Myrem's Choice by Kinto Mythostian Myrem hurried through the forest, the gravel path crunching rhythmically beneath her stockinged feet. She held the long skirt of her Dark Green formal uniform dress hitched up around her knees as she ran; it clearly hadn't been designed with strenuous activity in mind. She was already hot, tired, and short of breath, but she didn't want to be late. Myrem couldn't be late, not for her first meeting, but the creek was a lot deeper into the woods than she had anticipated. The goat girl had only arrived at the Academy a month ago, and there was so much she still had to get used to. In the city where she'd grown up, everything she'd ever needed had been within a few blocks walking distance of the orphanage, and the only trees had been in the park. Already she'd run further than she ever had past more trees than she had ever seen in one place, and still the trail continued. She'd never had a dress like this either; the orphanage had traditionally relied on donations that were usually one-size-fits-none. Her new Dark Green formal dress had been custom made for her; Myrem was anxious to prove that she was worthy to wear it, and she knew that tardiness was not approved of. Finally, Myrem spotted the creek and the narrow dirt path that followed it. She jogged down the path as quickly as she could manage while fending off the bushes and branches that threatened to snag her wonderful new dress. Eventually, the path opened up into a clearing. A wide swath of bright green grass sloped gently to the edge of a still pond, while the spreading branches of a giant oak tree cast cool shadows over everything. Seven other devotees of various species were already there; it was immediately clear to Myrem that she was the last one to arrive. With a slight pang of guilt she realized that they had been waiting for her so that they could begin. "I'm sorry I'm late," she panted, out of breath and embarrassed, "I was eating lunch, and I guess I lost track of time, and... and..." "It's alright, Myrem," a brown-haired human spoke, "We would never have started without you." In addition to her Black formal uniform, she was also wearing the gold-edged sash of an assistant priestess "I'm sorry..." "Stop apologizing, please, Myrem. You have done nothing wrong." Myrem wasn't sure what to think. They were being so nice to her, and yet she'd been late and kept them all waiting. "Although in future, it might be advantageous if you fast before meetings. Many devotees find that it helps them focus, and it is a very traditional form of sacrifice." Myrem nodded. "Yes. I will." "Take your place, please, Myrem." Myrem knelt down beside the six other devotees already present on a large brown blanket that had been spread on the grass. She carefully smoothed out her dress and folded her hands in her lap. The Black-clad human remained standing, and addressed them. "Good afternoon, and welcome to this meeting of the Cult of Maisa. My name is Miwcaimia and I will be officiating today." "Good afternoon, Miwcaimia," Myrem chorused in unison with the six other kneeling devotees. "I know that this is the first meeting for some of you, so I will take this opportunity to explain what it is that we will be doing today. "The Cult of Maisa is dedicated to the performance of traditional Bulconian sacrificial ceremonies in a much more intimate setting than might be found in the Temple or the Amphitheatre. Instead of hundreds of witnesses, there are will only be six. Instead of a stone altar, there will be cool shade and soft grass. Of the dozens of members in the Cult, you seven have been called to this ceremony today, and one of you will be called to honor the gods with her sacrifice. In a moment, we will discover who the gods have chosen. By coming to this meeting, you have affirmed your acquiescence to the Three Questions and your preparedness to submit to the Most Noble Act. Seven of you arrived today, but only six of you will leave here alive." Myrem was confused; partially because she wasn't sure what the word "acquiescence" meant, but mostly because she was beginning to wonder if they were really going to kill someone. The Cult's informational poster had said they performed traditional prayers and sacrifices, and Myrem had assumed it would be symbolic. She knew that devotees often voluntarily surrendered their lives, but she also knew that there were procedures that had to be followed first. The little caprine couldn't understand why anyone would sign up for the Cult if one of the attendees was selected at random to die without volunteering. Miwcaimia continued. "Let us pray. Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods, through your Noble sacrifice you have given us the wisdom to know right from wrong and the will to live a life above the mindless control of base instinct. We praise you." "Praise be to Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods," chorused the seven kneeling devotees. "Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods, through your Noble sacrifice you have given us the choice to do what is Right and Proper. We your children always strive to live in Virtue and in Honor, so that we may be ready when the time comes to join you in the Celestial Realm. We praise you." "Praise be to Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods." "Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods, through your sacrifice, we are aware of our own mortality, but we do not have to live in fear of death. We know that you may call us to leave this life at any time, and when the time comes we will welcome death upon ourselves. We praise you." "Praise be to Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods." "Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods, to honor your Noble sacrifice we humbly and willingly offer the life of one of our own to you on this day. We beseech you to call one of our number to honor you with her sacrifice and join you in the Celestial Realm. We honor you." "Honor be to Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods," chanted six voices. "Prai-Honor be to Maisa, Queen of the Noble Gods," chanted Myrem, her horned head bowed in prayer with the others, thankful that no one could see her blushing under her gray fur. She was doing her best to follow along, but her confusion and growing concern that someone might actually die was making it hard to concentrate. The dedication prayer complete, Miwcaimia led the little group in a relaxing breathing exercise intended to expurgate impure thoughts from their minds. Once Miwcaimia was satisfied that everyone was in a sufficiently reverent state of mind, she retrieved a small brown leather sack from a chest of supplies at the base of the tree and spoke. "Now it is time for us to find out which of you will be given the honor of being our sacrifice here today. In this sack are seven stones; six of the stones are brown and the seventh is golden. You will each draw a stone from the sack, and whoever draws the gold stone will be condemned and promptly sacrificed. You will not look at your stone until all stones have been drawn. Do you understand?" "Yes, Miwcaimia," came the chorus, the six confident voices drowning out Myrem's quavering tone. "Echo, come draw your stone." A Pink-clad vixen with gray fur stood up and walked over to Miwcaimia. She pulled a stone out of the sack and clenched it firmly in her fist as she returned to a kneeling position on the blanket. She continued to look ahead, not even glancing at her closed hand where her stone was hidden. "Mydech, come draw your stone." A silver-furred rabbit dressed in Maroon did as Aavohalinnto had done. "Myrem, come draw your stone." Hesitantly, Myrem rose to her feet. She considered asking for clarification as to what exactly was going on and what Miwcaimia meant by "sacrifice," but everyone else seemed to know, and she didn't want them all to think she was stupid. She wanted to fit in, and she wanted to make a good impression so that they would like her. It would be better if she didn't say anything, she decided. After all, there was only a one-in-seven chance that she would be chosen, and if she didn't like whatever happened then she was free to go straight to the Temple as soon as they were done and have her name taken off the Cult's roster. Myrem did her best to put on a confident façade as she walked forward, but her nervously flicking tail sent ripples through her Dark Green dress and betrayed her true nervousness. She smiled awkwardly at Miwcaimia and thrust her hand into the sack. She felt around until she had a single stone isolated and grasped it in her fist. She returned to her kneeling position, resolutely refusing to look at her stone until authorized to do so. After Myrem came Quince, a white-furred wolf dressed in Dark Green; Aavohalinnto, a black-haired human dressed in Dark Blue; Spider, a russet-furred vixen dressed in Gray; and Nineveh, a silver-furred wolf dressed in Black. When everyone had drawn their stones and was kneeling again, Miwcaimia set down the empty sack and looked at them all. "Open your hands," she said calmly. As Myrem did so, she looked at the devotees kneeling on either side of her. Echo had a brown stone. So did Mydech. And Quince, and Aavohalinnto, and Spider, and Nineveh, and... Myrem realized all six of them were now looking at her. Her heart pounding, she looked down at her own hand. Resting in the center of her palm was a shining gold stone. Myrem bleated sharply in shock and dropped the stone as though it were burning her. "Congratulations, Myrem. The gods have called you to honor them with your death," Miwcaimia said as though this was the most wonderful news in the world. "But-" Myrem stuttered. "Myrem, please come forward so that you may be sacrificed." "But- but I don't want to!" Myrem blurted out, terrified. "Of course not," Miwcaimia explained, "The instinct for life is very powerful. That is why your voluntary choice to submit to death is such a