Booker and Daisy

DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?

Booker and Daisy

 

        This was not at all how the job was supposed to go. Just get the girl, and bring her to New York. It was supposed to be easy, but this Comstock character was making his life a hell with checkpoints and stoppages everywhere there was no way for him to get to that Monument Island and the girl inside. To his surprise he had found some more than willing allies here, however. Captain Slate was here, and he had joined up with some revolution group led by a woman named Daisy Fitzroy. Daisy was something though. She’d been able to get all these men and women behind her, she spoke of dreams and hope, the betterment of man and revolution. Booker admired her. When she saw him fight it seemed she felt the same way. Booker chuckled to himself as how much they ‘admired’ each other. None of that really mattered now. He and Slate and a couple of the boys were held up outside Fink’s factory, just inside of the shantytown. The idea was easy enough. Show the people that if they fight back they can win. But the people had not stirred. They were abandoned by those who still lived in fear. Now Fink and Comstock’s men were massing at the end of the alley. They’d built up a sizable barricade. They could hold them off for a time, but not forever. If Daisy didn’t come soon with more men they were lost. Booker looked up from the chair he sat in. Slate was standing in full view of the enemy, practically daring them to shoot him. The captain looked back at him.

 

        “Corporal DeWitt, look at this” the older man beckoned him over with a wave. Booker stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony that had become their command. The mass of men was starting to move forward, soon enough the thump thud of their boots echoed off the walls.

 

“They’re coming” Booker said, Slate nodded, then looked down at the men in front of the small tavern. The barricade was a well made fortification, furniture, carts, anything they could find structured to give the most purchase on their side, with firing holes and slick areas to confound any attackers. It was the best they had. The two men hoped it would be enough. Below them the men milled about, until the sound of the boots reached them. Workers, married men, sons and daughters brothers and sisters all looked up at the two men they hoped to deliver them to the world Daisy had promised.

 

        “This is it boys.” Slates voice echoed around the small camp. He didn’t shout, but his voice carried, and with it a bit of steel went into all those who heard him, “We hold these tin soldiers here. We keep them busy, and they won’t know what hit them when Daisy comes a running up their backside like the banshee she is” Booker grinned at the comment, “She’s counting on all of us. We’ll show these bastards what it’s like to be the one taking the boot!” They cheered; all of them expect Booker and Slate. The army against them was coming closer. Booker stepped forward.

 

        “Positions!” he bellowed. The men and women went to the barricade. Snipers took places at the ports they’d made, line men climbed to the top of the barricade. Reserve shooters laid in wait to be called up for covering fire, and supply gophers were ready to help reload, “Wait for it…” Fink and Comstock’s men had better weapons and better training. They’d have to come in closer for the Vox to have as much of a chance, “Wait for it…” closer and closer they came. There were the metal men there as well, ‘motorized patriots’ the men called them. What Booker would have given for the Vox to have a few. The first line of the so called ‘tin soldiers’ took a knee, to aim, “FIRE!”

At his command they unleashed a hell upon their attackers. A curtain of lead sped from the barricade, bullets found their mark, and the first line of men fell, cries of pain went up from the enemy lines, and cheers came up from theirs. The men pressed forward, and more fell. It reminded Booker more than a little bit of Wounded Knee. They returned fire and men from the top of the barricade fell back into the yard, they were replaced by reverse men. For every step Fink’s men took they paid for it with a score of lives. A shout went out and Booker saw a man fling a fireball of Devils kiss into the attacking men. He hit a Patriot and it exploded as if five cannon shells had impacted. A new cheer went up and the men fought harder. Slate hooted and shouted his men to their glories, but he and Booker both knew that the moment the army reached the barricade the tide would turn. With a volley of fireballs the attackers retreated and began to build their own fortifications of what they had left. The two sides began to exchange nearly meaningless fire. Booker and Slate walked down through the tavern to the men, as they emerged from the building, Slate pointed to one of the men.

 

        “How do we stand, Lee? Make your report”

The man gave a salute and came closer to the pair, “We’ve guns enough but ammunition short”

A younger man was with Lee, he wore an off white sweater and dark trousers, Booker heard he worked with the water pipes, was pretty good with a wrench.

His name was Jack, “Let me go into the streets, there are bodies all around. Ammunition to be had, lots of bullets to be found.” He moved to go, but Lee stopped him.

        “I can’t let you go; it’s too much of a chance!”

        “And the same is true for any man here!” Booker put his hands on both their shoulders.

        “Let me go, he’s no more than a boy”

Jack tried to pull away from them; he shouted “I’m going!”

Booker pulled him back, “I am old, I have nothing to fear”

 

        “You need somebody quicker and I volunteer!” before Booker could realize who had spoken they were already climbing to the top of the barricade. It was one of the few women who had joined them, a girl dressed in blue and white, with a blue ribbon that held her hair in a loose ponytail. Elizabeth. Booker couldn’t explain it but she seemed to have some connection to him. He’d always made sure she was safe. Jack ran after her, but she was already at the top.

        “Come back Elizabeth don’t you dare!” Booker was soon beside him, yelling as well.

        “Someone pull her down right now!” She’d stepped over the side and scrambled down to the ground.

        “Don’t worry I’m almost there!” She’d slid down to the ground and ran to the bodies of their attackers; she picked up some guns and tossed them to the men at the top of the barricade to the cheers of the defenders. She ran to another group of bodies, pulling ammunition sacks from them and again tossing them to the barricade. Bits of cobblestone exploded around her as the attackers took their shots and she hopped and jumped from them, almost as if it were just a game to her. She made her way back to the barricade and a single shot rank out, and she shrieked.

