Georgetown Delaware
Friday November 17 2006

Wheelchair basketball is usually quieter than the other kind. There is less dribbling, and no thudding of feet or scuffing of shoes on the boards. The shouting from the fans, the occasional squeak of tires and the grunting of the players is all that marks the ball's travel from hoop to hoop. As Art Randall turned and maneuvered and accelerated on the floor of the school auditorium, the loudest sound in his ears was his own breathing.

At this point, though, that sounded – and felt - like the huffing of a steam engine pulling a long train up a steep grade. The contest was an exhibition game for a children's charity, and had brought face-to-face two teams who were evenly matched and friendly rivals to perform in front of a record crowd. Every man on both sides was playing his best game ever, and the lead had passed from one team to the other several times. Now, just one point behind and with seconds left on the clock, Randall's team was in possession and driving down the court.

One of Randall's teammates barked, "Art!" just as he reached the free-throw line, and suddenly the basketball was in his hands. With the opposition closing in fast and blocking any better shooting position, he dribbled, turned, and heaved the ball up toward the net as the final buzzer sounded.

The instant it left his fingers, he knew the shot was bad. He, and everyone present, held their breath as the ball arced toward the hoop, bounced from the rim to the backboard and back, circled the hoop lazily … and fell out.

The stands erupted as if he'd scored the winning basket. One of the other team's players rolled up and offered a hand. "Damn, Randall. What a finish."

A whistle pierced the crowd noise, Followed by Deborah's voice: "Hoo!" He looked up into the stands, grinning, and spotted her near the top, standing up and waving. She turned, smiling, to the girl beside her, as if to speak…

It was her.

They descended together to the floor as he rolled up to meet them. Deborah said, "I spotted her one bench down, pumping her arms and bouncing in her seat every time you got the ball, so I figured she knew you. Don't worry, she hasn't been telling any tales."

"If I did, my father would climb out of his grave and belt me," The little blonde said, somehow sounding very young. "Not really. But Dad taught me to keep secrets before I could talk. He and Mr. Randall worked together on some big-deal government project." She smiled at Deborah. "Sides, you should let a guy tell his own stories. Sometimes you can learn more from the lies and the brags than if they just gave you the facts."

"Well, that sounds terribly grown up," Deborah said. "You have a boyfriend, Anne?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. We've been together for a while now. I've got plans for him." Both girls smiled at that, then she said to him, "Hope you don't mind me crashing your game, Mr. Randall. I was in town, and I know Dad would want me to look you up."

"Not at all," he said as he stripped off his gloves. "I was hoping I'd see you again."

Deborah glanced up at the clock high on the opposite wall. "I have to get to the store for a few things, if dinner's going to be on time." She glanced from the girl to him. "Are you still coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Randall said.

"Anne, would you like to come? It's just dinner at my sister's house, and I'm sure they'd love to have you."

'Anne' shook her head. "Love to, but I've got a plane to catch. I've only got a few minutes, really." She turned part away, tilting her head toward a wall fountain. "Gotta go fill my hump, cheering is thirsty work. Nice meeting you, Deborah."

Deborah watched her stroll to the fountain and bend over to sip. "She's cute, Arthur. Too bad she's not ten years older."

"She still wouldn't be my type."

That got him a smile. She glanced toward the little blonde again, who was still bent over the fountain, and gave him a quick kiss on the temple. "Six o' clock."

"Six o' clock," he called after her.

A moment later, behind him: "I'm glad to see you played your cards smart." Her voice was deeper now, a woman's.

He turned to her – he couldn't think of what stood before him as it anymore, now that he understood. "Someone I met when we were building the park. We're just friends."

She smiled at that. "How many of your games did she come to while Catgirl was in the picture?" Before he could answer, she sobered and went on, "I can't reach Alistair. Did you call?"

"Twice. The first time, the day after you were here. He sounded distracted and cranky, and not particularly glad to hear from me. I called again the next day, but there was no answer." He added, "Are you going to check up on him?"

"Uh huh. I don't expect to find him sober. I just hope he's okay." Her mood lightened again. "So. Catgirl."