powerful sacrifice." "No, you don't understand! I never signed up for *this*!" "What do you mean, Myrem? You put your name on the Cult's roster, didn't you?" "Yes, but- but I didn't know I was actually going to die!" "What did you think was going to happen?" "I thought it was all going to be symbolic or something. If someone- if I'm going to be killed, don't I have to volunteer for it?" "Yes. And you did when you joined the Cult. By joining the Cult of Maisa, you agreed to give up your life if called upon to do so at any meeting. The Questions don't need to be asked, because you've already given acquiescence. If you weren't prepared to die you shouldn't have joined." "There's been a mistake, I never knew it was real!" "Myrem, we take our sacrifices very seriously here at the Academy. A false sacrifice would make a mockery of the entire system and would be an insult to the gods' own sacrifice. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but it's too late. You have now been called by the gods and your life is forfeit." "But- but- I- But I'll die!" Myrem looked at the others gathered in the clearing, looking for sympathy and not finding any. "Everyone dies sometime," Spider offered. "I don't want to!" Myrem wailed. "Irrelevant. Whether you knew the significance or not, you chose to sign up for the Cult. You came to the meeting. Your name was drawn. You're condemned," Aavohalinnto insisted. "If my name had been drawn, I'd be honored to be chosen for the Most Noble Act," Quince added in what she clearly thought was a helpful tone. "But..." Myrem couldn't believe what she was hearing. "There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry, but those are the Rules," Miwcaimia said, resting her hand on Myrem's shoulder. "Please don't make it worse for all of us. The little goat girl was in tears; to her it seemed that the worst thing was that Miwcaimia actually did look sorry. She unsteadily rose to her feet; her legs felt like they were made of jelly. Miwcaimia wrapped a comforting arm around the caprine's shoulder and guided her forward to the center of the clearing. Gently, she turned Myrem around and guided her into a kneeling position, now facing the six devotees who would witness the holy ceremony about to take place. "Quince and Mydech, would you please assist me by fetching the supplies from the chest?" Miwcaimia remained at Myrem's side, holding her by the shoulders; it seemed she didn't trust the caprine to stay put if she walked away. Quince and Mydech quickly returned carrying a couple lengths of rope, a black strip of cloth, and an ornately carved wooden box Miwcaimia took one of the lengths of rope and made to bind Myrem's wrists. The goat girl reflexively moved away, but Quince and Mydech grabbed her and held her still, allowing Miwcaimia to tie Myrem's arms behind her back. The bindings were secure but not uncomfortably tight. While Quince and Mydech continued to hold Myrem, Miwcaimia did the same to her ankles. When she was satisfied that Myrem was sufficiently restrained, Miwcaimia picked up the wooden box from where Quince had set it down on the ground. She opened the lid and there was a flash of light as the sun reflected off of metal within. Resting on a bed of black velvet was an elegant knife, with a long silver blade and a gold handle. Myrem saw it and tried to stand, but Quince and Mydech continued to hold her down. "No!" she cried out, "Please, no..." her pleas devolved into incoherent sobs. "This will be the instrument of your death, Myrem. As a voluntary sacrifice, you have the right to know beforehand how you will die." Myrem was speechless, and continued to weep silently as Miwcaimia approached her again and took the black blindfold that Mydech handed her. Myrem looked up at Miwcaimia with her tear-stained eyes. "Please, don't do this..." "I have to. Good-bye, Myrem." Miwcaimia placed the blindfold over her eyes and knotted it in place. Myrem whimpered sadly, her whole body trembling. "Quince, Mydech, thank you for your assistance. Please return to your positions." Myrem felt the pressure released from her shoulders as the two let go, but it was soon replaced by the sensation of Miwcaimia standing directly behind her, the front of her dress against the caprine's back. Myrem whimpered, her whole body trembling. "Please try to relax, Myrem." Miwcaimia gently stroked the fur on the caprine's head. "You have to be strong now, and face your death like the daughter of Maisa that I know you are." Myrem sniffled, trying to think back to the few voluntary sacrifices she'd witnessed at the Temple. She knew she had to be like them, unafraid to face death. She wanted to be strong, she had to be; she didn't want to be remembered as the unworthy little wimp who had died crying and pleading for her life. She forced herself to sit up straighter. "That's a good girl. Are you ready?" Myrem was struggling to ignore the cacophony of thoughts clamoring around inside her head, telling her that she was too young, too