Chapter 15: You Take The High Road
Author's Note: WOW, I am SO sorry this is so late. This week has been crazy as far as things go, but that's the holidays right. Heck, we only have a week until Christmas Eve! That being said I will be working on the next chapter tonight and will hopefully have it up by Sunday. I am also going to try to work on and post a Christmas Theme story following in the same vein as my Thanksgiving one and have that one up by Christmas Eve. Also there will be a little bit of Christmas joy in the next chapter just to mark the occasion.
In any event, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I know it's a little shorter than expected but I feel it gets the job done.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bioshock Infinite, that's Ken Levine's pleasure, I'm just borrowing.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST THEM!" Comstock raged in a fitful fury as he stood abruptly from his leather chair and brought a heavy fist down upon his highly ornate desk which caused several trinkets and pens to swivel and shake with the force of the impact. General Hart had the gross misfortune of having to personally deliver the terrible news, though his honor and integrity would demand nothing less.
"Sir if you would let me explain…" Hart began but was brusquely interrupted as the Prophet rounded the desk and stood before the military commander. In that moment Hart couldn't have been certain whether it was anxiety or the stair of the prophet, but he would have bet his life that the room had actually grown hotter as the Prophets anger raged on.
"Yes, by all means Hart, do explain how you managed to lose both the False Shepard and The Lamb when you had them within your grasp!" The bearded leader spat the last word with vitriol as he dared his chief military officer to offer anything to justify such a monumental blunder. "Tell me how my CHIEF MILITARY OFFICER managed such a foul up!"
"Sir, with respect, as I told you we would have captured them had it not been for the intervention of the Songbird-" Hart began with an uncharacteristic gulp as the heat of the room increased further, he was certain it couldn't have been in his head.
"You dare blame the guardian of the Lamb for YOUR mistake?" The Prophet screamed in disbelief.
"No, of course not sir, but that did divert my men from their original course to the recently occupied Vox territory surrounding the Hall of Heroes." Hart argued back which did little to still the Prophets ire.
"I swear Hart, if you're making excuses for your own incompetence I will…" The Prophet threatened but the Hart interjected before the older man could finish his thought.
"Sir after all of these years you should know I have never made excuses, only delivered results. Now then, as I was saying, we encountered heavy Vox resistance in their area, which we managed to secure but only after spreading our forces throughout the area, which severely limited our ability to respond. I had very little men I could direct in time to Soldier's Field…evidently it wasn't enough, the False Shepard is a cunning and quite powerful adversary. I must admit I may have underestimated his abilities." Hart observed more for his own sake than the Prophet's who by this point had returned to his chair and sat back down with a sigh, rubbing his face in his hands.
"Hart, I am well aware of your efforts as well as I am aware of the danger that the False Shepard poses to both our Lamb and the future of Columbia. I'm sorry for my outburst." The Prophet apologized sincerely which the chief military officer of Columbia accepted with a simple nod.
"Of course sir, no need for apologies, Heaven knows what I would do if it were my daughter and I were in your position." The military man pondered as he thought back to his own family.
"Indeed, but that is why we must be vigilant and learn from our mistakes lest we doom our selves to repetitious failure." The Prophet concluded and sat tall. "Do we have any information on their present whereabouts?" He asked.
"Nothing affirmative, my sources were tracking the First Lady on a course to leave Columbia's air space, but she made an abrupt change of course not long after and dropped off our radar. They could be anywhere within Columbia's borders at this point. We just cannot say for certain as to where precisely they may have docked." General Hart declared with a sigh, he as much as the Prophet hated being in the dark when such a credible threat meandered throughout the city. Comstock stroked his peppered beard and nodded.
"I want a full lockdown of the City, no exceptions." Zachary sighed and shook his head. "With the Vox growing bolder and now the False Shepard running amok with our Lamb, it would be foolish not to have our forces on high alert, more foolish than I already feel for not heeding your advise earlier. Still, nobody leaves the city without being thoroughly checked…any unauthorized exits and…" The Prophet started but Hart held up a hand to perish the thought from his Prophet's mind.
