The Hero Of Cartao

Star Wars  

Star Wars Insider 

N 68 

Hero of Cartao  

Part 1 

Hero's call. 

by Timothy Zahn. 



############################################################################### 

ONE YEAR AFTER THE BATTLE OF GEONOSIS 

"Master Doriana?" Emil Kerseage's deep voice called. "We're here." 

Kinman Doriana awoke with a start, blinking his eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the shuttle's viewports. For a moment he gazed at the landscape rolling beneath him, trying to remember where exactly he was. There had been so many systems... 

The disorientation cleared. He was on Cartao, major trading center for Prackla Sector, carefully nonaligned in the war between the Republic and the Separatists. And home to... 

'There it is," Kerseage said. He turned the control stick delicately, rolling the shuttle slightly to the left to give Doriana a better look. "Spaarti Creations." 

Doriana gazed out the side viewport, impressed in spite of himself. Situated among a group of forested hills just north of the compact town of Foulahn City, perhaps three kilometers northwest of the equally compact Triv Spaceport, was the unique manufacturing plant known as Spaarti Creations. Over a kilometer across at its widest, it had the patchwork look of something that had repeatedly been added onto over the decades. The roofline echoed the frozen chaos, with towers, heat exchangers, antennas, and skylights poking out at apparently random spots along the building's overall three-story height. There were no windows he could see, ventilation apparently being handled by a line of small, louvered air vents dotting the outer walls about midway up the sides. "Impressive," he commented. 

"You think so?" Kerseage shrugged. "Personally, I've always considered it an architectural version of a weed patch. No order or organization anywhere." 

"Ever been inside?" 

"No one but employees get to go in," the other said, his lip twisting with disgust and resentment. 'Them, and the high and mighty." 

"Like me?" Doriana asked. 

Kerseage glanced at him, as if suddenly remembering just who his passenger was. "No, no, I was thinking about Lord Binalie's chums," he backtracked hastily. 'The Prackla Trade Council-that sort of crowd." 

"You don't think much of them?" 

Kerseage shrugged again, uncomfortably this time. "It's nothing to do with me," he muttered. "I got a shuttle; I fly people places. That's all." 

"I see," Doriana said, returning his attention to the manufacturing plant now passing directly beneath them. Clearly, Kerseage didn't want to say any more. 

But then, he didn't have to. Like everything else he ever did, Doriana had made sure to research Cartao before coming here and hiring this particular man to bring him across the sparsely settled planet to Spaarti Creations. The cargo transport company Kerseage had once owned had been inadvertently run out of business two years earlier by a poorly worded regulation the Prackla Trade Council had issued after the Battle of Geonosis. 

Kerseage's appeal was still crawling its way through the system, but by now the issue was essentially moot. His company was gone, and he clearly blamed Lord Binalie for it. 

"What about the plant's satellite facilities?" he asked, his eyes flicking around the forested areas north and west of the main facility. 'The buildings where they store raw materials and finished product." 

"You mean the three Outlinks?" 

"Right," Doriana said. "Where are they?" 

"I don't know, exactly," Kerseage said. 'The closest one's supposed to be about three kilometers northeast, just past that big gray-topped worker barracks thing." He pointed. 

"Mm," Doriana said, peering into the distance. There was nothing showing in that direction that he could see. Well camouflaged, either by accident or by design. That could be useful. "Where does Lord Binalie live?" 

"There." Kerseage pointed to the left as he brought the shuttle around in a wide semicircle. "You see Foulahn City, just south of that kilometer-wide stretch of grassland?" 

"I see it," Doriana said. "I don't think I've ever seen a city come to a stop that abruptly before. Except where there's a lake or cliff to limit it, of course." 

"It might as well be a cliff," Kerseage grunted. "That particular line of grassland marks the southern edge of Spaarti land, and no one travels or builds there. The Cranscoc insist on it. Anyway, you see that big open area on the northern edge of the city, butting up against the grass strip?" 

"Yes," Doriana said. It looked like a park-grassland, quite a few clumps of trees, large sections of sculpted bushes-with a few small buildings and one very large one. Even from this distance, the place reeked of wealth and power. On one of the low hills facing the plant, he could see a pair of figures standing together. 'The Binalie estate?" 

"You got it," Kerseage said. "You seen enough?" 

Doriana took a last look around, fixing the geography in his mind. Foulahn and Navroc Cities lay to the south and southeast of the plant, with the craggy Red Hills pushing up against the southern ends of both cities. Triv Spaceport was to the east, with low, increasingly forested rolling hills to the north, and a small river winding its way between the two cities and then between Foulahn and the spaceport. 

"Yes," he told the pilot, resettling himself in his seat. "Let's go see Lord Binalie." 

They're turning around some more," Corf Binalie announced, shading his eyes with his hand as he peered upward into the sky. 

"I think they might be coming here." 

"Who, the people in the shuttle?" Jafer Tories asked, his white hair blowing past his cheek as he gazed downward at the ground, trying to pick out the particular siviviv vine he and the boy had been following for the past half hour. "Yes, I know." 

"You know who they are?" Corf asked, frowning up at him. "Did Dad say something to you about visitors?" 

"No, but he didn't need to," Tories assured the boy. "It's been obvious for nearly a minute now." 

"Oh, come on," Corf objected in that tone of strained patience twelve-year-olds did so well. "How could you?" 

"Simple logical deduction," Tories told him in that pedantic instructor's tone seventy-three-year-olds did equally well. 

"There was no reason for them to pass directly over the plant unless that was what they were specifically looking at. After realizing how little that gained them, their natural next step is to want to take a look from the inside. For that, they need to come see your father." 

Corf shook his head in amazement. "Boy," he said. "I wish I were a Jedi." 

"If you were, you'd probably have to goto war someday," Tories warned. 

"You didn't have to," Corf pointed out. 

"Not yet," Tories said with a grimace. "But I could be called up at any moment. The Council merely decided to leave a few Jedi where we are for the moment in case of unexpected Separatist moves in our areas. I could get to the scene of trouble anywhere in Prackla or Locris Sectors long before they could send someone from Coruscant or one of the major battle areas. Being a Jedi is never easy, and can be downright dangerous." 

"Yeah, but you're real smart," Corf said. Clearly, distant rumblings of war didn't faze him in the slightest. "You're good at figuring out stuff." 

"Logical thinking is hardly the exclusive preserve of Jedi," Tories admonished him. "Anyone can learn to put facts together in their proper order. " 

"Maybe," Corf said. "I still think it's a Jedi thing." Tories smiled, shading his eyes with his hand as he watched the shuttle approach. In point of fact, of course, he hadn't really known the shuttle was coming to the Binalie Estate, but had merely concluded there was a high probability of it. If it turned out the pilot was merely showing off Spaarti Creations to some visiting friend, he was going to look pretty foolish. 

This might not be a bad thing. Tories had spent the past thirty years on Cartao, dispensing wisdom, mediating disputes, and handling the occasional pirate or overeager crime lord. Some of the locals had come to respect him, others had chosen to hate him, while most had never been more than vaguely aware that Prackla Sector even had a resident Jedi guardian. 

But never in those thirty years had he run into a case of hero-worship like Corf Binalie's. 

In his earlier days, it would have been highly gratifying, not to mention flattering, to be held in such high esteem. From the perspective of his years, though, he could see the danger lurking beneath that kind of unthinking adulation. Even at twelve Corf should be able to recognize a person's weaknesses as well as his strengths; should be learning how to accept people as they were, not creating a lens of perfection through which to gaze at them. Instead, the boy insisted on regarding him as the Ultimate Jedi: tall and strong, wise and kind, and never, ever wrong. 

This particular incident wasn't going to do much to change that perception, either. The shuttle passed low over their heads, leaving no doubt that it was indeed making for the private landing pad beside the Binalie mansion. 

And as it did so, Tories got a clear look at the company name on the shuttle's side. 

"Come on," he said, taking Corf's arm and turning him toward the house. 

"We're going back?" Corf asked, frowning. "I thought you were going to help me track this siviviv vine back to its root." 

"We can do that later," Tories told him. "Right now, I think we ought to go see what these people want with your father." 

"Okay," Corf said, clearly not understanding but willing to accept Tories' word for it. "You're the boss." 

"I'm not the boss," Tories reminded him as they headed down the hill toward the distant house and the shuttle settling onto the pad. "I'm just the Jedi." 

"Yeah," Corf said off-handedly. "Same thing." 

Tories sighed to himself. Hopefully, the boy would grow out of it on his own. 

One of Doriana's more simple amusements these days was to I count off the minutes between the time a droid or servant I disappeared into his master's inner sanctum with Doriana's credentials and the time Doriana himself was ushered in. In the case of Lord Pilester Binalie, that interval was less than a minute. Either Binalie was unusually respectful of Coruscant authority, or else he was too worried about this unexpected visitor to play power games. 

"Master Doriana," Binalie said, rising from the massive chair behind the even more massive desk as the protocol droid escorted Doriana into the office. "It's a great honor to receive a representative from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine himself." 

"A pleasure to meet you, as well, Lord Binalie," Doriana said in turn as he walked across the room. "I appreciate you giving me some of your time." 

"My pleasure," Binalie said, waving Doriana to a chair facing the desk and sitting back down himself. "I wish you'd given me notice of your visit. I could have sent a shuttle to meet you, or else directed you to Triv Spaceport where you could have come over by landspeeder." 

"There were reasons for coming into Cartao where I did," Doriana told him, watching the other's face closely. "As there were for choosing the particular transport I did." 

A muscle in Binalie's cheek twitched. So he'd spotted the name on Kerseage's shuttle, too. "Yes; Emil Kerseage," he said. "I'm familiar with his case, Master Doriana, and I assure you the Trade Council is working to rectify it." 

He waved a hand self-consciously. "It's certainly nothing Palpatine needs to involve himself with." 

"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine is the champion of the common citi zen," Doriana reminded him. 

"Of course," Binalie said hastily, the first hints of perspiration beginning to sheen his face. "It's just that-" He broke off. 

"Yes?" Doriana prompted. 

The cheek muscle twitched again. "Let me be honest with you," Binalie said. "Cartao is trying to keep a low profile in this war against the Separatists. We don't have nearly enough military power to send troops or ships halfway across the galaxy on expeditionary missions. So far we've mostly escaped official notice; but if Chancellor Palpatine begins taking an interest in some minor bureaucratic dispute, that official notice is likely to be drawn our direction." 

He tapped the desk in front of him with his forefinger. "And not just from the officials on Coruscant," he added pointedly. 'The Separatists have so far ignored us, too."

Binalie's eyes were very steady on Doriana's. "You're not here about Kerseage at all, are you?" he said quietly. 

Doriana shook his head. "It was, and is, a useful cover story. 

But no, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine sent me on far more important business." 

Binalie's stony face went even stonier. "Spaarti Creations." 

"Exactly," Doriana said. 'The Supreme Chancellor is intrigued by the reports he's heard about this factory whose production lines can be changed practically overnight. If the technique can be duplicated, it would mean a great deal for the Republic's war effort." 

"It can't be," Binalie said flatly. "It's the Cranscoc and their fluid-tooling system that make it possible, and as far as we know the Cartao colony is the only place Cranscoc live." 

"Thousands of them, I presume?" 

Binalie hesitated the barest fraction of a second, as if wondering whether he could get away with a lie. "About fifty thousand, yes," he conceded, apparently deciding not to risk it. 

"But they breed very slowly, and only a small fraction of each generation has the talent that allows them to serve as twillers. 

Those are the ones who actually manipulate the fluid retooling that make Spaarti possible." 

"I see," Doriana said, as if he hadn't already thoroughly researched the whole operation. "Still, the Supreme Chancellor will want me to be absolutely certain. Would it be possible for me to inspect the facilities themselves? Quietly and privately, of course." 

Binalie knew a politely phrased order when he heard it. "Of course," he said, getting to his feet. "I have a private way into the plant." 

They were halfway down the corridor leading back toward the landing pad when a boy's voice split the mansion's elegant silence. "Hey! Dad!" 

The two men stopped and turned. Hurrying toward them was a young boy about twelve years old-Lord Binalie's son Corf, Doriana ten tatively identified him. Behind the boy, walking with a longer stride and a more measured pace, was the final player in the day's scheduled drama: Jedi Knight Jafer Tories. 

"Corf," Binalie said, sounding surprised and a little uncomfortable. "I thought you were on weed control this morning." 

"We saw the shuttle," Corf explained as he trotted up to his father's side, giving Doriana a quick once-over as he arrived. 

"Are you going to the plant?" 

"For a few minutes, yes," Binalie said. 

"Can I come along?" 

Binalie shook his head. "Not this time." 

The boy blinked. Clearly, that wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. "Why not?" 

"Business," his father said firmly. "Only Master Doriana and I are going. " 

"But..." 

"No arguments," Binalie said sternly, shifting his attention away from Corf as the Jedi reached the group. "I'd like you to meet Jafer Tories, our local Jedi guardian. This is Kinman Doriana, special advisor to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine." 

The skin at the corners of the old Jedi's eyes crinkled slightly at Palpatine's name. Small wonder-the Supreme Chancellor and the Jedi Council had been increasingly at odds with each other over the past few months. "Master Tories," Doriana said, nodding. 

"I'm glad you're here. As Lord Binalie said, we're going to see the plant. Would you care to accompany us?" Corf looked at his father in surprise. "But you said-" 

"Be quiet, Corf," Binalie cut him off, looking at Doriana with some surprise of his own. "I thought you said this was a private matter." 

"That was before I knew Master Tories was in the area," Doriana said, gazing into Binalie's face. It would be worth the risk, he decided suddenly, to see just how far the man could be pushed. 

"For that matter," he added, "I see no reason why your son shouldn't come, too. You will begin moving him into a management position in a few years, won't you?" 

The muscles in Binalie's throat tightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Lord Pilester Binalie, the biggest fish in this particular little pond, was unused to having people casually cut the ground out from under him this way. 

But Doriana understood power, too. He held Binalie's glare steadily, without challenge or malice, wondering if the other could see far enough past his annoyance to remember whom he was dealing with. 

Apparently, he could. "As you wish," he said stiffly. "Follow me." 

Torles had been in the Binalies' private tunnel to Spaarti Creations only a handful of times, and it never failed to evoke a sense of wonder. The Cranscoc themselves had burrowed out the long passageway, Lord Binalie had once told him, without the use of any machinery. The result had been a rough-hewn tunnel that perpetually held the rich tang of recently turned dirt. 

But despite the fresh aroma, he also knew that in the digging process those same dirt walls had somehow been converted into a material as tough and durable as permacrete. And the apparent roughness of the surface hid the more subtle swirls and delicate patterns the Cranscoc diggers had carved into it. 

Functional, artistic, and-by all generally accepted technology-impossible. This was, Tories reflected, a pretty fair description of Spaarti Creations itself. 

"The Cranscoc don't want people or vehicles on the strip of grassland between the plant and Foulahn City," Binalie explained to Doriana as the landspeeder slid silently down the tunnel. 

"They say it upsets them, though we don't know how or why. 

Hence, this tunnel." 

"What about the other employees?" Doriana asked. 'The non-Cranscoc ones. How do they get to work?" 

"Most of them live on-site," Binalie said. 'There's a group apartment cluster along the eastern edge of the plant, between the main building and Outlink One, for the unmarried workers. 

The Cranscoc have a cluster of homes north of the plant, between Outlinks One and Two, while the non-Cranscoc families live in their own cluster to the north-west, between Outlinks Two and Three." 

"And how do all of them get to work?" Doriana persisted. "More tunnels like this one?" 

"There are tunnels leading between the main plant and the Outlinks," Binalie said. "But those are mainly for cargo and equipment transfer. The workers usually just walk across the lawns to work." 

He smiled slightly at Doriana's puzzled look. "I know. 

Apparently, it's only this one strip of land the Cranscoc insist be left completely open. Again, no one knows why." 

The tunnel floor began to slope upward, and Tories found himself surreptitiously watching Doriana. The first time he'd taken this trip, he'd naturally expected the tunnel to deposit them into some sort of receiving area, and could still remember his shock when they'd arrived smack in the middle of one of the production areas. It might be instructive to see whether Doriana would also be taken by surprise. 

He was. He kept his face impassive as a section of the ceiling lifted like a drawbridge above them and the landspeeder moved up a ramp into the center of the bustling factory, but Tories could sense the flicker of astonishment behind those expressionless eyes. "Interesting endpoint," was all he said as Binalie let the landspeeder coast to a stop 

"The Cranscoc like to know what's going on around them," Binalie said, climbing out of his seat as the floor swung shut behind them. "This is Production Area Four, where we're currently making specialized harvesting equipment for the marshlands of Caamas. The ground there is too interlaced with vineroots for normal equipment to operate without breaking down every other day." 

"So you're in the business of filling niche markets?" Doriana asked. 

"Basically," Binalie said, nodding. 'There isn't enough of that kind of cultivatable marshland in the Republic to justify setting up a permanent assembly line to make the equipment necessary to farm it. But with the Cranscoc system, we can spend a few days or weeks making everything the Caamasi will need for the next year or two, then retool and move on to other projects." 

"And where does all this magic retooling take place?" Doriana asked. 

"It starts at the main control station," Binalie said, pointing toward a round platform rising two meters off the floor between two of the assembly lines. 'The one for this area is over there." 

They crossed to the platform, Binalie guiding his guests through the maze of conveyers, transport carts, and human and alien workers. Climbing up the steps, they found themselves beside a long console that had always reminded Tories of a cross between an elongated volcano and a very muddy hillside, with a segmented waterfall of pale green paste oozing ponderously and continually along various sections of the slope. In front of the collecting basin lounged five Cranscoc, their chitinous outer shells gleaming in the sunbeams streaming in through the skylight three floors directly above them. Their long, multi-jointed legs tapped out syncopated rhythms on the thick grass that covered the entire top of the platform, keeping time to music apparently only they could hear. 'These are five of the Cranscoc twillers," Binalie said, keeping his voice low. "Whatever they do to that fluid flow will affect most of those machines you can see." 

"They can do all the retooling from here?" Doriana asked. 

"No, each machine needs its own adjustments," Binalie told him. 

"There are roving twillers assigned to each area for that purpose. Depending on the complexity involved, a given production area can be retooled in anywhere from two to eight hours." 

"Your basic overnight alterations," Doriana said, nodding. 

"Very literally overnight," Binalie agreed. "The Cranscoc will do minor adjustments during the daylight hours-that's why this group is on duty, in case one of the machines drifts off true and needs to be recalibrated. But they'll only do a major retooling after it's completely dark outside." 

