The room was a mirror image of the interrogation chamber—damp stone, a single wooden table, and an oppressive silence.
"Tsk! What a wretched world this is," Thomas spat.
The anger he had spent a lifetime suppressing back on Earth felt like it was bubbling over. In his frustration, he swung the tree pot off his shoulders and slammed it onto the table. As he did, his hand accidentally slipped through the opening in the crystal casing.
His fingers brushed against something.
"This... no way!"
His eyes widened. He reached deeper into the thick, milky fog that filled the pot. He felt one, then two, then a dozen...
"More fruits?!"
He leaned in, his heart hammering against his ribs. The fog inside the pot had become so dense it was almost opaque, but as his hands moved through the branches to confirm the count, he was stunned.
