The endless journey was over. No matter how convenient and comfortable Luciano's spaceship was, the loneliness of vast space had been getting on the nerves of Gromov and his companions.

The visual contact with a huge asteroid and the base located on and below its surface felt like a gush of fresh air to them.

Especially Professor Zhutra celebrated with the fervor of a prisoner nearing the end of his sentence.

"I made it," he repeated with tears in his eyes. "Simone, we made it. The moment we are on the ground, we can pay them to send us home."

Even Gromov had not the heart to mock him. While nonstop solving mathematical exercises, the poor man became a wretch. His black curly hair turned grey, the figure of dwarfish Adonis lost plenty of muscles, and his pale complexion only remotely evoked the neatly dressed beau he once used to be. Even his behavior had adjusted, and the alpha-male movements were replaced by almost autistic shyness and timidness.

"Algebra surely works wonders," pondered Gromov with satisfaction.

Countless personal trainers offered courses on how to become more assertive and self-confident, but only Simone managed to destroy a man with pure mathematics.

Gone was the arrogant know-it-all, always ready to call out everyone with his human-right stick.

Today's Zhutra learned to appreciate the calm solitude of a humble ignorant in a world of indescribable complexity.

Over weeks, Gromov could observe the altered activities in Zhutra's cerebral lobes, fascinated by the process. It was akin to watching a popular video in which an ugly, yet surprisingly intelligent octopus overcame prearranged obstacles. Every time Zhutra was about to give up, Simone stepped in and talked him into dragging the carriage of abstract problems farther and farther.

"Eager to leave us so soon, Khamal?" Gromov spoke up. "Simone and I are so proud of your intellectual progress. We enjoy your company."

"Thank you, Sava. But I can't overstay my welcome. You have your business to run, and I have my duties as a professor. My students await my return."

"Await? What about parents, then?"

"Parents? What parents?"

"I mean the parents of your deceased assistants. Three girls are dead. Their parents might be slightly unhappy about the fact. Although I admire your willingness to face consequences, someone less valiant would be reluctant to meet them. Moreover, the spaceship under your command has been destroyed. I wonder whether the University will write it off unconditionally. Both of them may press charges on you."

"Charges? Why?"

To Gromov's astonishment, the possibility of being held responsible for his ship's catastrophe had never occurred to Zhutra.

"Khamal, my dearest acquaintance, don't tell me you have never thought of that? The everlasting gloomy face of yours - I was under impression that the unbearable guilt eats you alive."

"Unbearable guilt? Sava, such accidents do happen, don't they? Who could blame me?"

"Who? Parents, University, and the police come to mind."

"I am innocent."

"Yes, the famous last line of all convicts."

"But I followed the proper procedures. I can prove as much. My consciousness is clear."

"Sure, sure," sighed Gromov. "I was talking just hypothetically. After your triumphal return to your academic career, everything will be absolutely fine. The picture is clear: the deacon offering condolences and the disturbed parents accepting their losses with stoic indifference. This reminds me of how Xenophon reacted to the death of his son. All parents are aware that their children have been born mortal."

[Pavel Morava's remark: The Greek philosopher Xenophon accepted the death of his son with these words.]

"What are you trying to say, Sava?"

"Nothing, nothing. Take it easy, Khamal. Do not mind my tactless excursion into ancient history."

"Yes, Khamal, don't mind it," Simone chimed in, looking alert.

Zhutra processed the information. "But he seems to hint at something. Please, be frank with me, Sava. Is there any chance, no matter how unlikely, that I might go to prison?"

"Perhaps. Our definition of unlikeness differs."

"So you think that coming back is not the safest idea?"

"I would call it a brave and manly decision. After all, another three or five years spent in seclusion may get your mathematical skills to unprecedented levels. You may even get a more useful diploma than the one you got from gender studies."

"Aha!"

The realization that his trouble would not end after he left the freight ship put Zhutra's mind into disarray.

"So what should I do?"

"My honest opinion?"

"Of course! Of course! You would never lie to me. You are a direct man, Sava. Don't spare me."

"As you wish. Doll, be so kind and enlighten our guest."

The motionless android opened her magnificent blue eyes and pointed her finger at the computer screen.

"I've prepared all available reports, Professor Zhutra. The compilation has been sent to your account. But as Captain Gromov guessed the odds are against you. In almost 223 similar cases, the spaceship captains had been apprehended, half of them fined and a quarter imprisoned. The maximum verdict was twenty years, but you, Professor Zhutra, may serve about a three-year sentence."

"Three years!"

Meanwhile, Simone paid the attention to the conversation and gesticulate to Gromov a silent, yet distinct message: "Stop it right now!"

