The Flight
The storm outside raged, battering the fisherman's hut, wind banging on the windows with heavy drops of water. The interior of the hut was illuminated by couple of small oil lamps, shedding meager light on Booker and his "associates", barely making difference to the darkness that surrounded them. The two "associates" were wearing yellow raincoats and hats and seemed quite impatient with him, their arms crossed and engaged in annoying smalltalk. But he paid them no mind.
Booker was browsing through the contents of his box yet again, making sure that everything he got from that Ford fella was there. The silver dollar coins marked with Columbian eagle, entry permit into the city issued to Pinkertons and several cards, advertising "Monument Island", calling codes and the photograph. There was also a strange metal key, marked with a bird and a cage on it, purpose of which he yet had to find out. He checked his pockets too – Pinkerton badge, pack of smokes, watch.
He was ready as he was ever going to be, especially jumping into an unknown place like that. He closed the emptied box. 'Property of Booker DeWitt. 7th Cavalry."
"Lets go already, DeWitt! The weather won't get any better, and the lighthouse isn't that far away, you won't ruin your suit. That much." The man in the raincoat spoke up, visibly bored by the procedure.
While initially apathetic to the idea, Booker did change his vest and scarf for a blue pin-striped suit and a loose red tie. It wasn't exactly the attire of his choice, but the man back at the office had a point – he wasn't hoping for a red carpet but they wouldn't let him through if he looked like a thug. It was enough that he was one.
"Lets go then." Booker replied as he got up.
The boat swayed from side to side, fighting its way through the disturbed sea. The rain eased up somewhat, but the wind and the cold made Booker shiver slightly.
"I suppose you think this was a good idea?" the pair in raincoats, currently busy with rowing and steering the boat talked to each other in seeming ignorance of the raging weather and of the passenger they had.
"Well, there were other options, but do you think they were appropriate?"
"The likelihood is that the entire masquerade could have been avoided."
"Yes, but that would ruin the operation."
"Do you think he enjoys going through all this?"
"I could have told him."
"But you didn't."
"But I wouldn't, and you know why."
Booker wasn't interesting in their chatter. No doubt more gibberish, the likes of which he heard back in his office with the "mysterious benefactor".
Booker was never a man who believed in miracles; so far life taught him that the only miracle was that he was still alive and of sound enough mind to care about breathing, but the entire sequence of the "Columbia assignment" felt like a dream. The very fact that Pinkertons needed him was strange enough and made him wary of the job.
It was ironic, he thought; Pinks threw him out because of his 'methods' and now they wanted him back for a mysterious job. Either he got better or they got worse and needed him urgently. He knew which answer was more likely, but as long as he had the chance to solve his problems and get paid on top of it, he wasn't going to complain.
While he dealt with harder situations, he was nervous when he went back to the Pinkerton head office, where he was met with a mixture of friendly pats on the back and disgusted stares. He did not care for either, being gone from there long enough to forget any connection he might had to the place. It was what was waiting for him that made him tingle with trepidation. Mister Ford, a rough looking man with a thin mustache and dull eyes, handed Booker another envelope which contained the key, coins and the entry ticket. He barely explained any of it, save for "lighthouse off of the coast in Maine" and "a long flight."
This entire secrecy got real old to him pretty quickly, but job is a job. Second chances were rare and he knew that, despite what the preacher at the river would have you believe.
Booker broke out of his train of thought. His jacket was getting heavier as it soaked up more and more rain. "Hey, how much longer is this going to take?"
The "associates" carriedd on talking to each other without answering to Booker, but it was apparent that the boat ride lost its charm to them too.
"How about you give me a hand?"
"With what?"
"The rowing."
"I'm fine, thank you. Besides, it's a task more suited for you."
"Still, I would appreciate if you could assist."
"Why don't you ask him? I imagine he has greater interest in getting there than we do."
Booker did not hesitate to cut in. "No thanks, I'm fine for rowing."
"And that is why I didn't bother asking. He doesn't row."
"He doesn't row? I suppose you will have to do it yourself then."
"Your concern is touching."
In the distance Booker started to make out contours and the slowly rotating light of the lighthouse, as the boat gradually got nearer. As they got closer, Booker remembered about the 'calling card' that was supposed to get him into the city from the lighthouse. He barely understood any of it, but the instructions were clear. He pulled out the card out of the box and looked at it; it had holes in it in a specific sequence – it was a punch card that looked like it was to be slotted into a machine.
"Hey, do you know how this thing works?" he took the card and tried to giving it to the non-rowing associate, but he only received a curt reply.
"You will know what to do once you see it."
The boat got closer to the wooden pier, from where it was possible to access the rocky outcropping where the lighthouse stood. As they finally came to a halt, Booker left the boat and got up on the pier.
"What am I supposed to do now? Is anyone meeting me here?"
"I certainly hope so, this is an awful place to be stranded."
The "associates" paid him no further mind and chatted away as they turned the boat around for a return trip.
"I still think the exercise is pointless. This will fall apart."
"You don't know that. One does not undertake an action knowing one could fail."
"The probability of it failing…"
Their voices got dimmer and were drowned out in the wind and the rain that ceaselessly battered Booker.
The place was deserted. Booker did not waste any time standing around the pier any longer as soon as he lost sight of the boat's lamp, and headed towards the lighthouse. As he approached, he wondered about the entry to the city. Where iwas it now anyway? No one has heard of it or seen it for some time now, the lighthouse seemingly the least likely place for finding an airborne city.
