Harold ducks under the southern end of the canopy and finds himself facing a labyrinth of inventory, but no ship. He can see a large tent through the open flap at the canopy’s northern end, and he wonders. His thoughts fade into fantasies of the world the ship came from. Only Amber’s voice can clear his head.
“We’ll be shot on sight.”
Much clearer.
“Will you relax, Shante’s dad won’t hurt us.”
“You assume he’s going to be the one who finds us.”
Harold knows he isn’t thinking this through, but he doesn’t care. There’s a time for thought and a time for action, and he was acting brave.
“This is incredible.”
There were shelves filled with refuse from the crash, items painstakingly cataloged and grouped. The ship had been grounded for a matter of hours and no time had been wasted with formalities. Harold knew the ship had to be in the other tent, the one surrounded by small scientists and large guards.
“They’re still here. Shante said they’d be gone by now.”
Harold stared at the large tent. He had to get closer.