 

        Blood dribbled from her stomach as she rose up from where she had fallen. By then Booker, Jack and the others had climbed to the top of their fortifications. She looked up at them and smiled. She stood before the collected defenders, and took another step closer to their holdfast, “Little people know, when little people fight, we May look easy pickings But we've got some bite” Another shot rang out, and from her chest a plum of blood exploded, again she fell.

 

        Without thinking Booker, Lee and Jack shouted at once.

        “Don’t touch her!”

        “Hold fire!”

        “Leave her alone”

 

        Again she rose up. She reached the barricade, and began to climb. Snipers reach out from their holds to help her, and everyone at the top of the barricade held their hands down to her, “So never kick a dog, because she’s just a pup…” She was panting. It was hard to breath. Blood dripped from the edges of her mouth, “We’ll… we’ll fight like. Like twenties armies and we won’t give… up” She reached up and took Bookers hand, Jack and Lee gripped her arm and they started to haul her over. She looked up into their faces “So you’d better run for cover… when the. The pup grows-“

Booker didn’t even hear the shot. The center of the girl’s chest exploded. The men holding her were covered in her blood. She stared at them, her eyes that always brimmed with hope and happiness were blank now, whatever it was that made people human had left her.

 

        “NO!” They hauled her over the top, and carried her back down. The defenders sent out a volley of shots at any place the attackers had stopped at, pushing them back, further and further. If Elizabeth had been killed by one man, the ammunition she had gathered killed him and scores more. Bottled filled with alcohol and flaming strips of cloth flew out with Devil’s Kiss grenades. An hour later Fink’s men had been pushed back out of range of their guns. Thought they pushed them back, the rampage had cost the Vox. Out of the fifty men they had started with only twenty remained.

        They had taken the bodies inside the tavern; the girl’s body in the center. No one had known where she had come from. Only that she supported the Vox. She had helped the medics when men were wounded. She brought water for them. Gave them ammunition. Did her best to keep them happy. Night was starting to fall, and a cry was heard from the end of the alley.

 

“You at the barricade listen to this. The people of Finkton sleep in their beds! You have no chance, no chance at all. Why throw your lives away?” The clunk of their boots could be heard again, louder and heavier this time, and far more metallic. The Patriots were leading the attack now.

They didn’t have enough ammunition to hold them off now, and their salts were all but depleted. It was the end and they all knew it.

        Jack looked up from her body, fear and anger blazed in his eyes, “Let us die facing our foes. Make them bleed while we can”

        Lee took up his friends call “Make 'em pay through the nose”

        Booker still stared at the girl’s body. He couldn’t place it, but there was something special about her. He felt something welling up inside him. Something he knew he’d felt before, but he couldn’t remember where. He looked up at the men around him “Make them pay for every man”

Slate stepped forward, and looked at the men and women around him. He pulled his saber from his belt and he recited something Daisy had said not too long ago, “Let others rise to take our place until the Earth is free!”

 

        The attackers opened up on them, and from behind the spear point of the patriots they walked into the storm the Vox fired back at them. A man named Phillip was the first to fall. He had a wife and daughter in the lower levels of Finkton. Markus was next, a black man who baked bread and handed it out to those who couldn’t get work. Lee was next, he’d pushed another man out of the way as a Patriot began to crunch over the barricade and was torn apart by its gun. Jack fell sending a bolt of lightning against the Patriot before a man sent a bayonet through his belly. Fink’s men and Comstock’s Patriots flooded over the barricade as the defenders fell back, shooting their guns and launching what little of their vigors they could muster. Slate fell; bullets filled his chest as he cut one man down and shot down a second. Booker scooped up the captains sword, and with his own pistol in hand, shot at the patriot Jack had disabled. It wobbled forward and fell, crushing several men in its descent down the inside of the fortification. They fell back to the tavern, and more men fell, until only Booker was left. As men tried to enter, he shot them down. One, two, three, four men came and four men fell to the ground with new holes in their heads. A fifth entered the door way and Booker pulled the trigger. After all the explosions and gun fire and screams of the last four hours, the click of the hammer hitting an empty chamber was the loudest noise he had ever heard. More men entered the building. The first man that came close lost his arm; the second found his belly slit open and his innards spilling before him. As Booker backed away he soon found himself amongst the bodies of his fallen Populi. More men came forward. It seemed they wanted him alive. As he stood over Elizabeth’s body it almost looked as if he was protecting her while she slept.

 

        As more men tried to take him he could almost hear the men and women the boys and girls he’d met singing him on. Eventually the men stopped coming, and simply surrounded him.

A man in a much finer uniform then the others stepped forward; he pulled out a sword and pointed it at him. The collective men raised their fire arms. The officer chopped down, and they fired. They felt like punches to his chest, his arms, his belly and his groin.

Booker fell to his knees, the last thing he saw were empty chairs at empty tables. His mind went blank as his brain stopped getting oxygen, and the body of Booker DeWitt fell.

 

----

 

The officer brought down his sword, and the men with the guns fired. Booker DeWitt’s body danced as the lead met his flesh. Elizabeth sat at a table against the wall and she watched him fall to his knees. Booker DeWitt looked about the room as if in shock and she was sure he looked right at her, before he fell sideways covering the girl in white and blue.

