«That's where I had already seen that Professor Boccaccio! And Aziz too... they were in the program of an intervention a few weeks ago» exclaimed Sleeld, overwhelmed by an epiphany. Immediately afterwards he paled and, raising his blond eyebrows, widened his eyes. His friends from the Assembly looked at him fascinated by the rarity of the event: he had the face of a completely awake person. «Damn, if I had known how things were with Flavio... damn! I wouldn't have made him go through such a morning...»

Wilol gave him a pat on the shoulder. «Ah, it was you then? You sure pissed him off big time, you served him a really lousy day. Got him in the right mood to see Flavio again, huh? Well done Executive!»

Cronquit smiled placidly at Sleeld. His appearance was reassuring to the extent that his black pupils surrounded by gray and topped by red and pointed hair allowed him. «Relax, it was to avoid this kind of influence from you that we kept you in the dark about the Plan.»

Sleeld clenched his jaw, frowning. Kidhe also had a face distorted by doubt.

«Uh...» hesitated the president, «are we sure everything is going well?»

«The plan is proceeding successfully, sir» confirmed the computer.

Reassured by the answer, Kidhe felt sorry for Boccaccio and wanted to know from Sleeld why he had decided to torture the professor. «Can you show us more details about that intervention? I want to believe that it wasn't a sudden attack of sadism...»

Sleeld looked like someone who had just woken up from a wonderful dream. «It seemed so... beautiful... harmonious» he said, trying to caress that dream again, then he returned to reality where professors get the worst possible outcome from any negotiation, including those with illegal immigrants who engage in illicit trade. «I had to take that opportunity, I couldn't miss it» he justified himself. «Look!» he said pointing to the projection area. The computer promptly supported the executive with diagrams and graphs of the intervention.

«The assignment you gave me was to get Boccaccio into the rotisserie between morning and sunset on Saturday or Sunday. An intervention of this kind normally requires about ten probabilistic forcings, with an average power of around 80%, and neutral side effects on the global psychological well-being of the planet.»

Cronquit did a summary mental calculation before nodding. «Yes, these requirements are in line with the work associated with medium-complexity interventions like this» he confirmed.

«...I, on the other hand» continued Sleeld with disillusioned pride, «managed to find a way to complete the intervention with only three probabilistic forcings, all 50% power.»

«Remarkable!» exclaimed Riklev, pushing his flowing brown hair away from his face, «it's practically a zero-contamination intervention!»

«Exactly, it's as if we hadn't intervened at all» Sleeld pointed out. «For the sake of elegance, this was a mandatory solution, but elegance wasn't the reason that motivated me the most to follow this approach. The side effect on global psychological well-being was astonishingly positive.»

«Yeah, let Boccaccio tell you how positive it was!» Wilol commented.

Sleeld looked at him as if trying to communicate through a soundproof wall. «With this intervention, four people's lives were saved.»

«Amazing!» Cronquit marveled. «More than exceptional, such a circumstance is unbelievable!»

«Sleeld, what can I say, you did a great job» Riklev acknowledged. His admiring gaze was gripped by curiosity. «Can you show us now how you did it? Kidhe...»

The president took a few moments to come out of his astonishment.

«Huh? Oh, yes! Of course, of course! Please, Sleeld, go ahead, show us the detail.»

Sleeld nodded and resumed the presentation.

«Computer, let's start again from the first forcing of that morning...»

The blue trapezohedron of Earth reports, suspended on the cylindrical bench in the middle of the room, began to rotate again. In the dark, the projection resumed from the bedroom of an apartment on an intermediate floor of a building in Rome.

Stefania had just finished dressing after her shower. She opened the window to let in the morning air and, all excited, took out of the closet the new dress she had bought for the concert. It would be the next day, but she was already thrilled about the premiere at the auditorium.

She was boiling with impatience, she couldn't go through the day without showing off her new dress. She had to call someone as soon as possible to invite them over after the general rehearsal. But whom?

As she was absorbed in her own anticipation, a gust of wind came in through the open window and slammed the bedroom door and the closet door. The blows shook the room making the shelf above the bed wobble. There, an unstable book had an equal chance of falling to the left, on the edge of the shelf, or to the right overturning a stack of photocopies of scores, but...

