orbituary | home is where your heart is. we have it. your home is here and you can't leave.

Managing a colonyship wasn't an easy task at the best of times. With thousands - billions - of new bodies aboard, things were getting a little stressful, to say the least. Thelonius keyed up reports of their guests by the dozen, claws clacking over the holopad as he skimmed through and tried to assimilate as much immediately-relevant data as he could.

There wasn't enough coffee for this. His was cold, too, but he drank it anyway.

On his lap lounged a Terran dog with a police badge on its collar. Scratching idly at Rex's ears, the captain let himself sigh. The thunder of his breathing was mercifully muted by the mass repressors. "Well, Rex, this is going to be something of a conundrum." Privately, he thought he was going to need a bigger ship and a far bigger maintenance staff, but it was pointless to waste his time daydreaming. What he needed were results.

Thelonius carefully typed out a generic 'welcome' message, briefing his charges on their circumstances and general shipboard lore. His crew were preparing for the inevitable fallout, though Thelonius hoped the newcomers wouldn't take too long to adjust. It must be hard, having to hear that your home was destroyed.

Rex whuffed softly from his perch. "Hmm. You might be right. A distraction is a good way to prevent destruction. The question is: What would appeal to everyone? We've got a rather diverse lot, after all."

A conundrum, indeed. For now, Thelonius hoped that the new arrivals would make the most of the facilities available to them until such time as suitable colony worlds were established.

The note projected onto the umpteen Cretaceous Tablets is generic and politely welcoming.

Welcome to THE ORB. We're sorry for your loss. Please make yourselves at home until we are able to find a suitable colony planet for your civilisation.

You will find all basic necessities on one of the dorm bunks. Ask any of our helpful crew or robotic assistants for anything else you require.

I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Together, let's build a better future.
Captain T. Rex.

Although THE ORB doesn't seem physically large enough to hold millions of different world populations, the corridors never seem particularly crowded. One of the theatre lounges is undergoing rapid alteration to accommodate the various shapes of new bodies it must host. Games in the arcade are being altered for different manipulative digits. Dinosaur chefs are talking animatedly with their guests about food - no good chef can resist a challenge, after all.

It all seems rather like a bemusing, unanticipated cruise. Perhaps it's easier to think of it this way. After all, you can't leave. You have nothing but empty space to return to.