It took Galea only a couple of minutes to put in an appearance, barging into the cockpit, levitation still fastening a parka around her thin body. "I have the conn, Mister Fancy Pants," she stated crisply. "Report." Her voice was wavery not from age, but from the airship's continued antics, bouncing and wobbling randomly. More flickers briefly lit the small chamber, less distant now, but any accompanying rumbles were inaudible over the structural, mechanical, and vocal ruckus filling the gondola.