 

Elizabeth waited until the officer and the uniformed men left, thought she didn’t need to. She wasn’t really here, this had already happened, and thankfully now it never will happen. She stood up and walked through the bodies around her. Every man, boy, and woman’s body she touched disappeared, evaporating like a morning mist, until she reached Booker’s and the girl’s.

 

Just who were they, she wondered. Her Booker wouldn’t have joined up with the Vox. Not like this, anyway. And the girl, was it this worlds Elizabeth? Another version of her that found a way to escape? She reached out and lifted Bookers arm, rolling him over. She laid him down next to the girl who might have been her and crossed his hands over his chest. It was strange, watching these things, she wasn’t crying now but she knew she would be when she woke up, she always did. Elizabeth sighed and stood up. How did they come to grief, in such a place as this? She turned around and walked out of the tavern, and as she did, the walls and streets, the tables, and chairs, the barricade that still blocked the road melted away, and was replaced by the tall imposing buildings and structures of lower Columbia, of Finkton. And before her lying on the ground was Booker DeWitt, standing over him, offering him a hand to help him up was one Cornelius Slate.

 

        “God Almighty boy, you do wrap yourself in trouble, don’t you?” Slate reached down to the man, offering his hand. Booker took it and he hauled him up.

        “It just seems to be on my heels is all,” he said back, brushing himself off. He’d just finished a run in with some of these Columbia goons. Got one of those arm contraptions off of ‘im and made a dash for those rails. Just happened upon Slate as he got off. The old man shot down the guys chasing him right off the rail, “The hell are you doing here, Slate? Army not good enough for you anymore?”

        Slate didn’t answer at first, not right away. After making sure no one else was coming around for Booker the two of them starting walking. Slate told Booker about Columbia. A place for people that wanted to make a ‘pure’ America, not fettered by the whims of people without the resolve to do what was right. He spat at that. Comstock was their leader, their prophet, and for a while he got into Slates head, made him feel big, made him feel important. Then came the lies. Comstock never fought like he said; he had never set foot on the field. Now he was run out, taking refuge in Finkton. Fink was well, a fink, but for the most part his word was law in the factory town, and he knew looking for people Comstock wanted but wasn’t in the mind to send his own men for wasn’t worth doing.

        “But what are you doing here, Corporal Booker?”

        Booker shook his head. He’d become a sergeant in the army, but he’d always be a corporal, huh? “Just doing a job. Got a lot of debts need paying. Supposed to find a girl and take her to New York,” He pulled out the photo and the post card and handed it to the older man. Slate considered them.

        “Well that’s Monument Island”

        “I noticed”

        Slate considered the photo of the girl. Long hair, ribbon in it. Didn’t look any older than twenty, “Pretty thing. Looks like your type if I remember you right, Corporal”

        Booker snatched the articles back, “Yeah, yeah. In this case my type is easy to find and easy to move, which she isn’t.”

        “Well if she’s in that tower, then she’s Comstock’s Little Lamb. You won’t be able to get her out of there without an army”

        They had been walking for some time; Booker had noticed people living on the streets. They had signs begging for food and work, an all together horrid lot with a terrible lot in life, “Well, from what I recall that was a bit of your specialty, wasn’t it? Any idea where I could find one?”

        Slate stopped and Booker checked his step with him. They were standing in front of a bar, ‘The Graveyard Shift’

        “My boy, I think I know just the place to look.”

 

Elizabeth smiled, watching the two men walk into yet another tavern. Booker told her how it had started for him. Just wanting to get a girl from A to B. It was never so easy, was it? She sighed and followed them in.

 

---

 

The pub was just how she remembered it. Well, almost. There were far more people in here now. Elizabeth looked around at the patrons as they took notice of the two new arrivals. They didn’t look as if they were just seeing who was coming in. These men had a look of purpose about them. She fell in step with Booker and Slate.

 

        “There’s a girl, Booker”

        “It’s good that you’re getting about again, Slate,” Booker grinned.

        “Not like that, boy” Slate shot the man an angry sideways glare, “This girl, she’s riled up those that the likes of Comstock and Fink keep held down.” The pair came to a door way and stopped, Slate looked back at his old command, “It’s a revolution, Booker” he opened the door.

 

        Inside the small room a number of men sat ‘round a table. A few of them were white, thought Booker couldn’t help but notice the red hair some of them sported. The others were colored. They turned and stood up. All except one of them. It was a woman, she sat directly opposite the door, and she watched the two men enter.

        “Slate? Who’s this ‘un you brought here?” one of the men asked.

Before slate could answer the woman cut in.

        “He’s that ‘False Shepherd’ that made that ruckus up top that we’ve been blamed for, Daniel.” She stood up; her eyes were fixated on Booker. Something burned behind those eyes. Booker wondered if this woman even knew what it was yet. She stepped around the table and walked closer, “Isn’t that right?”

Booker shrugged, “I don’t know anything about any ‘False Shepherd’ ‘side from what they called me when I crashed that raffle.” Slate stepped forward.

        “Booker DeWitt here was one of my men at Wounded Knee, Daisy. He was a bit of a glory hound then,” Slate nodded to Booker. Booker looked away. “But he’ll be able to help”

        Daisy? Booker had seen some posters before the fair, something about a Daisy Fitzroy, and a populous? What was it the wanted posters had said? “OH, you’re the one that killed that lady. Comstock, yeah?”

        Booker reeled from the punch, the room had gone silent.