foolish, too inexperienced, and above all else not ready in any way at all. Myrem nodded once, barely perceptibly. Miwcaimia cupped the goat girl's nervously quavering chin in her left hand and with her other hand brought the edge of the knife close to her bared throat. She could feel how on edge Myrem really was, no matter how relaxed she was trying to appear. Hesitantly, she gently touched edge of the blade to the flesh of Myrem's neck. At the sensation of the cold, sharp metal against her furry skin, Myrem bleated out sharply and her tensed body jerked back. The caprine's terror had made her incontinent, and without warning her nervous bowels emptied their entire load into her panties. She could feel her disgusting waste weighing down her dainty underwear, soaking through the delicate fabric and oozing out the edges onto her stockings where she knelt. The acrid scent of urine and the nauseating stench of feces permeated the clearing, and immediately she knew that everyone else was aware of what she had done. Myrem began to sob again, ashamed and humiliated by her own reaction. Her uniform had been made just for her, and she had ruined and dishonored it. She would die reeking of her own ignobility. "Oh, Myrem..." Miwcaimia set the knife down, moved to pity by the sight of how upset the goat girl was. She knelt beside her and wrapped her in a hug, though Myrem's bound wrists meant she would be unable to reciprocate. "Myrem, it's alright..." "No, no it's not, I've ruined everything," Myrem choked out through her sobs. She tried to pull away from the priestess's embrace, and the shift in position made her loins squish unpleasantly, her feces oozing into her fur. She wailed miserably, "I- I deserve to die." "We all deserve to die, Myrem, I won't lie to you. But you shouldn't die ashamed. You have been called to a great honor." "And I accidented myself!" Myrem cried. "Myrem, listen to me," Miwcaimia pulled off Myrem's tear-stained blindfold so that she could look her in the eyes, "The flesh is weak. The body has no worth. Only your spirit matters. Please, please don't let the failure of your body affect your spirit. We don't think any less of you because of your accident. Right, sisters?" There was a chorus of sincere agreement from the small audience. "Some instincts can't be beaten by will, Myrem. That is why it is so important that you strive to defeat those instincts that you can. You can either let your shame consume you, or you can rise above it and die without fear." "But I don't want to die." Miwcaimia hugged the goat girl tighter. "I know. I know. They don't want to see you die. And I don't want to kill you." Myrem sniffled. "Then why...?" "Because that is the price of being aware of our own free will. The ability to choose to go against instinct is a gift from the gods. They sacrificed their own freedom and happiness to give that most valuable gift to us, and so to honor and thank them it is our solemn and Noble responsibility to use their gift as much as possible. Do you understand?" Myrem started to nod and stopped; she couldn't lie anymore. "Not really," she whispered. Miwcaimia nodded knowingly. "Let me help you understand, Myrem. Each of us has a calling and a duty. It would be easy to ignore them and live a long life of leisure and wanton pleasure, for that is our natural instinct. Instead, you and I and all your sister devotees have chosen to enroll here at the Academy and live in service to the gods, hard though that life may be. You have already proven your Nobility by choosing this difficult life of virtue for yourself." Myrem smiled shyly through her tears; Miwcaimia had called her Noble. "Did you know everything that would be expected of you when you made the commitment to enroll at the Academy?" Myrem shook her head. Her month here had been in many ways the most grueling month of her young life. "Do you regret your commitment?" "No. Not at all. I love it here," she replied earnestly. Grueling though it was, it had also been the most fulfilling month of her young life. "You would never want to break that commitment to the gods, would you?" Myrem vigorously shook her head, her fleshy goat ears flapping. The gods and the Academy had given her so much; a home, friends, guidance, purpose, all that and more. "You made a similar commitment when you joined the Cult. Did you know when you joined that the gods might call you to die?" "No," Myrem said. "But even if you did not know what you were choosing to commit yourself to, you still made the commitment nevertheless. You chose to join a private prayer circle, an intimate ceremony in the company of a half-dozen of your sisters, but in so doing you also chose to risk giving up your life. You promised to submit your life to the gods' will if called upon to do so. Now, the gods who have given you so much have called you to make good on your promise. They have offered you the honor of being a sacrifice to them, an honor that is more than any of us deserve. Are you going