«...at this point, the quantum impulse I had sent ensured that that book overturned the scores» Sleeld explained, while in the projection Stefania saw the stack of photocopies fall compactly on her beloved new dress.

A post-it attached to the photocopies caught the cellist's eye: "To be returned to Francesca". Underneath the sentence, there was a phone number of her orchestra colleague written in large and clear digits. Stefania took the phone from the bedside table, excited like a hamster in its wheel, and called her friend.

«Hi Fra, it's Stefania, are you ready for the reharsal?»

«Yes, sure, I'm leaving home soon, and you?»

«I can't wait for tomorrow! I found some scores of yours at my place, do you want to come and get them after rehearsal?»

«Hold on, wouldn't it be faster if you brought them to me at the auditorium?»

Stefania realized that her excuse wasn't very good, but she just couldn't resist.

«Yes, but, listen Franci, I wanted to show you something. On your way back could you come with me to my place, so we can talk about the concert and have some tea, wouldn't you like it?»

«Sure! I'm excited too!» Francesca confessed. «Maybe we can also review some bowings together»

«But can we fit our cellos in your car?»

«I'll see if I can take Valerio's car, he usually doesn't use it on Saturdays...»

«He can always take yours in case he needs it, right?»

«No way! He says that only small and thin women fit in there, that it gives him claustrophobia...»

While Valerio Boccaccio was pushed by his wife Francesca to leave the house on foot, the doctor he had to meet, punctual as usual, was getting ready to leave on time. She was putting on a pair of nylon stockings that were rather worn out, but apparently in good condition. As she pulled up her left stocking, she brought a bunch of fibers to the breaking point at the heel. The strength of the fabric came to depend on a single filament, which had exactly one chance in two of tearing when at that very moment...

«...the second quantum impulse I had programmed arrived and ensured that that filament held» Sleeld specified. «The breaking of the garment would have caused the woman to change it and delay her departure by almost three minutes.»

The doctor left her home in Ciampino without mishap, got into her car, and drove to work listening to local traffic information on the radio. She had left the Appia Nuova road just a few seconds earlier to take the Raccordo Anulare of Rome heading north, when the radio informed that the Appia Nuova that morning was particularly flowing toward downtown.

For a moment, the doctor wished she had left home a couple of minutes later so that she would have had a chance to continue along the Appia Nuova, but nothing had happened to delay her, such as a torn stocking. So she found herself driving along the Raccordo where, a few minutes later and a few miles down the road, an accident kept her stranded for most of the morning.

The bus overturned in the accident was empty and no one was hurt. But if that morning the doctor had not occupied for a few moments the entrance to the Raccordo Anulare from the Appia Nuova, a car, which had overtaken her shortly afterwards, would not have been held back enough to prevent it from causing, behind the overturned bus, a pileup in which four people would have died.

«Although saving human lives is not strictly our responsibility, it is certainly such a positive side effect that I had no doubts about pursuing this line» Sleeld admitted. «However, I would never have dreamed of complicating the meeting between Flavio and the professor, of putting the Samādhi Plan at risk, if only I had known how things were...»

«...and that's why» Kidhe reassured him, «we didn't tell you anything, systematic influences of this kind would have really endangered the Plan. But the computer has confirmed that everything went well. Plus, you saved the lives of four people, creating a beneficial wave in their network of loved ones. Anyway, what matters is that by blocking the doctor you kept Boccaccio until after lunch. What was the third forcing?»

«The broken umbrella bought by the professor...» Sleeld answered restarting the projection.

Boccaccio arrived at Piazza San Giovanni in the morning. He headed to the subway exit and saw that, against his expectations, it was already raining on wet ground. Still confident about what the day had to offer him, he went to the illegal umbrella seller for the first time.

As he crossed the corridor of the stop, he stepped on a chewing gum that had just been thrown on the ground. The gum had equal chances of staying where it was or sticking to the sole of the professor's shoe, but...

«...let me guess, Sleeld» Wilol anticipated, «your quantum impulses so benevolent with Boccaccio ensured that the gum could stay close to him to cheer up the rest of his day!»

Sleeld rolled his eyes in silence, sighed resignedly and gestured to the computer to continue.

