts the door. She walks back out of the small alley and back to the main street. She heads towards the shore, so she can watch the activity across the water at the airport. Not much happens there, but the lights are interesting and she loves watching the planes take off.

The beach is only a thin strip of grey, dirty sand with straggly palm trees here and there, with hammocks between them. There are broken dishes and empty containers strewn about, and cigarette butts everywhere.

Ainth walks carefully through the sand and simply listens to the world around her. Everything is so sharp. She hears each wave break and ripple on the sand. She can see any obstacles in front of her even though the moon is just rising. The wind passing between the trees and through her hair makes soft, gentle music. Ainth wonders why she's never noticed any of this before.

She walks, slowly and deliberately, until she goes around a point and can see the lights of the airport. Rows and rows of grey houses, on the brink of collapse, stand behind her. Normally, she can see the buildings of downtown from anywhere on the island, but here the houses are so close together and right on the beach that Ainth can't see anything but grey slats and corrugated tin roofs. She carefully clears a spot on the sand and pulls her scarf off her head to sit on. The lights of the airport enchant her. She can see a plane sitting on the runway. She watches it drive along, to the farthest edge of the island. It sits for a moment, and just before it starts to scream along, Ainth feels a twinge behind her.

She turns and there, in the shadows, is a woman. She looks Ainth in the eye as she moves closer. She sits down beside Ainth and together they watch the plane take off.

"Do you want to know where it's going?" the woman asks.

"No." Ainth tries to reign in her curiosity about this woman. She strains to watch the plane for as long as she can. Soon, though, it is flying overhead, and Ainth can no longer see it.

"I like to imagine that I'm on the plane. It's going to wherever I'm going, and the only thing that matters is that it's not here."

"I see," the woman replies. "Do you want to know who I am?"

Ainth allows herself to look at this woman. She isn't Maldivian although her skin is quite dark compared to most foreigners. She's old, probably older than Ainth's father, and her grey hair is tied up neatly on top of her head. She's dressed like most Maldivian women, except that her head is bare. The cloth she is wearing is coarse and untreated, but of a similar style to Ainth's.

"You're a foreigner, but you speak very good Dhivehi." The woman nods, so Ainth continues. "You know something about what's happening to me?"

The woman nods again, but Ainth allows her to speak this time. "I've been here for many years, studying the fanditha and the jinnis of the islands. I'm from England, but I haven't been home in many years, since I was not much older than you."

Ainth keeps her face blank, so the woman doesn't leave anything out. She's shocked to hear that a woman is interested in the fanditha, but she doesn't let anything show.

The woman continues, "My name is Imogene and, if the magic is correct, I believe you, my dear, are a Slayer."

"A Slayer?"

"Yes, yes, we'll get to all that. But first, what is your name and how old are you?"

"My name is Ainth and I've just turned 16."

"Very good. And you've noticed something new about yourself today, I assume?"

Ainth nods.

"Speak up, girl. No one here cares what you did. I just need to make sure you're safe."

"The driver, on the bus from the city, was going to attack Sumaytah. I knew I could do something about it, so I did. He's going to leave her alone."

Imogene nods and says, "And how did you know? What did you feel?"

"I just knew. Something clicked and I knew that I could stop him. I felt strong and awake, like I've only ever felt before in the morning city."

"The morning city?"

Ainth ducks her head, embarrassed.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about here, my dear. Just tell me how you're feeling."

"The morning city is a place I imagine, where everything is perfect and I can do anything I please. Where I am stronger than they know."

"Interesting. Now, does anything else feel different?"

"The wind, it makes music, and I can see everything. And I felt you, before I knew you were there." Imogene nods as Ainth speaks. "And the driver, I could hold him down, he couldn't move. And without even trying, I hit him. I--oh, Imogene, I hit him."

"Hush, hush, now. I'm sure he'll be fine. It's an easy mistake to make when you haven't anyone to tell you what to do. But now that you're a Slayer, we'll have to make sure you are a little more careful with your powers."

"Please, ma'am, what is a Slayer?"

