Above the Clouds

There was a loud rumbling sound, and pinpoints of light, and pain. A lot of pain. Later, Sarah remembered flashes of activity as she’d swam in and out of consciousness.

The wrench falling to the floor with a clunk.

Helena backing away, looking panicked, vanishing out the door.

Gunfire. Shouting. A woman’s voice.

She came to fully with her head and shoulders hanging out the airship door. For a second she stared in incomprehension at the upside down skyline of clouds and inverted buildings, then began to struggle upwards.

“Oi!” she yelled, “What the bloody hell are you playin’ at!”

She wanted to kick whoever was holding her legs down...but on the other hand, they were holding her legs down. And keeping her from going for a very long drop. So she satisfied herself with cursing some more, until she was dragged back into the airship.

“Fresh air did the trick, Daisy,” Sarah heard a voice say good-naturedly. “This one’s awake.”

She tried to sit up, winced, and settled for resting on her elbows as she looked up at the woman leaning against the control panel. She was dark-skinned, wore khaki breeches and a white button-up shirt with a bright red scarf looped around her neck, and knee-high boots. Sarah squinted through the pain in her head. She couldn’t be much older than Sarah, but she was clearly in charge here. Other people bustled around the small space, gathering the food, looking longingly at the alcohol but not touching it, sorting ammunition and weapons, tending to their wounded.

The woman would occasionally point and give an order. Now she stepped forward and leaned over Sarah, a few locs falling loose of the ponytail on her neck, hands on hips. Her dark brown eyes were serious, but there was a curve to her lips that seemed amiable, if not friendly. Sarah realised her own mouth was hanging open a little and shut it with a snap.

“So,” the woman said, “So you're this ‘False Shepherd’ we been hearing so much about. Caused a mess of trouble at the raffle.” Her voice was grudgingly approving. “Young Mary and Jimmy were lucky you came ‘long.” She held up the scrap of red silk she’d been winding around a finger. “Found this in your jacket.”

“You’re Fitzroy then?” Sarah said warily.

“Nothin’ but.” Daisy said.

She struggled to a sitting position, managing to slide up the wall. Daisy gestured at one of the men and he brought over a metal cup of water. Sarah took it gratefully, the water sliding down her parched throat and helping the headache recede a little.

‘Thanks.” She nodded at Daisy, groaning at the movement and clutching at her head.

“Someone got you real good, Shepherd,” she observed, sounding a little amused.

“Yeah,” she gingerly touched the lump near the back of her head. “She sure did.”

Daisy’s eyebrows arched.

“That lil blonde thing we saw running out of here?” She snorted. Sarah looked up at her, half-smiling at herself, and lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

“She’s got some tricks up her sleeve, that’s for sure.” She pulled herself to her feet, then bent over and put her hands on her knees until everything stopped spinning. Why the hell had Helena attacked her? Something was very wrong - she’d looked...odd. Sick or somethin’. Now she was off wandering around by herself with half the city looking for her and…

“Look,” she said in what she felt was her most reasonable tone of voice. “I got no problem with you, or the Vox, but this is my airship and I need it, so - “ She was interrupted by a snort.

“ Your airship?” Daisy said incredulously. “Really? 'Cause it sure looks like the ol' Prophet’s airship to me.” She looked at Sarah with a challenge in her eyes. “And the Vox need it more.”

Sarah stared at her.

“But...listen...I’m not looking for a fight but…”

Daisy stepped closer.

“There’s already a fight, Shepherd,” she said softly, gesturing at the several wounded fighters lying on the floor. “Only question is, which side you on? Old Comstock was the god of the white man, the rich man, the pitiless man. And Sister Rachel? She plays along the same rules, ‘cause it works to keep her on top. The only thing she really believes in, is herself. But if you believe in common folk, then join the Vox. If you believe in the righteous folk, then join the Vox.” Her voice had risen and she spoke passionately. Sarah could see why they followed her - into death, even. She hesitated, weighing up the cost of pitching in with the rebellion and probably getting killed in the process, against the chances of getting a favor out of Fitzroy and finding Helena. She sighed.

“I just want the airship back.” she said, not quite looking Daisy in the eye.

“And the Vox shall give her to you.” Daisy said. There was a note of disappointment in her voice - but Sarah was used to disappointing people.  “But first, you must help the Vox. Down in Finkton, there's a gunsmith who can supply weapons to our cause. Get our guns from him, and you’ll have your ship back.” A card flicked between her fingers, and she handed it to Sarah.

