A splinter grenade shot out from a tube held by one of the marauders, directly at a knot of fleeing refugees. Loden Greatstorm reached out without breaking stride and the grenade took a right-angle turn, moving from the horizontal to the vertical, shooting straight up into the air, finally exploding harmlessly hundreds of meters above them. Shards of sharp metal that would have turned dozens into bloody meat fell instead on the cropland bordering the Ranoraki compound.

Bell sensed his Master’s great displeasure at the attackers’ choice, and almost, almost felt bad for them.

The two Jedi leapt into the air, somersaulting, swatting away more blaster bolts as they arced up. Say this for the marauders, these dark, selfish people—they were decent shots. Not that it would matter.

Bell landed on the speeder on the left, Loden on the speeder on the right, as if they’d discussed it. The marauders finally got smart, diving off their vehicles, scattering into the crowd—but not before the Jedi disarmed a few, with either well-placed lightsaber thrusts or by using the Force to yank their weapons away.

“Blast it,” Loden said as the remaining villains, about eight, vanished into the crowd. “Some of them are still armed. They might take hostages. We need to get after them, now.”

“I know, Master, but how do we—”

A snap, and suddenly Bell saw nothing but golden light—bright, blinding—filling his vision. His nostrils filled with the scent of overheated, ionized air. Heat and light and color—a lightsaber blade. A blaster bolt caromed harmlessly into the sky, a streak of light that until just a moment before was destined to drill a hole into Bell’s forehead.

Bell understood. His master had just saved his life.

He looked past Loden’s blade to see that the Ranoraki guards, still at their posts atop their still-sealed gates, had lifted their weapons and were firing directly at them.

“Fools,” Loden said.

“What are they doing?” Bell said, lifting his own blade and deflecting a blaster bolt. “I thought you had an understanding with them?”

“They must have misunderstood the understanding,” Loden growled. “They’re taking their chance. They think between them and the marauders, they can take us down.”

“This is insane,” Bell said. “With everything else going on, they want to fight?”

“They’re afraid. They’re trying to carve out a little control from an uncontrollable situation.”

From the crowd, more blasterfire as the remaining marauders saw their chance and fought their way toward the gates. It was turning into chaos, a full-on battle, as families of refugees fought back—clearly some had their own weapons, carried in case of emergency.

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.