“No,” Avar said, disturbed at the urgency of what Te’Ami was trying to pass along. Her emotions roiled, and the song of the Force shimmered in her mind, becoming quieter, less distinct.
Focus, she told herself. You are needed.
Avar Kriss calmed her emotions and listened. Now, thanks to Te’Ami, she knew what to look for. She called the other Jedi’s face to her mind—green skin, high domed skull, large red eyes—and it took her almost no time to find what Te’Ami had tried to show her. In fact, now that she was looking, it was obvious. Avar spread her awareness through the system, pushing herself to the limit.
I can’t miss one, she thought. Not a single one.
She opened her eyes and unfolded her legs, setting her feet once again upon the Third Horizon’s deck. Bridge officers looked at her, surprised—she had not spoken or moved in some time.
Admiral Kronara was speaking to Chancellor Lina Soh, who had called in via a high-priority relay from Coruscant. Her delicate, sweeping features were displayed on one of the bridge’s commwalls. She looked fragile—which she absolutely was not. Kronara, in contrast, had a face that looked like a hammer would break against it. He looked hard—which he absolutely was. He wore the uniform of the Republic Defense Coalition, light gray with blue accents, the cap tucked under his arm in respect for the chancellor’s office.
The resolution on the display was low, with sharp lines of static crossing Lina Soh’s face every few seconds—but that was to be expected. Coruscant was very far away.
“Thank the light your ship was close enough to Hetzal to respond, Admiral,” Chancellor Soh was saying. “We sent out aid ships as soon as we could, but even receiving the distress signal from Hetzal took time. You know how choppy the comm relays are from the Outer Rim.”
“I do, Chancellor,” Kronara responded. “We appreciate anything you can do. We’re making progress here, but there will definitely be a large number of wounded, and I am sure a variety of essential systems will need repair. I’ll relay word to Minister Ecka that you’re sending assistance. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
“Of course, Admiral. We are all the Republic.”
Avar walked across the deck, passing Kronara as he ended the transmission to Coruscant. He glanced over at her, curious, as she stopped before the display screen showing the status of the disaster mitigation effort—all the ships, people, Jedi, Republic, locals. Red, green, blue, worlds, lives, hope, despair.
She tapped certain of the red anomalies on the screen with her fingertip. As she did, they were highlighted, each surrounded with a white circle. When she was done, about ten of the projectiles were indicated.
Avar moved back from the display, then turned to look at the bridge crew. They were confused, but polite, waiting for her to explain what she had done.
“I hate to say this, my friends,” she said, “but this just got a lot harder. We have a new objective.”
Admiral Kronara’s weathered features twisted into a scowl. Avar did not take it personally.
“Does it replace the existing mission parameters?” he said.
“That would be nice,” she said. “But no. We still have to do everything we came here to do—keep the fragments from destroying Hetzal—but now there’s something else.”
She gestured at the display, with its highlighted red dots, racing sunward.
“The anomalies I have indicated here contain living beings. This is no longer just about saving the worlds of this system.”
Realization dawned on Kronara’s face. His scowl deepened.
“So it’s a rescue mission, on top of everything else.”
“That’s right, Admiral,” Avar said.
A chorus of dismayed voices rose up as the officers realized that all their progress thus far was just the preamble to a much greater effort.
“How is that possible?”
“How many people? Who are they?”
“Are they ships? Is this an invasion?”
Admiral Kronara held up a hand, and the voices stopped.
“Master Kriss, if you say some of these things have people aboard, then they do. But how do you propose we mount a rescue? These objects are moving at incredible velocities. Our targeting systems can barely hit them as it is, and now we have to…dock with them?”
Avar nodded.
“I don’t know how we’ll do this. Not yet. I’m hoping one of you might have an idea. But I will say that every one of those lives is as important as any life on this world or any other. We must begin by believing it is possible to save everyone. If the will of the Force is otherwise, so be it, but I will not accept the idea of abandoning them without trying.”
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,” L
oden 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.”
“I’m still outside the gate,” Loden said. “Surely whatever authority you have doesn’t extend beyond the walls?”
The guard lifted his weapon and let it rest on his shoulder. He spat, the bit of phlegm landing on the ground—outside the walls—with a wet splat.
“So you say,” he said.
“I was told you won’t let any of these people access that ship, despite the evacuation order issued by the planet’s leader?”