"I will be taken care of with expediency, sir." The General responded and Comstock gave a brief nod in affirmation.
"Good, very good, also I want you to work with Jeremiah concerning Finkton. I know that he has the Columbia Police Authority as well as his private security forces located within his sector, but I want you to keep in close communication with the man. Should he need reinforcements or should his forces fail, we need to be at the ready to respond. Do I make myself clear?" The Prophet charged.
"It will be done, sir." The General affirmed.
"Thank you, and that will be all, dismissed." The Prophet stood and offered a formal military salute to his top military commander who stood and saluted in response. General Hart turned and made to exit when a call from behind forced him to turn and respond to his commander.
"Sir? Something else?" Hart stood rigid, waiting for further instruction.
"Hart…William…" The Prophet started, his tone much softer and his stance much less imposing. "Please, bring my daughter back to me."
"Come Hell or high waters…" The General responded and turned to leave. The large wooden door opened before he could reach it and young man stepped inside and cleared his throat to make an announcement.
"Father Comstock, I am here to inform you that High Cardinal Augustine is here to see you, he says it is quite urgent." Behind the young man, the Cardinal stepped forward and it was as if all of the heat had been sucked clean from the room. William Hart didn't frighten easily, but there was something about this holy man that never sat well with him. He made it a point to avoid the Cardinal at every available opportunity, but at those times were it couldn't avoided, their meeting always gave the seasoned military commander the chills, bringing the hairs on the back of his neck to full attention.
"General Hart." The Cardinal acknowledged with a slight bow and gave an eerie grin.
"High Cardinal Augustine…Father Comstock…I would stay to converse, but I have my orders to attend." Hart informed and gave a bow in return before setting off.
"Yes of course, you must forgive the General, these are dark times Columbia faces. But come now Augustine, what is it that has brought out here this evening?" Father Comstock stood and crossed the room halfway to meet one of the most respected religious figures in all of Columbia, well below the Prophet himself of course.
"I understand you are quite busy with the False Shepard absconding with our lamb, but I have come to discuss a matter of grave importance." The Cardinal declared grimly and Zachary Comstock's eyebrows nearly rose into his hairline.
"You can't possibly mean…" He began as he gestured his fellow holy man to follow him over to his desk.
"Unfortunately I do, evidently she found a way through, as others have been for some time. Though from my own wisdom on the subject, I would say this was far different than what we've seen prior. I managed to secure the point of exit, but it's only a matter of time at this rate before she finds another way." The Cardinal said with a flick of his own eyebrows as he sat and watched the Prophet sit across from him.
"The timing is surprising, but this development is not unforeseen." The Prophet declared much to the surprise of the Cardinal who leaned forward with a puzzled look.
"Sir, you knew this would…could…happen?" The black robed holy man asked perplexed as he himself hadn't thought such a thing possible thanks to the work he had carefully been performing since that fateful day so many years ago.
"The burden of Prophecy, Augustine. I have seen visions of such an occurrence coming to pass…though the timing, that was trickier…though now it all makes sense." Comstock shared as he leaned forward and Augustine leaned back in his chair.
"I see then I suspect you have a strategy to employ?" The Cardinal asked with a sinister smile gracing his unnatural features.
"Of course, tell me Augustine?" The Prophet smiled in kind as he stroked his beard. "…What do you know of the nature of the human spirit?" The Cardinal ruminated on these words and his smiled widened.
"Plenty."
"Who are you? Why are you doing this to us? Please let us go and we'll leave, we won't tell a single soul." Elizabeth proclaimed softly as she pulled her eyes away from her tied up and bludgeoned savior to the man who currently helmed the controls. The man had a trim but wide mustache, wore a huntsmens fedora, a complete olive double-breasted jacket and matching trousers, with heavy leather boots.
