Bell was falling. He had hoped he might be gliding, but no. Definitely falling. He had followed his master over the side of the Nova, leaping out of the Vector’s cockpit to drop to the ground below. He had practiced maneuvers like this many times in the Temple, but there was generally some sort of padding involved in that situation, a safety measure if the Jedi-in-training couldn’t quite muster the necessary concentration to use the Force to break his fall.

Now, gravity was gravity, and even the Force couldn’t turn it off (though Bell thought perhaps Master Yoda could make it happen, if he focused hard enough). But you could convince the Force to slow you down, reduce the impact when you landed. Perfectly executed, you would alight on the ground like a leaf, or a snowflake.

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.


Star Wars The High Republic Light of the Jedi Chapter 9