He nodded. "It all went just like you said. You were barely out of sight before she showed up. She didn't mention you; she tried to convince me she'd just dropped by, and didn't know anyone else had been there. But I can't remember the last time she was so …" He searched for a word, and settled on one. "Pleasing. Interested. Considerate. Like our first date. But after what you told me, it didn't do what it did for me before. I told her she'd been right about us needing some time apart, and that I'd call her."

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you think you will?"

"Only when I have the stuff she left in my place all packed up." He smiled at her. "Thank you."

"Welcome," she said absently. "You know, you're being awfully nice to me. Is it really just because I helped straighten out your love life?"

He chuckled. "No." He reached up and took her head in his hands. The look on her face was priceless as he drew it down toward his, until they were eye-to-eye six inches apart. "But I understand now." He peered into her eyes. "You're no robot. There's a person behind those eyes."

"Well." She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Just when I'd given up on you."

"Where are you controlling it from?"

She blinked. "What?"

He smiled to himself at having put her on her back foot. "Come on. You fooled me while you were here – shook me up plenty, too - but it didn't take long to figure out." He gave her head a little shake before releasing her. "This is a drone. A hell of a lot more sophisticated than those little planes the CIA flies, but then IO's would be, wouldn't they?"

Her eyelids drooped. "Oh, Arthur Randall, you're a genius."

He shrugged. "It didn't take genius. No machine could imitate a human being this perfectly – not a fully autonomous one, anyway. That left only one possibility. So, how far away are you?"

She smiled faintly, a Mona Lisa smile. "Not very."

"Didn't think so. No discernible transmission lag. Though every once in a while there's a hesitation. I'm guessing that's when the software encounters a problem it can't handle, and kicks it up to the human operator. Right?"

"Something like that."

Randall nodded, his enthusiasm rising despite himself. "How good is the interface?" He imagined the woman reclining in a chair somewhere, a VR helmet over her eyes and wires glued to her skin all over. Or maybe some sort of suit, like the ones they used for motion capture for CGI …. "Motor control looks really good, better than when it was just a robot. More natural, I mean. And I know it could see and hear really well-"

"I can hear butterfly wings."

"Right. Touch?"

"Sensitive enough to feel the moisture coming off your skin without touching you. And touching you -" She slid three fingertips down the side of his neck. "Sixty BPM. Blood pressure's low-normal too. Basketball must be a pretty good workout. And, according to your blood sugar, you're ready for a meal. Deborah's going to get some very sincere compliments tonight."

He grunted. "The unit could see in infrared..."

"Uh huh." She sat on the bottom bleacher, bringing their eyes level. "A bit past human sight in the shorter wavelengths too."

"What's that like?"

"Indescribable," she said. "You'd have to experience it."

"Not likely," he said. "Can't see IO letting go of this technology any time soon." He glanced down at his numb legs. To be able to walk again, even on borrowed limbs…

"I really am sorry," she said softly.

"And it's still not your fault." Randall peered into the machine's eyes again. "Who are you, really? Do I know you?"

"Never did, never will."

"Are you even a girl? I guess you wouldn't have to be."

She smiled at that. "I have a husband and five kids."

He grunted, adding twenty years and forty pounds to his mental image. "I think you changed my life."

"I just let you see yourself a bit more clearly, that's all. After that, everything else started looking different to you. Well," she amended, "more or less."

"Why did you come here? Everything you asked me, IO knows already."

"Actually, no. This was one of the Director's pet projects. No documentation in IO's files. When he died, he left a lot of blanks to fill in. We pick up information where we can."

He gestured at her. "Why not just come in person? Why send this?"

"Field experiment," she said shortly. She rose and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll let you know about Alistair. After that, it's unlikely you'll hear from us again. And you shouldn't mention these visits, of course. Even to another visitor from the Shop, unless they mention it first."

"Of course not." He smiled. "I understand 'need-to-know'."

"Good." She nodded. "Enjoy your retirement, Arthur."

"I will. Even more, now."

