Dooku had seen enough. He told Sasana that they would be in touch and left.

As soon as they were outside, he looked at his Padawan. "Impressions?"

"Something isn't right," Qui-Gon said.

"Why is that?" Dooku asked.

"There is evidence both of prosperity and decline," Qui-Gon said. "The offices are luxurious, but there were empty work spaces, as though staff had been dismissed. The list of clients includes jobs in progress. Yet from the activity I saw, the amount of droids and material, they couldn't possibly be serving that number. And there were areas on the factory floor that indicated that machinery had once been there and had been removed."

"Excellent," Dooku said. "Conclusion?"

Qui-Gon hesitated. "They are concealing something, of that I have no doubt. But I don't know what it is."

"If the client base is correct, the work is being done somewhere. Just not at this factory," Dooku said. "What I see is a once-wealthy company who fell on hard times and has turned to a cheaper factory to do the work they once did. The factory here is a sham. It is not where the real work is being done."

"How can we discover the real factory?" Qui-Gon asked.

Dooku removed a sensor suite from underneath his cloak. "I think this might tell us something. Sensor suites always have a factory mark buried in their software. I took the liberty of removing it from the prototype." He drew out his datapad and inserted the suite, then tracked the information streaming across the screen. He pressed a few buttons. After only a moment, he smiled. "The Von-Alai factory planet," he said.

Von-Alai had once been a cold planet covered with snow and ice. Its inhabitants were adept at foraging a living from the icy wastes. With the introduction of factories and toxic refuse, the climate had warmed, and periodic floods devastated the countryside. Instead of halting growth, more and more factories were built, and worker housing was built on raised platforms. The owners of the factories held political power, so the decision was made to adapt to the changing climate instead of limiting toxic outflow. As a result, the native plants died, floods were common, and a once-beautiful, silvery planet was now a soggy wasteland. The air was thick and tasted metallic.

Pristine snow no longer fell, only a cold rain tainted by toxins.

Qui-Gon stood on the landing platform, breathing the yellow air, silently taking in the wasted planet. "What a terrible destiny," he said. "The Alains have lost their planet."

"Beings choose their own fate," Dooku said. "They could have fought for their planet, but their indifference and their greed made them passive. There was no war here, my young apprentice. Merely beings who did not choose to fight the power that ruled them."

"Perhaps they tried and failed," Qui-Gon said quietly. "Then they are also weak, which is worse," Dooku said dismissively. "Come."

This time, Dooku thought it better not to announce their approach. He simply walked through the factory gates. There was no security.

They entered a clamorous production facility. Grease stained the floor and accumulated in puddles. The ceiling was low and the air was dense and hot. Row after row of various workstations unfolded down the long space. Battered droids wielded servodrivers and airpumps. The workers looked half-starved and unhealthy, and Dooku saw that most of them were quite young.

"They are using children," Qui-Gon said, shocked. "Under these conditions! This violates galactic laws."

"There are many such places, unfortunately," Dooku said.

"We must do something!" Qui-Gon said, his gaze anguished as it roamed the factory. "They look as though they are ill and starving."

"Keep your focus on the mission, my young apprentice," Dooku said sharply. "We cannot save everyone in the galaxy."

"But Master — "

"Qui-Gon." Dooku only had to say his Padawan's name as a warning.

Qui-Gon's mouth snapped shut.

A plump human male, his sparse hair matted with sweat and grease, came running toward them. "Excuse me, who are you? Never mind, you're trespassing, so leave."

Dooku did not move.

"Excuse me, you're not moving," the man said with a frown. "Do you want me to call security?"

"Please do," Dooku said. "Perhaps we can discuss the number of galactic laws you are breaking."

The man stepped back. "You're not Senate inspectors, are you?"

"We need information," Dooku said.

"Well, you've come to the wrong place," the man replied.

Dooku looked around the factory pleasantly. "You are busy, I see."

The man nodded warily.

"It most likely would not please your superiors if the factory was shut down under your watch."

"You have the authority to do that?"

Dooku shrugged. "Child labor. Dangerous conditions. I see grease pools on the floor, toxic compounds left open to the air… There are a dozen violations I can see without even turning my head."

"What do you want? Money? We pay our bribes, but I have an emergency stash."

"As I said, merely information. Who owns the factory?" Dooku asked.

"I just send in reports. I don't know anything — "

"Who do you send reports to?" Dooku was getting impatient. He fixed his gaze on the manager.

"A company… I send them to a company… The name of it is Caravan."

Caravan. The name of the holographic cruiser Lorian had designed. He had gone to sleep dreaming of the places he would travel in it.

That was all Dooku needed to know. He reflected on how smart and simple the scheme was. Behind the screen of a company, Lorian cut corners on security, then exploited his knowledge of a ship's vulnerability in order to attack it.

He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Eero threading his way through the machinery toward them.

"Great. Another inspector," the manager muttered.

"I had to come," Eero said. "I followed you here — onto the transport and now to this facility. I can't bear to hear that the firm I hired to protect Senator Annon ended up being the reason he was kidnapped.

I've got to help you catch the pirate and free the Senator. It's the only way."

Eero was sweaty and pale. "You look as though you need to lie down,"