CRUNCH. CRUNCH. Charles's boots made an odd sound as they trod on the pitted ground. Surrounded by a large group of rats, the men cautiously scanned the pitch-black surroundings. Charles and his group had already ascended the meteorite path, and they advanced on high alert toward the "table" the rats had mentioned.
SNAP. Charles flipped open his slightly paint-chipped golden pocket watch for a look, then tucked it back into his pocket.
Exactly two months. Today was the appointed day with T. If the Foundation had accepted T's proposal, their people should be on this island by now.
The island wasn't large. Before long, Charles spotted the table Lily had described. Next to two aircraft that looked like black fighter jets stood a square table, with no sign of any human activity nearby.
The table appeared to be metallic, its silvery-white surface gleaming spotlessly under a flashlight's beam.
