Somewhere between Jupiter’s moons, the ISV Jenny Haniver picks its autopiloted way through derelict shuttles and abandoned cargo debris, and slowly drifts clear of the giant planet’s shadow. Solar panels glint in the weak sunlight, awakening on the very edge of their operable range, and a crop of parabolic antennae whirr and track the dark sky, sifting for a signal from Earth.

A single greenscreen display chatters to itself on the unmanned flight console: no signal, retrying, no signal, retrying. After exactly an hour, it falls blank. One hour five seconds, and fluorescent striplights clunk into life, spreading from the bridge and down the corridors, flooding light through the ship. One hour ten, and machinery whirrs in the cryo-suspension bay as thick grey vapour begins to swirl and drain from the higher-ranking glass tubes.

“Good morning.” says a calm voice from hidden microphones. “Ship’s systems have been unable to contact Earth station or detect any outbound radio signals for one full hour. Under the Polaris protocol, the core flight crew have been reactivated. Please proceed to the command deck.”

(“Shuttle” becomes “Crewmember”, “Traffic Warden” becomes “Ship’s Computer”.)