"To answer your first question, the name's Preston E. Downes. I'm a bounty hunter by trade. To answer your next, well quite simply, someone put a bounty on you and your friend's head…in a manner of speaking." The man answered plainly as he stepped over and knelt down before the restrained girl with a smile. "As for leaving, well, I'm just afraid I cannot let that come to pass."
"What exactly do you mean by 'a manner of speaking', Mister Downes?" Elizabeth asked politely, hoping to acquire as much information about her newest jailer as possible.
"Well, you see, here's the thing young lady, you see Ole' Father Comstock initially requested my services to deal with Columbia's Vox Populi problem, specifically on a leadership level." He answered, each word dripping with a southern drawl that Elizabeth couldn't quite place.
"So, what then, you're working with the Vox? Why?" She asked in disbelief.
"Call it a 'change in perspective' miss, you see normally I lend my services out to tracking the occasional runaway or perhaps the ne'er do-well who managed to stir up some big shots' porridge. In the beginning this was just like every other job, but as I got closer…things…changed." The bounty hunter trailed off silently as he looked off to some random spot on the airship floor, his mind a thousand miles away.
"What happened to you out there?" Elizabeth questioned further.
"It's…I…" He stammered and took a deep breath to recompose himself. "There's a war going on here little lamb. A war between the haves and the have-nots, a war between right and wrong, a war between oppressors and the oppressed; now I ask you, what could be more noble a cause than that?" He posited toward the girl who scowled at his mention of Columbia's and her father's chosen moniker for her.
"Supposing I am to believe your world view of Columbia's political situation, that still doesn't answer what you want with me, or him." Elizabeth tilted her head over in the unconscious Booker's direction. The bounty hunter laughed as he rubbed two fingers along his mustache and cocked his head in a sudden motion, which resulted in a loud crack, followed by a sigh of relief.
"You, of all people, should know just how important you are in the grand scheme of things. The 'Lamb of Columbia, the 'Seed of The Prophet', you're probably one of the most important pieces on the chessboard, outside of the old man's inner circle, and the old man himself of course." Preston knelt down to move an errant strand of hair out of Elizabeth's face as he spoke, but the feisty girl withdrew as quickly as she could, jerking her head away from his touch. The hunter sharply exhaled through his nostrils and shook his head in the negative before turning to cast an appraisal of the unconscious detective.
"As for him." He paused and rubbed his chin." To be honest, I don't outright know what exactly she has in store for the famed False Shepard. Originally she set me out kill 'em, bring you back, and carry on my work for the Vox. But when I got to the Hall of Heroes, she sent a messenger, told me to take the both of you alive." He concluded, a mixture of apathy and confusion filled his tone as he spoke of her savior.
Elizabeth couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief that Booker had been spared, albeit on a whim. But it still didn't change their precarious predicament; they were in the hands of the Vox Populi. Every piece of material she had been given pertaining to the terrorist organization painted them in a very dark light, but what more could she expect from an organization governed by the one who took her mother's life. Elizabeth had read that the Vox were killers of women, children, and God-fearing men. They were Satan worshipers and wanted for nothing save for the destruction of civilization and the reign of anarchy, at least that's what she read. Of course if her time in the Hall of Heroes had any bearing, she now knew to take everything Columbia provided which a pinch of salt.
Elizabeth was pulled from her thoughts when she heard a wooden door from the opposite end from the craft open slightly, the creaking of the door was a dead give-away. There in the doorway stood, or rather hobbled, a small boy. His skin was dark, not of African descent perhaps native Indian or of Latin descent, Elizabeth couldn't tell for certain, there wasn't enough information to make an informed decision, not that it mattered at any rate. He wore a tattered white-stained collared shirt and patched up brown trousers. He leaned heavily on his good leg, Elizabeth referred to it as such because the other half of his pant had been cut-off at the knee where a wooden stake protruded to the ground. Elizabeth looked closer and noticed there was freshly dried blood on the trousers and gasped, bringing the full attention of the bounty hunter who turned and scowled.
