"Jedi!"
This time he was able to get the direction of the shout, and he looked over to where Roshton was standing beside his tree. The commander was looking back at him, beckoning frantically toward himself. Frowning, Tories changed direction, lightsaber blazing as he again skirted the droid attack line to the relative safety of the trees. "What is it?" he called as he came within shouting distance of Roshton.
"Didn't you hear me?" Roshton shouted back. 'The Jedi!"
"What about me?" Tories demanded, thoroughly confused now.
"Not you." Roshton jabbed a finger skyward. "The Jedi.
"The Jedi have come."
"The Jedi?" Doriana demanded.
"You got it," Lieutenant Laytron said, a mixture of surprise, hope, and relief in his voice as he peered into the eastern sky.
"A whole assault transport full of them, the message said, heading in to help. We've got orders to pull back and give them room."
"But that's impossible," Doriana objected, watching the other's face carefully. "Where could they have come from?"
But if there was any doubt at all in Laytron's mind, none of it reached his face or voice. "I don't know, and I don't care," the younger man declared.
"All units: pull back. Where?" He tilted his head upward. "Got it," he confirmed, pointing to the sky. Doriana followed the direction of his finger.
There, in the distance, he could see a dark speck moving swiftly toward them.
"Hustle on that pull-back," Laytron ordered. 'They're on their way."
He grinned tightly at Doriana. "Now we're going to see some seri ous work."
Doriana didn't answer. On the near edge of the rooftop the clone troopers had made it back to their ascent lines and were sliding back down them toward the waiting landspeeders. The approaching air vehicle was growing steadily larger, and he could see now that it was indeed a Republic assault transport.
And as it grew closer, it opened fire.
Laytron inhaled sharply. "What are they doing?" he breathed.
"They're..."
"Aren't they firing on the landing ship?" Doriana asked.
"They're firing on the plant," Laytron snapped, pulling his headset voice pickup closer to his mouth. "Republic transport, cease firing on the plant.
Repeat, cease firing on the plant!"
The only response was an intensification of the transport's fire, alternating now between the plant and the enemy STAPs swarming to engage it.
For a long moment, the Republic and Separatist forces traded fire as the assault transport continued racing forward.
Then, without warning, the vehicle suddenly dipped off its approach.
Doriana held his breath as the STAR attack was joined by blaster and laser bolts from the Separatist ground forces encircling the plant. The transport dipped even further...
And as Laytron reeled off a string of helpless curses, Doriana watched as it plunged straight through the plant's roof.
For what seemed like a small eternity, nothing happened. Then, with a horrible series of muffled explosions, whole sections of the roof blew skyward, scattering fragments all around like small erupting volcanoes. The building's walls followed, bulging and cracking and finally shattering into mudslides of rubble. Another, louder explosion echoed across the landscape, and through the roiling smoke and debris Doriana caught a glimpse of a fireball burning into the sky from the western side of the plant.
"They've stopped," Laytron said dully.
"What?" Doriana asked.
The lieutenant pointed wearily across the lawn. "The droids," he said.
"They've frozen up. That last blast must have taken out the landing ship and control matrix."
"I see," Doriana said slowly. "Do we count this as a victory?"
Laytron snorted. "The Jedi might," he said bitterly. "Who knows how they think? But the rest of us certainly won't."
"To save the world," Doriana murmured the old cynic's saying, "we had to destroy it.'"
"That's about it." Laytron shook his head tiredly. "Come on. Let's go find Commander Roshton."
Lord Binalie said very little as the three of them walked across the littered floor, their boots crunching through the remains of what had once been Spaarti Creations. Corf, walking at his father's side, was even quieter.
"I don't know what to say," Tories said softly as they came to a halt beside a mixed group of Cranscoc and human bodies. "Except that I'm very sorry."
"Of course you are," Binalie said, his voice under rigid control. "You're sorry, Commander Roshton is sorry, Master Doriana is sorry. I'm sure the entire Jedi Council would be sorry, too, if they would pause long enough in their search for someone to blame for their part in this."
He turned dead eyes on Tories. "What good is any of it?"
Tories shook his head. "None," he conceded. "I don't suppose there's any chance...?"
"That we can rebuild? With nearly all the twillers dead?" Binalie shook his head. "No. Not for another generation at least. And then only if we can get the Cranscoc to trust us again."
He turned away. "I certainly wouldn't if I were them. Trusting the word of a human is a stupid thing to do."
Tories winced. "I'm sorry," was all he could think of to say.
"I'm sure we'll see you later, Master Tories," Binalie said, not turning back around.
It was a dismissal. "Yes, of course," Tories said. "Good-bye, Lord Binalie. Good-bye, Corf."
Neither of them replied. With a sigh, Tories turned and trudged toward the broken wall where he and the others had come through into the ruined plant, his heart feeling like a lump of blackened and twisted hull metal within him. So, that was that. Despite all his efforts - despite even the efforts of the Republic and Separatist forces, for that matter-Spaarti Creations was gone. Destroyed by carelessness, stupidity, and arrogance.
The carelessness, stupidity, and arrogance of the Jedi.
He closed his eyes briefly against the depth of sadness washing through his soul. Losing the plant was bad enough, but for himself Tories had lost something far more valuable. Binalie was very clearly blaming him personally for the Jedi intrusion, despite the fact that he had had nothing to do with it. And while civility and politeness might eventually come back to their relationship, the trust and friendship that had once been there would probably never return.