Corf hissed between his teeth. "I know," he conceded reluctantly, looking up into the cloudless sky. "It's just that-well, look; here comes another one.

"

Tories peered upward. In the distance a black speck had appeared, dropping from space toward them. "Look on the bright side," he suggested.

"Maybe it's a transport coming to take them all away."

"Yeah. Right," Corf grunted, stooping and picking up another stone.

Tories watched him warily, but the boy merely began fiddling with it. "Dad would have said something if they were about to clear out. Or at least he'd have started smiling again.

Besides, it's only been a week, and that fancy-pants Doriana said they'd be here for four."

"Master Doriana," Tories corrected him automatically. "And you shouldn't always look on the negative side of things.

Considering the progress they're making, they could very well decide to cut their time short."

"Why would they?" Corf countered. "If they're getting so much done, why quit?"

That was a good question, Tories had to admit. And if he could come up with a good answer, he might actually be able to argue Doriana onto precisely that path.

Think, Jedi, he admonished himself. After all, mediation had been his primary job for the past thirty years. Surely, he could come up with a way to hammer a compromise out of this situation.

And then, suddenly, he had it. Maybe. "Where's your father?" he asked.

"In the plant," Corf said, frowning up at him. "What is it?"

"Maybe the right lever to use on Doriana," Tories said, pulling out his comlink.

"Master Doriana."

"I stand corrected," Tories said dryly as he keyed in Lord Binalie's frequency.

"So what's the plan?" Corf asked. "Come on, tell me."