Harold sat silently, taking in everything around him, despite not getting a wink of sleep all night. After being roughly escorted to a large network of caves in the mountain, the prisoners were contained in a shimmery force field in one of the larger caverns. There, they were allowed to address their wounds as best they could. Aside from the two dead corps members, a couple broken bones and dislocated joints seemed to be the worst of the injuries.

Harold had been distracted from his hunger last night when Conan’s bracelet started pulsing with a coded message saying their rescue was being mounted today. The signal was weak, so there was probably some sort of shielding up, but no one had better technology than Franklin’s department made. Harold and his group gave the layout of how to get to them from the cave entrance, and everyone sent more information as they discovered things. The one good thing about them being kept up all night, Harold was finally getting a clue as to who they were dealing with.

They saw lots of people passing by, all armed to the teeth with laser guns and every type of blade imaginable. They seemed like mercenaries rather than a military unit. But they all answered to someone named Commander Steele Jones.

First, there were mumblings about Crofton, so Harold wondered if they were connected to Franklin’s attack; if so, how did they get to them so quickly? But then he heard the name Talbot, and his heart sank. He still wasn’t sure how they had been found, but it sounded like Casimer was finally making his move.

Harold tried to clamp down on the anger rising in him. He had told Avi there needed to be stricter surveillance on Casimer. Avi was a wise king, except in one area. When it came to his family, he was idiotically soft.

He understood why Avi didn’t want to lose his only living relative, but Casimer had held his own uncle hostage, for crying out loud. And all Avi did was severely cut back his allowance and banish Casimer to his southern territory. Which wasn’t exactly a hardship, as it was a naturally rich, sprawling hundred acres. So what if he wasn’t allowed to leave for the rest of his life? He should be rotting in prison right now, at the very least.

Harold tried to loosen his clenched jaw as he saw someone approaching their group huddled against the cold stone wall. With at least four guns pointed at them, a small opening appeared in the force shield.

“You.” One of them pointed at Harold. “The commander wants to see you.”

His men watched as Harold’s hands were tied behind his back and he slowly followed his guide under gunpoint. As they went deeper into the network of caves and tunnels, Harold tried to memorize the route, making note of any detail he could relay to the rescue team.

Stealing glances into passageways and caverns they passed, he didn’t see much in the way of supplies or gear. Either their group traveled light, or they were stored somewhere else. Every few feet there were hovering orbs of light that gave a harsh glow to the dark stone. Eventually, his guard stopped in front of a dark brown, scratchy-looking blanket drawn across an opening to their left.

“Commander? I’ve brought the commander general.”

“Let him in,” said a deep voice.

The blanket was held aside, and Harold entered a small cave. The blanket dropped behind him, and he faced a fit young man standing behind a small table. Commander Jones looked to be in his late twenties, with a lean, muscular build and skin tanned from many hours in the sun. Some of his dark hair was falling into his gray eyes. Before it turned into a staring contest, Steele gestured toward an empty chair in front of his little table.

“Please sit.” Steele was awfully polite for being the one in charge of attacking them.

Harold swept his gaze around the small alcove, taking as much in as he could without looking suspicious. A neatly made cot sat against the wall, a large backpack lay at the foot. On the table, there were stacked papers turned over so it was impossible to see what was on them. A rectangular, black VPhone sat next to a plate of half-eaten, juicy fruit. A silver bottle probably held some sort of drink.

Steele was obviously at home in these Spartan conditions. The only thing that separated him from his men was his commanding air and the fact that he had a bit more room to himself. This was a man who knew how to move swiftly and could work on minimalistic rations.

“Commander General Harold Cynbel.” Steele sounded it out once they were sitting across from each other.

Harold stayed silent.

“What are you doing way out here, with such a small group? Did I interrupt an exercise by any chance?” Steele actually looked a little worried, but his voice remained calm and casual.

“What do you want?” Harold was too tired to play mind games.

“What do you think I want?” Steele tilted his head, eyes widening slightly in innocence.

Harold swallowed a laugh. He actually kind of liked this kid. Fine. He wanted to play? How about hardball. Might as well try to get some information himself.

Steele might be willing to talk if he thinks I’ll reveal more than him. Unless being relatively easy on us as prisoners is all a game, he might be a decent guy.

“Who do you work for?” Harold asked.

“Who do you think I work for?” Steele replied.

“Casimer Talbot,” Harold said promptly.

Steele winced, to Harold’s surprise, then gave a tight smile.

“Very good, commander general.” Steele looked admiring. “You are every bit as impressive as your reputation says. I do take orders from Talbot,” he said with a glower.

Harold’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Did Steele just spit out Casimer’s name?

“For being so high up in the command, you don’t seem to like your boss very well,” Harold said, not sure if this was an act for his benefit.

Steele snorted derisively.

Still unsure, Harold said thoughtfully, “While I can see Casimer wanting someone of your skill, you don’t really strike me as someone similar to him.”

The gray eyes grew stormy. “Do not compare me to Talbot!” Steele thundered. “I am nothing like him. I see through his pompous ego.”

Either he was the best actor Harold had ever seen, or Steele absolutely loathed Casimer’s guts. Maybe even more than Harold.

“Then why are you his commander?” Harold asked. “Why would you stay if you hate him so much?”

There was a long, tense moment before Steele said in a tight voice, “I don’t have a choice.”

Glancing quickly at the blanket blocking the passageway, Harold leaned forward. “Maybe I can help.”

“You can help,” Steele said in a stony voice, “by telling me where to find the—the one with the bio-bots.”

There was a slight pause before he said bio-bots, making Harold wonder if he had to think about what they were called. Harold really wanted to find out more about Steele and his situation, but one look at his face, and Harold knew now was not the time.

“All I know,” Harold shook his head, “is they’re far away from here.”

“I’m sure, at the very least, you could find out where they are,” Steele said, then held up a hand before Harold could say anything. “I know, I know. You wouldn’t dream of it. Well—”

Steele was interrupted by his VPhone vibrating. Glancing down, he tapped it lightly, and a white bar appeared above it.

That’s all Harold could see, but he knew Steele was reading a message on the other side.

With a look of irritation, Steele called for someone to take Harold away.

“I would very much appreciate you thinking about how to help me find The Weapon,” Steele said as Harold was escorted out of his alcove. “I would hate for you to lose any more men.”

Lark stared in awe at the hoverplane’s control room as she and Snowy stayed tucked away in the corner, trying to stay out of the way. And not accidentally fry anything.

At first sight of the huge hovercraft—that she had taken to calling “The Mothership” in her head—Lark’s jaw nearly dropped. It was about the size of a small cruise ship. How on earth did this thing get in the air?

When Shamira motioned for her to come, Lark followed her down a maze of hallways to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom.

“Snowy can stay here during the extraction,” Shamira said.

“Thank you.” Lark kissed Snowy’s silky head, then put her down on the bed. Snowy hopped down and happily followed the girls to the door. “Ah, no Snowy.” Lark felt horribly guilty leaving the cub by herself, but there was no way the cub could come on the mission.

Snowy’s look of confusion when Lark closed the door in the cub’s face nearly had Lark changing her mind. Then the howling started. Shamira and Lark shared a grimace, then ran away like the weaklings they apparently were.

“Are you ready?” Shamira asked as they grabbed their equipment and headed to the hangar that housed a fleet of smaller hovercrafts.

Lark ignored the ache in her chest. She imagined she could still hear Snowy’s plaintive cries even though they were on the other side of the hoverplane. “I’m as ready as I can be,” she finally said.

“You just concentrate on your part,” Shamira said confidently. “Leave the rest to us.”