        “Lady Comstock was the only thing thems that keeps us here had going for them, DeWitt. I found her dead and they said I killed her. I don’t know how it happened but I know that man did her in”

        Holding his cheek, Booker glared back at her, “I won’t pretend to know what’s going on here, Fitzroy, but I’m not in this for a rebellion. I’ve got a job needs doing.”

        Fitzroy turned around. And walked back to the table the men were standing around, “And what kind of job is this?”

        Should he tell her why he was here? If the girl was related to Comstock in some way, this woman might not have any part of getting her out, or letting her go. More than helping these poor souls he needed that girl. Best to keep his own needs to himself.

“I’m delivering a package.”

        “And the Vox can help you, but fist, you have to help us.”

        “Oh what do you want, you need me to get you guns or something?” these types of people, the poor, the downtrodden. Get them alone and they’ll speak of justice. Get a few of them together and they’ll go along with what you say, but give them guns and eventually someone with a madness in them’s gonna come out. Booker was sure he was looking at her, “Guns won’t solve your problem here, you’ll just make more.”

        One of the red heads stepped forward, Daisy stay with her back turned, looking at the table, “We don’t want any bloodshed, Mister DeWitt, we just want what’s owed us. We kept this city floating for years, but we’re shuttered down ‘ere like rats” he said. Oh good a believer.

        “You’ll find, DeWitt, that there’s two kinds of people in this world. Those that do a hard day’s work and those with their foot in the other one’s face.” Fitzroy said. Booker looked back at her. Yeah, I know. I’ve been both. “The Vox ain’t never hurt anyone that didn’t keep them down.” She turned around, whatever was in here started to flow out, “There’s a fire we’ve been nursing here for years, everyone a us has got a little bit of it. It ain’t that bright, bring separated like that, but we bring it together? That’s when we show the way forward” She walked back to Booker, and handed him a roll of paper, “That’s what the Voice of the People is for, Booker DeWitt, to light the way to paradise, not burn it to the ground.”

        The room was silent again; Fitzroy turned around and walked back to her seat. Booker was sure he could see some tears in the men’s eyes.

        “You’re right, Mister DeWitt. Guns won’t solve any of our problems. But we have guns a plenty, thanks to Captain Slate here. No, what we need is more people to know how to use them. The people can’t defend themselves with something that they’re scared of,” she pointed to him, at the paper he was holding, “You’re new here, so follow those directions if you want our help.”

 

Booker and Slate walked back out of the tavern. The girl certainly had a way with words. It was easy to see how she could get people behind her. Booker unrolled the paper. It was a series of directions. He’d take a walk around later to get some bearings. At least down here the city didn’t change every hour. He looked at Slate, “So that’s her?” Slate nodded. Booker sighed and shrugged, “I never figured you for going soft in the head, Slate. Revolutionaries?” he shook his head and started to walk away.

        Slate just stood there, straight and tall, “You don’t understand Booker. These people, all the people of Columbia, they’ve been bullied and beaten by that Tin Man and his would be soldiers. Every day a little bit more is taken away. Now they finally have someone to help them stand up”

        Yeah, Booker thought, just like the Lakota, and the Apache and the Shoshones.

 

Elizabeth watched Booker and Slate leave the room, and turned back to look at Daisy and her men. She wanted to help her, she really did. It really was just like back then, head full of dreams, but there was one thing that she couldn’t shake from her mind. She was sure when Booker left, even while Daisy was talking with the other men, she was staring at Booker.

She didn’t like the thought of that at all.

 

----

 

        She didn’t like this at all. She watched Booker help the people of Finkton. He helped them get food. Helped them find work. He worked with Daisy Fitzroy and helped them learn to defend themselves. The two of them did for the people what she had tried to do. And whenever they weren’t doing that, they were fighting constantly. But Elizabeth knew the look Booker got some times.

Where was she? She should be here by now. Elizabeth already knew she got out of the tower, she saw her at the barricade. She should be here.

Booker and Daisy were fighting again. Daisy had a plan to set a riot in the factory; a group would hold up in there and inspire others to join. Booker was saying that she might as well just shoot those people now.

Elizabeth sighed and turned away.  The buildings and the streets melted away to reveal something else. Like wax around a mold. Brick faces dissolved into painted and papered walls. The cobbles of the street evaporated into a carpet. People walked into walls and disappeared, or stopped moving and became furniture. When she had stopped she was in a place she remembered all too well.

She was in her tower.

 

She found Elizabeth in the library. She always did spend a lot of time here.

And there she was, curled up with a book. She crept closer to see what it was.

‘Gone with the Wind’

        She was pretty sure she never had that book. As she walked around the arm chair Elizabeth sat in, the girl closed the book with a snap and a sigh, setting it down on the table. She watched herself walk up the stairs to her large bay window, looking out into the clouds. She followed. Every now and then the clouds would part, and she could see the country side below.

        After she and Booker had escaped, she made a point to find out how Columbia moved around. Booker told her he had found a map once. She wanted to visit every single place she had seen from that window.

        They hadn’t though…

        She sighed and turned away from the window, and again walked down the stairs. This was her home for what seemed like all her life. Sometimes she missed it, but only sometimes. And most of the time, only the books. Even now she wanted to leave. But she had to see what was keeping her so long.

        “It’s not as if I like being here…” she said aloud.

Elizabeth was stunned.

Did she… could she see her? “Excuse me?”

She watched herself turn back around, as if she heard something, but no response. Elizabeth walked out of the room. She followed her for a time, but she just did the same old things she always did. She sang to herself. She danced with herself. She read to herself. Even now she still went over to her little workshop that she thought was oh so well hidden, and worked at her lock that opened nothing and worked at ciphers she would get from Songbird.