"And you don't know why?" 

"Frankly, we know next to nothing about the Cranscoc," Binalie admitted. 'They breathe oxygen, their diet is mostly local vegetables and grains, except that it all has to be enriched with extra magnesium and cobalt, and they like to farm and dig and create artistic objects." 

"Fortunately, marshland farm equipment falls into that last category?" 

"Farm equipment and everything else," Binalie said. 'They seem to love using Spaarti to make things." He led them back down to the main floor. "You say this is Production Area Four," Doriana said. "How many others are there?" 

"We currently have twenty-seven operating areas," Binalie told him. "Eight of them are larger and more complex than this one, while the others are comparable or a bit smaller." 

"I'd like to see one of the larger ones." 

Binalie's lips compressed briefly, but he merely nodded. "Of course. This way." 

They visited two other lines before Doriana decided he'd seen enough. 'That will do," he said as Binalie started to lead them on to the next area. "Is there an office where we can talk more privately? 

Binalie frowned sideways at him. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, his voice dark with suspicion. "Surely you see now that this technique can't be duplicated elsewhere." 

"A private office, if you please?" Doriana repeated. 

Binalie took a deep breath - "And it may be best if the boy leaves us now," Doriana added. 

Binalie's eyes hardened. Suddenly, it seemed, he'd had enough of being led around by the nose. "I have no secrets from my son, Doriana," he bit out. "If you have anything to say to me, you can say it in his presence." 

Doriana let his lip twitch, as if he hadn't finessed the other into precisely this result. "If you insist," he said. 

Binalie nodded shortly. "In here." 

He led the way to a room marked "Schematic Plotting," ordered out the human and Duros who'd been working on a pair of large plotting boards inside, and keyed the door closed behind them. 

Swinging one of the two chairs around for his visitor, he hiked himself up into a half-sitting, half-leaning posture against one of the boards. "Let's hear it," he said gruffly. 

"It's quite simple," Doriana said, sitting down and gazing calmly up at the man now towering over him. "As you say, Spaarti Creations is one of a kind. Since we can't duplicate it, we'll have to use it as is." 

Binalie's expression didn't even twitch. Clearly, he'd already guessed where this whole visit was going. "Impossible," he said. 

"This is the single viable business of an entire sub-minority species - the Cranscoc - and as such comes under Senate Directive 422. Governmental interference with its operation is strictly and expressly forbidden." 

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Doriana countered, pulling a datacard from an inside pocket. "Senate Directive 3591, authorizing Supreme Chancellor Palpatine unlimited authority to commandeer any resource or group of resources he feels necessary for a swift conclusion of hostilities." 

He held the card out to Binalie. "Beginning this evening, Spaarti Creations will be turning its complete facilities over to the manufacture of a new design of cloning tanks." 

Slowly, Binalie took the datacard and slid it into his datapad. 

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the muted din of the assembly line floor outside the office's transparent canopy as he read and reread the directive. "You can't do this," he said when he finally tore his eyes away from the text. 

"Weren't you listening to what I said back in my office? You take over Spaarti, and it'll just be a matter of time before the Separatists move in." 

"Point one: you have no choice in the matter," Doriana said, letting his voice harden. "The Senate's directive is clear, and the Supreme Chancellor's decision has been made. Point two: there's no reason for the Separatists to hear anything about this. If we do our job properly, no one will know that crates marked farm equipment or tunneling gear actually contain cloning cylinders. As for my presence on here, I've already established the cover story that I'm intervening on Emil Kerseage's behalf." 

"What about my workers?" Binalie countered. "Not counting the twillers, we employ nearly thirteen thousand humans and aliens here. How are you going to guarantee that they all keep quiet?" 

"They can't talk about what they don't know," Doriana said. "And in approximately four hours you'll be pulling every one of them off the floor and confining them to their homes." 

"Oh, I will, will I?" Binalie said sarcastically. "And how exactly do you expect me to justify that?" 

"No justification needed," Doriana said calmly. "Medical quarantine is required by law for an outbreak of plyridian fever." 

Binalie's mouth dropped open a centimeter. "Plyridian fev...?" His eyes darted to the canopy. "What have you done?" 

"Calm yourself, Lord Binalie," Doriana soothed. 'The three humans and two aliens I treated as we passed - ' 

"You did what!" Binalie snarled. "You deliberately infected them?" 

"I said calm yourself," Doriana repeated, putting an edge to his voice. "Of course I didn't infect anyone. The incubation period for plyridian fever is four weeks. What I did do is give them something that will mimic the disease, creating a convincing set of symptoms. They're not in any danger, and neither is anyone else. But no one will know that for at least those four weeks." Binalie had the look of someone chewing on a sour mifka. "And while they're all in quarantine, you'll naturally be offering me a caretaker unit?" he growled. 

"It's that or close down the plant entirely," Doriana pointed out. 'The Cranscoc, being cold-blooded, are immune from plyridian fever, so they can continue to work as usual." 

"This is completely unconscionable," Tories spoke up from the corner of the room. 

Doriana had been wondering when the Jedi would say something. 

Irreverently, he wondered if perhaps the old man had dozed off and missed some of the conversation. "Excuse me?" he asked, swiveling to face the old man. 

"This is a gross violation of every accepted standard of behavior," Tories insisted. "I cannot and will not stand by and be a party to it." 

"This is war, Master Tories," Doriana reminded him. "Not only war, but a war of survival. If we lose, the Republic is finished." 

"I don't care," Tories said flatly. "I can tell you right now the Jedi Council will not stand by and allow you to terrify the people of Cartao with fear of a nonexistent plague." 

"Perhaps the Jedi Council sees things differently than you do," Doriana said, pulling a second datacard from his pocket. "Here are their instructions, ordering you to cooperate with me and my people." 

He lifted his eyebrows. "You do still acknowledge the authority of the Council, don't you?" 

Silently, with the same complete lack of enthusiasm with which Lord Binalie had taken the first datacard, Tories accepted the second. "Good," Doriana said briskly, getting to his feet. "Then all that remains is for you to return home and prepare for five of your workers to suddenly slump over with dizziness and fever." 

"And you, I suppose, will do all the rest?" Binalie said bitterly.

The first worker began complaining of dizziness at precisely five minutes after the predicted time. Nine minutes after that, as he was being examined by the plant medic, he suddenly col lapsed, twitching and groaning. The second worker was more stoic, and was still at his station fifteen minutes later when he hit the floor. Three minutes after that, Lord Binalie ordered the plant evacuated. 

"Ah-Doriana," the stolid face hovering above Doriana's holoprojector greeted him. "You have news?" 

"The plant is ready, Commander Roshton," Doriana said. "You may land at your convenience." 

"Excellent," Roshton said approvingly. "And in less than one day. You do admirable work." 

"I do what the Supreme Chancellor commands," Doriana said with just a hint of warning. In these days of turmoil and suspicion, it never hurt to remind people as to where his loyalties lay. 

"No more; no less." 

"Of course," Roshton agreed calmly. "As do we all." 

"Yes," Doriana agreed, glancing out the office canopy at the darkening skylight halfway across the room. "It's nearly nightfall, which is when the Cranscoc do all their serious work. 

How soon can I expect your people?" 

"The first transport's on its way, with the chief techs and operational schematics aboard," Roshton said. 'They'll be there in an hour." 

"Good," Doriana said. "I'll make sure the Cranscoc are ready. 

They've already been informed they'll be doing a compete retooling tonight." 

"Are you sure a two-thousand-unit contingent will be enough?" Roshton asked, his forehead wrinkling slightly. "I've been doing some research myself, and it looks to me like the plant usually requires over six times that number. " 

"We're supposed to be a caretaker unit," Doriana reminded him. 

"It wouldn't look right if we completely repopulated the plant." 

"Yes, but..." 

"Besides, the majority of those thirteen thousand workers are involved with maintenance, shipping, and raw material movement," Doriana cut him off. "If the Supreme Chancellor decides to extend the operation, we can bring in personnel to handle those aspects. For now, let's concentrate on our mission: to create and stockpile the cloning cylinders we need to create more troops." 

"Yes, sir," Roshton muttered. "You'll have your schematics in an hour, with the rest of the transports following at thirty-minute intervals." 

"I'll look forward to seeing them, Commander," Doriana said. 

"Doriana out." 

He broke the connection, lowering the holoprojector into his lap as he again looked out of the office. It was an eerie feeling, sitting alone in the middle of such a huge room. Rather like being the last living cell in a dead body, he thought. 

Across by the area's control platform, a small motion caught his eye. A group of Cranscoc were wandering around, their footsteps seeming to stutter as they walked. Still beating out their silent music, he decided, perhaps humming along on auditory wavelengths humans couldn't hear. 

Strange aliens. Strange technology. But apart from that, a very straightforward job. Lifting his holoprojector again, he punched in a new code. 

The connection this time took considerably longer to make. 

Doriana forced himself to wait patiently, watching the panes of the distant skylight fading toward black. 

And then, with a suddenness that somehow always startled him, the ghostly hologram image appeared. "Report," the hooded figure ordered quietly. 

"The Spaarti Creations plant has been cleared, Lord Sidious," Doriana said. 'The first Republic techs will be landing in an hour, with the rest of the techs, workers, and troops arriving during the night" 

"How many troops will there be?" 

Doriana hesitated. "I'm not sure," he admitted, bracing himself. 

Darth Sidious didn't like it when his people didn't have all the answers to his questions. "Palpatine gave that part of the planning to Commander Roshton, and he's been very secretive about his contingent's exact makeup. It can't be more than a thousand clone troopers, possibly as low as five hundred, with Roshton and a few other officers in command." 

To his relief, Sidious merely nodded. "Roshton has ambitions of his own, and thinks he knows how to play the game," he said contemptuously. "No matter. Even a thousand troops will not be a problem. What of the owner and the Jedi?" 

"They're not happy, but they've bowed to the inevitable," Doriana said. 'The only problem may come if Tories decides to check with the Jedi Council directly to confirm the order. They weren't enthusiastic about the idea in the first place, as I told you, and if he catches Yoda or Windu at a bad moment, one of them might decide to unilaterally reverse the decision." 

"Even if they so dared, all Tories can do at this point is make noise," Sidious assured him, a malicious edge to his voice. "No, all is going according to plan. You have done well." 

"Thank you, my lord," Doriana said, feeling the warmth of relief and pride trickling through him. "Any new orders?" 

"Not yet," Sidious said. "Continue as you are, and allow the plan to work itself out." He smiled sardonically. "Report again when things become interesting." 

"I will, my lord," Doriana promised. 

The hooded head nodded, and the image vanished. 

Taking a deep breath, Doriana stood up, sliding the holoprojector back into its belt pouch. So the chance cube had been thrown, and the game was in motion. The next move would be the Republic's. 

He paused in the office doorway, listening to the heavy silence and thinking, as he always did at moments like this, about the incredibly thin tightrope he had chosen to walk. Palpatine had no idea that his trusted aide and advisor was in fact the agent of a Dark Lord of the Sith, working in the shadows to destroy everything the Supreme Chancellor stood for. If Palpatine ever discovered the truth... 

He shook his head firmly. No, that would never happen. Sidious was too powerful, and Doriana himself too clever, to ever allow such a useful relationship to be ruined. 

He headed across the empty floor, his footsteps echoing from the high ceiling. Binalie would be waiting at the plant's main entrance for the incoming Republic force. The honored representative of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine should be waiting with him. 

"It's not fair," Corf groused, throwing a small stone at a group of flutteries darting among a cluster of flowers at the crest of the hill. "How can they just come in and take over like this?" 

"We're in the middle of a war," Tories reminded him. 

"Everyone has to make sacrifices." 

"I'll bet you Palpatine isn't making any sacrifices," Corf said with a sniff, picking up another stone and heaving it after the first. 

Tories reached out to the Force, and the stone stopped abruptly in midair. "I understand that you're angry, Corf," he reproved the boy, lowering the stone to the ground. "But that's no reason to take it out on innocent flutteries." 

Corf hissed between his teeth. "I know," he conceded reluctantly, looking up into the cloudless sky. "It's just that-well, look; here comes another one. " 

Tories peered upward. In the distance a black speck had appeared, dropping from space toward them. "Look on the bright side," he suggested. "Maybe it's a transport coming to take them all away." 

"Yeah. Right," Corf grunted, stooping and picking up another stone. Tories watched him warily, but the boy merely began fiddling with it. "Dad would have said something if they were about to clear out. Or at least he'd have started smiling again. 

Besides, it's only been a week, and that fancy-pants Doriana said they'd be here for four." 

"Master Doriana," Tories corrected him automatically. "And you shouldn't always look on the negative side of things. 

Considering the progress they're making, they could very well decide to cut their time short." 

"Why would they?" Corf countered. "If they're getting so much done, why quit?" 

That was a good question, Tories had to admit. And if he could come up with a good answer, he might actually be able to argue Doriana onto precisely that path. 

Think, Jedi, he admonished himself. After all, mediation had been his primary job for the past thirty years. Surely, he could come up with a way to hammer a compromise out of this situation. 

And then, suddenly, he had it. Maybe. "Where's your father?" he asked. 

"In the plant," Corf said, frowning up at him. "What is it?" 

"Maybe the right lever to use on Doriana," Tories said, pulling out his comlink. 

"Master Doriana." 

"I stand corrected," Tories said dryly as he keyed in Lord Binalie's frequency. 

"So what's the plan?" Corf asked. "Come on, tell me." 

"What's the possibility that has to concern Master Doriana the most?" Tories asked rhetorically. "Answer: that the Separatists will find out about this and move in to stop it." 

"Okay," Corf agreed, frowning. "So?" 

"So all we have to do is convince him that four weeks will be pushing his luck," Tories said, frowning in turn. The comlink seemed to be taking an unusually long time to connect. "Because if the Separatists do figure it out, Spaarti is lost to him forever. Dooku's people will blockade Cartao, and that'll be the end of it." 

Corf made a face. "Yuck." 

"Yuck, indeed," Tories agreed. "If, on the other hand, Doriana takes this in small bites, sneaking his people in for just a few days at a time, he may be able to keep the whole process going indefinitely." 

"You mean he'd be taking over the plant once every month or so?" Corf asked doubtfully. "Boy. I don't think Dad'll go for that." 

"He will if it comes to a choice between Doriana's annoyances and a Separatist blockade," Tories said, turning the comlink off and then on again, the skin on the back of his neck starting to tingle. Something was very wrong here... 

He caught his breath, twisting his head to look upward as he silently cursed his lack of attention. The black speck they'd seen earlier was much closer, dropping toward them like an impatient asteroid. 

And at this distance, Tories could now see the ship's ail-too distinctive double-winged silhouette. 

"What is that?" Corf asked, his voice tight. 

"A Trade Federation C-9979 landing ship," Tories bit out, jabbing one last useless time at his comlink's controls. 

"Oh, no," Corf breathed, fumbling at his belt for his own comlink. "We have to warn Dad!" 

"We can't," Tories told him, shoving his comlink back into its pouch. 'They've knocked out the system." 

"Then we have to get over there," Corf said, turning back toward the house. "Come on." 

"Wait a minute," Tories said, catching the boy's arm, his mind racing. By the time they made it back to the house and down the tunnel, the invasion would be well underway. What they needed was some way to send a message now to the people inside. 

"What?" Corf demanded. "Come on." 

"Quiet," Tories ordered him. "Let me think." Above them, the C-9979 settled into a high hover position directly over the plant, and perhaps twenty tiny craft erupted from its leading wing. 

STAPs, he recognized them: nimble flying platforms carrying a single battle droid each. They swept outward from the landing ship in ever-increasing spirals, searching for defenses or other threats that might interfere with a landing or troop deployment. 

And three of them were at this very minute flying over the forbidden stretch of grassland between the Binalie estate and Spaarti Creations.... 

It was a long shot, he knew, in every sense of the word. But it was all he had. Pulling out his lightsaber, he ignited it and locked the activation stud, picking out the STAP that seemed to be drifting the closest to where he and Corf were standing. 

Judging the droid's speed and distance as best he could, he stretched out to the Force and hurled his lightsaber toward it. 

The droid, its attention on the ground around the plant, probably never even saw it coming. The spinning weapon shot across its STAP, the brilliant green blade slicing through the power cell housing just above the footlocks. With a flat electronic exclamation of surprise, the droid and machine dropped out of the sky and thudded to the ground. 

The other droids reacted instantly, two of the STAPs swinging around toward their downed comrade, metallic heads swiveling back and forth as they searched for the source of the attack. 

"Run," Tories ordered Corf as he called the lightsaber back toward him. "Back to the house and the safe room. We've done everything we can here." 

"But what about Dad?" Corf asked anxiously, moving a couple of reluctant steps down the hill. 

"I'll take one of the landspeeders down the tunnel as soon as you're safe," Tories told him. The droids had spotted him now, and the STAPs' twin blasters were starting to track. "Go on-I'll be right behind you." 

A pair of blaster bolts shot past them, uncomfortably close. 

"All right," Corf said, finally turning and taking off. "But I'm going with you," he shouted back over his shoulder. 'The landspeeders won't work without someone from the family in them." 

The lightsaber made it back to Tories' hand about half a second before the droids finally found the range. But for a Jedi, half a second was more than enough. The lightsaber blurred in his grip, twisting like a hunting makthier as it intercepted the blaster bolts and sent them bouncing back again. A pair of volleys later, there were three ruined STAPs and droids lying crumpled in the forbidden zone. 

Closing down his lightsaber, Tories turned and ran, following the boy now halfway to the mansion. He'd done all he could to warn those inside the plant. Now it was time to join them. 

He could only hope he would be there ahead of the droids. 

I hope you realize just how incredible this is," Commander Roshton commented as he handed the datapad back to the tech. 

"We'd projected that the raw materials we'd stockpiled would last the full four weeks. In actual fact, at current production rates we're going to have to resupply after two." 

"I'm not surprised," Doriana said. "Spaarti Creations already had something of a reputation for doing the impossible." 

"It's an incredible resource, Lord Binalie," Roshton agreed, turning toward Binalie. "You should be very proud." Binalie didn't answer. He'd been increasingly silent lately, Doriana had noted, as he watched his beloved manufacturing plant turning out rows and rows of cloning tanks. 

Roshton either hadn't noticed or didn't care. "I don't know if Master Doriana mentioned it, but these are a more advanced model of cloning tank than the design they used on Kamino," the commander went on, turning his head slowly as he surveyed the bustling assembly area. 'That's the main problem with keeping yourselves isolated; you don't keep up with modern technological advances. These should to be able to turn out clones in a tenth of the time the Kaminoans needed to do the job. We get a few million of these on-line, and the Separatists can kiss their precious droid armies good-bye." 

