Our Mercedes is ill. Should've gone into retirement. It's the fourth DEREVO bus. We've travelled about a million kilometres altogether. To the moon and back. And once again to the moon – and that's not even with the aeroplanes and trains. They're incalculable.

The next car will have darkened windows. DEREVO doesn't read newspapers, doesn't watch TV, doesn't listen to the radio. There's only the problem of the world outside the windows left. Di suggested
using darkened windows in quite an unusual fashion: they can see us, we can see no one.

"Cool," they said at the garage. "There's nothing yet of this kind so we'll do it for free." She said, "Tell me if I do something wrong. It's not about the brains. It's just the body's response." I asked the garage to install one child seat.

It's a hard tour. Shtyk broke a bone inside of her foot. Figa has problems with a foot too. Di has a sepsis. Ga just burned out. And my heart is beating.

"DEREVO is a one-way ticket," said Shtyk.
"You mean, you cannot get back?" asked Alisa.
"Why? What's the problem?" said Di. "Just go and that's all."
"Who's going?" asked Shtyk. "I'm talking quite seriously."
"And I listen quite seriously," said Ga, "and listen and feel and realise and stare at you attentively."

I missed the hints before and I used to lose people. I'll never do that again.