The maneuver of connecting two spaceships did not take long. The cooperation with the Paradise Base pilot was pleasant and reminded of the professionalism of SF personnel - at least of the better ones as Gromov inwardly admitted. He was reluctant to sing unconditional praises on Space Force soldiers just because he used to be part of them.

Uttering a sentence or two when the situation asked for mutual coordination, the approaching pilot worked silently. While aligning his fighter with the freight ship, the momentum dragged him too far; but he managed to re-aligned it by adjusting the thrust of side motors - a sign of superb mastery.

After the passage had been established and pressurized, he climbed through the tunnel with the vigor of a youngster who would like to show off his physical fitness.

With empty hands stretched along his body, Gromov kept the distance to demonstrate friendly intentions. But the visitor behaved surprisingly fearless as if their previous verbal skirmish had never happened.

"Captain Gromov," he blurted as soon as he put down his helmet. "I'm so glad you're alive."

Being treated like an old friend, Gromov asked in bewilderment: "Have we met before?"

The face of the young pilot was unfamiliar, but Gromov had trouble remembering people.

"Never, sir. But Cecil Shanks sent us photos and videos. We all saw them."

"Photos and videos?"

Having no recollection of providing Cecil Shanks with any of these, Gromov stayed puzzled. But not dwelling on the matter any longer, he casually helped the man out of the spacesuit.

"The name's Peter Hawking. Just call me Hawk. See here."

On the man's neck was a tattoo of a bird of prey, attacking a rabbit. In front of the rabbit's screaming mouth and bulging eyes, the artist drew a cartoonish bubble saying: "HELP!!!"

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Rabbit," murmured Gromov who had never been a fan of tattoos in general. "Frankly, I was more impressed by your maneuvering. Good job."

"Thank you, sir."

The morose words did not affect Hawk's sunny mood. Flashing a mischievous smile under freckled cheeks, he was a handsome fellow with brown hair and eyes. After having gotten out of the spacesuit, he showed a dark red overall, tightly binding an athletic body with broad shoulders and slim legs.

Compared to people coming from environments with higher gravity, his build appeared taller and narrower, so he somehow resembled an unrealistic fantasy figure. Seeing Hawk's abnormally thin fingers, Gromov proceeded cautiously with the handshake.

"I'm not that fragile, Captain," Hawk smiled and observed his hand disappearing in the bear-like paw. "Can I have a tour around the ship, sir?"

"Call me Sava."

"Sava? What about I call you Big G instead?" suggested Hawk innocently. "Tell me what's your weight, Captain? We seldom see such bulky dudes here."

If not for child-like admiration in the question that reminded him of a toddler watching an elephant for the first time, Gromov would take offense.

"Over one hundred kilos," he muttered. "And I'm not bulky, I'm well-built. And you?"

"About the same."

"Nonsense!" blurted Gromov. Then, he added in a milder tone:

"We're both talking in different units I presume. But if you insist, I will gladly sell you gold by weight."

"Gold by weight? What? Aha!"

Being quick-witted, Hawk did not take long to understand the crux of the problem. The kilogram was a physical unit that made sense in ancient times when people lived on one planet. Sadly enough, the unit had survived its usefulness, and now every habitat with varying gravities measured weight relatively.

Although the confusion caused a great number of catastrophes, there was no standardizing force in the Solar System, so the situation had not changed since the colonization.

"Anyway," Gromov continued, "Don't call me Big G. My subordinates used to call me Bloodsucker behind my back. Not something I fancy, so Sava is enough."

Then, he leaned forward and whispered: "A piece of advice, though. There's a lady on board. In your eyes, given the planet she is from, she may appear a bit sturdier. But under no circumstances, don't ask her the question from before. Inquiries about her weight, dimensions, or the usage of words like bulky, robust, or, God forbid, fat may get you pulverized."

Hawk only waved it off. "This is common sense, Big G. I won't be commenting on that fat lady. I'm a charming fellow. She'll love me."

Gromov's mouth twitched. "Follow me, then. I'll introduce you to Simone. But if she erases your brain, I hope your colleague won't hold me responsible."

It turned out that Hawk was familiar with Luciano's ship and needed no guidance. With the air of a fine art connoisseur, he walked along Luciano's paintings, greeting them with enthusiasm that Gromov could not share.

From Hawk's speech, Gromov understood that the whole Paradise Base was Luciano's fan and that dying soldiers, trampled in the mood and blood, were often portraits of the Paradise Base's locals. Having no shame, Luciano took orders for tailored erotic oils on which the customer enjoyed very intimate contact with angels of various sizes and shapes.

