How soon can I expect your people?"

"The first transport's on its way, with the chief techs and operational schematics aboard," Roshton said. 'They'll be there in an hour."

"Good," Doriana said. "I'll make sure the Cranscoc are ready.

They've already been informed they'll be doing a compete retooling tonight."

"Are you sure a two-thousand-unit contingent will be enough?" Roshton asked, his forehead wrinkling slightly. "I've been doing some research myself, and it looks to me like the plant usually requires over six times that number.

"

"We're supposed to be a caretaker unit," Doriana reminded him.

"It wouldn't look right if we completely repopulated the plant."

"Yes, but..."

"Besides, the majority of those thirteen thousand workers are involved with maintenance, shipping, and raw material movement," Doriana cut him off.

"If the Supreme Chancellor decides to extend the operation, we can bring in personnel to handle those aspects. For now, let's concentrate on our mission: to create and stockpile the cloning cylinders we need to create more troops."

"Yes, sir," Roshton muttered. "You'll have your schematics in an hour, with the rest of the transports following at thirty-minute intervals."

"I'll look forward to seeing them, Commander," Doriana said.

"Doriana out."

He broke the connection, lowering the holoprojector into his lap as he again looked out of the office. It was an eerie feeling, sitting alone in the middle of such a huge room. Rather like being the last living cell in a dead body, he thought.

Across by the area's control platform, a small motion caught his eye. A

group of Cranscoc were wandering around, their footsteps seeming to stutter as they walked. Still beating out their silent music, he decided, perhaps humming along on auditory wavelengths humans couldn't hear.