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These beetles, swarming toward fresh food, weren’t about to back down. Jacen swung the lightsaber through the nearest, slicing it between abdomen and thorax. It collapsed.

Jacen swung for another one’s faceted eyes. Two more beetles pivoted and came for him, leaving the hut’s other side safe for the Vors.

“Back to the crawler,” Jacen shouted. “Signal the others—we’re leaving!”

The Vors scrambled down. One tried to grab their cart’s handles. Two beetles lunged for his loosely suited legs, snipping with their mouthparts. The Vor shrieked and ran after his partner.

Another half-dozen beetles clambered over the dead ones. Jacen swung the lightsaber wildly, keeping a circle clear around himself. Without drawing on the Force, his motions seemed jerky, disconnected—but he didn’t stop. Another swarm reached him.

On Yavin 4, he recalled, certain crushed or wounded insects gave off pheromones that called in more of their species. Whether or not this was the case here, something was drawing them toward him. Five more scuttled closer, up another lane.

Then an orange-suited form pelted into view.

“Get back,” Jacen shouted.

The form waved a vibroblade. “I’ll clear you a path.” That was Droma’s voice.

The Ryn came on, slicing for the beetles’ undersides, dancing out of the way of claws and mouthparts. They didn’t seem nearly as interested in Droma as they were in Jacen.

The thought hit them both at the same instant. As Jacen shouted, “They’re drawn to the light—” Droma’s voice echoed, and then finished, “—saber!”

Now what? Jacen sliced, backstepped, turned, and sliced again. The mindless creatures kept coming, waving their antennae. The comlink in his pocket whistled, then a voice said, “Solo, everyone but you and Droma has gotten to the crawler. Run for it!”

“Shut off that glow light, Solo,” Droma shouted. “You’re as crazy as your father.”

Shut down his lightsaber? Backstep. Swing. Beetles boiled over each other, some stopping to chew on the ones he’d killed. The biggest one yet, black antennae as thick as a Twi’lek’s lekku, sailed in over the others’ backs. Jacen sidestepped and sliced it in two, but as he did, something sharp closed on his left ankle.

“Get to the Howlrunner!” he shouted at Droma.

Droma vaulted an iridescent abdomen and landed beside Jacen. Breathing hard, now—harder than a Jedi should, for lightsaber work—Jacen jabbed at the beetle who’d seized his ankle. As it fell away, he spotted a tiny tear in his orange pants leg.

“Throw the lightsaber.” Droma crouched, brandishing his vibroblade. “I’ll cut us a way out. Then you can levitate it to you.”

“You know I’m trying not to use the Force.” Swing. Sidestep. Jab.

“Fine—then leave it here. But throw it, or I will!”

Jacen locked his lightsaber on, flicked his wrist, and let go. As the lightsaber flew, he had another flashback to his vision—of a lightsaber, sailing off into the distance.

“Go!” Droma grunted.

The pack of beetles scuttled off after the glimmering lightsaber. Jacen headed for the hydroponics tank, jumping over a beetle with every other step. Now the ominous Duro-scent reached his nostrils. They’d breached his suit, all right.

Droma slashed the antennae off one bug that got too close. They broke free of the swarm.

“This way.” Jacen led toward a long breach in the synthplas wall, instead of the gate. “I left the I-7 close to the Falcon.”

“Right behind you,” Droma called.

Jacen pulled out his comlink. “Crawler, this is Solo. Stick around till we can get airborne.”

Then he turned to look back. The mass of beetles boiled, an iridescent tumble of black antennae and wing covers. Somewhere in there was his lightsaber.

If he left it behind, that would be like leaving a leg or a hand—but if he used the Force to call it to his hand, he’d break his own resolve again. Either way, he would be miserable. He had to decide—soon—whether to abandon the Force altogether or plunge back into its flow. This constant weighing and evaluating endangered others.

He shut his eyes, willed the tiniest wisp of energy, and called the lightsaber. It rose out of the