Chris walked into the supervisor’s office, touched the Robo-assistant, and scanned his ID projection. The animated counter lit up with a green backlight and notified:

“Please proceed.”

“Come on in, Chris, I’ve been waiting for you, please, have a seat.”

“Shirokawa-sensei,” Chris nodded to show his respect to the teacher and took the chair he was offered.

“Your seeds feel great and show good results,” he began. “You say I should look closer at Mr. Tumblin?”

“Sir, I cannot tell you what to do. I just really think that Josh is showing good signs of learning ability, working capacity, and diligence. We worked together on a project, and he never let me down or messed up.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your opinion and will think it over properly,” the old Japanese man nodded. “Well, there is still enough time until December. Although I would advise you to start thinking about the thesis as soon as you can, given the circumstances,” he winked slyly.

“Sir, truth to be told, we have already picked ourselves the topics for the thesis and... well, have started working on ‘em, sort of,” Chris said slowly.

“Is that so? Let me check my assistant’s report regarding your thematic. I’m a bit busy to keep us in the flow of incoming documentation, forgive me; the seventh building is a hot spot lately,” he laughed, scratching his head.

“I understand, Shirokawa-sensei, you don't need to explain yourself.”

“Hmm, but what about your pre-surgery orientation? When do you start?”

“I... haven't planned it yet,” Chris vaguely answered, looking away.

Professor Shirokawa looked up at him, ceasing to pretend he was swapping through his thesis application, then leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“Newman, tell me the truth, speak your heart... how... um... Listen, I’m not trying to be pushy in any way, but I really want to know if you will participate in the project further?”

Chris stared at his fingers for too long, choosing the right words before looking up at his professor, and finally decided to say it the way it is, the way he felt.

“Frankly speaking, sir, I do not plan the implantation for myself, not now. I’m just not ready... I don’t want... my... that the child bears this responsibility for me. We are the result of an experiment. A very important one and a very serious one. And I take my mission earnestly, despite the fact that sometimes it was not very clear, sometimes not very comfortable… Yet, there were people who explained everything to me and helped me cope with it back then, and now I’m not that small boy anymore and can perfectly cope with everything that I am expected to do along with the other guys from the ‘M-group’, but... I'm not sure that I want the same for the next generation. For my child, in particular.”

Having spoken out, he took a slow breath and looked openly at the professor. The old man smiled and rested his elbows on the table again.

“You know, Chris. Everything that you said once again proves that, regardless of who will produce offspring in your couple, you will be a wonderful father,” he smiled again, more widely, and then burst out laughing, seeing the dumbfounded expression on the guy's face.

“I don’t have a couple, which, by the way, is also one of the reasons, you see...,” Chris started but fell silent.

“I see, Chris. You don’t have a partner and you are not looking for one, is that what you want to say?” The professor tried to guess and getting a short nod in response continued. “I know. After all, I observe all of you, all your indicators. As you said yourself, but...”

Shirokawa suddenly stopped, and Chris heard a quiet sound, most likely a vibration. The professor swiped his band and a projection rectangle rose above it, depicting a window of an incoming call and the caller – a zirka who was wearing the Institute’s scientific coordinator’s uniform.

“Where are you?” as always, direct and curt; Chris recognized the speaker’s voice.

“My office, wanna come?”

“Yes.”

The projection collapsed; the professor lifted his gaze to his student.

“Stay,” he only said to Chris, and smiled widely this time looking over his head; the door parted with a soft hiss and closed in again.

“Kazuaki, hi... oh, I did not realize that you were busy,” Erzketau cleared his throat and sank into the second guest chair. “Newman-kri,” the zirka bowed his head slightly.

“Erzketau-kri.”

“You sure I won’t interfere?” the greenish guest asked after a couple of moments of silence and mutual glances.

“No, you are right on time,” the professor assured enthusiastically. “Perhaps you can even help.”

Erzketau turned his head to look at Chris, as though he figured out that he was the matter the professor needed help with, and then he swung in his chair and stared at the young man, making him immediately feel slightly uneasy.