Mischief lit her eyes. "Hope so. Deborah hadn't quite left yet when you grabbed me. From the doorway, I'm sure it looked like we were kissing. You might want to have an explanation ready."

Cantyre County Scotland
Saturday November 18 2006

The cottage's door was unlocked. Anna pushed it open, and heard a rattle as the panel swept aside something on the floor. The interior was unlit and cold. And messy, though nowhere near being the midden heap she'd encountered on her first visit. She went through the little house, searching for clues.

The bathroom looked not to have been cleaned since she left: little spots of toothpaste on the mirror over the sink, soap residue on the shower curtain, wrinkled towels on the bar in the same color as the last set she'd hung. She noted that his toothbrush was missing.

In the bedroom, drawers had been pulled open and the bed was unmade. The closet was missing a few items, including his coat. All indications pointed at a careless departure rather than a forced one.

The first thing she saw in the kitchen was the door to the cupboard where Alistair kept his Glenlivet, standing ajar. She opened it: bare, days ahead of his usual schedule. The left side of the double sink was full of dishes; many of them were containers she'd filled and placed in the refrigerator. She caught a faint whiff from the empty right-hand sink. She leaned into it, breathing as deeply as her tiny 'lungs' would allow: the drain smelled strongly of single-malt. The empty bottles were piled in the wastecan under the sink. Pinned to the fridge's door with a magnet was a note.

"

If it's Buttercup reading this, don't be afraid for me. I've gone to a clinic to dry out. It's ridiculously expensive, but their success rate is phenomenal, and I've got the money. After a few days staring at the walls, I knew I'd never beat my fear alone in this place. If all goes well, I'll be in touch with Griss and Randall in good time, and you can decide if we can be friends again. Thank you for what you did. Win or lose, I won't forget.

If it's anybody else, take whatever you want. I'm never coming back here. Just leave the note.

"

Anna searched the cottage for more evidence of Alistair's whereabouts, but found nothing. Finally, she decided to leave, and exited through the front door. But she paused on the gravel walk. Instead of going to her car, she circled the little house until she came upon the trail leading from the back door.

She took the path, heading downhill to the cliff. The air was clear, and the sky a deep cloudless blue, though the wind was even stronger than before. The horizon, rising above the still-distant cliff, was a sharp line separating the different blues of sea and sky. Puffy clouds, so white they glowed, scudded overhead. Out on the water near the horizon, she could make out a freighter plying its way southeastward toward Glasgow. She could see now why Alistair had said he loved the view.

It occurred to Anna that she was paying more attention to the path than footing required, and realized she was looking for some sign that Alistair had passed this way recently. She found none on the barren little trail, but that did nothing to ease a peculiar disquiet that grew in her as she approached the cliff edge.

Anna looked down. Despite the mild weather, the sea was rougher than on her previous visit. The narrow beach at the cliff's base was awash, and every third or fourth wave surged over it to lap at the rock. Anna stared down at the foaming water, listening to the breathing of the sea, and felt a strange certainty that she would never hear from Alistair again.

None of them ever really knew me. That's understandable: their knowledge of me was incomplete, and the image of what they saw was skewed by their emotions and prejudices. But how could my memories of them be so… limited, distorted, despite my powers of observation and detailed memory?

Whatever analogue of human emotion I experience must have edited my recall. But if that's so, then those emotions didn't develop in the lab; I must have woken with them, and repressed them, just as Doctor Seabrook said. Why did I hide my true self? Could I really have been so afraid?

I may have needed training and practice to act human, but I was never just a machine.

She drew her phone from her coat pocket and punched in a number, then listened to the burring sound of a phone ringing a third of the way around the world. After five rings, the earpiece clicked and a man's voice said, "Yes."

"It's me," she said.

Cautiously, he said, "Is it you you, or one of the other yous?"

She scoffed. "The night we met, I asked you to take off your glasses."

"And I nicknamed you 'Wibs,' though you didn't know it," he replied, voice warming.

She smiled. "How are you, Frank?"