She stared at the card - Mr. Chen Lin, Gunsmith - and closed her eyes for a moment, groaning inwardly. Not only had she lost Helena, now she had to run around this damn city again doing errands for - she sneaked a peek at Daisy while the woman was turned away, her eyes straying down the entire length of her figure - someone with their own damn army. A damnably attractive someone, too. Sarah would never admit it, but she wanted to impress her. Idiot she muttered at herself.

“Bloody hell,” she snapped, “Fine!”  Her hand went to her holster and she frowned. “Oi, where’s my gun?”

Daisy grinned and picked the pistol up from the table, tossing it in her hand and catching it with the handle pointing at Sarah.

“Extra ammo in your bag there,” she nodded at the satchel, then studied Sarah’s face for a moment. “That girl is the Lamb, ain’t she? You just gonna spirit her away from here in this airship?”

“Yeah?” Sarah said defensively.

Daisy looked at her almost sympathetically.

“The Prophet ain’t one to let go of her pets,” she said, picking up another handgun and checking the bullets, spinning the chamber as she talked. “The girl could come in handy as a bargaining chip, though, if you can find her again…”

“No!” snapped Sarah, the anger instant. “We’re not gonna use her for anything. I’m here to take her home , that’s it!” She rubbed her forehead fitfully. “If I can bloody find her,” she muttered under her breath. Now the girl was between two armies. The Songbird could snatch her up any moment. Sarah shouldn’t be so worried - Helena could protect herself, and no one was going to kill her - but…

She missed her. Dammit.

“Wait,” she said, “Finkton? As in, that Fink bastard that runs the raffle?”

Daisy’s mouth curled in distaste.

“The same,” she spat.

Sarah smiled grimly.

“If I run into him, I’ll be sure to send your regards.” she told Daisy, as she shrugged on her coat and looped the satchel back over her shoulders. The Sky-hook slid back into her belt.

Daisy snapped shut the gun she was toying with, placing slender fingers on the hilt of a large Bowie knife at her waist.

“I plan on givin’ them to him myself.”

Sarah nodded in understanding. Then she fiddled with her tie, loosening the knot a little.

“So, uh…” she said quietly, feeling the need to talk to someone, and not just because she wanted to extend her time in this woman’s company -“I saw the Prophet earlier. Came after me on another airship, made threats.” She saw Daisy cock an eyebrow. “But since I got He...the Lamb out of the tower, nothing. Just the Authority, and they’re taken down easily enough…”

Daisy nodded.

“The Prophet don’t tend to leave Comstock House.” she said. “Why she even came to Columbia, I don’t know. She don’t like the sky.”

Sarah looked at her sharply.

“You’ve met her?”

“I was workin’ up at Comstock House when she first arrived. Yeah, I met her. Used to be real nice to us all...when she had an audience. Then ol’ Comstock passed, and we were all sent packin’. Has her own special staff.” She lowered her voice. “I suspect she had a hand in helping Comstock meet his maker early.” Daisy looked at Sarah, her expression unreadable. “If she came out to see you, that means you’re somethin’ special.” She gave a low laugh. “Means trouble.”

Sarah combed her hair back with her fingers, and looked up at Daisy through her lashes. The women stared back, then smiled a touch flirtatiously.

“You got a name, Shepherd?”

Sarah hesitated, then answered.

“Sarah. Manning.”

“Well, Sarah Manning, the Vox could use someone like you. Think ‘bout it.”

Sarah shrugged, then smirked, and said,

“So, where are you dropping me off then?”

Ten minutes later, she was dusting herself off on Finkton Docks.

“When I said ‘drop me off’ I didn’t mean so literally,” she muttered angrily. The airship, with Sarah dangling from a rope, had barely slowed down over the docks. Luckily, some big coils of rope had broken her fall. Somewhat.

Looking around, she finally realised it was daylight again - early morning by the look of it. Bloody hell, how long was I out for? Workers swarmed over the docks, loading crates, unloading crates, unpacking crates. There were people scrubbing the walkways that joined the docks together, moving in time to the tinny music playing over conical loudspeakers in slightly creepy unison. Someone had left their lunchpail and cap on a stack of boxes next to the rope coils, and Sarah looked around again, casually picking up the hat and putting it on, twisting her hair up and hiding it underneath. Her stomach rumbled and she shrugged, opened the lunch pail, taking the bread and cheese, leaving the apple and whatever the hell kind of meat the brown lump was.

