"I dunno, Karl Ebon! I really think it's something wrong with your end!"
"My end?!" Ebon Mane snarled, fussing with several levers in the lavender light of the Noble Jury's engine core. "How could it possibly be from my end?!"
Zaid's voice retorted through the intercom, "The ship keeps wanting to veer to the right!"
"Jee, I dunno..." Ebon snarled as he fussed with a dial. "Nnnngh... c-could it be that you're the one constantly turning it to the right?!"
"But it's wanting to turn even harder, though!"
"Then compensate for it!"
"I've tried! But if I jerk a little too much to the left, we'll be caught up in the outer cloud wall and be torn to shreds!"
"Then try not to jerk it so much!" Ebon's eyes crossed and he shook his muzzle. "What I mean is—Nnnnngh! Wanna switch places, Zaid?"
"What would that accomplish?"
"I dunno." Ebon leaned against a lever, sighing. "Maybe both of us just need a rest or something."
"You fancy yourself a regular NEIGHSCAR driver?"
"...the buck?! No! What does that even mean?!"
"I think it means you need to stick to salad tossing and I need to be the stallion who sticks to displaying inexplicably competent piloting skills."
"Unnnnnngh..." Ebon slumped against the lever, moving it a little. "I give up."
"Whoah dayum! What'd you just do?!"
"What?! What?!" Ebon tilted back, shivering. "Did I blow us up?! Pl-please say I didn't just blow us up!"
"No no! That's good! Whatever you just did, do it some more!"
"You mean panic wildly?!"
"No, the other thing!"
Ebon grunted, shoving the one lever all the way. "You m-mean... th-this...?"
A groaning noise issued throughout the pipes and conduits of the Noble Jury. In the pilot's seat, Zaid gripped the controls, grinning to himself as he found the turbulence lessening. The console around him rattled a bit less, then fell to a relaxing calm.
"Therrrrrrrrrre she crowns. Such a pretty rabbit in its hole."
"Huh?!"
"Ahem. Sorry. Had a Bluish Carrol flashback."
"Zaid, it isn't nice to lose me while you're in the process of losing me."
"Whatever you did, it's made this ride nineteen percent cooler."
"Wow... that's... uhm... an odd number."
"Yeah, well, I farted out the remaining one percent an hour ago when I had to fly us through a gaping hole in a shattered temple."
"You did WHAT?!"
"D'uhmmm... f-forget I said anything! Just have yourself a little squat down there and take a breather! Oh, and check on ragdollette when you get a chance. Make sure she isn't flooding the observation room with drool." Zaid slapped the intercom, switching it off. His eyes instantly darted back to the stormy field ahead. "Phweeeeee... Paging Mr. Floyd with a collect call. Now would be a good time to wake back up, you big fuzzy wuzzy." He glanced aside at the large round structure that the Noble Jury was orbiting at a distance. "I could totally use someone with landing experience... and phallic antlers."
"It's..." Pilate's muzzle quivered as he hobbled alongside Roarke. A long granite plain stretched before them, flanked by marble columns shattered by impacts with other temples. "It's all so cluttered." He tilted his head about while rain pelted on his helm, his body, and the structures all around him. "And yet it's like I can see forever. Every single rain drop and cracked surface..."
"Try to focus on specific details in front of you," Roarke said. "The Ocular Array was originally built by Searonese bounty hunters to detect movement of their prey in the dark. I'm guessing that the Lounge stumbled upon technology abandoned by my long lost sisters who took their hunting expeditions east. It's the kind of thing that would serve the naga well in these dense, cloudy wastes."
"And just what was it that convinced you to try hooking this thing up to my skull?"
"Stop leaning against me!" Roarke hissed, stepping to the left.
Pilate stumbled, wincing. "But! B-but I need to—"
"No, you don't," Roarke grunted. "You need to see on your own. There is much to do here in this mess. I can't be in two places at once, but with you on my side, we can make a difference."
"With what?" Pilate actually bothered to glance at the bundle in his grip. The red lines of his "vision" pierced the fabric, outlining the smooth shard of skystone that he was carrying. "Won't the Lounge have your pelt once they discover that 'Vaughan' had stolen this from their engine?"
"I hope to be through with them long before that happens," Roarke said. "Living among the reptiles isn't exactly conducive to relaxation." Her muzzle tightened while her eye-lenses retracted. "I watched first-hoof as Razzar stripped one of his colleagues, wounded him in the neck, and then threw him to the claws and teeth of the rest of the crew... who promptly devoured him." She sighed out her nostrils. "Believe me, breeder, it's difficult to dig one's muzzle deep into the quivering intestines of a dying lizard and fake cannibalism."
"Why in Spark's name would Razzar do that to one of h-his own kind?!"
"Because he was 'weak,'" Roarke grunted. "It's a sentiment I've understood all too well in my days among the Searonese. Only, this time..." Her voice trailed off.
"'This time' what?"
She grimaced, then frowned. "It doesn't matter. The point is, the Lounge are dangerous and unpredictable. Admittedly, they possess many strong attributes, but they've been working under the dominating fear and pressure of Razzar for so long that all they can do is lead travellers of the Wastes to ruin. And now that they're here—in this city—I fear that they could cause as much damage if more so than the changelings."
"Are you sure you're not just making a subjective argument after having blended with them for so long?"
"Trust me. Although it's likely the goal of Rainbow and the others to escape this place, there is no way on Searo's green earth that we can leave it floating here for the Lounge to acquire."
"Acquire? You m-mean they want to do something with this abominable city?!"
"They don't chase changelings just for sport, breeder. The Lounge torture these creatures, mutilate them, feed them pieces of their own insides—anything to get them to betray information that's only supposed to belong to the brood's hive mind. As of now, Razzar's gathered enough knowledge to realize that this place can be piloted."
"Piloted? You mean like a vessel?"
"Precisely. At first, I thought that by infiltrating the Lounge—I would learn all about the potential hazards of the Wastes. Turns out they're just as dangerous as the changelings themselves. But... there's something more."
"More?"
"A third party. Something potentially more dangerous."
"Even more dangerous than the Lounge and the changelings?!" Pilate almost tripped in mid-speech. "Roarke, you're going to murder my h-heart at this rate. What kind of a third party?"
"Only the changelings know, but Razzar was capable of extracting a vague idea from the shape-shifters he interrogated. Whatever this danger is, it lies deep in the heart of this city."
"And what's the Lounge's goal? To unleash this evil?"
"No." Roarke shook her head. "But whatever they seek is somewhere beyond it. The Lounge is willing to risk anything to achieve their goal, even if it means the ruination of all the survivors clinging to the platforms of this mess."
"That's... quite horrible."
"Yes." Roarke nodded. "In my short life, I've endeavored to be vicious and I've even attempted virtue, but nothing sickens me more than innate ambivalence."
"Then that's what we're here to do, huh?" Pilate tilted his helm towards her. "We're going to use this skystone to prevent the Lounge from unleashing some sort of evil just to pilot the city?"
"No. We're going to pilot the city ourselves."
Pilate nearly collapsed. "What?! But... but I-I thought you just said—"
Roarke glanced towards him. "I didn't suggest we were going to pilot it somewhere safe."
Pilate gaped at her. "You wish to destroy Stratopolis."
"Precisely."
Silence.
"How swiftly c-can I be of service to this mission?" Pilate asked.
"Trot faster."
"Yes, ma'am." And the two galloped straight ahead.