“That’s right.”
“But the vessel could hold most of them. Maybe all of them, if you got creative.”
“It’s not my job to let them board, Jedi. It’s my job to make sure they don’t.”
“Perhaps you should consider an early retirement,” Loden said.
As always, there was a smile in his voice, but Bell recognized the meaning of this particular flavor of smile, just as he’d known when his master was using the Jedi mind touch to calm the refugee woman. Bell moved part of his tunic to one side, exposing his holstered lightsaber hilt.
Without looking at him, Loden raised a hand toward Bell and tapped two fingers together, the first and second on his left hand—a prearranged signal. It meant one very simple thing: No. Don’t.
Bell forced himself to relax.
The guard captain seemed utterly unconcerned. Even a little amused.
“What do you think you’re going to do, Jedi? Cut right through the walls with your lightsaber? Fight off every one of us?”
His master leaned forward, a smile now on his lips as well as in his voice.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
The guard’s face changed. No longer amused. Now…confused. Concerned.
“Open the gates,” Loden Greatstorm said. “I promise you. It’s the best way forward. For all these people out here, but also for you. And all your friends up there, too.”
The guard looked at Loden, and Loden looked at the guard. Bell knew how this was going to go, and he couldn’t help but relish it, even though he knew relishing moments like this was very un-Jedi-like.
Loden hadn’t even had to draw his weapon. Hadn’t used the mind touch. Loden Greatstorm had just spoken a few well-chosen words, and now…
“Open the gates,” the guard captain said, his tone weary, defeated.
“Thank you,” Loden said.
He turned away, looking at Bell.
“We’ll stay for a bit,” he said. “Make sure this all goes smoothly. Then we’ll head out and see if there’s another place we might make ourselves useful. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Bell said.
Sounds, from behind them, and both Jedi spun. They were not good sounds. Blasters firing, and screams. They could not see what was happening, not through the crowd.
“Up,” Loden said, and he leapt to the top of the wall, landing next to the very surprised captain of the Ranoraki family’s personal guard.
Bell followed, and from the higher vantage point, they could see speeders, two of them, bulky, heavy things, each with deck-mounted blaster cannons, firing directly into the crowd.
Marauders, Bell thought, come to take the ship inside the compound, as desperate as anyone else left on Hetzal Prime, but significantly better armed.
They were attacking the defenseless crowd, clearing them out of the way so they could smash their way into the compound and steal the starship.
“Sabers,” Loden Greatstorm said,
giving the command.
The smile in his voice was gone.
“We can’t do this. It’s impossible,” said Joss Adren, current commanding officer of the Republic Longbeam designation Aurora III. “Just shooting the blasted thing would have been hard enough.”
He stared at his cockpit display, depicting his own ship, the three Jedi Vectors flying escort, the massive hyperspace anomaly whipping through space that somehow contained living beings, and, of course, the densely inhabited moon that said anomaly was going to impact and probably eradicate in, oh, call it twelve minutes. In other words, the problem they were somehow expected to solve.
When they’d volunteered to take out a Longbeam and help where they could, Joss’s primary motivation had just been that he wanted to try out one of the fancy new Republic ships. He’d never flown this model before, and it had supposedly had some nice little tweaks on the last design.
Not that he wasn’t happy to help out, sure—but now he had people’s lives in his hands. Like…a lot of lives, and while people might celebrate him if he succeeded, they would sure as hell blame him if he failed.
Joss cursed. Then he cursed again, then four more times.
“Is that really helpful?” said his copilot, Pikka Adren, second-in-command of the Aurora III and first-in-command of his heart.
“Don’t tell me you can’t relate,” he said.
She looked a little bemused, a little irritated, and very focused. Also very beautiful, with light eyes and dark, curly hair and a pile of dark freckles across slightly lighter skin he loved to see and touch. His wife liked to tell him he was handsome, but he knew the truth: He looked like an engine block with a head stuck on top, with hair he kept cropped tight to his skull so he never had to think about it. Joss Adren assumed he must have some good qualities, otherwise he’d never have landed someone like Pikka…but he knew his looks were not on the list.
“I can relate to your frustration, dear,” his wife said. “I still want to try saving these people.”
“Well, of course I want to try, Pikka,” Joss said. “I just don’t see how.”
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