After the dramatical events culminating in Simone's ascension to the ranks of chosen ones (Gromov did not omit irony from his assessment), the situation on the ship calmed down. Only the roles switched.

Uriah, who had stood from the dead, was slowly recovering while Simone fell into a coma-like state. According to Samara, it was a temporary adaptation of Simone's organism to the altered body, undertaken in the world in which Doll had allegedly grown up.

Gromov assumed the world to be Samara's virtual realm. The details stayed unclear, left for his imagination, as his wife disappeared again without completing their honeymoon, so he started to wonder whether their relationship was to remain strictly platonic.

Hence, he spent most of his time nursing Uriah and playing chess with Doll. To his delight, his skills had increased significantly, so he deemed himself a worthy rival even for artificial intelligence.

"I doubt this is the case, my dearest father," Doll corrected him once he had expressed such an opinion. "But it seems you have learned to distribute chess-solving tasks to the ship's computer. Congratulations!"

Gromov considered the congratulation smug and insincere, but he could not deny the integration. When focusing, he could perceive the whole ship as a living, pulsing creature.

Not that he was too keen on using this ability, as the interaction felt like vertigo, a new sensation for the seasoned battle pilot. Moreover, he made sure not to raise suspicion with Zhutra or Uriah, so everything supernatural stayed banned, even though Uriah would undoubtedly find it thrilling and exciting.

As for Zhutra, the lonely man attempted to ask about the missing student; one day, he even tried to knock on the door of Simone's cabin, but to no avail.

Cemented in the conviction that he fell into the hand of a ruthless sadist, Zhutra did his best to avoid Gromov. Once they met in the corridor, Zhutra pressed himself to the wall in fear he would disrupt Gromov's personal space. The latter offered him a friendly smile:

"Hope you aren't bored, Khamal," he said. "I'm a bit worried about leaving you alone. But Simone and I, how to put it mildly, the bed's trembling when we are occupied, so we do not have time to entertain you."

He hugged Zhutra's shoulder amicably. Tactfully, the man tried to get away, but since the Synthesis, Gromov's strength soared to an inhuman level, so he could just squeeze the life out of his victim if he were inclined to.

Should Gromov have adopted Doll's perspective, Zhutra would become a lower lifeform, not worthy of any consideration, mere livestock or pest. Even though Gromov did not feel the burning hatred for the living, he still doubted the meaning of Zhutra's existence.

It was not the first time he thought this way. But if he could restrain himself when Colonel Steiner had been sending pilots and gunners to their deaths, he had no reason to start his murdering spree with Zhutra, whose only sin was the fact he had been raised as a useless parasite.

"No need to worry," Zhutra rashed to a quick response. "Glad you both get along so well. Who would expect..."

"Expect what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just pondering aloud. It was a couple of days since I met her. Is she alright?"

"Absolutely fine. Sleeping all the time. You better check her yourself."

"Not necessary.

"I do insist."

Gromov towed Zhutra to the door of the cabinet and unlocked them. Like Sleeping Beauty, Simone was lying in bed under a neatly arranged duvet, raising and falling with the rhythm of her breath. Seeing no proof of excessive violence, Zhutra did not overstay his welcome and backed away under the pretext of not waking her up.

Before he could leave, Simone moved.

"Wait for a second, Khamal," she said in the crispy, singing voice. "Stay still!"

Dressed in a nightgown, Simone stood up, poured water into the glass, and drank it thirstily.

"I'm great," she responded to Gromov's inquiring glance. "I'm grateful for the chance you gave me, my dearest..."

Being sure she intended to use Doll's favorite salutation, Gromov smirked, amused he had gained another daughter. And he did not even sleep with Samara. If things proceeded this way, he would become the father of an endless crowd without being physically engaged.

Thankfully, Simone was clever enough to stop before Zhutra could marvel at what kind of games they had enjoyed in bed. Stretching up, she watched her teacher with a naughty and gleeful expression.

"What an incredible enjoyment," she purred. "I met a new world, broadened my horizons, and my body is not the same anymore. All that thanks to Sava."