She knew where they really came from now.

Mostly whatever rage seemed to run in the family wasn’t in her, but she felt it now.

This place, this whole damned place. It took everything she loved and poisoned it, knowing what was happening. What girl wouldn’t want a friend that would always look after you, and give you things without you asking? A gaoler. So many books that it would take years to read them all? Fantasies to keep your mind off where you were. The dresses, the singing, her ‘hobbies’ with the locks and codes. It was all just part of some mad man’s plan. She clenched her teeth as she watched herself sing some song or other that Fink had probably stolen. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

She turned on her heel and walked back to the library. The door was there, she didn’t need a key anymore. She had already unlocked it. She put her hand on the door and it swung open. She stepped into the hallway, took one step down, and she was back in Finkton. She took a deep breath and sighed. She wanted to see Booker again.

 

Elizabeth paused in her singing. She had heard something. A creak in the floorboards probably. She turned back to the sheet music and breathed in, but couldn’t bring herself continue. There was a nagging in the back of her mind. A small part of her told her to stop. She shook her head and looked at the music again. There was another creak. She cautiously stepped out of the room, and looked down the small hall that connected to the bedroom and the Library. She crept along the wall, and looked into her bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary there. She moved along to the Library and peeked in. Nothing strange there either. She was sure she heard something. She looked over at her chair, her book sitting on the small table next to it. As she took a step forward, she heard the creak again. It was louder. It was closer. It was behind her. She spun around and found herself facing a door, and a dimly lit hallway she had never seen before.

She ran and ran, down the stairs, past unlocked doors, until finally she stepped out into the light.

 

----

 

Booker took another swig from the whiskey bottle.

He’d been here for weeks.

        “Now, don’t get me wrong. I like helping people as much as the next man, but the people I owe money to? They’re not the like to leave things alone. I’ve gotta get the girl to them…” Booker looked to his left. He was sitting alone on the bench. Who was he talking to? He shook his head, and looked back out at the small square.

        Fitzroy had done already for herself. The Vox were getting more people every day. These people shared what they had. Helped each other, without a thought for themselves. Maybe he was wrong about her. The woman was still clearly insane, but given the place Columbia was, maybe insane here was sane everywhere else? He gave a little snort and took another drink. A soft twinkle in the air caused him to look around again. Shrugging at nothing he downed what was left in the bottle and stood up, dropping it on the ground.

       

        Elizabeth watched Booker walk away from the bench. She’d sat down next to him, Booker always said he liked to drink alone, but he never told her to leave when she joined him. The old man was surprisingly cute at his age too. She couldn’t have helped that giggle. She picked up the bottle and followed after him.

 

Slate was never much of a peacetime officer. On the field he knew where he stood. He had orders. He had a battle plan. There was the enemy, charge him and shoot that bastard. Simple. Daisy Fitzroy’s plan of social unrest for the Vox and terror for his soldiers wasn’t really part of his world view. He liked taking the spear to Comstock, but he’d rather it be in the open. Skirmishes and patrolling that’s all he was doing now, and then this whole mess. Daisy just had to lead from the front.

“You look more wretched than usual, Slate.”  Booker said, clasping his hand on the old man’s shoulder, “what has you looking like you ate a rat?”

“Corporal, this isn’t a laughing matter” Slate’s eye was stern and cold. Booker was glad he had a drink in him for this, “Daisy was supposed to be back here hours ago. Damien and Oliver said they thought they saw her heading up top for some protest someone else set up”

Daisy was the leader of a grass roots revolution movement. There wasn’t enough steam behind the Vox for it to run on its own, and even if some people thought of Slate or himself as heroes for their cause, Booker knew that they still saw them as outsiders. They needed Daisy. She couldn’t have been as stupid as to start sticking her nose out, could she?

“You want me to head up while you keep watch on the fort, Old Man?”

Slate pushed a sheet of paper towards him. The words ‘Wanted’ ‘Booker DeWitt’ False Shepherd’ and, ‘A.D.’ sucked as his view, he rubbed his branded hand. “You’re a wanted man too, Corporal, don’t forget that. You get seen too, you’re going to attract even more attention” The picture wasn’t very good. And the description even had him shorter, and it said his eyes were blue. The brand was the problem.

“I’ll think of something,” he said, “Besides, maybe if I pull her out of the pan, Daisy might listen to me for once.” Booker walked away.

Cornelius Slate watched him leave, and then turned back to his papers on ammunition reserves and weaponry caches. A number of his files were pinned in place with an empty whiskey bottle he didn’t remember putting there.

No wonder the damn boy always smells of booze, he thought before brushing the bottle off the table and hearing it smash against the ground.

 

The world outside was… was… Elizabeth couldn’t even find the words for it. The things she saw, the smells, the sounds! It was everywhere. A whole world she’d read about, but never seen. It almost seemed like anything could happen next. She could almost expect to see one of Jules Verne’s divers walking around the corner.

Hah, not likely.

Maybe if the city was underwater.

She couldn’t even contain the grin at the thought of such a thing.

She wandered the streets, watching attractions, punch and judy shows, there was even a mechanical Duke and Dimwit machine!

As she made her way through this wonderful little world, she could hear shouts. She didn’t really run, she felt that would be a little unlady like. If she had to give is a name, she figured it was more of a skip? A hop? Prance maybe. She headed for the shouting and the cheers.