But it was too late.

"Oh, wait!" Doll exclaimed suddenly. "I have found an intriguing positive correlation between the length of sentence and the social status of victims."

"Positive correlation? What is it?"

Gromov ignored protesting Simone and chuckled: "Khamal, be sure to refresh statistics. I reckon that Doll stepped on well-known bias against us poor bastards. Were your assistants of rich families?"

"Rich families? Does it make any difference?"

"In a theoretical realm of blind justice not. However, in practice, the lady with folded eyes seems to care more about our wealthier peers. Shameful, isn't it? If your Ph.D. students were dirt poor, you would have nothing to fear."

Khamal gulped: "I'm afraid that I wouldn't call them dirty poor. Not that I prefer students with money, Sava, certainly not, but it appears that they emerged from rather well-established backgrounds. Our University is never biased against poor students per se, but for economical reasons, we had a great deal of middle-class and upper-class graduates. After all, we depend on sponsorships and fees to cover our costs."

"Good for you. I mean good for the institution. But for your person, the students from a ghetto would present lesser legislative liaison. No one cares for the socially excluded, right?"

"That's rather a cynical point of view."

"The correlation won't disappear just because you dismiss it as cynical, Khamal. You better prepare yourself for the worst."

With that Parthian shot, Gromov left the room, whistling cheerfully. Fuming Simone followed.

"May I know," she fired the moment they were in a safe distance, "what were you doing? Why did you scare Khamal? Have you forgotten the plan?"

"No, I haven't. And you should calm down before we start discussing the matter."

"That coward won't come back now."

"And?"

"We must part our ways. DOZOR must go after him."

"So you do believe that Khamal will keep us company forever?"

"What else?" barked Simone. "He's the most selfish worm under the sun. For months, I was making sure not to mention these legal implications to him. And for what? For you to ruin my whispering a few hours before the end?"

With irises growing larger and larger, Simone's greenish eyes turned to dark blue color, forming a ray directed in Gromov's direction.

"Calm down I said."

"I wish I could," she gasped. "I thought we had an agreement. You've never objected to the plan and you are smart enough to understand what it takes."

The pressure she started to exude was unbearable. Simone might think that her mental enhancement received in Samara's realm was insignificant, but Gromov knew better.

He theorized that back then Samara entered a mere simulation, created to hone mental skills, transferable to the real world. He came to this conclusion after Simone revealed the time in Samara's realm run faster. Still, she needed to practice with living subjects. Unfortunately, one Zhutra was not enough to provide useful feedback to her.

"Calm down!" repeated Gromov as angered Simone was reading herself to attack.

"Why should I?"

She had no idea that Gromov's was the center, the very source of the mental pressure she had mastered. Thus, the closer she got to him, the stronger her ability to control people became. And now she was failing to control herself, unconsciously pointing a loaded gun at her counterpart.

The two of them usually did not argue, given their special relationship. But the initial cautiousness had worn out. Generally, the long journeys put pressure on smaller communities, and Simone and Gromov were no exceptions.

Gromov himself was never a man easy to bear long terms. The same went for Simone who could only act obedient (as it was part of her undercover backstory), but as it turned out, her original personality had a rebel and independent side, not compatible with the domineering and harsh SF captain. Uriah Uriah with his weak presence or Doll, who never showed any trace of opposition, suited Gromov's nature better.

"You should calm down before you unleash the small thing behind your forehead, dumbass. Haven't you realized you've been crippling Khamal with every session of yours? His brain is growing gelatine, literally!"

As Simone's influence over Zhutra grew deeper, the unfortunate professor had been turning into a mindless counting puppet, devoid of any free will. It was questionable if he could even survive on his own without Simone's constant whispering.

"Since when do you care about his well-being?"

"Since the moment you tried to kill me," Gromov sneered despite the enormous headache she imposed on him. "Had it been someone else, you would already burn out his neural synapsis. Even I find it rather unpleasant. Stop broadcasting, laser kitty, or I may end up like a drooling idiot.

"Simone immediately covered her eyes with palms and mumbled: "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"Natural curiosity. You've developed the habit of mental whispering every time you wanted to achieve something. You turned Khamal and Uriah into well-tamed dogs, and recently, you overstepped your boundaries even with me."

Simone panicked: "It was not intentional. You have to trust me. I would never harm you. I would rather die myself."

"Stop being melodramatic," Gromov shrugged. "Had you gone overboard, I'd reprimand you. You were my guinea pig so to speak. And I can assure you that cartoons provide inaccurate study materials when it comes to superhuman behavior."

"So you were studying me instead? With what conclusions?"

"That we are both walking disasters," answered Gromov grimly.