"Thanks to Luciano," explained Hawk proudly, "we renamed our base to Paradise. Can you guess why, Big G?"

Since this one did not require a higher intellectual involvement, Gromov heaved a sigh, kindly pardoning the man for calling him Big G again: "Because you are men who bang angels. Am I right?"

"Exactly. See here? This is me. Luciano named it Valhalla awaits the brave."

Out of sheer courtesy, Gromov examined the incriminated area only to stumble upon a warrior with a dagger inside his stomach who bore absolutely no resemblance to his guest.

"Marvelous," he pointed at the smudgy black speck on the warrior's neck. "Your tattoo, isn't it? Hawk and rabbit?"

"Oh, you're the first one who noticed it. Luciano sure knew his stuff. The attention to the tiniest detail!"

Wasting about fifteen minutes over the highly inaccurate portrait, delighted Hawk ventured on the quest of revealing other unlikely relations between him and the oil, not minding Gromov's growing impatience. After that, he proceeded with the inspection.

By no means was the guest a simple character. The speech aimed at being a mere distraction during which Hawk performed very thoroughful checks of all cabins and cavities.

"Satisfied?" asked Gromov when the tour was finally over. "Now out of it, Hawk! What's the problem here? I read Luciano's journal and you've never done this before, at least not to this extent. I can understand that I'm persona nuova, but still... This is not your standard routine, isn't it?"

"Not that much. But we have become suspicious after you reported that you had rescued some people. What is worse, lately, we were warned about renewed activities of Free Traders. Admittedly, using a ship as a Trojan horse is an unusually smart idea for them, but Our Lord insisted on intercepting your ship."

"Your Lord? You folks are religious?"

Hawk burst out laughing. "Not at all, Big G. Our Lord is the commander of our base. Since we are Paradise, then the boss is..."

"I get it, I get it! No need to elaborate! The Paradise analogy bugs me. Back to the Free Traders. I thought the Space Forces has eradicated them, including their hidden bases."

"Tsk! With all respect, the Advanced Nations just made a huge ruckus, blew out a few rocks, and disappeared. The Free Traders are thriving once again, like cockroaches."

"Sorry to hear that. Are you safe?"

"I guess so. We are too big for Free Traders to chew, but we need to stay alert. So forgive us for the inconvenience. It must suck to get welcome like this after so a long journey. But don't worry we will protect you if anything happens. Luciano's cargo is very important to us. He was the only one who did not mind coming here from the Advanced Nations, so we treasured him highly. You are also our VIP, Big G."

"If so," Gromov looked sharply at Hawk's innocent and honest face, "then tell me everything. Even the part you're hiding from me."

"Why do you think I'm hiding something?"

Gromov knocked on Hawk's skull. "Because your brain told me so. I am an esper, so I can read your mind."

"Good one! But be serious! There's certainly one thing that is trouble. But you can't possibly know about it. So why...?"

"Just guessing. You can treat me as a protected VIP only when I'm here, right? I doubt you will escort me on my way home. But since I don't plan to stay here for too long, I need to be wary only of things that present an imminent threat to Paradise. From your words, I understood the Free Traders might be getting closer, perhaps so close that my ship may go down together with your base."

"Only from that?"

"The Trojan horse was my keyword. If there is a saboteur with a mission to open the gates, there is attacking force coming along. Am I clear enough?"

"Stunning assessment, sir," exclaimed Hawk. "Nothing less expected from Big G. You have everything what it takes, sir. Big body, big brain. And I am sure that you have even a big..."

Gromov stared at him. "Tell me honestly, Hawk. Since the beginning, I couldn't shake off the suspicion that you were poking fun at me with the Big G name. Now I'm sure."

"Oh, so you've figured me out? You were a bit grumpy, so I decided to cheer you up. Wasn't it fun?"

"Very. I can't stop laughing even now. Time's up, anyway. If the inspection is over, what about meeting my crew? A certain fat lady waits eagerly to entertain a joker of your caliber."

"Fat ladies are my specialty," Hawk stated proudly. "They do love me. Lead the way, Big G."

Incredulous, Gromov only could feel sympathy for the poor fellow. Not so petty to object to Hawk's joke, he found his guest very likable, so Hawk's slim chances of surviving the encounter with Simone saddened him. However, he led the way with grim satisfaction. "Big G was it?" he pondered. "Now prepare for a Big Grave, Mr. BadNicknameGiver."