While Zhutra failed to recognize the hidden meaning behind her words, Gromov inspected Simone with his discerning eyes. Her brain changed, reminded a mix of the artificial and human aura. She had every right to claim that Samara was her mother now.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Zhutra gabbled and, once again, tried to run away. "Splendid! Joy-ous! I... I was worrying without reason. Silly me!"

"Quite the contrary!"

There was an unusual activity within Simone's frontal lobe: a distinct sparkle, streamlined to Simone's optic nerves and irises, rendering them almost dark blue with bulging retinal blood vessels.

"You are my best friend, Khamal, aren't you?" Simona asked in a weird intonation, a priest singing monotonous litany.

Hypnotized, Zhutra was not able to snap out of her demanding sight, attracted as a cobra to a fakir's flute.

"Yes, Simone. You know I am."

"I bet you'll do anything for me."

"Absolutely!"

"Do you understand that Sava saved your life?"

"Yes, I do."

"You have to be thankful, Khamal."

"I will."

"He interrogated you in the decompression chamber for a good reason. It was your fault not to tell Captain Gromov the truth."

"Yes, I am so ashamed."

"A pity your brain has been damaged, and you cannot remember things."

Fascinated, Zhutra nodded seriously.

"I have a damaged brain," he repeated with tears in his eyes. "I can't remember anything."

"But do not despair," continued Simone kindly. "Fear not. You need to count. Every moment! In the ship library, you find plenty of mathematical exercises. While you are on the ship, you need to practice. Minute after minute with no rest. Understand? This is the remedy! And you can go now."

When the sparkle disappeared, Simone staggered and covered her bloodshot eyes. "Go, Khamal, go," she prompted him impatiently. "Sava and I would appreciate privacy."

"Sure! Only I ..."

Besotted, Zhutra turned towards Gromov: "I think I can use some textbooks on mathematics. Can I have one?"

"Whatever you fancy." Amused, Gromov reassured him. "Deceased Luciano might have pursued different disciplines, but he loved to pretend he was a polyhistor. You'll have countless opportunities to enjoy the queen of science ad libitum. But what happened? I was under the impression the alternative education does not emphasize mathematics."

The insult stirred the poor professor out of his lethargy.

"A false accusation," he waved his hands wildly. "The public is fed with biased propaganda. We may focus on different aspects of knowledge, but no one denies our graduates excel in huge creativity."

Resting in a chair, Simone made an indistinguishable sound.

"What was it?"

"Oh, nothing, Khamal. Just wanted to confirm your words. Huge creativity, no doubt!"

Zhutra looked at Gromov as if he suspected the man of injecting a dose of sarcasm into Simone's veins, but Gromov sported a face of an innocent baby.

"If you excuse me," Zhutra went on clumsily. "I shall visit the ship library. Learning till the end. No need to make me a company, Sava."

"Not my plan at all, Khamal. Just curious about where you are starting your therapy. Algebra or arithmetics hardly present a challenge for the University professor, right? What about calculus, number theory, or discrete mathematics?"

Zhutra hesitated. "I admit my foundations are rusty a bit."

"In this case," Gromov did not hide his contempt, "you rather search the e-library. Luciano stood above basic stuff. As an estate, he probably had trouble to find elementary school books bound in leather with golden ornamental letters."

"I didn't say I was after books for elementary school. I'm not that rusty!"

"Really?"

"Of course not. Our little exchange shows the advantages of alternative education. You may not be aware, Sava, but you sometimes exude an air of false superiority. We teach our students to treat people equally. The overemphasis on hard science often leads to limitation of emotional intelligence."

"I concur, Khamal. Compared to you, compared to you, my emotional intelligence is toddler-like. But if mathematics resists, try to have a nice chat with her. Surely she won't reject reasonable debate on mutual emotions."

"What a joker you are!"

When offended Zhutra had closed the door behind his back, Simone threw a pillow at Gromov. "I hope you didn't smash my little whispering. It was not easy to lead Khamal the right way. If you doubt him, he will stop trying midway."

The playful act surprised him. Gone was the quilt-ridden woman he knew. She seemed carefree and almost happily childish - in the stark contrast to him, who wore burdens he did not want to bear.

