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."
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?"