If Boccaccio hadn't happened to get that gum stuck to his shoe, he would have continued without slowing down towards the illegal vendor and he would have bought an umbrella so strong and sturdy that it would have lasted him several days. Instead, after taking two steps with the sticky mass under his foot, he stopped. He unsuccessfully tried in to remove the gum from his shoe by rubbing it on the floor, which, however, was slippery from the wet brought in by the people's footsteps, and the gum did nothing but stick even more to the sole.

In the meantime, another customer had preceded him by a few seconds, taking away the strong and sturdy umbrella.

So, the professor had ended up with a defective umbrella. Once he had finished meeting with the doctor, he found himself forced to buy a new one. And that was when he noticed the half-soaked flyer that had led him to the rotisserie on Via Taranto 38.

Boccaccio, too caught up in his hunger, had not recognized Flavio when he entered the rotisserie. However, after hearing himself called "professor", he quickly recalled the opening lesson of his parasitology course. For a moment he forgot his appetite and fixed his gaze on Flavio's face, placing him in that classroom.

Flavio returned the look, handling from memory, and with veteran mastery, flatbread, slices of roast and condiments. Seeing that Boccaccio had not answered him, he timidly repeated his question.

«Anything else, professor?»

«That's fine for now» Boccaccio replied, finally awake. «You don't know... what a horrible day I've had. It would have been a coincidence to meet you on a normal day, but after a day like this» Boccaccio sighed with a melancholy smile, «I'm starting to wonder if you're connected to my misfortunes.»

«I don't believe in coincidences» Flavio joked back with a smile, «I believe that what happens to us depends on how we behave. Are you superstitious?»

«I'm a scientist, of course I'm not superstitious.»

«But when the same factor is present in more than one exceptional event, then it makes sense to link that factor to the exceptionality of the events...»

«Indeed. That's why I hope that in preparing that kebab for me» Boccaccio pointed to the wrap that Flavio was rolling up in foil, «you didn't want to take revenge for being kicked out of my lecture.»

«Don't worry, you have nothing to fear from me. I have nothing to do with your misfortunes.»

«I don't know. I can't help thinking that the two days when I ran into you were among the worst in a long time. You can't blame me for that.»

«I'm sorry, but I don't completely agree.»

«What do you mean? On what do you exactly disagree?»

«On the fact that you can't be blamed for it. In one way or another, you are responsible for anything unpleasant that happens to you, especially if it happens systematically.»

«And maybe you have the presumption to believe that you also know what I'm doing wrong?»

«Well» Flavio said with the tone of someone who describes an obvious truth, «actually yes.»

Boccaccio urged him to continue, amused as if he were at a fortune-teller session. «Let's hear it then!»

«You face the world as if it were a beast to tame, in constant fear that it will lash out at you. To cover up this insecurity, you tend to assume an attitude of contrast with everything that you think might escape your control. Like when you choose to scare a class of university students, for example. If you constantly expect something bad to happen» Flavio concluded handing Boccaccio the stuffed flatbread, «you increase the chances that something bad will actually happen.»

Boccaccio, with the wrap in his hand, let out a laugh.

«You don't know what you're talking about! For having formed such a convoluted prejudice about me, you must have been very upset by how I treated you in class. I too am convinced that what happens to us depends on how we behave. When you sneak into a lecture and disturb it, you have to expect to be kicked out... can I ask you what you were doing in my course?»

On the spot, Flavio came up with a half-truth to answer.

«Medicine is one of the things that interest me. Passing by the faculty, I read several announcements on the bulletin board and last week I wanted to attend one of your lectures.»

«And I would have welcomed you without any inconvenience if you hadn't interfered in the way you did. What did you have in mind?»

«I had gone to hear a lecture on medicine and I was sorry to have witnessed instead a sensationalist show whose only purpose seemed to be to intimidate a classroom of students. Apparently human parasites are not scary enough for your lectures.»

«Do you really think I wouldn't have been able to find a human parasite just as frightening? Believe me, there are some!» the teacher flared up. «But the point is another» he resumed taking on a didactic tone, «the point is that the knowledge of the host is just as important as that of the parasite. Those kids aspire to become doctors: it is to people that they must direct their main interest, their patients are what they must learn to know better than anything else, much more than parasites and infections. But maybe medicine and statistics are too distant subjects for you to appreciate this concept» he dismissed the discussion before finally biting into the kebab.

