"Copy that," Lasher said firmly.

"Copy."

"Copy you, Boss," Justice said slowly.

Bronse did not have to give them coordinates. Their instruments would bring them to him. "Be careful," he warned. "I slid down a long rabbit hole. Didn't even see it coming. And I didn't kill the flays, so you might come across them."

Aboveground, Lasher exhaled a slow, tense breath. Bronse was asking them to cross to the north, back over the explosion points that had already drawn the enemy's attention. The others could circle around, but Lasher's own position was precarious because he was close to the target building. He kicked at the dead flay he had shot when he'd gained a moment's advantage. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. They had managed to cause exactly what Bronse had been fearing would happen. They had forced them to split up. Now Bronse was drawing the whole crew toward serious danger just because some prophetic sensation was telling him that their lives would be at stake without him.

"Kids, I'm coming to you. Rally to Ender's position and wait till I get there. Copy?" Lasher said.

"Copy."

"Copy."

Justice would reach Ender first. Lasher's reading said that Ender was at the border and Justice was due south of him. They could take cover and would double their firepower if they stayed together. Now he had to risk his neck crossing east, then north, or the quicker northeast route, which would take him back over Ender's now-exposed munitions fire line. Lasher decided to go northeast, praying that he could hide in the dunes if he came across anyone. He did not like Bronse being stuck alone "down a rabbit hole." That meant he'd fallen into a pit of some kind. He could be injured, but he would not say so over the communications channel. Only the Great Being knew if the enemy had been given copies of their communications equipment by the traitor admiral. At this point, after seeing the size of the traps set for them, Lasher wouldn't put anything past JuJuren. He was already praying, as he began to hustle over the sand, that they weren't being tracked now that the explosions had given them away. If so, all they had going for them was a very small head start. Being closest to the enemy, he was in the most danger, but he was also endangering Ender and Justice by making them stand around and wait.

He also prayed that Bronse's gut instincts were up to snuff.

As for Ender and Justice, as soon as they met up at Ender's position, the look Jus gave him spoke eloquently of her confusion over the orders they were being given.

"I know." The arms master frowned as he rearranged the munitions on his vest so he had quicker access to what he wanted fast at hand. "But the boss has never let us down yet."

"There's always a first time," she muttered, stealing two spare light grenades from him. "Am I reading this right?" She showed him her VidPad screen.

"Yeah. Looks like he's underground."

"How the h.e.l.l did that happen?" she wondered. "A trap?"

"Doubt it. He would've said. The thing is, I don't see an entrance near him."

"Well, he didn't just pa.s.s through solid rock!"

"Stranger things have happened," Ender said with a shrug.

Justice looked at him, aghast. "When did you become so wise and laid back?"

He just gave her an infuriatingly smug smile. "Better concentrate on finding an underground entrance and mapping a route to the commander," he told her.

"f.u.c.k. Where the h.e.l.l is Trick when we need him?" she grumbled. She picked up the VidPad and began to study the readings so she could navigate them to the commander's location.

Bronse unzipped his vest, unable to bear the stricture of it as his bruised body began to swell around the back of his ribs. He needed to breathe, and that was far more important than well-groomed gear. He did not, however, relieve himself of any of the weight or equipment. A bunch of sand vacated his clothing, and he sighed as it eased away. There must have been five pounds of the stuff packed between his vest and shirt.

Breathing easier and with time on his hands, Bronse began to widen his area of exploration. He snapped off his lights and, after fishing out his goggles and allowing his eyes to readjust to the dark, he continued his search, letting the technologically lighted terrain in his lenses show him a fair picture of his surroundings. He could see only in black and white, but otherwise the picture was clear.

There was no telling whether this cavern was a rogue that had no outlet or connections to others, a highly unlikely and rare occurrence. It was far more likely that it joined up with a tunnel leading into a network that belonged to a tribe or to some of the miles of uninhabited or traveling caverns that the various tribes used. Bronse's goal was to make certain that there were no immediate surprises. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he might find a quick exit to the surface where he could meet up with his crew.