"My God, you have a child with you?" Elizabeth gasped out in shock to which she earned a rueful look from her captor who crossed the cabin halfway before he addressed the young lad.
"Boy, I thought I told you, you need to stay back there and gather your strength. We did quite a bit of movin' around today as is." He spoke quieter, softer, in a far more caring tone that belied an aspect of the man's nature that Elizabeth hadn't thought one of his professions could ever possess. The boy spoke in a language that was unrecognizable to the girl's ears, of course she could read and write and even speak Greek and the former two could also be said of Latin just as with the best of the biblical scholars, she was fluent in French and had some rudimentary understanding of the other romantic languages, but this was something far and beyond her studies.
"What's the young one saying?" Elizabeth asked of Preston who turned to her and shrugged his shoulders before kneeling down as the young boy hobbled his way up to him.
"I'm sorry son, I still can't understand a lick of what you're sayin'." Preston responded apologetically and the young boy huffed and spoke slower, though to Elizabeth and Preston, he might as well have been speaking gibberish.
"He said, he's not tired and that he can be helpful if you'll let him." Came a low groan from Elizabeth's side of the cabin. The young woman looked over across small walkway and noticed that the detective had started coming around, a painful grimace painted his otherwise handsome features as he attempted to open his eyes and titled his neck, undoubtedly feeling the glaring pain to his bludgeoned noggin.
"Mister DeWitt, you're awake!" Elizabeth exclaimed excitedly, thankful that the veteran hadn't been grievously injured during his brief but violent exchange with the bounty hunter. "Are you okay?"
"Aside from a killer head-ache, I'm swell, no thanks to our new friend here." He shot spitefully at the bounty hunter who simply lifted the boy into his arms and carried him over to the recently conscious Pinkerton Detective and sat beside the man with a strange look in his eye.
"You understand him? The boy?" He asked with fervor to which Booker winced once more at the sudden change the man's volume.
"Yeah, why, don't you?" Booker responded glibly to which Preston frowned and muttered something under his breath about if he hadn't the boy with him.
"No, as a matter of fact, since I…met…this young fellow, I've not been able to get a word of English out of him." Preston admitted as he looked down at the boy and back at the detective.
"Probably because he ain't exactly English, in case you couldn't' tell." Booker responded sarcastically.
"The thought had crossed my mind." Preston responded in kind before thrusting the boy forward. "Ask him what his name is? Go on, ask him!" Preston ushered and Booker look at the young boy, he couldn't have been older than six or seven years old, he definitely had no business getting mixed up with a man the likes of Downes. He did his best to sit up straight and gave the bounty hunter one good look before rolling his own eyes with a sigh.
"You, boy, the man wants to know your name." Booker spoke the language of Sioux. The boy's eyes lit up with recognition and touch of excitement at being able to converse with someone who could actually understand him.
"Hotah, I was called Hotah, before I was brought to this city in the clouds." The boy responded with the barest ghost of a smile.
"Interesting, Hotah, I can see your parents chose your name well." Booker responded the boy nodded before looking down with sorrow. "Are your parents here in Columbia? Where is your family?" Booker asked as he furrowed his brow half in thought and half in concern.
"I have no family, I was brought to the city, away from my tribe, forced to work for the shining gold man." The boy frowned.
"Damn it man, what's he sayin'?" Preston all but shouted at the detective who looked to Elizabeth who appeared just as curious as their captor before turning back and clearing his throat.
"Boy says his name is, Hotah. Apparently he was brought hear through less that agreeable means and works for some giant golden man, though I don't know if I heard that right." Booker admitted as the boy's Sioux left some to be desired.
"No, no, he's on the money. Fellah who runs the factories here, Jeremiah Fink, got himself a big golden statue smack-dab in the center of Finkton." Preston stroked his chin with a genuine smile. "Hotah, huh, probably said it a dozen times and it probably flew over my head every last one." He laughed darkly. The boy spoke a few words once more and Preston looked over at the detective for translation.
