Carter and Christina
Zeppelin #27, Engine Room
James climbed up the shaft leading into the belly of the massive airship, his boots echoing faintly against the metal rungs as he ascended. The interior of the dirigible was dimly lit, its maze-like corridors sprawling in a way that felt both familiar and entirely foreign.
He wasn’t sure he was going the right way, but he figured the basic principles of airship design wouldn’t be too far off from those of The Rising Eagle. The engine room was likely near the center of the vessel, where the weight distribution could be balanced. Still, this ship was bigger and more complex than anything he’d flown before, and every turn felt like a gamble.
As he moved cautiously through the corridor, the faint hum of the airship’s systems was interrupted by something else, a muffled voice. James froze, his ears straining to catch the sound. It came again, faint but distinct, echoing through the narrow halls. His heart thudded as he pulled his Harlan pistol from its holster, gripping it tightly as he followed the noise.
The sound led him to a closed compartment door. He pressed his ear against it, trying to discern the tone—angry? Frustrated? Definitely not friendly, but not immediately hostile either. Taking a deep breath, James stepped back and carefully turned the handle, his pistol aimed and ready.
The door creaked open to reveal a woman crammed into what was unmistakably the ship’s bathroom. Her expression was a mix of irritation and indignation, her grease-streaked overalls and disheveled hair adding to the absurdity of the scene. James blinked, his pistol still raised, though he quickly realized how awkward the situation was.
"Uh…" he began, lowering the weapon slightly but keeping it in his hand, "This, uh, isn’t quite what I was expecting." He gestured vaguely with the gun, then realized how unhelpful that was and holstered it.
"Who are you?" Christina demanded, her words tinted by her Calarian accent. "Where is that
cretino who locked me up in here? What is going on? Have the People's Army broken through?"
This new man didn't look like he was a member of the People's Army, but he also had a gun. Perhaps her accent would inflame his heart, too?
"I am Christina Ferrari, one of the shipyard mechanics. They asked me to come aboard to repair the engines. I had a work order that other.... man took."
James chuckled softly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk at the lady's manner of speaking, "Well, Ms. Ferrari," he said, rolling the name off his tongue with deliberate ease, " Can’t say I know where the 'cretino' wandered off to, but he didn’t seem all that interested in keeping you company."
He straightened, resting a hand on his hip while keeping his tone light, "Name’s James Carter, and no, I’m not with the People's Army or whatever mess they’ve got this city drowning in. Just a guy trying to get this airship running and maybe not die in the process."
James gestured vaguely toward the corridor behind him, "Now, since you’re a mechanic and you’ve got the magic words ‘repair the engines’ in your repertoire, I’d say you’re exactly who I need right now. Unless you’d rather wait for that revolution outside to come knocking?"
His tone shifted slightly, still easygoing but with an undercurrent of urgency, "So, what’s it gonna be, Ms. Ferrari? Wanna show me how to get this thing off the ground, or do we sit here and hope the next person who shows up isn’t one of those lunatics?"
"Engines can wait," she said, all business as she walks determinedly out of the loo and heading midships. "First we fill the lift cells and get off the ground. Tell that
cretino to let go all lines, I will not mind if he is left behind, but my gun I may need later. Or get an axe to cut them, we must rise. Once we in the air where they cannot reach us, we can start the engines."
James nodded, taking in Christina’s sharp, no-nonsense tone. "Fair enough," he said, glancing briefly around the insides of the ship, "The others are already on it, cutting the lines. Told them we don’t have time to waste, and I’m pretty sure they’re not planning on leaving anyone behind. Though, can’t say I’d shed a tear for that guy if they did," He smirked faintly.
He shifted his weight, motioning for her to lead the way, "Alright, Ms. Ferrari, show me where we need to go to fill those cells. I’d rather not stick around to find out how friendly those revolutionaries are with their aim."
As they began moving, he added with a casual shrug, "And don’t worry, we’ll get your gun back soon enough. You can count on that."
"We go aft," Christina pointed. "I show you how to fill midships lift cells. then you go forward and inflate those while I go back and inflate those. Normally, there is many hands, but we have only have our two to do this, so we must hurry."
The giant gas bags were partially inflated, the zeppelin not needing them to maintain its shape. She dug out two pairs of gloves and gave James a pair. "Valve gets very cold when we inflate, will take off skin."
"See that mark?" the engineer said, pointing to the thin silver strip under the gage glass. Taking hold of the large wheel, she turned it, listening to the gas filling the bag. "When needle reach that mark, you close valve tight and go to next. If you cannot get valve to move, there is pipe to stick on the valve and turn it. Got it?"
"Oh, very important!" she yells over the roaring gas. "If you see tear in bag, go to next!"
James nodded, slipping on the gloves Christina had handed him, "Got it," he said, his tone steady, though the urgency in his movements betrayed the tension he felt.
"Turn the valve, watch the needle, close it tight. Move to the next if there’s a tear. Simple enough."
He watched closely as Christina turned the wheel, the roar of gas filling the lift cells echoing through the chamber. The faint chill radiating from the valve made him glad for the gloves—she wasn’t kidding about it taking skin off. James scanned the gauge glass and noted the silver mark she’d pointed out earlier, filing it away as he braced himself to take on his section.
"Alright," he said, moving to his assigned lift cell, "Let’s get this bird ready to fly."
James gripped the wheel and started turning, feeling the vibration of the mechanism beneath his hands. The roar of gas filled the chamber as he worked, his eyes flicking to the gauge every few seconds to watch the needle creep toward the silver strip. A faint hiss from somewhere deeper in the airship made him tense momentarily, but when he couldn’t see any visible tears in his section of the bag, he pressed on.
"You weren’t kidding about needing more hands for this," James called out over the noise, glancing toward Christina. He kept focusing on his task and ensuring the needle stopped exactly at the mark before closing the valve tightly.
Moving to the next cell, he grabbed the pipe Christina mentioned earlier to get a stubborn valve turning, the roar of gas growing louder in his ears. The urgency of the task kept him focused, but his thoughts drifted briefly to how much time they had left before the revolutionaries arrived. He hoped the others were nearly finished with the lines.
"Next one’s good to go," he said aloud, ready to move to the next.
Christina nodded. Already the ship should be starting its journey upwards, a low moan could be heard running down the frame as each bag filled. Outside, it would be hard to see, but the gondola must already be a couple of feet in the air - not yet out of reach. Important was the bags holding the Blau gas, a rip would fill their compartment. If they didn't keep the zeppelin level, it might flow back - towards the engines. Fortunately, they were all cold back there.
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