"No," Lord Pilester Binalie said firmly. "I'm going to simply sit by and let those monsters take up residence in my plant." "I understand your frustration," Jafer Tories soothed. "But I'm sure they're not doing any damage in there. They could have destroyed Spaarti from orbit if that was what they'd wanted."

"I know what they want: the same thing Doriana and the Republic want,"

Binalie growled. "The point is that the longer this silly dance goes on, the greater the chance someone will eventually get careless. When that happens, it'll be the end of Spaarti Creations."

"But the Republic's going to send help, aren't they?" Binalie's twelveyear- old son Corf spoke up from his chair at the other corner of the desk.

"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.