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.