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With his hair and beard dyed jet-black and a brimmed cap tugged low on his forehead, Han acted nonchalant while he waited outside the security booth. Baffle, who had dropped him at the gate, had assured him that the pale-green lightweight suit was standard issue for Comestibles and Curatives Administration inspectors, and in fact, the corpulent human sentry had scanned the computer-coded identity card with the indifference of one who had seen hundreds in his day.

“What areas you interested in seeing?” the man asked suddenly.

Han adopted an officious smile. “Divulging that information would effectively undermine the nature of my visit.”

The sentry frowned. “He isn’t saying,” he muttered into the comlink mouthpiece. “Claims it’ll spoil the surprise. No, I didn’t laugh either. Okay, he’ll be here when you arrive.” He switched off the comlink and returned the identity card to Han. “Sit tight, pal. An escort’s on the way.”

The casually dressed man who arrived moments later in a four-seater landspeeder was even heftier than the sentry and had the same sunburned and stubbled farmboy toughness. Both men were a world apart from the aristocratic Harbrights, who ran Salliche Ag and were apparently intent on throwing in with the Yuuzhan Vong. The escort took in Han as he approached the landspeeder, an alloy case dangling from his right hand.

“Surprised they haven’t retired you yet, old-timer,” he remarked. A name tag stitched to the pocket of his untucked shirt identified him as Bow.

So much for the deceptive qualities of hair dye, Han thought as he climbed into the rear seat of the speeder. “With any luck, this will be one of my last assignments.”

“You know, Salliche has never had a problem with you people,” Bow said around what remained of a toothpick protruding from between his front teeth. “We pay good money to see to that.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Han said, blinking. “I’m simply carrying out my assignment.”

“Fine. Just make sure you’re quick about it. I don’t have all day.”

Han forced a nervous laugh. “I’m as eager to have this over with as you are.”

They set off, but had traveled only a short distance when the Salliche man brought the landspeeder to a halt alongside a large map and directory. With some difficulty, Bow rotated in the front seat to face Han.

“Where to first? We can sample produce from a couple of nearby fields, or you can run your tests on random samples that have already been harvested.” He pointed north. “Shipping is over that way, in case you’re interested in cargo container decontamination procedures.”

Han pretended to study the map, then said, “Suppose we begin at product enhancement.”

Bow’s bushy brows knitted. “You’re kidding.”

Han cleared his throat. “Is there some problem?”

“No problem. I just hope CCA is paying you well.”

The landspeeder flew down narrow dirt roads, many of which twisted through fields of burrmillet waiting to be harvested. As tall as trees, the slender umber stalks of grain formed palisades to either side. Han’s nose alerted him to the fact that they were nearing the fertilizer works long before a sign announcing product enhancement came into view. At yet another checkpoint he was issued a disposable jumpsuit and a rebreather helmet with a tinted face bowl. Similarly outfitted, Bow led the way toward an enormous, flat-roofed warehouse, whose loading bays were crowded with banthas, rontos, and other beasts of burden, waiting to receive cargos of fertilizer.

Baffle had already explained that, in keeping with Salliche’s aim to please the antitech invaders, the company was in the process of switching over from machine-produced nutrients to live production; so Han wasn’t as surprised as he might have been to see thousands of craw-maws, wingles, and nightseers—genetically manipulated to be wingless and mute—being force-fed in cages and perches that lined the interior of the building. Beneath the cages, and filled to the brim with the avians’ abundant droppings, were wide troughs that funneled the manure to