“He’s talking about Cyclor, Pan,” Lourna added, the Dowutin’s face darkening at the planet’s name.

“What about it?”

Zeetar made a play of scratching his neckbeard, the mech suit copying the motion like a deranged puppet. “Oh let me see. An entire Cloud lost. The sector put on alert. Messages back and forth between the Jedi and the Senate. Tell me, Pan, should we call in the idiot responsible for the attack. What was his name? Sarn Starbungler.”

“Starbreaker.”

Zeetar snapped his fingers. “Of course, that’s it. Oh, but we can’t, can we, because now he’s stardust. That’s why we called you here. Because if the idiot in question is dead, why not go straight to the moron at the top.”

Pan made to lurch forward but this time Lourna put a firm hand on his chest. He stopped, nostrils flaring. “It wasn’t Starbreaker’s fault. There were Jedi at the shipyards.”

“There are always Jedi,” Zeetar countered. “What were you thinking, Pan? Ro specifically said—”

Pan threw his thick hands in the air. “‘Ro said … Ro said.’ Have you heard yourself? Five minutes as a Tempest and you think you know best.” This time Lourna didn’t stop him when he took a step forward, a thick finger jabbing at Zeetar’s face. “Me and Lourna, we’ve been here since the beginning, more or less. You? You’re nothing more than a jumped-up grease-jockey. Maybe I should grant you some slack, because you obviously don’t know how things work around here, but to be honest I am fed up with the druk that flows from that mouth of yours. We ain’t the Republic, Zeetar, and we sure as hell ain’t the Jedi. We do what we want when we want, no matter what anyone says, Ro included. He rides the storm that we create. Our Tempests. Our Strikes. Yeah, we owe him for the Paths, but this is bigger than him now. And if he doesn’t like it, he should step aside, whatever his spineless lackeys bleat. Spineless lackeys like you.”

“Is that right?”

Lourna’s words had stopped the fight but hadn’t defused the situation. Those three words, spoken from across the chamber, killed everything dead. All three Tempest Runners turned to see the figure standing in the doorway, taking in the long cape, the heavy mask.

The calm fury.

“Ro,” Pan grunted, a simple acknowledgment, no attempt to cover what he had been saying, no attempt to backtrack.

“Pan,” Ro returned, stepping coolly into the room, the door swishing closed behind him. “It is good to see you on Grizal.”