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“I’m reviewing my processing systems,” ELVIS said, his tone mournful. “I wasn’t able to detect the hidden ship. This is an error on my part. You may pull me apart and use me as scrap. It’s all I’m good for.”

Striker blew out a long breath and tilted his head back. He wasn’t looking to blame anyone, but anger flamed inside him. It made him lash out.

Dallin sighed and shook his head. “Your wounds are clean and healing. You need to rest. There’s not much I can do for a concussion.”

“I’m not resting until Wren and the others are back.” Striker slid off the table and walked over to Cleo. “What are we doing?”

“After we got you off the planet, we’ve been tailing the Gente ship,” Cleo said. “Waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

“We should already have attacked,” he said.

The door opened, and Blaze limped in. He glanced from Cleo to Striker. “Is everything good in here?”

“Everything is far from good,” Striker said. “How you doing?”

“Crispy around the edges but standing. Angel fixed me up with pain relief while I heal.” Blaze’s expression was tight.

“Why haven’t we attacked the Gente ship?” Striker asked Cleo.

“If you’d let me get a word in, I’d have told you that they’ve strengthened their force fields. Our weapons aren’t able to get through,” Cleo said.

“They’ve had Wren, Daisy, and Eden for hours,” Striker said. “Anything could have happened to them. She could be...” He turned away.

Blaze limped over to him. “We know what they want them for. We also saw the fight they put up before they were taken. They won’t be fit for doing anything for some time.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, but your woman’s a hell cat. If anyone touches her when she doesn’t want them to, she’ll tear their arm off.”

“She can only fight for so long. And if she’s hurt...”

“I hate to think of them injured, but if they are messed up, they’ll need treatment before the Gente do anything. It buys them time. Us, too.”

Striker raked his hands through his hair. “We get them back, now.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Cleo said. “Our weapons don’t work against their reinforced shields. We can’t fly this ship into their path without blowing ourselves up. We’re tracking them until we see a chance to attack. If we go in unprepared, we all die.”

“We launch a direct assault,” Striker said. “We direct the ship’s power to the weapons so we break through their shields.”

“There’s no guarantee that’ll work,” Cleo said.

Striker rounded on her. “Try! You sound like you’ve given up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never give up on my crew. While you’ve been getting your head fixed, I’ve been running scenarios with the others. ELVIS has run a dozen simulations to see if we can destroy their shield. Nothing worked.”

The door to the lab slid open. Rexx leaned against the wall. He was holding his ribs, and his knuckles were red and swollen.

“You shouldn’t be up.” Cleo approached him, her steps cautious.

“I know you ordered Angel to knock me out.” He growled at Cleo. “Where’s Daisy?”

Angel Woodrow appeared behind him, her pink hair scraped off her exasperated face. “Rexx! I swear I’ll chain you up if you don’t rest.”

Rexx growled again. “Daisy!”

“It’s okay, Angel.” Cleo waved her into the room. “All of our patients are being difficult.”

Angel looked at Striker and Blaze, her dark eyes narrowed. “Behave. Or I’ll force you on bed rest for a month.”