As he got up to the door of the building he noticed a note pinned to it. It read:
You have only chance DeWitt!
Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt!
Do not disappoint us!
He got the message clearly, but someone was insistent on making a point. Whoever wanted that girl, wanted her badly. He knocked on the door.
"Hello? Is anyone in there? Its Booker DeWitt, I'm here to…"
No answer. He grabbed the handle and opened the door. Entering the poorly lit interior of the lighthouse, Booker saw a framed sign on a pillar and a wash basin under it on a table and a stack of towels nearby.
Let the wellspring of Freedom refresh your tired Mind
"No chance pal." He was already soaked to the bone by the rain outside, still feeling the dampness of his jacket. As he headed towards the stairs, he was welcomed by yet another sign hanging on the wall.
The air of America is too pure for any foreigner to breathe
He slowly got up the round stairs of the lighthouse, looking around carefully. The place seemed lifeless. On the first floor of the light house he found a desk, a bunk and a working radio. It looked as if someone was here not tpp long ago, because he found another note pinned to a map above the desk.
DeWitt will be here soon.
Make sure he does not interfere
He must not reach the city!
- C
"So much for my cover." Still, there was no sign of what to do or how to get to Columbia. He picked up the phone, in vain hope that there is someone he had to contact or call up a transport. The phone was dead.
He browsed through papers scattered on the desk but saw nothing but maps, schedules and other paperwork one usually sees at a customs office. Luckily, it appeared that the "flying fair" was above Maine now, if the timetable and the big map on the wall were to be believed.
"I suppose this is self-service now." He took up another flight of stairs, leading him up to the next floor. These stairs too were adorned with a slogan similar to the one he saw downstairs.
So the Lord gave his people spirit to rise above all others
The second floor was pitch black, save for the single electric lamp hanging from the ceiling, illuminating a gruesome scene. Booker was used to inflicting violence, but the sight of it was never one he enjoyed.
A dead man was tied to a chair. His head was covered by a cloth sack, but by the looks of the blood smeared on the walls and the floor, it was plain that the man's face was gone. Here too, another message addressed to Booker was attached to the man's shirt.
Do not disappoint us!
Whoever was employing him made sure that there were no obstacles and plenty of reminders about what he had to do, and he had only one way to go. Up, another flight of stairs and another slogan.
And spread Liberty on Columbia's wings
He got to the top of the lighthouse and was welcomed back by rain. There seemed to be no sign of what to do next, the only things left were the lantern room and the slowly rotating lamp that periodically bathed Booker in light.
He walked up to the door of the lantern, and saw an elaborate metal door, with what seemed to be a special slot. It finally clicked with him what the card was for. It looked like punch cards used with mechanical organs or factory machines. Perhaps this one would send a signal or open some passage?
He pulled out the punch card and slotted it in. As soon as the card disappeared in the slot, the lamp of the lighthouse went out, and what looked to be three dark metal bells appeared inside the lantern.
The card seemed to activate the playing device, because the bells started chiming in a musical sequence. After they ringed out their tone, they received a reply in form of a massive horn and red light from above that engulfed the lighthouse and its immediate vicinity.
"Whoah, what in the world..?"
The bells started ringing again, but this time they were accompanied by the lighthouse's lamp that begun blinking with red light in rhythm with the notes of the bells. The horn and lights repeated again once more before going dead. The ringing and lights stopped and the door of the lantern opened automatically, and a metal chair with red cushions appeared.
"Alright, looks like they expect me to sit in their fancy chair." He still did not know what was going to happen. Was he supposed to sit here and wait for a balloon? Or maybe the lighthouse had hidden cannon to launch people into the sky? He shook his head and chucked at the nonsensical idea. There was only one way to find out. He got in to the chair, still unsure of what would follow. And what followed was the most unexpected 60 seconds of his life.
"Hey so, what now… what the..?!"
The restraints that were attached to the chair suddenly clamped down on his hands and legs, the space around him closed with metal panels and a mechanical female voice appeared out of nowhere.
"Restraints are provided for the safety of the passengers.
Prepare for atmospheric ascent in 5… 4… 3… 2… "
Booker and the chair tilted forward, with his gun and some of the Columbian coins falling into engines below that begun warming up.
"Shit! No no no… Goddamnit!.."
The chair tilted back and the last metal panel with an oval window closed in front of him, shutting him close in a capsule.
"…1 … Atmospheric ascent commenced"
Acceleration squished Booker into the chair as the capsule launched itself from the lighthouse. Restrained and pressed down by the acceleration, he couldn't do anything.
"Alright, gotta stay calm…"
2000 feet achieved… 5000…
They broke through the canopy of the dark clouds and entered milky haze.
10000…15,000… Ascent complete. Welcome in the land of the free.
The shock of the flight was replaced by the jaw-dropping sight outside – Buildings, platforms, airships, bridges and people, all suspended in the air. The city was literally sitting on top of the clouds and drifting through the perfectly blue sky like dandelion fluff, with sun bathing it in a radiant glow. The female announcer's voice was replaced by a soft, slowly playing tune, making it nothing short of a dream.
The capsule started dropping, but its descent was slowed down by a parachute that opened at the top and landed with a metallic thud on a ramp that started lowering itself into a building as soon as it landed.