A clone trooper lieutenant and the senior master tech were waiting when the three of them arrived at the command center, the former standing stiffly to attention, and the latter looking almost comical as he nervously shuffled his weight back and forth between his feet. "Report," Roshton ordered, glancing at the status schematic that showed troop disposition.

"One Trade Federation C-9979 currently hovering over the plant," the lieutenant replied. "Approximately twenty STAPs running air support; three have crashed to the south. One Trade Federation Lucrehulk-c\ass control core ship has appeared over the horizon.

No other vehicles currently in detection range."

"How bad?" Binalie murmured.

"Bad enough," Roshton told him. "A single C-9979 can carry eleven MTT

large-transport vehicles, with a hundred twelve battle droids each, and a hundred fourteen AAT battle tanks.

Plus, the core ship up there probably has another couple more C-9979s in reserve if they get impatient."

Binalie had actually gone pale. "You're saying there could be over three thousand battle droids out there? Plus all those tanks?"

"Actually, if you add in the AAT crews, we're talking more like five thousand droids," Doriana murmured.

"So five thousand droids," Binalie bit out. "And you have, what, nine hundred men?"

Roshton smiled tightly. "I have nine hundred clone troopers," he corrected. 'There's a big difference. Lieutenant, do we have spotters in position?"

"All doors are being watched," the clone trooper confirmed.

"Whenever they put down, we'll know it."

"Fortunately, there aren't many possibilities," Roshton murmured, looking at his status board again. 'The east and west doors are the only ones with the kind of clearance outside that a C-9979 needs."

"Agreed," the lieutenant said. 'The troops are currently layering at both of them."

"What does that mean, layering?" Binalie asked.

"They're forming successive defensive lines from those doors inward,"

Roshton told him. "What about the north and northwest entrances? We're not leaving them unprotected, are we?"

"Wait a minute," Binalie interrupted again. "Defensive lines inside the plant? You can't fight in here."

"Well, we sure can't fight outside," Roshton pointed out. "Not without air support."

"Then you're not fighting at all," Binalie said flatly. 'The equipment in here is delicate and irreplaceable." Roshton snorted. "You'd rather just turn your plant over to the Separatists?"

"If those are my only two options, yes," Binalie said, his voice icy.

"Maybe you don't understand what this plant means to Cartao and the rest of the sector..."

"Just a minute," the lieutenant cut him off, his helmet cocking slightly to the side. 'They've lifted the comlink blocking.

Broadcasting a message on all public channels."

Roshton already had his comlink out."...ublic forces," a typically oily Neimoidian voice came from the speaker. "You are surrounded and outnumbered.

Surrender, or we will be forced to destroy you."

"I've heard that before," Roshton countered, giving a set of hand signals to the lieutenant. The other nodded and turned away, and Doriana could hear the faint sound of his voice through his helmet as he gave rapid orders. "But I'll humor you.

What do you want?"

"We want Spaarti Creations," the Neimoidian said. "You will all step outside the west door and lay down your weapons..."

Roshton switched off the comlink. "West door," he told the lieutenant.

"Confirmed," the other replied. 'The C-9979 is setting down in the cleared area between the forest and the plant. We're shifting troops to respond."

Roshton nodded. "Let's go."

Binalie caught his arm as he started to leave. "Commander, I won't let you fight in my plant," he warned. "If necessary, I'll open the doors to them myself."

"You do and you'll be executed for treason," Roshton growled, shaking off his hand.

Binalie turned to Doriana, his face twisted with frustration.

"Doriana?"

"Lord Binalie is right, Commander," Doriana said. "Spaarti Creations is too valuable to risk damaging it."

Roshton turned furious eyes on him - "But at the same time, Lord Binalie, Commander Roshton cannot simply let his civilians fall into enemy hands,"

Doriana went on. "I'm afraid I don't see a clear answer here."

Binalie's lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. "What if I take the techs through the tunnel to my house?" he suggested.

"Can you hold the droids off-outside-long enough for me to get them all clear?"

"We can try," Roshton said, studying his face a moment and then turning to the senior tech. "Get your people to Assembly Area Four for evacuation.

Lieutenant, let's go."

The two of them headed across the floor toward the west door at a fast run. Doriana waited long enough to make sure Binalie and the senior tech were indeed making for Area Four, then set off after the soldiers.

It was, after all, only proper that he should at least stay long enough to watch such brave soldiers begin their last battle.

The "west door" was in fact more like a major vehicle hangar than a simple doorway, consisting of a large transfer room behind a pair of sliding doors big enough to handle anything a modern manufacturing plant could ever need. Doriana reached the transfer room to find that the huge doors had been opened a crack, with Roshton and the lieutenant peering through the gap.

Throughout the transfer room hundreds of white-armored clone troopers were moving purposefully around, settling into positions near the doors and behind some of the heavy crate-moving vehicles parked along the walls, or setting up a semicircle of tripod-mounted laser cannon on the floor a dozen meters back from the doors. "What's happening?" he asked as he crossed to Roshton.

"They've landed," Roshton said, sounding distracted as he peered out the crack. He had donned a clone trooper comlink headset, Doriana noted; probably listening to a running status commentary from the rest of his officers. "Doing their little sensor scans to make sure the ground is clear of mines."

"What's the plan?" Doriana asked, taking a cautious peek between the doors. Even set firmly on the ground, the landing ship loomed over them like an angry metal storm cloud.

"We stop them, of course," Roshton said shortly. "At the very least, we make them pay dearly for every square centimeter."

"What are you talking about?" Doriana asked, frowning. "Weren't you listening back there? You can't fight in here." Roshton swiveled his head to look at him. "I thought you just said that to get Binalie off our backs."

"Absolutely not," Doriana said. "My position was exactly as stated. We can't allow the techs to fall into Separatist hands-they know too much about our technology. But neither can we allow the plant to be damaged."

"So what you're saying is that I should move out into the open?" Roshton demanded bluntly. 'That I should stand there and watch my troops get slaughtered just to buy Binalie time to evac the techs?"

"I'm sorry," Doriana said in a low, sincere voice. "I know that puts you in an impossible position. But I'm afraid we have no choice."

"We blasted well do have a choice," Roshton snapped. "And if you think...

" He paused. "What? All right, put him on."

"What is it?" Doriana asked.

"Your Jedi's arrived, along with Binalie's son," Roshton said briefly.

"Master Tories? Yes, this is Roshton."

For perhaps half a minute he listened, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. "Understood," he said. "We'll give it a try. Lieutenant?"

"I'm on it, sir," the clone trooper said.

Roshton turned back to Doriana. "Maybe we do have a choice," he said.

"Defense line, configure for inverse hailstorm; target on my command. And get these doors open."