Reverse English

In this episode, we encounter one of those many times of what happens when technology falls into the wrong hands.
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Transcript

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Hi friends, and welcome to another episode of Forward Into the Past. I'm JC Rede, your host and narrator, and today we're delving back into the world of the strange and unusual stories of mid-century science fiction. Again, from the pages of thrilling wonder stories comes today's interesting sci-fi short story called Reverse English, written by John S. Carroll in 1948. The golden age of science fiction was considered to be from about 1936 to about 1948. The pulp era of science fiction came before this period in the early 1920s to the mid 1930s. As I mentioned in the first episode of this season, those early science fiction stories focused a lot on air travel or mechanical men. Uh, in other words, the focus was on the gizmos within the story. In the mid thirties, there was a definite shift in story tone, more focus on the people using the gizmos. the stories became more of a social platform. A recurring theme seemed to follow the path of questioning authority, moral dilemmas, tensions between men and women as women became more than just a side piece. So even with the technological advances placed within a science fiction story, the characters were still very relatable in the interim between World Wars. After the Second World War, this Golden Age really hit its zenith, but soon after came television and pulp magazines like Thrilling Wonder Stories where we got our last episode and this one soon folded. Science fiction, of course, navigated those muddy waters of the 1960s to reemerge in a renaissance in the early to mid seventies. For many people though, those images of the pulp Magazines and the stories that lay within hold a special place in our American literary development. And now I present to you the short story reverse English as published in Thrilling Wonder stories. October, 1948 and written by John S. Carroll. Reverse English by John s Carol. Me, I'm just a radio mechanic. No genius that is. But handy with a soldering iron. If it's genius, you want take my friend Bill Mara. He's a communications engineer, telephone, radio, or what have you. He's invented enough gimmicks so he doesn't have to work anymore, just putters around his basement, inventing more gimmicks. Thinking him up actually is all he does. Give him a screwdriver and a pair of pliers and he can wreck anything in five minutes. Well, that's where I come in. He thinks 'em up. I build him, he busts 'em, I fix 'em. And when he gets into a jam, I'm the guy comes to bail him out. Like for instance, this last gadget of his. Nothing dangerous about it, but it could have got him sunk in the river with his feet in a block of cement. It all started with an amplifier. I found the diagram in the mail when I came into the shop one morning. It looked like an ordinary audio amplifier at first sight, and I started laying out a chassis. Picking out parts, I noticed something. Even Bill can make a mistake sometimes, but I don't stick my neck out anymore, so I got him on the phone. Bill about this amplifier of yours. I started. Well, what about it? Never seen one before? Look bub, I've built hundreds of them. If I hadn't, I'd have built yours like you drew it here and you'd be stuck with it. Stuck with what? Okay, look at your coupling contenders. Maybe it's just a misprint, or you wrote m F where you met M F D, but if you use condensers that small, it might work, but you'd never hear a sound out of it. Low frequency cut off way above the audible limit. Well, I give you an A for effort anyway. Keep punching and build it the way I drew it and stop worrying Well, now what do you do with a guy like that? I built it. Had to test it with a scope to find out if anything got through. It Couldn't hear a sound when I delivered it. He just grunted. You mind letting me in on the secret? I asked now you've got an outfit that amplifies sounds. You can't hear who's gonna listen to it. He just tossed me a couple of sketches. That's the output section he explained. We'll connect it to the vertical sweep of a cathode ray tube. The rest of the circuit is an automatic time base, so you get standing wave patterns at any frequency. okay with me, but what are you gonna feed into it? Uh oh. I almost forgot. Midget condenser mic through a high pass filter. Cutoff at 12,000. Hm. Well, I still don't know him any more than I did at the beginning, but what the devil, I get paid for it, even if it doesn't work. A couple of weeks after I finished the outfit, I was still wondering, so I dropped in on his basement lab one night. He had the rig set up and working. The microphone was on the floor. Bill's dog, a non-descript pooch named McGinnis was tied up in front. Bill was stroking him, petting him, annoying him. And as far as I could see, nothing whatever was happening. The amplifier was running, the scope tube was lit, showing a nice steady baseline and nothing else. Hey, maybe your mic's