He was. He kept his face impassive as a section of the ceiling lifted like a drawbridge above them and the landspeeder moved up a ramp into the center of the bustling factory, but Tories could sense the flicker of astonishment behind those expressionless eyes. "Interesting endpoint," was all he said as Binalie let the landspeeder coast to a stop

"The Cranscoc like to know what's going on around them," Binalie said, climbing out of his seat as the floor swung shut behind them. "This is Production Area Four, where we're currently making specialized harvesting equipment for the marshlands of Caamas. The ground there is too interlaced with vineroots for normal equipment to operate without breaking down every other day."

"So you're in the business of filling niche markets?" Doriana asked.

"Basically," Binalie said, nodding. 'There isn't enough of that kind of cultivatable marshland in the Republic to justify setting up a permanent assembly line to make the equipment necessary to farm it. But with the Cranscoc system, we can spend a few days or weeks making everything the Caamasi will need for the next year or two, then retool and move on to other projects."

"And where does all this magic retooling take place?" Doriana asked.

"It starts at the main control station," Binalie said, pointing toward a round platform rising two meters off the floor between two of the assembly lines. 'The one for this area is over there."

They crossed to the platform, Binalie guiding his guests through the maze of conveyers, transport carts, and human and alien workers. Climbing up the steps, they found themselves beside a long console that had always reminded Tories of a cross between an elongated volcano and a very muddy hillside, with a segmented waterfall of pale green paste oozing ponderously and continually along various sections of the slope.