"He said it was only a few times." Bookers relayed and then turned to the boy. "How much of our language can you understand?"
"Most of the time I can gather the meaning and can understand enough, but sometimes I do not understand." The boy responded as he hobbled over to the desk and pulled out a chair that he climbed up and sat to rest with heavy breath. Preston and Elizabeth shared looks of confusion and then turned back to the restrained detective who darted his eyes between them.
"He says understands us mostly, but as you can tell he can't speak the language." He clarified and the bounty hunter nodded and rubbed his jaw in thought. In the span of a few moments, this detective managed to provide a deeper insight into this boy's life than he had managed to pull out in the week and a half that he had spent in direct contact. Preston was about to speak up once more but was interrupted when several sharp knocks upon the metallic airlock door resounded throughout the cabin.
"Preston, it's us, open up!" Came the slightly muffled responses behind the thick slab of metal. Booker and Elizabeth looked worriedly at one another before turning their attention back to the bounty hunter who drew a short pistol from the rear of his belt and gingerly reached for the release valve and slowly opened the door. With great care, he stepped away and aimed at the opening until the door had completely opened revealing the identities of the would-be interlopers.
"Calm yourself Mister Downes, we are still friends, are we not?" Came a deep Haitian voice from the other side of the frame, well outside the view of Booker and Elizabeth.
"Can't be too careful now-a-days, with all of the ruckus from the Hall, the whole damn city's becoming a madhouse." Preston replied in short order as he holstered his pistol.
"Well let me tell you somethin, if you thought that was big, what I'm plannin' next is gon' make Monument Island look like one of them big balls them founders love throwin.'" A female voice cut through and Preston stepped back and ushered the contingent through.
There were men of all different colors rushing aboard, carrying their wounded comrades as well as medical equipment and began to set-up shop inside the cabin. Two large dark skinned men stepped aboard; now Booker was a tall man but these two stood at least half a head taller than him, and surprising, each flanked a rather short woman, maybe only a few inches taller than Elizabeth herself. She wore a white collared-shirt, brown leather suspenders, and wore her sleeves folded up to her elbows. Around her neck lay a blood-red bandana, and her trousers were of the same olive green as Preston's attire, complete with the same leather boots. The woman in question strolled over and knelt down to cup Elizabeth's cheek in her small hand, her dark skin contrasted with Elizabeth's. She tilted the frightened young woman's head slightly, as if appraising some commodity.
"I must admit, you do bear some resemblance to your mother, but your father…I don't see one drop of him in you." The leader remarked as Elizabeth wrenched herself back and shot the fiercest scowl she could.
"That's some high praise coming from the woman who murdered her in cold blood." Elizabeth bit back sharply to which the darker woman reached out gripped Elizabeth by neck to the surprise of Downes and the consternation of DeWitt.
"You listen to me, and you listen good, I don't give a damn what ole' Comstock or any of his ilk say, but I NEVER laid a finger on that woman! She was better than you could ever hope to be." She all but spat the last words out as she tightened her grip around the defiant girl's throat, who showed no fear and instead stared back intently into the darker woman's eyes.
"Hey, lady, look, we have no quarrel with you, we were just lookin' to make our way out of the city." Booker shouted in hopes of gathering the woman's attention. Evidently his attempt was successful as the leader of the Vox turned to give him a sneer before releasing the young woman from her grasp and snapped her fingers. At first, Booker was confused and then all became clear as one of the tall brutish men approached him and lifted him to his feet by mean of grabbing the rope that bound him. The rebel leader sauntered over and looked DeWitt up and down in the same manner as before.
"You ain't much for a devil-man" She judged harshly.
"Aye, and you're a bit of a squirt for a revolutionary, but to each their own." Booker bit back and nearly received a fist to the face for his efforts had it not been for this woman who held up her arm to halt the beating, and chuckled.