no good. I said helpfully. No, it's okay. He muttered. Look, he picked up a little silver whistle and blew it. No sound came out that I could hear, but the dog jumped up as if he were shot and a nice pattern of standing wave showed up on the scope. Dog whistle, explained Bill. You can't hear it and I can't hear it. Too high frequency, but he can hear it. See? All right, I've got one of those whistles for my dog too. What's that gotta do with the price of yams in Patagonia? Okay, here's how I figure it. Dogs can hear supersonic frequencies. Maybe they talk to each other that way. So far no dice. Well now there it is. The guy's got 47 patents, three degrees in an honorary doctorate of science. Maybe it's just overworked, but it certainly sounds like he's chipped his crock. Talking dogs! I'm about to suggest a nice long rest for him when he hops out of his chair and beats it. Well, nothing to do, but relax and see what's next. He's back in about five minutes with a big yellow tom Cat, unties the dog and chases him. The cat's fur lies down again and he starts to prowl around. Looking at objects with typical cat curiosity. He rubs his nose against the microphone, sniffs, and looks around. Bill is watching the cat with considerable interest. So am I. The cat looks at us again at the scope and at the microphone. He walks around once, shakes his head, walks over to the microphone again, and puts his nose near it. I don't hear anything and Bill doesn't either, I don't think. But a big, beautiful pattern appears on the scope. It's followed by a string of shorter irregular peaks, and it stops as the cat turns to face us. I look at Bill and he looks at me. Then we both look at the cat. I always knew that dog was a dope bill utters. Any alley cat in town is Einstein by comparison. I could swear that Cat nodded his head at the remark. Anyway, he had a self-satisfied expression, which for a cat is almost a normal look anyway. Another row of peaks appeared on the scope screen. Bill's eyes bugged a little. You know, he said a little tensely. I think that Alley Rabbit actually understands what we're saying. The cat looked a little annoyed at that. A short wave train appeared on the screen. Then a long one, then two short ones. I couldn't get over the feeling that the cat had just said. Of course I do. Bill must have felt the same way. He was excited by now. Oh, shrimps and sweet cream for you, Tommy. He shouted to the cat. Turning to me, he exalted. Now I've got a real idea. Look Mike. He grabbed a scratch pad and started drawing a new schematic. See? We'll take the output of the amplifier and run it through a mixer oscillator stage. That way we can get a beat between a fixed frequency and the supersonic output of the amplifier. The beat should be in the audible range, and we'll be able to hear it. We won't need the scope. I want to hear what that cat is saying. I started to open my mouth. I closed it, then I opened it again. I spoke to the cat. Say Meow to the gentleman, Tommy. I had it coming. The cat looked me straight in the eye, emitted a raucus sound, something between Yeah, and turned away. You ever have a cat give you the Bronx Cheer I left. There was no particular trick to building the new gimmick. Just a question of the right coils. I'm no genius by any means, but I can calculate an lc ratio. I delivered it and tried to forget the whole thing, but I've got as much curiosity as the next guy, so I didn't wait more than a week. Down in the basement. Bill's sitting there having words with the cat. Bill's talking directly to the cat. The cat's replies are coming out of the loudspeaker on my new setup. The cat's talking something that sounds like Hindustani. I stood it for a while and it got too much for me. How come? I popped. He understands English seems like, why doesn't he speak it? The cat looks at me and says, yeah. Bill says, when I could ask you the same question, remind me to do it sometime. Meanwhile, he is speaking English. That's what it sounds like to him when I speak it. His hearing apparatus is different. That's all. Now, wait a minute. I squawked gullible. That's me, but I still don't believe that a cat speaks English! You've heard of Pig Latin. Haven't you said, bill mildly. Why not cat English? Ask a foolish question. Get a foolish answer. I replied, you ought to be writing radio scripts. With jokes like that, even Milton Berle couldn't get his option picked up. Don't be so damn superior. Bill growled The Beast has never heard any other language. He's lived here all his life. Why shouldn't he speak English? Well cat fashion anyway. The cat moved its nose to the mic and some assorted sounds came out at the speaker. Sounded like Esparanto this time. Bill nodded. He agrees with me. He said, smugly. I gave up. I took my fedora, jammed it down on the top of my noggin and started to leave. Bill snapped off the amplifier switch, motioned me to wait and started to feed the cat. When he got through serving lunch, he came over to me and said, build me another one. Portable up battery operated this time. I've gotten more ideas. Cats can't be the only animal