to deny them?" "I- I don't know..." "Your body and your life aren't important. Even a gnat has a body and life. You do understand that, right?" Myrem nodded. "What is important is your choice; the ability to choose is what separates us from ordinary beasts. You chose to promise to die if the gods called you to. You have been called, and now you must die. I'm sorry, but the Rules allow no room for mercy in that regard, and I am bound by them just as you are. You now have only one final choice to make." Myrem was listening intently. "You can choose to let your shame at the weakness of your flesh consume you, to die in fear and ignorance. You can fight powerlessly against the inevitable right up until your last ragged breath, and your death will be a hollow sacrifice because you have not truly submitted to the will of the gods or truly used the gift they suffered to give to you," Miwcaimia was looking directly at Myrem as she spoke, "Or you can choose to rise above all of that, and to die nobly and unafraid. You can accept your death as the truly honorable sacrifice that it is. This choice, the decision to give yourself over to death unselfishly and without resistance, is a far more valuable sacrifice than your worthless flesh alone could ever be." Myrem blinked back tears. She didn't want to die, but she also knew that she had promised to make her own wants subordinate to those of the gods. "The gods aren't punishing you by choosing you to be their sacrifice; they are honoring you by giving you the chance to demonstrate your devotion in the most powerful way possible. So, Myrem, understanding that there is no way you may leave this clearing alive, what is your decision?" Myrem swallowed and cleared her throat. The kneeling goat girl spoke softly, but everyone present heard her nonetheless. "I never knew the gods would call me so soon. But the gods put me on the path that brought me here. Even if I did not know it at the time, I followed their will then, and I want you all to know that the time I was here was the best month of my life. The gods have never steered me wrong yet, and it would be wrong of me to stop obeying them now just because I suddenly don't want to. If it is the will of the gods that I be your sacrifice today, then... then I choose to surrender myself t-t-to... to death," Myrem finished, her voice threatening to crack the entire time. It felt weird to say the words that would condemn her, and yet it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from her chest. She was going to die, but she was going to do it on her own terms. She wasn't afraid. She was satisfied. She was ready to find out what wonders the gods had in store for her in the Celestial Realm. Miwcaimia wrapped the determined goat girl in another tight hug; her panties squished wetly. With a handkerchief, Miwcaimia wiped the drying tears from Myrem's face. "As the gods will and as you choose, so let it be done, my brave sister." "I'm sorry I've made such a mess of everything." "Myrem, no one should be called to the Most Noble Act against their choice. You didn't understand, and that's not your fault." "No, I meant my accident. It stinks." Miwcaimia smiled and kissed the caprine lightly on her forehead. "We forgive you, Myrem. Your body may be weak, but we know your spirit is strong." "Myrem," Aavohalinnto spoke up, "I'm sorry I snapped at you before. I shouldn't have done that, and I'd hate for you to die thinking poorly of me." "It's alright. I forgive you, Aavohalinnto." "Thank you, Myrem. May the gods welcome you with joy." Myrem smiled. "Are you ready to try this again, Myrem?" Miwcaimia asked, satisfied that nothing more needed to be said. Myrem swallowed and nodded. "Alright." Miwcaimia made to blindfold Myrem again. "Wait." Miwcaimia hesitated. "May I die without the blindfold?" Miwcaimia smiled. "Of course, if that is your choice." Myrem nodded confidently. Miwcaimia cast the unneeded blindfold aside and once again took her position standing behind the bound and kneeling goat girl. She cupped her Myrem's chin in her left hand and raised the knife in her right. She looked down into Myrem's eyes looking up at her. "Good-bye, Myrem." "Good-bye, Miwcaimia. And thank you." Myrem now understood that there was more to this ceremony than the singular sacrifice of her insignificant life. Everyone present was making a sacrifice in their own way. Miwcaimia, for example, wasn't officiating here out of bloodlust or cold-hearted cruelty. She did not want to be a killer, but the gods had called her to be their priestess, and so she chose to do what they required of her, even if it meant executing one of her sisters in faith. Miwcaimia would sacrifice Myrem because it was her duty to obey the gods' will. Myrem redirected her gaze straight ahead at her audience, looking at each of them in turn. Their very presence here was likewise a sacrifice of will, a victory of their own devotion over their instinctual reflex to avoid death. They would watch Myrem