As she sauntered along the first dock, she munched on the food and the pain in her head eased a little. There were four docks, with skylines above, and gondolas parked in-between. Small buildings at either end which Sarah assumed were offices. And a walkway leading off to Finkton proper. She followed it, skirting around the deck-scrubbers. They kept their heads down and their movements measured.

The music was joined by a voice. Sarah scowled as she recognized it.

“ The most common complaint I hear from the working man is that they are...unhappy...with their lot. "Why torment yourself?" I ask. The ox cannot become a lion. And why would you want to? Who wants all those responsibilities and worry? You do your job, you eat your food, you go to sleep. Simplicity is beauty.

You know, I wasn't born deaf. I hear what it is people are saying. "Why?" you say, "Mr. Fink, we have to work 16 hours a day?" Let's be clear: I would like nothing more than to shorten your work day, but the fact is, I simply can't. Why not, you ask? Well, I can sum it up for you in one word: Morality. You see my friends, the idle hand is the tool of the Devil. You take industry from a man's hand, and what goes in its place? Whiskey, women, and dice! And I, for one, will not have that in our friendly little town. No, sir! I will not!

Now, Jeremiah Fink has a philosophy: You see, a company is like Noah's Ark. You have the lions, whose purpose is to keep order amongst the lesser creatures. Then you have the cow. The beasts of burden. Now, they provide meat, milk, and labor. And then, well, there are the hyenas. The troublemakers. Who only serve to rile up the cattle.

The hyena is a trickster. They live to stir up trouble. So, you beware the hyena. They will leave you with naught but the sound of their laughter!

Do you know what Daisy Fitzroy and her anarchist cronies want for you? "Strike!" they say. "Throw down your tools!" they say. Why, I tell you, the moment you do, you will see what those hyenas are made of! I ask you, where are they going to be when it's cold outside and your boy's got the Mumps and you've got nothing on your table but regret? Don't you see what the Vox Populi are selling? They're selling dreams! And dreams, my friends, they don't come cheap!”

His little sermon over, Fink’s voice went silent and the meditative piano music poured out over the docks again. People aren’t cattle, you son-of-a-bitch. In fact, I wouldn’t trust you near any damn cattle either. She noticed most of the crates were stamped with FMG - Fink Manufacturing, or Fink Industries. She leaned against a wall that followed the walkway, chewing the last of the bread. Closing her eyes, she recalled those words on various things throughout the city - the vending machines, the mechanical horse and carriages, boxes and crates around the stores...Fink had his finger in many a Columbian pie, it appeared. A giant of industry. She opened her eyes and looked around at the men working, not even stopping their work to take a breather, and there no conversation at all.

Sarah followed the walkway, walls rising up on either side. It led around a few corners, the tinny music following her all the way to a large warehouse with massive doors. The peeling letters painted over them told Sarah this was the Fink Delivery Centre. She assumed she could find a way into Finkton through here - otherwise it was a dead end. She pulled one of the doors sideways and it slid open slowly, with creaking protestations. More docks, and walkways, and stairs, leading in and up. She sidled through the doorway, made sure her hair was still tucked away, and strode forward as if she knew exactly where she was going. She’d already passed a dozen idle gondolas before she heard a shout from one of the men.

“Get outta here, snipe. You wanna know what we do to pretty little stowaways? Or maybe you don't.” The tone was menacing and Sarah was moving in it’s direction before she even realised it. Then she saw the solidly built man grab Helena by the arm - because of course it was Helena, she realised with a deep feeling of relief - and before she could call out to her, Helena had made a gesture and the man flew backwards. He landed on his back on the gondola deck, making an oof sound. Sarah couldn’t stop the snort of laughter, and Helena’s head spun around.

“Sarah!” she cried, stepping forward. Her face glowed for a moment, then she wrapped her arms around herself. “Sarah,” she said again, softly. “You’re...okay?” Her face was anxious now, and she watched Sarah warily.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Sarah waved a hand dismissively. “Bit of a sore head but…”

Helena squeezed her eyes shut. Anxious gave way to panicky , and Sarah stepped towards her, hands out.

“Hey...hey...Helena...it’s okay…”

Her eyes snapped open, and she started backing away.

“No...stay away!” She held her hands up and Sarah felt the slightest pressure against her body, stopping her from moving any closer. Helena kept backing away. “Just...leave me alone!” She moved one hand forward, then turned and ran. Sarah felt the push of air, and staggered backwards.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, then shouted after the fleeing girl. “Helena! Wait! Helena!”