smart enough to talk. The cat looked up from its dinner and made a face. Luckily, the amplifier was turned off, so I missed his parting shot. I beat it. Business was slow for the next few weeks. Maybe they're making radios better now, but I didn't have much repair business and I hadn't heard from Bill since delivering his new battery operated, portable, whatever it was. So I told my kid assistant to mind the shop for the evening, and I went out to the track. Two bucks of my dough on any horse's nose will raise his wind resistance to the point where he can't win a race. But what the devil, it keeps me out in the open air. Anyway. I prowled around the stables a bit. I know these one horsepower, oat motors are obsolete, but I like them. Times I think the world was a better place to live when old Dobbin was vice president in charge of transportation. There's a little gathering around one stall, and I decided to look into matters. Middle of the group is Bill Mara, and he's tinkering with the portable gimmick. He's having words with a horse and the horse seems to be holding up his end of the conversation pretty well. And I suppose the language was horse English, but it sounded like Lithuanian to me. Bill seemed to understand it though and he was translating for the group. General idea seems to be this bunch of touts wants to know if the horse is going to win his race. The horse keeps insisting. It's a foolish question in any way. Why not ask the jockey who's going to ride him as far as the race is concerned? The jocks, the boss and the horse does as he's told. since this is what every racetrack tout is always telling you, you'd think they'd agree with him. Seems like they don't really believe it though. Not even when they get it right from the horse's mouth. Meanwhile, the nag gets tired of this foolishness and clams up. Bill turns and says, huh, look boys, he's told you all. He intends to. He thinks, all this is silly. One of the touts is stubborn. Oh, he's gotta know if he can win or not. He's running the race, ain't he? He must have spoke to the other horses. Maybe, says bill, but he doesn't wanna talk and I don't know any way to make him. Some disgusted sounds came out of the loudspeaker. Sounds like Swahili this time. Bill listens. Okay, he says he doesn't figure a more than show. His feet hurt. The group breaks up like magic. They all beat it for the $2 show window. Bill tells the horse he's sorry to have bothered him. Considerate guy, Bill. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one big guy looking at us curiously. He's wearing a sharp suit and a tie with the Aurora Borealis embroidered in purple and green on a gold background. I make it all about $500 on the hoof. Looks familiar too, but I can't place 'em. We walk over to the track and I spend the next hour cheering my horses into last place. My luck is running as usual. Fifth Race comes along and I see the horse Bill's been talking to. He's right on the rail. Well, I figured this will be worth watching. The start is a good one and this nag, uh, his name is Roll Merrilee, is two lengths ahead of the quarter. He's running easy and doesn't seem to have any competition. The boy hasn't touched the whip to him yet. At the half things are pretty much the same at the three quarter pole. The field is spread out a bit, but Merrilee still leads by more than a length. I begin to wonder what those touts will do to Bill for making them play an easy winner for show money. Just as they come into the stretch, I can see a little break in merrily stride. So help me. He's running like a dame in Tight shoes. He drops back a little bit at a time. Hendy who's riding him looks a bit startled and applies the whip, but it's no dice. Two of the others pass him, and at the finish it's roll merrily third, just like he said he would. Bill looks up as if he's just finished balancing his checkbook and says, well, that's what he said. He starts to walk away as if the experiment was finished and he'd found out all he wanted to know. The big guy who was watching over at the stable walks up to him, I've got a job for you. He says, Don't need a job. Says Bill. I retired five years ago. Yeah, I put in, he doesn't have to work anymore. Shut up. punk, says the big guy to me. He turns to Bill. When Lucky Marietta offers you a job, you take it see? Bill looks worried. He hands me the portable and says, take this home. I'll see you later. Uhuh grunts Mariano, I'm hiring you and that gadget. Bring it along, and chase that lug. Well, nothing I could do, so I beat it. After a few days, I got worried. I hadn't heard from Bill and neither had his housekeeper. She didn't figure anything wrong. He often went away without telling her anything, but I knew better. I went to the cops. Nobody was at the desk except the sergeant and he was having a nap with his shoes off. He wasn't too happy when I woke him up. Bill Mara's been kidnapped. I said, How's that? He yawned. Well, I started, he invented a gadget to talk to horses and. For a minute. I almost took you serious. The sergeant said every time there's a murder in town, some crackpot comes