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.