Moving on silent feet, keeping to the cool curve of the walls, he began to follow the readings on his VidPad. Justice and Ender were to his south and awaiting Lasher. Lasher was a quick-moving blip on his screen. Through the rock, Bronse could not read any other life-forms. His crew's transponders were the only thing allowing him to follow their progress and movement. It was how they would find him as well. There was no way for him to tell what kinds of threats were awaiting his second, or if Ender and Justice were being closed in on. He would have to trust them to take care of themselves. There was nothing he could do from his current position. They were coming to him, and that was all he could manage.

Well, almost.

Just as he could not read life through the rock, neither could they. He would serve them best by getting aboveground, negotiating any underground sentients. Carefully he began to move southward. Because readings tended to bounce and echo in caves and caverns, he was best off abandoning the tech and working with his own senses. His pistol at the ready, and with goggles to guide him, he moved onward, keeping alert for any echoes.

He had gone barely a hundred feet before he heard signs of life. It was a conversation in a guttural tribal language that Bronse was not familiar with. He could make out very few of the more universal references, but none of it was in any useful context. Waiting with bated breath, he pressed against the wall around the corner from the speakers. He quietly reached up and slid off his goggles. Sure enough, the corridor was lighted, a detail that his black-and-white tech did not differentiate.

Dim as the light was, Bronse preferred to use his own eyes to guide him. The conversation began to fade away as the speakers moved off, and he slowly peered around the corner. The pa.s.sage was lighted in only one direction, telling him what he already knew-that he had come from a dead end. If he walked into populated areas, he put himself at risk, but he could also follow the light and quickly find an exit. Besides, as long as there were only a few Nomaads, he could handle them. Even with cracked ribs, he a.s.sured himself. Just to be safe, he reached into his vest and pulled out a narc patch. He peeled it off and pressed it into the palm of his glove on his free hand. Now if he simply touched someone's bare skin, they would be out in five seconds flat.

He set the laser pistol to a very strong stun. He wasn't out to kill any innocents-and he had to a.s.sume that they were innocent, despite their proximity to the trouble aboveground. The upper and lower worlds were like two different planets, and they often had little to do with each other in any given moment.

But strangers were not welcome in either world, and a stranger he definitely was. Plus, Bronse's equipment alone held a value for these people that would outdo Delran platinum. So, with trepidation and a slow, fortifying breath, he eased into the dimly lit pa.s.sage. There were plenty of shadows, and he stuck to them as he began to pa.s.s doors-leather and wood bound, some solid metal-that closed off sectioned parts of the cave formations. In the upper world it was still night. It appeared that this tribe followed the day of that world, so there was almost no one about, although Bronse dodged a few close calls as he edged deeper into the lighted areas and cross corridors.

After a left turn, he began to pa.s.s nothing but bolted metal doors. Bolted from the outside, he realized after he'd eased past a couple. That was when he saw the first guard. Swearing softly under his breath, he began to back away. The last place he needed to be was in a prison section! Heart pounding, ribs aching under the onslaught of his rapid breath, he flattened and crouched back into a curve of the cavern wall. Wearing black, he blended in with the dark shadows of the worn hollow. He managed to regulate his breathing into silence just as the guard swept past him, his burnoose fluttering and snapping in his wake. After the guard rounded a turn, Bronse straightened, then glanced at his VidPad. Lasher had finally reached the others. They were already headed in his direction, he realized with relief.

Wanting to distance himself from the guarded section, Bronze began to move.

Then he froze.

It struck him softly, almost imperceptibly-a combination of awareness and sensory memory. Yet even so gentle a stimulus as it was, it impacted him like a blow to his spine that shuddered through his entire nervous system.

The unmistakable uniqueness of the scent of exotic flowers combined with Ayalya spice.

That and the sensation that he was balanced on a spear point of knowledge. Of need. It was a draw that demanded all of his attention, all of his senses, wiping away his military-trained skills that told him to focus on more important things.

But his very essence told him that nothing was more important than this.

There would never be anything more important than this.

He moved forward quickly, as if in a trance, his movement instinctually careful and quiet even though he put no thought into it. He came around the bend in the tunnel and picked up speed. He saw the two guards standing at attention by the door, but he made no attempt to slow or hide himself. Neither did he speak and give them any warning. Like a silent whirlwind he struck them. The nearest he cold-c.o.c.ked with the crush of a swinging elbow.