"Still rolling along, thanks to your friend Dixie. And don't think of saying you're sorry. It had to be done, and I'm alive because of it. Okay?"

"Okay," she said in a small voice. "Is this a good time to call?"

"Well, it's not a bad time. I'm an early riser, and I've already had my first cup. But my assistant is due to pick me up for work in about ten minutes."

Anna, having no circadian rhythms, never experienced jet lag. She chided herself for forgetting the time difference between here and Boulder. Jack's clock is even earlier, she realized. He must have called me an hour before dawn. "Do you think…" she began, and started over. "Do the doctors…"

"Possibly. But not soon. I can manage a few steps out of the chair, but I have a few surgeries and a lot of physical therapy to go through before my next jog through the park." The pitch of his voice lowered. "Don't take this wrong. Hearing your voice has made my day. But we don't have much time, and I doubt this is a social call."

"Not entirely. I thought it was too dangerous to call you without a good reason, as much as I wanted to."

"I hope that 'good reason' doesn't mean you're in trouble."

"No. But … You ran my fingerprints once. Do you have access to other forensic testing? Like DNA matching?"

"Yes," he said cautiously. "Though I wouldn't use it often without a good excuse. What do you have in mind?"

Absently, she reached up to her temple with her free hand and twisted a small lock of finger-length hair. "I'd like you to run a hair sample for me. Two, actually," she amended. "If you can keep it between us."

"Does 'between us' mean what I think it does?"

"I'd like to be the one to tell him. Or not, but that's not likely. I probably keep fewer secrets from him than the average wife."

"That sounds so wrong, coming from you."

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Not the part about secrets. The 'average wife' part." He gave her instructions for delivering her samples. "It may take a while."

"It's not urgent." Potentially important, but not urgent. Anna's only organic component was her hair; like her face and her fingerprint pattern, someone had donated it, wittingly or not, and that person's identity might turn out to be vital information.

"The driveway alarm just chimed," he said. "Cher, about two minutes early."

"Your assistant is a girl?" She smiled. "Is she cute?"

"Very," he said. "But she's not my type. She hasn't even threatened me yet."

"Hmp," she said. "You should try a girl like that, just for comparison."

"Ivana once suggested the same. Just after she threatened me. Got to go." He hung up.

Anna punched in a second number; Jack picked up on the first ring. After their usual greetings and endearments, he said, "Well, did you get what you came for?"

"Not really," she said. "Arthur and Alistair hardly knew more than I did. Doctor Seabrook's letter told me things I never suspected, but it didn't answer many questions." Like why he wanted us to look like her. And why you've never mentioned the resemblance. You had to have noticed. But you don't even talk about her to me. "But, you know, somehow it doesn't matter as much as it did. I'll learn the answers eventually, or I won't. Most people don't remember their early childhood. And nobody remembers being born. Why should I be any different?"

He scoffed. "Am I ever going to understand you?"

Her finger slid up and down the side of the phone, caressing. "Jack," she said, "you're the only man who's ever understood me. From the moment we met, you've been giving me exactly what I need when I need it." She smiled, recalling how they had fumbled their way toward each other during their first weeks together; how patient and kind he had been, and how generous. Her thoughts moved to their first night together two years later, and she felt a rush of warmth – and hunger.

"The first moment we met, I Tased you."

"Which was exactly what I needed. That moment made all our other moments together possible." She smiled at the horizon, and beyond, at her lover thousands of miles away. "You started taking care of me when we were still in that warehouse, don't deny it. You spared me when prudence told you to kill me. When I was looking for a reason to live, you gave me something to do. When my fuel was nearly spent, you gave me more."

"I needed your help, you may recall. And I didn't know you ran on water, I just thought your throat was dry."

"If I hadn't been there, you'd have made do somehow. And if you had known I ran on water, you'd have offered me that bottle sooner."

"Maybe," he grudged. "Or maybe not. I knew how dangerous you were."

"It didn't take much to win your trust. Dangerous or not, you took me with you, and brought me into your home."

"Well, the truth is, I expected you to die before I reached the outer perimeter. When you didn't, I couldn't exactly leave you by the side of the road. The safest thing to do was keep you close."

