Light of the Jedi(24)

And still, every moment, the larger disaster loomed. The longer these people remained on the planet, the greater the chance they all died when a projectile impacted the surface. In fact, it seemed like something already had.



Far to the west, a huge, dark cloud was swelling up into the sky on a gigantic column, spreading out into a thick disk as it reached the upper atmosphere. Moans of terror rippled through the crowd of refugees. Massive clouds of darkness on the horizon were rarely a good sign.

“This has to stop,” Loden said.

“I agree…” Bell said. “…but how?”

His master looked out at the fighting. Then he glanced at the sky, where the Nova still circled slowly high overhead. Or maybe he was looking for fiery trails spearing in from space, signifying doom falling on the planet, nothing a lightsaber could knock back no matter how good its wielder might be.



It turned out he was evaluating, deciding. Making a plan.

“Apprentice,” Loden said. “Protect me.”

Without waiting to see how his Padawan would interpret this order, Loden deactivated his lightsaber. Just in time, Bell deflected a bolt that would have blasted a hole right through his teacher’s chest.

Favor repaid, Master, he thought.

Loden closed his eyes, holding his hand up in front of him, palm out. He snapped his fingers out, spreading them like a star.

That was all Bell could see—he stepped in front of his master, his lightsaber in a guard position, snapping blaster bolts back toward the guards on the wall.

Nothing will get through, he thought. I will protect my master.

He felt a surge in the Force behind him, and eight figures shot up from the crowd, rising into the air. The remaining marauders. Most dropped their weapons, but some sent a few shots wildly into the air, hitting nothing, yelling in fury, their limbs flailing, before their blasters were yanked from their hands.

Bell was in awe. This was the power of the Jedi. This, someday, could be him. Would be him.

Even the Ranoraki guards stopped firing as all eyes watched the attackers rise into the air. Higher, higher, three meters, five, ten…and then they dropped. They fell, like rocks thrown off a cliff, screaming, for perhaps a second and a half. Then they hit, and the screams changed to moans of pain.

They weren’t dead. Bell would have sensed it. But these people would kill no one else. Not today, or perhaps ever.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, which both Jedi ignored. They did their work because it was right, and for no other reason.

“Thank you, Bell,” Loden said.

“You’re welcome, Master.”



Loden lifted his lightsaber hilt. He pointed it at the gates to the compound, still locked, still sealed. He locked eyes with the guard captain.

He ignited the saber, and as the core of fire and light flashed into existence, the gates blew inward with a mighty crack, the lock obliterated by the Force and Loden’s mastery. The heavy metal doors smashed against the inner walls of the compound so hard it seemed as if they might rip from their hinges.

“Now do you understand?” he shouted at the guards as refugees streamed into the compound, headed for the starship.

The guard captain watched the refugees for a long moment, then looked up at Loden. He dropped his rifle, as did the rest of the guards.

Loden lowered his lightsaber. He looked at Bell.

He smiled.

Then a moment of uncertainty, for both master and apprentice.

“Do you sense that?” Bell said. “From Master Kriss, on the Third Horizon.”

“Yes,” Loden replied. “Something is wrong.”





Avar Kriss stood before the projection wall on the bridge of the Third Horizon, still displaying the Hetzal system. The crisis had evolved from a stage of reaction to one of management. No new fragments had appeared from hyperspace in some time, and many of the existing projectiles had been dealt with in one way or another.

She was still listening to the song of the Force, and she knew additional Jedi were beginning to arrive in the system, to use their skills to help.

As she watched the screen, she saw Jora Malli and Sskeer execute a complex maneuver alongside two Republic Longbeams, destroying a fragment moments before it could impact a transport carrying several thousand evacuees.

“That’s done,” Jora said over the bridge comm, entirely matter-of-fact.

“Thank you, Master Malli,” Admiral Kronara said, standing to Avar’s left. “I…wasn’t sure you’d get there in time.”

“Thank the Force, Admiral,” Jora said, “and your teams. It was a joint effort. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see what else Sskeer and I can do out here.”



Something is wrong, Avar thought. She knew this was true, down to her bones, but she couldn’t figure out what felt so off.

“Call coming in from Coruscant, Admiral,” called one of the bridge officers. “It’s Chancellor Soh, asking for a status update.”

“Put her through, Lieutenant. I think she’ll be happy with the good news.”

Kronara turned to her, smiling. He wasn’t celebrating, exactly—people had died in this system, and they still didn’t know what had caused the disaster in the first place—but he clearly felt like he had done his job well, on little notice and with no planning. Skill and training and inspired improvisation had saved the day here: the perfect outcome for a military man.