"My, oh my, you got a lotta nerve comin' up in here, ruing my best laid plans. I assume you know who I am." The woman walked back and forth, like a cat stalking her prey, her eyes never leaving the detective's form.
"If looks are anything to go off, you must be Daisy Fitzroy…" Booker trailed off.
"Nothin' but." Fitzroy held up her hands and brought them back to her akimbo stance as if to acknowledge her captive's correct response.
"My only confusion in all this lies in what you mean by my 'ruinin' your plans. Hell as far as I know, your plans are to rule the city and, quite frankly, I doubt I've done anything to hinder that." Booker answered with honest and Elizabeth slapped his chest playfully with a laugh as she leaned in.
" Oh you fool, you got no idea what sorta mess you wandered in to." She began and Booker furrowed his brow in bewilderment. "The other day, at Monument Tower, I had it all figured out, I would send Preston here in early, he'd get the girl out, I'd blow the whole damn thing to hell, and we'd use her as a hostage to lure Comstock out and...bam." She made the gesture of a gun with her fingers and made a firing motion. "But then you came along, and well, out went the baby with the bathwater."
"Not my fault I proved to be better than your bounty hunter. But that still don't explain why you captured us. As far as I can tell, your revolution is going just fine." Booker answered as his eyes lay solely upon his present captor, never once leaving her form, never once showing anything less than strength in the face of overwhelming odds. Fitzroy chuckled and rubbed her temples in her hand.
"Funny you should say it like that cuz' the way I see it, you ruined somethin' from me and I figure you owe me in kind." Daisy leveled at him.
"I don't owe you jack, lady." Booker shot back and this time received a backhand across the face for his efforts.
"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO DAISY FITZROY WITH SUCH DISRESPECT!"
"Simmer down, Abel." Daisy eased her companion as she pressed the angered man's arm back down. "What my associate here means to say, is you better watch your mouth."
"Duly noted." Booker nodded as he felt a trickle of blood fall from the corner of his mouth.
"Now then, the way I see it, you owe me for messin' up my operation. But don't you worry, I got the perfect way for you to make it up to ole'Daisy Fitzroy. Oh Yeah, I got a good angle." The young woman grinned deviously as she crept closer to the bound detective.
"Seein' as how I don't have much in the ways of alternatives, I guess ears." Booker replied with a tone of defeat. Daisy merely gave a chuckled at her prey's despondency and reached into her trouser pocket and retrieved a business card with fancy font embossed upon both sides.
"You see Shepard—" She began.
"It's Booker." The Pinkerton Agent responded but Daisy carried on without acknowledging his interjection.
"—I've got enough muscle for the cause, but we're seriously lacking in firearms department. That's where you come in." Daisy slipped the card into the man's waistcoat.
"Okay and I'm guessin' you need me to make that happen for you." DeWitt responded as he followed the rebel leader's train of thought.
"A-ha, there's that devlish cunning that old bearded bastard kept preachin' on about." Daisy laughed and playfully slapped Booker's shoulder as if to emphasize the point of humor before she turned her head briefly in the bounty hunter's direction. "And t'think, you wanted to put a bullet in that brilliant head a'his." She leveled sarcastically toward the renowned tradesman who merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Daisy then turned back to face the Pinkerton Agent with a serious look, all evidence of mirth had been completely wiped clean.
"Lin, Chen Lin, is the gunsmith in Finkton. He's been an ally to the righteous cause of the Vox and been waitin' for the right time to jump aboard…that time is now." Daisy declared with an even tone.
"So once Elizabeth and I get your guns, we can leave the city?" Booker asked with a tinge of hope in his voice. He had a feeling there was a 'but' or a different angle coming, but he also figured they needed to get it out of the way now. Booker DeWitt never took kindly to be played the fool, by anyone much less a wannabe revolutionary.
"The girl? She stays with us until you get the job done. She's far too valuable an asset to let loose in this city. Once you get our guns, you'll get the girl…and your freedom." Daisy affirmed and stood akimbo, almost as if to challenge DeWitt to a response, and the detective rose to meet that challenge.
