I’ll never get tired of watching the solar sail billow, ten square kilometres of sparkling nanofilament fibre unspooling across the infinite starscape.

It doesn’t happen every day, you know, not with the sheer distances involved with the cross-system hop between the gas giants, shifting cargo from refinery to factory to the Europa shipyards

But there’s no view quite like it.

Then the sail grows taut and you know you’re on your way, slow but steady. Not that you can feel it - there’s no sense of acceleration when you’re being propelled by a trillion photons hitting the area of a small town - and it’s not like you can see it. The stars are unrelenting landmarks.

You can hear it, though, when that glorious, golden thread takes the strain, and every plate and bolt holding out the vacuum rings with fresh tension.