Head-over-feet, Simnia toppled against the wall of the engine room while the rotors hummed and the gears churned. She skittered upright again, stared around her wildly, and realized that she had indeed caused the machines to begin working. Now that the gears were running, it was easier to see what was connected to what else, where those lines were going, how the steam was moving through the pipes. As the engines warmed up the room grew hotter and louder, and Simnia pulled one last throttle which she was now confident would increase speed. The floor tilted under her, and the ship wobbled because of the damage in one balloon, but they were moving.

After a few minutes of checking the settings and ensuring that everything was running properly, Simnia rushed out and up the stairs to the deck above, where she crawled up the banister and leaned over to see the city disappearing behind them. The wind rushed all around, and ahead were only clouds and sky. Rightly proud of herself, she descended again to maintain the engines and continue her new duties.

And then, an order came down from the captain that they would be making a stop. Stop? [i]Stop?[/i] She hadn't considered that, really -- but the logical and right assumption was that what she had done to make the ship move would also make it slow down, if done in the opposite way. And so, gently, she eased a lever down and released a button, so that whoever was driving this thing (who [i]was[/i] driving this thing?) could ease into port. Wherever that was. Simnia couldn't see a damned thing down here.

She went above deck to watch the balloon being repaired, and to see the captain putzing around in the grass like he'd never seen grass before. She puffed her cheeks and went below deck again, not at all interested in the dirt, and waited there for orders to start the engines. The second time was a cinch, and while the ship was moving, Simnia even felt confident enough in the engines to leave them for a time, to seek out food and shipmates.

And then, Braelv. After easing the ship into the port, as soon as the engines cut out the captain's voice hollered down the stairs. Simnia was tired and aching from all the lever-pulling, her dress smelled like sweat and apricots, and her head was ringing from the constant noise of the engines. But she clambered up the stairs and stepped out onto the deck again, to immediately gravitate toward the port bow and the view of the strange and foreign city.