"See, that's where we have our big problem." Booker began. "Daisy, or do you prefer Fitzroy, doesn't matter as I don't really care that much. Listen, you can hold the airship hostage, hell you can hold my weapons as collateral, but I ain't lettin' that girl outta my sight. So unless you let me take her with me, it seems we're at an impasse." Booker practically snarled with an aggressive grin. Daisy huffed and stroked her chin in thought as she paced before the detective.
Booker took a moment to gauge the reaction of the room. Daisy's bodyguards looked as if they wanted to rip his throat out, no surprise there. Elizabeth had a look of sheer worry mixed up with some other emotion that caused Booker's stomach to feel warm and fuzzy, more on that at a different time. Booker looked over and caught a glimpse of Preston who appeared to survey the entire situation with a look of shock and a certain layer of bemusement, though he appeared to keep very close to the Sioux boy. The Pinkerton Agent had heard tale of the legendary bounty hunter Preston Downes, known for his uncanny ability to track whatever pray caught his attention and to always get the job done, though he never would have struck Booker as the type form close attachments on the job, but then again looking at himself and Elizabeth, it wasn't exactly impossible. Booker focused back upon Daisy who halted mid-stride and withdrew a Mauser similar to his own and pressed the edge of the barrel to his forehead, which prompted Elizabeth to call out in shock and terror.
"I could put a bullet through your skull right here, right now, and watch your brains spill out and drip across these pretty floors." Daisy pressed the firearm deeper into the unflappable detective's noggin, but he maintained a firm eye contact and never wavered.
"Reckon you could, quite easily too. But you'd still have the problem of your guns, and I have a hard time believin' you can get someone that Comstock's people won't instantly recognize and gun down over to your precious gunsmith, which is why you probably considered me in the first place. Then, saying you do kill me, and try to use Elizabeth here as a hostage—well that ain't gonna go well because the man hardly knows me and he's already sent some heavy hitters my way, but you…the old man hates you and no tellin' what he'd do to kill two birds with one stone—" Booker paused as he spoke with a cold anger. "…but what the hell do I know." He finished and Daisy hovered her finger over the trigger and pressed the gun even deeper. Her frown deepened and her upper lip quivered with anger and vitriol, with a grunt of frustration she with drew the pistol and shoved it back into the front of her trousers.
"Your good, your very good, ain't dealt with anyone who gotta set like you. Though I can't tell if you're confident or just plain dumb." The rebel leader paused and sighted. "Guess it don't much matter one way or the other. Fine, you drive a hard bargain...But I'll allow it." She conceded.
"But Daisy!" One person chimed up.
"You can't be serious!" Another announced shocked by the display. Daisy brought her hand up to halt the dissent.
"Preston here will be keepin' a very close eye on you. You step outta line once—well, there won't be a next time, you get me!" Daisy pulled the detective close by the ropes that bound him and looked him square in the eye.
"Yeah, I get you." Booker seethed in anger, he hated this but he didn't have another choice. Going along for this ride was the only chance of getting him and Elizabeth back stateside.
"Good, glad to hear it. Abel take us the Finkton Wharf Shippin' Docks. We'll drop our newest members down there." Daisy ordered and the burly stepped lively and took the helm of the dirigible. He put in the proper coordinates and fired up the engines and within moments the vehicle was off headed toward Finkton.
Endnote: Well there you have it, that's the end of that! Again I do know it's shorter so I do apologize if anyone is disappointed. I want you to know the next one is probably going to be much longer and going to involve some Christmas stuff, but not a whole lot since it's still July in Columbia, but I mean I have the means to add it in where I see fit without totally making it a jarring experience.
Anyway, next chapter, Elizabeth and Booker travel to Finkton where our heroes get to know each other a little better, new friends/enemies will be made, and a revelations revealed!
Until next time…This is TheLifeLongEditor