Groaning, she started to run. Her head pounded, her feet hit the boards with with speed, and she saw the flash of blonde hair ahead of her. They ran through high piles of crates, and stacks of boxes and coils of rope, past men with shocked faces, past large crates swinging from the skylines. Helena turned her head to see Sarah gaining on her, and started opening tears randomly.

Sarah was slowed down by a marching band suddenly appearing in her way, before the tear snapped shut as Helena kept running. Then she was in the middle of a mass of balloons and streamers and the sound of cheering. The next tear sent a train hurtling straight across her path, and she yelled at Helena to stop, again. They were both running at speed at a brick wall now, and Sarah began to slow down.

She has to stop now, yeah?

Helena barely paused before she’d opened a tear in the wall and ran through it. Straight into a group in the uniforms of the Authority.

The tear closed behind her and Sarah slapped her hands against the wall, shouting Helena’s name.

“Goddamit!” she yelled. She rested her cheek against the cold brick, and realised she could hear voices.

 “Call it in, call it in! We got the specimen.”

“Let go of me! Don’t touch me!”

“The Prophet wants you home, girl.”

 Sarah pushed herself back from the wall, looking around wildly. There - a door. She ran over, unlatched it and ran into another dimly lit space. Helena had just - run through the wall , not into a different world as she’d first thought. There had to be a way...she ran the only way open to her - along another wooden walkway, bounding up the stairs two at a time. She could still hear Helena screaming and ran faster. Why doesn’t she just...push them away...what are they doing to her……..why did she run away from me

Rounding a corner, she saw a large open space ahead, and slowed down, crouching and slinking along the wall. There were several large open crates lined up against the opposite wall, and when she crawled over to look, she found weapons - sniper rifles, carbines, handguns that looked much more powerful than her pistol. Another crate held a stock of vigors and salts. Sarah picked up a bottle thoughtfully. Shock-Jockey! the label blared. She was likely to run out of ammo sooner or later, even with the spare Daisy had given her. Every little bit helps. She could see Devil’s Kiss. Undertow. Murder of Crows. Her brow furrowed. Possession. She flexed her hands but there was no green mist. She rummaged for the Salts, the bright blue of the curved bottles made it stand out against the more angular and darker designs of the vigors. Sarah pulled the top off the bottle, sniffed it, shrugged, and drank.

Insofar as it tasted of anything, it tasted...blue. And salty.

Then she picked up the Devil’s Kiss bottle, remembered the Fireman, and put it down again. There was another scream and her head shot up. Helena sounded more angry than scared. Sarah grabbed a bottle at random, coming up with the Shock Jockey again. The label showed a fist full of lightning. She exhaled nervously, then poured it down her throat. No whispering this time, no green mist.

“Well, that wasn’t so…”

Her hands started to spark and glow, they hissed, and bolts of pain ran down her arms and shot through her body. She fell backwards, sitting on the floor with her back braced against the wall, eyes wide at the silver crystals sprouting from her palms that spat electric shocks. The skin blistered and peeled and she bit her lips, keeping the scream in her throat. She held her hands up in front of her, staring in horror. Then there was one final bzzzt! And the pain was gone, the skin was whole and pink, her hands were normal.

Sarah let her breath out in relief.

“Bloody hellfire,’ she panted. Another scream came from outside. “Shit!” She crawled over to the open end of the small room and peered into a large sunken courtyard, steps on the right leading up to a dock with a gondola hovering, uniforms everywhere, more steps straight ahead where Helena was flanked by two large men. As she looked, Helena kicked one in the ankle. Sarah wriggled backwards and grabbed one of the sniper rifles, laying low and putting her eye up to the scope. The men were handcuffed to Helena, one on either arm. Sarah swore under her breath. Guess she can’t use her powers if she can’t use her hands...they were better prepared this time. She thought for a moment - shoot the two men, leave Helena weighted down by two bodies. Maybe she’d be able to reach her lock picks and free herself? There was a sky-line that circled the courtyard - she could pick a few of them off from up there. And there was one of those automaten-topped cannons on the gondola. Sarah grinned.

She didn’t understand how the vigors worked, but she knew how to use them. She sent off a pale green shape at the cannon, and it began to shoot rapidly at the uniformed guards. Since she already had the sniper rifle in her hands, she took a few shots, and three guards went down. Then she grabbed one of the smaller guns - a hand cannon - and leapt with the Sky-hook aloft, speeding around towards Helena and her two bodyguards. Sarah could see she’d stopped screaming at them and was now watching Sarah with a mixture of excitement and worry.

