The drift flowed through Engle, using him as a conduit, catching those in peril and pulling them toward their ships. The fear was still there, maybe now stronger than ever, mixed with confusion and just a glimmer of hope. Indeera felt rather than heard a barrage of thoughts: There are Jedi here. We’re gonna be safe. What if they drop us? What if their magic fails? Kill the Jedi. Feed the Storm. The Storm triumphant. The Eye forever.

That was the Nihil. The Jedi blocked out the negative thoughts, pulling every survivor toward them, regardless of their faction, one for each Vector. The entire maneuver probably took less time than the single beat of her heart and yet the work was done, Indeera only vaguely aware of the Sneevel dropping onto the nose of her fighter, long skinny arms holding on tight.

“You’re safe,” she told him, even though there was no way he could hear, even with ears like that. She glanced right and left, checking the rest of the drift. The human male was with Nib, the Thodian clutching onto Burry’s craft, her large eyes screwed shut. The Nihil had clamped hold of Mikkel’s Vector, glaring at the kindly Ithorian through the canopy, teeth bared and barking obscenities. It didn’t matter. Let the wretch hate. They were safe. All safe.

All safe.

The words reached Elzar Mann on the ground below, even as he fought a hulking brute in Nihil armor. There was no way of knowing which species lurked beneath the visored helmet with its spikes and tubes. All Elzar cared about was the energy-mace that was swinging around to slam into the side of his head.

Nice try.

Elzar flipped back, lightsaber still in hand, and the studded mace passed harmlessly beneath the heels of his boots as he brought them up and over his head. The Nihil snorted in frustration, only spotting something in his peripheral vision a moment too late. He turned to see a lamppost flying toward him. Long and distinctly solid, it had been toppled in the first few minutes of the attack, maybe even by the Nihil’s own gunship. Now it smashed into his head, cracking his helmet and most probably his skull.

Elzar Mann landed back on his feet seconds before the unconscious Nihil crashed to the ground. He brought the post around, not letting it clatter back to the ground but sending it up above his head like a baton twirler in a Founder’s Day parade. It swirled around and around, pushing back the war-cloud so he could see up into the sky.

Yes. That had been what he felt. Four Vectors were turning to fly out of the park; each fragile fighter had a person hanging on to the outside. What’s more, another figure was riding the back of the central Vector like a Drumian wing-walker, his long beard flowing behind him.