The Onion-model.

Once upon a time there was an Organ.

An organ is a musical instrument. It is a big musical instrument; but this organ in particular was rather small specimen, albeit formidable: two yellowing rows of keys, a multitude of pedals, and an intimidating array of copper-knobbed stops and buttons all over the console. This was only the user interface; the large pipes and small pipes ran this way and that all over the Onion-model (it was in the Onion-model) and filled most of it. The space as you might imagine was not very big to start with: the largest space was a cylindrical hallway down the center with the longest and biggest of the pipes situated along it. At the back there was the engine. At the front there was the console for the organ and the rest of the controls, and a round, porthole-like window that was the only window in the space-ship. The walls were paneled with wood and the fixtures for the pipes were copper. A low rumbling sound permeated the entire structure; take-off was eminent. 

Two women were in the control-room. Sturdy, good-natured folk they were, round-faced, stubby-nosed, and brown-skinned, with big rough hands and wide smiles. The broadest and sturdiest of the two was sitting at the organ console with her feet propped on the bench, fiddling with a pocket-watch. The other, slightly more slender girl was at the rest of the engine controls, holding an aged piece of parchment close to her rather bulging blue eyes.  

“He said to wait until he was done talking.” Said the girl at the organ. She glanced up at the round window, which showed mostly blue sky. “How are we supposed to know when that is?”

“When he comes in, I guess. That'll be pretty soon after he's done talking, I suppose.”

There was silence except for the engine.  

“Hey, Madelyn.”

“What is it now, Martha.” Said the girl with the parchment.

“Its twelve o'clock.”

“Ah.” Madelyn turned the paper upside down, squinted at it, then turned it right side up.

“We should be going soon.”

“I suppose so.”

Martha gave an impatient hop on the bench. “Im ready!”

“Good!”

“Are you?”

A pause. “Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Yup.”

“Have you figured where we're going yet?”

“Well, not exactly. . .” Madelyn flattened the paper on the console. It was a sort of map, covered with tiny dots. Very few of the dots were labeled, and a large symbol in the center of the map was marked ‘Sun’. A blank section at the top read ‘Here was lost the great Obsidian’ and a particularly large marker shaped like a simple teardrop read ‘World of Lakes.’ That was all.

“You haven't? Why not?”

“Why not? This thing is outdated! We don't have access to anything accurate (if anything more accurate exists, which is doubtful) and I'm fairly sure no one really knows where anything is anyway.”

“What about Lakia?”

“Except for Lakia.”

“Interesting.” Martha mused. “We haven't started yet and we already appear to be lost.”

“I didn't say lost—we don't know where anything is.”

Martha raised a quizzical eyebrow; but before she could respond, there was the sound of the front door banging and clanging open down below.

“There he is.” Remarked Madelyn.

“Welp, here we go,” said Martha, pulling out a stop or two. Something in the engine creaked loudly. “Let's hope it works.”

“It does seem a little old, for a spaceship,” said Madelyn as politely as she could. “I suppose it was all Uncle could get his hands on. Are you nervous, Sister?”

Martha looked up. “Huh? Not me!”

Madelyn gave her a knowing look. “You can't be flying for the first time and not be nervous. You just can't feel it yet.”

“Well, I'm excited. My inner archeologist—” Martha clapped a hand to her chest, “---is bouncing with joy. I know yours is too.”

“It will be,” Madelyn remarked sagely, “as soon as it knows there's something to be excited about. I'm more excited for this “peculiar floating sensation” that Uncle says will occur.”

Some minutes passed while both busily pulled knobs and tweaked levers. The engine rumbled loudly through the floor. A blueish billow of smoke rose past the window, which seemed to trigger Martha's sense of nervousness.

“It makes me wonder if Ma had a point,” mused Martha, “when she said ‘twas best to keep one's feet on solid ground. She never did hold with these flying trips of Uncle's, did she?”

“She never said so outrightly,” said Madelyn, who was experiencing similar jabs of nerves at the sight of the smoke. “but you never really know. She never said we should go but then again, she never said we shouldn't. Didn't she, Sister?”

“Excactly, precisely put. I say . . .” The rumbling sound grew louder. The window rattled in its copper frame.

“That doesn't convince me,” squeaked Madelyn, “of this thing's space-worthiness. Did we check to make sure it was air-tight?”

“I don't think we did!” said Martha, her voice much higher than normal. “I guess we'll find out!”

“Find out!” Said Madelyn shrilly. “That'll be the end of us, I daresay! Here, hand me that screwdriver.”

Martha passed her the wooden-handled screwdriver and she cranked down on the window-screws. The rattling stopped.

“Whee!” Said Martha. “This might be more interesting than I thought—”

“What's that!” shrieked Madelyn.

“We're going, I think!” yelped Martha. “Hang on! Where's my seat belt again?”

Have you ever been on an airplane, sitting in the back, and the sound of the engine turns suddenly into a great thundering roar, and the plane gives a jolt, and you feel a strange sensation of movement as the plane starts? What happened was like that, only ever so much bigger and louder; and a great deal more frightening, because there is smoke billowing past the window and jets of flame spouting along the ground. I am afraid it was all very chaotic: especially since the inside was so old and rickety and rough, with not much in the way of seat-belts (though there were some rather mothy straps of leather that served the purpose.) There was a shaky moment, then a wobbly sensation, and they could feel the rocket gaining altitude. Madelyn's squeak of fright became a squeal of joy. 

“We've done it! We're flying!” she shouted over the noise.

“Great heavens, and ‘tisn't it grand!” rejoined her sister, and she seized Madelyn in a huge and awkward hug.

The rocket rumbled and for a terrifying moment seemed to tilt sideways. Madelyn scrambled to her controls and frantically pushed buttons.

“My poor heart! This trip will be the end of me, I fear. And we're not even three yards up!”

“Dont be depressed, Sister!” Said Martha bracingly. “I sense more adventure than danger ahead! But who's that?”

The door opened and they expected to see their Uncle Marley. Behold, and even older and greyer visage peered through the door.

“Why, Nick, what are you doing?”

“Coming along, I daresay!” said the old man. 

Martha and Madelyn looked at each other. Nick was a good friend of their uncle's. It would be nice to have him along. He was rumored to have been a decent rocket traveler.

“Good to see you, Mr. Nick.” Said Madelyn. 

“I suppose we should get settled!”