Not holding back, professor Zhutra had completely neglected decreasing air pressure and let his talkativeness go wild, disregarding Gromov's growing impatience.

The latter had to stop the ongoing decompression, fearing that his prisoner would die before he had finished.

Finally, the explanation was over, confirmed partially by Samara, who kept nodding or shaking her head. The apparition was running low of its power, and the woman became fader and fader, leaving the chamber ghost-free. Gromov, who had no possibility to disappear conveniently, welcomed the conclusion of the speech with thankfulness of a Christian martyr, thrown to ferocious beasts.

[Pavel Morava's remark: Allegedly, the early Christians were delighted when Romans tortured them to death as they deemed their martyrium to be the shortcut to Heaven.]

"Time to get out, Khamal."

"Thank you, Sava."

During the hours wasted in delivering his prolonged monologue, Professor Zhutra appeared to develop Stockholm's syndrome and insisted on being on the first name terms with his captor.

"So glad we made everything clear between us. No more secrets. I feel so refreshed!"

"Fine."

With a throbbing headache, Gromov wondered when exactly had gone the punishment astray; Zhutra was returning to his room gleaming and victorious while he, in the role of Grim Reaper, needed painkillers.

"Simone, I'm back."

"Oh, Khamal!"

Somewhat amazed, the young student hugged Zhutra with an artificial smile. It seemed she was not particularly happy with her teacher coming back.

"Don't mind me."

Gromov pushed himself inside the room and took down hidden surveillance gadgets installed by Uriah.

"You can't be serious," shrieked Simone when she realized what he was doing. "Those are cameras. I thought you had only microphones here."

Slightly blushing, Gromov was about to shift the blame on Uriah, but Zhutra came to the rescue.

"Simone, let bygones be bygones. No need to dwell on minor issues. Sava and I have decided to start over."

"Sava? Who is it?"

"That would be me."

"Is it so? I thought your first name was Voyeur, Captain Gromov."

"Why? Have you demoted me from a wannabe rapist to mere Peeping Tom, Miss Yeuxbleu? My shares are falling down, I reckon."

To express her dissatisfaction, infuriated Simone took a long breath in, green eyes shining menacingly. "You sneaky bastard..."

"Calm down, sweetheart," Zhutra stepped in. "We should calm down, everyone."

"I'm absolutely calm, you moron. I'm like an unperturbed lake, you imbecile."

Saying her piece, Simone ostensively sat down on the floor, crossed her legs, and positioned herself into an upright yoga pose.

Silently, Gromov wondered. "What is it? The stance of bloodthirsty Khali?"

Meanwhile, Zhutra, unhappy about his reconciliation with the captain going into the drain, chimed in: "I almost forgot, Sava. The account on The Emperor In The Mask I gave you was awfully simplified so what about lending you a book on the topic."

Gromov's migraine reappeared. "Simplified, you say?"

"Absolutely. Here you are. This is a signed copy, so please make sure to give it back."

With these words, he pulled out of his bag a book with a title in scarlet letters:

ENEMY OF HUMANKIND

The stolen chapters in the history

The bestselling recapitulation of what happened and you are not allowed to know.

by Gordon Brown

On the cover, a red mask on the deep blue background was depicted, surrounded by a crowd of screaming and terrified people.

"Isn't it a bit counterintuitive," grunted Gromov pointing his finger at the subtitle. "Since when are bestsellers something we are not allowed to know?"

"Excellent question, Sava. I challenge you to find a copy anywhere. All were removed from libraries and scrapped by DOZOR."

"Ha!"

Still frozen in her yoga pose, Simone laughed. "I remember someone who claimed the DOZOR did not exist. Khamal, have you changed your mind since yesterday?"

"No, I haven't, Simone. They call them DOZOR, so do I. But I don't think they are an organization behind the government. They are probably officials from the Ministry of Defense, censoring uncomfortable truths. I do not imagine assassins roaming around and killing citizens."

"Missing any integrity, aren't you? Once DOZOR appears, you'll sing a different tune, you son of ..."

While his guests were bickering, Gromov inspected the borrowed book. "Hiding uncomfortable truths? Whoever they are, they did a poor job. This is a second edition. Perhaps they are not so dangerous, Miss Yeubleux."

"Sure," snapped Simone. "You men stick together, ganging up on women all the time."

"Do we? If anything, I thought you were the smarter one out of your duo. Try not to fail my trust."

Simone looked half-pleased and half-annoyed. "Oh, did you? What about being less smug, then? Do you care to have my opinion on the whole matter? My dissertation covered the Emperor in the mask to a great extent. I concluded the calamity he brought on himself was directly related to his suppressed homosexuality."

"Suppressed homosexuality? This is my favorite part," Gromov smirked. "We can chat later on that topic. Your insight in psychology never ceases to amaze me."

Demonstrating extraordinary flexibility, Simone stretched on the floor: "I'll do my best to entertain you, Captain Gromov."

With the sight of her unnaturally entangled body, deeply engraved into his retinas, Gromov headed to the door. "Excuse me now, you two. Thank you for the book, Khamal. I plan on digesting the information you've provided. See you later."

But before he returned to his room, he checked on Uriah, who was sleeping, not revealing any signs of waking up soon. The excitement of saving two survivors could have been the very last moments the hacker lived through.

With no options of how to help him, Gromov sighed, silently leaning Uriah's improvised spear, which stayed tossed on the floor, against the wall.