There was a group of people, most of them dark skinned, but others were there too. A woman stood in front of them, up on some barrels and crates. She was saying something about freedom. People having a right to live how they chose. Elizabeth came closer, and before she knew it she was part of the crowd.

        “Men like Fink and Comstock, you think they care a lick about you?”  she said, pointing out at the crowd, “Not a one! Only two things they care about! Money and their legacy!” Elizabeth looked around; there were some cheers of agreement from the crowd. Not all of them from black or dirty faces either. “Look at Fink! Got his name all done up in lights in Finkton. Got his name all over here in Columbia. Has he ever given you anything? Has he ever tried to help a man when he falls down? Not without charging him he doesn’t!” more cheers this time. “And Comstock. Oh, that prophet so many are so on high about. Always around with his jackboots putting back anyone that says he’s otherwise. They say I did in Lady Comstock. They I tell you now, I know the truth!” Elizabeth could hear something in the distance, a sort of thwat thwat thumping, and a humming sound she could feel in her teeth, “Lady Comstock, she was murdered, and not by my hand, but by that damn prophet!”

        “Everyone disperse! Daisy Fitzroy, stay where you are, you are under arrest!”  A shadow flew over the crowd and Elizabeth looked up. A kind of flying boat had taken a place over head. Vents on the bottom spat out a colored heated haze that made her teeth hurt, “I repeat, everyone disperse!” the people in the crowd erupted outwards, only the run into the face of more men in blue coats, guards, police. Elizabeth spun as she watched anyone with darker skin being grabbed, hauled to the ground, or simply pushed and punched into submission. More men closed in on the make shift stage, and the woman, Daisy Fitzroy, Elizabeth guessed, jumped off and dashed for a line of men. As she did Elizabeth saw men from the boat pull out rifles and take aim. They were going to shoot her!

        “Wait don’t-“ before she could finish, one of the would-be shooters was thrown off the boat, followed quickly by a second, and a third. Elizabeth just stared at them as they writhed and groaned on the ground. That is until a fourth man fell from the boat, but this man landed in a clumsy roll, and quickly propped himself back up and stood in front of her. He had shortish brown hair, with a wide chin and a strong jaw, high cheek bones and a somewhat gaunt expression. She remembered later that his eyes were a very handsome shade of green. He looked down at her. Elizabeth would have thought of a million things to say to him later, but at that moment all she wanted to do was tell him her name. But she noticed the men taking Daisy Fitzroy away first. “ T-they’ve got her!” she pointed behind the man.

        Booker DeWitt turned. The girl was right. A group of officers had Daisy. If what Slate said was right they weren’t even going to bother with imprisoning her this time. It was going to be straight to the surgeons table for her.

        Not damn well likely.

        With a sideways nod to the girl Booker leapt over the men he’d tossed out of the police boat, and ran for the group.

“Daisy you damn idiot!”  He smashed his shoulder into the nearest one, sending him sprawling to the ground. The two men holding Fitzroy both turned and she took her chance, elbowing one in the stomach and tearing herself away from him. Booker brought a leg around against the second man’s knee. The yowl of pain and the wet crack that Booker was rewarded with told him he wasn’t going to be helping any time soon. Booker slipped his hand into the skyhook at his belt, and brought it around, clipping the head of the man he had tackled. Daisy punched the man she had elbowed, and sent him reeling to the ground.

“You’re a damn fool, DeWitt.”

“Yeah, a damn fool who’s saving your sorry hide.” He grabbed her by the waist and ran for the ledge.

Elizabeth couldn’t believe was she was seeing. This man had just saved this woman, and now he was going to kill himself with her? She ran towards them as they ran for the ledge. They both met the railing at the same time, but while Elizabeth stopped, the pair vaulted over it and into the white blue abyss beyond.

Until they both soared overhead on a metal rail Elizabeth hadn’t even noticed. They sped away as she watched, breath coming in quick gulps and her heart pounding like mad.

 

Hours later Elizabeth was in the would-be town of Finkton. After the fracas at the fairgrounds she asked around about what had happened. One kind man told her that it was Daisy Fitzroy, a woman that was supposed to have killed Lady Comstock. A much beloved woman in Columbia. She asked about the man that was with her too. He said he didn’t know much about him, other than he was someone with the Vox Populi. He smiled when he talked about what the Vox preached about. He seemed sympathetic about it. When she asked about where they were, he laughed and told her Finkton. He’d bought her a hat too; it had stitched ribs that made it poof out in twelve little wedges around a headband, a small brim kept some of the sun out of her eyes. The man said it got cold in Finkton, and that if a person was ever cold, they should always wear a hat.

So here she was, Finkton.

It was not like Columbia at all. People littered the streets, signs for help, for food. They were suffering here. Amongst them were some people making speeches, telling them about the Vox Populi. How they worked for a better tomorrow for all men. Elizabeth walked the streets for some time, until night started to fall. It got colder and colder, and a chill ran up her spine. She spied some people sitting around a small fire made on some bricks and cinderblocks. She walked over to them, but decided to sit away from the group. She didn’t know them and they didn’t know her. She didn’t know anyone…

“You should sit closer, you’ll catch your death out here.” It was a kind voice. Elizabeth looked to her side and saw a young man standing next to her. He had an average face, a somewhat heavy brow, but he had a nice demeanor to him.

“I’m… I’m n-not really sure I belong h-here” she said back. God it felt cold.

