Brightwater warned. “Even if we don’t see any Imperials, raiders like to hang around transfer stations, too.”
“Especially when
they
don’t see any Imperials, either,” Grave said drily.
“Good point,” LaRone agreed. “Why don’t you and Brightwater go ahead and fire up the cannons?”
“Sure,” Grave said. He gestured, and he and Brightwater left the cockpit. LaRone glanced back to see them circle past the life support and ship computer stations on either side in the anteroom and slip through the small blast doors into the two gunwells flanking the ship’s nose.
“Those lasers are going to be a nasty surprise to anyone we have to fire at,” Quiller commented as he flipped on the gunwell intercoms. “I took a quick look earlier, and they’ve been seriously upgraded from anything that’s standard for this class of ship.”
“Figures,” LaRone said, studying the ring of landing areas as they dropped toward the ground. “Quiller,what do you say we take that medium-crowded field due east of the hub?”
“Sounds good to me,” Quiller said. “I’ll put her down near those two Barloz freighters at the northern end.”
“So how do we work this?” Marcross asked. “We spread out with shopping lists?”
“I don’t think we should split up quite that much,” LaRone said. “I was thinking Grave and I would do the shopping while the rest of you stay here. We’ll buy a few days’ worth of supplies, bring them back to the ship, then go to a different shop and buy a little more. That way it’ll be less obvious that we’re stocking up for a long trip.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Marcross said. “I presume the rest of us can at least put in special requests?”
“Hey, this is on the ISB,” LaRone reminded him. “Just give me your lists.”
The landing field was rough and aged, its permacrete surface crisscrossed with cracks and dips and ridges, its nav markings faded or nonexistent. Despite all that, they settled almost gently onto the surface, with far less bumping than even the typical stormtrooper drop ship. Either Quiller was a better pilot than LaRone had realized, or else the Suwantek’s landing gear had been as lovingly upgraded as everything else on the ship.
“Keep an eye out for trouble,” LaRone told the others as Grave maneuvered one of the two landspeeders onto the cargo lift.
“You too,” Marcross said. “If they’ve got an alert out, this whole place could be plastered with our pictures by now.”
“I hope not,” Grave said, patting the sport blaster belted at his side. “For their sake.”
Either Drunost had been left out of the loop or else Captain Ozzel and the ISB were still trying to figure outhow to word a wanted posting for stormtrooper deserters. LaRone watched the shopkeepers closely as he and Grave filled their baskets, but there was no hint of recognition or even interest in the two strangers.
They paid for their purchases with ISB credits and headed back outside. To the west a wave of loaded air-speeders flew out from the Consolidated complex with freshly obtained cargoes, and a line of speeder trucks and landspeeders shimmered their way down the road or across the hardened ground on either side of it. Plodding along among them were half a dozen men and women in threadbare farmers’ garb, leading a pair of animal-drawn wagons loaded with large plastic crates.
“The nearest farmland looked to be a good fifteen kilometers away,” Grave commented quietly, nodding toward the latter procession as he and LaRone loaded their packages into the landspeeder. “Going to be a long walk.”
“Maybe they’ll get to ride some of it,” LaRone said.
“I doubt it,” Grave said. “The crates are full of farming gear—I recognize the Johder company logo. Low-tech, and as heavy as a moff’s private vault. They won’t risk straining their animals by making them haul passengers, too.”
LaRone grimaced, his mind flashing back to the dirt-poor farmers back
“Especially when
they
don’t see any Imperials, either,” Grave said drily.
“Good point,” LaRone agreed. “Why don’t you and Brightwater go ahead and fire up the cannons?”
“Sure,” Grave said. He gestured, and he and Brightwater left the cockpit. LaRone glanced back to see them circle past the life support and ship computer stations on either side in the anteroom and slip through the small blast doors into the two gunwells flanking the ship’s nose.
“Those lasers are going to be a nasty surprise to anyone we have to fire at,” Quiller commented as he flipped on the gunwell intercoms. “I took a quick look earlier, and they’ve been seriously upgraded from anything that’s standard for this class of ship.”
“Figures,” LaRone said, studying the ring of landing areas as they dropped toward the ground. “Quiller,what do you say we take that medium-crowded field due east of the hub?”
“Sounds good to me,” Quiller said. “I’ll put her down near those two Barloz freighters at the northern end.”
“So how do we work this?” Marcross asked. “We spread out with shopping lists?”
“I don’t think we should split up quite that much,” LaRone said. “I was thinking Grave and I would do the shopping while the rest of you stay here. We’ll buy a few days’ worth of supplies, bring them back to the ship, then go to a different shop and buy a little more. That way it’ll be less obvious that we’re stocking up for a long trip.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Marcross said. “I presume the rest of us can at least put in special requests?”
“Hey, this is on the ISB,” LaRone reminded him. “Just give me your lists.”
The landing field was rough and aged, its permacrete surface crisscrossed with cracks and dips and ridges, its nav markings faded or nonexistent. Despite all that, they settled almost gently onto the surface, with far less bumping than even the typical stormtrooper drop ship. Either Quiller was a better pilot than LaRone had realized, or else the Suwantek’s landing gear had been as lovingly upgraded as everything else on the ship.
“Keep an eye out for trouble,” LaRone told the others as Grave maneuvered one of the two landspeeders onto the cargo lift.
“You too,” Marcross said. “If they’ve got an alert out, this whole place could be plastered with our pictures by now.”
“I hope not,” Grave said, patting the sport blaster belted at his side. “For their sake.”
Either Drunost had been left out of the loop or else Captain Ozzel and the ISB were still trying to figure outhow to word a wanted posting for stormtrooper deserters. LaRone watched the shopkeepers closely as he and Grave filled their baskets, but there was no hint of recognition or even interest in the two strangers.
They paid for their purchases with ISB credits and headed back outside. To the west a wave of loaded air-speeders flew out from the Consolidated complex with freshly obtained cargoes, and a line of speeder trucks and landspeeders shimmered their way down the road or across the hardened ground on either side of it. Plodding along among them were half a dozen men and women in threadbare farmers’ garb, leading a pair of animal-drawn wagons loaded with large plastic crates.
“The nearest farmland looked to be a good fifteen kilometers away,” Grave commented quietly, nodding toward the latter procession as he and LaRone loaded their packages into the landspeeder. “Going to be a long walk.”
“Maybe they’ll get to ride some of it,” LaRone said.
“I doubt it,” Grave said. “The crates are full of farming gear—I recognize the Johder company logo. Low-tech, and as heavy as a moff’s private vault. They won’t risk straining their animals by making them haul passengers, too.”
LaRone grimaced, his mind flashing back to the dirt-poor farmers back
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