Golby stiffened, and for a long moment following Whisper's advice he quietly fiddled with the buttons on the console. His expression, of course, was as entirely hidden as Whisper's own face -- but an air of rejection and urgency radiated from his slightly hunched and engaged posture.
"Each day wasted is another day of suffering," he said quietly, half to himself, his pointed sunglasses focused on the image of the Harbinger Estate on the screen. He had to consider Whisper's proposal -- after all, waiting a day was better than complete failure. His leg bounced nervously.
He turned around immediately upon the sound of someone approaching, and with a renewed disposition he bounded out of his seat, gloved hands outstretched to accept the bag of burger crisps from Stone.
"Ah yes, thank you! I'm honored you brought them all this way without devouring them." He ignored the beeping and flashing on the console while he pulled open the bag and stuck a hand inside. He tilted his head up to stare at Cradle. "Stone, right? Have you figured out anything new about Cradle since you last wrote to me?" He pulled out a handful of burger crisps -- which made the whole cockpit smell of ketchup and mustard -- and shoved them under his hood at his neck. There was a sound of crunching and humming from that side of his head, even while Golby spoke clearly. He gestured to Cradle and motioned for Whisper's attention. "Have you factored this in?" he said with a masked grin, while his neck slurped and swallowed -- then rushed to the controls and yanked a lever to steer the ship away from the chocolate-trees it was about to devour.
Behind Stone, a small group of Bobblings had been following her at a distance, too fearful of the destruction she'd wrought in the pantry to get too close, but too curious about what they'd seen to leave her alone. Specifically they eyed Cradle, whispered to themselves, wondered if this shiny rock-box could help them in their mission -- but when could they get close without Stone noticing?
While the ship groaned in protest, Golby shoved more crisps under his hood and watched the screen. "Melee, huh?" he mused to himself.
A few minutes passed -- during which a few Bobblings had climbed up onto the console and had begun fiddling with buttons -- before Golby turned around suddenly and spooked them tumbling into a squeaking heap on the floor. "Maybe you're onto something. Regroup, eat (whatever's left), sleep and prepare! We'll go for Plan B. Be ready first thing in the morning."
He shoved the last of the crisps into his neck, dropped the empty bag and threw his efforts upon the controls. On the screen, a few small fliers skidded by in the distance, closer to the floating island. Golby steered them down, skating over the tops of the trees, and he would remain vague as to what this 'Plan B' entailed. It would eventually become clear that 'Plan B' was an equivalent to 'we'll figure something out as we go.' It was how he had always operated, after all, and he had yet to fail.
But he'd never needed a crew before.
Eventually they made it into the shadow of the island undetected, thanks to the ship's invisibility. They lowered into a clearing, where the ship curled up and settled in the weeds. Not far away were the enormous chains that anchored the Harbinger Estate to the ground; they stretched up high into the sky, where they were bolstered into a massive chiseled rock that contained the fortress. Occasionally small aircraft went back and forth -- and at night, beams of light searched the sky.
"Someone go scout the area," Golby insisted while the ship's noises calmed and the floor stopped moving. "Now or later or in the darkest part of the night, it's up to you -- but in the morning, I think, we'll have something."
Immediately around the ship was tall grass and an old high transmission tower, complete with relic equipment rusting on a high platform. Beyond the grass were trees all around that smelled slightly chocolatey. A few miles one way would lead to a dried-up lakebed. In the opposite direction stretched the Harbinger's chains.
At the base of the chains was a huge clearing of weathered concrete, to which the chains were secured. The center of the concrete had a landing-pad symbol painted on it. To one side was a small, efficient guard tower. In front of the guard tower, two uniformed people played cards and drank coffee and complained about the local wildlife.
Golby, meanwhile, would spend the night behind the locked door of the bright-room -- not to be disturbed.
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