Flavio recognized the vein of rebellion that fueled the professor's words and immediately associated it with the frictions he guessed he was having in the Defense project. He decided to take the opportunity to address the subject.

«Yet the 'Symbiotic mechanisms in human macrobiology' are a topic which would suggest the two subjects are not as distant as you are preaching to me...»

For a moment Boccaccio stopped chewing and scrutinized Flavio's anxious expression cautiously. Then his jaws resumed moving until he swallowed the bite.

«You have a good memory. You were serious when you mentioned the bulletin board, you actually read the announcements. I didn't suspect there was anyone so interested in my postings» he declared with false modesty.

«Believe me, if I came to your lecture it was out of sincere interest in the subject, I didn't expect that my curiosity would be so inconvenient for you in front of your students.»

«I believe you on the interest, but allow me to doubt your naivety about the controversy» Boccaccio scolded him distrustfully. «Anyway, now it explains your presence in my course... so, were you among the rejected in the selection for that doctorate?»

«No, I didn't apply, the doctorate was reserved for the cadets of the military academy.»

«But you would have liked to try anyway...» insinuated the teacher.

Flavio noticed an allusion to the possibilities of bending the rules.

«Yes, of course, but when there were selections I still had too much left to graduate, I couldn't apply» he justified himself again, actually showing a small hope for an intervention by Boccaccio.

«Console yourself, even with a degree in your pocket you would have been rejected anyway, you had no chance» Boccaccio stated bluntly, with a relaxed arrogance that left Flavio with a taste of mockery in his mouth.

Outside, the moderate but persistent downpour suddenly stopped and the proud rays of an afternoon sun made the wet asphalt shine. Boccaccio turned to look at the day that was beginning to clear up and wanted to take advantage of that moment to go back home.

«Well, your kebab is delicious...» Boccaccio read the name embroidered on Flavio's apron, «Mr. Mancini. Good evening.»

Flavio understood that, for some reason, be it even unconscious, Boccaccio had wanted to remember his name. Despite the obvious unwillingness of the professor, he forced himself to use that detail to play all the cards he had left.

«Wait! I know that you would have liked it if a regular student had access to those doctorates.»

Boccaccio didn't blink, but Flavio knew he was touching a sensitive chord. «On Monday I'll ask Professor Nasoni if he can assign me a thesis in the context of that project.»

«Well, good luck!»

«Professor, could you talk to him? Please... could you help me get accepted?»

«Help you with Nasoni, are you kidding? I mean, do you even know him?» he asked on the verge of laughter. «Goodbye Mancini, happy holidays!»

Boccaccio picked up his precious umbrella from the feet of the table where he had placed it and, shaking his head amused, left the rotisserie with the kebab in his hand. As Flavio watched him close the glass door behind him and head left, Aziz came out of the oven room where he had been, in the lowest of profiles, baking pizza slices with his ears pricked.

«Excuse me if I butt in, but wasn't it better to treat him more kindly?»

«Why? What did I say to him?»

«What did you say to him? You called him insecure, aggressive, you told him he likes to scare students... how did that come to your mind?»

«Both he and I know that's how he is, I hope he will appreciate my good judgment.»

«But didn't you barely know him? You can't judge people like that» preached Aziz between condescending and impatient. «How can you know those things about him?»

«I didn't know anything, I told him things that are valid for anyone. Things that are especially valid when one goes through bad times like the ones I met him in. Intimidating the class, kicking me out of the lecture, finding himself here soaked and hungry, being afraid that I want to take revenge on him, that I hold a grudge against him to the point of judging him badly, these are all situations in which anyone would feel insecure and aggressive. Even in other situations where I know he is, like the conflicts he must have with the Defense research group, I'm sure he feels insecure and aggressive.»

«Look, I don't know if you were right, but even if it's as you say, it doesn't matter so much whether it's true or not, but whether he believes it's true.» Aziz had his own experience of having been a merchant for years and was aware of this. His skeptical, rhetorical tone was that of someone trying to give advice to a friend. «Do you really think he'll realize you were right?»

«I don't know... I hope so» Flavio wished with a sigh.