by Timothy Zahn
“You all right?” a voice asked softly from the shadows. Doriana jumped violently. “Who’s there?” he hissed.
“Relax,” Jafer Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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 Torles, digging out his false ID again. “But plenty for neutral observers. Kinman Drifkin, Aargau Medical Observer Corps, at your service.”
“Cute,” Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles said.
“Good,” Doriana said. “Take me there, and we’ll all sort it out together. “
For just the briefest moment Torles 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 Torles’ 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 Torles’ broad back as the other picked his way around yet another missile crater. Now that he thought about it, Torles’ 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 Torles 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 Torles had suggested it. What any searchers would assume-at least, what Torles 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 Torles and Doriana arrived. “Ah; Master Torles,” 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,” Torles said. “I found him bluffing his way past a droid patrol.”
“Really,” Binalie said. His voice was casual, but Torles 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 Torles-?”
“Why don’t you go ahead and take him downstairs,” Torles 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 Torles 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 Torles 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?” Torles 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.
Torles 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 Torles. “Unless there are other forces available that I don’t know about?”
Torles 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 Torles, his eyebrows lifted slightly. Torles 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, Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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?” Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles said, “they don’t.”
He lifted his eyebrows at Binalie. The other still wasn’t happy about this, Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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 Torles’ memory: hurrying through the darkness a
cross 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,” Torles 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 Torles 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,” Torles 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 Torles, that you be ready.”
“Master Torles?” Corf’s voice called softly. “It’s time.”
Torles 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,” Torles 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,” Torles 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?”