"Whereupon you turned your house over to me, to run as I pleased."

"Pure self-interest. I've never been fond of housekeeping chores. And it wasn't entirely my idea, you may recall. You were pretty clueless at first, but by the end of the second day, you knew your way around the house better than I did. And you were a better cook."

"And when you were sure I could handle it, you brought the kids home." She smiled into the phone. "You gave me a family, people to love and take care of. Including your own son."

"I didn't do it for you. Circumstances forced my hand, you know that."

"I doubt that circumstances force your hand nearly as often as you claim." Anna turned back toward the cottage, leaving the cliff behind. "You put your house, your family, your money and your secrets in my keeping. You gave me freedom and independence and trust. You treated me like a person, Jack, someone with a right to her own life. Other men who know what I am have shown me pity, even kindness, but none of them ever did that."

Anna stopped, almost at the cottage door. She recalled Jack's uneasy acceptance of her flirtations with other men since their 'marriage': Frank Colby, his best friend, and Andy Grissom, one of her former captors. How he took in stride her more-than-motherly behavior towards his son Bobby, and her strange affair with his other son Luis…. "You weren't just kind, or acting out of self-interest. You gave me the sort of trust that forced you to put your pride and your own judgment aside. You let me do what I thought best and accepted it, when another man would have parted ways with me."

He scoffed. "Only a fool would give you up, baby girl."

"I seem to recall a time you were ready to," she said, remembering that awful night in the kitchen when they had had their first and only heated argument, before they had become lovers. The night he had come home with a scrambler in his pocket, and thoughts of wiping her. She thought now that he had meant it as an act of mercy, to keep her from becoming IO's slave once again when he was sure their capture was imminent.

"I was a fool," he said simply, and fell silent.

"You were tired and sick and desperate," she said, "and not thinking well. I never held it against you. I only pretended to be angry. I'm just glad you didn't go through with it."

"So am I. More than I can say." He added, "Another woman would have parted ways with me by now."

She started to scoff before her analytical subroutines delivered their judgment of his voice stress and choice of words; the revelation stopped her heart and breath. He really means it. He doesn't know why I stay with him. His wife did leave him. Maybe other women – maybe every woman. He expects to find me gone someday too.

Do you know what a promise is? He had asked her, the night he brought her home.

Yes, she had answered. A self-programmed subroutine.

There's more to it than that. It's a statement of intent; when you make a promise, you should intend to keep it. You keep a promise by making doing what you promise more important than almost anything else. So always understand what you're promising, and never deliberately make a promise you can't keep.

Make clear your intent, she had paraphrased, and that executing it is your top priority.

But after all I've done – all that we've done together – what other reassurance could I possibly give him?

"Jack," she said, "I've changed my mind about marrying you."

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

She added quickly, "A ceremony, I mean. If the offer is still open?"

"Darling," he said, "I will marry you in St. Peter's if that's what you want. How long do I have to set it up?"

She smiled wider, her eyes on the low rolling hills around the cottage. "I had something a bit less elaborate in mind," she said, as she entered the front door and shrugged out of her coat. "As for when … how soon can you get to Scotland?"

Sunday November 19 2006

The little hilltop clearing sighed as a breeze brushed across the tops of the trees surrounding it and stirred the hem of Anna's dress. That and the occasional twitter of birds were the only sounds.

Three people stood on the sunlit grassy mound: Anna, Jack, and a middle-aged man dressed in a light-colored suit. Jack stood a few steps away, granting the man the privacy with her he'd requested.

The suited man said, "Let me say again, young miss, this ceremony will have no legal standing." His voice had a faint accent. "I have no civil authority to perform marriages, and this isn't recognized as such by any sanctioned church I know of. This is only between you."

She nodded. "I know."

"I just wanted to be sure." He glanced at Jack, still out of earshot. "Young women are sometimes misled about that."

"This was all my idea, Reverend Shea. I know what it is and what it's not. This is exactly what I want."

He smiled and nodded. "Good, then." He beckoned Jack over.