He frowned suddenly. "What's going on with them?"  

"Who?" Doriana asked, following the other's line of sight to the area's control platform. The five Cranscoc on duty were vibrating like a set of bad repulsorlifts, their hides flickering with rapid color changes beneath the translucent coatings. 

"Something's wrong," Binalie declared, snapping out of his sulk. 

Brushing past Roshton, he sprinted to the platform, taking the stairs two at a time. 

He was leaning over the nearest alien when Doriana and Roshton caught up with him, his eyes narrowed as he studied the alien's changing color pattern. Up close, Doriana could see that the alterations were more varied and subtle than he'd realized. 

"They're upset about something," Binalie muttered. "A violation of some taboo..." 

"You can read that?" Roshton asked. "I didn't realize they could..." 

"Shut up," Doriana cut him off. Roshton turned a glare toward him - 'The grassland," Binalie said abruptly. "Someone or something is on the south grassland strip." 

"Is that all?" Roshton said, sounding disgusted. "Probably some stupid kid from the city." 

"No," Binalie insisted. "Everyone in this part of Cartao knows better. It's either your people..." 

He broke off, looking sharply at Doriana. "Or the Separatists," Doriana finished for him, grabbing for his comlink. "Commander: full alert." 

"Ridiculous," Roshton insisted. But he had his comlink out and was tapping at the key. "How could they have?..." 

"I'm not getting anything," Doriana said, trying another channel. "Commander?" 

"They've been blocked," Roshton said, the skepticism abruptly gone from his voice. 

"What do we do?" Binalie asked nervously, looking around as if he expected to see a droid army clawing its way up out of the drainage grilles. 

"We prepare to meet the enemy," Roshton said, his voice icy calm. Drawing his blaster, he aimed it at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. 

Even amid the loud auditory mosaic of factory noises, the distinctive sizzle of a stun blast easily cut through the noise. 

Roshton fired three more times, paused, then fired twice. 

Doriana strained his ears. From the next chamber over, he heard the faint sound of an answering signal. 'The alert's being passed," Roshton said, putting away his comlink but keeping his blaster in his hand. "Come on-my command center's in the next assembly area." 

A clone trooper lieutenant and the senior master tech were waiting when the three of them arrived at the command center, the former standing stiffly to attention, and the latter looking almost comical as he nervously shuffled his weight back and forth between his feet. "Report," Roshton ordered, glancing at the status schematic that showed troop disposition. 

"One Trade Federation C-9979 currently hovering over the plant," the lieutenant replied. "Approximately twenty STAPs running air support; three have crashed to the south. One Trade Federation Lucrehulk-c\ass control core ship has appeared over the horizon. 

No other vehicles currently in detection range." 

"How bad?" Binalie murmured. 

"Bad enough," Roshton told him. "A single C-9979 can carry eleven MTT large-transport vehicles, with a hundred twelve battle droids each, and a hundred fourteen AAT battle tanks. 

Plus, the core ship up there probably has another couple more C-9979s in reserve if they get impatient." 

Binalie had actually gone pale. "You're saying there could be over three thousand battle droids out there? Plus all those tanks?" 

"Actually, if you add in the AAT crews, we're talking more like five thousand droids," Doriana murmured. 

"So five thousand droids," Binalie bit out. "And you have, what, nine hundred men?" 

Roshton smiled tightly. "I have nine hundred clone troopers," he corrected. 'There's a big difference. Lieutenant, do we have spotters in position?" 

"All doors are being watched," the clone trooper confirmed. 

"Whenever they put down, we'll know it." 

"Fortunately, there aren't many possibilities," Roshton murmured, looking at his status board again. 'The east and west doors are the only ones with the kind of clearance outside that a C-9979 needs." 

"Agreed," the lieutenant said. 'The troops are currently layering at both of them." 

"What does that mean, layering?" Binalie asked. 

"They're forming successive defensive lines from those doors inward," Roshton told him. "What about the north and northwest entrances? We're not leaving them unprotected, are we?" 

"Wait a minute," Binalie interrupted again. "Defensive lines inside the plant? You can't fight in here." 

"Well, we sure can't fight outside," Roshton pointed out. "Not without air support." 

"Then you're not fighting at all," Binalie said flatly. 'The equipment in here is delicate and irreplaceable." Roshton snorted. "You'd rather just turn your plant over to the Separatists?" 

"If those are my only two options, yes," Binalie said, his voice icy. "Maybe you don't understand what this plant means to Cartao and the rest of the sector..." 

"Just a minute," the lieutenant cut him off, his helmet cocking slightly to the side. 'They've lifted the comlink blocking. 

Broadcasting a message on all public channels." 

Roshton already had his comlink out."...ublic forces," a typically oily Neimoidian voice came from the speaker. "You are surrounded and outnumbered. Surrender, or we will be forced to destroy you." 

"I've heard that before," Roshton countered, giving a set of hand signals to the lieutenant. The other nodded and turned away, and Doriana could hear the faint sound of his voice through his helmet as he gave rapid orders. "But I'll humor you. 

What do you want?" 

"We want Spaarti Creations," the Neimoidian said. "You will all step outside the west door and lay down your weapons..." 

Roshton switched off the comlink. "West door," he told the lieutenant. 

"Confirmed," the other replied. 'The C-9979 is setting down in the cleared area between the forest and the plant. We're shifting troops to respond." 

Roshton nodded. "Let's go." 

Binalie caught his arm as he started to leave. "Commander, I won't let you fight in my plant," he warned. "If necessary, I'll open the doors to them myself." 

"You do and you'll be executed for treason," Roshton growled, shaking off his hand. 

Binalie turned to Doriana, his face twisted with frustration. 

"Doriana?" 

"Lord Binalie is right, Commander," Doriana said. "Spaarti Creations is too valuable to risk damaging it." 

Roshton turned furious eyes on him - "But at the same time, Lord Binalie, Commander Roshton cannot simply let his civilians fall into enemy hands," Doriana went on. "I'm afraid I don't see a clear answer here." 

Binalie's lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. "What if I take the techs through the tunnel to my house?" he suggested. 

"Can you hold the droids off-outside-long enough for me to get them all clear?" 

"We can try," Roshton said, studying his face a moment and then turning to the senior tech. "Get your people to Assembly Area Four for evacuation. Lieutenant, let's go." 

The two of them headed across the floor toward the west door at a fast run. Doriana waited long enough to make sure Binalie and the senior tech were indeed making for Area Four, then set off after the soldiers. 

It was, after all, only proper that he should at least stay long enough to watch such brave soldiers begin their last battle. 

The "west door" was in fact more like a major vehicle hangar than a simple doorway, consisting of a large transfer room behind a pair of sliding doors big enough to handle anything a modern manufacturing plant could ever need. Doriana reached the transfer room to find that the huge doors had been opened a crack, with Roshton and the lieutenant peering through the gap. 

Throughout the transfer room hundreds of white-armored clone troopers were moving purposefully around, settling into positions near the doors and behind some of the heavy crate-moving vehicles parked along the walls, or setting up a semicircle of tripod-mounted laser cannon on the floor a dozen meters back from the doors. "What's happening?" he asked as he crossed to Roshton. 

"They've landed," Roshton said, sounding distracted as he peered out the crack. He had donned a clone trooper comlink headset, Doriana noted; probably listening to a running status commentary from the rest of his officers. "Doing their little sensor scans to make sure the ground is clear of mines." 

"What's the plan?" Doriana asked, taking a cautious peek between the doors. Even set firmly on the ground, the landing ship loomed over them like an angry metal storm cloud. 

"We stop them, of course," Roshton said shortly. "At the very least, we make them pay dearly for every square centimeter." 

"What are you talking about?" Doriana asked, frowning. "Weren't you listening back there? You can't fight in here." Roshton swiveled his head to look at him. "I thought you just said that to get Binalie off our backs." 

"Absolutely not," Doriana said. "My position was exactly as stated. We can't allow the techs to fall into Separatist hands-they know too much about our technology. But neither can we allow the plant to be damaged." 

"So what you're saying is that I should move out into the open?" Roshton demanded bluntly. 'That I should stand there and watch my troops get slaughtered just to buy Binalie time to evac the techs?" 

"I'm sorry," Doriana said in a low, sincere voice. "I know that puts you in an impossible position. But I'm afraid we have no choice." 

"We blasted well do have a choice," Roshton snapped. "And if you think... " He paused. "What? All right, put him on." 

"What is it?" Doriana asked. 

"Your Jedi's arrived, along with Binalie's son," Roshton said briefly. "Master Tories? Yes, this is Roshton." 

For perhaps half a minute he listened, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. "Understood," he said. "We'll give it a try. Lieutenant?" 

"I'm on it, sir," the clone trooper said. 

Roshton turned back to Doriana. "Maybe we do have a choice," he said. "Defense line, configure for inverse hailstorm; target on my command. And get these doors open." 

With a ponderous rumble, the heavy doors began to slide slowly to the sides. 'Time to get to cover, Doriana," Roshton said, gesturing to the side. 'This way." 

A few seconds later they were crouched behind a large cargo truck parked along the side wall. "What's going on?" Doriana asked, trying to keep his sudden misgivings out of his voice. 

This was suddenly not going the way he'd planned. "Won't this open us up to a full-scale assault?" 

"It might," Roshton agreed. "Or it might let us come up with a different ending for this game." 

That sounded distinctly ominous. "Is this what the Jedi said to do?" Doriana probed carefully. 

"No, this part was my idea," Roshton said. "Master Tories simply reminded me of another of our objectives." He craned his neck. 

"There they go." 

Doriana eased an eye around the truck's push plate. Outside, the C-9979's heavy clamshell deployment doors were swinging open, the foot ramp starting to slide down toward the ground. In the relative darkness behind the doors, he could see the slightly bulbous nose and blaster cannon of a MTT armored droid transport waiting in the landing pedestal. "Stand by," Roshton ordered calmly. "Target is starboard laser capacitor." 

Doriana frowned; but before he could ask, the MTT gave a brief snort of cooling system ground vents and began to slide forward toward the ramp. 

"Fire," Roshton said calmly. 

And with a thunder of weaponry that echoed deafeningly through the huge room, the clone troopers opened fire. 

Doriana squinted into the glare as the hundreds of energy weapons focused their fury on the thick armor behind the MTT's leftmost blaster cannon ball turret, wincing at the noise and the waves of heat that rolled over him. The MTT's armor was incredibly thick, he knew, but the transport's designers could never have anticipated a situation where so much firepower would be focused on such a small spot. The sun-bright glare around the power capacitor began to diffuse outward as the casehardened metal alloy vaporized into superheated plasma... 

And barely two seconds into the assault, the Republic weapons burned through the armor to the high-energy capacitor behind it. 

The entire left front of the MTT vanished in a gigantic fireball that writhed its way upward to billow across the leading edge of the C-9979's forward wing. A series of smaller blasts erupted from behind the first as secondary systems went up in a chain reaction. A few seconds later, with an earsplitting scream, the repulsorlifts disintegrated, and the blackened shell that had once been a fully loaded MTT collapsed onto the ramp. 

Completely blocking the vehicles waiting behind it. 

"That's it!" Roshton shouted over the pandemonium, a savage grin on his face. "All units withdraw!" He grabbed Doriana's arm. 

"Come on, Doriana." 

They didn't stop running until they were two assembly areas into the plant and the noise outside had faded to a dull roar. 

"Clever," Doriana said, breathing hard as Roshton slowed them down to a fast jog. "You block the exit ramp, and they're stymied until they can clear out the wreckage. But what exactly did it gain you?" 

"Options, of course," Roshton told him, glancing back over his shoulder. Doriana looked, too, to see the clone troopers following in an orderly retreat. "Before we did that, there would have been no way to retreat without bringing the battle into the plant, which you had forbidden us to do. We would have had to stand and die." 

He gestured ahead of them with his blaster. "Now, we should have time to get through that tunnel of Binalie's and go to ground." Doriana felt his lip twist. Nine hundred clone troopers, ready and waiting to harass the Separatist army. This was not how it was supposed to have gone. "So what exactly did Tories tell you?" 

Roshton threw him a smile. "You'll see. Come on, and save your breath for running." 

They stood on the hill at the edge of the Binalie estate: Tories, Binalie himself, Doriana, and Commander Roshton, the latter now disguised in civilian clothing. "So that's it, is it?" Binalie asked. 

"For now, yes," Tories told him, gazing across the grassy strip that lay between them and Spaarti Creations as the pinks and yellows of sunset began to fade from the western sky. 

And the shadows from the smoldering hulks of half a dozen AAT battle tanks stretched across the forbidden grassland. "My compliments to your gunners," he added. 

"It wasn't hard," Roshton said grimly. "Standard Trade Federation attack procedure always includes throwing a cordon around the target zone. All we had to do was set our ambush and make sure we dropped the ones in the place that would irritate the Cranscoc the most." 

"Yes," Tories murmured, feeling a twinge of guilt. It had been his idea, and it had been necessary. But he still didn't much like the fact that he'd deliberately caused distress and discomfort to sentient beings. Especially sentient beings who had nothing to do with the chaos now swirling around them. 

"I just hope it works," Doriana murmured. 

"It will," Tories assured him. "The twillers aren't even going to be able to relax until those hulks are removed, let alone retool the plant for anything the Separatists want to build in there." 

Roshton grunted. "Let's hope they don't figure it out until our reinforcements get here," he said. "Then we'll see how good they are." 

"As long as you don't destroy the plant in the process," Binalie warned. 

"We'll do what we can," Roshton promised. "But that's up to the Separatists now." 

Tories felt his throat tighten, the fading light in the sky mirroring his own darkening mood. Because even if Spaarti survived, the thing he'd feared for so long had already happened. 

The war had come to Cartao. 

	Star Wars  

	Star Wars Insider 

	N 69 

	Hero of Cartao. 

	Part 2. 

	Hero's Rise. 

	by Timothy Zahn. 



	############################################################################### 

	Coming to a midair halt above the kilometer-wide grassy strip separating the Spaarti Creations manufacturing plant from the northern edge of the Binalie family estate, the heavy cargo lifters began lowering their magnetic grapples. Kinman Doriana couldn't see the ground beneath them from his position - the estate's hills were blocking his view-but he could guess that they were hovering over the last of the shattered war machines that had ended up there in the aftermath of the Separatists' assault on the plant two days earlier. 

	At least, Doriana thought unkindly, the Neimoidians commanding the occupying droid army had learned not to simply drive cleanup vehicles onto that forbidden stretch of grassland. Glancing around to make sure the copse of trees he was standing in wasn't under observation, he pulled out his holoprojector and keyed in the contact code. 

	The connecting light blinked on as the device linked first to the local comlink central switching office, then to his personal ship and its special HoloNet node, then across the vast expanse of the Republic to one of the dozen HoloNet nodes on Coruscant, and finally to the private desk of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine himself. Doriana watched the lifters as he waited, wondering if Palpatine would be there or out at yet another meeting. 

	The image of the most recognized face in the galaxy appeared in the air above the holoprojector. "Master Doriana," Palpatine said, nodding to his advisor. "You have good news?" 

	"Just the opposite, I'm afraid," Doriana admitted. "The Separatists are still holding Spaarti Creations, and they seem to have finally figured out that vehicles or people on the plant's southern border upset the Cranscoc twillers inside. They're clearing the last of the debris off the grassland now, and my guess is that by tonight they'll be able to get the plant retooled for whatever it is they want to build in there." 

	"Not a pleasant thought," Palpatine said gravely. "Are you familiar with the D-90 project?" 

	"No," Doriana said. "Is it one of ours?" Palpatine's lip twisted. "Hardly. It's an experimental combat droid, reputed to be as tough as the Trade Federation's D-60 assault droid, but more versatile." 

	"I see," Doriana said. The D-60 was a hulking, man-and-a-half-size version of the super battle droids the Trade Federation had debuted at the Battle of Geonosis. "How much more versatile?" 

	"Considerably," Palpatine said. "They'll be coordinated in small teams instead of entire army blocks so that they can be used as commando units as well as simple battlefield shock troops." 

	"An unpleasant thought, indeed," Doriana said. So, the Separatists finally had a new weapon on the plotting board. About time. "You think they've come here to begin production?" 

	"That's what our Intelligence people believe," Palpatine said. "Personally, I suspect there are still some system flaws and that they hope to use Spaarti to test and finalize the design. What's the current military situation?"  

	"For the moment, basically stalemated," Doriana told him. "Commander Roshton and his clone troopers have gone to ground, some of them here on Lord Binalie's estate, the rest dispersed elsewhere. They've been harassing the droids wherever possible, but the Separatists have mostly been staying inside where we can't get at them without risking damage to the plant. " 

	"Which neither we nor they want," Palpatine said. "What about the techs?" 

	"Binalie has a secret safe room-basically a shielded sub-sub-basement-that connects with the tunnel to the plant," Doriana said. "The techs are hidden down there."  

	"Communications?" 

	"The Separatists are still blocking the local comm system and the HoloNet node," Doriana told him. "But Roshton's reconfigured their comlinks somehow to get around it. They'll be able to move quickly if they get the chance." 

	"Then they shall have it," Palpatine said. "A Republic light cruiser is on its way with the necessary firepower to destroy the control ship orbiting above you. Once the droid army is helpless, I trust Commander Roshton won't have any trouble with the Neimoidian overseers and their techs." 

	"I'm sure he won't," Doriana agreed. "When can we expect this ship?" 

	"Possibly as early as tonight," Palpatine said. "Possibly not for another three days. It depends on how much resistance they run into along the way." 

	"Understood," Doriana assured him. "Thank you, Chancellor. We'll look forward to their arrival." 

	Palpatine gave him a tired smile. The war, Doriana knew, was weighing heavily on him. "Keep me informed." 

	The image vanished. Doriana broke the connection from his end and looked back at the lifters. They had the blackened hulk of the last ruined war machine in the air now and were towing it back toward the plant. 

	Planning to dump it elsewhere on the extensive Spaarti grounds, no doubt. Why the alien Cranscoc insisted that this particular stretch of land-and only this particular stretch-be kept unsullied not even Lord Binalie knew. Doriana watched until the lifters and their burden had vanished behind the jutting roof of the Spaarti plant, then keyed a different code into his holoprojector. He'd done his official job, reporting the situation to the man whose office paid him. 

