by Timothy Zahn
Hero of Cartao 2. Hero's Rise
Timothy Zahn
Timothy Zahn
Hero of Cartao 2. Hero's Rise
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-basementthat 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 w
illing 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 twelveyear- 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 decep
tively 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."
