Free Allegiance by Timothy Zahn

on Copperline. “This is the sort of life I joined the fleet to escape,” he murmured.
    “You want to offer them a lift?” Grave suggested. “We could put their cargo into one of the Suwantek’s holds and the animals and carts in the other.”
    “And have ISB come knocking on their doors someday?” LaRone countered. “No. They’ve got enough trouble already.”
    Grave exhaled loudly. “I suppose.”
    From somewhere behind LaRone came a soft whooshing sound. Frowning, he turned—
    And dropped reflexively into a crouch beside the landspeeder as a pair of swoops shot past half a meter over his head. “Grave!” he snapped as half a dozen more followed hard on the exhaust vents of the first two, all of them heading straight toward the farmers and their wagons.
    LaRone yanked out his blaster, his eyes and mind automatically assessing the situation. The two lead swoops had split formation now and were making tight circles above and around the two wagons as they waited for their comrades to catch up. The riders were little more than a blur, but from their garish outfits and the highly illegal underslung blaster cannons spitting a warning circle into the dust around the wagons it was obvious they were some sort of gang. The other speeder trucks on the road were scattering like smoke in the wind, leaving the farmers to stand alone.
    “They’re coming from that freighter,” Grave called. LaRone turned and saw a pair of open-topped speeder trucks loaded with rough-looking humans and aliens sliding down the ramp of one of the two Barloz freighters parked near the Suwantek.
    Which meant this wasn’t just some group of delinquents here for the twisted fun of terrorizing helpless locals. They were bandits or raiders, intending to steal the farmer’s new equipment.
    LaRone felt a snarl catch in his throat. Pulling out his comlink, he flicked it on. “Quiller?”
    “We’re here,” Quiller’s voice was tight and professional. “You want a pickup?”
    “I want firepower,” LaRone retorted. “We’re taking them down.”
    There was just the briefest pause. “You sure you want to do that?”
    “We’re sure,” Grave cut in. “LaRone and I will handlethe swoops—you see what you can do about that freighter.”
    “Acknowledged,” Quiller said. “Stand by.”
    LaRone slipped the comlink back onto his belt and braced his gun hand along the side of the landspeeder. At the raiders’ distance, this was going to be a tricky shot, especially with them running an encirclement pattern around their prey while they waited for their speeder trucks to arrive. Even more especially with the unfamiliar sport pistol he’d brought from the Suwantek’s collection.
    But he would just have to make do with what he had. Lining up the muzzle on the nearest swoop rider, he squinted along the barrel.
    “Heads up!” a faint voice called from his belted comlink. He frowned, looking up—
    To see Brightwater in full scout trooper armor flash past on his speeder bike, his own underslung blaster cannon spitting death at the distant swoops.
    LaRone barely had time to goggle at the sight when a second rapidly moving object caught the edge of his vision. He twisted his head that direction to see Marcross roaring toward them in the Suwantek’s other landspeeder. “Here!” the other called, lobbing a pair of large, dark objects toward him. LaRone dropped his blaster and stood upright, his eyes tracking, his arms outstretched.
    A second later the familiar bulk of Grave’s BlasTech T-28 sniper rifle dropped neatly into his right hand, while his own BlasTech E-11 landed in his left. “Grave!” he called.
    Grave glanced over, quick-holstering his own pistol as LaRone tossed him the T-28. He spun back around, lifted it to his shoulder, and began adding his own deadly sniper attack to the rapid fire spitting from Brightwater’s speeder bike.
    The raiders never had a chance. The last thing they could have expected this far from the hub’s