Then, he adjusted Uriah's blanket with a certain tenderness. "All is fine, you moron," he mumbled afterward. "I am sure you'd appreciate Zhutra's story better than me. Thinking of it, isn't Khamal your long-lost brother? You seem to think alike."

After that, Gromov picked up the egg and treasure chest left in the extraction chamber. Finally, he dropped into the armchair, opened ENEMY OF MANKIND, and glanced over the introduction that made him cringe inside.

'My precious readers,' started Mr. Gordon Brown, 'I undertook a challenging task to have a closer look at a person and history of which we can find only scarce or deleted accounts.'

Gromov had a habit of disputing with authors he did not agree with.

"You freaking bastard," he growled. "You managed to write five hundred pages on a case you know nothing about? As a taxpayer, I demand harsher censorship!"

'My work required me to abandon traditional methods in researching, leaving me with no other choice than to join missing dots with my projections and approximations.'

"Project and approximate my ass," Gromov snarled. "You made things up, and now you want to impress clueless simpletons with fancy words."

'Some may raise their eyebrows upon this book, but the veil imposed on our past needs to be torn down because the enemy whom I plan to introduce to my readers has not disappeared. The legacy of this person still lingers here even though immense efforts have been made to erase memories of him from our textbooks and archives.'

"Now I'm scared," Gromov grunted. "This is going to be long reading."

And he was not mistaken. A page after page, the mystery of what happened almost five hundred years ago had been untangled, offering suspension, horror, and twists so remarkable that Gromov needed to fuel his credulity with an immense supply of vodka.

The book had everything that a movie-like story should have: the forgotten lore, an evil genius, and a faction fighting the futile yet rightful struggle.

If someone decided to present it to a public audience, the new blockbuster might be born, satiating the endless hunger for shallow spectacles in which the good prevailed over the evil.

'So we will never learn what the name of that scientist was,' continued venerable Gordon Brown. 'Whoever he was, he undoubtedly pushed the limits of our understanding of quantum mechanics, reaching the sphere beyond our current capacity.

Be it an accidental invention or result of methodical hard work, this scientist decided to use the fruits of his genius to establish a technological empire, gradually adding colonized planets into a never-seen-before network.

No one in his times knew on which principles were based his ITD modules (Instant Communication Device), his peers could only speculate about quantum teleportation, which was the well-known concept back then, but we are sadly not any further in exploiting it today than we were on the start of our colonization journey.

Now imagine how great influence the IDTs had on the whole Solar system. After the installation, performed silently, the planets could reach each other in an internet-like fashion, experiencing almost no lagging during the data transfer.

Even though the technology was delivered in the form of a black box, there was no nation or planet that would refuse to install it. Understandably, the concerns regarding security had been raised, but having IDTs or not having them poised such a huge difference in the interplanetary competition that only fools would refuse them.

Of course, many governmental bodies demanded to disclose the technology to their examination, but no matter how hard they pressed, the answer stayed the same. Take it or leave it.

Even force was rendered ineffective when dealing with the man's business organization as his production lines stayed situated in space bases, mainly within the asteroid rings. Every attempt to approach them, be it peaceful or forceful, resulted in immediate self-destruction and repercussions towards perpetrators.

The repercussions were severe! The instant denial of services often led to panic and dissatisfaction of planet inhabitants who relied on ICDs more and more.

In a usual scenario, the representatives of planets involved in the attacks had no other choice than to execute real culprits (or dedicated scapegoats as people of influence seldom bore the responsibility for their actions).

Still, the attacks had never ceased to exist. And while the general population was unaware of the ongoing struggle, the battle over their head intensified to the point when coordinated ambush of several planets, performed via third parties, led to capturing several figureheads of ICD business.

Those people were probably intended to be held as bargain chips, but in reality, their captors soon found they were dealing with zealous fanatics who never hesitated to commit suicide if they were given the slightest chance.

Following this, the man behind the ICD technology made his first and most shocking public appearance.

Exactly at the same time, all over the Solar System, stunned netizens realized that every phone, tablet, or TV screen broadcast a man in a stylized mask who introduced himself as the founder of ICD Empire.

Impartially, he informed everyone of the assaults against ICD bases, remembered names of deceased executives, and finally, he presented a list of military officers and politicians who allegedly planned the aggression. He finished his entry with a memorable requirement: All of them must be punished. Take care of them, my subjects.

It cannot be stressed enough that common citizens have never learned about the existence or origins of the ICD Empire. Until then, they have lived under the illusion that the interplanetary communication network they used for years has been established by state institutions. At the most, they thought the ICD brandmark belonged to an ordinary company, operating under the laws like everybody else.

The lesson they were about to receive in a few following days was an awaking call - at least, many historians claimed so in their retrospective analysis.

At first, no one really cared about that masked man's accusation as almost all commentators kept calling for bringing representatives of a company that abused their platform for an illegal broadcast to the court.

The state propaganda resonated with their points of view, explaining the military actions as a necessary step in a taming business entity that has gotten out of proper control.

Half-mockingly and half-seriously, the man from the screen was named The Emperor In The Mask, and the name stuck with him until his bitter end. In that period of time, there was no person in the whole Solar System who would not expect the ICD Empire to keep resisting the united front of the enraged public.

And certainly, no one expected The Emperor In The Mask to appear again on their screens!'