by Timothy Zahn
"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 do
or 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 hairtrigger.
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.<
br />
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.