"How and why did you make Zhutra count," he asked instead. "No harm in it, granted, but you certainly do care about Khamal's neglected education."

"When you locked up Khamal in the decompression chamber, did you intend to kill him?"

"Of course not. What is the point of rescuing someone to kill him afterward? But some stubborn people cooperate more willingly if under pressure."

"I thought so. But Khamal thinks otherwise. He is convinced he had a narrow escape out of clutches of death."

"What can I say? Maybe you've inherited your superior acting skill from me."

"When my mother brought me to her world," Simone continued, "the elves living there treated me like a royal princess. They helped me understand the change I had undertaken. But my mother wanted me to keep it secret from you."

Gromov sneered: "You newfound mother, my virtual wife, love the relationship with mystery. I can't say she gave me the same level of attention you had from her."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. She is amazing!"

"She is a demoness born out of my adolescent consciousness. Looks don't matter. At least I did not scream in horror the first time I met her."

"She is amazing," repeated Simone with the insistence of a child who fears her parents consider a divorce.

"Yes, she is amazing," Gromov patted her head soothingly. "Let's skip our wonderful family and come back to Khamal. What's with his newborn passion for mathematics. He was so out of character."

"I need to occupy him somehow," Simone shrugged. "Otherwise, he wouldn't survive your company."

"Oh, aren't you exaggerating? Khamal is neither my favorite passenger nor my recently acquired son (thank goodness), but I won't harm him."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. Unless you know of something, your fiendish mother forgot to tell me."

"My dearest father," Simone addressed him in a manner that made her Doll's twin.

"Not that! Dearest my ass," protested Gromov. So far, he had been using their alleged relation only mockingly.

When Simone realized how uncomfortable Gromov felt about the salutation, she blushed: "I apologize. The time I spent with elves and my mother was too long. No one would call you otherwise there. My mother craves for you."

"Oh, the demoness? Isn't she supposed to be cruel and heartless? You are lying, aren't you?"

"She kept mentioning you fondly. But you have to understand that seclusion is worse for her. The time is running faster in her realm. You don't wish to be called Your Majesty, aren't you?"

"I wish one of my friends was here and called me so," Gromov replied. "But you are forbidden to use this one. Andrey Jerzinski will roll over the floor laughing if he has ever heard you."

"Suits me fine," Simone proclaimed meaningfully. "Our relationship doesn't need those restrictions. I am sure my mother would agree... Why should you suffer anymore?"

When Gromov understood what was on Simone's mind, he changed the topic at once.

"Why is Khamal in danger in my company?"

"Because I am nothing compared to you!"

"A student of Enlightened Mind not brimming with self-confidence?"

"Compared to yours, my genes are lacking," Simone explained. "My powers are limited. To brainwash Khamal, I could only influence the hidden fear lingering in his head. But you are different. Unless you learn to tame your powers, your presence corrodes Khamal's self-esteem."

Gromov sneered, "Nothing I would feel too sorry about, my dearest daughter. To grow Khamal's sense of unworthiness remains the only pleasure I have right now."

She did not smile back. "If you continue doing so, his self-esteem will fall to the bottom, leading him to suicide. He won't last for too long. We will find him hanged under the ceiling."

"The first stunt in his life I would approve of," Gromov mumbled.

"This is why I've sent him to do maths. He must stay out of your way, or your influence would slowly erode his will to live. Next time you'll meet Khamal, be kind even in your thoughts."

"In my thoughts," protested Gromov. "Family life is said to be harsh on fathers, but this is too much. Am I not the enemy of humankind? Anyway, why do you care so much for his labile psyche? The person from your diary would be the first to sell Khamal the rope."

"Perhaps."

Not fond of her past, Simone did not play the game. "Keeping Khamal alive is in our best interest," she insisted. "Now, even though the Egg has hatched, DOZOR does not know anything. Khamal may distract them and buy us some time. The moment he tries to sell the empty shell, the agents will hunt him down."

The cold indifference with which she wrote off poor Zhutra let Gromov's hopes crumble to dust. New happy Simone did not cease to be a monster.

"I see," he said. "In this case, I have no problem treating that moron kindly and with tender affection."