"You mean he'd be taking over the plant once every month or so?" Corf asked doubtfully. "Boy. I don't think Dad'll go for that."

"He will if it comes to a choice between Doriana's annoyances and a Separatist blockade," Tories said, turning the comlink off and then on again, the skin on the back of his neck starting to tingle. Something was very wrong here...

He caught his breath, twisting his head to look upward as he silently cursed his lack of attention. The black speck they'd seen earlier was much closer, dropping toward them like an impatient asteroid.

And at this distance, Tories could now see the ship's ail-too distinctive double-winged silhouette.

"What is that?" Corf asked, his voice tight.

"A Trade Federation C-9979 landing ship," Tories bit out, jabbing one last useless time at his comlink's controls.

"Oh, no," Corf breathed, fumbling at his belt for his own comlink. "We have to warn Dad!"

"We can't," Tories told him, shoving his comlink back into its pouch.

'They've knocked out the system."

"Then we have to get over there," Corf said, turning back toward the house. "Come on."

"Wait a minute," Tories said, catching the boy's arm, his mind racing. By the time they made it back to the house and down the tunnel, the invasion would be well underway. What they needed was some way to send a message now to the people inside.

"What?" Corf demanded. "Come on."

"Quiet," Tories ordered him. "Let me think." Above them, the C-9979 settled into a high hover position directly over the plant, and perhaps twenty tiny craft erupted from its leading wing.

STAPs, he recognized them: nimble flying platforms carrying a single battle droid each. They swept outward from the landing ship in ever-increasing spirals, searching for defenses or other threats that might interfere with a landing or troop deployment.

And three of them were at this very minute flying over the forbidden stretch of grassland between the Binalie estate and Spaarti Creations....

It was a long shot, he knew, in every sense of the word. But it was all he had. Pulling out his lightsaber, he ignited it and locked the activation stud, picking out the STAP that seemed to be drifting the closest to where he and Corf were standing.

Judging the droid's speed and distance as best he could, he stretched out to the Force and hurled his lightsaber toward it.

The droid, its attention on the ground around the plant, probably never even saw it coming. The spinning weapon shot across its STAP, the brilliant green blade slicing through the power cell housing just above the footlocks.

With a flat electronic exclamation of surprise, the droid and machine dropped out of the sky and thudded to the ground.

The other droids reacted instantly, two of the STAPs swinging around toward their downed comrade, metallic heads swiveling back and forth as they searched for the source of the attack.

"Run," Tories ordered Corf as he called the lightsaber back toward him.

"Back to the house and the safe room. We've done everything we can here."

"But what about Dad?" Corf asked anxiously, moving a couple of reluctant steps down the hill.

"I'll take one of the landspeeders down the tunnel as soon as you're safe," Tories told him. The droids had spotted him now, and the STAPs' twin blasters were starting to track. "Go on-I'll be right behind you."

A pair of blaster bolts shot past them, uncomfortably close.

"All right," Corf said, finally turning and taking off. "But I'm going with you," he shouted back over his shoulder. 'The landspeeders won't work without someone from the family in them."

The lightsaber made it back to Tories' hand about half a second before the droids finally found the range. But for a Jedi, half a second was more than enough. The lightsaber blurred in his grip, twisting like a hunting makthier as it intercepted the blaster bolts and sent them bouncing back again. A pair of volleys later, there were three ruined STAPs and droids lying crumpled in the forbidden zone.

Closing down his lightsaber, Tories turned and ran, following the boy now halfway to the mansion. He'd done all he could to warn those inside the plant.

Now it was time to join them.

He could only hope he would be there ahead of the droids.

I hope you realize just how incredible this is," Commander Roshton commented as he handed the datapad back to the tech.

"We'd projected that the raw materials we'd stockpiled would last the full four weeks. In actual fact, at current production rates we're going to have to resupply after two."

"I'm not surprised," Doriana said. "Spaarti Creations already had something of a reputation for doing the impossible."

"It's an incredible resource, Lord Binalie," Roshton agreed, turning toward Binalie. "You should be very proud." Binalie didn't answer. He'd been increasingly silent lately, Doriana had noted, as he watched his beloved manufacturing plant turning out rows and rows of cloning tanks.

Roshton either hadn't noticed or didn't care. "I don't know if Master Doriana mentioned it, but these are a more advanced model of cloning tank than the design they used on Kamino," the commander went on, turning his head slowly as he surveyed the bustling assembly area. 'That's the main problem with keeping yourselves isolated; you don't keep up with modern technological advances. These should to be able to turn out clones in a tenth of the time the Kaminoans needed to do the job. We get a few million of these on-line, and the Separatists can kiss their precious droid armies good-bye."

He frowned suddenly. "What's going on with them?" "Who?" Doriana asked, following the other's line of sight to the area's control platform. The five Cranscoc on duty were vibrating like a set of bad repulsorlifts, their hides flickering with rapid color changes beneath the translucent coatings.

"Something's wrong," Binalie declared, snapping out of his sulk.

Brushing past Roshton, he sprinted to the platform, taking the stairs two at a time.

He was leaning over the nearest alien when Doriana and Roshton caught up with him, his eyes narrowed as he studied the alien's changing color pattern.

Up close, Doriana could see that the alterations were more varied and subtle than he'd realized.

"They're upset about something," Binalie muttered. "A violation of some taboo..."

"You can read that?" Roshton asked. "I didn't realize they could..."

"Shut up," Doriana cut him off. Roshton turned a glare toward him - 'The grassland," Binalie said abruptly. "Someone or something is on the south grassland strip."

"Is that all?" Roshton said, sounding disgusted. "Probably some stupid kid from the city."

"No," Binalie insisted. "Everyone in this part of Cartao knows better.

It's either your people..."

He broke off, looking sharply at Doriana. "Or the Separatists," Doriana finished for him, grabbing for his comlink. "Commander: full alert."

"Ridiculous," Roshton insisted. But he had his comlink out and was tapping at the key. "How could they have?..."

"I'm not getting anything," Doriana said, trying another channel.

"Commander?"

"They've been blocked," Roshton said, the skepticism abruptly gone from his voice.

"What do we do?" Binalie asked nervously, looking around as if he expected to see a droid army clawing its way up out of the drainage grilles.

"We prepare to meet the enemy," Roshton said, his voice icy calm. Drawing his blaster, he aimed it at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger.

Even amid the loud auditory mosaic of factory noises, the distinctive sizzle of a stun blast easily cut through the noise.

Roshton fired three more times, paused, then fired twice.

Doriana strained his ears. From the next chamber over, he heard the faint sound of an answering signal. 'The alert's being passed," Roshton said, putting away his comlink but keeping his blaster in his hand. "Come on-my command center's in the next assembly area."