The Nomaad was out cold before he even crumpled to the floor. The second was reaching for his weapon, but Bronse was already there. He kneed him with powerful momentum in his belly. When he doubled over, Bronse cracked him in the back of his neck.

Once both were in heaps on the floor, he reached to flatten his hand against the bare skin of their cheeks, dosing each with the narc patch. Then he glanced at the door they had been guarding. His heart was racing madly, and it had nothing to do with the brief battle and the ache in his ribs.

He knew.

He just knew.

He searched the guards for keys, cursing softly when he realized they didn't have them. Taking a moment to think and to wish Ender was there, he ran through his inventory in his mind. Studying the lock, he knew that his lock picks would do him no good. It was a strange multi-slatted tumbler that would require two sets of hands to pick. If he used plastique explosive he would attract attention, and he could not cut off his final chance at exiting this messed-up mission in one piece.

But leaving without her was not an option.

He touched his com patch.

"ETA kids?"

"Just looking for an inroad, honey," Lasher informed him. "Give us ten more minutes."

"Listen, I'm in a civilized section. Be careful. And hurry."

"Copy that," his second a.s.sured.

Ten minutes were too long for him to sit exposed in the corridor. Ravenna had been right. He would get himself killed without his team to back him up.

Then he remembered the small can of flash-freeze. He reached for it more quickly than his ribs would have liked, and yanked it free of his vest. He quickly attached the small tube to the can and turned to insert it in the metal lock. As he depressed the canister nozzle, gel began to ooze into the tumblers. Bronse felt the sudden cold flash across the entire metal surface of the door. Leaning so close to it, he could see his breath when he exhaled against it. Then, stopping the gel, he waited only ten seconds before standing up and body-slamming the door. The lock and catch shattered under the force of his weight.

The clang of the metal was louder than he would have liked, but as soon as the door swung open, he couldn't have cared less.

She was real.

He would have known her anywhere. The hair alone, spread out in a stream of chocolaty brown, like a rich decadence.

The fist came out of nowhere. Bronse caught it less than an inch from his throat, back-stepping under the surprising force of it. The second strike came at his now unprotected side, and it hit, sending the soldier careening into the near wall, slamming him against his cracked ribs. Winded, Bronse had to regroup quickly. He met a series of wickedly fast movements, a form of hand-to-hand artistry he was not familiar with, but he still managed to counteract enough to earn himself an opening. The kid, and he realized-with a bit of consternation-that it was a very young man, was d.a.m.n fast and made sure he did not let Bronse touch his bare skin. But Bronse did finally grab him by his soiled tunic front and shoved him into the stone wall with force enough to stun him, his forearm pressed firmly against the kid's windpipe.

"Relax, kid! I'm not here to hurt you!" he hissed, realizing that the young man was certainly not a guard, dressed the way he was. Bronse looked past strands of sand-and-gold blond hair as they hung over defiant hazel eyes. After a beat, those eyes went wide with shock, and then, strangely, a desperate relief.

"Great G.o.ds, it's you," he rasped against the pressure of Bronse's arm. "I was ... I should have known she was right! It just took you so long! Where the h.e.l.l have you been?"

Bronse blinked at the angry, accusatory tone. He noted that the fight had left the kid's body, in spite of his very obvious fury for Bronse's supposed tardiness. The commander stepped back and carefully let the young man go. Then he completely dismissed him and swung around to the sole focus that had brought him there.

Ravenna.

He strode across the room to the pallet lying on the floor and quickly knelt beside her.

And that was when the full impact of what she was suffering hit him.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to her?" he growled in rough demand, setting down his weapon and yanking off his gloves as he turned on the other man with fury blazing in his eyes.

"They beat her!"

"I know that!" Bronse barked, laying the back of his hand against her burning face. His distressed gaze raked down her swollen back, the wounds oozing blood and pus. "No one tended her after?" he demanded.

"This is a prison! They don't give a d.a.m.n about those things!"

Bronse's response was to swear, making the younger man's eyes go wide in awe. Kith, having been raised in the sanct.i.ty of a temple, would never have dared say a single one of those words, never mind link them together.

