He smiled slightly at Doriana's puzzled look. "I know.

Apparently, it's only this one strip of land the Cranscoc insist be left completely open. Again, no one knows why."

The tunnel floor began to slope upward, and Tories found himselfsurrept.i.tiously watching Doriana. The first time he'd taken this trip, he'dnaturally expected the tunnel to deposit them into some sort of receivingarea, and could still remember his shock when they'd arrived smack in themiddle of one of the production areas. It might be instructive to see whetherDoriana would also be taken by surprise.

He was. He kept his face impa.s.sive as a section of the ceiling liftedlike a drawbridge above them and the landspeeder moved up a ramp into thecenter of the bustling factory, but Tories could sense the flicker ofastonishment behind those expressionless eyes. "Interesting endpoint," was allhe said as Binalie let the landspeeder coast to a stop "The Cranscoc like to know what's going on around them," Binalie said,climbing out of his seat as the floor swung shut behind them. "This isProduction Area Four, where we're currently making specialized harvestingequipment for the marshlands of Caamas. The ground there is too interlacedwith vineroots for normal equipment to operate without breaking down everyother day."

"So you're in the business of filling niche markets?" Doriana asked.

"Basically," Binalie said, nodding. 'There isn't enough of that kind ofcultivatable marshland in the Republic to justify setting up a permanenta.s.sembly line to make the equipment necessary to farm it. But with theCranscoc system, we can spend a few days or weeks making everything theCaamasi will need for the next year or two, then retool and move on to otherprojects."

"And where does all this magic retooling take place?" Doriana asked.

"It starts at the main control station," Binalie said, pointing toward a round platform rising two meters off the floor between two of the a.s.sembly lines. 'The one for this area is over there."

They crossed to the platform, Binalie guiding his guests through the mazeof conveyers, transport carts, and human and alien workers. Climbing up thesteps, they found themselves beside a long console that had always remindedTories of a cross between an elongated volcano and a very muddy hillside, witha segmented waterfall of pale green paste oozing ponderously and continuallyalong various sections of the slope. In front of the collecting basin loungedfive Cranscoc, their chitinous outer sh.e.l.ls gleaming in the sunbeams streamingin through the skylight three floors directly above them. Their long, multi-jointed legs tapped out syncopated rhythms on the thick gra.s.s that covered theentire top of the platform, keeping time to music apparently only they couldhear. 'These are five of the Cranscoc twillers," Binalie said, keeping hisvoice low. "Whatever they do to that fluid flow will affect most of those machines you can see."

"They can do all the retooling from here?" Doriana asked.

"No, each machine needs its own adjustments," Binalie told him.

"There are roving twillers a.s.signed to each area for that purpose.Depending on the complexity involved, a given production area can be retooledin anywhere from two to eight hours."

"Your basic overnight alterations," Doriana said, nodding.

"Very literally overnight," Binalie agreed. "The Cranscoc will do minoradjustments during the daylight hours-that's why this group is on duty, incase one of the machines drifts off true and needs to be recalibrated. b.u.t.they'll only do a major retooling after it's completely dark outside."

"And you don't know why?"

"Frankly, we know next to nothing about the Cranscoc," Binalie admitted.'They breathe oxygen, their diet is mostly local vegetables and grains, exceptthat it all has to be enriched with extra magnesium and cobalt, and they liketo farm and dig and create artistic objects."

"Fortunately, marshland farm equipment falls into that last category?"

"Farm equipment and everything else," Binalie said. 'They seem to loveusing Spaarti to make things." He led them back down to the main floor. "Yousay this is Production Area Four," Doriana said. "How many others are there?"

"We currently have twenty-seven operating areas," Binalie told him.

"Eight of them are larger and more complex than this one, while the others are comparable or a bit smaller."

"I'd like to see one of the larger ones."

Binalie's lips compressed briefly, but he merely nodded. "Of course. This way."

They visited two other lines before Doriana decided he'd seen enough.'That will do," he said as Binalie started to lead them on to the next area."Is there an office where we can talk more privately?

Binalie frowned sideways at him. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, his voice dark with suspicion. "Surely you see now that this technique can't be duplicated elsewhere."

"A private office, if you please?" Doriana repeated.

Binalie took a deep breath - "And it may be best if the boy leaves us now," Doriana added.

Binalie's eyes hardened. Suddenly, it seemed, he'd had enough of beingled around by the nose. "I have no secrets from my son, Doriana," he bit out."If you have anything to say to me, you can say it in his presence."

Doriana let his lip twitch, as if he hadn't finessed the other into precisely this result. "If you insist," he said.

Binalie nodded shortly. "In here."

