"Probably," Binalie told the boy grimly. "But I'm starting to think that more soldiers are the last thing we want." Tories frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Just what I said," Binalie growled. "The Republic and Separatists are like a pair of dokriks fighting over a bone. What does it matter which of them is in charge when the plant gets destroyed?" "So what do you suggest?" Tories asked.
Binalie's lips compressed briefly. "That we get the Separatists out ourselves, now, before Roshton and his clone troopers can regroup to attack.
Bribe them, blackmail them-even help them finish their work if they'll promise to get out afterward."
"You can't be serious," Tories protested, frowning. There was a whisper of warning from the Force; a sense of alien minds nearby. "Why not?" Binalie countered. "What are you worried about, Roshton's blatherings about treason?
That's nothing but a bunch of-" He stopped as heavy footsteps suddenly sounded outside the office door. "What in the world?" he muttered, starting to rise to his feet.
With a crash, the door was shoved violently inward, the warped panel slamming to the floor and bouncing another two meters across the room.
Binalie dropped back into his chair with a curse, his hand darting toward one of the desk drawers. "No!" Tories snapped, reaching out with the Force to lock the other's arm in place.
He was just in time. Half a second later the monstrous metal shapes of two large combat droids strode into the room, the heavy blasters permanently attached to their forearms lifted and ready. Their heads and weapons swung once around the room as they searched for danger, and then they moved back to flank the doorway in guard positions.
Through the opening stepped a pair of brightly dressed Neimoidians. The one in the lead wore the blue and purple robes and black miter of a unit commander, while the other wore a simpler outfit of red and purple. His headgear was blue, with four twisted horns atop it. "Good day, Lord Binalie," the commander said in a stilted voice. "I trust we do not intrude?"
Tories looked a silent warning at Binalie, got merely a glare in return.
But the other brought his hand up-empty-and let it drop onto the desktop. "Of course not," he growled sarcastically. "It's not like I have any actual work to do. What do you want?"
"Permit me to introduce myself," the spokesman said, sending glances at first Tories and then Corf. "I am Tok Ashel, Commander of the Cartao Expeditionary Army." He gestured to his companion. "This is Dif Gehad, Master Creator of New Products."
"And what new products are you trying to build in my factory?" Binalie asked. Gehad started to speak. - "Not so quickly, Lord Binalie," Ashel interrupted.
"First, let us have the rest of the introductions." His large red eyes turned pointedly to Tories.
"I'm Corf Binalie," Corf spoke up before either of the two men could answer, his voice strong and defiant. 'This is my private tutor, Master Jafer.
Does this mean there's no school today?"
Ashel made a sound like crumpling tin wrap. "It may, young one," he said, eyeing Tories. "What do you teach, Master Jafer?
"A little of everything," Tories told him. "Ethics, wisdom, the ways of life."
"Ah-a philosopher," Ashel said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand and turning back to Binalie. "Now, to business." He gestured to Gehad.
"As you have surmised, we wish to use Spaarti Creations to work for us," the Master Creator said, his voice neat and precise. "But thus far we have been unable to restructure the assembly lines. You will tell me now how to do that."
Binalie shook his head. "I can't."
"Do not speak foolishness," Gehad warned. "You are director of this facility. You know everything there is to know about it."
"Of course I do," Binalie agreed. "Including what can and cannot be done.
Only the Cranscoc twillers can manipulate the fluid tooling system." He lifted his eyebrows at Gehad. "I take it they haven't been willing to do so?"
"It was the ruins of our vehicles on the south lawn," Ashel said. "We now know about that taboo and have moved to correct it."
"But we do not intend to be stymied in that way again," Gehad added. "So I repeat: you will tell me how we may change the tooling ourselves."
"And I repeat, I can't," Binalie said. "But there are things I can do to help. I'd like to suggest a deal that-"
"You will not block us further!" Ashel snapped, flicking his fingers in an odd and probably obscene gesture. "Not you, and not the Republic forces hiding in the tunnel beneath the southern lawn. Oh, yes, we know they are there-we have tried twice to dislodge them and have now sealed the plant's exit against them. We also know the other end of the tunnel is somewhere on these grounds. Do not deny it!"
"I can't do anything about the Republic forces," Binalie said, starting to sound angry himself. "What I can do, however, is help you..."
"And you will tell us how to restructure the machines," Ashel insisted again, even more stridently this time. "Or you will regret the consequences."
The skin of Binalie's face hardened, and even with the masking influence of two alien minds at close range, Tories could feel Binalie's sense harden along with it.
Even the invasion of his home and the destruction of his office door had apparently not put Binalie off the idea of offering the Neimoidians a deal to get them out of his plant. But threats were something else entirely. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
"It means this." Before Binalie could do more than inhale sharply, Ashel wrapped his long fingers around Corf's arm and hauled him out of his chair.
"The grub will go with us," the Neimoidian continued, pulling Corf close in front of him. "When you decide to cooperate, you may join us in the plant."
"Let him go," Binalie ground out. He was on his feet now, ignoring the droid blasters suddenly pointed at him. "I've told you already..."
"And do not consider too long," Ashel warned, backing to the door with Corf firmly in tow. The boy's eyes, Tories saw, had gone wide with fear. "We are patient beings, but we will not be patient forever."
Corf threw Tories a half frantic, half pleading look. But the Jedi had already measured the distances with his eyes, and even with the advantage of surprise he knew he couldn't take two combat droids before at least one of them got off a shot. And that didn't even take into account what other forces the Neimoidians might have waiting outside.
Which simply meant he would have to try something else. "Just a moment," he said primly, standing up. "The boy has two exams to complete today. I will not permit my schedule to be disrupted." The Neimoidians paused in the doorway, gazing at him with those expressionless alien faces. Tories stretched out toward their minds, wondering just how susceptible this species was to Jedi suggestion. He'd seldom used this trick, and never before with a Neimoidian. If they didn't buy into his manipulation, he might have to tackle those combat droids after all.
"The boy will come with us," Ashel declared at last. "If you choose, you may come with him."
"Thank you," Tories said, bowing in proper tutor fashion. Throwing a warning glance at Binalie, he stepped over to join the Neimoidians.
"But bring many lessons," Ashel added as they stepped back into the corridor.
There were, Tories noted, two more of the big droids waiting for them out there. Just as well he hadn't gone on the attack. "Lord Binalie is stubborn, even for a human. You may be with us for some time."
"Don't worry," Tories said, squeezing Corf's shoulder reassuringly. "I have everything I'll need."
The two Neimoidians and their assault droid escort were still in the mansion when Doriana finally reached Roshton. The commander was bending over the sculpted bush in front of him, his face carefully turned away from the visitor, puttering away industriously with a set of pruning scissors.
"What are you doing here?" Doriana hissed at him.
"Tendin' the plants, my lord," Roshton said in a quavering old voice, snipping off a couple more leaves.
"Stop it, Roshton," Doriana ground out. "It's me."
Roshton angled an eye cautiously up at him. "Ah-Master Doriana," he said, abandoning both the accent and the phony garden work. "You're just in time for the show."