There was silence for a moment, only Tarn’s breathing could be heard.
“Captain,” spoke one of the crew, a young mid-20’s man, “Do i shoot the Grenna?”
“No!” Jim Morris shot, “What the hell is the matter with you people?”
“This is MY ship, mister!” Vargus admonished.
“What the good doctor is trying to say is,” Locke shot Jim a blasting look, “we’re unarmed here. This was a rescue mission. Let’s put the guns down and have a little chit-chat, ok?”
The Karama’s captain wasn’t convinced, “Not with that grey thing in tow. He’s been trouble since he’s been aboard!”
“We’ll come under Parlay. One hour. that’s all i ask!”
“Parlay? What’s that?” whisper the doc to the russian.
Karapanov replied, “It’s a truce between enemies on old sea-faring war-ships. Invoking the Right of Parlay is unrefusable. It was an old sea-farer’s code!”
“I hate to tell the captain,” Jim continued to whisper, “We’re not at sea here. This is space, for Christ Sakes!”
Vargus nodded. “Alright, you have one hour; guns down boys!”