in here and confesses, he's done it. We have a show on Broadway who killed Cock Robbins. Some jerk comes in, says he's the guy now there's a movie. My brother talks with horses. You say he is been kidnapped. You just stop smoking that stuff and you'll be okay. And if I find out where you get it, I'll. Look. I'm no crackpot. I built the gadget for him. Oh, that's all brother. Now I've heard everything. Go away and leave me rest. Oh, wait a minute. I Squawked. Lucky Mariano and. The sergeant sat up abruptly. Did you say Lucky Mariano? Yes. Lucky Mariano, I insisted. He and Bill, hold it. The sergeant was wide awake now. On him. We'd like to get something. Uh, all right. Tell me from the beginning. I told him. He looked skeptical enough, but he couldn't laugh off my description of Mariano. Now it fits. All right. Those neckties are his. But how do you know he kidnapped Bill Mara? Sounds like he just hired him and Bill went of his own free will. Far as I know, there's no law against talking to horses. Not even if Mariano does it. That is if your pal can really talk to horses, and that still goes down pretty hard. Well, Mariano believes it. I was mad now, but what are you gonna do about Bill. Can't see nothing we can do about Bill. Bring us some evidence of a snatch and maybe the F FBI can do something. I left. I wanted to punch that big lug right in the jaw, but punching police sergeants, especially at headquarters, is not good policy. The law frowns upon it. So I went back to the shop and tried to do some heavy thinking. It came out all wrong. I didn't know where Bill was. I'm no detective. I've got no gun permit. I weighed 124 pounds dripping Webb and a rocket each hand. in short blanked opportunity knocked though. He didn't look like opportunity for the moment. He looked like one of Lucky Mariano's, less lovable gangsters, but he was carrying Bill's gadget and he had a note from Bill. It was short and to the point. Something's popped. Probably a condenser or a resistor. Fix it and send it back with the boy. He'll wait. Well, I fumbled with it and tried to read some meaning or code into the note, but it was pretty clear there wasn't any, and anyway, Bill's mind doesn't run that way. Still by the handwriting I could see that he was pretty nervous and I had a mental picture of those hoodlums trying to figure whether the gimmick was really busted or whether he was stalling. I hooked up the test set and found the trouble in about two minutes. Watching my guest out of the corner of my eye, I kept on testing, stalling for time. Finally, I got it. Look, look pal. She's pretty well shot. I've gotta put in some new coils and rewire a whole sub-assembly. I looked at the mug nervously. He shifted his cut of gum around his jaw first from right to left, and then vice versa, yawned, and said, go ahead, bub, I can wait. I'll stay till you'll finish. Just don't make any phone calls. Luckily, I had a couple of old police radio telephone's handy. I got the parts I needed out of one of them and got to work. Three hours later it was done and the tough guy left with it. And I left five minutes after he did. Same sergeant, same desk, same police headquarters. He looked at me sour like. You back again? What's the horses telling you now? Nothing much. I came back at him, but they'll be talking to you pretty soon. Something new has been added. How? What's that? I told him about my visitor and the repair job. What I did was add a modulator, oscillator, power amplifier, and a few feet of wire for an antenna coil around inside the case. So what does that make it? Simple. It makes it a radio transmitter. Not only will he hear what the horses are saying, but anyone in town with a radio turn to that frequency will too. And where does that get you? The sergeant was still puzzled but not bored now. Well, I took the filter off the mic too, so not only will it broadcast the horse talk, but anything else that said around the room as well. Also, I fixed the switch so it shuts off the speaker while the rest of it keeps running. It'll broadcast all their conversations while they think it shut off. Yeah. But... The sergeant acted like a professor putting his finger on the nub of a problem. But who is going to be listening? Oh. Now it was my turn. Well, that's easy. I tuned the whole thing to police frequency. Every radio patrol car, in town will hear it. Dangerous for Marra. They find out, isn't it? Well, that's your job now. He's entitled to some police protection, isn't he? A cop came in from the hall, picked up the desk phone and dialed a number. Repair, send the direction finder car around. Someone's jamming our radio. I grabbed the sergeant and dragged him to the radio room. In between crashes of static and puzzled calls from the two-way radio cars. There was a hum of voices. I recognize Marianos and Bills talking to a horse and the horse answering in what sounded like Portuguese. Bill was translating and Mariano was giving bill questions to try on the horse. You believe me now? I asked the sergeant who was scratching his head with one finger at a time. Ah, beats the bejesus outta me. That's