If we look back at what we thought was going to happen, then by now we would have had our own personal rocket ships and faithful robot companions; we'd have been blasting out full tilt in time - speed - distance rallies between the moons of Mars, filling up our retro rockets at Interstellar Gulf's hygienic and modern filling stations, and - every now and then - engaging in a heated ray gun battle with the forces of evil. We'd know who they were because they'd be green, they'd have the wrong number of eyes, and they'd be clutching shrieking - if politically undeveloped - space women in tight-fitting outfits.