	Now it was time to do the same for the man who gave him his orders. As usual, it took longer for the holoprojector to make this connection. Doriana cultivated his patience, gazing idly at the sky as he wondered what the Neimoidians were doing inside the plant. Now that the south lawn was clear, they would certainly try tonight to get the Cranscoc twillers to retool the plant. The only question was, which direction would that retooling take? To create the D-90 prototypes, as Palpatine thought? Or were they up to something else? In the distance, he could hear the hum of repulsorlifts... And suddenly, four small transports appeared over the hills between him and Spaarti Creations, a squadron of STAPs flying defensive screening around them, everything moving with the urgency of pilots who knew there were snipers in the area. The whole crowd shot past nearly overhead, then angled downward, the transports abruptly splitting formation and swinging into position on the four sides of the Binalie mansion a kilometer away. With the kind of precision only remote-controlled droids could achieve, all four dropped simultaneously to the ground. And from the hatches poured military-straight lines of battle droids. 

	"Report." 

	With a start, Doriana jerked his attention back to his holoprojector. The hooded image of Darth Sidious hovered over the small projection platform, his expression unreadable. "Your pardon, Lord Sidious," Doriana apologized hastily. "My attention was distracted." 

	To his relief, Sidious merely smiled thinly. "The Neimoidians have finally made a move?" 

	"Of a sort, yes," Doriana said, daring to split his attention between his master's image and the activity going on around the mansion below. The battle droids had been joined on the lawn now by a handful of the hulking D-60 assault droids and a pair of droidekas. Most of them settled into a defensive cordon around the mansion, but four of the assault droids were waiting instead just outside the transport nearest the mansion's front door. As he watched, two Neimoidians emerged from the hatch into the protective square of the assault droids and scuttled across the lawn toward the door. 

	"It looks like they've decided to have a talk with Lord Binalie," he told Sidious. "Will talking be of any use to them?" Doriana shrugged as the group vanished inside. 

	"Binalie certainly can't get the plant up and running any faster," he said. "Maybe they want him to act as interpreter with the Cranscoc..." he seems to understand that skin-coloration language of theirs. "More likely they're seeking a hostage." 

	"Possibly," Doriana nodded. "That could be useful, providing Roshton is willing to play along."

"You will make it your business to see that he does," Sidious said bluntly. "That goes for that Jedi, Tories, as well. I don't want either of them making trouble until the Republic task force arrives." Doriana blinked. "You knew about that?" 

	Another thin smile. "Did you think you were my only source of information, Doriana?" 

	"Of course not, my lord," Doriana said hastily. Still, he couldn't help but feel a touch of disappointment. He'd rather hoped to deliver that particular tidbit of news himself. 

	"But information is useful only when someone is in position to exploit it," Sidious continued. "And we cannot allow either the Republic or Separatist forces to damage Spaarti Creations." 

	"I understand, my lord," Doriana said. 

	"Good," Sidious said. "Then carry out your orders." The image vanished. Doriana put the holoprojector away. The droids had finished forming their cordon around the mansion, the assault droids holding down the building's corners and entrances while the droidekas rolled watchfully around the perimeter. It didn't look like anyone was going to be getting in or out any time soon. 

	His eyes drifted across the grounds, wondering how Lord Binalie's employees were reacting to the sudden invasion. But the only person he could see was a quarter of the way around the mansion to the east: a gardener on his knees beside one of the sculpted bushes. Apparently the more observant workers had reacted by hustling themselves out of sight. The gardener looked up, mopping his forehead with a gloved hand... 

	And Doriana stiffened. That was no gardener. 

	It was Commander Roshton. 

	Hissing a curse under his breath, Doriana headed off toward Roshton, walking as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention from the droids, Darth Sidious's warning echoing through his mind. Roshton, the idiot, was going to ruin everything. 

	"No," Lord Pilester Binalie said firmly. "I'm going to simply sit by and let those monsters take up residence in my plant."  

	"I understand your frustration," Jafer Tories soothed. "But I'm sure they're not doing any damage in there. They could have destroyed Spaarti from orbit if that was what they'd wanted." 

	"I know what they want: the same thing Doriana and the Republic want," Binalie growled. "The point is that the longer this silly dance goes on, the greater the chance someone will eventually get careless. When that happens, it'll be the end of Spaarti Creations." 

	"But the Republic's going to send help, aren't they?" Binalie's twelve-year-old son Corf spoke up from his chair at the other corner of the desk. 

	"Probably," Binalie told the boy grimly. "But I'm starting to think that more soldiers are the last thing we want." Tories frowned. "What do you mean?"  

	"Just what I said," Binalie growled. "The Republic and Separatists are like a pair of dokriks fighting over a bone. What does it matter which of them is in charge when the plant gets destroyed?"  

	"So what do you suggest?" Tories asked. 

	Binalie's lips compressed briefly. "That we get the Separatists out ourselves, now, before Roshton and his clone troopers can regroup to attack. Bribe them, blackmail them-even help them finish their work if they'll promise to get out afterward." 

	"You can't be serious," Tories protested, frowning. There was a whisper of warning from the Force; a sense of alien minds nearby. "Why not?" Binalie countered. "What are you worried about, Roshton's blatherings about treason? That's nothing but a bunch of-" He stopped as heavy footsteps suddenly sounded outside the office door. "What in the world?" he muttered, starting to rise to his feet. 

	With a crash, the door was shoved violently inward, the warped panel slamming to the floor and bouncing another two meters across the room. 

	Binalie dropped back into his chair with a curse, his hand darting toward one of the desk drawers. "No!" Tories snapped, reaching out with the Force to lock the other's arm in place. 

	He was just in time. Half a second later the monstrous metal shapes of two large combat droids strode into the room, the heavy blasters permanently attached to their forearms lifted and ready. Their heads and weapons swung once around the room as they searched for danger, and then they moved back to flank the doorway in guard positions. 

	Through the opening stepped a pair of brightly dressed Neimoidians. The one in the lead wore the blue and purple robes and black miter of a unit commander, while the other wore a simpler outfit of red and purple. His headgear was blue, with four twisted horns atop it. "Good day, Lord Binalie," the commander said in a stilted voice. "I trust we do not intrude?" 

	Tories looked a silent warning at Binalie, got merely a glare in return. But the other brought his hand up-empty-and let it drop onto the desktop. "Of course not," he growled sarcastically. "It's not like I have any actual work to do. What do you want?" 

	"Permit me to introduce myself," the spokesman said, sending glances at first Tories and then Corf. "I am Tok Ashel, Commander of the Cartao Expeditionary Army." He gestured to his companion. "This is Dif Gehad, Master Creator of New Products." 

	"And what new products are you trying to build in my factory?" Binalie asked. Gehad started to speak. - "Not so quickly, Lord Binalie," Ashel interrupted. 

	"First, let us have the rest of the introductions." His large red eyes turned pointedly to Tories. 

	"I'm Corf Binalie," Corf spoke up before either of the two men could answer, his voice strong and defiant. 'This is my private tutor, Master Jafer. Does this mean there's no school today?" 

	Ashel made a sound like crumpling tin wrap. "It may, young one," he said, eyeing Tories. "What do you teach, Master Jafer? 

	"A little of everything," Tories told him. "Ethics, wisdom, the ways of life." 

	"Ah-a philosopher," Ashel said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand and turning back to Binalie. "Now, to business." He gestured to Gehad. 

	"As you have surmised, we wish to use Spaarti Creations to work for us," the Master Creator said, his voice neat and precise. "But thus far we have been unable to restructure the assembly lines. You will tell me now how to do that." 

	Binalie shook his head. "I can't." 

	"Do not speak foolishness," Gehad warned. "You are director of this facility. You know everything there is to know about it." 

	"Of course I do," Binalie agreed. "Including what can and cannot be done. Only the Cranscoc twillers can manipulate the fluid tooling system." He lifted his eyebrows at Gehad. "I take it they haven't been willing to do so?" 

	"It was the ruins of our vehicles on the south lawn," Ashel said. "We now know about that taboo and have moved to correct it." 

	"But we do not intend to be stymied in that way again," Gehad added. "So I repeat: you will tell me how we may change the tooling ourselves." 

	"And I repeat, I can't," Binalie said. "But there are things I can do to help. I'd like to suggest a deal that-" 

	"You will not block us further!" Ashel snapped, flicking his fingers in an odd and probably obscene gesture. "Not you, and not the Republic forces hiding in the tunnel beneath the southern lawn. Oh, yes, we know they are there-we have tried twice to dislodge them and have now sealed the plant's exit against them. We also know the other end of the tunnel is somewhere on these grounds. Do not deny it!" 

	"I can't do anything about the Republic forces," Binalie said, starting to sound angry himself. "What I can do, however, is help you..." 

	"And you will tell us how to restructure the machines," Ashel insisted again, even more stridently this time. "Or you will regret the consequences." The skin of Binalie's face hardened, and even with the masking influence of two alien minds at close range, Tories could feel Binalie's sense harden along with it. 

	Even the invasion of his home and the destruction of his office door had apparently not put Binalie off the idea of offering the Neimoidians a deal to get them out of his plant. But threats were something else entirely. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. 

	"It means this." Before Binalie could do more than inhale sharply, Ashel wrapped his long fingers around Corf's arm and hauled him out of his chair. 

	"The grub will go with us," the Neimoidian continued, pulling Corf close in front of him. "When you decide to cooperate, you may join us in the plant." 

	"Let him go," Binalie ground out. He was on his feet now, ignoring the droid blasters suddenly pointed at him. "I've told you already..." 

	"And do not consider too long," Ashel warned, backing to the door with Corf firmly in tow. The boy's eyes, Tories saw, had gone wide with fear. "We are patient beings, but we will not be patient forever." 

	Corf threw Tories a half frantic, half pleading look. But the Jedi had already measured the distances with his eyes, and even with the advantage of surprise he knew he couldn't take two combat droids before at least one of them got off a shot. And that didn't even take into account what other forces the Neimoidians might have waiting outside. 

	Which simply meant he would have to try something else. "Just a moment," he said primly, standing up. "The boy has two exams to complete today. I will not permit my schedule to be disrupted." The Neimoidians paused in the doorway, gazing at him with those expressionless alien faces. Tories stretched out toward their minds, wondering just how susceptible this species was to Jedi suggestion. He'd seldom used this trick, and never before with a Neimoidian. If they didn't buy into his manipulation, he might have to tackle those combat droids after all. 

	"The boy will come with us," Ashel declared at last. "If you choose, you may come with him." 

	"Thank you," Tories said, bowing in proper tutor fashion. Throwing a warning glance at Binalie, he stepped over to join the Neimoidians. 

	"But bring many lessons," Ashel added as they stepped back into the corridor. 

	There were, Tories noted, two more of the big droids waiting for them out there. Just as well he hadn't gone on the attack. "Lord Binalie is stubborn, even for a human. You may be with us for some time." 

	"Don't worry," Tories said, squeezing Corf's shoulder reassuringly. "I have everything I'll need." 

	The two Neimoidians and their assault droid escort were still in the mansion when Doriana finally reached Roshton. The commander was bending over the sculpted bush in front of him, his face carefully turned away from the visitor, puttering away industriously with a set of pruning scissors. 

	"What are you doing here?" Doriana hissed at him. 

	"Tendin' the plants, my lord," Roshton said in a quavering old voice, snipping off a couple more leaves. 

	"Stop it, Roshton," Doriana ground out. "It's me." 

	Roshton angled an eye cautiously up at him. "Ah-Master Doriana," he said, abandoning both the accent and the phony garden work. "You're just in time for the show." 

	"What show?" Doriana asked. "What are you doing?" 

	"You'll see," Roshton said, shifting his eyes to the mansion and the ring of droids. "Ever seen a droideka go bounce?" 

	"Uh... no." 

	"Then you've got a treat in store." Roshton pulled the front of his tunic slightly back to reveal a comlink hidden behind the flap. "Number seven, stand by... now." 

	And from the direction of the house came the thundercrack of an explosion. Doriana twisted around in time to see one of the droidekas, still in wheel form, soaring over the heads of its startled companions. Behind it, a blackened hole in the ground trailed a strand of smoke. "Number ten: now," Roshton said. 

	There was a second explosion, this one squarely at the feet of one of the assault droids. The big machine lost its balance and toppled backward to land with a sickening thud. "Where are they firing from?" Doriana demanded, looking around in bewilderment. There were no clone troopers in sight, and precious little cover anywhere nearby for them to be hiding in. "Roshton?" 

	"Later," Roshton said. "Five and eight: go." 

	Two more explosions ripped into the defensive line, each sending a pair of battle droids flying across the neatly trimmed lawn. "And here come the soft ones," Roshton added as the brightly colored Neimoidian robes appeared in the doorway. "This should be fun." 

	"Hold it," Doriana said, squinting across the distance. Nearly hidden in the folds of the robes... "Hold your fire, Roshton," he repeated urgently. 

	"They've got Binalie's son with them." 

	Roshton muttered something under his breath. "Rotten cowards," he said contemptuously. "They can't just..." 

	He broke off, a tight smile suddenly twisting his lips. "Well, well. Cowards and fools both." 

	"What?" Doriana asked, frowning. 

	"They've got Corf Binalie, all right." Roshton gestured. "They've also got Jafer Tories." 

	He lifted his eyebrows at Doriana. "Like I said. This should be fun." 

	Two more explosions, the third and fourth by Tories' count, shook the house as Ashel and Gehad hurried them down the entry hallway to the mansion's main door. 

	"I do not understand," Gehad said nervously as they peered outside. "Where are they shooting from?"  

	"What does it matter?" Ashel bit out, gesturing to the droids. "Droids! Form a cordon to the transport!" Obediently, the droids abandoned their encirclement positions, scurrying or rolling or lumbering, as their capabilities allowed, toward the vehicle squatting a dozen meters away. They were lining up into two rows, their weapons pointing outward, when another explosion caught the transport's right front corner, bouncing the vehicle a meter into the air and leaving a section of armor plating black and twisted. 

	"This is impossible!" Gehad shouted. "How do they do this?" 

	"Ask questions later!" Ashel growled, pointing toward the Spaarti plant. "Look! Here is our air support." 

	And impressive air support it was, too, Tories had to admit. A hundred STAPs had appeared in the sky, sweeping in from both east and west as they converged on the Binalie estate. 

	But the STAPs were still out of range, the droids in their cordon had their weapons and sensors aimed outward as they searched for their unseen attackers, and the Neimoidians were far too preoccupied with their own safety to be watching their prisoners. Time to go to work. 

	"Now," Ashel said, ungluing himself from the partial protection of the doorway and sprinting between the rows of droids toward the transport. Grabbing Corf s arm, Gehad started to follow, tugging the boy along behind him. They didn't get far. Reaching forward, Tories caught the boy's other arm and planted his feet solidly into the ground just outside the mansion's doorway. For a moment, Corf was stretched between them like a pull-war cable, and then Gehad stopped and spun around. "What do you-?" he snarled. He never finished his question. In that same brief second, the two combat droids that had been marching along a meter behind them, caught offguard by Tories' sudden halt, arrived at either side of the Jedi. And in a single smooth motion, Tories reached beneath his robe, pulled out his lightsaber, and ignited it. Gehad gave a little deep-throated scream, letting go of Corf's arm as if he'd been burned and scuttling away from him. Tories gave the boy a quick shove back through the doorway as he slashed the lightsaber across the upper chest of the droid to his left. The brilliant green blade sliced through the thick acertron armor like it was wrapping plastoid, and the top third of the droid slid off and fell with a crash onto the ground. The rest of the machine, caught in a trick of balance, remained standing stolidly upright like a beheaded corpse patiently awaiting further orders. Tories didn't wait to see whether or not it would fall. The assault droid to his right was already reacting to this unexpected threat, twisting at its hips to try to bring its blasters to bear. Tories swiveled to his right to meet it, swinging his lightsaber around and down across the raised forearms above the mounted blasters and dropping them onto the ground. His second cut took off the droid's legs; even before the pieces clattered to the ground, he leaped backward through the doorway into the mansion. "Go!" he ordered the Neimoidians, lifting his lightsaber into guard position. As if in emphasis, another nearby explosion blew clouds of dirt into the air. The two aliens didn't need further encouragement. Turning, they sprinted down the line of droids and scampered into the transport. The surviving droids followed, closing up the cordon neatly behind them. A minute later the transport, joined now by three more of the vehicles, was heading east at high speed. "Wow," Corf breathed. 

	Tories turned to see the boy gazing up at him, a stunned expression on his face. "You all right?" he asked. 

	Mechanically, Corf nodded. "I never saw anything like that," he said. "Just doing what I was trained for," Tories said. With one last look outside, he closed down his lightsaber. "Let's go tell your father you're all right," he said. "And after that," he added grimly, "you may both want to go to your safe room. This could get nasty." 

	There they go," Roshton commented as the last of the droids piled into the transports. The first vehicle, the one with the Neimoidians aboard, had already left the ground and was clawing for distance, the STAP escort forming up around it. "They won't be trying that again for awhile." 

	"Probably not," Doriana agreed, his eyes still on the remains of the D- 60s that had taken Tories maybe half a second to turn to scrap. He'd been around Jedi much of his life, but never before had he actually witnessed one in full combat mode. 

	And for the first time he began to truly see why Sidious wanted them eliminated. 

	"Estate units, secure," Roshton was saying into his comlink. "City, forest units: stand ready." 

	With an effort, Doriana pulled his attention back to the military situation. "What do you mean, stand ready?" he asked. "And how did you manage those shots?" 

	"Don't be dense," Roshton chided. 'That was nothing but a set of strategically placed, remote-controlled land mines. You must not have noticed all the landscaping being done around the grounds the past two days." 

	"I had other things on my mind," Doriana said tartly, watching the fleeing transports. Instead of taking the straightest route back to Spaarti Creations, they were swinging far to the east. What in?... 

	And then, he got it. 'They're avoiding the south lawn," he said. 'They don't want to risk anything else crashing on it and irritating the Cranscoc." 

	"Exactly what I thought they'd do," Roshton said with grim satisfaction. "Forest unit: secure. City unit: fire at will." 

	Abruptly, a dozen blaster bolts sizzled up from the northern edge of Foulahn City, blowing apart STAPs and peeling chunks of armor from the transports. 

	"What are you doing?" Doriana demanded. "You've chased them away. Isn't that enough?" 

	"No," Roshton said. "City unit: take them down." 

	The STAPs were returning fire now, and that whole section of sky seemed to be filled with multicolored blaster fire. Doriana found himself holding his breath as he watched the transports dodging and staggering, trying desperately to reach the safety of the plant. If Roshton's zealousness got the Neimoidians killed - or worse, if it panicked them into pulling their droids out of the factory for a counterattack... 