Mariano all right he said. Okay, then let's go. Wait, where? The sergeant had me there for a minute. Obviously, Mariano and Bill were at the track now. Well, just as obviously they'd beat it soon as they got their information, they'd place their bets by phone later. But where? I've got it, catch that direction finder car when it gets here. That gimmick will go on broadcasting or wherever they take it. We'll chase 'em with the direction finder. Huh, maybe you got something. The sergeant snapped a few words into the intercom box and we walked out in front of the police station. The service car pulled up in about five minutes and we hopped in. I looked over the equipment. Hey, pretty sharp that. Haven't seen one of those since I was in the Air Force. Yeah, said the driver, automatic radio compass. Beats the old fashioned loop aerial direction finder, all hollow. All I've gotta do is watch the left right indicator while I drive. I started to do a bit of figuring. There were three of us in the car, the sergeant, the driver, and myself. Suppose we catch Mariano then what? He isn't gonna be alone, that's for sure. And even alone, he's dangerous. And the other gimmick, the one I hadn't mentioned to the sergeant, it didn't seem to be working yet. Dang muttered the driver under his breath and swung the car around. Either we've passed them or they've passed us on the way back to town. The direction indicator had started to call its lefts and rights wrong. Now headed back to town, it was swinging properly again. It didn't make sense to me. Unless Mariano had taken a plane, he couldn't have gotten past us that way. No cars had gone by in the opposite direction in 10 minutes. Suddenly I got an idea. I snapped on the loudspeaker. Calling Car 25. Car 25. Signal 34. Signal 34. Main And Broadway. Main and Broadway. I knew it. I should have thought of that. The gadgets on the same frequency as the police calls. We're chasing police headquarters now, not Mariano. I shouted. Disgustedly. Okay. Wise guy, this was your idea. What do we do now? Said the sergeant. Well, we wait and we keep the loud speaker turned on and we chase Marianna with the radio compass when we hear him. Pretty soon we got another signal from Bill's Gadget. The radio compass swung back and forth, finally settled down and made sense as we headed out of town again. I kept my ear peeled to the radio and my fingers crossed. It was Mariano's voice in the loudspeaker now. Getting clearer, so I figured we were warm. Okay, Mera, all I need, shut it off and get into the car. I said shut it off. That whistle is driving me nuts. What whistle? It was Bill's voice. That damn peanut whistle coming from your gimmick. Mariano's voice was getting exasperated now. Uh, nothing's coming out of that, that I can hear. Besides it's shut off. Look for yourself. You try to tell me I'm nuts. Mariano's voice was dangerous, tight, low pitched. I hear it and if you don't stop it. Well, it seems the other gimmick is working better than I figured. Maybe it'll be Bill's finished too if we don't get there soon. Seems like I kind of underestimated it though Mariano's voice comes through again. For the last time, Marice, stop it. Look, I can't even move my hands. That sounds doing things to me now, I tell you, Mariano's voice had changed. He was whining now. I'm telling you, the thing is shut off. There's only one switch on it and the pointer says off. Besides, I don't hear a thing. You must have rocks in your head. My jaw dropped. The big tough Mariano licked by a little peanut whistle. Bill the milquetoast genius talking to the toughest gangster in town like that. Maybe I don't know as much about the ultrasonics as I should. I got nervous. What's your signal strength? I asked the driver. R nine. He snapped. We're getting pretty close now. Watch that bend in the road. We tore into the bend, screamed back into the straightaway. Dead ahead was a big black limousine with slots, where the rear window should have been. I'd never seen it before, but I didn't have to. It was Mariano's Armored special. Huh? J. Edgar Hoover would've been green with envy. Okay. Sarge, there they are. Your show now. Right. The sergeant fingered his 38 police positive. It was all the armament we had and not half enough the way I felt. Alright. Bobby Sergeant was the professional cop now and he knew his business. Pull ahead of him and I'll wave him off the road. The mechanic was a little green around the chops, but he had spunk. He kicked the accelerator pedal hard, pulled around Mariano's car and held his pace. The sergeant waved. Mariano's driver tried to pull ahead, but Bobby could drive a bit too. He hit the gas and nosed over. Mariano's chauffeur could chance us or the ditch. He made up his mind suddenly and stomped on the brake. We screeched to a stop and the sergeant hopped out with the gun in his hand. Out bum. He snapped at the driver. The driver knew a 38 when he saw one. He hopped. The sergeant handcuffed him and shoved him into the radio car. Yours, Bobby, take him back to town and jug him. The boys will get something on him later. We'll ride back in