The Engine did it's thing, carefully jetting out just the right amount of Unreal to propel it through the layer of [i]stuff[/i] that kept our galaxy (voted "Best Galaxy of the Year" every year since the prize itself was announced) separate from another galaxy that theoretically existed. Navigating through the Unreal was a delicate process, partly because of the mathematics involved in actually reaching your destination, but mostly because staring out the window to check where you were gave most people a blinding headache. There were all sorts of things that could go wrong too, a flask failure in an engine could see an entire ship flooded with the super-dense material of the Unreal, sinking the ship and damning the crew to a life of something quite unspeakable. The bubble of Real could burst. Space madness could set in. The coffee machine could stop working. Pirates could strike. A miscalculation could see a ship reappear dangerously close to a star, or uncomfortably close to an ex-boyfriend or, in the case of Stellar Whales, both.

Fortunately for the crew of the Quest for Flavour, none of these terrible things, or any other terrible thing really, happened as they breached the divide from the Unreal to the Real. From the outside looking in, the ship squeezed itself out through an invisible crack and wobbled slightly before seeming, well, real once more. For those inside the ship, there'd be a loud "[i]pop![/i]" and space outside would look normal as the protective bubble bursts. The Engine went back to sleep, letting red-hot components cool. A few of the marshmellows that the Bees had left on sticks nearby the Engine for just this moment began to brown.

The ship appeared a mostly-safe distance away from the planet of Ofromia. It was swelteringly close to the star of the same name. The original inhabitants weren't particularly inventive when it came to naming, so "Ofromia" refers to the sole inhabited planet, the whopping great big star it orbits, the two satellites that orbit the planet, the main continent of the planet [i]and[/i] it remained one of the most popular family names on the planet, until Governor Ofromia introduced "Ofromia's Law #53527", which assigned families new names to stop the confusion. Even from a respectful distance out, you could see (if you cared to look), the giant dome that covered the capital city, Ofromia. It was big. Larger than it had any right to be, really. Striped with reflective panels and solar cells, it positively shone, and did a fairly good job of harvesting power to fuel whatever went on within the dome. Underneath the thin atmosphere, the rest of the planet seems rather underdeveloped - a few settlements here and there, but no sign of anything like the great continent spanning cities of Londis IV, or really much of anything.

Ships came and went, a chain of commerce and tourism that connected Ofromia with the rest of the civilised galaxy. A few artificial satellites hung in orbit of Ofromia (the planet), most of them festooned with solar cells to harvest power from Ofromia (the star). The local ship manufacturer mirrored Ofromian cultural sensibilities, and so nearly every other ship was a long, sleek looking thing with gentle curves and over-stuffed leather seating. If there was a military presence, or even a police presence, guarding the space around the planet, it was very well hidden indeed.

The speakers dotted about the ship crackled into life. The familiar voice of the AI rang out through the corridors, though it did sound as if it was distracted by something. Considering the state of the AI, this probably made it sound even more familiar to those who had spent any time with it.

"[b]Crew to the bridge, crew to the bridge, we're back, in the, uh, I mean, we're at Ofromia, there's... uh, not a problem, just, uh, to the bridge, crew to the bridge, they're wanting to communicate...[/b]"

The bridge was a badly curated museum of technological wonders accquired from across the galaxy. From the bleeding-edge technology used in the seat warmer of the pilot's chair to the rather out-of-date weapons control system, it was a small miracle that any of it could function alongside any other thing. There was a knack to it, of course, because getting a NaviComp developed by a species of sentient dogs to talk to a scanner cobbled together by Engineer-Monks of the Blind Brotherhood wasn't always easy unless you routed the information through the set of wireless-enabled fuzzy dice. This, at least, explained why nobody had got rid of the fuzzy dice. Of all the bizarre and wonderful technology on the bridge, none was more bizarre or wonderful than the communication system. It was a red telephone, with a rotary dialler. Wires connected it to various other things within the bridge, and quite how it functioned was something of a mystery. A post-it note attached to the side of the telephone reminded users that you'd need to "[i]Dial 9 For Outside Line[/i]".

And now, on the bridge, the telephone was ringing.