Obi-Wan shrugged, hoping it would be enough of a response.

"Well, I'm glad someone came to let us out," the hand-gesture girl said. "It was getting hard to convince the medic that we were actually ill.

" "Come on," Grath said, looking around. "Let's get out of here before someone sees us."

As the kids ran down a duracrete walkway away from the schoolspace, their conversation continued.

"I think we should try to get more kids out of class next time," one of the kids — a younger boy — said. "Trainer Nalo is so obsessed with his instructuals he would barely notice."

"We can't risk being discovered," a girl replied. Obi-Wan thought she was the shuttle driver from the night before, but wasn't entirely sure.

By now the group was a fair distance from the schoolspace, and they slowed to a quick Vorzydiak walk.

"This new plan is complicated enough without getting more Freelies involved in implementing it," Grath explained. "We need them to focus on their part of the plan — getting the rule-following kids to think differently, too."

Grath stopped and turned toward the boy. "But it's good to keep thinking ahead, Flip," he added.

Grath smiled at the boy, and Flip beamed. He obviously looked up to the Freelie leader.

Grath ran a few steps and spun around, still moving backward. "To work, then?" he called with a smile.

The group erupted into giggles and broke into a run after their leader. Obi-Wan felt a surge of energy as he hurried to catch up.

Drab hexagonal buildings whizzed past the windows as Qui-Gon's shuttle made its way back to the city workspace. The view was uninspiring, and Qui-Gon's thoughts drifted back to Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon had waited outside Port's dwelling and watched his Padawan board the shuttle to the schoolspace. He hadn't meant to spy on the boy, but something had held him there. As he watched Obi-Wan confidently board the shuttle, secure in his skills and his plan, Qui-Gon felt the same pang of emotion he'd felt the night before.

The feeling was new to him, and so unfamiliar that it made him uneasy. He was not sure why he was reluctant to let Obi-Wan take charge of the mission on his own. Was it because he was afraid of losing him, or because he was worried about the boy's safety? "Production Sector seven," a voice droned.

Qui-Gon was startled to hear his stop — and grateful for the announcement. There were no other landmarks to help him find his way back to the Multycorp office he'd visited the day before. Exiting the shuttle behind several other laborers, Qui-Gon cleared his mind. He needed to focus on the mission at hand.

All around him swarms of Vorzydiaks hurried to get to their stations.

Qui-Gon wondered how the Vorzydiaks maintained their enthusiasm for work.

They seemed to be in a great hurry to get to work, almost a frenzy.

Thinking about how he would stall the chairman, Qui-Gon boarded the turbolift for the twenty-fourth floor. But long before he reached the chairman's office he sensed that something was wrong. It suddenly dawned on him that the Vorzydiaks leaving the shuttle were agitated about more than simply getting to work.

The turbolift doors opened on the twenty-fourth floor. As he stepped out, Qui-Gon was met by a disturbing scene — and sound.

A low insectoid drone — much more unnerving than the one he'd heard the evening before — bounced off the walls and filled the room. Laborers rocked back and forth in their chairs like confused children, mumbling to themselves.

Inside the meeting room, Chairman Port circled the large table. His antennae flailed and his eyes looked larger than normal. When Qui-Gon entered, the chairman nearly pounced on him.

"At last," he said, his voice quite a bit higher than usual. "There has been another attack. We must contact Vorzyd 5. Now!"

"In time," Qui-Gon said calmly. "First tell me what has happened."

"It is awful," the chairman said, walking faster and faster around the table. "The worst casualty yet. The central operations computer. It controls the whole grid! It is down. We are all down."

Qui-Gon thought the chairman might burst into tears — or an unintelligible droning buzz. He had to calm down the leader. Without Port's help it would be impossible to keep the rest of the Vorzydiaks from losing it.

Qui-Gon strode to the opposite side of the room and stood in the chairman's path. Port stopped circling.

"First tell me where the central operations computer is," Qui-Gon said firmly. "Then I have work for you to do."

The chairman looked up at the tall Jedi. Qui-Gon saw something shift on his face, as if he suddenly knew he had to get a hold of himself. But he wasn't sure that the chairman knew how.

"Yes, yes, yes," Chairman Port said. "We must make our way back to work. To work." His antennae seemed to slow a bit.

"The operations computer?" Qui-Gon repeated.

"In the sub-basement. Take the turbolift to level S-one."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Contact the technicians and let them know I am coming. And when you have done that you must assign tasks to the laborers.

Contact the managers. Keep everyone busy until the computers are back on- line. It doesn't matter what they do. Just make sure they are safe and busy. It is your job." Qui-Gon emphasized this last word.

The chairman nodded. He seemed relieved to have an assignment, and Qui-Gon hoped that simple tasks would calm the other Vorzydiaks as well.

But he had no time to wait and see.

Confused laborers flooded the turbolift. Several of them were rocking back and forth. Others were holding their ears. Rather than force his way through the bewildered crowd, Qui-Gon headed for the stairs and started down.

By the time he got to the twenty-third floor Qui-Gon understood why so many of the Vorzydiaks were trying to block out the noise. The computers on the twenty-third floor were emitting high-pitched whines as they turned themselves on and off. He imagined that the sound was much worse for the Vorzydiaks, who had sensitive ears. To him the sound was irritating and chaotic. But he listened carefully long enough to realize that it was not random.

The chaos grew worse the farther Qui-Gon descended. On Assembly eight the machines on the line were also turning on and off and emitting high- pitched tones. The laborers were completely unable to cope. They stood against the walls, twitching, while gooey food product oozed onto the conveyor and then the floor.