	And then, something else in the sky caught his eye. Just a pair of specks, but as he watched they grew visibly larger. "Roshton!" he snapped, fumbling out a compact set of electrobinoculars and switching them on. "We've got company." 

	"Let me see," Roshton ordered, reaching for the instrument. 

	Doriana twitched it away, pressing his eyes against the lenses. 

	A single glance was enough. "It's a pair of C-9979 landing ships," he told Roshton, handing over the electrobinoculars. "Looks like all your little stunt accomplished was to persuade the Separatists to bring in reinforcements. " 

	The Neimoidian commander's careless choice of a landing spot two days earlier had enabled Roshton's clone troopers to slow down their troop deployment long enough for the Republic forces to evacuate the Spaarti Creations complex. With this second wave, the Separatists made no such error. The landing ships put down to the west and northeast of the city, in open territory where no close-in attack would be possible, and immediately began deploying their troops and vehicles. 

	Roshton had barely enough time to order his men to pull back before the MTT transports and AAT battle tanks made their orderly way through the streets of Foulahn City, along the serviceways of Triv Spaceport, and even into the mostly uninhabited wooded hills west and north of the Spaarti complex. The AATs took up position at official buildings and strategic road intersections, while the MTTs quickly found places to dump their deadly cargos of battle droids, super battle droids, assault droids, and droidekas. By late afternoon, every square meter for fifteen kilometers around Spaarti Creations was in Separatist hands. With one small exception. 

	"One of the C-9979S is here," Roshton said, tapping a spot on the holomap due west of Foulahn City. "Its droids and AATs are occupying western Foulahn, plus all the territory west and north of the Spaarti complex. The other one's here-" he indicated a point near the Quatreen River where it meandered its way between the city and the Triv Spaceport to the northeast of it"-where they can cover the eastern city and the spaceport. I hear some units have gone a ways up the Quatreen and into Navroc City, too, but I don't have independent confirmation of that." 

	Tories looked over at Binalie. The other's face looked pale, but that could have just been the lighting. With only limited power supplies available here in the depths of the Binalie family safe room-and with no desire to attract notice from the droids occupying the main house upstairs-Binalie had elected to shut down everything except the permlights. "So where does that leave us?" Tories asked. 

	"Basically, stuck in here," Roshton said heavily. "My troops are doing what they can to harass the droids, but we don't have nearly enough manpower to push them back to the landing ships. Master Doriana tells me Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has promised help, but that could be as much as several days away. 

	"And meanwhile, your clones and the droids tear Foulahn City to shreds," Binalie growled. 

	"We're keeping the war out of your plant, aren't we?" Roshton retorted. "Isn't that what you wanted?" 

	"What I wanted was for the whole cursed war to stay off my world," Binalie shot back. 

	"I'm afraid those choices aren't always ours to make," Doriana spoke up calmly. 

	"It certainly wasn't Commander Roshton's idea to bring the war here." 

	"So we just sit here and let them wreck our city?" 

	"If I were you, I'd focus on the central issue," Roshton said tartly. "Namely, once the sun sets they'll be able to get the Cranscoc to retool the plant. Once that happens, you can wave goodbye to any hope for your city or your world." 

	"What do you mean?" Corf asked, huddling a little closer to his father. 

	"The Separatists are about to launch a brand-new line of assault droids," Roshton told him. "Once they get it up and running, every hour they spend in there means a stronger droid army on Cartao. If they're not stopped, sooner or later they'll have enough troops to defeat anything the Republic can spare to throw against them." 

	He looked back at Binalie. "And at that point, the only way to stop them. .." 

	"No," Binalie said flatly. "Don't even think it." 

	"You think I want Spaarti destroyed?" Roshton asked, his voice icy calm. "Those new cloning tanks we were building could conceivably turn the war around in a matter of months, and this is the only place we can fine-tune the production quickly enough to get the most efficient design possible. But at the same time, we can't let this new D-90 assault droid line get started, either. I'm sorry, but we're running low on options." 

	"Just a moment," Doriana said, straightening up and pulling a holoprojector from a belt pouch. "We may have news." 

	He flicked it on, and an image of an Iktotchi head appeared over the projection platform, its distinctively shaped horns curving down toward its shoulders. The words were too faint for Tories to hear, but suddenly Doriana smiled. "Thank you, General," he said, standing up and walking over to Roshton. "Commander, General FyefeeTiis of the Republic Light Cruiser Whipsaw would like a word with you." 

	He took the chair beside Roshton, holding up the holoprojector so that both of them could see and hear. Without waiting for an invitation, Tories moved over to the seat on Roshton's other side. Doriana flashed him a look, but said nothing. 

	"...with ten fully loaded LAAT/i gunships at your disposal," General Tiis was saying as Tories sat down. 

	"That's only four hundred troops," Roshton pointed out doubtfully. "Not going to do much good against three C-9979s' worth of droids and AATs unless you can knock out their control ship." 

	"Thank you for the suggestion," Tiis said dryly. "We had in mind to do just that. The gunships will be dropped in five minutes; ETA your position in thirty. We'll commence our own attack on the control ship in fifteen." The image vanished. "How's that going to work with the Cranscoc timing?" Doriana asked. 

	Binalie shrugged as he consulted his chrono. "Sunset's in about ten minutes. By the time the gunships arrive, it'll be nearly full dark." 

	"So we have a chance of getting the Separatists out before they can retool," Doriana concluded. "Excellent. What's the plan from this end, Commander?" 

	"Basically, to engage the enemy," Roshton said, pulling out his comlink. 

	"Between the incoming gunships and my own clone troopers, we should be able to cause a fair amount of chaos out there. With luck, that may distract the Neimoidians long enough for us to get in through the tunnel and retake the plant." 

	"You can't do that," Binalie objected. 

	"We'll be as careful as we can," Roshton said.

"That's not what I meant," Binalie said. "That Neimoidian commander-Ashel-said they'd sealed their end of the tunnel." 

	"Sealed it so well that a Jedi with a lightsaber can't get in?" Roshton shook his head. "I doubt that very much." 

	"You'll still be risking damage to Spaarti," Doriana pointed out. "Why not wait until the control ship has been destroyed? The Neimoidians certainly won't put up a fight once their army's out of commission." 

	"Two reasons," Roshton said. "One, because I wouldn't put it past Separatists to start wrecking things as soon as they know they've lost. And two-" he grimaced. "I should be out there with my men, not skulking around down here. The sooner I can get into action, the better." 

	"That's a pretty poor basis for tactical decisions," Doriana warned. "And Lord Binalie is right: we don't want any fighting inside the plant." 

	"Tell that to the Neimoidians," Roshton said shortly. "As of nineteen minutes from now, that'll be their decision, not mine." 

	"Just a minute," Tories said slowly as Roshton lifted his comlink, bits and pieces of an idea starting to swirl around in his mind. A strange, danger-ous idea, but one that might work for all that. "What if we could get all the droids to come outside to fight?"  

	"And how do you persuade them to do that?" Binalie growled. "Neimoidians are cowards-they wouldn't just send their guards marching away. Especially not with a possible tunnel attack to guard against." 

	"Unless they thought the tunnel was secure," Tories pointed out. "And thought the factory perimeter wasn't." Binalie blinked. "You've lost me." 

	"Of course," Roshton said, sitting up straighter. "Like I said, they know a Jedi can probably break through the tunnel. They also know, from bitter experience, what it's like to face one in battle." 

	"So what are you suggesting?" Doriana asked, frowning. "That we put Master Tories outside with your clone troopers?" 

	"Exactly," Roshton said. "Leading a charge against, say, the plant's east door. They'd have no choice but to throw everything they have at us." Doriana snorted gently. "Sounds suicidal." 

	"Not for a Jedi," Binalie said, his voice and sense suddenly tense with cautious hope as he saw a chance of getting his factory back intact. "You could do it, Master Tories. I know you could." 

	"Please?" Corf added, gazing pleadingly at Tories. "Just a moment," Doriana put in. "I'm not at all sure I can authorize an action like this. An attack of any sort will put the plant at serious risk." 

	"It's that, or the plant stays in Separatist hands," Roshton pointed out. 

	"Who's side are you on here, anyway?" 

	"Don't be insulting," Doriana said coldly. "You want to keep the enemy busy while the Whipsaw tries to take out the control ship, go right ahead. But keep away from Spaarti." 

	"Trust us, Master Doriana," Roshton said. "Or rather, trust in the Jedi." Doriana grimaced. "Well, when you put it that way... all right." Roshton looked at Tories. "Master Tories?" 

	"Let's see first if I can get through the droids upstairs," Tories said, getting to his feet. 

	"Let's see if we can get through them," Roshton corrected, standing up to join him. "Like I said, I need to be with my men."  

	"You're both insane," Doriana declared. "But if everyone else is going, I might as well, too." 

	Roshton shook his head. "Sorry. No offense, but I don't want any bureaucrats getting in the way." 

	"None taken," Doriana assured him. "But as the Supreme Chancellor's representative here, I not only have the right to come with you, but I'm more or less required to do so." Roshton grimaced. "Fine-have it your own way. Then if we're ready...?" Corf took a breath - "No," Tories said firmly before the boy could speak. "You and your father are staying right here."  

	"But..." 

	"Corf," Binalie said warningly. 

	The boy subsided. "Right," Roshton said, clicking on his comlink. "Let's get this off the launch pad." 

	Doriana never did learn how many droids the Neimoidians had left inside the Binalie mansion. All he knew was that there were eight of them between the three humans and the outside door. Tories dealt with all eight swiftly, efficiently, and amazingly quietly. 

	There were a few others on patrol outside, strutting around in the gathering dusk as if they owned the place. The Jedi dealt with those, too. 

	It was over five kilometers to the staging area Roshton and his lieutenant had settled on during their brief comlink communication. Fortunately, two of the clone troopers had managed to sneak a small landspeeder through the droid patrols and were waiting for them at the eastern edge of the Binalie estate. A short ride, with frequent zigzags and occasional pauses under cover, and they were there. 

	The clone trooper lieutenant was waiting when the landspeeder pulled up, standing quietly in the concealment of a group of trees perhaps a kilometer from the blank walls of the Spaarti plant. "Welcome, Commander," he greeted Roshton as the newcomers stepped up to him. "Glad you could make it." 

	"So am I," Roshton said. "Situation?" 

	"I've pulled together two hundred troops," the lieutenant said, gesturing around him. Doriana looked around, but wherever the troops were hiding, they were doing a good job of it. "The rest are still in the city, dodging the droids' house-to-house search," the lieutenant continued. "At last report the gunships were still approaching from the south; they should reach missile range in approximately five minutes, and laser-cannon range two minutes after that. Their first salvo will be our troops' signal to attack." 

	"What about the control ship?" Roshton asked. 

	The lieutenant nodded his helmet slightly upwards. 'That attack seems to have already begun." 

	Doriana looked up. It was difficult to tell through the light clouds drifting across the sky, but he thought he could see faint flickers of laser fire. "Any idea how it's going?" he asked. 

	"General Tiis hasn't taken the time to keep us up to date," the lieutenant said, a bit dryly. 

	"That's all right," Roshton said. "If and when he destroys it, it should be easy to figure out. What's the local enemy status?" 

	"The Number Two C-9979 is approximately three kilometers to our south," the lieutenant said. "Most of their troops have been deployed to the spaceport and eastern Foulahn City, but there are at least three AATs and probably two hundred battle droids standing by on guard duty." 

	"Three kilometers," Doriana said, peering off that direction at the deceptively cheery city lights in the distance. "Isn't that a little close?" 

	"It's extremely close," Roshton agreed. "And deliberately so. If you'd ever fought the Neimoidians before, you'd know they dearly love overwhelming odds. I'm betting that the chance to catch our group in a crossfire will be too tempting for them to pass up." 

	He turned to Tories. "Any last thoughts or suggestions, Master Tories?" For a moment, Tories gazed out toward the wall of the plant, now little more than a vague shape against the darkening sky. Doriana gazed in turn at the outline of Tories' profile, watching the glint of his white hair in the dim light, wondering what kind of thoughts were going through that Jedi-trained mind. 

	How did Jedi think, he wondered suddenly. He knew something of how they acted and reacted, and as the man who often delivered Palpatine's messages to the Jedi Council, he had long since learned how to use their concerns and priorities to persuade them to do what he wanted. 

	But how exactly did they think'! Was it basically the same as normal people? Or was there something about their training that left them more alien than any of the species making up the Republic? 

	In the distance to the south came the faint sound of multiple explosions. As it was joined by the stutter of blaster fire, Tories seemed to straighten fully up. "Nothing comes to mind, Commander," he said, sliding his lightsaberfrom beneath his robes. "Let's do it." 

	He set off toward Spaarti Creations, walking with a swift, firm pace. Three steps into the trip, he ignited his lightsaber, the green blade blazing upward like a beacon as he strode off into the darkness. "Well, don't just stand there, Lieutenant," Roshton said. 

	"Yes, sir," the other said, sounding a bit startled by the Jedi's bold move. "All troops: advance." 

	Doriana felt his breath catch in his throat. Suddenly, the area around them was swarming with clone troopers, emerging from shadows or piles of leaves or from beneath camouflage ground covers. They set off behind Tories, forming into neat ranks as they went. 

	Roshton was saying something. "I'm sorry?" Doriana said, tearing his eyes away from the silent soldiers. 

	"I asked if the Supreme Chancellor's representative would care to join us," the commander repeated as he slipped on a clone trooper headset. 

	"Thank you, but I think I'll stay here," Doriana said, getting his mind back to business. "I've already seen your men in action, but I haven't had a chance to observe General Tiis's troops." 

	He couldn't see Roshton's expression in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the cynical edge in his voice. "Of course," the commander said. 

	"Shall I leave you a guard?" 

	"That won't be necessary," Doriana said. "But I'd like to borrow your other comlink, if I may, so I can keep up with what's happening."  

	"Sure," Roshton grunted, pulling out his belt comlink. "Over there behind that thick tree would probably be a good place to observe from." Doriana smiled to himself. It amazed him sometimes how easily people seemed to think they could offend him. "Thank you, Commander," he said calmly. "I'll expect a full report when you return." 

	They'd made it perhaps halfway to Spaarti Creations when the first response came from the picket line around the plant. Blaster bolts began to sizzle across the distance as the droids opened fire, passing harmlessly between the marching soldiers or bouncing almost as harmlessly off their armor. Tories peered ahead into the gloom as his lightsaber deflected away the bolts that came his direction, using the light of the enemy's own fire to see how they were configuring their battle line. The droids directly between them and the plant's east door were standing fast, while more droids were hurrying from north and south of that position to join them. 

	"Looks like this whole section of the picket line is pulling in to face us," Roshton murmured from beside him. 

	"Yes," Tories agreed, looking back over his shoulder. All he could see back there were the lights of the city and spaceport. "Any sign of that crossfire yet?" 

	"Two AATs and about fifty droids have just headed northeast," Roshton said. "We should see them soon. Ah." 

	Tories turned back. The plant's east door had opened, revealing a new set of droids hurrying through to join the picket line. "Here come the reinforcements," Roshton said. "I'd guess we'll be seeing those AATs very soon." 

	And with that, Tories knew, it was time to go. "How long can you hold out against them?" he asked, deflecting one last bolt and then closing down his lightsaber. 

	Roshton threw him a sideways look, wrapping his free hand around his headset's voice pickup. "What do you have in mind?" 

	"We're assuming they've largely emptied the plant of combat droids," Tories told him. "If I can get inside, I should be able to get the drop on the Neimoidians. If they're as cowardly as you say, maybe I can persuade them to surrender even if Tiis isn't able to take out the command ship." 

	"How do you expect to get in?" Roshton asked. "They'll have picket lines at all the doors." 

	"Leave that to me," Tories said, nodding to the left. "But I have to go before they close off that gap. So again: how long can you hold out?" 

	"As long as necessary," Roshton said, glancing around as he released his grip on his voice pickup. "Lieutenant: looks like there's a small hollow ahead and to the right. We'll deploy in defensive formation there." He looked at Tories again. "Good luck." 

	Tories nodded and turned to the left, taking a moment to get his bearings. Then, stretching out to the Force, he dropped into a crouch and ran. 

	Jedi were capable of incredible bursts of speed when necessary, at least over short distances. Tories used every bit of that capability, his legs pumping in a blur against the ground as he slipped around the end of the picket line now beginning to close into a semicircle around the beleaguered clone troopers. A pair of droid stragglers suddenly loomed in front of him in the darkness and then collapsed into broken rubble as he used the Force to shove them backward. By the time the burst of energy and speed faded and he trotted to a halt, he was standing at the southeast corner of the plant, just clear of the forbidden south lawn, facing a sheer, three-story-high wall. 

	He gazed up at the dark slab rising above him. Three stories was an impossible jump, at least for him. But halfway up the wall, a distance he could reach, was a line of louvered air vents, each about ten centimeters across. 

	He could only hope Lord Binalie's father had built the vents and louvers with the same ruggedness with which he'd built everything else in Spaarti Creations. Getting a good grip on his lightsaber, making sure his hand was safely away from the activation stud, he bent his knees, stretched out to the Force, and jumped. 

	He was near the top of his arc when he spotted the nearest vent, dimly lit by the flashes of laser and blaster fire coming from Roshton's position. With a quick flick of his mind, he reached out to the louvers, angling them up into a horizontal position. 

	And as his upward momentum slowed to a halt, he slipped his lightsaber hilt between two of the louvers. 

	The metal creaked in protest as his full weight came onto the hilt, but to his relief the louvers held. Stretching out to the Force, he pulled down hard against the wedged lightsaber, hurling himself upward again. 

	He made it with three centimeters to spare, catching the edge of the roof with his outstretched fingertips and heaving himself the rest of the way up to sprawl onto his belly on the cold permacrete. Swiveling around, he leaned partway over the edge, extricating his lightsaber hilt from the louvers and calling it back to his hand. 

	The blaster fire in the east seemed to be intensifying as he slipped silently across the roof toward the nearest skylight. He reached it, rubbed off some of the collected grit with his sleeve, and peered inside. 

	The factory floor below was deserted. He stretched out to the Force, trying to track down the agitated alien minds he could sense beneath him. Further to the west, perhaps? Yes, he decided: somewhere a little ways west of his position. He frowned, trying to visualize the layout of the plant... Of course. Cowardly or merely very cautious, the Neimoidians would have set up shop in Production Area Four, where they could keep an eye on the tunnel leading to the Binalie estate. 

