"We currently have twenty-seven operating areas," Binalie told him.
"Eight of them are larger and more complex than this one, while the others are comparable or a bit smaller."
"I'd like to see one of the larger ones."
Binalie's lips compressed briefly, but he merely nodded. "Of course. This way."
They visited two other lines before Doriana decided he'd seen enough.
'That will do," he said as Binalie started to lead them on to the next area.
"Is there an office where we can talk more privately?
Binalie frowned sideways at him. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, his voice dark with suspicion. "Surely you see now that this technique can't be duplicated elsewhere."
"A private office, if you please?" Doriana repeated.
Binalie took a deep breath - "And it may be best if the boy leaves us now," Doriana added.
Binalie's eyes hardened. Suddenly, it seemed, he'd had enough of being led around by the nose. "I have no secrets from my son, Doriana," he bit out.
"If you have anything to say to me, you can say it in his presence."
Doriana let his lip twitch, as if he hadn't finessed the other into precisely this result. "If you insist," he said.
Binalie nodded shortly. "In here."
He led the way to a room marked "Schematic Plotting," ordered out the human and Duros who'd been working on a pair of large plotting boards inside, and keyed the door closed behind them.
Swinging one of the two chairs around for his visitor, he hiked himself up into a half-sitting, half-leaning posture against one of the boards. "Let's hear it," he said gruffly.
"It's quite simple," Doriana said, sitting down and gazing calmly up at the man now towering over him. "As you say, Spaarti Creations is one of a kind. Since we can't duplicate it, we'll have to use it as is."
Binalie's expression didn't even twitch. Clearly, he'd already guessed where this whole visit was going. "Impossible," he said.
"This is the single viable business of an entire sub-minority species - the Cranscoc - and as such comes under Senate Directive 422. Governmental interference with its operation is strictly and expressly forbidden."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Doriana countered, pulling a datacard from an inside pocket. "Senate Directive 3591, authorizing Supreme Chancellor Palpatine unlimited authority to commandeer any resource or group of resources he feels necessary for a swift conclusion of hostilities."
He held the card out to Binalie. "Beginning this evening, Spaarti Creations will be turning its complete facilities over to the manufacture of a new design of cloning tanks."
Slowly, Binalie took the datacard and slid it into his datapad.
For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the muted din of the assembly line floor outside the office's transparent canopy as he read and reread the directive. "You can't do this," he said when he finally tore his eyes away from the text.
"Weren't you listening to what I said back in my office? You take over Spaarti, and it'll just be a matter of time before the Separatists move in."
"Point one: you have no choice in the matter," Doriana said, letting his voice harden. "The Senate's directive is clear, and the Supreme Chancellor's decision has been made. Point two: there's no reason for the Separatists to hear anything about this. If we do our job properly, no one will know that crates marked farm equipment or tunneling gear actually contain cloning cylinders. As for my presence on here, I've already established the cover story that I'm intervening on Emil Kerseage's behalf."
"What about my workers?" Binalie countered. "Not counting the twillers, we employ nearly thirteen thousand humans and aliens here. How are you going to guarantee that they all keep quiet?"
"They can't talk about what they don't know," Doriana said. "And in approximately four hours you'll be pulling every one of them off the floor and confining them to their homes."
"Oh, I will, will I?" Binalie said sarcastically. "And how exactly do you expect me to justify that?"
"No justification needed," Doriana said calmly. "Medical quarantine is required by law for an outbreak of plyridian fever."
Binalie's mouth dropped open a centimeter. "Plyridian fev...?" His eyes darted to the canopy. "What have you done?"
"Calm yourself, Lord Binalie," Doriana soothed. 'The three humans and two aliens I treated as we passed - '
"You did what!" Binalie snarled. "You deliberately infected them?"
"I said calm yourself," Doriana repeated, putting an edge to his voice.
"Of course I didn't infect anyone. The incubation period for plyridian fever is four weeks. What I did do is give them something that will mimic the disease, creating a convincing set of symptoms. They're not in any danger, and neither is anyone else. But no one will know that for at least those four weeks." Binalie had the look of someone chewing on a sour mifka. "And while they're all in quarantine, you'll naturally be offering me a caretaker unit?" he growled.
"It's that or close down the plant entirely," Doriana pointed out. 'The Cranscoc, being cold-blooded, are immune from plyridian fever, so they can continue to work as usual."
"This is completely unconscionable," Tories spoke up from the corner of the room.
Doriana had been wondering when the Jedi would say something.
Irreverently, he wondered if perhaps the old man had dozed off and missed some of the conversation. "Excuse me?" he asked, swiveling to face the old man.
"This is a gross violation of every accepted standard of behavior,"
Tories insisted. "I cannot and will not stand by and be a party to it."
"This is war, Master Tories," Doriana reminded him. "Not only war, but a war of survival. If we lose, the Republic is finished."
"I don't care," Tories said flatly. "I can tell you right now the Jedi Council will not stand by and allow you to terrify the people of Cartao with fear of a nonexistent plague."
"Perhaps the Jedi Council sees things differently than you do," Doriana said, pulling a second datacard from his pocket. "Here are their instructions, ordering you to cooperate with me and my people."
He lifted his eyebrows. "You do still acknowledge the authority of the Council, don't you?"
Silently, with the same complete lack of enthusiasm with which Lord Binalie had taken the first datacard, Tories accepted the second. "Good,"
Doriana said briskly, getting to his feet. "Then all that remains is for you to return home and prepare for five of your workers to suddenly slump over with dizziness and fever."
"And you, I suppose, will do all the rest?" Binalie said bitterly.
"Of course," Doriana said. 'That's why I'm here."
The first worker began complaining of dizziness at precisely five minutes after the predicted time. Nine minutes after that, as he was being examined by the plant medic, he suddenly col lapsed, twitching and groaning. The second worker was more stoic, and was still at his station fifteen minutes later when he hit the floor. Three minutes after that, Lord Binalie ordered the plant evacuated.
"Ah-Doriana," the stolid face hovering above Doriana's holoprojector greeted him. "You have news?"
"The plant is ready, Commander Roshton," Doriana said. "You may land at your convenience."
"Excellent," Roshton said approvingly. "And in less than one day. You do admirable work."
"I do what the Supreme Chancellor commands," Doriana said with just a hint of warning. In these days of turmoil and suspicion, it never hurt to remind people as to where his loyalties lay.