Mariano's car. The sergeant slipped into the driver's seat with Bill alongside of him. I got in back with Mariano. Mariano cringed in the far left corner of the seat which didn't make me mad either. The more space between us, the better. I looked at him and the gadget. Bill spoke up from the front seat. What's eating him? He said to nobody in particular. He started to complain about a sort of peanut whistle, and now he acts like he wants to crawl in a hole and pull the hole in after him. I cannot tell a lie. I said I did it with my little hatchet. You know, the mixer oscillator in there. Your idea to make the ultrasonic frequencies audible? Yeah. Well, to get an audible beat, it has to be tuned within a couple of KC of the ultrasonic frequencies you wanna beat with it. I set it at 14,000 cycles. Yeah. What's that gotta do with Mariano Well, it struck me funny that he'd swallow your gimmick and the idea of talking with horses. Mariano's a suspicious type, and you'd expect him to think it was a racket of some kind. The sergeant cut in. Yeah, that's how I figured it. I couldn't see it a whole thing myself at first, and I couldn't figure Mariano falling for it. So easy. Well, you know, most people can't hear a thing above 10 or 11,000 cycles, but occasionally you get someone who can hear all the way to 15 or 16,000. I figured Mariano's one of them. He must have heard horse talk, but he's no good at languages and couldn't figure out what they were saying. Well, that's what he needed bill for. Okay. Now I believe anything I'll be seeing flying saucers next, but what's this peanut whistle that shrivels him up so? I don't hear any whistle. Right. You don't. I don't. And Bill doesn't, but Mariano does. It's the oscillator. I fed some of the 14,000 cycle output into a one inch permanent magnet speaker. There was more kick to it than I figured that's all. Mariano looked at me pleadingly. Shut it off. Mr. I'll confess to anything. Even kidnapping judge Crater only stop that whistle. I felt sorry for the big lug. I reached into the box and yanked out the B battery. Mariano shuttered and straightened up. He reached for his pocket. Oh, that dim witted sergeant had forgotten to frisk him. Mariano leaned forward with an Army 45 in his hand. He stuck it in the sergeant's neck. Now wiseguy. Turn around and head for the country. I'll take care of you and your scientific pals altogether. Mariano was watching the sergeant, the cop did some quick thinking and suddenly swerved the car. The spin threw Mariano off balance for a second. In that second, I realized that I still had the B battery in my hand. I conked Mariano on the head with three pounds of zinc, carbon, and asphalt. It did the job nicely. First time, in fact, that a guy ever was knocked cold with only 67 and one half volts, though I have to admit not applied in the usual way. By the time he came too, we had him in a cell. We never did get him on the kidnapping. As it happens, we didn't have much proof of that, and Bill didn't feel like testifying. So they held him as a vagrant while the FBI looked him up and they found he could be sent to jail for having a poor memory. He kept on forgetting that March 15th, his income tax day. He can take a correspondence course in mnemonics, in Atlanta. Anyway, I took the whistle and the police transmitter out of Bill's gadget and gave it back to him. I was still puzzled about one thing. Bill was idly thumbing a roll of bills big enough to make Rockefeller envious. How come I said that you didn't holler for help right away? 4,000 4500 4600, 47, huh? Oh, well, why should I? I was doing okay, making a nice bit of change on side bets with Mariano. You mean I sputtered? You mean you were betting on horses with Mariano and winning? Sure. Why not? I was translating, wasn't I? Well gang, that concludes another episode of Forward Into the Past. I'm gonna keep diving into the treasure trove of Project Gutenberg to find more sci-fi stories and a few adventure stories as well. And soon enough, I will find a few more Nick Carter mysteries. Since I am an aficionado of the mystery genre. I'd like to take this moment to remind you all to not only subscribe to the show using whatever your favorite platform is, but to please leave a rating or a review. This helps get my podcast in front of thousands of additional listeners, and that boosts my visibility to additional aggregators and list profiles. On top of that, it totally boosts my self-esteem. If you're listening on Apple Podcast, Spotify, Google, or podcaster, it's fairly easy and straightforward to do. You simply navigate back to the show page, not the current episode page, the show page, and scroll until you locate ratings and reviews and simply follow the prompts. It's even easier if you use a podcast platform like Good Pods, which combines the social aspect of Facebook or Instagram and podcast streaming now, that's the one that I use and I highly recommend. Okay, well, it looks like I've rambled long enough. Again, as always, friends, and I mean this sincerely. Thanks for listening. Keep sharing those stories and be a good human Bye for now.