A battered, unmarked Chimaera crunches jerkily into the docking bay. On board a hand flaps at a whisp of blue smoke rising from the navigation computer. The internal lights go out leaving the occupant in a cocoon of lit, flashing blinking and flickering multicoloured displays and controls. Looks like the New Year festival has come early. There is a thumping sound as the same hand pounds an already dented console pannel. The lights flicker back on and the hatch clanks opens. Luckily there is pressure on the other side. What's that smell? Tea cakes?