Pan was staring up at him, eyes wide with pain. Somehow, incredibly, the Dowutin managed to hiss through clenched teeth, “Stop … this …”

“Stop? Like you stopped the raids?” Ro didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. His voice was low and dangerous above the crackle of searing energy. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? That I wouldn’t hear? You attacked a major shipyard in the Mid Rim. And for what? A destroyed Cloudship and over sixty Nihil dead. No one escaped your Tempest’s raid. No one. It achieved nothing, except placing the Republic on high alert. After everything we have been working toward. Everything I have been working toward. You risked it all because you were impatient, because you cannot see beyond your own greed.”

He bent down, staring into Pan’s pained eyes. “I knew sparing you was a mistake. Kassav would have obeyed orders. Kassav would have done what he was told. You should have been the sacrifice, not him.”

Lourna half expected Ro to spit on the Dowutin, to hear the saliva hiss as it rolled down Pan’s electrified cheek. She could smell the Tempest Runner’s flesh cooking as the energy raged, every muscle bunched beneath his armor. But Ro swept from the room, not even looking back, leaving Pan to literally fry in his own juices. Lourna and Zeetar exchanged confused glances. Were they supposed to follow or to help their counterpart as he shuddered helplessly at their feet? For the first time in months, Lourna didn’t know what to do. She had pledged to follow Ro without question, to obey his commands to the letter, but this? Kassav had been a tactical decision, but this was just a fit of pique, a punishment that outweighed the crime. The Tempest Runners were supposed to be able to be autonomous. Pan had gone against Ro’s wishes, yes, but he didn’t deserve to die. Not yet.

She crouched down, keeping a safe distance from the coruscating energy. There was no way she could pry the helmet from Pan’s hands without being burned herself.

She looked up at Zeetar. “Pull it from his hands.” The Talpini didn’t move. “The energy won’t harm your powersuit.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He could die.”

“Sounds like Ro wants him dead.”

“Yeah,” came a strained voice. “And how long before it’s your turn?”

They both looked down. It was Pan, his face taut, bloodshot eyeballs looking as though they were about to start steaming.

But he wasn’t dead yet.

Pan let out a bestial growl, his clawed fingers digging deeper into the helmet. Metal crunched and sparks flew. Lourna jumped back up as impossibly … unbelievably … Pan crumpled Ro’s helmet as if it were a tin can.

Not so helpless after all.