Imogene takes a deep breath and says, "Technically, the Slayer is a Chosen One, born into each generation, one girl in all the world, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires and stop the spread of evil."

Ainth can barely take all this in. Imogene touches her hand and says, "But I have a feeling things are going to be different for you. You're Chosen, but you're not the only one. Someone somewhere has changed all that."

"And how do you know all this?"

"Once upon a time, I was a Watcher. I studied the way in which Slayers are created, one from her predecessor and so on. But then politics and other equally dull things got in the way, so I left. I set out to follow the descendants of those who created the Slayer and the magic associated. I've been tracing their colonisations for nearly thirty years, now."

"So, I'm a Slayer? Not The Slayer, but one of them?"

"I think so," Imogene replies. "Someone very powerful has redistributed the Slayer's power. I'm just not sure why."

"But I'm supposed to control the jinnis? They're just stories. And what are these vampires? A kind of jinn?"

Imogene wraps her clothes around her tighter. "Why don't we go to my home? I've plenty of books and things to help explain all this. And perhaps we'll be able to contact someone from the Watchers' Council who knows what has happened."

Ainth stands up and shakes the sand off her scarf. She wraps it around her head and follows Imogene back to the road.

"Why did you come to the Maldives?"

"A well recorded tradition of magical and spiritual practices, I suppose. For generations, at least until recently, the fanditha has been practiced openly by many people," Imogene says. "Also, a seer I met in Malaysia warned me to stay away from civilization, that something was coming to bring us to Hell. It wasn't so much what she said as how convinced she was that it was going to come true."

"So, you decided the Maldives was as far from civilization as you could get?"

"Not quite, but as far away as I wanted to get. And then fate dropped you on my lap."

Just as Imogene finishes, they arrive at her small home. Her garden holds a great variety of plants, most of which Ainth has never seen before. Some have great flowers and are filled with fragrant pollen; others have the tiniest leaves she's ever seen, all bunched together in little clumps. It smells interesting and unfamiliar.

Imogene opens the door and they walk in. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?"

With everything that has been going on the past few hours, Ainth has nearly forgotten who she really is: a girl from the slums who works in a teashop. Yet, in her heart, she knows things are changing. The girl she is in the mornings is starting to come out.

"No, thank you. I think I've probably seen enough tea to last a lifetime," Ainth says with a slight giggle.

Imogene is very quiet for a moment and then replies, "Very well. There's a rather large volume on the shelf, the biggest one on the top shelf. Drag it down and have a look. Can you read English?"

"No, ma'am. Although I'd like to learn." Ainth gets the book from the shelf and curls up with it in a large armchair.

"Well, we'll see what we can do. For now, just look at the pictures and I'll come translate parts in a second."

The photos were horrific. Men, and women, with horribly disfigured faces, fangs and furrowed brows, acting like animals. Perhaps they were possessed with the spirits of their former lives, Ainth thinks, before realizing that very thought goes against all the teachings of her father. He thoroughly renounced the fanditha years ago, and she had always been taught to look for either the rational and factual or the Islamic in everything. Not that she ever really had. Like all the girls her age in their neighbourhood, Ainth had spent many hours, working on her sewing or studies, while listening to the old women sing and chant while they weaved.

But for Ainth to be actually learning these things, and discovering the truth of them, truly reinforces her separation from her family. She has a strange feeling that, over the next while, the gap is going to grow.

"Will I see my family again?" Ainth asks.

"Do you want to?" Imogene replies. "It's entirely up to you, my dear."

"I'd like to see the baby grow up, but he's just going to turn out like the rest of them. And my father would not approve of my studying fanditha. I think it will be easier not to."

"Just because it's easier doesn't make it the right thing to do. But you are correct; sacrifices are an integral part of a Slayer's life. You might not have to sacrifice everything, like the girls before you, but things are going to change for you, Ainth."

"Good. I've been ready for a change since I can remember."

Imogene brings a mug and the steaming pot of tea over to the sitting area. Together, they discuss vampires and demons and the Slayers before her until the sun rises, and Imogene decides it's time for both of them to get some sleep.

"Just a minute. I have to sit outside for a while."

