A grin stretched across Pan Eyta’s broad face as the chaos played out on the planet beneath him. His ship, the Elegencia, hung over Valo like a scavenger waiting to feast on a fresh kill, a swarm of Zeetar’s scav droids already picking over the corpses of the wrecked cruisers and transports that just half an hour ago had been waiting patiently to make planetfall. Pan guessed that the bounties would be few and far between, although there would be plenty of credits that had been saved for years to spend at the fair. They would boost his coffers, and there would be parts for his fleet of course, but any monetary or technological gains paled in significance compared with the carnage that was unfolding on the planet below. That was the main event. That was what they had come for. They were here to destroy, not loot, to write their name across the Republic’s precious frontier once and for all. Most of all, they would write his name. Yes, the other Tempests were involved, Lourna herself leading the land assault and that idiot Zeetar chasing after the ships that had cut and run when the attack started, abandoning their place in line to flee for their lives. Zeetar’s Storms would cut them down long before they could raise the alarm, and even if they did, neither the Republic nor the Jedi would be able to get there in time, not with Kriss and her merry band occupied on Miluta.

The comlink beeped on Pan’s opulent command chair. He didn’t answer it, waiting for his navigator to accept the call. Why keep a bassa hound and bark yourself?

“Well?” he growled at the olive-skinned Rybet who swiveled in his chair, a webbed finger pressed against the comm bud in his ear.

“It’s the Eye.”

Pan hefted his weight in his chair.

“Of course it is.” He waved a thick finger languidly. “Put him on main speakers.”

There was an audible click, and Pan made sure he spoke first.

“We were supposed to be maintaining comm silence.”

His grin returned when he heard just a hint of annoyance in Ro’s reply.

“And you were supposed to report in.”

That was new. Usually Ro didn’t demand field reports. In fact, he actively discouraged them. The Eye of the Storm was rattled. He knew he was losing control. Good. Pan scratched at the burns on his palms where he had gripped the Eye’s electrified helmet. Let Ro squirm for once.

“The Innovator is sinking,” he grunted, watching footage from one of the fighters.

“And?”

“And we need to be left to do our jobs, unless you’re thinking of joining us for once.”

The Rybet writhed in his seat at the navigation console, sweat glistening on the amphibian’s skin, or maybe it was mucus. It was hard to tell with those damn frogs.