die, and they would not act to turn away or to save her. They would raise their minds in prayer and thank the gods for their gift of will, a gift so powerful it could even overcome the instinct for life, and they would pray that they could be as strong in the face of death if and when they were called. Fully relaxed and breathing in deep, calm breaths, Myrem looked back up at Miwcaimia standing over her. Smiling, Myrem lightly nodded once. Miwcaimia didn't hesitate this time as she brought the knife down and sliced cleanly through Myrem's furry throat in one quick, smooth motion. Myrem winced as the sharpened blade cut through her fragile flesh with ease. Hot blood washed over Miwcaimia's hand as she drew the blade through Myrem's pulsing veins, cutting deeply, severing her arteries, and nicking her windpipe. Almost immediately, Myrem felt herself grow weaker. Blood spurted from her wound with each beat of her heart, arcing through the air to splash on the grass where the ruby-red droplets glittered and steamed in the sunlight. She could see her audience in front of her, watching in reverent silence. They did not avert their gaze or shy away, even as some of the first fountains of her blood splashed onto the edge of the brown blanket where they knelt. Myrem closed her eyes as her discomfort grew. Already she could feel herself growing cold, even though it was a warm summer day. Her heart was pounding away in her chest at an ever-increasing rate as more of her blood was pumped right out of her body. She could feel it running down her gray throat in thick rivulets to her chest, and her dress there became heavy as it was saturated with her blood. No wonder why Miwcaimia hadn't been concerned when she'd messed herself; her immaculate Dark Green dress was going to be ruined anyway. The heavy, coppery scent of her blood had completely overpowered the odor of her earlier fear, but Myrem could still feel it heavily in her panties; her shame seemed far away and long ago. Miwcaimia continued to hold the goat girl's chin up, keeping the fatal gash wide open. She risked looking down; Myrem's eyes were tightly closed, and there were tears leaking from the corners. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead even though she was shivering as though cold, and her skin looked sickly pale beneath her fur. As if she could sense Miwcaimia looking at her, the sacrificial goat girl opened her eyes and looked up at the priestess. "You're doing wonderfully, Myrem," Miwcaimia tried to reassure her, "don't try to fight it." Myrem opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wanted to say something nice, something to show her gratitude towards Miwcaimia, but she was finding it harder and harder to think coherently. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed shallowly through her damaged windpipe. "Thnghk..." she managed to gurgle. Miwcaimia softly hushed her. "Shhh. Be strong, Myrem." Myrem could feel a grim coldness welling up deep inside her, filling her body with the chill of death. Her heart was beating ferociously fast now, but the sanguinary flow from her neck had slowed to a trickle. Then, as though a switch had been thrown, the coldness seized her heart and stopped it abruptly. Seized by a sudden pain, the caprine squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth wide. Myrem exhaled in a bleat that rapidly devolved into a tortured, rattling gasp, and with that her breathing ceased. Miwcaimia felt an immediate change in Myrem's body when her spirit fled to the Celestial Realm. Her muscles went limp and her whole body sagged. There was not a sound to be heard in the clearing. Working on autopilot now, Miwcaimia unbound Myrem's wrists and ankles and laid her flat on her back with her arms crossed on her bloody chest. Even stained with blood, urine, and feces, Miwcaimia thought she looked beautiful. "Good-bye, Myrem. May you go to your reward in peace," Miwcaimia whispered, and bent forward to place a soft kiss on the goat girl's cold forehead. For the first time since she had sliced open Myrem's throat, Miwcaimia realized that she was crying. The priestess straightened up and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. She turned back to the half dozen witnesses and saw that many of them were crying as well, looking to her for guidance. "L-Let us pray," she choked out, and knelt down beside Myrem's corpse. The air was heavy with the scent of the blood of her Noble sacrifice, mingling with the fading stench of the defecation of her defeated fear. Looking at Myrem peacefully lying on the grass of the clearing in her Academy uniform, Miwcaimia was very proud of her. ** Author's Notes: Parts of this date back to January, 2010, when I idly wrote a fragment of a story in code on a piece of hotel stationery during MAGFest 8, and then later transcribed it onto my computer. The first full draft was begun in earnest on March 9, 2010. First draft completed March 15, 2010. Final editing completed March 17, 2010.