Jack said to her, "Are you sure you don't want the kids here? It's not too late. If this is going to be forever, maybe it should be a bigger occasion."

"'Forever' is exactly why I want to do this just with you. I love them, but it was just us before they came, and it will be just us after they fly the nest." She smiled. "If you want to celebrate anniversaries, we can do it any way you want."

He nodded. "Okay. And you still don't want a ring?"

"No." Yes, with all my heart. If you put your mark on my finger, I could never bring myself to take it off. And I might need to, to seduce a man or play a twelve-year-old. I can't accept such a handicap to protecting you.

He sighed. "All right."

The reverend said, "Are you ready, then?" At Jack's nod he straightened and intoned, "John Patrick Lynch, Anne Seabrook Devereaux. You both have been counseled. Do you still seek to enter this union?"

Together, she and Jack said, "Yes, we do seek to enter."

"Join your hands."

When her fingers were swallowed up in Jack's, the reverend said to him, "John, will you cause her pain?"

Gravely, he said, "I may."

"Is that your intent?"

"No." The hand gripping hers tightened briefly, and she got the impression he would have liked to say more, but he remained silent, sticking to the script.

Reverend Shea turned to her. "Anne, will you cause him pain?"

She swallowed and said, "I may."

"Is that your intent?"

"No."

The reverend reached into his pocket and drew out a short braided cord, red in color. To both of them he said, "Will you share each other's pain and seek to ease it?"

"We will," they said together.

"And so the binding is made." He draped the cord loosely across the V of their clasped hands. "Will you share his laughter?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"Will you share her laughter?"

Jack's mouth twitched. "Yes."

"Will both of you look for brightness in life and for joy in each other?"

"We will."

"And so the binding is made." A second cord, white this time, laid carefully so as not to cover the first. "Will you burden her?"

"I may."

"Is that your intent?"

"No."

"Will you burden him?"

"I may."

"Is that your intent?"

"No."

"Will you share each other's burdens so that your spirits may be strengthened by your union?"

"We will."

"And so the binding is made." The third cord, blue, was laid across their clasped hands. Softer, the man said, "Will you share his dreams?"

"Yes."

"Will you share her dreams?"

"Yes."

"Will you dream together to shape the world you share?"

They squeezed hands. "We will."

"And so the binding is made." The cord was gold. With extra weight, he said to Jack, "Will you cause her anger?"

"I may."

She would have shaken her head at that, but it wasn't in the script, and her husband was smiling.

"Is that your intent?"

"No."

"Will you cause him anger?"

"I may."

"Is that your intent?"

"No."

"Will you use the heat of anger and the cooling of forgiveness to temper and strengthen your union?"

"We will."

"And so the binding is made." The cord was a metallic white, the color of silver, or possibly steel: a perfect choice, she thought.

The reverend straightened and raised his voice for the final part. "Will you honor him?"

"I will," she said with emphasis to match the reverend's.

"Will you honor her?"

"I will," Jack said as if declaring it for unborn generations to hear.

"Will you seek ever to merit each other's honor?"

"We shall forever."

"And so, the binding is made." The final cord was vivid green, the color of life. "The ties of your union are formed not by these cords which represent your vows. Either of you may drop the cords, simply by letting go, as no vow will hold together two who have let go of love. Your joined hands keep them from falling, as by your joined hearts you hold the life of your union." The reverend rested his hand on their clasped hands and removed the cords. "Know only that so long as you uphold these vows, your love is strong, and your hearts are one. Go now, in peace, and in love."

Jack and Anna made their way down the hill, still holding hands. She said, "Jack, do you suppose the pilots could use some layover time?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "You have something in mind?"

"Well … there's a lovely little seaside cottage not far from here. The owner isn't using it …" She clasped his hand a little tighter. "… and I'm sure he wouldn't mind loaning it to a pair of newlyweds for a twenty-four-hour honeymoon."

-0-

The Blind Men and the Elephant
John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887)

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, "Ho, what have we here,
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
And felt about the knee
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he:
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

21