"I'll put a blanket and some pillows on the couch for you. Make sure you pull the curtains tight when you come in," Imogene replies. "I'll see you in a few hours for breakfast." Imogene pets Ainth's head as she heads to her bedroom.

Ainth closes the book and carefully puts it back on the shelf. Quietly she tiptoes outside and sits just outside the door. The sun is a little higher than usual; she's usually making breakfast or helping get the baby ready by this time. But it's quiet and the sun is starting to heat the herbs and flowers of Imogene's garden. Ainth closes her eyes and imagines herself somewhere that feels like home. Unfamiliar faces pass and Ainth smiles at them all.

Somehow, she isn't as drawn to the morning city as usual. She feels strong there but she knows she is stronger here. After looking at Imogene's book, though, she knows things aren't always going to be this safe.

She'd gone there to say goodbye to her morning city, but now she's changed her mind. She walks along the streets, thanking people for stopping to let her by and laughing as a gentle breeze blows across her face.

She breathes in deep the gentles scents of the city and notices how they are mingled with the magical smell of the garden. She relaxes and just lets the sounds and smells flow over and around her. Everything becomes sharper, until she knows there's an ant crawling along her feet and a man in a bakery in the morning city baking the most wonderful pastries. Things become clearer and sharper. Everything is in focus, here and there.

Ainth takes a deep breath in and suddenly the world around her changes. Flashes of terror and joy come in quick succession. People she knows but has never seen are talking to her. Everything happens so quickly. Vampires and other jinnis run past her. She sees herself wielding weapons, training to become even stronger. The vampires turn to dust, but then she sees blood everywhere. And, for only a brief second before everything turns black, she sees herself lying on the ground, bleeding. Dead.

She screams and screams, but no one answers for an eternity. Everything has long since turned black and she tries to open her eyes as she screams, but nothing happens.

Nothing happens, until it all stops. She can hear only her breathing, in, out, in, out. She's stopped screaming and she hears Imogene yelling from the house.

"Ainth! Ainth!"

She opens her eyes and she's back in the garden.

"Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

"I'm not sure," Ainth said, tentatively, still trying to figure out what had happened. "I was in the morning city, and then these flashes of other places kept coming and coming. I couldn't make them stop. And then it all went black."

"Shh, shh," Imogene whispered as she rubbed Ainth's back gently. "It's just a dream, a daydream, I suppose. Everything's fine. You just need to get a proper sleep. Come inside and--"

"I saw myself, lying there. Dead." Ainth's eyes couldn't really focus on anything. She tried blinking it away, but every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was the blood trickling out of her body.

"Slayers, from what I've read, have visions or dreams. Sometimes they're prophetic, but usually they just are picking up on their own fears and the fears of people around them. My father was a Watcher, with an active Slayer, Bethany. We were best friends when I was younger." Imogene speaks calmly and quietly. "I found her, lying on the ground one morning. A vampire had drained all her blood and left her to die beside our house."

This starts to shake Ainth out of her trance.

"I was dreaming about it when your screams woke me. She's the reason I researched Slayers rather than trained them."

"But it could happen to me, right?"

"It's a dangerous job, being a Slayer. And I can't promise anything. But you won't be alone. Ever. Even when you die. I'll be there, and maybe even other Slayers. But you will never be left on the street to die alone."

Ainth sits in the warm sunlight and shivered. Imogene puts her arm around her and together they stand up and move back inside. Ainth crawls up on the couch and wraps the blanket around her as tightly as she can. Imogene closes the curtains tightly and, as soon as the room is dark, Ainth is breathing calmly, sound asleep.

***

Author's Notes: It's a beginning rather than an end. Thanks to the Buffy Dialogue Database for quotage, Maldives Culture for research, names, and all kinds of lovely information.

Fanditha is a folk magic of the Maldives Islands. Jinnis are spirit creatures, generally treated as "as undesirable entities capable of great evil" (www.maldivesculutre.com). Dhivehi is the official language of the Maldives. A great deal of what I describe of the Maldives has been imagined, with a few details. I'd love to hear if I got something wrong, or better yet, if you'd like to send me there for some in depth research.