"She didn't look this bad when I saw her. I had no idea," Bronse said, confusing Kith with the strange statement. "Ravenna?" Bronse leaned over her, his breath brushing her perspiring cheek, her fevered heat striking him like a desert wind. "Ravenna, I'm here." He reached out and stroked his fingers through her wet hair. "Ravenna?"

Bronse couldn't believe she was real, that he was actually touching her. He was almost afraid it was a dream and he would wake up. But as the thought struck him and she yet remained, he knew it wasn't a dream. The fact that she was gravely ill was no illusion, either. His eyes swept the cell, the scant water in a bowl, and the bloodied cloths.

"You're her brother." He wasn't asking, and he did not turn to face Kith. "My name is Commander Bronse Chapel. I'm with the Interplanetary Militia, and I'm here to lend a.s.sistance. How long has she been this way?"

"I think it started soon after they did it. They kept me from her until they thought to use me to tend her. The ignorant b.a.s.t.a.r.ds didn't give me anything to help."

"You did your best. She'll be all right. We'll see to that."

"We?"

"Yup, we."

Kith and Bronse both swung around to see Justice leaning with saucy aplomb in the door frame, wiggling fingers of greeting at him. Ender and Lasher were squeezing past her and entering the cell.

"What's up, sir?" Lasher asked quickly, settling onto a knee beside him.

"Got your kit?"

"Aye."

Lasher fished out the first-aid kit and Bronse opened it. He hesitated long enough to send Lasher a puzzled look when he saw the contents. Lasher just shrugged. "I had a gut feeling," he said dismissively. He took back the enhanced kit and began to load the first hyperspray. He reached to touch it to Ravenna's neck. "Jet said this should be compatible with most of Ebbany's species. It's a c.o.c.ktail of antibiotics and a vitals stabilizer." Lasher's jade eyes swept over the raw exposed back of the woman before he finally injected her, a deep frown playing over his features. "That's a topical desensitizer," he said with a nod toward a spray. "Hold it three inches above the wounds and spray her liberally. She'll need it if you plan on taking her with us."

Bronse's lips quirked. Lasher hadn't even bothered to ask. He'd simply known that Ravenna was not to be left behind, even though it was highly irregular and against standing orders to rescue civilians during a mission unless specified. Bronse reached for the spray and applied it.

"The kid's coming too," he said simply.

"Figured" was the even simpler reply.

"I'm not a kid" came the disgruntled protest from behind them. But when Bronse looked over his shoulder, Ravenna's brother had eyes only for his sick sister and the care she was finally getting.

Ravenna moaned softly, and Bronse's head whipped around. He leaned over, pushing Lasher out of the way, and brushed his fingers over her cheek.

"Ravenna?"

Her eyes cracked slightly, and then they fluttered open, revealing weary topaz and fevered browns. But when she saw him, her beautiful mouth spread into a generous smile.

"h.e.l.lo," she said, her voice dry and rasping.

"Hey," he greeted in return, smiling himself.

"You made it," she noted.

"More or less," he said with a chuckle.

She looked up and around, taking in his crew.

"You stayed together," she said, sighing with relief. "I'm so glad."

"Yeah. All alive and well so far, though it was close a couple of times," Bronse told her, ignoring Lasher's gaze as it narrowed on him in suspicion. "Ravenna, sweetheart, we're going to have to move you now. We can't stay here any longer. There's danger."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Honey"-he gritted his teeth together an instant-"it's going to hurt like a b.i.t.c.h. Worse even. But we've numbed you. Just ... tell us if you need to stop, because we can't have you crying out, okay? Do you want me to knock you out? We could carry you, but you'd be deadweight and-"

"No. I want to stay awake. I want to walk."

Bronse doubted that was possible. Not over so many miles when she was so sick. He looked to Lasher with his indecision. His second shook his head once sharply.

"You have to narc her, Bronse. She won't be able to take it. h.e.l.l, I'm not sure I would be able to take it. I'd say maybe if she didn't have the fever and all that swelling, but there's no way to carry her without putting pressure on the wounds, and she'll be screaming."

"No! I need to help you!" Ravenna begged him, reaching to grasp his hand. "I can help you."