He led the way to a room marked "Schematic Plotting," ordered out thehuman and Duros who'd been working on a pair of large plotting boards inside,and keyed the door closed behind them.

Swinging one of the two chairs around for his visitor, he hiked himself up into a half-sitting, half-leaning posture against one of the boards. "Let's hear it," he said gruffly.

"It's quite simple," Doriana said, sitting down and gazing calmly up atthe man now towering over him. "As you say, Spaarti Creations is one of akind. Since we can't duplicate it, we'll have to use it as is."

Binalie's expression didn't even twitch. Clearly, he'd already guessed where this whole visit was going. "Impossible," he said.

"This is the single viable business of an entire sub-minority species the Cranscoc - and as such comes under Senate Directive 422. Governmentalinterference with its operation is strictly and expressly forbidden."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Doriana countered, pullinga datacard from an inside pocket. "Senate Directive 3591, authorizing SupremeChancellor Palpatine unlimited authority to commandeer any resource or groupof resources he feels necessary for a swift conclusion of hostilities."

He held the card out to Binalie. "Beginning this evening, Spaarti Creations will be turning its complete facilities over to the manufacture of a new design of cloning tanks."

Slowly, Binalie took the datacard and slid it into his datapad.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the muted din of the a.s.sembly line floor outside the office's transparent canopy as he read and reread the directive. "You can't do this," he said when he finally tore his eyes away from the text.

"Weren't you listening to what I said back in my office? You take over Spaarti, and it'll just be a matter of time before the Separatists move in."

"Point one: you have no choice in the matter," Doriana said, letting hisvoice harden. "The Senate's directive is clear, and the Supreme Chancellor'sdecision has been made. Point two: there's no reason for the Separatists tohear anything about this. If we do our job properly, no one will know thatcrates marked farm equipment or tunneling gear actually contain cloningcylinders. As for my presence on here, I've already established the coverstory that I'm intervening on Emil Kerseage's behalf."

"What about my workers?" Binalie countered. "Not counting the twillers,we employ nearly thirteen thousand humans and aliens here. How are you goingto guarantee that they all keep quiet?"

"They can't talk about what they don't know," Doriana said. "And in approximately four hours you'll be pulling every one of them off the floor and confining them to their homes."

"Oh, I will, will I?" Binalie said sarcastically. "And how exactly do you expect me to justify that?"

"No justification needed," Doriana said calmly. "Medical quarantine is required by law for an outbreak of plyridian fever."

Binalie's mouth dropped open a centimeter. "Plyridian fev...?" His eyes darted to the canopy. "What have you done?"

"Calm yourself, Lord Binalie," Doriana soothed. 'The three humans and two aliens I treated as we pa.s.sed - '

"You did what!" Binalie snarled. "You deliberately infected them?"

"I said calm yourself," Doriana repeated, putting an edge to his voice."Of course I didn't infect anyone. The incubation period for plyridian feveris four weeks. What I did do is give them something that will mimic thedisease, creating a convincing set of symptoms. They're not in any danger, andneither is anyone else. But no one will know that for at least those fourweeks." Binalie had the look of someone chewing on a sour mifka. "And whilethey're all in quarantine, you'll naturally be offering me a caretaker unit?"he growled.

"It's that or close down the plant entirely," Doriana pointed out. 'TheCranscoc, being cold-blooded, are immune from plyridian fever, so they cancontinue to work as usual."

"This is completely unconscionable," Tories spoke up from the corner of the room.

Doriana had been wondering when the Jedi would say something.

Irreverently, he wondered if perhaps the old man had dozed off and missed some of the conversation. "Excuse me?" he asked, swiveling to face the old man.

"This is a gross violation of every accepted standard of behavior,"

Tories insisted. "I cannot and will not stand by and be a party to it."

"This is war, Master Tories," Doriana reminded him. "Not only war, but a war of survival. If we lose, the Republic is finished."

"I don't care," Tories said flatly. "I can tell you right now the JediCouncil will not stand by and allow you to terrify the people of Cartao withfear of a nonexistent plague."

"Perhaps the Jedi Council sees things differently than you do," Doriana said, pulling a second datacard from his pocket. "Here are their instructions, ordering you to cooperate with me and my people."

He lifted his eyebrows. "You do still acknowledge the authority of the Council, don't you?"

Silently, with the same complete lack of enthusiasm with which LordBinalie had taken the first datacard, Tories accepted the second. "Good,"Doriana said briskly, getting to his feet. "Then all that remains is for youto return home and prepare for five of your workers to suddenly slump overwith dizziness and fever."

"And you, I suppose, will do all the rest?" Binalie said bitterly.

"Of course," Doriana said. 'That's why I'm here."