	He set off that direction, keeping a wary eye overhead for wandering STAR patrols. But all the ones he could see were a good distance away, either swooping behind him to the east near Roshton's position, or else doing tight circles around the C-9979 landing ship over near the plant's west door. The cacophony from Roshton's position was definitely growing louder, possibly the droids from the landing ship now close enough to add their strength to the attack. A new sound shrieked through the air, and he turned in time to see a Republic gunship dive toward the ground, sweeping the droid positions with rapid-fire laser fire. It swung upward again, and was cutting around for another pass when it exploded in a brilliant red-and-yellow fireball. And then he was at the skylight over the Area Four control station. Again cleaning off a section of the transparisteel, he looked down. 

	There they were, directly below him on the control platform: the two Neimoidians who had earlier invaded Lord Binalie's office, plus a few more in much drabber clothing, all gathered together around a plotting display that had been set up in front of the Cranscoc twillers. The Master Creator, Gehad, was jabbing at something on the display, apparently arguing with Commander Ashel about it. Milling alertly around the control platform were a half dozen battle droids, their attention and blasters turned outward. The skylight's fastening catch was at the inside base directly across from Tories. Reaching out with the Force, he undid it and swung the skylight open on its hinges. Taking a deep breath, he dropped through the opening. 

	He landed on the platform directly behind Commander Ashel, his knees bending to absorb the impact. Ashel had time to twitch, and someone else had time to give a startled squeak, before Tories was upright again with his arm firmly around Ashel's chest and the business end of his lightsaber pressed just as firmly against the side of the Neimoidian's head. "Everyone stay still," he warned. But the droids' reflexes were apparently set on hair-trigger. Before Tories could say more, or Ashel could say anything at all, they whirled toward the platform, their blasters spitting fire toward him. Tories took a long step away from Ashel and the others, igniting his lightsaber and whipping it against the incoming blaster bolts. Two seconds later, all six droids lay shattered and smoking, destroyed by their own backscattered fire. Before the stunned Neimoidians could react, Tories took another long step back and regained his grip on Ashel's robes. "Let's try that again," he said mildly. "Everyone stay still." 

	"What do you want?" Ashel asked, his voice shaking. 

	"I want this to be over," Tories told him. He glanced at the Cranscoc twillers crouching down in front of the control system mud flow, wondering how they were taking all this. 

	But if they were worried, surprised, or even fully aware of what was going on, he couldn't see it. "Contact the command ship and order them to surrender." 

	"Impossible." Ashel made a cautious gesture toward the ruined droids. "We cannot communicate except through the droids, and you have destroyed them all. " 

	"Really," Tories said. It was almost certainly a lie, but there was an easy way to call the other's bluff. "Fine. Come on." 

	"Where do we go?" Gehad asked timorously. 

	"It just so happens I know where there are other droids you can use," Tories told him. "And watch it. I doubt you want the kind of trouble I can make for you." 

	Keeping a grip on Ashel's robe, he led the way down the platform steps. The Neimoidians' sealing of the tunnel exit had been achieved by the simple procedure of welding the leading edge of the ramp solidly to the floor, and it took him only a couple of seconds to cut through the weld with his lightsaber. Ashel quivered in his grip as he did so, but said nothing. 

	Their footsteps echoed eerily as they headed east through the empty plant. Tories kept alert for a surprise attack, but apparently the Neimoidians really had sent all the rest of the droids outside. 

	The battle was still going on as they reached the east door and stepped out into the night air. "There are your droids," Tories said, giving Ashel an imperative push toward the light and noise. "Let's go talk to them." 

	"You cannot be serious," the Neimoidian protested, cringing back against Tories' grip. "We are not equipped for battle." 

	"Too bad," Tories said. "But if that's the only way to stop them..." 

	He broke off as, abruptly, the circle of blasters around Roshton's position fell silent. Something in the sky to the left caught his eye, and he looked over as a pair of STAPs plummeted to the ground. 

	He craned his head to look up into the night sky. There, almost directly above him, was the fading light of an expanding gas cloud. 

	General Tiis and the Whipsaw had come through. 

	"I guess we won't need to talk to the droids, after all," he commented. He could see movement from Roshton's position now as the clone troopers abandoned their positions, running toward him and the plant now wide open behind him. 

	"Come on," he added, returning his lightsaber to his belt and nudging the Neimoidians toward the approaching troops. 

	The two groups met halfway. "I see you've been busy," Roshton greeted Tories as he trotted to a halt, gesturing his troops to continue on toward the plant. 

	"What's it like inside?" 

	"Empty, as far as I could tell," Tories told him. "The tunnel's been unsealed, too, if you want to get the techs back in." 

	"Excellent," Roshton said in grim satisfaction. "We'll get the Cranscoc to undo any retooling they did, then get back to work. 

	"I doubt the Neimoidians got very far with their retooling," Tories said. 

	"Speaking of which, what should I do with them?" 

	Roshton glanced past him toward the plant. "Would you mind taking them to Commander Bratt? He's in one of the gunships heading over to shut down the Number Two C-9979." 

	"No problem," Tories said. "I'll see you later." 

	Roshton nodded and hurried off after his men. Tories started his own party off in the opposite direction. "It is not yet over," Ashel warned as they walked. 

	"We have not yet been defeated." 

	"You just keep thinking that," Tories said. They'd reached the site of Roshton's stand now, and he paused for a moment, gazing across the battlefield. The ground was almost literally covered with the wreckage of droids, with the bodies of probably a dozen clone troopers lying among the debris, their armor no longer white. Fires were still burning in the remains of a couple of vehicles, one of them the gunship Tories had seen being destroyed. Standing amid the general carnage were probably a hundred more droids, still upright yet with an oddly sagging look about them, where the loss of their control ship had left them. 

	He was still gazing at them when, with a sort of collective twitch, they came back to life. 

	For perhaps half a second the sheer unexpectedness of it froze him to the spot. But for the Neimoidians, that half-second was all the time they needed. At a barked word from Ashel, the Neimoidians dropped flat on the ground. 

	And Tories found himself standing alone in the middle of a ring of blasters. There was no time for anything fancy, and literally nowhere to go but up. He leaped up and sideways, igniting his lightsaber and slashing behind him as he arced over the revived droid army, trusting in the Force to guide his hand and deflect the shots. He hit the ground running and dodging, heading away from the plant toward the city, a hail of blaster bolts nipping at his robes. 

	"Yes, run, Jedi," Ashel's mocking voice wafted after him, more painful even than the blaster bolt near-misses. "Tell us again of this trouble you can make for us." 

	Tories didn't answer. Ahead, he could hear the sounds of renewed blaster fire coming from Foulahn City, and from the sense of startled anguish rolling over his mind it was clear that the rest of the Republic forces had been taken as much by surprise as he had. Unless he could get to them in time, to lend his strength to theirs, the battle would be lost. 

	He couldn't. 

	And it was. 

	"I guess the Separatists have finally learned from their past mistakes," Doriana commented as he, Tories, and Binalie stood on one of the mansion's north-facing balconies. "They must have found a way to make a control matrix compact enough that they could bring a backup down to the planet surface. My guess is that it's probably in one of the landing ships. Not that it really matters." 

	"And not that we'll ever know for sure," Binalie said bitterly, shivering in the cold night air. "They're all dead, then?" 

	"Dead, or scattered," Tories said quietly, and Doriana could hear the pain and self-reproach in the Jedi's voice. "Except for the ones Roshton took into Spaarti with him." Binalie sighed. "And they're as good as dead, aren't they?" 

	"I can't see it any other way," Doriana agreed, gazing out toward Spaarti Creations. Above the plant, a hundred STAPs were circling through the night sky like carrion-eaters, glinting with the light from a dozen distant fires. On the grounds around the plant, invisible from where the three men stood, a thousand combat droids and a dozen battle tanks stood their own silent watch. 

	And between the Binalie mansion and the plant, acrid smoke still rose from the crater where the Separatist hailfire droid had emptied both of its missile pods into the ground, collapsing the tunnel and cutting off the clone troopers' last avenue of escape. The Separatists had been nothing if not thorough. "The only reason they're still alive is that the Separatists don't want to wreck the plant trying to force them out," he added. 

	"But then, they don't have to, do they?" Tories said quietly. "By the time General Tiis can return with enough ground troops, they'll likely have starved in there." 

	"Yes," Binalie said. "Ironic, isn't it? Commander Roshton spent all that effort to retake the plant. And he succeeded. 

	"And that's where he's going to die."

	Star Wars  

	Star Wars Insider 

	N 70 

	Hero of Cartao. 

	Part 3 

	Hero's End. 

	by Timothy Zahn. 



	############################################################################### 

	The streets of Foulahn City were dark and deserted as Kinman Doriana picked his way through the litter of broken droids, small missile craters, shattered buildings, bodies, and the general clutter of war. The military comlink he'd borrowed from Commander Roshton had allowed him to listen in on the Republic side of the battle, and he'd known the fighting here and at the Triv Spaceport had been fierce. But even that knowledge hadn't prepared him for the actual carnage the soldiers had left behind. 

	A half dozen craters overlapped each other across the street in front of him, half filled with rubble from the buildings the missiles had destroyed and a few mutilated bodies of the civilians who'd been caught in the crossfire. The fighting here must have been particularly bad, he decided, with a higher-ranking officer directing the Republic side of the attack. Maybe here he'd finally find what he was looking for. 

	He hoped so. It was well after midnight, he was achingly tired, and the new Separatist masters of this part of Cartao undoubtedly had a curfew in place for the citizenry. The first patrol that spotted him would be trouble, and he wasn't in the mood for arguing with combat droids. Despite the dramatic events and reversals of the past few hours, things were still adhering reasonably closely to Lord Sidious's plan, but that didn't mean Doriana himself had to enjoy the situation. He'd had his fill of battles a long time ago, and very much preferred to stay at his desk in Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's office and handle his schemes and manipulations long-distance. 

	A glimmer of white to the left caught his eye, and he picked his way carefully toward it through the shattered road material. Probably just another piece of the deco-rative white roof trim Foulahn's residents were so fond of, he thought sourly, but it still had to be checked out. 

	But it wasn't a piece of roof trim. It was the half buried body of a clone trooper. A lieutenant, from the markings on his armor. 

	Finally. 

	Under normal circumstances, it would have been the work of perhaps two minutes to dig the body out of the rubble. With the need for absolute silence, it took Doriana closer to ten. But it was worth the effort. Hidden away in the back of one of the survival pouches on the lieutenant's utility belt was an unlabeled datacard. Slipping it into his pocket, Doriana resealed the survival pouch and started to straighten up. 

	"Halt," a flat mechanical voice ordered from behind him. Doriana froze in mid-crouch. "Don't shoot," he called, stretching his hands slowly to the sides so that the droids could see they were empty. "I'm an official medical observer." 

	"Turn and identify," the voice ordered. 

	Doriana obeyed, turning carefully on the uncertain footing. It was a complete patrol, all right: six of the old-style battle droids, one of them standing slightly in the lead. In the dim light, Doriana couldn't tell whether there was anyone of command rank among them. "Identify," the droid in the lead repeated. 

	"My name is Kinman Drifkin," he told them. "I'm a member of the Aargau Medical Observer Corps. We're a neutral power sworn to observe and report on any atrocities taking place during this conflict." 

	The droid seemed to digest that. "Come forward," he ordered. "Do you have official identification?" 

	"Of course," Doriana said, slipping his hand into his ID pocket as he walked toward the group. The droids lifted their blasters warningly as he withdrew his hand, relaxed slightly as they saw he held only a datacard. "Which of you has a reader?" he asked. 

	"I will take it," the spokesman said, shifting his grip on his blaster and extending a claw-like hand. 

	Doriana stepped to him and handed him the datacard. So this one was definitely the leader; and at this distance, he could see now the pale yellow markings of a command officer on its head and torso. Excellent. "I believe you'll find my credentials are in order," he added, glancing casually around. There was no one else in sight, human or droid. 

	"We will see," the officer droid said, taking the datacard and sliding it into a reader slot set into the lower part of its jaw line. "It says here that your assigned observation area is...' 

	"Barauch seven-nine-seven," Doriana said in a low voice. "Filliae gron one-one-three." 

	The officer broke off in midsentence. Doriana eased a few centimeters to his right, watching to see if the droids and their weapons would track his movement. 

	They didn't. To all appearances, the entire squad was frozen and oblivious. "I'll be crocked," Doriana murmured to himself, feeling muscles relax that he hadn't noticed were tense. So, the magic backdoor lockout code that Sidious had given to him actually worked. 

	And if the lockout code worked... "Pinkrun four-seven-two aprion one-eight-one-one," he said, reaching out to the spokesman's jaw and retrieving his false ID. "Backskip three minutes; pause one minute; restart. Execute." 

	The patrol gave a group shiver. "Accessed," the spokesman said, his mechanical voice sounding somehow even flatter than it had before. 

	Smiling tightly, Doriana sidled past them, heading back the direction they'd come from as quickly as he could manage without twisting his ankle on the loose stone. He had just one minute to disappear before the droids came out of their freeze and restarted their patrol, with this little incident conveniently erased from their group memory. He reached the nearest corner and ducked around it, pausing there to listen. A few seconds later he heard the distinctive clunk as the droids came to life again. With more clattering, they continued on their patrol, their footsteps fading off into the night breezes. Smiling again, Doriana detached himself from the wall and headed back toward the Binalie estate. 

	"You all right?" a voice asked softly from the shadows. Doriana jumped violently. "Who's there?" he hissed. 

	"Relax," Jafer Tories calmed him, stepping into view from a doorway, his lightsaber ready in his hand. "It's just me." 

	Doriana took a deep breath. "You nearly stopped my heart there," he said reproachfully. "In the future, kindly practice your Jedi skulking techniques on someone else." 

	"Sorry," Tories said with a faint smile. "But for a moment there I thought I was going to have to demonstrate more than just skulking. What happened over there?" 

	"What do you mean, what happened?" Doriana hedged, wondering uneasily just how much the Jedi had seen. "It was just a standard security patrol." 

	"Who looked at your ID and then let you go," Tories said pointedly. "Since when do the Separatists give free passes to Palpatine's advisors?" 

	Doriana started breathing a little easier. So, the Jedi had been close enough to see the confrontation, but not to hear what was said. Good enough. "No free passes for advisors, no," he told Tories, digging out his false ID again. "But plenty for neutral observers. Kinman Drifkin, Aargau Medical Observer Corps, at your service." 

	"Cute," Tories said. He took the ID, peered at it, and handed it back. "Holds up to baseline scrutiny, does it?" 

	"As you saw," Doriana reminded him, putting the datacard away again. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine can hardly afford to let his people get picked up by the enemy in the middle of a war zone. Speaking of which, what are you doing out here, anyway?" 

	"Funny; I was going to ask you the same question," Tories said, his voice suddenly going a little odd. "Lord Binalie said you'd gone into the city and asked me to see if you might be in trouble. So what are you doing?" 

	"Feeling mildly pleased with myself, and ready to get out of here," Doriana told him. "Has Lord Binalie found a place to settle in yet?" 

	"We've got one, yes," Tories said. 

	"Good," Doriana said. "Take me there, and we'll all sort it out together. " 

	For just the briefest moment Tories continued to gaze at him in that discomfiting way Jedi all over the galaxy seemed to have learned to perfection. Then, reluctantly, Doriana thought, he nodded. "All right. Follow me." 

	He headed off down the deserted streets. Doriana followed, scowling to himself. It was Tories' fault, after all, that the situation had ended up the way it had, with Roshton and his clone troopers holding the plant while the Separatist droid armies waited uselessly outside. It wasn't at all the way Darth Sidious had planned this operation, and he winced as the thought of what the Sith lord would say about it the next time Doriana contacted him. 

	Still, the situation was far from lost. Republic reinforcements were undoubtedly days away, which gave Doriana time to put things back on track. 

	And as for the Jedi... 

	He gazed at Tories' broad back as the other picked his way around yet another missile crater. Now that he thought about it, Tories' unabashed heroics tonight might actually work to Doriana's advantage. Certainly the other had risen to new heights of respect and prestige in the handful of days since Doriana had landed on Cartao. 

	Which would make it that much more of a pleasure to bring the Jedi down. 

	With the tunnel under the Spaarti Creations' south lawn collapsed and impassible, there was no longer any reason for the Neimoidians controlling the Separatist forces to occupy the Binalie estate. They had occupied it anyway, probably out of spite for the way Tories had helped chase them out of the mansion not too many hours earlier. With his home occupied by battle droids, it had become necessary for Lord Binalie and his son Corf to find other accommodations. 

	The estate's greenhouse had been probably the least likely possibility, given the near-complete visibility through the building's long transparisteel panels. Which was precisely why Tories had suggested it. What any searchers would assume-at least, what Tories hoped they would assume-was that there was no chance of anyone hiding in such an open place and move on to more likely prospects. 

	What any such searchers would have forgotten was the profusion of plants inside the greenhouse, plants that could be shifted and adjusted and layered to form hidden areas as sheltered and invisible as a military camp in deep forest. 

	Binalie and Corf had nearly finished setting up their new quarters when Tories and Doriana arrived. "Ah; Master Tories," Binalie said, setting a package of emergency food rations beside three more against a line of tall plants with wide overhanging fronds. "Did you find Doriana? Oh-there you are," he added as he caught sight of Doriana in the dim starlight. "Any trouble?" 

	"None," Tories said. "I found him bluffing his way past a droid patrol." 

	"Really," Binalie said. His voice was casual, but Tories could sense the sudden suspicion in his sense. "And how exactly do you bluff battle droids?" 

	"With the judicious use of false credentials," Doriana told him briefly. "But never mind that. I have something to show you that should be considerably more interesting. Is there a place where we can have a little more light?" 

	"I suppose," Binalie said reluctantly. "Master Tories-?" 

	"Why don't you go ahead and take him downstairs," Tories suggested. "I'll go take a quick look around outside." 

	"Thank you," Binalie said, sounding a bit relieved. "This way, Master Doriana." 

	By the time Tories returned from his sweep of the surrounding area, Binalie, Corf, and Doriana had taken up seats in the greenhouse's underground storeroom. "All clear," the Jedi confirmed, lowering the trap door back into place and plunging the space into complete darkness. "Go ahead, Corf." 

	A moment later he found himself squinting as the boy flicked on a small ceiling light. "All right, Master Doriana," Binalie said. "Let's hear it." 

