“Listening,” the young man said briefly, with a notebook and a pen ready.

“Jean-Pierre, I received the documents. Very good. I want to ask you…” said the patron in a low voice. “You will have to go to Tokyo instead of me. I have informed the minister that you will make the report on our proposals.”

“It will be done, monsieur. Thank you.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” monsieur Bajolet interrupted him, “forgive me for not giving you a rest. Tomorrow you can take the day off. I have to stay in Paris.”

“Okay,” Jean-Pierre said calmly and hung up.

He took another deep breath, looked at the clock on his wrist – 10:20 p.m. He printed out the report and wrote a letter to the minister’s assistant. Jean-Pierre was tasked with voicing France’s proposals for a new global counterterrorism program at the conference of heads of world security agencies in Tokyo.

Jean-Pierre knew how serious this event was. He remembered how long it had taken him and his boss to prepare this report. At first, he felt scared that he would have to do everything alone, but then an even more disturbing thought occurred to him, “if the patron is staying, something more important is here.”

Jean-Pierre wrote a letter to the clerk’s office to have them change monsieur Bajolet’s ticket to his name, checked the departure time, and went home to get some rest. Tomorrow he would have to read the theses he had prepared for the boss and check everything out. And the day after tomorrow he would fly to Tokyo.

Yulia sat on a small bag in the hallway of her apartment, going over in her head whether she had taken everything. “Passport, underwear, passport, phone, passport, jeans…”

She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with air, daring to get up. She was angry that she was going to Kathmandu (the name of the city alone was worth it). The only joy was that the change would be in the United Arab Emirates. “There, they say, is a fancy airport.”

Yulia looked at her watch and got to her feet. She checked that the lights were off everywhere and the windows were closed. “Still, I don’t think Nepal is the best place to travel,” she thought before she left.

On autopilot she made it to the airport and checked in.

On the plane, she turned on some music and slept all the way to the Emirates. At the airport, while she waited for her next flight, she walked through the stores and looked at people while eating ice cream.

The next day she arrived in Kathmandu. At the Tribhuvan airport she was met by a man with a sign saying “Yulia Danilina. Roscosmos.” He took her straight to the observatory, aka planetarium, and the science museum. Yulia sincerely thought it was very likely that the observatory would be a hotel, too.

Dr Giyanu Lamichen the director of the observatory turned out to be a very nice man. He sat Yulia down on a chair and sat next to her.

“You know, Yulia,” he smiled, speaking in English, “this new telescope is not just a new telescope. It’s a new opportunity for us. You must understand that we are very grateful to have you here.”

“Thank you,” Yulia was embarrassed by the high-handedness of the doctor, “it’s just the adjustment of the equipment.”

“No-o-o-o,” Giyanu Lamichen interrupted her abruptly, “simple things are the most valuable.”

Yulia hesitated for a moment and felt a great cloud of responsibility suddenly appear from behind the high mountain of her pride.

“Oh shit,” she thought, “now I’m going to worry if I do everything right, Nepalese you Dr House.”

Dr Lamichen looked at her nonchalantly and nodded to something, and then said that all the antennas were set up and the observatory was already waiting.