by Timothy Zahn
“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.”
Torles 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?” Torles 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 Torles 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, Torles moved over to the seat on Roshton’s other side. Doriana flashed him a look, but said nothing.
“...with ten fully loaded LAAT/1 gunships at your disposal,” General Tiis was saying as Torles 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,” Torles said slowly as Roshton lifted his comlink, bits and pieces of an idea starting to swirl around in his mind. A strange, dangerous 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,” Torles 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 Torles 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 Torles. I know you could.”
“Please?” Corf added, gazing pleadingly at Torles.
“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 o
ut 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 Torles. “Master Torles?”
“Let’s see first if I can get through the droids upstairs,” Torles 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,” Torles 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. Torles 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 Torles. “Any last thoughts or suggestions, Master Torles?”
For a moment, Torles 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 Torles’ 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, Torles 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 Torles, 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. Torles 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,” Torles 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.”
Torles 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, Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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 Torles again. “Good luck.”
Torles 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. Torles 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.