The young man pulled off his jacket, under it he wore a white sweater, “Here, put this on. Do you have family around here?”

Elizabeth accepted the jacket, putting it about her shoulders. She felt she looked a homeless boy that tramped the streets at night. She shook her head at the question, “I was… u-uhm, looking for someone. The Vox. A… a man.” she felt her face flush and looked down

The young man grinned, “I know that look. You want Booker DeWitt” he offered his hand out, “Lucky for you miss, I know the man. My name’s Jack”

 

----

 

        The skyrail above them clunked as the hook jerked from one rail section to the next. Daisy Fitzroy clasped her hands around the man as they sailed along the line.

        “What the hell were you doing!” he shouted to her, the wind was nearly deafening.

        “What I’m supposed to do!” she shouted back.

        “Damn fool, woman!”

She knew she shouldn’t have gone to the rally. It wasn’t even hers, and it was far more dangerous than one down in Finkton. But there was a fire in her sometimes, and she had to find a way to let it out, lest it burn her up from the inside. Otherwise it’d be like that doctor Comstock had talking to her. Why’d she done that? As she thought on it she saw over Bookers shoulder more shadows coming along the skyrail, They didn’t have any friends at the protest.

        “They’re coming!”

        At the shout Booker looked back himself. Damn.

The men were gaining on them. Doing her best not to let go, Daisy felt around Booker’s body. He kept a gun dammit where is it. After some groping Booker figured it out yelled “Shoulder, shoulder!”

        Fitzroy reached around under his shoulder and pulled out the man’s pistol, taking aim at their pursuers and firing. Her shots went wide as they entered a curve. One shot hit its mark, and a man fell from the line but three more were coming up fast. Daisy felt Booker tighten his Grip on her waist.

        “Hold on!”

He jumped.

For a brief, horrible moment, Daisy felt her stomach churn as they fell through the air. She heard a scream that wasn’t hers, and then they landed on something. It was a hard landing and the two of them nearly cannoned away from each other. As she got up she realized what they had landed on was a deck, another police boat, and the two of them had just smashed a man into the boards of it. The shocked members of the crew stood still for just a moment, but that, it seemed was tall the pair needed. Daisy brought up the pistol shooting the man nearest her. Blood erupted from his chest as she shot him two, three, four times and then he plummeted over the side. She got up to find Booker backing away from another man as he swung a skyhook around in an arc, its teeth spinning. Booker jumped back to avoid another slash. As the officer was whirling around for another one his shoulder exploded with a pop and he spun to the floor boards.

        “Booker!”  

        He turned to see Daisy, holding a rifle. She tossed it to him and pointed up into the sky. Their altercation on the police boat only took a couple of seconds, and now the men who were chasing them were just catching up. Booker shouldered the carbine and took aim. The gun spat out flame as he fired, another man fell from the line, screaming as he did. Two left. The rifle barked again and a third man fell. The firing pin clicked in the empty magazine.

        “Dammit. Daisy I need ammo! I-” as he pulled the breech back the last man was already landing. The clip shot out with a ping, and Booker looked up to see the blue coated man, bringing up a machine gun. Daisy was ahead of him, grabbing another carbine and bringing it around, smashing the butt of the stock into the man’s chin, sending him staggering back before turning it around and shooting him in the gut. The man continued moving back and stepping over the edge.

        He let go of the breech lever and it hit back home with a snap. Booker grinned at the woman as her chest rose and fell as she panted to herself before looking back and him with a smirk of her own.

        I guess she can hold her own.

        “I guess you’re good for something after all, huh DeWitt?”

        Booker couldn’t help but laugh, “It’s why you wanted me isn’t it?”

        Daisy watched Booker as he looked out amongst the clouds, hair in the wind. Yes, it was.

 

        Elizabeth walked around the crowd. Finkton was livelier than ever. Daisy had a plan; it’s just too bad she already knew how it ended. She stepped between two people, and looked at her own back. The girl from the tower stood with two other men, all three of them staring up at the stage. When Fitzroy stepped out, she cheered with everyone else.

 

Fitzroy told everyone about some men Fink had killed. A gunsmith name Chen Lin was taken from his home, his workshop, and his wife. They took him away and tortured him, cut him up, to pliers to his parts and then watched as he bled out. It was time to take a stand. A group of the Vox would go into the factory grounds and lay claim to an area, not let anyone pass, shut it down. This, she said, would inspire other workers to join in. Eventually, as more and more people join, they could shut down the factory.

“Now, I know this is dangerous.” She said, looking out at the gathering. Every day they got more people, no longer was the Vox just a group of workers that couldn’t get a wage. She even saw people from Columbia proper, even Emporia, “When Fink sees people doing what we’re planning he’ll send his men out. Anyone that goes could be hurt. You could be killed. But we’ll send the Captain and some men with you. I won’t ask anyone to go that don’t want, but remember. This is where it begins. We’ll show them that we ain’t afraid of ‘em!”

        The people cheered. She asked who would come, and people raised their hands and their voices. Between her two friends, Elizabeth looked around at the men and women who chose to risk themselves for what they believed in. It was just like Les Miserables, but this time they had their own army. They had training. They could win. She raised her hand and chanted that she would go.

        Jack and his friend Lee on either side of her followed suit.

 

        His room was sparse. He never much thought of filling any place he lived with things. He couldn’t remember ever having to, or having anything to want to remember. He was alone, well, except for the empty bottles. Booker downed his fourth bottle; it fell over as he set it down on the table. Damn woman’s going to get them killed.

