Captain Parrott: Space Buccaneer

Part 5: Violent Diplomacy

The cargo bay of the Revenant was a sea of activity. After weeks of anticipation the crew was ready for some action and were busily checking weapons and donning their somewhat ridiculous over-suit regalia. With any luck this would be a quiet run. But, if there was one thing they knew about Gorb, quiet wasn't his style. Pierre and Parrott picked their way through the crowd carrying the plasma cannon's crate between them.

"Ahoy Vivian!" Parrott called as they approached.

"Captain!" Vivian responded, setting aside the mag rifle she'd been assembling and snapping to attention.

"Y' can put away that pea shooter. We've got a real gun fer ya." Parrott said as they thumped the crate down in front of her and opened the lid. The big german's eyes lit up at the sight of the weapon.

"Now that's what I call a gun! How many a' these we got?"

"Just the one. An' only six shells. It's a Whipshar plasma cannon. Got the schematics off a merchant in The Den a few years back but it takes too much out a' the fab t' make a full batch of 'em. Good news is we shouldn't need more n' one."

Vivian hefted the weapon and sighted down the scope with the chamber open. "Only one eh. What's the yield?"

"Big. Wave it around an' threaten with it but don't pull the trigger if y' don't have t'. An' even then not in th' general direction a' Gorb, 'is computers, or the ship. It's got a long range an' it'll destroy everythin' in its path."

"Aye aye captain." Vivian said without taking her eyes off the weapon. Parrott and Pierre left her with her new toy and went to retrieve their own equipment.

For this run Parrott had pulled out a suit of powered armor that would increase her strength and speed. Gorb and his crew were Vaks. Big, bulky, almost plant-like creatures built for high gravity. This meant they were strong and tough but also slow. If things went south anyone they could shoot wouldn't be a problem but they needed Gorb alive and the suit would open up the close quarters option. She also had a pair of mag pistols loaded with thermal rounds. The rounds were designed to transform some of the pistol's launching field into heat through induction. This slowed them down and made them less effective at range, but they could tear through body armor like it was nothing.

She'd just finished pulling her regalia over the armor when Pierre arrived. Like the rest of the crew he was in his usual armored survival suit, plus regalia, and armed with a both mag and laser rifles which he could switch between as needed. The mag rifle was useful for quick shots against light armored targets. The laser rifle could cut through heavy armor but only if you could hit a specific point with a sustained burn.

"Gotta admit captain, y looked real intimidatin' until y' put that hat on," Pierre grinned. He knew full well this wasn't about intimidation. It was important they looked, sounded, and even smelled as distinct as possible in case someone they crossed ever encountered the fleet. Identifying individuals across species was always tricky and a misunderstanding like that could have fatal consequences.

"I could crush yer skull with me bare hands. Would that be intimidatin' enough fer ya?" Parrot retrieved the black box they'd stolen from the oxygen freighter and tucked it under her arm. "Polly, how far out 're we?"

"We touch ground at Gorb's base in five minutes," the AI responded.

"Good. Just enough time t' rally the troops." She turned back to Pierre. "Y' know the drill. Take the back an' keep everyone in line. I'll take the front an' keep 'em pointed in the right direction."

"Aye aye captain!" Pierre saluted and went to take up his position. Parrott went the opposite direction; weaving her way through the crowd to get near the large doors they'd be exiting through. It had been a while since she'd worn power armor and it took her a minute to get the hang of walking again. It required these weird, sort of relaxed movements. You had to direct the armor without fighting it. By the time she reached the front and clambered up onto a pile of empty ammo boxes muscle memory had kicked in and the suit might as well have been a second skin.