Timothy Zahn: Hero of Cartao 2. Hero's Rise

"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 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.