	"This is a soldier's ID," Doriana said, producing a datacard. "I took it from a dead clone trooper lieutenant. Normally, it contains nothing but name, rank, and operating number. A field officer's card, however, also has something called a contingency deployment profile. It gives detailed instructions as to where and how to regroup in case of command structure disruption or the kind of disaster we've just experienced." 

	"I've never heard of anything like that," Binalie said. 

	"It's not well advertised, for obvious reasons," Doriana said dryly. "For the same reasons, the information's also not easy to access." 

	"But you can do that?" 

	"Yes," Doriana said. "By morning, when the townspeople are allowed to move around outdoors again, you and Master Tories should be able to casually travel to the rendezvous point and make contact with the survivors of last night's battle." 

	"Just the two of us?" Tories asked. "You're not coming?" 

	Doriana shook his head. "Now that the Separatists are in control here, I need to keep as low a profile as possible. My face might have been seen in the background on one of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's broadcasts, and I can't take the risk that someone will recognize me. I can give you an authorization datacard, though, that will confirm you have the authority to give them orders." 

	"Wait a second," Binalie said, frowning. "What orders?" 

	"We have to get Roshton and his people out of there, Lord Binalie," Doriana said, his voice suddenly low and sincere and very persuasive. 'The longer they're trapped inside Spaarti, the weaker and more vulnerable to attack they'll become. Don't forget, all those techs he took in with him probably weren't carrying soldiers' field packs, which means the whole group is starting out critically low on food and water. If we let them get too weak, our chances of getting them out alive will slip from poor to nonexistent." 

	"And you don't think the Republic will send help?" Corf asked quietly. 

	Tories focused on the youth. It was remarkable, he thought distantly, how rapidly Corf had grown up over the past few days. He'd started out as a cheerful, carefree boy, content to track down siviviv weeds or just hang out with Cartao's resident Jedi Guardian. 

	And then Doriana had arrived, and the events that had followed had turned Corf's home and his neighborhood into a war zone. Now, he was quieter, more thoughtful, more brooding. 

	The war had come to Cartao. Sadly, it had also come to Corf Binalie. 

	"I don't know, Master Binalie," Doriana admitted, his voice as grave as the boy's. "I've spoken with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, and I know he truly wants to help. The question is whether there are any Republic forces strong enough and close enough to deal with this particular Separatist army. I'm sure you understand that there are many other worlds and systems out there in equally desperate situations." 

	He looked at Tories. "Unless there are other forces available that I don't know about?" 

	Tories frowned. "What do you mean?" 

	For a moment, Doriana gazed at him as if trying to read something hidden. Then, almost too casually, he shrugged. 

	"Nothing," he said. "I just thought you might have a line to-never mind." 

	He gestured to the trap door above them. "I'd suggest the three of you go back up and get some sleep," he said. "I need to stay down here for awhile and get this contingency deployment decrypted." 

	Binalie looked at Tories, his eyebrows lifted slightly. Tories shrugged microscopically in return. He could sense an air of secretive-ness surrounding Doriana's mind, but that could be nothing more than the natural caution of a man dealing with high-level military security. "All right," Binalie said. "Let us know when you're ready to come back up." 

	"I will," Doriana promised, turning off the light so the others could open the trap door without giving their presence away. 

	"Good-night. And don't worry," he added, his tone suddenly thoughtful in the dark. "I have a feeling that by tomorrow night this will all be over." 

	There had been seven possible rendezvous points listed on the contingency deployment datacard, ranked in descending order of preference. The first, one of the hangars at the spaceport, was already occupied by Separatist forces busily working on damaged vehicles. The second, a warehouse on the northern edge of the city, had been effectively demolished in the night's battle. At the third, an automated hydroelectric plant straddling the Quatreen River, Tories and Binalie found the Republic forces. 

	"This is all rather irregular," their commanding officer, a young-looking lieutenant, said as he handed back the introductory datacard Doriana had given them. "But it does seem to be in order." He gave a hand signal, and the ring of clone troopers that had suddenly appeared on their third step through the door lowered their blasters. "I'm Lieutenant Laytron. What's this all about?" 

	"What it's about is a couple hundred Republic troops and a thousand Republic techs trapped inside the Spaarti Creations plant," Tories told him. 

	"Yes; Commander Roshton's group," Laytron said. "We've been in brief contact with him. It sounds like they're making good progress on whatever the project is they're working on in there." 

	"That's nice to know," Binalie said sourly. "Did he happen to mention food or water or other irrelevant subjects?" 

	Laytron regarded him coolly. "For the moment, he seems to be doing all right." 

	"Which is a complete illusion," Tories pointed out. "And you know it." 

	"The question is, what are you doing to do about it?" Binalie added. 

	"Look around you, gentlemen," Laytron said darkly. "We hit Cartao with ten gunships and four hundred fifty officers and men. I'm the last officer still alive, and I have exactly two hundred thirty-three troops - and no vehicles-left to work with. Balance that against probably two thousand functional combat droids, plus STAPs and battle tanks, and you're talking seriously poor odds. I'm cut off from higher authority, and I can't legally justify taking action on my own without a reasonable chance of success. That chance doesn't exist." 

	"So you're not even going to try?" Binalie demanded. 

	"I'm sure reinforcements are on the way," Laytron said. "When they arrive, my men and I will be right there fighting beside them. Until then, there's nothing I can do except hope that Roshton's people can hold out." 

	"What if we lower our expectations a little?" Tories suggested. 

	"Instead of defeating the Separatists, how about if we just get Roshton and his people out?" 

	"Leaving the place open for the Separatists to move in?" The lieutenant shook his head. "I'm sorry, but our mission parameters were very specific on that point." 

	"Then you condemn those troops and civilians in there to death," Binalie shot back, starting to sound angry. "Roshton won't surrender - he's too stubborn for anything that sensible. Do your mission parameters have anything to say about that!" 

	"We understand your orders, Lieutenant," Tories said, throwing Binalie a warning look. "But what if the Separatists didn't know Roshton's people had escaped?" 

	The other's eyes narrowed. "Explain." 

	"I'm sure you came here equipped with a map of the area," Tories said. "Do you remember how Spaarti Creations is laid out? A central manufacturing plant, plus three underground Outlinks two to five kilometers away for storage and product transfer?" 

	"All of them connected to the main plant via underground tunnels," Laytron said, nodding. "Unfortunately, the Separatists have the same maps we do. They've got the Outlinks and their tunnels covered." 

	"Actually," Tories said, "they don't." 

	He lifted his eyebrows at Binalie. The other still wasn't happy about this, Tories could tell, but he'd made up his mind to go through with it. 'The fact is, Lieutenant, that the maps are wrong," Binalie said. "We've actually built a fourth Outlink, west and a little south of the plant and about two kilometers away. It's not quite ready yet, which is why it's not on any of the official maps. But the Outlink structure itself is built." 

	"More to the point, so is the connecting tunnel," Tories said "The only thing missing is the opening into the main complex itself." 

	"Which a lightsaber-equipped Jedi could easily remedy," Laytron said, sounding thoughtful. 

	"Exactly," Tories agreed. "If you can stage some kind of diversion to draw the roving patrols away from that part of the grounds, I should be able to slip in and get Roshton's people out without the Separatists being any the wiser." 

	"Interesting idea," Laytron agreed. "You have any particular diversion in mind?" 

	"We were hoping you could come up with something," Tories said. 

	"I'm sure you have a better grasp of the military situation than either of us do." 

	"Well, there's one obvious possibility," Laytron said. "With their control ship destroyed, they have to be running their droid army off the secondary control matrix they brought down here with them. If we threaten that, they'll have no choice but to respond." 

	"Good idea," Binalie grunted. "Question is, where is it?" 

	"It's not in one of the battle tanks or MTT transports," Laytron said. 'There's only so much miniaturization you can do with something like that. It therefore has to be in one of the landing ships." 

	"Unless it's not even in this area," Binalie pointed out. "There are about a million square kilometers of empty space out there where they could have hidden it." 

	"No," Laytron said, shaking his head. 'There's no combat droid presence anywhere else on the planet, at least nothing serious. Neimoidians aren't nearly daring enough to leave something that important lying around without a full defense screen around it. No, it's definitely in one of the landing ships. Question is, which one?" 

	An image flashed back to Tories' memory: hurrying through the darkness across the plant rooftop, noticing the STAPs circling the first landing ship that had put down by the plant's west door. "It's in the first one," he said. 'The one sitting right beside the plant." 

	"How do you know?" Laytron asked, frowning. 

	"It was under heavy guard during the battle last night," Tories told him. "If the Neimoidians are as nervous as you say, they'd certainly want it where their ground forces can protect it at the same time they're protecting the plant." 

	"Besides, the plant's the one place on Cartao both sides are intent on protecting," Binalie agreed. "I think Jedi Tories is right." 

	"I suppose," Laytron said doubtfully. 'That's going to make for a much trickier diversion, though. The Outlink isn't all that far from the siege line around the plant, and from what you said it sounds like the tunnel passes almost directly beneath the landing ship." 

	"Are you saying there's no way to do it?" Binalie asked. Laytron smiled tightly. "Not at all," he said. "When did you want to start this operation?" 

	"As soon as possible," Tories said. "It would be nice to get to them while they still have the strength to walk out under their own power." 

	"Fine," Laytron said, waving over one of the clone troopers."This afternoon, just before sundown, then. I suggest, Master Tories, that you be ready." 

	"Master Tories?" Corf's voice called softly. "It's time." 

	Tories blinked his eyes open, letting the Jedi meditation trance fade away into the corners of his mind. Corf was standing over his cot, a pinched look on his face. 'Thank you, Corf," Tories said, yawning and stretching his arms and hands. "Where's your father?" 

	"He left with Master Doriana and that Republic lieutenant about an hour ago," Corf said. "Dad said you were supposed to meet him at Outlink Four." 

	"I know," Tories said, glancing at his chrono. Still early. Plenty of time for a nice casual stroll through the woods west of Spaarti Creations. "How are you holding up?" 

	The boy shrugged. "Okay, I guess," he said. "A little worried."  

	"No need for that," Tories assured him. "I'll make sure your father stays clear of the fighting." 

	"I know," Corf said. "Dad promised me that, too. I'm mostly worried about you." 

	"I'll be fine," Tories said, smiling. "I'm a Jedi, remember?"  

	"Oh, that's right," Corf said. He tried to smile in return, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. "I forget sometimes." 

	"Well, don't," Tories admonished him lightly as he tucked his lightsaber inside his robes. "Stay out of sight and trouble, and I'll see you later." 

	"Okay," Corf said; and to Tories' surprise, he stepped forward and gave the Jedi a quick hug. "Be careful." 

	Tories had spent part of the day wondering about Laytron's seemingly casual choice of timing for the operation. It was only as he slipped off the Binalie estate and made his way westward through the edge of Foulahn City that he realized the timing hadn't been nearly as random as he'd first thought. At sunset, most of the enemy forces surrounding Spaarti would have to face directly into the setting sun to see Roshton's quiet exit from Outlink Four. Even droid optical sensors had trouble with direct sunlight, and Tories' estimation of the young lieutenant had gone up as he realized the young man had taken that weakness into account. 

	Twice along the way, Tories had to take quick cover as a pair of droids on wide picket marched past. But he'd planned for possible delays when he'd scheduled his wake-up call, and he reached the flat, sod-covered roof of Outlink Four with time to spare. 

	Binalie was waiting beneath a cluster of trees, along with a pair of armored clone troopers. "Master Tories," Binalie greeted the Jedi, his voice and sense tight with nervous anticipation. 

	"Anyone see you?" 

	"No one shot at me, anyway," Tories told him, eyeing the camouflaged roof. "We aren't going to have to raise the whole roof to get in, are we?" 

	Binalie shook his head. 'There's a service stairway along the side." 

	"Then let's get to it," Tories said, peering into the sky. A dozen STAPs were circling in the east, patrolling the sky over the plant and the landing ship beside it. 

	"Shouldn't we wait for the diversion to start?" Binalie asked. 

	"We can't afford to," Tories said. "We'll need every bit of diversion time just to move all those people out of the plant." 

	"You're right." Binalie took a deep breath, and set off across the open ground. "Follow me." 

	The section of roof over the service stairway swung open with gratifying speed and silence. Binalie led the way down the steps, then waited at the bottom for the others to catch up before using the small control panel attached to the railing to seal the top again. "All the wiring is in place," he said as he flicked on a pair of glow rods and handed one to Tories. "But I thought running any power in here, even just enough to handle the lights, might be risky." 

	"Good point," Tories agreed, turning to the clone troopers. "You two stay here and guard the exit," he ordered. 

	"Acknowledged," one of them said. 

	Tories nodded, and he and Binalie set off at a quick jog down the empty tunnel. Ten minutes later, they reached the other end. 

	"There should be a set of pumps right here, and the intake for the tunnel's ventilator system about here," Binalie said, pointing out spots to the left and right of the wall. "It would make this operation a whole lot cheaper if you could manage to miss both of them." 

	"I'll do my best," Tories said, igniting his lightsaber. Pushing the tip of the blade carefully through the center of Binalie's indicated safe zone, he began to cut. 

	A minute later had carved a man-sized rectangle. Closing down the lightsaber, he stretched out with the Force and deftly pulled away the half-meter-thick section of wall. 

	To find himself gazing down the muzzles of a half dozen blaster rifles. "Commander Roshton?" he called. 

	The muzzles instantly lifted. "About time," Roshton said, stepping into view in front of his troops, a grim look on his face. He was equipped for action, Tories noted, wearing his usual clone trooper comlink headset and a pair of bolstered blasters on his belt.. "I was starting to wonder if you'd been caught." 

	"What are you talking about?" Binalie asked. "We're right on time." 

	"You're two minutes late," Roshton corrected tartly. "If Lieutenant Laytron is on schedule, the diversion will be starting in fourteen minutes. We want to be already moving people out the other end of the tunnel by then." 

	"Then we'd better get started," Tories said. "Your people ready to move?" 

	In answer, Roshton lifted a hand. The clone troopers who'd been pointing their rifles at Tories lifted the weapons into carry position across their chests and passed single-file through the newly made opening. Reforming into ranks of three, they set off down the tunnel at a quick jog. They were followed by another squad of six, and another, and another. "What about the techs?" Tories asked as the fifth batch of troopers jogged past him. 

	"When will they be coming through?" 

	"When we've got enough firepower at the other end to protect them," Roshton grunted, stepping through himself and giving Binalie a nudge. "Come on, both of you. Our turn to move." The clone troopers who'd gone on ahead of them were waiting at the far end of the tunnel when Tories, Binalie, and Roshton arrived. 'Two minutes to go," the commander said, consulting his chrono. "What's cover like up there?" 

	Binalie opened his mouth to answer - "Open space for three meters to the north, twenty meters to the south," one of the clone troopers they'd left behind on guard duty spoke up. 'Tree cover begins five meters to the east and remains intermittent." 

	"Not perfect, but it'll do," Roshton decided. "Line up on the stairway. Lord Binalie, is there any trick to operating the exit door?" 

	"The controls are right there," Binalie said, pointing to the panel, his tone suddenly sounding strange. "But-" 

	"But what?" Roshton demanded, glaring at him. 

	Binalie threw a quick, ambiguous glance at Tories. "Nothing," he muttered. "It'll keep." 

	"Fine." Roshton looked up the stairway as his troopers headed up. "Get in position," he called softly. "We break cover at the sound of the first shot." 

	"Two minutes to go," Lieutenant Laytron said, consulting his chrono. "All squads, report by number." 

	He fell silent, listening intently to the reports coming in over his headset. Doriana found himself gazing off to the north, across the open grassland and the picket line of combat droids standing guard there. The force was largely a token one, of course, since there were no doors or windows on the southern side of the plant. The main droid army, plus all their remaining AAT battle tanks, was concentrated around the more vulnerable eastern, western, and northern approaches. 

	But even a single person or machine on that forbidden stretch of lawn was anathema to the Cranscoc twillers who were the actual heart of the Spaarti operation. They were probably still twitching their indignation, in fact, over all those droids standing around out there. But of course, the Separatist commanders didn't care about that. 

	On the other hand, since the plant's tooling was still set for the cloning cylinders the Republic forces had been sent to Cartao to manufacture, Roshton probably didn't much care if the twillers were upset, either. Two huge political systems, locked in a massive battle of wills and weapons and death, completely oblivious as to how their actions affected those around them. But those actions frequently involved a lot of unexpected collateral damage. That was a lesson someone was going to learn today. 

	"One minute," Laytron said. "Stand ready." 

	Doriana took a deep breath, willing calmness into himself. He had carried out his part of the plan, he knew, maneuvering both sides to precisely the right place and the right time. The rest was now out of his hands, and he could feel the churning sense of frustration that always came upon him at times like this. 

	"And... go." 

	With the multi-level roar of a dozen different engine models, a dozen commandeered civilian landspeeders leaped into view from concealment among the hills dotting the landscape, each loaded with anywhere from four to eight clone troopers. Quickly, they maneuvered around their hills to form an attack line on the southern edge of the grassland. Then, as the enemy pickets and the high-flying STAPs seemed to take notice, the engine pitches changed, and the vehicles set off at full speed toward the plant. 

	"Stand by, cover fire," Laytron ordered. The STAPs were swooping in to the attack, their twin blasters spitting fire at the landspeeders. Ahead of the advancing landspeeders, the picket forces were drawing inward to form a solid counterline between the clone troopers and the plant. Their blasters opened up, too, searching for the range... 

	"Fire," Laytron said. 

	The tops of a dozen nearby hills suddenly blurred as camouflage covers were thrown off and heavy weapons scavenged from damaged gunships and AATs were swung around to bear on the enemy. Laser cannon bolts sizzled across the incoming STAPs, destroying half a dozen in the first salvo and sending the rest twisting away into evasive maneuvers. A pair of missiles streaked from one of the hills to hit the droid counterline dead center. When the smoke, dust, and purple afterimage of the explosion cleared from Doriana's sight, there was nothing left of the picket line but a crater and a hundred smoking pieces of combat droid. 

	"Here they come," Roshton murmured, pointing to the east. Doriana shifted his eyes that direction. Three AAT battle tanks had appeared around the side of the building, laying down fire of their own as they lumbered toward the incoming landspeeders. 

	"They're too late," Doriana said, estimating distances and speeds. 

	"Absolutely," Laytron agreed as the hilltop covering fire shifted aim and began pummeling the AATs. "The fatal flaw of droid armies, Master Doriana: the soldiers actually on the scene can't think or anticipate." 

	Doriana smiled. "Which is why the Republic is going to win." 

