Hours later, nothing much had happened. Vincent found himself almost wishing for a troop of malevolent CLANNG goons. At least it would save him from rehashing the same argument with his cellmate over, and over, and over…
“You should have let me shoot them,” Poppy huffed.
“It wouldn’t have helped, hun.”
“It would have made me feel better.”
The border guard who caught him held him gently, but firmly, by the arm, and escorted him into the back of what looked like an old-fashioned paddy wagon attached to a zeppelin balloon. A second guard sat in the back reading a book across from another prisoner.
Vincent had “crossed over” into this other dimension three times before he realized his undocumented travels over the threshold were illegal. Getting arrested will provide that kind of clarity to the legal status of an activity.
“Another one?” Guard #2 asked.
His captor grunted a response and rolled his eyes. “These border hoppers ain’t worth the paperwork they cause.” He sat Vincent down near his fellow prisoner and locked his right wrist firmly in a manacle attached to the wall via a short chain. “Be good, kid.” He nodded at Guard #2. “Keep an eye on these two for me, woncha? They ain’t been any trouble. I need to get some grub in me.”