“It’s a temporal displacement.”

I raised a cynical eyebrow. “I take it that means you have either: lost your watch, or more likely lost the plot.”

He responded with a singular digital salutation, while his left hand fluttered over the bank of switches.

Although only a Grade 4 Technician, John normally takes care of the running repairs and the driving, while I stay in the galley and make soup.

It might have been better the other way round. I would have left the computers and engines to themselves, and although John is an appalling cook at least we wouldn’t have been lost on the far side of the Galaxy with a dodgy fission drive.

The view-panel flared into life and I gazed in awe at the sight. “Oh God, John, it’s beautiful! Where are we?

Luckily, for him, I was so pre-occupied with the star-field I didn’t really register his vague mumble about Horse’s Head Nebulas. I may not be the greatest astro-navigator in the universe, I missed the Pleiades by two whole light-secs once, but at least I know the Horse’s Head Nebula when I see it.

It was at that precise moment that a ceiling panel collapsed and I was suddenly wearing something that resembled an unstrung suspension bridge.

John looked horrifed and I panicked.

“Hold still!”, he yelped, as I thrashed around trying to get free. “That’s the primary bus! If you break that connection we’re…

Dead.

Silence.