The ghosts are playing games again – swish-swooshing the bridge doors, materialising on the teleporter, jamming all channels with made-up maydays. The spectral captain whispers ceaselessly about continuing missions. No sign of the fifth engineer since she (third navigator) had to pull rank. Perhaps she’s the last known lifeform left on board. She’s practised on the holodeck, clutching bell, book and candle, hoping the replicator’s functionality incorporates holiness. Unnumbered lonely stars wink in the observation window. Giggles behind her. She mustn’t swivel that heavy helm chair round. Trouble is, this deep out in space, no one else can hear you laugh.