“Chris,” Shirokawa spoke up, clearly intending to continue their conversation. “I want to repeat once again that this is only up to you to decide and it’s your choice, which every human will respect. You should not even bother or worry that you are slacking off in your mission or whatever you call it. In the end, this is your life, you are young, and you have a whole world to discover. Nevertheless, since you admitted that you’re not that small boy anymore and can handle everything, then I just have to provide you with some information to think through.”

While the professor was talking, Chris tried to look at him and listen very carefully, but he still shot a couple of glances at the resident of the neighboring chair, who was sitting still without moving, and, unlike himself, was not looking at Shirokawa at all.

“You need to understand that, out of your entire group or so—among all the children of the m-estrogen generation, you have the maximum set of indicators for the highest compatibility with the uterus module.”

Chris looked at the professor without blinking for several seconds; comprehending and not comprehending what he was saying. Then he turned his head to the zirka as if expecting him to make some comments that would give a different understanding of the words said, and that Erzketau’s explanation would be not as heavy, titanium-like that crushed onto the top of his head pushing him down, trying to raze him to the ground. The zirka actually did give a comment, though not making it easier for Chris.

“The maximum compatibility index, rejection resistance; presumably neurohumoral, psychosomatic and about a hundred and eighty-seven indicators of... compatibility. And stress resis–”

“Listen to me,” Shirokawa urged and Chris withdrew his gaze from the scientific coordinator and forced himself to calm the rushing thoughts in his head, pondering what he heard and trying to analyze, without focusing on the main idea. “Try... just try to see it from this point of view. I understand that you may have other plans, but the surgery itself does not yet oblige you to anything. The recovery period will take no more than three months, during which you can have a normal student life, just less physically active. Yet, even if you call us all crazy fanatics, although knowing your approach to science, you can, on the contrary, understand us if you try. You know exactly how crucial the presence or absence of an additional statistical unit can be, even if it is the most average factor. And what if not average?”

“A new factor can completely change the whole data structure and...,” Chris spoke quietly, trying to ignore the growing buzz in his ears and an increasingly rapid heartbeat, “and the result of the experiment.”

“Right. Chris, look at me,” Shirokawa said just as quietly.

“And what about the others? What about their performance? Have you identified the risk group?” As if having revived, the guy raised his head, only at the last moment managing to control his voice and not to transform it into a panicked shout.

“The risk group is only 4% of the subjects. All students here, involved in the research complex activities have very good indicators,” the zirka murmured. “We checked that exhaustively and more than once to be dead sure.”

“Chris, implantation is not a synonym for pregnancy,” Professor Shirokawa tried to joke. “In the end, it will take time – years perhaps for additional studies of after-surgery functioning, and the very possibility of... All of this. Frankly, you may not even notice that something has changed afterward, except for the weight. The module will add as much as three hundred grams you know!”

It was so tiring to hold his back straight, he needed to throw off this titanium plate from his shoulders right now, and for this reason, Chris slipped down the chair with a groan, neglecting the etiquette, along with subordination, and dug his fingers into his hair.

“In the name of science?” He asked as if addressing himself, but sounded more like confirming the main professor’s idea – he should contribute to the general mission a little more, although no one is going to force him or despise him if he says “no”, but... a new statistic element can really be significant. He knew this; he loved and appreciated the new factors and figures in the equation that he dealt with in his work with seedlings.

“In the name of science,” Shirokawa agreed with this point of view.

The zirka did not say anything but finally stopped drilling Chris with an unreadable look.

“Well, Shirokawa-sensei, I really appreciate you trusting me with this sort of information. I have to think about all this properly.”

The professor nodded. Vibration broke the silence that fell over the office, this time it was Chris’s hand-band, notifying him of the next class, which would start in a few minutes.

“Oh, I’ve occupied all your self-study time,” the old man said apologetically, rising from his table. “What’s your next class?”

“Um,” Chris glanced at the zirka who also was already standing by the chair. “Transplantology.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful! Erzketau-kri, I’m entrusting this student at your disposal.”

The three left the office together, but Professor Shirokawa turned to the right and quickly left. Chris turned to the left with a sigh, crossing his gaze with the zirka.

“Newman-kri, you are not planning to ditch my class, are you?” either suspiciously or mockingly, the greenie asked.

“No way in hell... Mr. Scientific Coordinator.”