	The battle tanks were still firing uselessly as the landspeeders reached the plant. Even before the vehicles came to a complete stop the clone troopers were leaping out, slinging their heavy rifles over their shoulders as they formed up beside the wall. The first two dozen to reach position lifted liquid-cable guns and fired upward. The grapplers caught the top edge of the rooftop, and a moment later, the soldiers were being reeled swiftly upward as their comrades held guard position beneath them. The remaining STAPs swung to this new threat, managing to kill two of the rising clone troopers before fire from the troopers below eliminated that threat. 

	The first wave reached the roof and scrambled up onto it, unslinging their rifles and setting up a defensive perimeter. The second wave was already halfway up the side of the building by the time they were in position, with the final wave just leaving the ground. 

	"And that's that," Laytron said with grim satisfaction as the clone troopers regrouped and started across the rooftop, weapons at the ready. "The Separatists can't fire on them without risking damage to the plant, but they'll be able to fire on the landing ship as soon as they're in range. Is that the sort of diversion you were thinking about, Master Doriana?" 

	Doriana smiled. "Yes, Lieutenant," he said softly. "That should do nicely." 

	The sounds of distant blaster fire were clearly audible as Tories emerged from the tunnel into the late afternoon sunlight. 

	"Sounds like it's started," he muttered to Binalie as the two of them raced for the trees where most of the clone troopers who had gone before them had already taken cover. "I just hope they can keep it up until everyone's out." 

	"Doesn't matter," Binalie said as they reached the trees. 

	"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" Tories asked as they squatted beneath the cover of a wide-crested forlaline bush. 

	"That's the whole point of this exercise." 

	Binalie shook his head. "Maybe it was your point, and mine," he said, his voice tense. "But it wasn't Roshton's. He has no intention of getting those techs out." 

	"What are you talking about?" Tories demanded, frowning. 

	"Didn't you hear him?" Binalie countered. "Him and his soldiers? He asked about cover, and they gave him the stuff north, south, and east. They never said anything about cover to the west; and he never asked." 

	Tories blinked as the memory of that conversation flashed back to him. Binalie was right: Roshton hadn't inquired about conditions to the west. Yet west was the obvious direction for anyone fleeing the plant to go. 

	But if they weren't leaving... 

	His eyes flicked around, looking for Roshton, understanding suddenly stabbing into his stomach. He spotted the commander standing beside the tunnel entrance, gazing down the stairway as clone troopers continued to file out. 

	Tories rose to his feet and started toward him. He'd taken perhaps three steps when Roshton lifted a hand and pointed east. And suddenly, the army was on the move, blasters at the ready, running toward the landing ship towering above the treetops. The last of the troopers was passing Roshton when Tories caught up with him. "What are you doing?" he demanded, catching the commander's arm. "This was supposed to be a rescue mission." 

	"Out of my way, Jedi," Roshton snapped, shrugging off his arm. "Of course it's a rescue mission. It's a rescue of Lord Binalie's precious manufacturing plant." 

	"But..." 

	"No buts," Roshton cut him off, gesturing with his blaster. "This is our one chance to get into that landing ship and destroy the droid control matrix. You want to help, fine, we'd be glad to have you. If not, just get out of our way." 

	Tories looked back at Binalie, still crouching beside his bush, his face rigid with anger and fear and frustration. "Go back to the estate," he called to the other. "I'll meet you there." 

	Binalie's eyes flicked over Tories' shoulder toward the plant. 

	"Go," Tories repeated. 

	Binalie's expression still looked pinched, but he nodded. "All right." 

	He slipped away through the trees, and Tories turned back to Roshton. "I'll come with you," he said, pulling out his lightsaber. "But we will talk about this later." 

	"Sure," Roshton grunted. "Come on." 

	They headed off after the soldiers, dodging between trees and around bushes. Occasionally Tories caught a glimpse of white armor ahead of them, but the clone troopers were traveling at least as fast as they were and had a fair head start on top of it. "So what's the plan?" he asked Roshton. "The new revised plan, I mean." 

	"Laytron's got men up on the plant roof laying down fire," Roshton panted. 'The droids by the landing ship are currently trying to pick them off without damaging the plant. With luck, they should all have their backs to us when we hit them." Tories grimaced. And when they found their army in a crossfire, what would the Neimoidians controlling the droids do? Whatever they deemed necessary to defend themselves, including wrecking the Spaarti plant? Probably. 

	It was up to Tories to make sure that didn't happen. 

	"First elements have reached firing position," Roshton reported, pressing his headset tighter against his ear. "Following units are fanning out. If we're lucky, and they're not spotted-" He broke off, and Tories caught his breath as the volume of the firing ahead suddenly changed. 'They were," Roshton growled. 

	"All units: fire at will." 

	He leaped ahead, picking up his pace. "Spotted?" Tories asked, catching up with him. 

	"By one of the guards at the landing ramp," Roshton confirmed as weapons of a different pitch joined the sounds ahead. "But we've still got the advantage." 

	They ran another fifty meters through the forest. And then, suddenly, they were there. 

	Square in the middle of a pitched battle. 

	Roshton ducked into the partial cover of a nearby tree, his blaster already blazing away against the enemy. Tories stopped beside a tree of his own, trying to get a quick sense of the action. Two AAT battle tanks, which had been facing the door into the plant, were trying to turn around to deal with this new threat, their maneuvering slow and awkward as they fought the tangle of underbrush and heavy fire from two directions. Advancing briskly toward Roshton's group of clone troopers were three ranks of super battle droids supported by a few D60 assault droids. The whole line was taking considerable damage, but was still coming. 

	The tanks, Tories decided, were his first priority. "I'm going in," he called to Roshton over the noise, pointing toward the tanks. "Cover me." 

	"Right," Roshton shouted back as Tories ignited his lightsaber. 

	"All units: cover fire left!" 

	The rain of fire from the clone trooper blasters abruptly changed focus, concentrating all their fury on the left flank of the advancing forces and blowing the droids on that side into a chaos of shards and rubble and smoke. Gathering his feet beneath him, Tories ducked under the friendly fire and dodged around the end of the disintegrating enemy line. 

	The droids in the AATs saw him coming, of course. Even as their primary laser cannon began chewing up the landscape along the right flank of the Republic forces, the short-range defensive blasters on either side of the main air-cooling intake began firing at him. Tories' lightsaber flashed in answer, deflecting the bolts away or bouncing them into the backs of the advancing droids whenever he could manage it. 

	He reached the nearest AAT and jumped up onto the front. Positioning himself in front of the air intake where he was out of reach of both defensive blasters, he stabbed his lightsaber downward through the heavy armor into the forward repulsor disk. The vehicle pitched forward, its nose slamming into the ground like a quadruped that had had both front legs kicked out from under it. Tories leaped straight up as it dug itself half a meter into the dirt, landing just in front of the top hatch, and with three quick slashes sliced off the primary laser cannon and the two side-mounted secondary laser guns. 

	The second AAT had abandoned its attack on the clone troopers and had swung to this new threat. For a moment Tories stayed where he was, balancing on the now badly sloped top of the grounded battle tank as he deflected a couple of shots from the second tank's defensive blasters. One of the bolts went straight back down the blaster's muzzle, eliciting a burping sort of explosion from the weapon. Taking advantage of the momentary chaos inside the tank, Tories stretched out to the Force and made a giant leap across to the second tank, dealing with its primary and secondary lasers as he had with the first. Leaning over the hatch, he swung his lightsaber one more time, cutting off the vehicle's command receiver antennas. 

	A droideka appeared from around the landing ramp, bouncing a lit tle as it rolled across the uneven ground. Stretching out to the Force, Tories lifted one of the two secondary laser guns he'd cutoff the first AAT and sent it flying into the center of the wheel shape. There was a screech of stressed metal, and the droideka came to an abrupt halt. For another second it held position, its micro-repulsors fighting to keep it balanced. 

	Then, something inside it failed, and it toppled ignomin-iously over onto its side. 

	A stutter of multiple blaster fire sliced through the air over Tories' head. He ducked reflexively, turning to see a group of super battle droids disintegrating behind him. The friendly fire was coming from above, he saw, and he looked up to see a group of clone troopers firing from the edge of the Spaarti roof. He waved his thanks; in response, one of them jabbed a hand toward the landing ship base. 

	Tories shifted his eyes that direction. Another battle tank was lumbering down the ramp, clearly intent on joining the battle. He gave a quick acknowledging wave to the rooftop snipers, then jumped off the crippled vehicle he was still standing on and began to weave his way through the chaos toward the landing ship. If he could slip up onto the ramp beneath the tank, he might be able to take out its repulsorlift coils and disable it on the spot. 

	"Jedi!" 

	Tories paused, turning as the faint shout came to him over the noise of the battle. The advancing droids were closing on the Republic forces, considerably fewer now than had started, but still coming. The clone troopers didn't seem to need his help; but there'd been a definite note of urgency in that call. 

	"Jedi!" 

	This time he was able to get the direction of the shout, and he looked over to where Roshton was standing beside his tree. The commander was looking back at him, beckoning frantically toward himself. Frowning, Tories changed direction, lightsaber blazing as he again skirted the droid attack line to the relative safety of the trees. "What is it?" he called as he came within shouting distance of Roshton. 

	"Didn't you hear me?" Roshton shouted back. 'The Jedi!" 

	"What about me?" Tories demanded, thoroughly confused now. 

	"Not you." Roshton jabbed a finger skyward. "The Jedi. 

	"The Jedi have come." 

	"The Jedi?" Doriana demanded. 

	"You got it," Lieutenant Laytron said, a mixture of surprise, hope, and relief in his voice as he peered into the eastern sky. 

	"A whole assault transport full of them, the message said, heading in to help. We've got orders to pull back and give them room." 

	"But that's impossible," Doriana objected, watching the other's face carefully. "Where could they have come from?" 

	But if there was any doubt at all in Laytron's mind, none of it reached his face or voice. "I don't know, and I don't care," the younger man declared. "All units: pull back. Where?" He tilted his head upward. "Got it," he confirmed, pointing to the sky. Doriana followed the direction of his finger. There, in the distance, he could see a dark speck moving swiftly toward them. 

	"Hustle on that pull-back," Laytron ordered. 'They're on their way." 

	He grinned tightly at Doriana. "Now we're going to see some seri ous work." 

	Doriana didn't answer. On the near edge of the rooftop the clone troopers had made it back to their ascent lines and were sliding back down them toward the waiting landspeeders. The approaching air vehicle was growing steadily larger, and he could see now that it was indeed a Republic assault transport. 

	And as it grew closer, it opened fire. 

	Laytron inhaled sharply. "What are they doing?" he breathed. 

	"They're..." 

	"Aren't they firing on the landing ship?" Doriana asked. 

	"They're firing on the plant," Laytron snapped, pulling his headset voice pickup closer to his mouth. "Republic transport, cease firing on the plant. Repeat, cease firing on the plant!" 

	The only response was an intensification of the transport's fire, alternating now between the plant and the enemy STAPs swarming to engage it. For a long moment, the Republic and Separatist forces traded fire as the assault transport continued racing forward. 

	Then, without warning, the vehicle suddenly dipped off its approach. Doriana held his breath as the STAR attack was joined by blaster and laser bolts from the Separatist ground forces encircling the plant. The transport dipped even further... 

	And as Laytron reeled off a string of helpless curses, Doriana watched as it plunged straight through the plant's roof. 

	For what seemed like a small eternity, nothing happened. Then, with a horrible series of muffled explosions, whole sections of the roof blew skyward, scattering fragments all around like small erupting volcanoes. The building's walls followed, bulging and cracking and finally shattering into mudslides of rubble. Another, louder explosion echoed across the landscape, and through the roiling smoke and debris Doriana caught a glimpse of a fireball burning into the sky from the western side of the plant. 

	"They've stopped," Laytron said dully. 

	"What?" Doriana asked. 

	The lieutenant pointed wearily across the lawn. "The droids," he said. "They've frozen up. That last blast must have taken out the landing ship and control matrix." 

	"I see," Doriana said slowly. "Do we count this as a victory?" 

	Laytron snorted. "The Jedi might," he said bitterly. "Who knows how they think? But the rest of us certainly won't." 

	"To save the world," Doriana murmured the old cynic's saying, "we had to destroy it.'" 

	"That's about it." Laytron shook his head tiredly. "Come on. Let's go find Commander Roshton." 

	Lord Binalie said very little as the three of them walked across the littered floor, their boots crunching through the remains of what had once been Spaarti Creations. Corf, walking at his father's side, was even quieter. "I don't know what to say," Tories said softly as they came to a halt beside a mixed group of Cranscoc and human bodies. "Except that I'm very sorry." 

	"Of course you are," Binalie said, his voice under rigid control. "You're sorry, Commander Roshton is sorry, Master Doriana is sorry. I'm sure the entire Jedi Council would be sorry, too, if they would pause long enough in their search for someone to blame for their part in this." 

	He turned dead eyes on Tories. "What good is any of it?" 

	Tories shook his head. "None," he conceded. "I don't suppose there's any chance...?" 

	"That we can rebuild? With nearly all the twillers dead?" Binalie shook his head. "No. Not for another generation at least. And then only if we can get the Cranscoc to trust us again." 

	He turned away. "I certainly wouldn't if I were them. Trusting the word of a human is a stupid thing to do." 

	Tories winced. "I'm sorry," was all he could think of to say. 

	"I'm sure we'll see you later, Master Tories," Binalie said, not turning back around. 

	It was a dismissal. "Yes, of course," Tories said. "Good-bye, Lord Binalie. Good-bye, Corf." 

	Neither of them replied. With a sigh, Tories turned and trudged toward the broken wall where he and the others had come through into the ruined plant, his heart feeling like a lump of blackened and twisted hull metal within him. So, that was that. Despite all his efforts - despite even the efforts of the Republic and Separatist forces, for that matter-Spaarti Creations was gone. Destroyed by carelessness, stupidity, and arrogance. 

	The carelessness, stupidity, and arrogance of the Jedi. 

	He closed his eyes briefly against the depth of sadness washing through his soul. Losing the plant was bad enough, but for himself Tories had lost something far more valuable. Binalie was very clearly blaming him personally for the Jedi intrusion, despite the fact that he had had nothing to do with it. And while civility and politeness might eventually come back to their relationship, the trust and friendship that had once been there would probably never return. 

	And Corf, who had once looked on the old Jedi Guardian with the respect and awe usually accorded to the greatest of heroes, now hated him. And would probably continue to do so for the rest of his life. 

	He reached what was left of the wall and picked his way over the rubble, an edge of anger stirring through the well of sadness. The Jedi Council could claim as loudly as it wanted that it knew nothing about what had happened here today. But there had been Jedi robes and broken lightsabers among the assault transport's wreckage-Tories had seen them with his own eyes. Someone on Coruscant knew where those Jedi had come from, and who exactly had sent them. 

	One way or another, Jedi Guardian Jafer Tories was going to track that person down. 

	The hooded face of Darth Sidious blinked into view above Doriana's holoprojector. "Report." 

	"The operation has been successful, my lord," Doriana said. "The Spaarti Creations plant has been destroyed." 

	"And the Jedi?" 

	"As far as the public is concerned, the blame rests entirely on their shoulders," Doriana said. 

	"Excellent," Sidious said with satisfaction. "Has anyone expressed interest in examining the assault transport?" 

	"Commander Roshton suggested it should be done," Doriana said. "But it was a half-hearted remark, focused mainly on seeing whether they could identify who had been aboard from the designs of the various lightsabers in the wreckage." 

	"Encourage him to continue along that line," Sidious ordered. "By the time he discovers that such an examination is a dead-end, all evidence of the transport's remote-control system will have vanished into the scrap recyclers. " He smiled thinly. "One of the many small advantages of dealing with Jedi, Master Doriana. With a few small props-a robe, a lightsaber, an unrecognizable body-you can easily create the illusion of a fallen hero." 

	"Indeed, my lord," Doriana agreed. "I presume the remote operator himself will be leaving Cartao soon?" 

	"He is already gone." There was a pause, and Doriana had the sense of those unseen eyes probing his face. "You still disapprove of this operation, don't you?" 

	"I don't disapprove, my lord," Doriana hastened to assure him. "But I am still puzzled. Why deliberately destroy Spaarti? It could be of immense service to the Separatists. Why not keep it intact for experimentation and manufacture?"

"Because by its very nature it is indefensible," Sidious told him. 'The Republic might instead gain hold of it and could utilize it with equal devastation against us." 

	He shook his head. "No, Master Doriana. With a wild card of this potential, it's far better to take it off the table entirely." He smiled again. "Especially when other long-term advantages can be squeezed from it." 

	"That part was most definitely a success," Doriana agreed, nodding. "I don't think Jedi are going to be very welcome on Cartao for a long time to come. Certainly not if Lord Binalie has anything to say about it. Even Tories, who had become something of a hero among the people in all this, is pretty well finished." 

	"And as the economic ripples of Spaarti's destruction spread through that region, so will that attitude," Sidious said. 'The destruction of the Jedi will be only half a victory if the people of the galaxy mourn their loss. Thanks to your work there today, few in Prackla Sector will shed a even tear at their passing." 

	"Absolutely," Doriana said, nodding. "Have you further orders, my lord?" 

	"No," Sidious said. "Stay long enough to clean up any final details, then you may report back to your post on Coruscant." The other's head tilted slightly. "One other matter. The reports I saw indicated that the clone cylinders created during the Republic's time in the plant were destroyed in the attack. Is that true?" 

	"No, my lord," Doriana said. "They were stored in one of the Outlinks several kilometers away from the main complex and made it through undamaged. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has instructed me to transport them secretly to an old underground fortress on Wayland that he recently reactivated." 

	"Really," Sidious said thoughtfully. "How many are there?" 

	"Several thousand." Doriana hesitated. "If you'd like, I could arrange for them to be lost." 

	Sidious pursed his lips in thought, and Doriana held his breath. It would be easy enough for him to sabotage the transport of the cylinders in transit, of course, or even before they left Cartao. The problem was that with so few people in on the secret, that kind of action would open him up to a dangerously high risk of discovery. Still, if Sidious wanted it done... 

	But the Sith lord shook his head. "Don't bother," he said, his lips twisting contemptuously. "A few thousand extra cloning tanks will hardly make a difference to the war effort. Let Palpatine have his little trophies." 

	Quietly, Doriana let out his breath. "Yes, my lord." 

	"I'll contact you soon," Sidious continued. "Once again, well done. The plan continues to move forward." 

	"And I look forward to its completion," Doriana said. "Farewell, Lord Sidious." 

	Sidious smiled. "Until next time, Master Doriana." 

	The End