Sarah wriggled her fingers, feeling the power build up, then let loose a stream of electricity at the police in the courtyard below her. Strangled screams rang out as their bodies jittered and shook in a highly localised electrical storm. Four more dropped, wisps of smoke the only movement around their bodies. The two men cuffed to Helena were shooting at Sarah, but she was moving too fast. Folding her legs beneath her, she eyed the men and began to count one two three jump

“Helena, DUCK,” she yelled, and rolled as she landed, coming up shooting, using both hands to balance the heavy gun. Both the men’s heads exploded in a shower of blood and brains, leaving Helena on her knees as the weight of their corpses dragged her down to the floor. Sarah quickly scrambled over to her, whispering it’s okay just gotta get you out of these, patting her skirt pockets and pulling out the lockpicks. Unrolling the fabric, she squinted at the tiny pieces of metal, then raised her eyebrows at Helena.

“Little help?’ she said hopefully. Helena pointed with her chin.

“The third one...no, from the left. Yes.”

Sarah poked it into the cuffs and wiggled it around until she felt a click. She felt a smile lift the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe I can get the hang of this after all!” she said cheerfully, as she worked on the other cuff.

“Mm.” Helena said softly. “Then you won’t need me at all.” The second cuff clicked open. Sarah rubbed the red marks around Helena’s wrists.

“Don’t be silly,” she said without thinking, “I’ll always need you.” Then she heard her own words and bit her lip, feeling her face flush. “I mean. I’m still gonna get you out of here.”

Helena was looking at her intently. As Sarah looked back, her eyes skittered away and she stood, pulling her wrists free.

“Sarah...” she started, then stopped, pressing her lips together. Sarah stood as well, noticing there was blood in Helena’s hair and on her clothes, along with a ripped sleeve. Her boots were scuffed now too. She looked at once older and more weary than the girl Sarah had met in the tower, and terribly, terribly young.

“I don’t think you can. Get me out of here.” She looked past Sarah, staring up into the sky. The breeze sent wayward curls floating around her face. The blood was bright against the blonde, and Sarah felt the urge to dig out a handkerchief and clean her up a little.

“I can! I made a deal to get the airship back, and we can…”

Helena shook her head and said “It doesn’t matter.”

Sarah stared at her and her voice got louder.

“I was sent here to take you back to your family, and I’m gonna do that, Helena. We just…”

Helena sighed and kept looking at the sky.

“What if I hurt you again?” she whispered, and finally looked back at Sarah. “What if I kill you next time we try to leave?”

Sarah felt her breath leave her for a moment. Oh.

“Helena. Why…?” she trailed off.

Helena started to look panicky again.

“I don’t know what happened! I was so happy! But then. It felt like a leash.” She closed her eyes. “A leash in my head. Like...silver.” She shook her head and shrugged, arms wrapped around herself. “It was like I. I could see myself grab the wrench. But I couldn’t stop it. I just knew. I had to stop you .”

Sarah had folded her own arms, staring at Helena, then up at the sky, then back at Helena. Her lower lip trembled, and she was on the verge of tears. Sarah stepped closer to her, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. It twitched, then Helena leaned into her touch, so Sarah put her other hand on the other shoulder, and then Helena was sniffling against her vest, and Sarah was stroking her hair and making comforting noises. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, but damned if she was going to abandon the girl now.

Her thoughts raced. Like a leash in her head… she remembered thinking that the people in this city were brainwashed. Could it be…

Helena had stopped crying now, but kept her head resting on her shoulder.

“What do we do now, Sarah?” she asked, rather shyly.

“Well…” Sarah answered vaguely, “We can get the airship back from the Vox…” she hesitated, the finished in a rush, “...I just need to supply enough weapons to arm an entire uprising.” She grinned nervously as Helena drew her head back and gaped at her.

“But. Where from?”

Sarah waved a hand.

“From a gunsmith in Finkton. Easy money.” She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt at the moment. The deeper into Columbia she went, the more trouble she seemed to find.

“And then -” she took a deep breath. If she was right about this…

“I think we should call on Sister Rachel.”

Helena’s eyes widened, then she nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Sarah wrinkled her nose at her, and dug in her pockets for a handkerchief, handing it over. Helena smiled shakily and blew her nose, then tilted her head to the side.

“Sarah?” she said.

“Yeah?’

“I like your hat.”