Чарльз Соул - Star Wars - Light of the Jedi (The High Republic)

She moved her hand in a broad circle, encompassing the entire display board.

“This is all you have to work with—what we brought with us. Every Hetzalian ship is occupied with the evacuation effort, so all we’ve got are the Vectors and the Jedi flying them, plus the Longbeams and their crews. Find a way. I know you can. I’ll send word to the Jedi. The Force might have an answer for us.”

The bridge officers looked at one another, then scrambled into motion with a new surge of activity, as they began to plan ten utterly impossible rescue missions.

Avar Kriss closed her eyes. She stepped up into the air. The Force sang to her, telling her of peril and bravery and sacrifice, of Jedi fulfilling their vows, acting as guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy.

The song of the Force.

Bell was falling. He had hoped he might be gliding, but no. Definitely falling. He had followed his master over the side of the Nova, leaping out of the Vector’s cockpit to drop to the ground below. He had practiced maneuvers like this many times in the Temple, but there was generally some sort of padding involved in that situation, a safety measure if the Jedi-in-training couldn’t quite muster the necessary concentration to use the Force to break his fall.

Now, gravity was gravity, and even the Force couldn’t turn it off (though Bell thought perhaps Master Yoda could make it happen, if he focused hard enough). But you could convince the Force to slow you down, reduce the impact when you landed. Perfectly executed, you would alight on the ground like a leaf, or a snowflake.

What Bell was doing was…not perfectly executed. The Force seemed to be busy elsewhere, unwilling to listen to his requests for assistance. As the ground approached with alarming speed, Bell’s focus left him entirely. He threw his arms up, opened his mouth to scream. As a Jedi, he knew he should be meeting his death with dignity, but this was about as undignified as you could get. Bell Zettifar was about to end his Padawan career by smashing into the ground like a rotten piece of fruit and probably splattering all over everything and—

—he didn’t.

Bell slowed, and he rotated in the air until his feet were pointed at the ground, and he lit upon it…like a leaf, or a snowflake.

“You need more training,” his master said, from not far away. With a smile in his voice.

Bell opened his eyes, and there was Jedi Master Loden Greatstorm, one hand raised, a smile on his face, too.

“Probably,” Bell said.

“Definitely,” Loden said, lowering his arm. “We’ll work on it.”

He looked up at the Nova, moving a hundred or so meters above them in gentle, autopiloted circles, biding its time until the Jedi required it again.

“That wasn’t much of a fall, really,” Loden said. “You barely had time to think before the ground came calling. I get it, Bell. This is my fault. But don’t worry, I can fix it. When we’re back on Coruscant, I’ll throw you off the tallest supertowers we can find. Maybe you just need more time to commune with the Force. Some of those towers are thousands of stories tall. You could be falling for minutes. Plenty of time.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea, Master,” Bell said.

“I agree,” Loden said.

Bell turned to look at the reason Loden hadn’t just brought their ship in for a landing in the first place. Hundreds of angry Hetzal Prime natives crowded around the compound the two Jedi had seen from their Vector, the home of this wealthy merchant or entertainer or businessperson. Above the high, spiked walls, the sleek curve of the starship waiting inside the compound was clearly visible.

Every person in that crowd had heard Minister Ecka’s evacuation order and knew that a path offplanet waited inside the gates. Guards atop the walls seemed ill inclined to allow anyone to get inside—each held a powerful-looking rifle, and if their weapons weren’t aimed directly at the milling crowd, they certainly weren’t aimed away. If things got ugly, people would die. Many people.

Bell and Loden had drawn the attention of the evacuees—unsurprising. Two Jedi falling from the sky got noticed, even in the desperate circumstances these people found themselves dealing with. Loden walked to the nearest group, two men and a woman, one of the men holding a swaddled infant. They were afraid, unhappy, at the edge of hope—and Bell didn’t need the Force to sense it.

“Hello,” Loden said. “My name is Loden Greatstorm. I am a member of the Jedi Order. My apprentice here is Bell Zettifar. We’re here to help. What’s happening? Why aren’t you being allowed to board that ship?”

One of the men looked up at the guards on the compound wall, then back at Loden.

“Because the ship belongs to the family that lives in the fancy house on the other side of that gate with all the spikes on it. They’re called the Ranorakis. They pay those guards to make sure no one’s gonna fly out of here but them. They’re getting ready to leave—packing their fancy socks or some garbage like that. Taking their time while the rest of us wait out here.”

The woman spoke up, her voice cracking.

“There aren’t any ships left. They’ve all gone, and they aren’t coming back. This is the only way offworld, and Minister Ecka’s order made it sound like…made it sound like…”

Loden reached out a hand, touching the side of the woman’s face, and she calmed, an ease returning to her manner.

“You will not worry,” he said, in a low, resonant tone Bell recognized. Loden was using the Force to add weight to his words, to cut through the surrounding chaos and anxiety. “Focus on your family, your child. Keep them safe. I will take care of the rest.”

The woman nodded, and even smiled.

“Come, Padawan,” Loden said, and he began walking toward the gates, his stride determined. He didn’t look back to see if Bell was following—but he didn’t really need to. Where Loden went, Bell followed. If nothing else, just to see what his master was going to do.

The two Jedi walked through the crowd, which parted for them easily as soon as the people realized who they were. They were still dressed in the ceremonial garments they wore for the Starlight Beacon inspection—soft fabrics of white and gold, with colored accents here or there, held together by a golden clasp shaped into the insignia of the Jedi Order. For operations in the field they would ordinarily wear their leathers, sometimes even armor, depending on the task at hand, but there had been no time to change. The Third Horizon had dropped into the system, and off they went.

Bell thought that was good, perhaps. No one would mistake them for anything other than what they were. Sometimes just being a Jedi could solve problems. He knew he and Loden were an imposing pair, too—a human and a Twi’lek, both tall and dark-skinned, with lightsabers at their hips…their footsteps echoed with the full authority of the Jedi council.

Murmurs spread out from their passage like ripples on water, and the angry shouts and cries died down, until they walked through a silent crowd, all eyes on them. It seemed that Bell was not the only one who wanted to know what his master was planning.

Loden stepped up to the gates. He looked up, where two of the guards were stationed in battlements atop the wall on either side. This no longer looked like a home—it was more like a small fortress. Bell wondered what this family did, these Ranorakis, that would require them to hire such an extensive security staff. At least two dozen men and women stood guard up on the walls, and presumably more waited inside.

“Ho there, Master Jedi,” one of the guards said, his tone companionable enough. “Can’t let you in, either, sorry. Besides, looks like you have your own ship. Why don’t you two hop back in it and fly on back to the Core Worlds. This is private property.”