With all the meaty joys and greasy horrors of the Henderson's Ribs behind them, the rather more inviting and significantly less crowded ship welcomed the crew back home. There was still a steady stream of ships coming and going, handled by a process that'd make any modern air traffic control operator wake up in the night, trembling and sweaty. To give the briefest of overviews and an indication of where management ought to be making changes, Henderson's Ribs licence for operating above the planet of Nurr-Sluggi does not grant them the right to track ships that are nearby due to security concerns. Officially, this meant that once a ship's location could not be tracked until it was safely docked at one of the air locks. The Customer Flow Management Team was forced to press their faces up against the glass of the control tower to get an idea of what was going on out there.

 A voice crackled over the radio in the cockpit. It sounded stressed out and, in the background, a careful listener might be able to pick out the usual sounds of a Henderson's Ribs control tower. Which is, to say, shouting, screaming, swearing.

 "[i]This is Henderson's Ribs to Quest for Flavour at Dock 16. You have permission to... wait for it, wait for it, okay, go! Permission to undock! This window is available to you for another eighty six seconds, eighty five, eighty fou-[/i]"

 It fell silent for a moment, then woke back up. A different voice came through, the original speaker could be heard making some sort of muffled protest.

 "[i]Apologies for the technical difficulties, Quest for Flavour, you are free to undock whenever you like. Please be aware that we are experiencing,[/i]" a blood-curdling scream rang in the background that was cut abruptly short with a gurgle, "[i]technical difficulties and we ask customers arriving or departing to take extra care on their journey today.[/i]"

The ship was ready to go. The galaxy was their genetically modified bivalve mollusc.