        “Booker.”

        “Go away, Fitzroy” he twisted off the top of another bottle and brought it to his lips.

        “Why are you so against it?” she sat down at the table next to him.

        “It’s just another homestead. Those people? You’re getting them to volunteer for their own deaths”

        “You don’t know that. If the other workers-”

        “It won’t matter!” he turned and glared at her. He hadn’t meant to yell. He fell silent and took another drink. “The hell am I even doing here,” He pushed off the table and stood as his chair rattled to the floor, he swayed slightly and Daisy caught him, “I’ve got to find the girl.”

        “What girl?”

        “Forget it. I’m square with you and your people” he pushed her away, “There’s the door”

        “Booker, I still need your help,” Daisy grabbed his arm.

        He whirled around and hit her.

To her credit, Fitzroy stood her ground. She pushed her hair from her face and glared back at the man.

“Ever since that damn rally, you’ve been on a tear something fierce”

“They killed people, Booker! Innocent people that never did anything to anyone. They wanted blood, an’ they drew it first”

“Not from what I’ve heard about you”

Daisy thought of the doctor again, he brought out his hand. He said he respected her, believed her. Cared about her. She put a pistol to his stomach. Daisy sent her fist into Booker’s jaw. He’d felt worse, even when sober, but in his stupor he fell back against the wall, hitting it with a thud. His vision blurred and as he shook his swimming head Daisy was on him. She didn’t yell or smack him, instead she grabbed his head.

 

        Elizabeth stood in the door way, and watched as Daisy Fitzroy kissed Booker. It was like before; she knew she should feel something but the connection wouldn’t come until she woke up. Fitzroy pulled the man from the wall and to the bed, they swore at each other. Booker called her a fool and Daisy called him a coward. Elizabeth turned to the wall when they had finally gotten to the act. She didn’t feel angry, this wouldn’t ever happen now, but she still didn’t want to see it.

 Elizabeth knew Booker’s past, even if he didn’t, she’d seen it. All of it. He was a man to drown himself in anything he could find to dull his sorrows. She kicked at the floor molding of the wall, turned and left.

 

The next morning, Booker groaned as he got out of bed. His head and body ached. A shuffling of shoes caused him to look up. Daisy Fitzroy sat at his small table, covered in whiskey and spirits bottles. She was pulling on her boots. After a moment a flash of realization hit the man, and he groped around for his pants, and pulled them on.

When he was done, Fitzroy spoke, “I wanted you to go with them tomorrow, Booker”

“Who?”

“The People, into the factory grounds”

He remembered her plan. Damn woman, “I already told you-”

“They like Slate well enough, they do. But people don’t take to him like they did to you” She laced up the last bit of her boot, and stood up, “They need someone they can follow proper, Booker. You’re right. We don’t have enough steam in our boilers yet. But you’re good at stoking a fire” she said, with a grin.

Would it make a difference? He was there at Homestead, would having real weapons have helped those people? It didn’t help at Wounded Knee, but would having someone that knew it would turn sour help? In the back of his mind something nagged at him, that whatever guilt threw him here, he could leave them behind. It was there fight, not his. He had a job. Get the girl and get her out. He didn’t have to help them.

“I’ll go.”

 

----

 

Epilogue

 

Elizabeth stood back in the tavern. It had been more than a day since the battle had ended. The barricade still stood, and Fink’s men had left the bodies where they had fallen. The rioters bodies, at least. Fink’s men had been taken away.

Booker and the girl’s bodies were just how she left them.

The doors opened again, and a new group of men stepped in, they wore red bandanas tied about their heads, legs or arms. Some of them even had their faces painted in crimson. With them was a woman, Daisy Fitzroy.

She surveyed the floor, impassive features leaving nothing for anyone to glean what she could be thinking. She stepped over the bodies of the fallen people. Those who had chosen to believe in what she spoke, to risk what they had in the name of an idea called ‘freedom’ She finally came to Booker’s bloody body. Elizabeth kneeled down as Daisy did, over Booker’s body. For a while she didn’t do anything, she just stared at the man’s face.

She put her hand over his own, crossed on his chest and whispered to herself “I’m sorry Booker. You were right. But people need more’in some person to follow. They need a sign, to rally the people. To call them to arms. To bring them in line.”

She stood up. Elizabeth couldn’t be sure, but she thought there might have been tears in Daisy’s eyes.

She watched her walk with the men outside, and then climbed the barricade herself.

She spoke to people beyond it, about how Booker, Slate, and all the people here gave their lives to fight the Founders. To fight against what they stood for. That the only way to give the people laying here justice was to rip out the Founders like weeds.

        They would start with Fink.

 

        Elizabeth’s eyes opened. The sunlight was warm on her skin. She didn’t know how long she had stood there with her eyes closed. It was always so hard to tell time when she did this. She brought her hand to her face. Just like she knew there would be, her cheeks were wet with tears. It was an odd thing, seeing what she did. In her mind she could separate it from the present, but her body still reacted. She stood up from the bench she sat at, holding the arm of it to steady herself. She could feel a creak in her bones as she got up. She walked slowly over a small plot of grass and dirt, to a patch of earth with a granite slab imbedded in the ground. It had a metal plate riveted to it; it read ‘A. DeWitt 1875-1892.’ Next to it was another slab, with a newer looking metal plate. Engraved on its surface were the words ‘B. DeWitt 1874-1961’ she sighed and a sad smile wrinkled over her face. Even with everything else she saw, it was always nice to see him again.